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Inspirational
Posted in Beauty, Books, Culture, Faith, friendship, grace, Gratitude, humanity, inspiration, kindness, Love, nature, readng, religion, words, writing
Tagged #buddhism, #faithforward, #goodreades, #inspirationalquotes, #randomactsofkindness, #thebeatitudes, optimism
21 Comments
How bout I Throw the Book At You
I’m in Target, my home away from home, looking at their new books many with 30% 0ff.
I’m perusing Jill Biden’s new memoir, View From The East Wing, that’s one of them.
A middle-aged man in a seersucker suit stops and says, “No wonder it’s on sale. Who’d buy such trash?”
After looking at his middle hanging over his fancy pants say, “I would. I love her.”
He laughs. “But look at the schmuck she’s married too.”
I could have shredded him like a head of lettuce in that seerfucker suit of his, but decide being a fan of the First Amendment, to allow him his say along with mine.
“This is what I knew about Mrs. Biden sir. She was a teacher who loved her job. Raised two little boys who weren’t hers after their mother was tragically along with their baby sister killed in an automobile accident while they too were in the car. Then raised a daughter of her own with the man you call a schmuck who whether liked or not has a wife who happens to be a lady, first, last or otherwise.”
Yes, he popped my Jill file alright.
I then left him staring as me and Jill walked away.
Schmuck…noun…a foolish or contemptible person…Yiddish (shmok) meaning penis.
If the shoe fits, or in his case…suit.
It’s great by the way. 
SB 🙂
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Posted in alcohol, art, Beauty, Books, Culture, Fashion, grace, History, humanity, humor, kids, kindness, Love, money, New York City, parents, Politics, readng, shopping, women, Women and men, words, writing
Tagged #firstamendmentfreddomofspeech, #goodreades, #Jillbidenmemoir, #joysofyiddishleorosten, #magnarepublicans, #Targetshoppers
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From The Mouth Of Babes
Building Lobby 6 a.m.
I walk in to find a new doorman sitting on the stool by the desk. He’s wearing a doorman’s jacket over Scooby-Doo pajamas eating crackers.
“So, are you new here?” I ask, knowing he lives on 12 and has an older brother who used to be the one bugging the night doorman in his Spiderman pjs.
Both brothers give precocious a whole new face.
“You know I live here,” he says, with his mouth full. “You gave me a lollipop.”
“Oh, now I see why you look familiar,” ignoring his burst of indignation never expecting to accompany a Tootsie Roll Pop.
“Why does your hair look funny,” he asks, like a very short FBI agent. In my own defense, when I go out for my morning walk I’m lucky if I’m wearing pants.
Finally the taller doorman appears.
“I see you have an assistant.” His normal grin vanishes.
“Did something happen?”
“No, we had the nicest chat, didn’t we?”
No response.
“Well gonna go take a shower. See ya both later.”
Heading for the elevator hear, “And comb your hair.”
It takes a whole village to raise a good child…African Proverb
And apparently a snarky one. 
SB
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Posted in Culture, Family, Fashion, humanity, humor, kids, New York City, words, writing
Tagged # keepingyoursenseofhumor, #earlymorningsnyc, #scoobydoo, #smartkids
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Dodging Bullets
I’m trying to detach from the behavior of others but see not taking things personally is an art.
I’ve never been faced with so much casual unpleasantness.
It started with a neighbor who told me, not asked, to take another elevator because she doesn’t want to get sick. Excuse me? Did I come down with the mumps while I was out? Am I bleeding from the mouth?
You could have cut her arrogance with a knife.
Later on, trolling for a ripe avocado for lunch was told by one of my normally nice fruit men when I asked if he had any said no, annoyed I interrupted his phone call and should go to a store and stop bothering him.
Even friends are acting out of character, the wounds harder to staunch. I had a short essay in the New York Times. I wasn’t even paid for it, but it was a nice thing. I rarely tell anyone when I publish learning the hard way, no one cares and the last thing I’d ever do is put a gun to your head to read what I write.
But I did tell someone who didn’t bother. Rather than mad, was embarrassed that I even told him. But then remembered something bittersweet. Anthony, my friend who just passed, read everything I wrote keeping them in the file with his meat supplier who when on the phone always kept him on hold…”So I got somethin’ to read,” he’d say.
Add my pal Hal who also reads most of what I write, read it online.
If only people knew how much being read means to a writer.
Detachment…noun…the state of being objective or aloof…to quietly separate; disconnect, disengage, unfasten, remove without judgement, pain or fanfare.
Or to put it urbanly…a word I’ve just coined…to not give a shit.
An art indeed. 
SB
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Posted in friendship, grace, humanity, kindness, men, mental health, New York City, readng, words, writing
Tagged #gettingpublished, #rudebehavior, #stiffupperlip, #thenewyorktimes, friendship
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Oval and Out: U.S. Presidents
Richard Nixon in 1971 while president, pardoned Jimmy Hoffa, president of the Teamster’s Union after five years into serving a thirteen year prison sentence for jury tampering, mail fraud and bribery.
