I attended an unforgettable interview at the 92^nd Street Y this week. The glow of witnessing a lively and extraordinary conversation between two astonishing people—Doris Kearns Goodwin and David Rubenstein—continued to exhilarate and warm me on the bus ride home. The talk and ride were the best of New York, confirming, yet again, why I love living here.

Rubenstein didn’t let the conversation lag on any topic, nudging Doris off one and on to another memory time and again. She wasn’t the slightest bit flustered easily jumping back and forth to answer each question with heart stopping recall of fascinating incidents. She shared firsthand insights with dates and events/turning points of the 1960s—the focus of her new book, “An Unfinished Love Story: A Personal History of the 1960s.” And she was funny. She told us that this book wasn’t her fattest and that a reader told her that she’d fallen asleep reading one of the others and that “it was so heavy it broke my nose.”

According to the Y’s program director, David, lawyer, businessman, [founder/co-owner of the private equity firm Carlyle Group], philanthropist, author, former government official and sports team owner [Baltimore Orioles], is often onstage at the Y, and you can see why. He was perfectly prepared, had all his questions in his head after reading the book “in three sittings.” He delivered them without notes with popcorn popping speed. The time flew by.

And while Doris let him lead her most of the time, he wasn’t in control. As he’d done countless times before, he’d step on her last sentence to ask another question. When he interrupted her while speaking about her children, as she’d only mentioned the name of her youngest of three sons, Joe, she ignored his latest question and said that she wanted to finish speaking about Joe, and she did. Joe had received the Bronze Star for Army service in Iraq and served a tour in Afghanistan.

After the talk I strolled from Lexington Avenue and 92^nd Street to the Second Avenue bus stop at 86^th Street and plopped down in a front seat when the bus arrived. Opposite me was a young man reading a copy of Doris’s book. Each attendee had been given a copy. I reached into my tote bag to pull out my copy, showed it to him, smiled and asked what he thought of the talk. That started a lively 30 block conversation about the interview, the relationship between Doris and her husband Dick, the difference in values between the 1960s and now, music—Mozart and Aaron Copeland in particular, [he is a musician] –and Malcolm Gladwell.

When he got off the bus a woman who had moved closer to us and had listened to our banter, sidled over and asked me if I’d just been to the Y. She said she’d wanted to attend but already had tickets to a concert. We chatted for another 10 blocks.

I walked home from the bus stop on a cloud.

It’s nice to go to events with a friend to have someone to talk to about the film, play, workshop, or talk. It’s not always convenient. But there’s something magical about having the chance to do so with strangers on a New York City bus.

Have you enjoyed similar conversations, as you exit an event or stop for a snack at a nearby restaurant afterwards–or on a bus?

   

The trend these days is to never admit to an error, never apologize and look for someone or something else to blame if caught. I am ever thankful that my job isn’t crucial to life and limb such as folding parachutes, operating on patients, or air traffic controller. It’s hard to ignore a mistake made by people in these jobs. My errors are embarrassing but they don’t kill anyone.

A friend shared this situation. She was working at home when she heard a crash in the kitchen. Her cleaning woman was working there. My friend figured that the woman had broken one or two wine glasses that were on the kitchen counter. She didn’t want to make her feel badly so she didn’t leave her office to confront her.

The cleaning woman didn’t say a word about it. Both glasses appear to be missing. Was it strange that she didn’t own up, my friend asked?

In the days before email I’d mailed out a “Save the Date” for a client’s press introduction. The client received a copy and called to say the date was wrong. At first I thought she was teasing me. When she said she was serious, I immediately said I’d pay for the printing and postage of another mailing. She said that the mistake was her fault, that she hadn’t told me about the date change, and she acknowledged that she’d approved the copy with the wrong date. She wouldn’t hear of my paying for the correction.

I’ve made mistakes or inadvertently caused a kerfuffle and while it’s hard to do, I’ve prepared my client or boss, getting in front of the issue by admitting it. Never once have I been sorry. I figure the person would rather hear it from me than be blindsided should there be repercussions.

My laptop has a voracious appetite. I was convinced I’d seen an email from a client—it flashed by. But I couldn’t find it anywhere including in my deleted, junk or spam files. The man is terribly busy, but I fell on my sword and asked him to send it again. He laughed. I never found the original.

What should my friend do about the cleaning lady—ask if she broke the wine glasses or forget about the instance? Have you owned up to a mistake or do you cross your fingers and hope it goes away?

   

You don’t have to go to etiquette school to avoid behaving boorishly. A tad of empathy often helps. Here are some examples that I suspect happen too often.

