Unwind and fall asleep with this wintry bedtime story for grown-ups,
Where cozy adventures in New York City await.
You are listening to A Magical Snowy City,
A serene sleep story that invites you to join me,
My sister,
And my six-year-old niece,
Isabella,
On a dreamy winter day in New York.
Our journey begins at the train station,
Where snow flurries swirl above a sky-lit atrium,
Setting the stage for what's to come.
Through the wonder-filled eyes of a child,
The city transforms into a canvas of magic,
And the afternoon unfolds with the joy of checking off a little girl's wish list,
A lively dog park visit,
Snowy park strolls,
And camping beneath the iconic blue whale at the Museum of Natural History spark our imaginations.
Each moment connects us with the spirit and timeless grandeur of the city.
As twilight falls,
Manhattan glimmers with snow-dusted charm,
Back at the apartment with its crackling fire and exposed brick walls.
We toast with glittering drinks and craft vision boards to imagine all the possibilities ahead.
Snow coats the city in a peaceful blanket of white.
When sleep arrives,
These heartwarming moments instill the youthful hope that anything is possible.
It's time to dream away.
Welcome to Michelle's Sanctuary.
I am Michelle,
And of all the options to help you fall asleep,
I'm so glad you've come here.
As you listen,
Let my voice feel as comforting as a trusted loved one,
Bringing a maternal sense of safety and calm.
You are invited to share in this magical journey,
To feel at home and part of the family,
And to find rest and joy in simple pleasures.
Surrender to sleep whenever you like,
And craft this story with your imagination,
Adding or detracting details that fill your heart with warmth and mind with solace.
You've made it through another day,
And this moment is your reward.
Take some time to ease into the night,
Focusing on releasing your muscles and joyfully appreciating the sanctuary of your room and mind.
All is safe,
Gentle,
And kind here.
Let out a gentle sigh,
Releasing the weight of the day and its lingering impressions.
Slowly inhale through your nose and imagine the sweet,
Warm aroma of honey-roasted nuts from a street vendor,
Blending with the crisp,
Fresh scent of falling snow.
The winter wonderland of Manhattan comes into view with each breath.
Feel your body relax as you gently close your eyes,
Letting go of the outside world.
Now let's count down together.
Continue to inhale,
Yawn,
And sigh at your preferred pace.
Each new breath becomes deeper and more rewarding.
Five.
Inhale slowly and deeply through your nose,
Noticing the sparkling snowflakes falling against the backdrop of city lights,
Filling you with a sense of delight.
Four.
The hopeful,
Inspiring energy of a city of dreamers whispers to you,
Promising hidden treasures waiting to be discovered.
Three.
A sense of trust travels from cell to cell,
From head to toe,
That you are in safe hands as this journey unfolds.
Two.
Your muscles soften,
Your lips relax into a gentle smile,
And you are as snug as you have ever been.
One.
You return to yourself,
The most authentic,
Tender version of you,
Unguarded and imaginative,
As you inhale,
Yawn,
And sigh.
Now ease your breath back to a soft,
Sleepy rhythm as the story begins.
Playwright and author Warren Adler declared,
New York is where you go to become the person you've always dreamed of being.
So imagine,
If you will,
A six-year-old girl named Isabella,
Cuddling alongside her mother,
Aboard a train chugging along the gray Hudson River.
Snowflakes dance and dash,
Some finding homes atop twisted,
Barren branches,
While others land on the waterway to melt and become one with the river.
Mountain views and cozy suburbs fade into the city.
Isabella's heart is alight,
As this is the first time she rides the train with her mom,
For an overdue visit,
With me,
Her tia,
Her auntie,
Her godmother.
My sister,
A mother of two,
And a devoted advocate for children by profession,
Is very much in need of a reminder of who she once was.
Back to when she was a college student,
Living out her urban dreams.
Her heart is filled with the secrets of a city she once knew and the identity she cherished,
Long before she was a mother.
