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That’s A Lotta Rott
“Mind? It would be my pleasure.” 🙂
Posted in animals, Beauty, Culture, Family, friendship, grace, humanity, humor, inspiration, kids, Love, men, nature, New York City, parents, women, writing
Tagged #centralparknyc, #loveofanimals, #rottweilerdogs, #warmerweather
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Marry For Love
I’m not an expert on love by any means, but this is what I know.
If you marry for any other reason, you better be prepared. If you don’t start with that pure feeling you’ll be sorry when you’ll need it the most: him snoring; when she’s grumpy.
When he’s late again you fearing he’s with his young secretary…her off the charts spending you can’t control.
Arguing over your kids or if you stay together long enough, grandkids.
That initial love is the oasis, the home ground you can retreat to.
That memory of your heart pounding when they entered the room.
Don’t ever marry someone only for money. When you have to get drunk to have sex, that’s when you know you’re shopping in the wrong aisle.
Happened to me once. We were both in-between planes, as they say; he a divorce leaving him heartbroken, me heartbroken over a man not getting one after ordering his and hers monogramed towels.
The result?
Two emotional cripples unite for all the wrong reasons…him with lots of money he lavished I’m pretty sure just to spite his ex, while I drank the Kool-Aid till drunk on Prada bags and Burberry raincoats.
I finally left, coming to my senses, exchanging opulence for my self-respect gone missing.
Since then, I look for love the way it should look…pure, honest and true.
Sadly it’s eluded me since then, like a perpetual penance.
But like any trial we survive, what’s left are those hard truths and lofty lessons making us who we are for better or worse.
So, anybody need a raincoat? 
SB
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Sitting On The Met’s Steps
I’m basking in the sun like a lizard in a down coat. It’s chilly, delighted the sun is making an unscheduled appearance.
I haul out my notebook glad I’m wearing fingerless gloves. I buy them in bulk from Amazon because I’m always giving them away.
I’m not alone.
Quite a few people are perched all along the steps like we were placed by a film director. I love watching the young girls take selfies like they’re movie stars.
One Latina has two foot long fake eye lashes, her friend that looks like her sister, a sizable nose ring; they’re wearing very short skirts without stockings and Poodle bomber jackets.
I hear Coco Chanel weep from the ether.
The food carts are all doing great business.
On my left a man eats a bowl of rice and beans from Jose’s Fresh Kitchen that I’m guessing isn’t so fresh, but when you’re hungry and cold, hey, what’s a few expired Garbanzos.
A family of four arrive hurrying up the steps. Another couple linger looking out on Fifth Avenue. It’s worth the pause, watching New York in all her post-holiday splendor.
A police car double-parks. Two cops get out bypassing Jose for two espressos from another vendor. I know what they order because I hear a woman say, “Cha-lie, look, they got espressos.” That’s Cha-lie’s cue to go get her one as he obediently joins the cops who nod before getting back into their heated car.
He comes back with two and a pastry he pulls from his pocket.
Oh, how I love detail.
“Excuse me sir, what kind of pastry is that?” He looks at it. “I dunno…somethin’ with suga on it. She loves suga.”
The woman devilishly grins before taking a huge bite.
“Hmm, it’s so good,” she said, with powdered sugar now on her black leather gloves.
“It should be,” snapped Cha-lie, “it cost enough.”
She then mouths to me, “He’s cheap.” I had to laugh, especially when she asked what was I writing?
If she only knew. 🙂
SB
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Posted in Beauty, creative writing, Culture, dessert, Family, Fashion, food, humanity, humor, inspiration, men, money, nature, New York City, women, Women and men, words, writing
Tagged #metropolitanmuseumofart, #observingyoursurroundings, #touristsnyc, #wintersunshine
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Is Christmas Overrated?
I had a shitty holiday. I’ll just say it. Christmas cheer seemed more manufactured than heartfelt.
The falsity affected me, how it was all forced, from our building’s flat decorations to the workers circling like sharks awaiting their envelopes.
I stayed in a low-grade gloom that wouldn’t lift.
I still sent cards receiving few in return. Just one person sent me one before receiving mine. I had visions of the other six cursing me having to waste postage.
Yeah, I’m aware that it keeps going up, and my repeated litany that life’s short has gotten old, but still feel that way.
We can at least attempt to make an effort.
I think of Caroline Kennedy’s daughter dying at 35 leaving behind two small children who will never know their mother. This is when one’s faith turns to fear realizing, our chronic, complaining self-absorption needs to stop, respecting grace how ever it arrives.
So as I watched the dead poinsettias shoved into huge garbage bags with the wreaths now tossed on the curb, told myself, that even a holiday on speed-dial may be one to treasure.
Who knows if we’ll have another.
