Life On The Train

Downtown Number 5 Train

10:30 a.m.

 Since it’s past rush hour everyone has a seat.

 I’m cold and cranky trying not to show it since my sneakers are soaked after a man rushing for a cab, pushed me into a puddle.

 An empty Coke can rolls across the car while a suit, reading the Times, lifts his tasseled high-end loafers every time it cruises by.

 On my right is a blonde in leopard leggings with three inch fingernails scrolling Instagram.

 My left, a robust Man of Color in a frayed peacoat who keeps falling asleep on my shoulder.

 After three tries of shaking him gently, him apologizing profusely, decide to just let me sleep. If only his head wasn’t the size of of a basketball since can already feel the ache.

 When the train hits Union Square as if his alarm was set, he wakes up apologizing all over again.

 We both get off.

  I ask if he had worked all night. Yes, he says, now going to his day job.

 “Have you eaten?”

 “No, no time. I’ll grab a hotdog or somethin.”

  There’s something about him nudging my heart or at least my shoulder.

  I remember a food cart at the subway entrance, so after insisting, lets me treat him to a burrito.

  To quote Woody Allen, he ate like he was going to the chair. He thanks me more than necessary, tired and hungry but no less noble.

  He proudly shows me a picture of his baby daughter. In between yawns and gulps of lemonade see the joy that seems to make up for having to work so hard.

  He thanks me again, says it’s good to know there are people like me before running down Broadway so not to be late.

  I’ve learned that whatever I decide something with an open heart, I usually make the right decision. I’ve learned that even though I have pains, I don’t have to be one. 

Maya Angelou

     

  We’ll second that.

SB

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Sitting In The Sun

  Central Park

   It’s suddenly 70 degrees. We went from sweats to shorts over night.

I came to visit the Cherry Blossoms making their annual appearance along with the daffodils, drooping just yesterday, now dancing like chorus girls.

  Nature knows what she’s doing, though it took a while…a lesson in patience.

  I’m on a bench watching a little girl pet a Cocker Spaniel lying on his back in the sun.

  Her dad smiles while sipping a Coke. The Spaniel’s owner wants to leave but the dog won’t budge.

  Can you blame him?

  The little girl plops on the ground giggling. “Look, he likes me Daddy.”

   I bask in her innocence and the dog’s, how little it takes to make them both happy.

  The dad sees the woman getting annoyed. “Come on honey, we need to go find Mom.”

  She sighs kissing the dog’s belly then his ears before getting up.

  I want to shake the dog’s owner and say, can’t you see how sweet this is, what’s the big hurry, but keep silent watching them walk away, the little girl looking over her shoulder.

  The Spaniel now up, watches too. 

  SB

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Easter People

 The original piece with this title was deleted. I felt it was not uplifting nor appropriate. Thank you for the readers who left comments. They were very appreciated.

 I wish everyone celebrating Easter a peaceful one.

Susannah

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A Pitbull Lover In Heels

  I first met Harry and Bess, the two Pits, with their walker who’d stop to let me pet them.

 What most people don’t know about the breed…if loved, they’ll gladly love you right back.

  I was surprised seeing them with a high-end CEO looking woman in a slick suit and heels that would make your ears pop. The dogs, ever so loyal, pulled her over to me.

  “Hi you two,” I said, rubbing their backs like a well-acquainted  geisha. The woman who had been checking her phone smiled before saying to the dogs, “Another friend I see.”

  I laughed. “They’re the sweetest. Are they yours?”

  She slipped her iPhone into her Burberry pocket that was tossed over her shoulders like the Phantom of the Opera, and said, “Yes, they’re mine.”

   I saw right away she wasn’t going to make it easy interview wise being a bit arrogant in her demeanor, but anyone who adopts, and these dogs with their brandished battle scars were 11th hour rescues, gets lots of leeway.

   “I’m an animal lover with a special spot for Pits,” I said. “It happened after meeting a woman who nobly rescues them from rings.”

  This perked her interest.

   “Really!”

   “Yes, and she’s the last person you’d expect to.

   “Why’s that?”

   “She kinda looks like you. A professional, but her hair’s blonde, not red.”

   Her phone rang. “Excuse me, need to take this,” she said.

   Harry was sniffing my pocket I had a half-eaten cookie in, so asked if I could give to him and his sister. After getting a quick nod, kissed both dogs on their snouts then went on my way.

  When I got home there was a note on very posh light blue  stationary.

  Dear Friend of Bess and Harry’s, 

 “It was nice meeting you today, and wanted to share that I know your friend, who has also become mine.” Ever sincerely….

  Small world, isn’t it!   

 SB

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Did You Know…The Mob Edition

  In the opening scene of The Godfather, when Vito Corleone coddles a kitten on his lap, it wasn’t in the script. The animal just wandered in, Brando one can say, making her a star.