My gift to them could not have come at a better time,
When I surprised my niece with a handcrafted symbolic train ticket,
Announcing that our unexpected holiday separation would be more than made up for.
A trip to New York City was my gift to her and her mother.
Now the phrase,
The gift that keeps on giving,
Is often used sarcastically by New Yorkers,
But this time,
It is far from the case.
My gift to her is one I will receive back tenfold.
And now,
My friend,
You get to receive it as well.
There is a distinct beauty in being an adult.
It affords us the privilege of showering upon children all the things we were deprived of or yearned for when we were their age.
And that act of giving helps heal the child within us all.
Our adventures begin at the brand-spanking-new-and-modern Moynihan Train Hall at Penn Station,
Just moments before my sister and niece arrive.
Gilded light streams through the wafting snow clouds overhead,
And glass ceiling warming the space.
Like airport gates long ago,
The terminal offers a cinematic view of loving reunions,
Of family and friends.
There's a silvery neutrality to the space.
We could honestly be in any metropolis train station.
The city outside feels distant.
The hum of uptown buses and honks of yellow cabs are muffled by the looming hall.
The air full of the energy of people coming together.
A couple embraces across the space.
A grandmother reunites with her granddaughter.
It's a scene of pure joy and quiet connection.
That makes the moment feel a little magical.
We sip the last of our warm,
Festive drinks as we pass a newsstand and scan the arrivals board,
Noting their train is due in minutes.
On the approaching train,
Isabella,
With all her six-year-old energy,
Can't contain her bouncing.
She stands the moment the train enters the tunnel,
Her legs jittering as my sister takes her hand to lead her down the aisle.
Her sparkly pink backpack bobs up and down as if it has a life of its own.
It's too big for her,
But she insists on carrying it.
Visiting the city and her tia tends to fuel her independence.
We approach the escalator to their arrival track as my sister and niece come into view.
Their faces light up as they catch sight of us.
Isabella's eyes lock on me,
And in a moment of pure enthusiasm,
She starts running up the last few steps.
Her purple parka flaps open in the warm terminal air,
Swinging behind her like a cape.
Beneath it,
Her pink sweatshirt,
Bedazzled with a crown,
Reads Future Queen.
It makes her look like she could rule this world,
And she's glowing.
Her oversized backpack thumps against her,
But she's too excited to care about how awkward it feels or looks.
Her sing-song laughter fills the terminal as she bolts into my arms with a hug.
Though this is the first time you've met her,
There's no hesitation when she greets you with a fierce hug too.
Her heart is wide open,
And since you accompany her tia,
There's no doubt that you're part of her family already.
I help my sister with her bag,
And guide us all through a lesser-known passageway,
Avoiding the crowds,
To make our way to the uptown subway.
We enter the older,
Darker sections of Penn Station,
Where fluorescent lights buzz and flicker with a soft yellow tint.
The air becomes thicker,
And the walls have seen better days.
But to Isabella,
Everything is magical and beautiful as she picks up on the only-in-New-York smells of subway tunnels and popcorn wafting from the main corridor.
Raw and unfiltered,
This underground world feeds the work of poets and writers.
It's deeper and edgier.
It's a place where all walks of humanity converge beneath the city.
To Isabella,
The turnstile to the Uptown 2 train comes with as much joy as the entryway to Disney World.
The subway winds rush across the platform as the train pulls in to take us away from the bustle of Midtown to the quieter neighborhood of the Upper West Side.
Everyone takes a seat before my niece,
As she is happiest hanging onto the silver subway pole and spinning around,
Finding her balance as the brakes softly squeal and the train leaves the station.
She proudly shows off her new math skills,
Whispering to you almost conspiratorially,
How many blocks we have to go.
Just to be sure you're not embarrassed.
And in case you didn't know,
She explains that if the numbers go up,
Then you're going uptown.
A Times Square,
A 60-something subway busker joins the car with his alto saxophone,
Finding his balance as his lips and fingers fill the space with the melody of New York,
New York.
