In 1955, when I was 8, for reasons that I cannot fathom to this day, Auntie selected me to take to New York (the mystery of my selection had an air of something sacred and mystical to me). We took the train to Grand Central and stayed in a slightly shabby grand hotel named after a president (Taft? who cares). That night Auntie and I went to see "Damn Yankees" with Gwen Verdon and Ray Walston. I floated on air. I felt as if no one had ever gotten to go to a Broadway show with their beloved Auntie before - I was surely the Chosen One. Later she bought me the album and I learned every song and can sing them to this day. In 1998, to recognize this immense mitzvah, I took Auntie to NY to see Pavarotti sing Tosca at the Met (Broadway musicals had been superseded by a shared love of opera). I bought a signed picture of him and had it sent up from the desk saying, "Patti, mi amore, meet me after the show, dolci bace, Lucchie" We looked at each other with a deep, helpless love that had little to do with Auntie-Niece love; rather the sharing of love of NY and music, just the same as 1955. This year I took my little granddaughter to NYC on the train (Penn Station) to stay in a hotel (not named after a president) but it was exactly the same: absolutely thrilling for both of us. Thank you for teaching me to do that, Auntie.