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Susannah's Fall, Winter Reading List, 2019-2020
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Guys and Dolls
As I take the turn at 110th, I can’t help wondering, being such a gentleman and all, maybe, just maybe, he’s from Connecticut.
Things That Shouldn’t Be
Older men in Converse High Tops with toupees that, let’s face it, just don’t go together.
Face lifts. That porcelain finish that should be restricted to planters and soup tureens. Why women think stretched like a drum is attractive will remain a mystery. And lips were never meant to resemble trampolines.
Toddlers with phones. When was Babar sacked from preschool? Seeing a kid playing with their parent’s iPhone, when they could be enjoying a book, should be illegal.
Dog owners who disobey the Pooper Scooper law as if it doesn’t apply to them. Step in a pile in those Gucci loafers Kemosabe, then it sure will.
Whole Food’s raw fish department that looks camera ready until you get those shrimp and crab legs home, tasteless and spongy from being frozen since 2009. When the cat won’t even eat one, then you know, you’ve been aquatically 
fleeced.
Social Media replacing live conversations. If I see one more couple having dinner with their phones rather than each other, I may have to write my Congressman. Not that it would do any good since it’s every man for himself nowadays, our Commander-in Chief’s creed passed down.
But what happened to intimacy anyway? Has she called? I miss those cozy murmurings even if they’re just overheard.
How was your day honey? Missed ya at the office. Wow, you look beautiful tonight.
I missed you too, and baked that pie you like, so let’s go home for dessert why don’t we…wink wink.
Instead you have Twitter sitting in your lap Tweeting sweet NOTHINGS.
Life has become fast food across the board…distorted images viewed from a funhouse mirror. I can’t imagine my dad in a Kardashian T-shirt delaying my mom’s lasagna to check out his Facebook page. Of course he died of alcoholism at a young age, but still. I can almost hear him say, even from the ether, I’d love a second helping honey, but need to keep room, ya know, for that pie. 
If only. Sigh.
SB
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To Vote for Whom…That is the Question
The 2020 Presidential Potato Sack Race, my new name for it since, it does have a country fair feel to it, (don’t you think?) has brought my cynicism to new heights.
Think Gulliver in a stretch class.
I’ll start with Bernie who seems like a really nice guy who might own a hardware store in Missouri, very Trumanesque, except, Harry had more chutzpa under those hats he sold.
It’s like Bernie’s running in Hooterville rereading The Charge of the Light Brigade, and we know what happened to them.
…into the valley of death rode the six hundred.
Madam Warren, who’s anger could have lit U.S. Grant’s cigar, scares the shit out of me. As for Amy, the most that I can say is, she’s got a real cute haircut.
I know, I’m supposed to be in favor of women, but I’m not inspired by either of them. Now if only Anne Lamott would run, than I’d toss my thong in the ring.
And dear Mr. Biden, whom I love, needs six months at Hilton Head in a nice Lacoste shirt since, the poor man looks so beat and bereft still mourning his son Beau, that frankly, knowing all too much about loss, breaks my heart.
So we are left with the two big swinging New York dicks, one much more one than the other, taking cheap shots knowing they’re the only ones he can get away with.
Mike Bloomberg is still my only hope, don’t know about yours.
If Donald Trump gets reelected, the added damage that he’ll do to the country will be unprecedented. Rather than Hail to the Chief, we’ll be humming Taps.
It scares the hell out of me even more than Elizabeth Warren in Chanel taking her oath of office.
I have no choice but to turn to the Great Creator who hopefully in the 11th hour will ride in like the cavalry.
To quote Anne Lamott, God bats last.
Let’s hope. 
SB
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Doin the Wave
Whenever I’m coming home from my run, and see the crosstown bus waiting at the light on Fifth, I wave to the bus driver. Why? Oh I don’t know, it’s the pup in me I guess, who’s happy and friendly waggin’ her tail.
Sometimes he’ll wave back, sometimes not.
That said…
One morning around 6 a.m., I was on my way to catch the bus, realizing I had forgotten my wallet, forced to run back home. When I ran back, the bus had already turned the corner on 86th and 5th. Damn, I thought, now I’m going to be late.
I then see that it stopped before it made the turn through the Park.
Engine trouble?
Come to find out, the driver was waiting for me.
“Hop on,” he said, when I got there.
“But I didn’t stamp my MTA card,” something required from a machine before getting on the bus.
“No worries,” he said. “This one’s on me for all those nice waves you give me.”
Let me say, it takes a lot to surprise me these days, but that just put me right over the moon, that coincidentally, was still out, like a great big lopsided smile. 
🙂
SB
This is dedicated to Frank, whose moon has always made mine shine a little brighter.
