‘He Accidentally Smashed the Bottle of Wine He Was Opening’

https://www.nytimes.com/2019/12/22/nyregion/metropolitan-diary.html

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Dear Diary:

It was 2004, and I was a dance student at Juilliard. Shopping in a clothing store on West 72nd Street one afternoon, I made eye contact with a handsome young clerk. He slipped a paper receipt into my hand as I left.

“There is something wonderful about you,” it said. He had also written his name and number.

I learned that he was a singer-songwriter. We met at Union Square Park the following Saturday. There was a jazz quartet busking there. The drummer was someone I knew, and I said hello as I passed by.

My date and I hailed a cab to Central Park. Near Bethesda Fountain, he accidentally smashed the bottle of wine he was opening for us to share. We hugged when we parted.

A couple of days later, I ran into him in the tunnel that connects the Sixth Avenue L stop to the IRT lines.

“I’ll call you!” he said.

He never did. But the drummer from the park has been my partner for the past 12 years.

— Laura Mead

Dear Diary:

A woman on her phone is giving directions to someone on the other end of the call.

“I’m on 57th Street, between Fifth & Madison.”

Pause.

“The Chanel side.”

— Nancy Turner

Dear Diary:

I was at the Union Square Greenmarket one Saturday when I was drawn to some radiantly green vegetable leaves. I had never seen anything like them.

I was behind the table where they were piled up, so I couldn’t see a tag that might tell me what this marvelous discovery was called. It took some time for the crowd of shoppers to thin out enough for me to circle around.

The leaves weren’t being sold on their own, it turned out. They were attached to bunches of beets. I don’t like beets, but I decided to buy some anyway. I had to have those greens.

Just then, a woman reached for the bunch at the top of the pile, the one I had wanted to take.

“Excuse me,” I said. “Do you eat the greens of the beets too?”

“Oh, no,” she said.

“Could I split the cost of that bunch with you?” I asked. “I only want the leaves.”

“Ah!” she said, smiling. “Good idea. Less waste.”

The vendor twisted the stems to separate the beets from the leaves. The woman and I each got the part we wanted for half the $3.50 price of the bunch.

For my first serving, I poached the greens in a tiny bit of water for a few minutes. After that, I developed a permanent craving.

Now, I go early to the market early on Saturdays. I stand next to the table where the beets are piled high. It doesn’t take more than a minute or two for the right person to come by to split the cost of a bunch.

— Teresa Hommel

Dear Diary:

It was sometime in the 1990s. I was on the F train during the morning rush. We were around Bergen Street or Carroll.

The train operator was admonishing passengers to pull in their bags, use all available doors or wait for the next train.

Finally, exasperated, she sighed and slid into a gorgeous, smooth-jazz radio D.J. voice.

”Y’all do what you want,” she said. “I’m already at work.”

— Alyssa Goldberg

Dear Diary:

I used to go to the Met on Tuesdays to escape my thoughts. My favorite section of the museum was where all the period rooms were setup.

I don’t recall the actual names of the rooms. I just walked around without a map. There were American Colonial rooms and French salons. I loved stepping into each one to feel as if I had traveled somewhere in space and time.

On one afternoon, I seemed to be the only one in that part of the museum except for two security guards I could see hovering on the periphery. They seemed so young to be guards, or maybe it was that the boxy jackets they were wearing didn’t suit them.

I stepped into the Versailles room. It was my first time there. It is quite a large space with a raised oval platform in the center surrounded by a mural of the palace and gardens.

I stood at the center of the platform and looked around. There was no sound, just me in the gardens of Versailles.

After taking it in, I stepped down to view the mural up close. I was quietly paying attention to various details of the painting when I heard something.

Whoosh! Step! Step! Whoosh!

I turned to see the two guards. They had run up either side of the center platform. They met in the middle, kissed quickly and then immediately turned to run back in opposite directions back to their posts by the doors.

Then it was quiet again, just me in Versailles.

— Jane Hogan

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Illustrations by Agnes Lee