New York 1 forecast rainstorms for this year's Mother's Day, but the mothers would have none of it. They must have talked to the Big Guy and told him what's what. Weather-wise, this was the best day yet. In Central Park, Pooch and I tried to dodge the obstacle course of families picnicking, roller blading, waiting for the carousel, and eating icecream bars. A line fifty people long waited to rent row boats near the Boat House. In between having meltdowns, kids frolicked on the green grass of Sheep's Meadow. And if you hadn't thought ahead and packed your own food (like Mom does), you had a long wait on your hands at the Rickshaw Dumpling truck.
People came at us from all directions. After an hour of frantically trying not to become road kill, Pooch and I decided to be antisocial and ducked into The Ramble. There the crowd thinned, but barely. We duly became lost (no matter how long I live in this city, I never learn my way around The Ramble). Pooch rubbed noses with a St. Bernard, then got confused when, trying to greet him in the usual dog manner, stood in shadow beneath the huge dog's belly. Finally we found our way to the West Side, where we emerged to find a new barrage of families. But the funny thing was, despite the discomfort of the crowds, most people were smiling and polite. These people must be from out of town, I thought. Or maybe, on this Mother's Day, people had remembered a mother's frequent refrain: mind your manners. Which is a gift to all of us.