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A Spring Rain
It was a misty drizzle when I went for my run, Mother Nature looking as though she was just in her slip.
The temperature, in the high 40s, gave a glimpse of what’s to come, urging me to be hopeful, at least about the weather.
A spring rain was what occurred to me, meaning it was light and warm, nothing more than a backdrop, like the scenery of a play.
It made me think of three men I love: Abraham Lincoln, Bobby Kennedy and Bill Hicks.
When Lincoln was buried on May 4th, 1865, at Oak Ridge Cemetery in Springfield, Illinois, along with his youngest son Willie who had died of typhoid fever three years earlier, it was during what historians have called, a spring rain.
Bobby Kennedy, during his short campaign for president, paying his respects to Mr. Lincoln, knelt before his tomb to pray, bursting into tears.
While Bill was on the road, he too paid a humble homage to our 16th President, saying, he couldn’t quite explain how he felt, just that it was familiar, as though he had been there before.
In hindsight, when Bobby, in 1968, and Bill, 1994, made their unexpected exits, maybe Abe was on hand to greet them.
One can only smile. One can only hope. 
SB
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Posted in Books, Culture, Faith, grace, History, humanity, inspiration, nature, Politics, words, writing
Tagged Abraham Lincoln, Believing in an afterlife, Bill Hicks, Robert Kennedy
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Showdown at the Nail Nook
To say my tolerance of rudeness is down a quart, is putting it mildly.
I’ll go toe-to-toe on this, but I blame our president who’s taken inappropriate behavior 
to new heights.
That said….
I was getting a pedicure, a real treat to soak my feet, have them rubbed and fussed over…to relax for an hour, a grace every woman should permit herself.
I was in the company of 4 other women having manicures, when a young girl in her 20s comes in.
Vivet, the owner, who’s sweet as can be, tells her in ten minutes someone will be free.
This young lady, drenched in Lululemon, the latest high-end athletic wear, sits down and proceeds to talk on her phone, earbuds in place telling you, she talks all day…look ma, no hands, in Dolby Sound.
This puts Vivet in an uncomfortable position, since Koreans by nature, at least in the spa world, are not assertive people.
Now the peace I have has now taken flight since LuLu strolled in, deciding, my feet and I aren’t taking it sitting up, or lying down.
“Excuse me,” I say, in a pleasant tone, “are you going to stay on your phone?”
She’s obviously stunned by my question since, I’m betting no one has ever addressed her public chatroom before.
“I’m talking to my friend,” she says, as if that should clear things up.
“We know, since you’re speaking so loud, and I, for one, am finding it disturbing.”
“Like excuse me? Well, what if she were here and we were talking, how is this any different.” She says this in a voice that could carve ice.
“I’m saying again, I’m finding listening to your conversation disturbing, and am asking nicely for you to please hang up.”
She grabs her bag, starts yelling right till she gets to the door when she turns, looks directly at me and screams…
“FUCK YOU, AND THEY JUST LOST MY BUSINESS CAUSE OF A BITCH LIKE YOU.”
No one bats an eyelash, even after I apologize to Vivet for losing her a customer, since, I thought she’d hang up and that would have been that.
I then over tip her, to try to make up for it.
Aside from all that, how a young girl could behave this way leaves me mystified. Who taught her that it doesn’t matter what you do in public, and to be disrespectful and insulting on top of it?
Which brings me back to our dear president, who is the most inappropriate individual currently on the planet, with his mean Tweets, 
name calling, giving permission to his fellow Americans to act the same way as in his own dog eat dog world, the truth being, dogs actually behave better.
It’s as if the government, of the people, by the people, for the people, has gone polyester…
even at The Nail Nook. Sigh 
SB
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Posted in animals, Beauty, Culture, grace, humanity, humor, New York City, Politics, women, words
Tagged Donald Trump, inappropriate cell phone use, rude behavior, Self-care, The Gettysburg Address
74 Comments
Fruitful Thoughts
Lately I’ve been adding a clementine to my morning oatmeal, tossing it in while it simmers on the stove.
Which brings me to Whole Foods, trolling for one. Despite their mammoth fruit and produce department, none are in sight, until I spot a bunch in a bushel. I say to the nearby fruit man, “How much are these, so I can tell the cashier since they aren’t marked.”
He grabs it out of my hand like an autographed baseball and says,”No for sale yet.”
“Why not? Just tell me what they’ll be.”
“I say, no for sale,” deigns the Zeus of Fruit.
I’m pissed, but have no time to fight with a guy whose name tag says, Hecto, the r falling off somewhere between pears and beets.
