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CITY —a notebook excerpt By Enid Dame I think of NYC. I came here at 24 and fell in love with the place. Of course my father was a native New Yorker, so it always seemed magical to me. I loved the energy, the different people, the different languages & food & music; the parks where old men played chess, the cofee houses, the basketball games going on in tiny parks, the stores that sold goods from all over the world, the tiny restaurant run by an aged couple that only served one dish each day—just like eating in someone's home—the Italian bakery with a cat in the wondow. I loved the combination of modern up to date fast moving experiences, such as the subways and the new apartment bildings and the grand movie houses—3rd Ave and the old fashioned nooks and crannies, the neighborhoods like the Lower East Side & Little Italy where people still live as their relatives did in Europe. I hope those small low tech, highly individualized places can still exist in the 21st cent. It would be a great loss if the city were one great high–rise and all the stores were the chains. 1 live in Brooklyn which still maintains its quirky diversity. (We are indebted to Enid's friend Shirley R. Gellis for selecting and transcribing the above ) ______________________________________________ Tom Keough

REHAB ROMANCE    BY Robert Roth Teresa at 102 lives alone. She says people come by to look in on her. She is very self-sufficient. She works at the senior center where she walks to everyday by herself. She was in the rehab center because her leg was broken. She was visited by an array of people, the super's son and his girlfriend among the most affectionate.           "How's my girl," she said to my mother as she dramatically pulled back the curtain separating their beds.           Her eyes always sparkled.           My mother, who had just turned 90, insisted that Teresa was having an affair with one of the aids. "She can do better than that. She's too good for her," my mother said. "That nurse is too rough and she is probably prowling the hallways looking for a doctor to marry."           And my God who would believe it. Just then the aid, a woman of about 35, came into the room. Teresa bolted upright in her bed and the two women, faces glowing, started throwing kisses back and forth at each other.           "We should write a book together called Romances in the Rehab Center," I said. "Rehab Romances would be a better title," my mother answered. _____________________________________