So, my patient says: "Which airport you flying into?"
Me: "Kennedy."
Himself: "BIG mistake! You'll get pushed and shoved around. You'll get mugged. Don't go through Kennedy." (Of course, my tickets were already paid for.) "How you going to get to the hotel?"
Me: "Taxi."
Himself: "BIG mistake! They'll take you to NYC via New Jersey. And you'll get mugged." (When I got home that night, I told my husband about my patient's comment. My husband said, "I could have booked you into New Jersey-then you could have just started from there." Big laugh-a comedian, for sure). "How do you plan to get to the theater?"
Me: "It's only a couple of blocks from my hotel, so I'll walk."
Himself: "BIG mistake! (Do you sense a pattern here?) You'll get mugged. You could never look like a New Yorker-you smile too much. You look too innocent." (Ha!) "Tell you what. If you have to walk, make sure you walk the lower numbered avenues. If you have a choice between eighth and seventh, take seventh. If you have a choice between seventh and sixth, take sixth."
Me: "I thought you just said to take seventh."
Himself: "Yeah, that's right, but sixth is better than seventh, and fifth is better still. Don't worry, you'll have a great time. Only don't wear any rings."
Me: "Why?"
Himself: "They'll cut your fingers off." (I'm still not sure if he was kidding about that or not, but I don't really want to know. And I am typing this with all ten fingers, just in case you're wondering.) "Look! Just use common sense. Don't look up-they'll know you're a tourist."
Me: "I'll keep my eyes on the ground."
Himself: "Don't look down-you'll look like a tourist trying not to look like a tourist. Look straight ahead, but don't smile-nobody smiles in New York." (It's true. I didn't see a lot of smiles, but when I went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art-I walked the mile or so, by the way, and had a great time-I purposely went up to as many guards as I could and said, "Afternoon! How are y'all today? Lovely day, isn't it?" I got a lot of smiles in response. So those smiles are there, just safely tucked away for special visitors from out of town who makes a little effort.)
Himself: "Act like a New Yorker."
Me: "Act? If I could act, do you think I'd be flogging it for the measly paycheck I get every two weeks? (I failed to mention I'm a nurse practitioner and love what I do and would almost do it for free-don't tell the docs I work with, please!)
Himself: "Just act a little arrogant. Aggressive. Steal something." (I'm pretty sure that was a joke, but you can't tell from New Yorkers, cause they don't always smile-am I going to get hammered by New Yorkers, here? Remember I said I really had a wonderful time-just trying to share a little about why I was so nervous to start).

Anyway, I got to New York, said a quick Hail Mary getting off the plane, was kindly directed to my luggage, and was helped into a taxi that had a fixed rate-no side trip to New Jersey. I was given every courtesy getting settled into my hotel room, which was only ONE block from the theater. Everybody was helpful. I had a fantastic time. I spent the four days I was there with my head in the clouds, marveling at all the sites I'd seen on TV. Just in case you're wondering (you're not??!!), I went alone, because I knew I'd be spending my days doing research for the next novel I'm writing about Fiona and Michael Patrick O'Byrne and Dev and Moira and Daniel. And no, the first book isn't published yet, but I'm working on it!! Starting with Dublin and then maybe New York. But lord, it's hard to get anyone to look at new authors!!!!!!!
And YES! I am anxious to go back to New York. Maybe take in a taping of Madigan Men, Gabriel's new TV series that is bound to be picked up on ABC for the fall line-up! Okay: the meat of this little commentary:

I went to the play four nights in a row. They were the first four preview nights, so I expected a few flubs here and there, but there weren't any. Gabriel, Cherry, and Roy were FABULOUS! Of course, they'd just come from Chicago, so they had their performances down pat. I couldn't help wondering if they were nervous-I would have been. It was incredible being that close to someone I'd admired for years. I sat within the first four rows every night! I really wanted to stand up and shout, "Dia Duit, Gabe!" (Hello, Gabe), but since I've never fancied myself cooling my heels in a New York City jail, I kept my inappropriate remarks to myself.
Before the first performance, I slipped a stagehand a few dollars (no, he didn't ask, I just thought if would be nice), and asked if he'd see that Mr. Byrne got my note. I'm taking Irish lessons in anticipation of my first (of many) trips to Ireland in September, so I added a few Irish phrases to the note. That night, after a wonderful performance, Mr. Byrne came out the stage door to sign pictures. When I handed him a picture I'd brought, I said,

"Go raibh maith agat, Mr. Byrne." (Thank you, Mr. Byrne).
Himself says, "Oh, you must be the one who sent the note backstage earlier.
Pamalla, wasn't it?" as he signed my photo.
I croaked out something and then asked if I could shake his hand. He obliged with a smile. He was quite a gentleman. And then he signed for others standing there. He is even nicer in person than he comes across in interviews.

The second afternoon, I asked a stagehand if he could deliver some gifts I'd brought from Denver for Mr. Byrne's children, Romy and Jack: a tin whistle and Irish CD for Jack, and an Irish necklace and bear with a shamrock on its sweater for Romy. (Okay, I hear the awww! from you all!).

That night, when Gabriel came out to sign autographs, he smiled at me and said, "Thank you for the gifts, Pamalla."
"Woa!" The man remembered my name! He signed my picture after I said, "You're welcome, Mr. Byrne," and moved on.

The third night, he was in a hurry, so he was unable to sign pictures. I need to say that the performance that night, although fabulous again, was marred by inconsiderate people taking pictures and having cell phones go off. It was disruptive to the actors, I'm sure. During curtain call, one guy had this huge camera on a tripod taking pictures. He had it right in my view and I could see Gabriel and other cast members looked a bit put out about it. People had been admonished to take no pictures. Between you and me, I wanted to give the guy a swift kick in the arse, not because he was in my way, but because Gabriel kept looking over at him and did not look happy at all at all. Okay, bitch session over!

The fourth night, Mr. Byrne came out (I always called him Mr. Byrne, out of respect), and I said, "Dia duit! Mr. Byrne."
"Dia duit, Pamalla," he responded, smiling, and then he signed another picture for me. "Keep up your Irish lessons."
"I will," I promised. And that was it. Probably spoke to him less than 45 seconds over a three-night period, but he made my day, week, month, year...

I thought it incredible that the man so kindly remembered my name for three nights, although I'm not naïve enough to think he'd ever remember any particular fan over a period of time. Okay, maybe if she were gorgeous, young, voluptuous, and thin. I'm no dog, mind you, but I've been around the block a few times. But meeting him was a blast, just the same.