As the train barrels uptown,
Isabella stops counting,
Her mouth agape.
You can always find good music wherever you go in New York City,
She says with that knowing smile.
This young keeper of the city's wonders.
Other strap hangers can't help but smile and chuckle along,
Happily taken out of the doldrums of a routine commute.
The saxophonist tips his fedora in her direction,
And I hand Isabella a folded dollar bill from my winter coat,
Reserved for moments like this,
To drop atop the blue velvet cushion of his open case.
He thanks her as we arrive at our stop.
With a mittened hand,
She gives a thumbs up,
As her other hand struggles to adjust her cumbersome bag.
A wintry breeze meets us with a welcome rush of fresh air as we step onto the street.
Snow flurries slowly fall on the brief walk from the station to a row of old townhouses,
And we enter the walk-up I call home.
From the age of two and a half,
Isabella practiced climbing stairs,
With a promise that once she mastered the skill,
She could visit her Tia in the city.
As she races up the three flights ahead,
She excitedly boasts to you that her legs are now strong enough for New York City.
She arrives at the landing first,
Eagerly awaiting for me to unlock the door as Ike,
My long-haired chihuahua puppy,
Softly whimpers upon hearing her voice.
I open the door,
And the chocolate and caramel brown pup runs into the hall as Isabella crouches to tug off her boots and looks at Ike with a mix of seriousness and delight.
You have to wait before you get any pets,
She tells him,
Her voice carrying the kind of authority only a child can muster.
Ike pauses mid-spin and obeys,
His silky fur shimmering in the light of the hall.
We do our best to remove our shoes and keep them away from his curious and mischievous mouth.
From the shadowy foyer,
Lowenstein,
The much older Torbie cat,
Makes her appearance,
Peering around the doorframe.
She regards Ike's excitable antics with a slow,
Deliberate disdain reserved for a middle-aged queen.
Her tail twitches with a reminder that she is in charge.
Even Isabella knows that.
The radiator hisses,
Delivering a wave of dry warmth as we huddle inside.
Colorful glass lamps scatter vibrant hues across the living room as Isabella settles in the center of an area rug,
Giving Ike's pink tongue access to her giggling face.
As he lays on the kisses,
Tall windows expand to the high ceilings,
The golden Moroccan-patterned curtains drawn open.
Snow falls on a city held in January's sleepy embrace,
Where everything feels a little slower,
A little quieter.
Purple and magenta orchids bloom on the windowsills,
Their vibrant petals contrasting the cold,
Gray world outside.
Purple and green vines and leaves of a spiderwort plant dangle from a hanging wicker basket,
So lush and curly that I've named the plant Cher.
Isabella removes a new plush toy for Ike from her backpack,
Using it to distract him.
Her eyes widen with excitement as she pulls out a tattered sheet of paper,
Folded many times,
Crinkling it as she carefully opens it.
Written in her large handwriting is a list of everything she wants to do during this brief visit,
Starting with the dog park.
She gleefully reads through the activities,
Confident we will all agree to her carefully planned agenda.
I ask her to help pick out clothing for Ike,
And she selects a plush lavender sweater to match our purple coats.
She turns to the eager Chihuahua,
Helping me slip a tiny sweater over his harness.
Witnessing her make each choice fills your heart,
Reminding you of the exhilarating power you once felt as a child.
Whenever decisions were left to you,
You reveled in that simple joy,
The joy of discovering what each choice could bring.
You see her value,
How much her opinions matter.
The four of us bundle once more and return to the street,
As Isabella directs us westerly to a park she's frequented on every visit.
The patches of exposed mica and snow shimmer along the way,
And she can't help but exclaim,
Everything is so sparkly here.
Mom,
You just wait until night time,
When all the buildings sparkle too.
My sister nods knowingly,
With a distant longing in her eyes,
As she remembers a time long ago.
It's hard to tell who is more eager for the dog park,
Isabella or Ike,
Both in a race as all our breaths condense in the air.