Why I wonder did he feel sorry for someone so corrupt, but then remembered how much he loathed the Kennedys, and Bobby Kennedy after a relentless chase, succeeded in convicting Jimmy Hoffa.
Just a guess.
When the Clintons left the White House in 2001, they loaded up a truck filled with $28.000 worth of furniture and household items to take to their new home in Chappaqua, New York. They were then forced to bring it all back. 
I would have been nervous pinching an ashtray.
They also used the eminent Lincoln Bedroom as their personal Grand Hyatt letting heavy donors spend the night.
The kicker is, it was never the Lincoln’s bedroom. It was Abe’s office and cabinet room where he wrote and signed the Emancipation Proclamation.
That’s why I’d want to stay there, not to frolic in some giant bed Mary Lincoln bought on one of her manic shopping sprees they never spent a night in.
But who asked me?
It’s a pity money can’t come with knowledge of one’s history.
In 1942, while Elizabeth Anne (Betty) Bloomer modeled to earn extra money while studying dance in New York with Martha Graham, she was dating future U.S. President Gerald Ford.
Being in the Navy, she convinced him to pose for a patriotic illustration on a Cosmopolitan Magazine cover.
They married in 1948. 
Twenty-six years later, when on August 19, 1074 they moved into the White House, unlike their many predecessors having separate bedrooms, still slept in the same bed.
Dying at 93 in 2006, at his funeral service at Washington’s National Cathedral, former president George H.W. Bush said…
“Gerald Ford was a Norman Rockwell painting come to life.”
I just love that. 
SB
Recommended Reading
Gerald R. Ford: The American Presidents Series…Douglas Brinkley (2007)
Bill and Hillary: The Politics of the Personal…William H. Chase (2013)
The Pardon: The Politics of Presidential Mercy…Jeffrey Toobin (2025)
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Posted in art, Books, Culture, Family, Health, History, humanity, humor, inspiration, Love, money, Politics, readng, words, writing
Tagged #geraldfordamericanpresidentseries, #goodreades, #presidentialhistory, #thepardonjeffreytoobinbook
30 Comments
Life On The Train
Downtown Local C Train
Before even getting settled see that New York is nuttier than ever.
Makes me think of George Carlin’s great line after he got sober.
“Just cause you got the monkey off your back doesn’t mean the circus has left town.”
This is very true as I watch a couple have it out like they’re alone in their bedroom.
Her hair is bright orange and let’s just say, shouldn’t be wearing a tube top. He’s a big guy in massive sweats and a hoodie without sleeves with what writer James Patterson would call prison-style tattoos covering his arms.
Despite his size, is clearly scared of Tube Top since he keeps saying, “Dontcha you be hittin’ me now, ya hear? Ahs warnin’ ya Peachy.”
Peachy?
This angers her more pounding on his chest like he’s a giant conga drum.
Now in all fairness, West Side trains are less formal than those on the East Side, but this is way over the top.
Another brother enters the car like he’s strolling through Paris. He too has tats with cornrows that go down his back like a nappy tapestry; snappy red undies peeking above his sliding drawers.
“Lookie here,” he says all smiles, as we all watch like it’s the second act of a play. “Didn’t know there was a fight goin’ on. Mind if ah sit ringside?”
No I’m not making this up.
The train stops at Penn Station so many of my fellow travelers get off as if they see this type of thing every day. I want to go too, but don’t want to miss the big finish. I know, should have my head examined, but it’s also not my stop.
When the doors close and the newbies get settled, Peachy picks up where she left off with an added bonus, starts flirting with Cornrow who flirts back.
Uh-oh!
I so want to tell him it’s not the best idea before Prison Tats goes bananas who does just that. He rises like a whale shooting out of water, takes him by his elbows, lifts him up and says, “Doncha think you should be goin’ now?”
Cornrow, no dummy, does just that, and Peachy and her conga drum then kiss and hug all the way to 14th Street. 
Only in New York. 🙂
SB
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When Kindness Needs No Translation
I go out every day around 5 a.m. to walk, first buying a banana from the all-night fruit man.
He’s there bundled on his battered apple crate, phone in one hand with his dogeared Koran across his lap. After spending the whole night alone, it’s no surprise he’s happy to see me.
He hasn’t been here long replacing the regular man who went back home for a month.
They all have family they rarely see.
I arrive with a bottle of water for him and a quarter he never takes. He speaks little English so we can’t really talk to one another, but the exchange speaks for itself.
Today he told me would be his last.
I took his hand warmly that he then placed over his heart.
Kindness, you see, has its own language. 
SB
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Posted in Beauty, Culture, Faith, Family, food, friendship, grace, Gratitude, History, Home, humanity, Love, money, New York City, religion, travel, Women and men, words, writing
Tagged #lovethyneighbor, #nycfruitvendors, #randomactsofkindness, #sadfarewells
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Memorial Day 2026
I wrote this in 2016.
