This is too a blog

I had taken a break from teaching and was in the habit of walking to the temp job I had in the file room at SEIU Local 32BJ. Somewhere along Grand Street I noticed a plane flying really really low. Thinking it was probably just my faulty depth perception, I decided to duck into a shop for tea. It being SoHo, and my being an impecunious temp, I came out of the shop without anything.

When I made it down to Canal Street I could see that I’d been right about the plane, and that it had smashed through one of the towers. A horrible accident.

I went into work a bit dazed. All we did was talk about the horrible accident.

Until the second plane hit. At this point, perhaps in my innocent optimism, I was still thinking that maybe it was just that the air traffic controllers at Kennedy were asleep. Luckily, other people at the office were more alert and we all got out of Lower Manhattan.

The subways were closed, as was the Brooklyn Bridge. Feeling trapped on the island, I remember the rest of the day in snippets:

Running to the East Village with a bunch of people from work.

Trying to get someone on the phone.

Finally getting through to my grandmother, who said “These things happen.”

Meeting friends of friends in the West Village and having lunch together at a restaurant that had stayed openn to preserve some feeling of normalcy.

Finally walking home over the Manhattan Bridge with a group of people I’d never met before.

Walking around Carroll Gardens at night with friends, surrounded by charred paper and smoke.

Somehow getting to sleep.

One of the oldest wine shops in New York state is right here in Carroll Gardens, and with all the fancy new stores opening up around the neighborhood I forgot about Scotto’s for a while. But no more.

In no particular order, reasons I love Scotto’s

1. They carry Aperol to make this tasty drink.

2. It’s the perfect size: not so small as to feel boutique-y, not so big as to make your head swim before you drink your wine.

3. Everyone who works there is really nice and helpful, and will give you thoughtful suggestions if you’re looking for a wine to match your meal.

Go there now and stock up fpr Labor Day Weekend!
318 Court Street (between Sackett/Degraw Streets)
Brooklyn, NY 11231

Early Sunday mornings are the best. It’s sunny today and slightly less arctic than yesterday. This, coupled with the fact that Daltron has to leave early for a Sunday class, made leaving the house a reality today. (I like to dream big).

I did my usual Sunday Times perusal on the recumbent bike (no exercise feels lazier: the huge seat is padded and softer than our couch. It has armrests for God’s sake!), shopping at what is now the closest grocery store to us, did a little Sabbath banking, and then headed home past Scotto Funeral Home. I always try to keep up with who’s passed on in the neighborhood. Today it was Grace Kiley. Not sure who she was, but maybe this is a clue. The ad is curiously absent in this week’s issue of Seven Days

My grandfather always reminds me, when the subject of boiling vegetables comes up (which, between him and me, is not infrequent) not to throw away the resulting liquid. Never throw it away. It conains whatever vitamins have seeped out of the greens, and should not be dispensed with when the vegetables are cooked.

My father is equally adament on the subject, only while my grandfather prefers to sip a steaming mug of pot liquor, my father likes to cook pasta or rice in it. Same theory - it’s a crime to waste all those nutrients.

I succeeded in locating some broccoli rabe at a tiny vegetable store on Court Street just beyond Atlantic. I’d gotten used to being able to get it at the recently- defunct (soon to be a CVS) Key Food where my grandmother always shopped, but since it closed I haven’t had any luck.

I walked into the tiny vegetable store today on a whim, having grown used to striking out in my foraging for the green. I got the next to last bunch, along with a $2 box of blueberries (all the berries I’ve seen lately require a mortgage to purchase). Afterwards, I thought about the changes wrought on the neighborhood (Carroll Gardens) over my lifetime so far. Not the bigger ones, but the shoe gazer’s-view details.

I was relieved to see that the orange tree that has grown in its store-window micro-climate accross the street from The Cobble Hill Cinemas is, for now at least, still there.