Author: ruhlwrite

It came about, when Edith O’Donnell was in her late 40s, that she found herself without a husband and without a job. And with two daughters to put through college. Most people would panic, whine or curse. Not Edith. She simply squared her small-boned shoulders, pulled herself up to her full flat-heel height of 5-foot-4 and got down to the business of reinventing herself. In short order, she had co-founded Lyons, the friendliest mortgage and insurance services company in Astoria. “It’s…

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“Clothing is like art,” says Kristie Foster. “It’s to admire.” The statuesque Kristie, does, indeed, look like a gallery work. She’s clad in a two-layer shirt dress, deep iris purple over light lavender, that makes her Tiffany-blue eyes pop like spring crocuses. Her neck is decorated with a long, flowing vintage scarf that features dancing angels that accent her short, highlighted blond hair. Her retro-style spectator shoes, in cream, complement the white leather…

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Helen Polychronis comes to the front door carrying a tin coffee pot, the kind that would have been bright-shiny-new a half century ago. It’s filled with water. “Excuse me, I have to go save a dying gardenia,” she says as she shuffles to the garden. Walking isn’t too easy, even without the can throwing her off balance: Helen’s left leg is an inch shorter than her right, and she wears a brace. She’s not using her cane today. Back inside, she surveys the living room.…

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In the back of Hellgate on the Park, virtually hidden behind the bar and the hanging baskets planted with plastic flowers, there are only a handful of tables. It’s a good thing there aren’t more because Emilio Pino is always the only guy in the kitchen. Hellgate is Astoria’s Cheers, so it seems a bit pretentious to call Emilio the chef. Cook doesn’t sound quite right either. Let’s just say that he fixes the food. Lasagna. Manicotti. Ravioli. And meatballs, oh the meatballs,…

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The sky’s weeping like a new widow, and Waterflow‘s listening to the soft, steady heartbeat of the whispering rain. There’s a leak in the lobby of the Long Island City Art Center, where the up-and-coming rapper/hip-hop artist has his recording studio, and the water’s followed him, forming a shiny circle around his storm-cloud grey and black sneakers. “Rain is wonderful,” says Waterflow, a big, broad boy of a man with bright black eyes. “All my life, I’ve…

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