I’d be hard-pressed to recall a dull moment growing up in Mom’s world, always full of surprises. Some welcome. Some, not so much. She kept herself and us busy. In between her shopping marathons and our various odds jobs, she took us on kid-friendly cultural jaunts in New York City, thirty minutes or thirty hours away depending on traffic. We’d visit Radio City Music Hall to see the latest Disney film and behold the Rockettes’ toes, in unison, pointing to the sky. Or we’d take in a Broadway play, hop on the ferry to the Statue of Liberty, or cruise around Manhattan on the Circle Line. At the 1964 World’s Fair, I saw a “Jetson’s-style” future and heard for the first time but certainly not the last, “It’s A Small World After All.” And I have yet to get that damn song out of my head.