Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

Arrived in the Big Apple this afternoon, although I always hesitate to call New York City that since I don’t know where the expression came from. Nevertheless, I’m here to work three days at Fred Flare, the company my son and his partner own and operate. This is always a busy time of year for them, and I’m an extra pair of hands.

Flying into New York is a humbling experience for someone who’s spent most of her adult life in and around the Chicago area. Windy City residents (I DO know where that moniker comes from) chafe at the thought of being second to anyone else. Perhaps it has to do with Midwestern pride.

But when you’re coming into Laguardia Airport and see the Manhattan skyline in the distance, there simply isn’t any comparison. All those tall buildings so densely packed together on that tiny island! It’s a wonder the whole thing hasn’t sunk into the harbors surrounding it.

Of course, flying into O’Hare Airport often provides a thrilling aerial view of Chicago and its famous lakefront, but the sheer size of the skyline simply can’t compete with New York’s. Neither can the density of the population or the amazing variety of ethic diversity one sees on the streets. Or the number of restaurants in a single block. Or the availability of taxis.

I haven’t been to New York in a couple years, and that familiar surge of adrenaline at being back in one of the world’s greatest cities tells me it has been too long between visits.