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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Sitting In The Church Courtyard

What a lovely day.

   A week ago I was dressed like a Sherpa.

   Today, short sleeves.

   I like it here when it’s warm, to sit in front of their Saint Francis of Assisi statue with the birds sitting on his shoulders.

   He loved all animals more than earning him the role of their Patron Saint.

   People are scattered about on the many benches the church provides, a novelty since many now perceive sitting as loitering; Catholic churches mostly, this one Episcopal.

   As I scope out my neighbors all perched in the sun like happy lizards, watch a nanny, an older woman and a younger man.

   The man is blonde around 30, his bare biceps advertising a beautiful build. I can easily see the definition of his stomach, or 6 pack as it’s called from where I’m sitting.

   He’s reading a paperback using a feather as a bookmark.

   The woman is sitting parallel to him with her head up and eyes closed while a miniature Yorkie snoozes on her lap.

   But the nanny is who held my attention, holding the littlest baby in her arms like a beautiful Asian doll.

   I have a thing for Asian kids, faces that tear your heart out by the roots with their sweetness.

   She smiles when she sees me looking…motions me over. I hesitate, not wanting to intrude.

  “You want to hold him?” Nanny asked.

  “I’m a little afraid to,” I truthfully say since I can’t recall ever holding a child that small.

  “Don’t be afraid. He loves everyone. I’ve taken care of many a child, but he’s so very special, like a tiny old soul.”

   So that’s how I found myself on a sunny, Thursday afternoon in a church courtyard with an infant cooing in my arms.

   My contentment must have transcended because when I look up, the young man had stopped reading, the woman’s eyes were open, her dog now awake.

   It was as though Saint Francis had just passed through the courtyard. 🙂 

 

 

SB

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A Wright Brothers Sunday

   Orville and Wibur Wright, the two brothers who in 1903 pioneered aviation with their handmade seaplane the Kitty Hawk now at the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum, never worked on a Sunday, observing what the Bible calls the Sabbath.

  Didn’t matter if something important was pressing, they faithfully took the day off.

  Funny how influenced you can be by two people whom you’ve never met.

  I too take the day off, vacationing from my Monday through Saturday rituals I adhere to like a Navy SEAL.

  I can’t say enough how great it is to just spin the wheel on the day; no plans, no have-tos or responsibilities.

  It’s as if you stack it all and put it on a shelf.

  The word rejuvenate comes to mindto become invigorated, fresher and more lively.

  Let’s toss in restorativerecharging health, strength and a feeling of well-being.

  I kid you not. It works while you put those feet up, guilt free.

  Orville and Wilbur’s father, Milton Wright, was the bishop of their church so that’s where their unbroken rule stemmed from.

   I wasn’t raised by a bishop, more a mother who just made you go to church and cooked a ham.

  The Al-Anon program suggests…take what you like and leave the rest, so whether it’s a tip from the Wrights or a baked ham, kicking back for one day to restore and rejuvenate isn’t such a bad idea.

 I kid you not.  🙂

SB

Recommended reading…

The Wright Brothers…David McCullough (2015)  

  The Incredible Ham Cookbook: Ham Recipes You Would Love and Enjoy Cooking…Olivia Rana (2022) 

 🙂

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Walking Down Fifth

   Fifth Avenue can be cold with snapping winds, but not today, good news since I so love to stroll, the true flaneur that I am.

   It’s French for idle saunterer…one who walks unhurried.

   Yes, that’s me, the strolling observer in a nutshell.

Starting at 85th I’m on the Park side at 1040, Jackie Kennedy’s old building, approaching the Met Museum.

    Still closed, a dozen or more people patiently wait in line.

Vendors selling everything from framed New Yorker covers, I Love New York bags to magnets of Brooklyn Bridge, the Chrysler and Audrey (3 for ten bucks) sip coffee bundled on folding chairs.

The food carts gear up, the smell of hotdogs and quesadillas floating up your nostrils.

I wait at the light on 79th gazing across at the Henry Luce Mansion that stands majestically as a reminder of what the avenue once looked like before private homes were no more.

A dog walker with a good ten mutts approaches. A flirty Dalmatian sniffs me as he trots by.

I decide to enter the Park passing the 72nd Street Boat Pond as well as the Zoo, till I get to 59th where I’m greeted by a gilded gold (courtesy of Mr. Trump when he owned the Plaza Hotel) General Sherman on his historic March to the Sea. 

