There was a time when Albany was magical to me. When I was a little kid in relatively-rural Amsterdam, NY, I viewed Albany as the closest thing to a big city. I’d been to New York and Boston a number of times, but they felt far away and distant. A few hours can be an eternity for children. Albany was a much shorter trip, but it still held the allure of glamour and sophistication. My Mom used to go shopping in the downtown, back when it bustled, and stores occupied multiple floors. The Plaza had been completed by the time I was old enough to walk, and we went to a few shows at the Egg. In certain sections, the walls were curved, and the novelty of the thing never wore off.
On certain days, when I’m walking at lunch and the sun is shining in a clear blue sky, I’ll look up at the Plaza and feel the same excitement and awe of our city. I’ll remember the wonder it once held for a kid from Amsterdam. I’ll try, mostly in vain, to re-inhabit that moment when it all seemed so impressive.
