Microclimates

I was skeptical when I first heard a winemaker describe microclimates to me. The idea that the weather could vary from one side of a valley or hill to another, that within a field there could be certain rows that would yield a sweeter, richer, plumper grape, seemed just the kind of pretentious niggling nonsense perpetrated by wine snobs.

We moved to a new apartment three weeks ago. It’s just six blocks from the old one, but a world away. Where our old neighbor was a senile man who told me “I made 82 yesterday” over a dozen times in the 20 months we were there, our new neighbors work in the theater. Last night, I strapped the infant into her carrier and headed next door to watch the Tonys with others from the block. We all cheered when our hosts’s friend (and JC resident), John Lloyd Young, won for Jersey Boys.

I’ve moved from the kind of neighborhood that spawned Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons to one where my neighbors are assistant directors on Broadway, friends with the star of show inspired by Valli's life. I feel sweeter, richer, and plumper already. Microclimates indeed.