   I’m no fan of pulling down statues, but they left him when that infamous march of his was anything but honorable, yet they pulled down Teddy because of a couple of Indians.

 ???

I pass The Pulitzer Fountain where the F. Scott Fitzgeralds had a drunken splash in front of the Plaza still holding its mighty ground.

 I’m now across from Tiffany where a Vanderbilt mansion once stood, now Bergdorf Goodman Department Store.

 I picture Audrey eating a Danish gazing into Tiffany’s window.

Placards I can’t see are picketing Trump Tower. There’s a man screaming in a bullhorn. 

   Sometimes it’s a quiet blessing to be unable to hear.

   My focus is on the southwest corner of 57th Street where the home Theodore Roosevelt grew up in once stood, where in 1884 his mother and first wife died on the same Valentine’s Day. It’s now an art gallery, the house long gone.

 Two blocks down is the Presbyterian Church where they held the double-funeral.

   I’ve sat in its sanctuary told that though restored is exactly how it was then.

   I can see a heartbroken Teddy in the front pew mourning the two most important women in his life. 

   I continue down what they called, Millionaire’s Row once lined with mansions of the New York elite.

I pass Prometheus guarding Rockefeller Center and St. Patrick’s Cathedral where Babe Ruth, Bobby Kennedy and many 9/11 first responders had their send-offs. 

 (Bobby Kennedy’s funeral)

    I turn on 51st after entering the church to pray at their Statue of St. Teresa of Lisieux before taking the train home.

 Why her?

   She was known for her small, random acts of kindness.

   What did I pray for?

   That kindness along with peace, would find their way back home.

                                           

  SB

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Hump Day

It never fails.

   The minute I’m suffering from a case of the poor mes I see the woman with the hump, my harbinger that things could always be worse.

   And it’s never in the same place. I’ve seen her at the Post Office, Barnes & Noble, the Gap.

   She has long gray hair she ties back with ribbons and always wears a turtleneck.

   My heart swells when I see her, as well as my calcium intake.

   In AA they recommend the minute you start feeling sorry for yourself, do a random act of kindness.

   Next time I saw her, knowing she likes books remembered having one in my bag. (The Paris Seamstress…Natasha Lester)

   I approached her sitting by the Target Dog when you enter the store.

   I noticed how blue her eyes were and that despite her sad posture was pretty and seemingly ageless.

  40, 50, older?

  I showed her the book. She whipped on glasses like a seasoned librarian.

  “Would you like it?”

  She looked up and said, “Who would ever say no to a book?”

   I smiled seeing we had something in common.

  When I turned to leave she said, “Have a nice one. It’s such a beautiful day. “

  Those poor mes vanished like devils with their tails between their legs.

 SB

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Life On The Train

 The city is tense, no question. You feel it everywhere especially after being told to be on terrorist alert.

 What I admire most about New Yorkers is, no matter what, we just keep going.

 I’m on the 6 train coming home from Home Depot buying a mop. I know, how boring are you, but since the one at home looks like the Pilgrims passed it down, here I am.

 Another thing I love about New Yorkers, at least most of the time, are the remarks made like we all suffer from Tourettes.

 The man standing next to me says, “Lady, watch that mop, will ya? Don’t want it hittin’ me in the eye.”

 I smile reassuringly. He doesn’t appear convinced.

 I long to sit down since along with Mr. Mop have a bag of cleaning supplies. Things are so much cheaper at Home Depot that when I go, stock up forgetting I have to lug it all home.

 A Woman of Color in a fur coat that has seen better days, asks, “How much did you pay for that?”

 “I shrug. “I don’t really remember, but it was a fair price.”

 “Don’t you have the sales slip?” Knowing I’d have to dig it out say, “Yeah, somewhere, but like I said, it was a good deal.”

 “Well that doesn’t help me any.”

 Paranoid guy says, “Just go see for yourself why don’t you. Can’t you see if she moves the darn thing could hit me?”

 “Stop whining, plus who asked you?”

 A young girl seated reading on an iPad nicely says, “Just go online to HomeDepot.com, it will tell you.”

 Fur coat snarls,”Oh yeah, like I’m supposed to have a fancy computer like you I suppose.”

 You got a fur coat,” snapped Paranoid.

 I’m about ready to pull mop out to beat them both over the head, now so irritated get off at the next stop.

 To my delight the next train, practically empty, trundles down the track.

 But the minute I get on a woman asks, “How much did you pay for that?”

  Only in New York. 

  SB

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