You’re sitting in the lobby of your hotel with friends and relatives the day after a family and close friends event. You order drinks for your wife and yourself and some relatives also sitting in a wide circle, but you skip a couple in this group. Adding insult to injury, next, as you guzzle, you discuss the quality and aroma of the whiskey chosen. I think that’s rude.

You’re at a workshop where lunch is served. The waiter puts a basket of bread on the table. Some of the others take two pieces so the basket is empty when it gets to you. Taking two of anything before everyone has been served is rude.

A trade magazine publisher who became a dear friend told me, years ago, about a business meeting he had with an advertiser. It was in the client’s office. The client was munching away on his chicken salad sandwich and could easily have asked his secretary to order something for the publisher, but he didn’t. He wasn’t offered a glass of water. Eating in front of others like this is rude. I remember once hiding a burger in my desk drawer when an editor popped into my office unannounced. Waiting to finish lunch until the person left wasn’t written in a manners guide. It just felt right.

Is selfish/clueless behavior acceptable today or are these instances anomalies? Do you have examples?

   

There’s no advance notice of an earthquake. There is a short one for a tornado. I lived in the Midwest briefly and was petrified by one that skirted our town at dinnertime. Hurricanes have the decency to give residents time to evacuate. Though what a conundrum—where to go? How? What to take? Hurricane Sandy shocked lifelong New Yorkers as unforgiving, fierce waters leapt into the city willy nilly.  Blizzards upstate left behind feet tall snow souvenirs and no electricity for days and no phone sometimes for weeks. Thank goodness I’ve not been victim of a forest fire, mudslide or tsunami.

With all our smarts and technology, we still are nowhere near the driver’s seat when nature wants to flash its muscle.

I can hear the sound of people of California, Taiwan, China, Turkey and other earthquake prone regions rolling their collective eyes hearing about the to-do over the earthquake that shook parts of New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania and Connecticut on Friday. Compared to other places it was barely a rattle.

It gave New Yorkers a chance to speak to one another in elevators or waiting for the bus. Strangers used to chat easily and often in Manhattan but not nearly as much for the last 20 years or more. Newcomers barely respond to “good morning.”

From my perch on the 27^th floor I felt the floor shake where I sat at my laptop and my two-foot-long amaryllis leaves by the window [photo above] swayed back and forth. I’ve lived here five years. This was a first shake and sway.

But it wasn’t my first earthquake. I was in Chile with my mother as a teen for that. My nephews were young and kept asking mom to repeat the story. We were taking a siesta. Mom said, “please stop hitting my bed with your foot.” I replied that I wasn’t near her bed. That’s when she realized we were in an earthquake.

I was in San Francisco on business when a significant earthquake happened. The next day I was at a workshop when in the hallway outside a noisy container on wheels bounced over the rough flooring creating a racket. The woman next to me almost landed in my lap she was so alarmed by what she thought was the sound of an aftershock. I wasn’t thrilled looking at the substantial cracks in the conference center’s immense pilings next to where I staffed a booth for a trade show.

That same decade on the east coast as we woke one morning in Brooklyn the floor trembled. I remember because we were off to New Orleans that day.  We lived on the fifth floor.

Mother Nature sneezes and coughs, sighs, hollers and screams when she wants. There’s little to nothing we can do about it. Have you been in a memorable earthquake, hurricane, tornado, or storm?

   

I have a pretty standard weekly dinner menu which usually includes some kind of chicken, [canned] tuna in romaine lettuce and Campari tomatoes, pasta with tomato sauce and sometimes salmon. My tiny air fryer makes yummy potato strips. If I can find Amy’s frozen margherita pizza I split it in two and punctuate the usual fare with this treat. And once or twice a winter I might make a simple version of boeuf Bourguignon.

I recently tried a recipe I picked up from The New York Times’ “Cooking” section: Peanut noodles. I already had all the ingredients: creamy peanut butter, grated parmesan, soy sauce, unsalted butter and noodles. It was delish, so simple, prepared in the time to cook the noodles and not the same-old-same-old.

One friend just brought me a basil plant and another a magnificent tomato. I added mozzarella and had the nucleus of a delicious dinner that wasn’t my usual.

I remember when, decades ago, I stopped reading Gourmet Magazine because a recipe called for me to stir a strawberry mixture outdoors over three sunny days. Who has the time and who can predict that the weather will cooperate and does everyone have an outdoor space to do this? Turned me off. But I digress.

My husband was a talented cook. I miss his creativity and the beautifully plated dishes he’d present.

To change pace, I’ll cheat and order takeout.

Have you discovered easy-to-make recipes that change the routine of your dinner menus or do you find comfort in making and serving the same things week after week?