Sauvignon BlancDear Diary: I was on my method to a luncheon with college classmates while checking out New York last fall, and I wanted to choose up a bottle of red wine as a present for the hostess.Approaching my location, I examined my phone for an alcohol shop in the neighborhood and found one not far away.Upon getting in the store, I saw a prominent display screen of a sauvignon blanc from New Zealand that cost $15 a bottle.I explained to the proprietor that I was from Denver, that in Denver dollars the bottle would cost even less and that I wanted to be sure it was an acceptable red wine to provide to the hostess.He cut me off. We desired ice cream, however we were college trainees on tight budget plans and had actually already invested what we had on the pizza.We ducked into a Haagen-Dazs shop, where, it turned out, the employees had not had lunch yet.A couple of minutes later, they were dining on pizza, and my pals and I were back on the street, each with our own scoop of ice cream.– Mike FaberAwningsDear Diary: About a years after my household moved from New York to California, my mom and I traveled back to the city in August for my 10th birthday.We went to a beauty parlor that mother utilized to love and got horrible hairstyles.” All you need is an awning,” she said.We took off running up the street, stopping to catch our breath under each overhang, crashing and laughing into one another till we made it back to the home where we were staying. We hung our damp clothes on the backs of chairs and sat down in towels to share a Diet Coke.Twelve years later, I was back in New York for college.
Sauvignon BlancDear Diary: I was on my method to a luncheon with college classmates while checking out New York last fall, and I wanted to select up a bottle of wine as a gift for the hostess.Approaching my destination, I examined my phone for a liquor store in the community and found one not far away.Upon entering the store, I saw a popular display of a sauvignon blanc from New Zealand that cost $15 a bottle.I described to the owner that I was from Denver, that in Denver dollars the bottle would cost even less which I wished to make certain it was an acceptable red wine to present to the hostess.He cut me off.” Yes,” he said. “Youll be invited back.”– Camille BradfordJackson Heights Country ClubDear Diary: The Jackson Heights Pool and Country Club.It might sound agrarian, but in truth, it was 3 concrete pools, a cement handball wall and 3 asphalt tennis courts under La Guardia Airports strobe-lit landing path.To us, it was the Garden of Eden, from when it opened in 1961 to its death in the late 80s. Night swimming on Wednesdays, outdoor movie Fridays and, always, the Saturday Night Show & & Dance.I was fortunate to be a member as a teen and to have worked there throughout my teenage years. My fondest memories included assisting my grandpa, who was the gardener.There was very little to do when the only turf to tend was a green clump near the wading pool that may have measured 10 feet by 20 feet. My grandfathers quixotic concept was to cover the tall metal fencing that surrounded the location with ivy for personal privacy.” Never occur, Grandpa,” I said as we chiseled into the tough dirt and rock to plant the seedlings.” Youll see, Jimmy young boy,” he said. “Give it time and love. Keep shoveling.” Within a few years, my co-workers and I were standing on extension ladders and hacking away at the thick vines. Tennis gamers were grumbling since balls kept getting lost in the thick wall of ivy.I visited my grandfathers serious numerous years earlier, and then drove by where the club had been. What was when a summer playground for thousands was now the Korean Church of Queens and a parking lot.There was no trace of all those sunburned faces, of Frank inspecting passes at the door or of the mahjong players up on the roofing system deck.Yet on the corner of the home, framing the churchs brick signage, there was one residue of the past: some of my grandpas ivy.– Jim RoccoCool CoincidenceDear Diary: It was a slightly hotter-than-normal day in the summer season of 1980. Three buddies and I were strolling up Columbus Avenue with four remaining slices of pizza (pepperoni, as I remember). We desired ice cream, however we were college students on tight spending plans and had already spent what we had on the pizza.We ducked into a Haagen-Dazs store, where, it ended up, the employees hadnt had lunch yet.A couple of minutes later, they were dining on pizza, and my friends and I were back on the street, each with our own scoop of ice cream.– Mike FaberAwningsDear Diary: About a years after my household moved from New York to California, my mom and I took a trip back to the city in August for my 10th birthday.We went to a beauty salon that mom used to love and got awful haircuts. Tony no longer had the touch, apparently.After leaving the salon, my mom looked at her reflection in the window of a shop that stood where a preferred coffee bar of hers had actually been.” Things alter,” she stated. “Cest la vie.” It began to rain– the sort of rain that is so instant and extreme it seems like someone turned a switch.Luckily for us, we were on the Upper East Side and every structure had an awning stretching long and wide to the sidewalks edge.My mom looked at me and smiled.” All you need is an awning,” she said.We removed running up the street, stopping to capture our breath under each overhang, chuckling and crashing into one another till we made it back to the home where we were remaining. We hung our wet clothes on the backs of chairs and took a seat in towels to share a Diet Coke.Twelve years later on, I was back in New York for college. One August early morning, in his mothers home on Madison Avenue, the love of my life broke my heart. I sobbed in his youth bedroom.After leaving, I strolled up the street. The air was so thick I felt like I was swimming. The switch flipped, and the rain came down heavy and hot. In seconds, I was soaked.I indulged in the drama of the minute, crumpling. Individuals handed down my left and right.And then, there it was: an awning.And another.And another.– Zoe KurlandThe 5 BoroughsDear Diary: I was from the Bronx. He was from Queens.We satisfied in Brooklyn, married and have actually resided in Manhattan for 40 years.Weve been to Staten Island twice: for one of our now-adult childs high school baseball games and for the funeral of our sister-in-laws father.When we require to get out of the city, we head to Montauk.This is our world.You can have the rest.– Lorraine Duffy MerklRead all recent entries and our submissions guidelines. Reach us by means of e-mail email@example.com or follow @NYTMetro on Twitter.Illustrations by Agnes Lee