Well, hello there, wrote to you on TAFM with TC in LA… This is the first post of yours I’ve received in my inbox. Beautiful writing. What a treat. Before, I mentioned Liza Donnelly and her cartooning, whimsy but serious sometimes too, plus commentary… I’m feeling so blessed at the variety of what can feed my soul as a retired teacher, an academic, if I’m honest, a nerd if honest, never well schooled in good writing yet over the years, there’s been the need to write and so it’s been what it is. In time, it’s satisfied various needs from legal briefs to third grade classroom newsletters to even crafting comments on Substack when so moved. When the author actually enters the dialogue, as happened with Tom Cleaver, a time or two, I said to my grandson, oh my gosh, I’m starstruck… He’s 18, and we were his guardians…Age 5 he taught himself to dance like Michael Jackson and we eventually became his guardians… He follows social media deeply and the term starstruck resonated. So anyway… I so enjoyed tonight’s piece. Thank you. And I find myself remembering Gordon Jenkins’ incredible Manhattan Tower. Do you know it? My mother used to play it. She loved it. I love it. I believe I have it in CD and also LP. Your piece evokes that ambience, narrative and images. Thank you. I definitely look forward to what’s to come.
Oh, absolutely—Gordon Jenkins! You just unlocked a whole section of my brain where his music plays on a continuous loop. And can I just say, your notes? I loved them. They feel like a perfectly paced phone call—none of that awkward “oops, we talked over each other” stuff, just a delightful back-and-forth with space to think between replies.
Liza Donnelly? A gem. A national treasure. As for political pundits, I’ve streamlined my reading list down to three essentials: TCinLA, Michael Beschloss, and Jeff Tiedrich—sharp, insightful, and never dull. Joyce Vance sneaks in now and then, and Heather Cox Richardson gets the occasional drop-in.
But poets? Poets are everything. And when I’m not deep in verse, I’m with the authors who really get me—Tom Cox, Jodi Taylor, Margaret Atwood. The kind of writers who make you wish you could take them out for coffee and just listen.
Gloria Horton-Young -- She who stirs the storm! (I LOVE that moniker!)
Gloria Horton-Young is a painter with the pen. She is like a Mozart whose everyday experiences seed inspiration in her soul and mind and flow in loving communication to us.
I picture GHY and Crystal-Lee as sophisticates in Manhattan Society. I could picture them at parties, back in a long prior life, with Truman Capote.
Today's piece definitely brings me that atmosphere.
When one thinks, "How do I resist the neo-Fascism?", I feel more powerful in the company of people like GHY, Crystal-Lee, Professor Heather Cox Richardson . . .
It's a beautiful picture you have painted with this post. I've read it multiple times. I am reminded of the importance of being fully present and savoring every moment with loved ones.
Gloria, another beautiful story about two people whose memories you hold so dear. It’s been a long time since I have have had a great tasting Manhattan, and a great steak. But both left my mouth watering with your photo and words.
What fine writing, Gloria. Even for those not personally acquainted with the heights of elegance, sophistication, and connection, or those who might view such privilege with a sense of dismissal or derision, it is indisputable that your powers of description and detail contain magic capable of transport to other worlds and times. Your ability to subtly relate the everchanging relationships of people, time, and place is masterful. Yes, what fine writing!
I've always wanted to go to New York before I died. If I never make it there, I have read your letter tonight, and be satisfied. Wonderful, Gloria,Thank You, Cheer's 🍸🍸
Lillian, it’s so fascinating to me how my life is so intertwined with places that hold such priceless memories. I spend so much of my time in the city recalling the past while making new memories.
Your writing is epicly beautiful. Your Writing what you know , gives the reader a peek in places they never been in reality..but end up knowing quite well.
You did it again—that mind-boggling cinema trick where you effortlessly reach into my supposedly buried memories and pull them into the open, as if it were yesterday. I am flabbergasted time and again because the memories you evoke are so vivid, so alive, like a lucid dream.
The last time I visited New York, the Twin Towers were still standing. I was lucky to afford the $5 ticket to *Der Rosenkavalier* with Luciano Pavarotti at the Met. This New York you write about stirs memories of an even earlier city—the era of the Rockefellers, Gatsby, the Astors, and the Vanderbilts. It was also New York before a major crash. And suddenly, I see myself walking those streets again, hearing the music, feeling the city seep into my skin. Standing for the first time at the Stonewall Inn—no National Park in sight back then—but oh, that mix of culture and history, that undertone of possibility and hope. It all returns as if no time had passed.
Following you from the Carlyle through past places, the matinee, the bar—I traced every location like running a finger over a map. Unfamiliar yet magnetic. I can smell the history, the leather, the long-gone traces of tobacco, wood, and smoke that seem to linger in places like these. The slow curl of cigar smoke swirling into scotch, the swiveling leather stools, the deep, timeworn chairs. The restaurant’s atmosphere—sophisticated, steady—offering a moment to exhale because some things remain, only slightly altered, like the classic section of a menu. Because sometimes, you're not in the mood for experiments. Sometimes, it's about reminiscence, about a particular kind of nostalgia.