As I pad home, still dreaming of a little citrus waltzing with my oats, I see my favorite fruit man on the corner.
Having no cash, I say, “Can I take a clementine, and pay you later?” He says, with a smile that always reminds me of a crooked fence, “I do one better, I give it to you.”
I smile, my faith in humanity restored when he says, “Please, take two.” 🙂
SB
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Posted in Culture, food, Gratitude, humanity, humor, New York City
Tagged Clementines, generosity, New York City Fruit Vendors, Starting the day with oatmeal., Whole Foods
48 Comments
Bud and Lou
I have two new men in my life, Bud and Lou, yes, named after Bud Abbott and Lou Costello, and they too, could take their act on the road.
The only difference is, they’re Irish Setters rather than paid comedians, though they are in my opinion, just as funny. If they could only talk they’d do a great…
Who’s on First.
I see them most mornings, rather, they see me, darting through the darkness like two auburn lights, one with a yellow ball, the other, bright green. All legs, clumsy as colts, chasing each other, chasing me as I attempt to run home.
One blocks me, while the other gooses my rear hoping I’ll play a quick game of catch, which I do, while their aging father sits on a bench calmly smoking his pipe.
After a few impromptu meetings, knowing their names, I say, “Are you a big Abbott and Costello fan?”
He looks at me, pipe in play, and says, “Now that was a stupid question.”
Hey, it’s 6 a.m. pal , and you can just…
No, I didn’t say that, nor clock him with my sneaker, Bud and Lou, true rodeo clowns, more than making up for their dad’s casual curtness.
I’ve certainly grown, now haven’t I?
SB 
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Posted in animals, Culture, fitness, humor, nature, New York City, writing
Tagged Abbott and Costello, Central Park at Dawn, dog owners, Who's On First
69 Comments
Kobe Bryant and The Kennedys
The crash that killed Kobe Bryant and eight others a week ago today, made me think of two similar accidents. John Kennedy Junior’s fatal flight in 1999, and his uncle, Ted Kennedy’s, in 1964, en route to Springfield, Massachusetts to accept the nomination for the U.S. Senate.
His pilot, Edwin Zinny, told him the weather was bad, and they shouldn’t take off, but Kennedy insisted, the plane crashing into an orchard, killing Zinny and Edward Moss, Kennedy’s legislative assistant. He himself escaped alive, but with a collapsed lung and three broken vertebrae, hospitalized, forced to lie on his stomach strapped to a board, for five months.
Cut to, thirty-five years later, his nephew in similar circumstances, being warned not to fly his Piper Saratoga in foggy weather, but like his uncle, ignored the warnings, but unlike his uncle, didn’t survive, taking his wife and her sister with him.
Remnants of JFK Jr.’s plane.
17 Dec 1964, Southampton, Massachusetts, USA — The remains of a small plane that crashed in the fog near Southampton, Massachusetts. Senator Edward Kennedy was seriously injured in the accident, and two others on board were killed. — Image by © Bettmann/CORBIS
What does this have to do with Kobe Bryant’s accident? I’m thinking, Kobe too, might have been warned by his pilot, Ara Zobayan, against flying in foggy conditions, but also may have insisted. Why else would a seasoned pilot make such an error, crashing into a hillside, killing himself along with eight others on board?
Is hubris the cause?
We all know the Kennedys are famous for it, the old, the rules just don’t apply to us, but what about Mr. Bryant, was he a little like that too?
It’s already been a week since Kobe, his thirteen year-old daughter, Gianna, along with seven of their comrades, had their lights put out like candles in the sky, a humble reminder how quickly life can end, for whatever reason.
I just hate to think, it could have been avoided, if sounder judgements had prevailed. 
SB
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Reasons Why Women Need a Man
To put lotion on your back, in February.
To fix the cable, after you’ve kicked the box across the room.
To spoon with when you get a little chilly.
To happily do all the driving while you give directions as if you were Mapquest.
To walk the dog even though you both know, he likes you better.
To cry in his lap when your pants don’t fit.
To lie and say, oh honey, but I think you’ve lost weight.
To move the furniture when at 3 a.m., you decide to redecorate.
To fully understand, when you say take-out, it means, he has to go get it.
To coo, you’re so, so beautiful while rubbing your feet and refilling your glass, popping corn and changing channels…dusting, vacuuming, cheerfully separating whites in a much too tight French Speedo because you think it’s cute, after declaring, you’re just not in the mood.
Have I missed anything? 🙂 
SB
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Posted in creative writing, Home, humanity, humor, sex, Women and men, words, writing
Tagged Domestic Bliss, men and women, Men who dote on their women, The gardener and the flower
71 Comments
