Found Money
Dear Diary:
Ever since I was little, I have believed that found money is lucky. Whether it’s a stray bill, an uncommon silver coin or a common copper penny, they’re all good for a wish — like an evening star or a new moon.
When my wife and I moved from Los Angeles to Manhattan in 1981, one of the newfound joys of city life was walking every day from our apartment on the Upper West Side through Central Park, and then down Sixth Avenue to my office at 46th Street.
Once in a while I would catch the subway at 72nd Street and Central Park West, change at Columbus Circle and then magically — to me, at least — pop out from the south end of the Rockefeller Center station at the foot of my office building.
Once, as I came up the stairs to street level, I spied a shining Lincoln head on the penultimate step. I paused to pick it up, being careful not to impede either the people coming up behind me or those who were heading down into the station.
As I plucked the penny off the ground, a man on his way down the stairs spoke without breaking stride.
“Hey,” he said. “ I saw one of those at 125th Street. If you hurry you can probably get that one, too.”
— Christopher Fryer
Shoveling
Dear Diary:
It was a chilly winter day. I had taken my baby for a walk in spite of the huge piles of dirty snow that a recent blizzard had left behind.
At one point, we waited more than 10 minutes to cross the street because cars were moving so slowly through the slush and I was worried about crossing the icy pavement while carrying my infant son.
A man who was shoveling snow in front of his house watched us standing there freezing in the cold. Suddenly, he put down his shovel, got into his car, started it up and backed out of his driveway, blocking traffic in both directions.
He motioned for me to cross. I did, gratefully.
After I reached the other side of the street, the man pulled back into his driveway, turned off the car, got out and resumed shoveling.
When I thanked him, he just shrugged.
— Catherine Burns
Salsa Night at the Museum
Dear Diary:
I had been living in Brooklyn for a few months and I hadn’t made many new friends yet. I decided to go to a salsa party the Brooklyn Museum of Art was hosting on a cold February night.
I was feeling tired on my way home after what had been a long day at work, but I resolved to go on with my plan. Admission was free that night and I hadn’t been to the museum before, so I dragged myself there to at least see it even if didn’t end up dancing.
When I arrived, the lobby was full of swirling bodies moving to the music. I stepped away from the commotion to take in a statue.
An older woman approached and was admiring the statue as well. She had a strong Brooklyn accent and a bad knee. She said she was upset that she couldn’t dance, but she also wanted to take the opportunity to browse the museum at no charge.
She and I spent the next couple of hours walking around the museum together, swapping stories, observing art and listening to the music. She told me how much she had seen Brooklyn change since her childhood.
It was only right before we left that we exchanged names. We never exchanged contact information. But we had a nice time and I left the museum feeling warm, fulfilled and uplifted.
Thanks for a lovely evening, Rochelle.
— Natasha Paulmeno
New Member
Dear Diary:
It was the end of my workday and I was headed home to Brooklyn from Lower Manhattan.
Transferring to the F train midway through my commute, I found a place to stand and took out my book. As I did, I noticed that two people to my left and one to my right were also reading books, not phones or e-readers. Four strangers, standing in a row, noses buried in books — imagine that.
Another rider noticed as well. She looked at each of us with our books. Then in one swift movement, she shoved her phone into her bag and pulled out a book of her own. She proceeded to open it triumphantly.
She had joined the club.
— Ashley Semrick
On Ninth Avenue
Dear Diary:
It was springtime and I was walking south on Ninth Avenue in search of a dinner spot with some relatives who were in the city from out of town.
Stopping at a light somewhere in the 50s, we saw a horse and carriage pull up at the intersection heading east.
The woman at the reins looked down at us from her perch. She was holding $5.
“Can you go in there and grab some carrots for my horse?” she said. “They’re right on the counter.”
“Sure,” I said.
The people in the store seemed to know the drill, and just after I returned with the carrots, the light changed and we were all on our way.
— Julia Wilson
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