   When Sonny Corleone gets murdered at the tollbooth, it was done in one take using 147 squibs of fake blood the actor James Caan had strapped to his body.

    James Caan afterwards.

   Trunk music is Chicago slang for stuffing a body in a trunk.

   The question, do you paint houses is code for, do you kill people?

   If the thug also does carpentry work it means he disposes of them as well.

   In order to become a made man, you need to kill someone proving your loyalty tying you to your mob family forever.

  Omerta is the Italian code of silence; you don’t squeal on your pals, or else, but there’s always the exception.

  In May, 2006 after being given a 27 year prison sentence in 1998 refusing to out his mafia colleagues, Burton Kaplan in a Manhattan courtroom, became the first mobster to turn state’s evidence; his reward for snitching, the sentence then reduced to nine.

 He died in hiding at 75 in 2009.

 Journalist Jimmy Breslin who witnessed Burt singing like a bird wrote a book about it.

     The Good Rat: A True Story (2008). 

  The TV show, The Sopranos, was so accurate that New Jersey mobsters gave it their approval and from what I understand, never missed an episode.

 I’ll bet James Gandofini just smiled from the ether. 

 🙂

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Put The Baguette Down And Nobody Gets Hurt

 Wednesday…early morning.

 New York seems a little on edge.

 As I’m leaving Paris Baguette with my silo of coffee, find two well-dressed men in front screaming at one another.

 One has a French accent, the other a homegrown New York Brooklynese twang.

You’d think Brooklyn would have been the one, but Frenchie takes a baguette out of his Louis Vuitton shoulder bag and starts smacking him with it.

 Now there’s a crowd all watching like we’re ringside.

 Brooklyn then grabs the baguette right out of Frenchie’s hand and starts hitting him.

 A patrol car pulls up.

 Two cops jump out. One’s Latino, the other who looks Italian. Latino gets between them pushing them apart.

 “That’s enough,” he says, taking the baguette from Brooklyn we now see has hair plugs since he’s sweating so much.

 Maybe God isn’t so much in the details on this one as his hairdresser.

 A woman next to me after seeing the Italian toss it in the police car says, “That bread, it’s like 10 bucks. He should’a hit’em with somethin’ else.”

 Only a seasoned New Yorker on a budget would have said that.

 The cops motion for the men to leave.

 After hair plugs practically runs down into the subway, Frenchie asks for his baguette back.

 Both cops laugh.

 “Why, so you can beat somebody else with it?” snapped the Italian who didn’t fool me, knowing they’d both be snacking the minute they turned the corner.

  Frenchie then went into Paris Baguette to get a replacement.

  How did I know?

  I peeked in the window.  🙂   

SB

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An Unexpected Surprise

  I was coming out of a doctor’s office midtown welcomed by the sun we haven’t seen much of.

 Walking to Grand Central, suddenly there she was preening in the sky, the Chrysler Building seeming almost near enough to touch. 

  I stood on the corner of 36th Street and Park Avenue looking up at what I always think of as the Grace Kelly of Architecture.

  A hotdog vendor stood alongside me.

  “Are you here every day?” I asked him. He shook his head yes.

  “Wow,”I said. “That means you’re with her all day long.”

   Who?”

  “Her,” I said pointing. He didn’t bat an eye, probably assuming I was nuts just hoping I’d buy something.

   It’s hard to explain when you see your favorite landmark what an awe-inspiring moment it is.

   A man going by asked what I was looking at. When I told him, he smiled, said he liked her too.

  “Well, may as well buy a hotdog,” he said, still looking up. “May I treat you?”

  How nice was that? If only it was ice-cream.

  “Um, how bout a pretzel instead?”

   Hotdog man broke into a smile.

   “Hokay…moostard, sou-kraut…any-ting ta drink?”  🙂

    SB

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Things I Love…Ten Years Later

  How different I saw the world in 2016. The things that enchanted me then seem so frivolous now.

  If nothing else, age brings clarity.

  Quality verses quantity.

  Health over wealth.

  I love being still in a chair with a book in my lap, coffee beside me, a bag of chips at my feet over the gentle hum of a ceiling fan.

  There was a time if didn’t hear cacophonous noise, couldn’t relax, like I’d be missing something.

  Girl Scout cookies have come back into my life since becoming a customer of twin sisters. I teasingly tell them a quart of milk should come with each box.

 Walking in the Park, nuzzling dogs off their leashes makes dating and partying pale in comparison.

 No longer a chicken or turkey eater, salmon, sardines and sushi have replaced those wings and thighs making me eligible for a set of gills.

 Audrey Hepburn remains my idol her framed photos all through my apartment. When I look at her as Sabrina or Holly instantly feel glamorous, even if it’s only for a second.

