This article is from the source 'nytimes' and was first published or seen on . It last changed over 40 days ago and won't be checked again for changes.

You can find the current article at its original source at https://www.nytimes.com/2018/11/19/nyregion/metropolitan-diary.html

The article has changed 2 times. There is an RSS feed of changes available.

Version 0 Version 1
‘Somewhere Along Fifth Avenue, I Began to Feel My Shoes Rubbing Against My Feet’ ‘Somewhere Along Fifth Avenue, I Began to Feel My Shoes Rubbing Against My Feet’
(about 1 hour later)
[What you need to know to start your day: Get New York Today in your inbox.]
Dear Diary:Dear Diary:
It was a beautiful October afternoon, and I was walking from 50th Street and Fifth Avenue to my apartment on 80th Street and First Avenue. Although it was still warm out, I had put my sandals away for the first time in months and was wearing closed-toe shoes.It was a beautiful October afternoon, and I was walking from 50th Street and Fifth Avenue to my apartment on 80th Street and First Avenue. Although it was still warm out, I had put my sandals away for the first time in months and was wearing closed-toe shoes.
Somewhere along Fifth Avenue, I began to feel my shoes rubbing against my feet. By the time I got to 79th Street, I couldn’t take another step. I decided to stop walking and take the crosstown bus instead.Somewhere along Fifth Avenue, I began to feel my shoes rubbing against my feet. By the time I got to 79th Street, I couldn’t take another step. I decided to stop walking and take the crosstown bus instead.
As I waited for the bus, I pulled my feet out of my shoes slightly, crushing them in the back in the process.As I waited for the bus, I pulled my feet out of my shoes slightly, crushing them in the back in the process.
Just then, a woman walked toward me. She was very nicely, and expensively, put together. Her clothes and shoes were stylish, and she had a Hermès bag.Just then, a woman walked toward me. She was very nicely, and expensively, put together. Her clothes and shoes were stylish, and she had a Hermès bag.
As she got near me, she stopped.As she got near me, she stopped.
“Need a Band-aid?” she asked.“Need a Band-aid?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said, gratefully.“Yes,” I said, gratefully.
She reached into her bag, handed me a Band-Aid and continued on her way.She reached into her bag, handed me a Band-Aid and continued on her way.
— Marjorie Berrent— Marjorie Berrent
Dear Diary:Dear Diary:
I took a bus from Framingham, Mass., to Manhattan. When I got off, my plan was to walk the 15 blocks home. But it was chilly and even though my suitcase was on wheels and my guitar was in a canvas gig bag, I raised my hand when I saw a taxi after I had walked five blocks.I took a bus from Framingham, Mass., to Manhattan. When I got off, my plan was to walk the 15 blocks home. But it was chilly and even though my suitcase was on wheels and my guitar was in a canvas gig bag, I raised my hand when I saw a taxi after I had walked five blocks.
The driver stopped, got out and put my suitcase and guitar in the trunk. I got in the back seat. I apologized for it being such short ride, but said that I was tired and cold.The driver stopped, got out and put my suitcase and guitar in the trunk. I got in the back seat. I apologized for it being such short ride, but said that I was tired and cold.
I thought the driver was Spanish so I tried speaking a few words to him that I remembered from high school. He turned and told me he was from Bangladesh. I told him I was a granddaughter of immigrants myself, and I asked if he had any children.I thought the driver was Spanish so I tried speaking a few words to him that I remembered from high school. He turned and told me he was from Bangladesh. I told him I was a granddaughter of immigrants myself, and I asked if he had any children.
“No,” he said. He paused, and then added: “But my wife is four months pregnant.”“No,” he said. He paused, and then added: “But my wife is four months pregnant.”
I congratulated him, and then, without prompting, he continued.I congratulated him, and then, without prompting, he continued.
“We are going to have triplets,” he said. “It’s very unusual, yes, and no one knows. We don’t want to tell our families yet — they will worry. We are not going to say anything until the time is much closer. Nobody knows.”“We are going to have triplets,” he said. “It’s very unusual, yes, and no one knows. We don’t want to tell our families yet — they will worry. We are not going to say anything until the time is much closer. Nobody knows.”
I asked him why, if no one else knew, he had told me.I asked him why, if no one else knew, he had told me.
He looked at me in the rear view mirror.He looked at me in the rear view mirror.
