METROPOLITAN DIARY

Strawberry Spill
Dear Diary:

I was biking across West 15th Street on my way home from the Union Square Greenmarket. I had a flat of ripe strawberries attached to the back of my bike with a bungee cord.

I was planning to make strawberry conserve for everyone who had helped me through my recent chemotherapy.

I didn’t notice the pothole until it was too late. Strawberries went flying, and I ran into the street to retrieve them.

The driver of a black S.U.V. behind me also hit the brakes, blocking traffic as I gathered up my errant berries. Then my bike tipped over, and quarts of strawberries sprayed across the pavement.

As I grabbed my helmet, a woman on the sidewalk offered to hold my bike steady while I scooped up the berries. She couldn’t stay long, she explained, because she was waiting for an air-conditioner to be delivered.

Just then, the air-conditioner man got out of his van on the other side of the street and came over to help. The S.U.V. driver continued to block traffic until all the berries were back in their boxes.

I thanked my strawberry Samaritans profusely and pedaled home, where I washed the berries and made eight cups of jam.

— Catherine Fredman

Stooping
Dear Diary:

I was doing that thing my husband hates: inspecting trash left on the curb. It’s amazing what New Yorkers throw away. This form of treasure hunting, known as stooping, brings me joy.

It’s good for the planet, saves me money and encourages me to walk. And when I no longer need what I picked up, I can return it to the street without an ounce of regret.

Over the years, I’ve acquired many cherished possessions, some practical, others functional, in unintended ways. One piece, an Italian-made floor lamp in our living room, is literally a fixture in our lives.

On this particular day, I spotted a metal-and-glass shelving unit in perfect condition in front of a building on West 16th Street. I was running late for a doctor’s appointment, so I kept walking.

When I got to the doctor’s office, I daydreamed about the unit. It could be a bookshelf, a makeshift pantry, a display for my daughter’s Play-Doh sculptures.

Returning along the same route, I saw the unit was still sitting there.

Take me home, it beckoned. So I did.

No one batted an eye as I navigated it down the steps at the 23rd Street station.

After getting off at 81st Street, I stopped briefly at the bottom of the staircase before hoisting it up, resting it on my back and climbing the steps.

When I was halfway up, a woman paused to watch me climb.

“You are my inspiration!” she yelled before continuing down and disappearing into the station below. “Keep going, girl!”

She did not see the smile her words left on my face — or the resolve they instilled in me to complete my journey home.

— Lia Buffa De Feo

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/04/21/nyregion/metropolitan-diary.html