 All my idols are framed…Pete Hamill, Jackie, Diana, Jimmy Breslin, Kurt Vonnegut inside one of my closets.

 I’m thinking of adding Pope Francis and Bad Bunny.

 My pal Joan remains in my life whom I love dearly, even if we rarely meet. Age does that too. Things that were once simple loom too large. Thank goodness for email that still keeps us close.

 But the three things that keep me aloft are writing, reading and serving.

 I’m never happier wrapped in a book or scribbling on the page in between doing something kind for someone else.

 Toss in I haven’t worn heels in five years or a Brooks Brothers suit, carried a tote the size of Cleveland or yearned for a Prada bag and yeah, my tastes have changed.

 And as far as men go, my store’s closed, no longer searching for Mr. Right to come fix all that society claims is wrong truly enjoying my own company.

 I could always nail a plaque commemorating my years of service on my lingerie drawer.

 A decade trims ones wants exchanging them all for peace, contentment and warm goodwill. 

 Can’t beat that.

  SB

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Susannah’s Spring, Summer Reading List…2026

  I was told I read too much. Rather than get offended took it as a compliment. What a wonderful thing to be accused of.

  It seemed to annoy this person that every time we meet I bring a book. It’s true, the reason being, there are many opportunities in the course of ones day to read.

I learned this from Theodore Roosevelt who read at least three books a week.

  “But that’s because he didn’t have cable,” said my friend, but knew, no matter what, TR would have chosen Dickens over Netflix.

  “I am a part of everything I read,” Teddy said, and that goes for me too.

  Here’s my latest list.

  Let’s begin with some American History to ignite any snoozing patriotism.

    The Great Improvisation: Franklin, France, And The Birth Of America…Stacy Schiff (2005)

    All I knew about Ben was that he was the oldest signer of the Declaration of Independence (70), sired the first library and synagogue in Philadelphia, and invented a kick ass stove. Well, turns out there’s lots more about Ben, like how jealous his peers were including John Adams who was his roommate in Paris. How women trailed him like he was one of the Beatles and liked conducting business while breakfasting in bed often suffering from painful gout; but we would have too living on mutton, madeira and salty French women.

   Are you sold yet? If not, watch the Ken Burns documentary on Ben, Schiff sparkling much in the same way that he did.

 

     Lincoln’s Sanctuary: Abraham LIncoln and the Soldier’s Home…Matthew Pinsker (2003)

     It was Abe’s Camp David, his getaway especially in the humid summer months where the fetid smells of Washington D.C. prior to sanitation one could hardly bear or now imagine.

     Its 191 pages with photos are filled with Civil War lore our esteemed 16th President dealt with during the four fraught years he ran the country.

     His modest cottage is still there to visit in Northwest Washington now managed by the Park’s Department.

     I can’t wait to go.

    Assassination Vacation…Sarah Vowell (2005)

    I’ll admit, Ms Vowell isn’t for everybody same as David Sedaris, who’s a friend of hers by the way, but will say this. If you’ve never dipped your toe into American History or just need a refresher course, Sarah’s your girl. Her sarcasm and cheerful ghoul cannot be rivaled, nor her love of history taking you on a killer tour, literally, where four presidents were no more and what became of their infamous assassins. It’s as if Lily Munster hands you a map, shovel and a flask.

    The Murrow Boys: Pioneers On The Front Lines Of Broadcast Journalism…Stanley Cloud and Lynne Olson (1996)

     Imagine a time when those reporting the news told the truth rather than embellishing it while at home on a Mac in their underwear, trolling for LIKES.

    Edward R. Murrow and his brave band of brothers were in a class all their own when radio was king and those listening knew, when they heard Murrow say, This is London, it was as if they too were experiencing the 57 consecutive nights of the Blitz.

    If you’ve seen the film or play, Good Night and Good Luck, Murrow’s signature farewell after each of his nightly broadcasts, this 392 spectacular historical biography was a main influencer. It was my third time reading and again, couldn’t put it down.

 

   Manhattan 45’…Jan Morris (1987)

   My favorite part is the opening when in June, 1945 the Queen Mary coasted into New York harbor bringing 14, 546 servicemen back from six years of war while hundreds of grateful Americans welcomed them home.

   I’ve stood down at the Battery trying to recapture what it must have been like for our heroes returning to a country they fought so bravely for.

  Our author, dying in 2020 at 94, was born James, becoming one of the very first transgenders of her time; a very brave soul in her own right leaving this world with no regrets.

 

    Endgame: Inside the Royal Family and the Monarchy’s Fight for Survival…Omid Scobie (2023)   

    When did England’s first family become a bad mini series? Between the arrest of Prince Andrew for extreme sexual misconduct, Prince William publicly shunning his brother Harry and his biracial wife, their stepmother their own mother called the Rottweiler and their father, now King for a limited time only, it more than rivals the National Enquirer.