Tatiana Schlossberg (1990-2025)
SB
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Posted in Culture, Faith, Family, grace, Gratitude, Health, History, Home, humanity, inspiration, Love, money, nature, New York City, parents, readng, religion, words, writing
Tagged #embracinglife'sgifts, #tatianaschlossberg, #xmas2025
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Thigh Own Self Be True
I spent seven hours in the Emergency Room due to mysterious swelling in my left leg, afraid it was a blood clot.
Have you ever seen a boa constrictor after it’s had its lunch? That’s what my thigh looked like.
Life slows down while anxiously waiting in the company of it at its most fragile.
The things I saw.
A man being resuscitated.
A young pregnant girl crying afraid she’d lose her baby.
A woman whose breasts were so large they didn’t fit in her gown, hanging out both sides. It didn’t stop her though from talking on her phone propped on pillows like she was at a spa.
Then a man was wheeled next to me mooning the whole ER. After the attendant ignored it, covered him up with his coat. And the most amazing part was I knew him. He lives in my neighborhood.
I can surely say, we were both quite happy he wasn’t awake.
While sitting there scared down to the socks they give you, watched all those being brought in, many in dire shape. At one point I helped a nurse calm a frightened woman who could hardly breathe. I rubbed her back while the nurse gave her oxygen.
I clearly saw how lucky to not be in worse shape.
When a young kid came in all beat up, my heart swelled bigger than my thigh. He was a regular, roughed up by his drunken dad his mom refuses to leave.
Lots of gossip to be had in the ER.
Hours later, finally released, so grateful that it wasn’t more serious than it was; an infection already better with antibiotics.
As you age every ailment feels like a gun aimed at your head.
You can’t help thinking, whew, another close call; your
gratitude increases knowing you’ve dodged one more bullet.
I just wish I realized this twenty years ago, that despite numerous trials, how blessed I’ve always been.
SB
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Posted in creative writing, Culture, Faith, Gratitude, Health, humanity, inspiration, New York City, violence, Women and men, words, writing
Tagged #2026, #doctorsER, #graceunderfire, #hospitalERS, #randominfections
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Give Us Our Daily Dread
Starbucks 88th and Third
2 p.m.
BIRR and then some. The cold kept me in until I couldn’t stand it anymore, cabin fever setting in. My plan was to go further than the corner, but the wind talked me out of it.
The place is mobbed, all seats taken, standing room only and that’s taken too. It looks like a coat sale with so many thrown over chairs and stacked in piles. You can’t accuse Starbucks of not having heat.
As I stand in line, a neighbor well ahead of me calls out, asking what I want. It’s nice of her, but know now I’d have to talk to her. She complains a lot despite being blessed with unearned wealth swimming in a trust fund that could fund UNICEF.
For starters, she has three apartments on one floor made into one.
So imagine St. Francis listening to one of the Vanderbilts bitch and moan.
“It’s so awful out. I just hate the east coast. Don’t you?” was her opening line handing me a Grande coffee when I only asked for a Tall. When I hand her money, waves it away, knowing it will still cost me.
“It’s a good thing my fur coats came from storage on time, I mean can you imagine?”
She then starts complaining that our doormen aren’t wearing their hats; something I’m glad of since they look like pilots.
Then, seems her maid, as she calls her live-in housekeeper, forgot to buy fresh bread she specifically asked for, and now wants to fire her.
Maybe it was the cold, or that I was indoors too long, but start to laugh. I mean really laugh to the point where people around me start to laugh too. Has that ever happened to you when laughter becomes contagious?
“What’s so funny?” she asks, which makes me howl more. I try wiggling out of my lack of decorum, but can’t. I guess I’m just sick of the spoiled rich, and to fire someone over bread?
Can you imagine? 🙂
I say to her, “You know, man cannot live by bread alone,” laughing even harder.
She snaps, “What the hell does that mean?”
Another woman pipes in…
(I love this)
“It’s from the Bible.”
Then she looks at me. “Man shall not live by bread alone. You got it a little wrong.”
“Did I?”
And just laughed more. 🙂 
SB
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Posted in creative writing, Culture, humanity, humor, money, New York City, religion, Starbucks, women, words, writing
Tagged #bibleverses, #starbuckscoffee, #theveryrich, #Uppereasidenyc
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Get It Off The Table
Years ago I met a man who taught a course at the New School on procrastination. He was the floor mate of a German designer I modeled for. His name was Daniel. He was the first guy I knew who wore jeans, penny loafers and a navy blazer when it wasn’t the fashion.
The stuff one remembers.
Though I never took his course, he’d slip me pointers whenever we’d meet in the hallway…him taking out trash while I snuck a smoke in my nylon slip.
Don’t allow things to back up, he had said.
If there’s a bill to pay, pay it…if you can’t, make the call so they know you’re working on it; laundry needs folding, fold it. Mail that note, pick up the dry-cleaning; clean as you go.
Get it all off the table.
As young and clueless as I was, his words stuck.
To this day I’m efficient to a fault, often accused of being anal and a candidate for OCD…Obsessive-compulsive disorder.