“I guess I’m very nervous about it,” he said. “The doctors say everything is perfect. Each tiny baby is perfectly placed, and my wife is healthy. But keeping this secret from everyone is not easy.”“I guess I’m very nervous about it,” he said. “The doctors say everything is perfect. Each tiny baby is perfectly placed, and my wife is healthy. But keeping this secret from everyone is not easy.”
Not for me, either, knowing there’s a cabdriver out there who’s going to be a first-time father of triplets in a few months.Not for me, either, knowing there’s a cabdriver out there who’s going to be a first-time father of triplets in a few months.
Please drive carefully.Please drive carefully.
— Christine Lavin— Christine Lavin
Dear Diary:Dear Diary:
You know you’re a bona fide New Yorker when the waitress at Veselka and the waiter at Barney Greengrass both remember what you ordered the last time you were there.You know you’re a bona fide New Yorker when the waitress at Veselka and the waiter at Barney Greengrass both remember what you ordered the last time you were there.
— Amy Goldman— Amy Goldman
Dear Diary:Dear Diary:
My boyfriend and I were walking home after our nightly stroll around Domino Park in Brooklyn. As we came to an empty street corner, what seemed like hundreds of pale pink rose petals began to rain down on us from above.My boyfriend and I were walking home after our nightly stroll around Domino Park in Brooklyn. As we came to an empty street corner, what seemed like hundreds of pale pink rose petals began to rain down on us from above.
“Hello?” we said, looking skyward.“Hello?” we said, looking skyward.
No response.No response.
We thought maybe there was a rose bush on a rooftop that had caught the wind.We thought maybe there was a rose bush on a rooftop that had caught the wind.
But then, a small voice called out, “Hi.”But then, a small voice called out, “Hi.”
We looked up again and could see a pair of beady black eyes just over the edge of the roof framed by long witchy hair in a color that blended in with the night sky.We looked up again and could see a pair of beady black eyes just over the edge of the roof framed by long witchy hair in a color that blended in with the night sky.
“Thank you,” we said.“Thank you,” we said.
The eyes vanished, the voice went quiet and the rose petals continued to fall.The eyes vanished, the voice went quiet and the rose petals continued to fall.
— Cassie Archdeacon— Cassie Archdeacon
Dear Diary:Dear Diary:
My father was an owner of the original Frankie & Johnnie’s, the well-known steakhouse on 45th Street and Eighth Avenue. His father had owned it before him. My father sometimes took me with him to the restaurant while he greeted and sat customers.My father was an owner of the original Frankie & Johnnie’s, the well-known steakhouse on 45th Street and Eighth Avenue. His father had owned it before him. My father sometimes took me with him to the restaurant while he greeted and sat customers.
One night in 1960, when I was 10 and spending an evening there, Henry Fonda was sitting at a corner table. My dad gave me the O.K. to ask him for an autograph.One night in 1960, when I was 10 and spending an evening there, Henry Fonda was sitting at a corner table. My dad gave me the O.K. to ask him for an autograph.
I was a chubby little boy with glasses, and I timidly tapped Mr. Fonda on the shoulder and stammered my request. He graciously signed a menu for me.I was a chubby little boy with glasses, and I timidly tapped Mr. Fonda on the shoulder and stammered my request. He graciously signed a menu for me.
My father wanted to pass Frankie & Johnnie’s on to me when I came of age, but, against his wishes, I wanted to be an actor. So some years later he reluctantly sold the place and it left our family for good.My father wanted to pass Frankie & Johnnie’s on to me when I came of age, but, against his wishes, I wanted to be an actor. So some years later he reluctantly sold the place and it left our family for good.
I struggled as an actor for a long time, but eventually I found my footing. And my father could not have been happier.I struggled as an actor for a long time, but eventually I found my footing. And my father could not have been happier.
In 2007, I was performing in David Mamet’s “November” at the Ethyl Barrymore Theater. One night I was having dinner at the new Frankie & Johnnie’s when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see a chubby little boy with glasses holding a pen.In 2007, I was performing in David Mamet’s “November” at the Ethyl Barrymore Theater. One night I was having dinner at the new Frankie & Johnnie’s when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see a chubby little boy with glasses holding a pen.
He wanted my autograph.He wanted my autograph.
— Ethan Phillips— Ethan Phillips
Read all recent entries and our submissions guidelines. Reach us via email diary@nytimes.com or follow @NYTMetro on Twitter.Read all recent entries and our submissions guidelines. Reach us via email diary@nytimes.com or follow @NYTMetro on Twitter.
Illustrations by Agnes LeeIllustrations by Agnes Lee