Hi Nannie!

Here I am in New York! They call it the Big Apple. I don’t know why. Have you ever been here? We took ten kids to the American Museum of Natural History. Then we went to Central Park. I didn’t know there would be so many things in the park, but there’s a zoo, a merry-go-round (the Freidman Memorial Carousel), a boat pond, a statue of Alice in Wonderland, an ice-skating rink, and even more. You can go roller-skating, horseback riding, bike-riding, boating, or — Uh-oh, I ran out of room!

Love, Kristy

As soon as we’d found Henry, I decided we should leave the museum. We’d been there awhile already, and anyway, the weather was so great I thought the kids would enjoy being outdoors.

We’d forgotten one thing, though. No one had eaten lunch! So we went to Food Express, a huge fast-food restaurant on the lower level of the museum, and ordered burgers or sandwiches and soda. Leslie and Dawn and I had salad, though. Salad is healthier, and for Leslie it’s safe because of her wheat allergy. I thought she’d kick and scream at the idea of a salad, but she gobbled it up.

After lunch I was really ready to get outdoors. Unfortunately, a big gift shop is right next to the restaurant, and I had promised Peggie we’d go to it. So we went inside and the kids exclaimed over everything, mostly the dinosaur stuff — mugs and T-shirts and puzzles and charts and stuffed animals. It was Dinosaur Heaven. We didn’t have enough money to buy souvenirs, though, so we looked around for awhile, then ushered the kids outside empty-handed.

“Now,” I announced triumphantly to my friends, “you are going to see the park to end all parks.”

“I’ve been to Central Park before,” Mary Anne spoke up.

“Oh, so you’ve seen the crouching panther statue,” I said.

“Huh?”

“And you know where the Dene Shelter is, too, I guess.”

“The Dene Shelter?”

“Oh, please, Stacey, can’t we do the fun stuff?” cried Cissy.

“Like what?” I teased her.

“Like the zoo.”

“I thought the zoo was closed down so they could rebuild it,” said Dawn.

“The main zoo is,” I told her, “but not the children’s zoo.”

“Oh, let’s go there first!” said Grace. It was one of the few things she’d said all day. Basically, she had just cried about the monster bones. And when Mary Anne had asked her what she wanted for lunch, she’d replied, “A hangaber.”

It was quite a walk to the zoo. I mean, a long one. But walking was the fastest and cheapest way to get there. We formed our Madeline lines again in front of the museum, crossed Central Park West, and entered the park, which spread out before us, at Eighty-first Street. Then, heading south and west, we zigzagged through the park, sticking to paths and roads.

My friends couldn’t believe what they saw — and what they didn’t see.

“Right now,” commented Kristy as we walked through a wooded area, “if I couldn’t hear traffic, I’d think we were in some great forest. You can’t see the city at all.”

It was true. We were walking through a thick grove of trees. Leaves crunched under our feet. We could smell earth and evergreen needles, and, well, it’s hard to describe, but simply that scent of growing things. I had smelled it in Stoneybrook, oh, and in the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens. But not in too many other places.

We couldn’t see any buildings or streets or cars or even people.

At last we emerged from the woods onto a road. Ahead of us was a huge pond. A hot-dog seller had set up his stand by the side of the road.

“Thank heavens,” I heard Dawn murmur.

“What?” I asked her. “You hate hot dogs.”

Dawn looked embarrassed. “Not that,” she replied.

“Did you think we were going to get mugged back there or something?” I said.

“Well, you always hear stories about people getting mugged in Central Park,” she said with a little shiver. “And not just at night,” she was quick to add when she saw me open my mouth. “Plus, homeless people live in the park, don’t they?”

“So?” I replied. “Just because they’re homeless doesn’t mean they’re going to hurt you.”

Dawn looked away from me. I think she was going to say something else but she set her mouth in a firm line, stared straight ahead, and marched forward with Natalie and Peggie. Our lines had sort of deteriorated by then, but that was okay. The lines were more useful on the street and in the apartment building. We were still holding hands in groups of three, though, and that seemed safe enough.

We cut across a road and followed a path through what seemed like a more regular park, with trees here and there, benches, playgrounds, a baseball diamond. I barely noticed any of it, since I cut through the park pretty often.