Ten years later to quote Abraham Lincoln, we need to bind up the nation’s wounds.
Though she’s limping still with her head held high, I’m confident will prevail, or all the lives lost defending and protecting her beneath those flag draped headstones alas, would have been for nothing. SB
Freedom comes with a price that’s never more evident than when you go to Arlington National Cemetery, and it has little to do with the Kennedys, all majestically buried there like movie stars.
It’s those endless rows of white headstones standing at attention, representing the brave souls beneath them, bringing you to your knees.
The first time I went like everyone, wanted to see the Eternal Flame Jacquline Kennedy lit in November 1963, way before she joined her husband where she now rests.
Even the Custis-Lee Mansion standing sentry over land, once the home of Confederate General Robert E. Lee, takes a backseat to the simple markers reminding you, it’s because of them I get to even be here; why I get to wake up each day wrapped in liberty and that ongoing pursuit of happiness Jefferson promised without ever having to explain myself.
I’m an American after all, whose rights prevail no matter what.
Why?
Because our dedicated Armed Forces make certain of it along with our sacred Constitution.
Freedom, whether it’s to vote, say what you think, attend college, marry, have children, write, drive a car, play ball, open a business or work for one comes with huge price tags.
At Arlington you can count them. 
With malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation’s wounds; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow, and his orphan—to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and a lasting peace, among ourselves, and with all nation.
Abraham Lincoln
Second Inaugural Address
March 4th, 1865, 41 days before he was killed at the service of his country.
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Posted in Beauty, Books, Culture, Faith, grace, Gratitude, History, humanity, inspiration, kindness, Love, men, Politics, readng, Uncategorized, violence, war, words, writing
Tagged #arlingtonnationalcemetery, #honoringveterans, #lincolnsecondinauguraladdress, #memorialday2026, #usarmedforces
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Paying Through The Nose
Starbucks 87th And Third Avenue
I rarely come here since it’s long rather then wide, like a subway car, everyone almost touching elbows. But the smell of fresh brewed beans lures me in after holding the door for a baby who may have just given me the high sign.
Yes, a dose of caffeine is an excellent idea.
The barista has a needle through his nose like a Ubangi. I try not to stare. The woman behind me isn’t as discreet. She says over my shoulder, “Can you actually breathe with that thing?”
“You see me breathin’ don’t ya?”
Detecting warfare say,”How bout we don’t get too personal. We’re only here for coffee after all,” my referee coming out. “So could I have a Venti Medium Roast very light with two Stevias please?”
I then sit at the one free table. The noise is like Muzak in an elevator. It’s no wonder kids man their Macs wearing earphones.
The indiscreet woman asks could she share my table. Dammit! But too polite to say no. So not to make it a complete waste will describe her.
She’s pushing 40 with pumped up lips that must cost a fortune even with a Groupon since they have to be pumped regularly, like air in your tires.
She’s full-figured in black pants and a pink blouse with serious cleavage that takes over the table.
Picture a poor man’s Liz Taylor with banana bread.
She at once spills coffee. I grab napkins to mop it up.
“Make sure you get it all,” she says, like it’s my job.
My irritation gaining speed, decide to just leave. I wish her a good day, though hardly mean it, but as I’m headed out the Ubangi calls me over.
“Do you know her?”
“Never saw her before, but she asked to sit down so what could I say?”
“How bout no?”
I laugh. “You’re right. I just wanted to sit a while, people watch and drink my coffee that’s now cold. That’ll teach me, right?” I say smiling.
“Hold on,” he says, and goes and makes me a fresh cup on the house.
Perks, no pun intended. 
SB 🙂
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Posted in art, Beauty, creative writing, Culture, Fashion
Tagged #observingyoursurroundings, #plasticsurgery, #starbuckscoffee, #lackofboundaries, #facepiercings
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In The Heat Of The Moment
I’m in line at the post office. It’s 93 degrees and their air-conditioning isn’t working. I’d leave but need to send a certified letter.
To say I’m cranky as sweat pours down into every crevice of my body doesn’t cut it.
Adding to it is the woman in front of me talking nonstop on her cell phone. I’m ready to kill somebody.
Under my breath I mutter….will you shut up and get off your damn phone. A minute later say it again…shut up and get off your damn phone, assuming no one hears me.
Suddenly the little kid behind me, all of four like a parrot in shorts, screams…SHUT UP AND GET OFF YOUR DAMN PHONE!
Everyone freezes like it’s a stickup, including the woman who finally shut up and got off her damned phone.
SB
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Posted in Culture, humanity, humor, kids, New York City, Uncategorized, words, writing
Tagged ##uspostalservice, #inappropriatecellphoneuse, #nycheatwave, #smartkids
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athingirldotcom 