    When Queen Elizabeth died in 2022 at 96 after reigning for 70 years was when all the wheels came off the royal coach.

    So go ahead, be a fly on the wall…it’s smut at its royal best.

    Nobody’s Girl: A Memoir of Surviving Abuse and Fighting for Justice…Virginia Roberts Giuffre (2025) 

    Published posthumously, a tough, heartbreaking story from one of Jeffrey Epstein’s biggest, saddest victims that sired the scandal that’s still going on today, including the downfall of Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor forever tarnishing England’s royal family as we’ve known it.

   Her courage costing her greatly, Virginia took her own life in April, 2025 leaving that long awaited justice in her wake.

   Dusk Night Dawn: On Revival And Courage…Anne Lamott (2021)   

   Just when you need her, Anne gallops up on her celestial steed. It’s been night for far too long so that dawn of hers is just what the doctor ordered. She reminds us that all things pass and till they do, it’s whether we deal with them harshly or with grace. If you haven’t met Anne yet, I suggest now’s a good time.

   How bout a little first class fiction to cleanse the palette, like sorbet between the soup and the fish.

   There I was trolling the stacks when I see The Lincoln Lawyer winking from its shelf. Anything with Abe’s name is a showstopper. Little did I know I’d fall head over heels with its author, suspense novelist, Michael Connelly.

   Every one of his novels that take place in Los Angles 38 in all, grabs you on the first page making them hard to put down. After completing 24 it feels as if we’re dating. Next I’ll be ironing his shirts.

   Here are three favorites…

   The Lincoln Lawyer…Michael Connelly (2005)

    It has zip to do with Abe, but no matter, Mickey Haller and Abe who too was a lawyer would have been fast friends. Haller could be considered an ambulance chaser and one who advertises on the side of a bus, but in a courtroom dazzles with pluck, swagger and unexpected grace. Brave to a fault defending those who society would prefer eliminated, makes you his biggest fan rooting for the underdog. It’s no wonder they made a TV series about him.

   Echo Park…Michael Connelly (2006)

   Harry Bosch is the second of Connelly’s three heroes. A top L.A. detective and then some and Haller’s half-brother except on the other side of the fence doing what’s necessary to put all alleged criminals away.

   In Connelly’s 17th novel, two murders haunt Harry, and the tough, old school Vietnam Vet that he is goes the distance to find the truth…his motto…everybody matters or nobody matters grabbing you out of the gate.

   I warn you though, don’t read it before bed since you may wake up thinking you’re on a stakeout. 🙂

    The Late Show…Michael Connelly (2007)

    This may be my favorite of all, introducing Ms Renee Ballard, a woman demoted to the night shift after pressing charges against her boss for accosting her at an office party. Renee’s early METOO moves cost her dearly career wise at the LAPD, but turns out working The Late Show would be the best thing that ever happened to Renee, a shero, to quote Maya Angelou, and one you won’t soon forget. To entice you a little more, she has a sweet, loyal, rescued Pit named Lola. 🙂

    Let’s end the way we began, with Ben.

    Ben and Me: An Astonishing Life of Benjamin Franklin by His Good Mouse Amos…Robert Lawson (1923)

   When the late, great David McCullough was asked what were his favorite books, this topped the list, about a mouse named Amos who lived in Benjamin Franklin’s hat.

   As Mr. McCullough proved, you don’t need to be a kid to love one of their books. I’m sure Ben would agree being the reader that he was with the same childlike twinkle in his eye….so…

   Happy reading everyone, and always remember, it’s a privilege.

Susannah 

March, 2026 

 

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Table For Three?

   I’ve come to resent the phone, how they’ve taken over the earth like aliens from another planet.

  Between dodging those scrolling in your path, to no one paying attention to anything but Facebook, I’ve had it.

 But what sealed the deal was when someone I hadn’t seen in a while invited me for coffee. From the minute he sat down, plunking his iPhone 17 on the table, knew the visit was doomed.

   I should have feigned a headache knowing my patience would snap.

  What bothered me most was, after ordering Lattes and a croissant to split, he never took his eyes off his phone, even as he spoke. He finally saw I didn’t look too happy.

  “What’s the matter? It’s so nice to see you, by the way.”

  “Really? You could’a fooled me.”

   He looked confused as only a man can. I could have been on fire and he wouldn’t have noticed.

   I had to decide, would I confront or withdraw?

   Paulo Coelho whispered…if it costs you your peace remember, it’s too expensive. So I took the highroad.

   “It’s really nice to see you too. “

   It was then his phone buzzed and he said, like he was about to save the world, “Oh, I need to take this.”

   That’s when I got up, asked the barista for a paper cup, and me and my Latte alighted the room.

   When I looked back through the window, he hadn’t even realized I had gone.

  My one regret was leaving that croissant.

SB

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