Up early on Saturday to drive to Connecticut to transport the mothership.

Destination the airport in Westchester to set the snowbird free to take flight to Palm Beach for her winter sojourn.

My mom was in her good luck beige outfit, armed with her portable oxygen and coconut cookies.

Mission Accomplished. She was met by a wheelchair pusher and whisked off to the gate. My job was done.

We sequestered our car in Connecticut as parking on the upper west side has skyrocketed to $800 per month and there is a waiting list…go figure.

We walked the 5 miles to the train station and took the 11:25am express to Grand Central.

I was on red alert for armed stranglers on Metro North.

My thinking was if the train engineers don’t get you on the curves and unexplainable high speed chases then terrorists might, but I am happy to report that we arrived at Grand Central unscathed.

It was interesting to me that the day after the massacre in Paris the city was packed. Fifth Avenue was crawling with tourists. The human spirit is resilient.

We made our way to Times Square and yes, I strolled to the TKTS booths with trepidation.

It is strange how perceptions changed in a 12 hour period…reality sucks.

There was an abundant, active police presence in Times Square.

The Hercules Teams were heavily padded in bulletproof vests and had multiple magazine rounds strapped across their chests for their submachine guns. These guys were not kidding around.

Feeling a sense of relief, we fed our souls with delicious guacamole and a steak and quinoa bowl at Dos Caminos in the W Hotel at Times Square.

Finally, a reasonably priced and delectable place to eat in the theater district.

We hightailed it over to the Lyceum Theatre on 45th Street as we were directed to be seated by 1:50 as we were perched on stage for A View From The Bridge.

Ivo van Hove, a Belgian director who has become theater’s most celebrated exponent of staging minimalism has stripped down Arthur Miller’s 1956 drama about a self-imploding Brooklyn longshoreman and his obsession with his niece.

Five years ago we saw the all-star production of A View From The Bridge with Liev Schreiber and Scarlett Johansson. It paled in comparison.

The cast, led by the dazzling Mark Strong, exuded a primal force.

the final scene is soaked in passion and anguish…and fade to red.

This is must see theater. The British export of A View From The Bridge is an intense, explosive production.

The day dawned all about family and ended involved in another family’s trauma.

We left the theatre stimulated yet exhausted and in dire need of an adult beverage.

Champagne at Landmarc took the edge off all familial turmoil and obligations.

Thankfully, no family drama to munch on at Thanksgiving.

The question of the hour is do we keep our annual holiday date with France after what happened on Friday.

Life is so damn complex.

Be kind out there.