But my friends, and even the kids (who also come to the park pretty often), kept exclaiming over things.

“Look! Look at that man! He’s walking … nine dogs!” cried Sean, after counting them furiously.

“There’s a lady feeding pigeons!” said Grace excitedly.

“Yeah, a whole flock!” added Henry.

“Oh, my lord, would you look at that?” exclaimed Claudia.

I had to admit that what she saw was strange and unusual — even for New York. An old man with a flowing white beard was riding an adult-sized tricycle. Attached to the back of the tricycle was a kid’s red wagon. And riding placidly in the wagon were three fluffy white Persian cats. They looked like the man’s beard.

“Oh, wow!” I cried.

My friends turned to me with smiles.

“Haven’t you seen him before?” asked Kristy.

“No. Well, not for a few years. I’d forgotten about him.”

“It’s nice to see you get excited about something,” said Claudia as we walked along. We’d almost reached the zoo.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I mean, you act like there’s nothing new or exciting in this city. Like you’ve seen it all before and so now nothing really matters anymore.”

“I do?” I said. That was something to think about.

We were standing in front of the entrance to the children’s zoo and were about to pay the admission fee, when Peggie cried, “Oh, the clock! The animals are going to dance!”

The Delacorte Clock. Something else I’d forgotten about. How could I have? Was this what happens when you grow older? Or was I becoming a New York snob? Someone who’s lived in the city for so long that she takes everything for granted? And then a jarring thought occurred to me: Maybe my friends were as exasperated with me as I was with them.

I shook myself free of the thought as the fifteen of us ran to the nearby clock tower I used to love when I was a kid. It wasn’t just any clock, though. As it struck the hour (I looked at my watch — two o’clock) the circle of statue animals, each holding a musical instrument, began to revolve slowly.

We watched solemnly until the song ended.

Peggie sighed with happiness. (So did I.)

Then we paid the small fee to enter the children’s zoo. From the outside, it looks like a blah building. But when you cross through the building and go outdoors again, you find yourself in a storybook land. The animals are housed in brightly painted buildings. There’s a castle, a gingerbread house, and even Noah’s Ark with a (fake) giraffe’s head poking through the roof. And you can pet lots of the animals.

I wished I’d brought my camera along. My friends and I kept pointing at things and giggling.

“Look!” cried Claudia, nudging me.

I glanced up in time to see a goat trying to nibble a piece of paper that was in Blair’s back pocket.

We watched Leslie wrinkle her nose up at a bunny rabbit.

We watched Natalie talk to some birds.

“Do you think she’s communing with nature?” asked Kristy.

My friends and I burst out laughing. I knew we were feeling more like “our old selves,” as my mother would say.

When the kids grew tired of the zoo, I decided it was time for a rest — and maybe dessert. Lots of vendors were around, and it was hard to pass up every one we saw.

“Who wants dessert?” I asked the kids as we left the zoo and came across an ice-cream vendor, a popcorn vendor, and a toy vendor.

Dumb question. The kids wanted everything. The toys were too expensive, but we bought thirteen dixie cups (no ice cream for me or Dawn) and two giant boxes of popcorn. Then we sat down on some wide, flat rocks and ate … and ate.

“Stacey?” said Leslie when we were finished. “I don’t feel too good.”

Uh-oh, I thought. I can’t stand to see people barf.

Dawn remembered that. Without my saying a word, she took Leslie aside. She rocked her and talked to her quietly. Ten minutes later, Leslie hopped up and announced, “Okay! I’m all better! Let’s go!”

Another crisis had passed.

“Thank you, Dawn,” I said gratefully. “You know how I feel about …”

“The B-word?” suggested Dawn. We laughed. “I may be nervous about the city,” she went on, “but I can handle a little, um, B. Anyway, she didn’t get sick.”

“But she might have,” I said, shuddering.

“Hey, let’s get going!” cried Mary Anne. “There’s a whole park to explore, and we’ve got to take these kids home in an hour or so.”

By now we were so relaxed that we let the kids run ahead of us. My friends and I linked arms and followed them. The Baby-sitters Club was together again.