That impossibly thin skyscraper still puzzles me. There must be a way to Airbnb an apartment there for a weekend. I hope you had a view over Central Park. Seeing it stretched out in perfect symmetry from such a height must be something.
I hear memory in your words—not as nostalgia, but as presence. Places that don’t just remain but bear witness. The weight of a life measured in banquettes, in scotch glasses with stories on the side, in knowing the right words at the right time. I don’t know the Carlyle, yet I recognize the feeling of a place that refuses to forget, where ghosts don’t vanish—they just shift in the frame.
Thank you, Gloria, for setting the table and letting me listen in.
We are preparing the apartment owned by one of Crystal’s employers for their visit this coming week. One of her duties is to regularly visit his properties and check on them. Each floor is one private dwelling.
That sounds like a job I’d take on the spot! The few test applications I sent in the U.S. last September might have included something similar among other tasks. Wishing you a smooth preparation and a wonderful stay—enjoy!
Well, hello there, wrote to you on TAFM with TC in LA… This is the first post of yours I’ve received in my inbox. Beautiful writing. What a treat. Before, I mentioned Liza Donnelly and her cartooning, whimsy but serious sometimes too, plus commentary… I’m feeling so blessed at the variety of what can feed my soul as a retired teacher, an academic, if I’m honest, a nerd if honest, never well schooled in good writing yet over the years, there’s been the need to write and so it’s been what it is. In time, it’s satisfied various needs from legal briefs to third grade classroom newsletters to even crafting comments on Substack when so moved. When the author actually enters the dialogue, as happened with Tom Cleaver, a time or two, I said to my grandson, oh my gosh, I’m starstruck… He’s 18, and we were his guardians…Age 5 he taught himself to dance like Michael Jackson and we eventually became his guardians… He follows social media deeply and the term starstruck resonated. So anyway… I so enjoyed tonight’s piece. Thank you. And I find myself remembering Gordon Jenkins’ incredible Manhattan Tower. Do you know it? My mother used to play it. She loved it. I love it. I believe I have it in CD and also LP. Your piece evokes that ambience, narrative and images. Thank you. I definitely look forward to what’s to come.
Oh, absolutely—Gordon Jenkins! You just unlocked a whole section of my brain where his music plays on a continuous loop. And can I just say, your notes? I loved them. They feel like a perfectly paced phone call—none of that awkward “oops, we talked over each other” stuff, just a delightful back-and-forth with space to think between replies.
Liza Donnelly? A gem. A national treasure. As for political pundits, I’ve streamlined my reading list down to three essentials: TCinLA, Michael Beschloss, and Jeff Tiedrich—sharp, insightful, and never dull. Joyce Vance sneaks in now and then, and Heather Cox Richardson gets the occasional drop-in.
But poets? Poets are everything. And when I’m not deep in verse, I’m with the authors who really get me—Tom Cox, Jodi Taylor, Margaret Atwood. The kind of writers who make you wish you could take them out for coffee and just listen.
A wonderful tribute to a New York that still goes on, just a different morph to the characters involved.
A little over 40 years ago I was married at the Carlyle and spent the night in the bridal suite.
Alas, my bride has passed but the powers that be have bequeathed me a new love who I shall marry later this year.
The city goes on, the characters just morph within her.
Being married at the Carlyle is a dream come true. So happy you have found a new love. ❤️
Really beautifully written… I can “see” it all in my mind’s eye!
Thank you! 🙏
Sherry Glover: Yes, Indeed.
Gloria Horton-Young -- She who stirs the storm! (I LOVE that moniker!)
Gloria Horton-Young is a painter with the pen. She is like a Mozart whose everyday experiences seed inspiration in her soul and mind and flow in loving communication to us.
I picture GHY and Crystal-Lee as sophisticates in Manhattan Society. I could picture them at parties, back in a long prior life, with Truman Capote.
Today's piece definitely brings me that atmosphere.
When one thinks, "How do I resist the neo-Fascism?", I feel more powerful in the company of people like GHY, Crystal-Lee, Professor Heather Cox Richardson . . .
Armand, it’s magical for me to return there. Thank you for the glowing words!
Gloria Horton-Young -- She who stirs the storm! You are a real poet and a master with the pen.
In today's piece, one has a real experience of being there.
The magic of time, poetry, and poetic-prose narrative.
"SNL turning politicians into punchlines while real politics turns itself into a joke."
Perfect summary of where we find ourselves the day after Valentine's 2025.
Unfortunately, yes. When I wrote that line I felt my heart ache.
It's a beautiful picture you have painted with this post. I've read it multiple times. I am reminded of the importance of being fully present and savoring every moment with loved ones.
Yes, Jerry, I feel the same.
