After a lovely dinner with my son at Pizza Classica in Forest Hills, my husband and I decided to walk to Banter Irish Bar. We were in the mood for a Guinness, and the Mets and Yankees were playing. It was a good excuse to teach my British hubby the finer points of America’s favorite…
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My husband and I practically crawl up the steps of the subway station, huffing and puffing. It’s a hot, muggy day. A few feet away, a young, homeless man sits on the sidewalk with a sign I can’t make out. What I can see, however, is the look of absolute pleasure on his face as…
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There’s nothing quite like visiting neighborhoods that were old stomping grounds before I moved out to the ‘burbs to start a family. A couple of years ago, I became a personal tour guide for my new husband, an Englishman. I’ll never forget exiting the West 4th subway station in Greenwich Village. The basketball courts were…
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A young father holds a little boy on his lap. The boy’s arms are wrapped around his dad’s neck, the smooth skin of his face nuzzled against a stubbly cheek. In one hand, he holds a neon green car. The scab on his knee suggests there may have been tears a few days back. Now,…
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