Once we arrive,
Ike runs free in circles,
His little legs carrying him with endless energy as we get comfortable on benches overlooking the river below.
We all pull our scarves tighter and burrow our hands into our pockets until both child and pup tire and sit beside us,
Ike in Isabella's lap.
Without missing a beat,
Isabella announces,
Next stop,
My favorite museum.
I drop Ike off along the way,
And he's more than happy to nap with the cat to the persistent clanks of the radiator while our adventures ensue.
We continue uptown,
The cold air nipping at our noses as we head toward the Museum of Natural History.
Just an hour before closing,
Admission becomes free,
And we arrive just in time.
Isabella grabs your hand,
Her voice full of excitement.
This is my favorite museum in the world.
There's dinosaurs,
And you can learn about science.
I lead the way toward her special spot,
Beneath the suspended blue whale in the Hall of Ocean Life.
The room is cast in deep blue hues,
And we spread out our winter coats like sleeping bags on the floor,
Joining other visitors who have gathered in the hall,
Some traveling from parts around the world.
The wooden planks serve as a dance floor when the museum hosts fancy charity balls,
And a camping spot for museum sleepovers.
We lie down and peer up at the massive,
Suspended blue whale.
Isabella's voice rings out with her usual curiosity.
Telling us what it would be like to live under the sea.
We can all be different sea animals.
Of course,
I'm a mermaid.
I know they're not real,
But we can just pretend.
After some consideration,
My sister decides to be a sea turtle while I settle on being a dolphin,
And you are encouraged by my niece to be the sea animal you love the most.
We all feel a sense of being grounded,
Our hearts slowing at the bottom of make-believe sea,
Where Isabella explains that bioluminescence,
A word she manages to get out better than most adults can,
Makes the deep sea sparkle,
Just like New York City.
And this thought stays with you as so many beautiful places exist simultaneously,
Sparkling in your mind.
Closing time looms,
And we exit the museum.
The city has transformed with nightfall.
The dark,
Snow-coated expanse of Central Park to the east,
Endowering historic buildings along Central Park West,
Guide us downtown.
Isabella's eyes bulge when I mention visiting an Asian market,
Another wish on her list.
We walk and turn past the Dakota,
Its flickering gas lanterns casting a fiery glow on the snowy sidewalks.
Lacy white flakes fall thickly around us as we walk past glowing shop windows and art deco and Beaux-Arts buildings.
Isabella insists on saying hello to each uniformed doorman as she skips beside me,
Clutching my hand and reaching for yours.
We are amazed at how warm her tiny hands stay,
Despite the frigid cold.
A neon orange sign glows above the Asian market,
Welcoming us to explore rows of snacks in brightly colored packaging with playful mascots and unique flavors.
Isles of neatly stacked instant noodles boast dozens of flavors,
While the fresh produce section offers exotic fruits with spiky,
Waxy,
And speckled skins.
A refrigerated aisle of blue and red sparkling drinks and milky teas in shades of pastel pink,
Mint green,
And banana yellow catches Isabella's eye.
We encourage her to add a few drinks to the basket and she swirls a bottle,
Watching tiny tapioca pearls form a cyclone within.
After everyone has grabbed something for dinner and a treat or two,
We make our way back to the checkout and bring our flavorful haul back to my apartment.
Outside,
The snow falls harder,
Coating the tops of yellow cabs,
Street lamps,
And blue awnings strung over fruit stands on the corners.
As we round the block to my apartment,
Isabella comes to a sudden halt in front of a dumpster outside a nearby grocery store.
Her little face is in shock as she points to the contents.
Inside,
There's a jumble of small potted evergreen trees.
Their needles still fresh and green.
But Tia,
She says,
Her voice full of heartbreak.
We need more forests.
People shouldn't throw out trees.
My sister mischievously smiles,
Reminding us all that Isabella had dumpster diving on her list and we can help her check off another goal by each carrying a tree home.
I glance down at her,
Thanking her for finding these magical discards while I secretly wonder where they could possibly fit in my small apartment.
