Nancy Ruhling's Astoria Characters

Every day begins with an organic green smoothie. Kelly Bennett tosses some baby lettuce, kale, blueberries, a whole banana and half a pear into the mighty jaws of the Vitamix, which jackhammers them into juice. As she pours the mixture into a glass jar, Kelly, a self-styled eco-urban dweller, positive thinker and lover of almond lattes and fresh-cut flowers, explains that she doesn’t drink every meal. She’s vegan, working on becoming raw vegan, but she does eat plants that aren’t…

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Don’t let the rocking chair fool you. Sure, Norm Sherman is sitting in it shoeless, but he has no real need of rest or relaxation. A gregarious grandpa with a beard, he’s been working hard ever since he was 5, and at 76, he views his retirement as his final job, an important one he gives virtually all his time and energy to. Seventeen years into his so-called non-working career, he has the rigorous routine down pat. What with running seniors programs at the North Queensview Homes and…

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Giuseppe Falco pulls a chair up to the table and pours himself a cup of coffee. Pachanga Patterson, his Mexican restaurant with a New York accent, doesn’t open until evening, but his day starts at 10 a.m., and he’ll be around until at least 8. So the coffee, black as ink, is a necessity. His parents, immigrants from Sciacca, Italy, always told him that if he worked hard, he could have anything he wanted. He’s proof that they were right: Pachanga is Giuseppe’s second restaurant.…

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I live in what people in the neighborhood call one of the “big houses.” The lot is only 20 by 100, which, by Astoria standards, is an average size. It looks big because it is set back from the street, separated from the sidewalk by a terraced lawn that steps up like a tiered wedding cake. And it has a front porch whose weighty head is held high by a quartet of big, white Colonial columns. I’ve heard it said that these “big houses,” which line Ditmars Boulevard from…

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The carrot-coconut-apple bread, just out of the oven, is cooling on a wire rack as Claudia Lieto-McKenna readies her boys for 9 o’clock mass. She hands a couple of slices to 13-year-old Tristan and eight-year-old Luca while her husband, Nigel, urges them to get a move on. Just as she always does, Claudia’s made a double batch of the sweet-smelling bread that she insists tastes better with butter. What her family doesn’t devour, she’ll hand out to friends and neighbors. She’s…

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