Gloria, another beautiful story about two people whose memories you hold so dear. It’s been a long time since I have have had a great tasting Manhattan, and a great steak. But both left my mouth watering with your photo and words.
Lan, it’s akin to going home again.
I really enjoyed reading this, thanks for sharing your beautiful memories 💐
Thanks for taking the time to read it, Mamacat
What fine writing, Gloria. Even for those not personally acquainted with the heights of elegance, sophistication, and connection, or those who might view such privilege with a sense of dismissal or derision, it is indisputable that your powers of description and detail contain magic capable of transport to other worlds and times. Your ability to subtly relate the everchanging relationships of people, time, and place is masterful. Yes, what fine writing!
Thank you, Leon. Last evening was one of those times I had to write about. To savor and remember.
I've always wanted to go to New York before I died. If I never make it there, I have read your letter tonight, and be satisfied. Wonderful, Gloria,Thank You, Cheer's 🍸🍸
Karen, I hope you can visit someday. It’s a marvel.
A very well written, enjoyable read. Thank you for taking me on your journey…🪷
It’s a pleasure having you take the journey with me.
As a literature professor said to me once , ' ya..you put me there '
A most epic bit of writing..could have read for hours , actually..with your story. Many thanks..
Lillian, it’s so fascinating to me how my life is so intertwined with places that hold such priceless memories. I spend so much of my time in the city recalling the past while making new memories.
Your writing is epicly beautiful. Your Writing what you know , gives the reader a peek in places they never been in reality..but end up knowing quite well.
Your spy excerpts knock me out!! Very enjoyable!.
My spies have been busy rattling around in my head! Their next chapter is almost finished.
Just kind of magical … and I realize that I’ll never have your kind of sophistication and I’ll have muddle through without it.
It brings thoughts of my mother’s love for a good manhattan.
T
T, you have talents I can only dream about.
Besides —- your mother drank Manhattans? That is sophistication, my man.
I never want to be in a world without your writings.Your words make me fulfilled,as if I am actually there.Thank you for sharing your talent with us .
We have our own New York experiences to celebrate!
You did it again—that mind-boggling cinema trick where you effortlessly reach into my supposedly buried memories and pull them into the open, as if it were yesterday. I am flabbergasted time and again because the memories you evoke are so vivid, so alive, like a lucid dream.
The last time I visited New York, the Twin Towers were still standing. I was lucky to afford the $5 ticket to *Der Rosenkavalier* with Luciano Pavarotti at the Met. This New York you write about stirs memories of an even earlier city—the era of the Rockefellers, Gatsby, the Astors, and the Vanderbilts. It was also New York before a major crash. And suddenly, I see myself walking those streets again, hearing the music, feeling the city seep into my skin. Standing for the first time at the Stonewall Inn—no National Park in sight back then—but oh, that mix of culture and history, that undertone of possibility and hope. It all returns as if no time had passed.
Following you from the Carlyle through past places, the matinee, the bar—I traced every location like running a finger over a map. Unfamiliar yet magnetic. I can smell the history, the leather, the long-gone traces of tobacco, wood, and smoke that seem to linger in places like these. The slow curl of cigar smoke swirling into scotch, the swiveling leather stools, the deep, timeworn chairs. The restaurant’s atmosphere—sophisticated, steady—offering a moment to exhale because some things remain, only slightly altered, like the classic section of a menu. Because sometimes, you're not in the mood for experiments. Sometimes, it's about reminiscence, about a particular kind of nostalgia.
That impossibly thin skyscraper still puzzles me. There must be a way to Airbnb an apartment there for a weekend. I hope you had a view over Central Park. Seeing it stretched out in perfect symmetry from such a height must be something.
I hear memory in your words—not as nostalgia, but as presence. Places that don’t just remain but bear witness. The weight of a life measured in banquettes, in scotch glasses with stories on the side, in knowing the right words at the right time. I don’t know the Carlyle, yet I recognize the feeling of a place that refuses to forget, where ghosts don’t vanish—they just shift in the frame.
Thank you, Gloria, for setting the table and letting me listen in.
We are preparing the apartment owned by one of Crystal’s employers for their visit this coming week. One of her duties is to regularly visit his properties and check on them. Each floor is one private dwelling.
Thank you for the lovely reply. ❤️
That sounds like a job I’d take on the spot! The few test applications I sent in the U.S. last September might have included something similar among other tasks. Wishing you a smooth preparation and a wonderful stay—enjoy!
I lift my not so metaphorical manhattan in a toast to you far away.
The images you paint upon the page stir me.
Teyani, thank you for taking this trip down memory lane with me.
Delicious writing...and if I ever get there, I'll be looking for your reflection in the mirror behind the bar; while drinking a Manhattan.
Tell the bartenders “hello” for me.
Thank you for inviting me to visit your memory.
Great line: "... while democracy does its own fragile dance on the edge of tomorrow."
Here's to best of Manhattans. cheers
Thanks, David.