But I needn't worry for too long,
As this mighty kid always has a plan.
Back at the apartment,
I light a small fire in an indoor fire pit,
Nestled in what once was a fully functioning fireplace when the building was first erected in the 1890s.
Barely free of her winter layers that you and my sister help hang in the closet along with our own heavy garments,
Isabella springs into action,
Producing yet another surprise from her backpack.
A little packet of edible gold glitter.
Fancy drink time,
She announces triumphantly.
She asks you to help her decorate the rims of champagne flutes with honey and a shimmering halo of glitter.
Her little hands working diligently under your guidance.
I give you the ingredients and you create Shirley temples complete with Amarena cherries,
Stowed in my cabinet for whenever she visits.
The simple act fills you with a sense of bliss and purpose.
Feeding off her sweet enthusiasm and desire to make sure you feel included.
In the kitchen,
I assemble our impromptu feast.
A buffet of dishes,
Rich with umami and spice.
I heat dumplings until their edges crisp to a golden brown.
I stir-fry soba noodles with dark sauces and fresh vegetables as my sister sets out plates of mochi,
Tiny cakes,
And Pocky sticks and flavors of strawberry and matcha.
Loewenstein and Ike weave between our legs,
Their noses tilted up to sniff the new aromas.
As I plate our dinner,
You set the table with Isabella.
My sister sits on the sofa with Ike to FaceTime with her toddler son,
Left home with his dad.
Ike interrupts,
Just as boisterous as my nephew as he licks the phone.
I turn on some elegant jazz for dinner as Isabella calls Ike and feeds him,
Yet another task from her list.
We gather around the table.
I ask Isabella to make the toast and she raises her flute high,
The wobbling slightly in her tiny hands.
To New York City,
Glitter and family,
She declares,
Her tiny voice ringing out with conviction.
We all echo her toast,
Clinking our glasses and making eye contact as we savor the delicious meal and each other's company.
The meal is a voyage of contrasting textures and flavors.
We have playful moments.
With some winners and some unanimously disliked losers.
Satiated and after cleaning up,
We move to the living room and sit by the fire as the wind whistles outside.
I gather piles of old magazines,
Save just for tonight.
A few pairs of scissors and glue sticks for vision board making.
Though it's her first time,
Isabella dives in with unbridled energy,
Cutting out pictures of things she loves and dreams of.
I'm finding so much inspiration that I'm going to run out of room,
She exclaims.
Her tired eyes suddenly wide with a second wave of excitement,
Even though it's much past her bedtime.
You take your time,
Pouring over breathtaking landscapes and editorials,
Being drawn to words that awaken a yearning for more.
There's still so much of this life to explore for all of us.
The room fills with laughter,
The sound of scissors snipping and the rustle of paper.
Ike and Lowenstein chase each scrap until they tire and curl up together on the rug to sleep.
Outside,
The snow continues to fall,
Muffling the world in a soft,
Wintry silence as we dream together of the years ahead.
Once completed,
We line our boards on the table to admire them and let them influence the night of sleep ahead.
With sleeping bags and plush blankets,
Air mattresses,
A sofa,
And a bed,
Everyone negotiates their own place to settle for the slumber party.
You and I venture out into the quiet,
Snowy city for Ike's final walk.
As he happily leaves fresh tracks in the snow.
From the street,
We peer up into the apartment.
It's golden light illuminating my plants and spilling out the window.
And there's Isabella,
In her fuzzy pajamas,
Pressing her forehead against the glass.
She waves at us and we can see her lips moving,
Hearing her voice in our minds,
Saying hello.
Once back indoors,
Sleepiness takes hold as we are all prepared for bed.
Isabella stirs one last time,
Removing her kitty sleeping mask from her eyes to declare,
I'll see you all in my dreams.
And with that,
Everyone settles,
Giving in to the waves of sleep that beckon.
Warm,
Safe,
And full of hope.
It's time to dream away.
Good night.