It’s always from someone who’s the opposite; disorganized, overwhelmed, bogged down with so many untended chores that none get done; the quintessential procrastinator.
In the time it takes to ridicule me, they could be doing a load’a whites.
I have no idea whatever happened to Daniel, but those teachers we encounter past and present leave their mark, as I fill my laundry bag fulla’ whites, getting it off the table. 
🙂
SB
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Posted in creative writing, Culture, Fashion, friendship, Gratitude, History, Home, humanity, humor, inspiration, men, modeling, New York City, readng, Women and men, words, writing
Tagged #beingorganized, #OCD, #teachers, #thenewschoolnyc, procrastination
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A Brand New Year
It’s 12:01, awakened by horns blaring after falling asleep with a book on my lap.
When I looked out my window a group of kids in silver and gold top hats, sold on every corner, were jumping and hugging each other. One held a bottle of what looks like champagne.
Another couple kiss in the moonlight.
It’s like a Parisian painting come to life. The girl even wore a beret.
I prefer being the voyeur rather than a participant observing keenly; like watching a film with the sound turned down.
I’m glad to leave 2025 behind me. It was a year filled with loss and sadness cradled in acceptance to all I could do nothing about; friends leaving, beauty fading, knowing my modeling days are well behind me.
C’est la guerre, such is war, as my former friend Ed would say.
I don’t care for the term…New Year’s Resolution…a firm decision to do something or not to do something.
It always feels as if there’s a .38 pointed to my head since I rarely keep them.
I work better minus pressure, especially from myself.
What I deeply want more than anything is peace of mind wrapped in good health.
I’ve learned without them, nothing else matters.
Often I hear all those no longer here chanting from the ether telling me to not worry over things; to lighten up, to only do what makes me happy, and they would know, wouldn’t they?
So here’s to a happy, healthy, peaceful New Year.
And God bless America who too will hopefully have a happier one.
SB
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Posted in alcohol, art, Beauty, Books, Cinema, Culture, Faith, Fashion, grace, Gratitude, Health, humanity, inspiration, Love, modeling, New York City, Politics, readng, Women and men, words, writing
Tagged #2026, #celebratinganewyear, #godblessamerica, #newyear'sresolutions, #newyearsday
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Life On The Train
Downtown 4 Express
My fellow passengers all look exhausted despite it being only 11 a.m.
On top of that, no one seems happy, including several kids. I’ll chalk it up to an extended Christmas hangover.
As we turtle our way, finally getting to Grand Central, three tall, handsome young men of color get on.
They don’t sit. I assume they’ll go up and down the car asking for money, but instead start singing a cappella in three-part harmony, like a trio of angels with dreadlocks.
Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On filters through the car...Father, father, we don’t need to escalate. You see, war is not the answer. For only love can conquer hate…
I never heard anything so beautiful.
When the train pulls into Union Square what they do is quite unexpected.
They place their hands over their hearts, humbly bowing before getting off, never asking for a thing.
After seeing the change on everyone’s face, their actions confirm what I already know…kindness could change the world. 
I’m crying as I write this.
SB
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Posted in art, Beauty, Culture, Faith, grace, humanity, inspiration, kids, Love, music, New York City, travel, words, writing
Tagged #hopespringseternal, #receivingisinthegiving, #ridingtheNewYorksubway, #subwaymusicians
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And I Quote
Why do these inspire?
Of course what inspires me, may not you, but just maybe one will touch your heart or make you giggle.
If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.
Jane Austen
I remember the first time I had sex. I kept the receipt.
Groucho Marx 
Life is not a matter of holding good cards, but at playing a poor hand well.
Robert Lewis Stevenson
Time wounds all heels.
Dorothy Parker
Why is there an expiration date on sour cream?
George Carlin
The more I learn about people, the more I like my dog.
Mark Twain
I learned a long time ago the wisest thing I could do is be on my own side.
Maya Angelou
A wounded deer leaps highest. Emily Dickinson
Everything is funny as long as it’s happening to someone else.
Will Rogers.
I’m very proud of my gold pocket watch. My grandfather, on his deathbed, sold it to me.
Woody Allen
If it’s the Psychic Network, why do they need a phone number?
Robin Williams 
If you think nobody cares about you, try missing a coupla payments.
Steven Wright
The older you get, the better you get, unless you’re a banana.
Betty White aka Rose…The Golden Girls
Humor is the mistress of tears.
William Makepeace Thackeray
Amen to that.
In Pete Hamill’s novel, North River, Jim Delaney’s three year-old grandson calls snow ‘O’.
Since it’s coming down in blankets as I write, we’ll end there.
SB
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Posted in animals, Books, comedy, creative writing, Culture, humor, inspiration, Women and men, words, writing
Tagged #comedians, #goodreades, #makeemlaugh, #northriverpetehamill, #takinglifelightly, #writer'squotes
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athingirldotcom 