“NO!”

the two attorneys I work with yelled in unison after asking if I needed to wear a coat for my later-than-normal-time lunch walk today.

And boy, oh, boy were they correct!

Sprummer is here!

“Sprummer?”

Yes, in Chicago we do not have four seasons, we have two – Finter and Sprummer.

Combos – going from one extreme to the next.

So today is the beginning of Sprummer.

With the bright sunshine and 74 degree temps, I found myself walk, walk, walking all the way to

State Street to view Marshall Field’s Macy’s Flower Show.

This annual Sprummer event showcases 1,000’s of flowers inside their

State Street store.

 

Here is what I got to see (and smell)…

Even the carpeting was fun and Sprummerish!!

My favorite part of the show was a whimsically fun mobile made out of balsa wood airplanes and dangled from the historic, beautiful mosaic dome in the center court...

I was so enamored by it...I went up to the second floor and shot this...

and to the third floor for this...

and then it was time to begrudgingly walk back to work!

Although on the way I passed by this...

and nothing-says-Sprummer-like-a-pink-scooter!

could not be cuter

I could not stop thinking about him...

as I rounded the bend of the river this morning.

In an ongoing effort to eat healthy, I decided to make a quick stop at the French Market located inside the Chicago & Northwestern train station.

He was the cashier at the produce stand.

Twenty-something, dark and handsome.

He said nothing during my entire transaction…

which, of course, made me ask “How are you today?”

“Not good.” he said.

“Well then tomorrow you will be better!” I let him know.

He grunted back...

“No…probably worse.”

As I walked on to my office I thought...

“I am going to stop in tomorrow and see if he is better!”

and then thought...

“Mind your own beeswax, he is going to think you are crazy!”

I snapped out of my “self-talk," and once again was focusing on my surroundings (which is always nice to do when you are walking down a crowded city sidewalk) just in time to see a woman walk past me, carrying a brown paper Lucky Brand shopping bag, that was emblazoned with two words:

“Give Hope”

I guess I'll be seeing him tomorrow.

to give some hope where there is sorrow

Left For Me To Find Friday.....

my latest obsession crusade...

If you are a longtime reader you already know how I feel about smokers, if not,  you can read about it here and again here.

And, yes, I do understand it is an addiction.

I, too, am an addict.

My name is Susan Snippets and I am addicted to food!!

Mostly sugary food, but you will not see me throwing candy/food wrappers on the ground, while constantly burping up toxic smells of whatever I have digesting in my belly, thus spewing said odors on everyone in my path.

For years I have been enraged about the casualness and the seemingly social "acceptance" of smokers throwing cigarette butts wherever...

but recently I have witnessed a new (at least new to me) trend...

 

 Seriously?????

Why do some smokers NOT put them into a nearby garbage can....

as this seemingly healthy eater did...

attempt a try?!?!?!?

why oh why

“Hey, Mister…

you with the $1,000 suit! Can you spare something for a guy with nothing?”

I knew better than to even look his way as I walked down Lake Street yesterday.

After all these years and several “incidents” I have learned (hopefully).

Although for a change this homeless man wasn’t zeroing in on me, certainly not in my old (“comfortable”) blue jeans and thin, cotton, bought-at-Target jacket.

Nope, he was trying to hook the guy walking alongside of me, dressed kind of like this...


After Mr. Businessman and I had walked 10 feet or so, and I was certain that the coast was clear, I turned and said “That was the first time I heard that line!”

He smiled and replied “Actually, he was off a bit, it is a $2,000 suit!”

I picked up the pace and from over my shoulder I said...

“Well then, I guess you might have had something to spare!”

for himself and his suits he might only care

"You are going to catch your death of cold!"

I heard our mother's scolding voice in my head say this morning as I walked out into the 38 degree temps with wet hair.

Certainly not what I wanted to do.

But after showering, I "put" my face on, then pulled out the blow dryer and plugged it in.

Nothing blew.

So I went into the laundry room thinking that something had to be wrong with the bathroom outlet, but if that were the case, the laundry room outlet had "something wrong" with it also.

Nope...my blow dryer went belly up.

Kaput.

Suddenly I was thrown back-in-the-day when there were no such things as "blow dryers".

As kids we took baths in the evenings, and not only were we not allowed to go outside with wet hair in fear of imminent death, we also were not allowed to go to bed with wet hair for the same reason.

So we were left to sit over heat registers in the winter and brushing in the summer's evening heat of the house, until our hair was dry.

It wasn't until the late 1960's, when our mom acquired a bonnet hair dryer...

that we used with only the hose attached (our own precursor to modern day blow dryers), that we no longer had to resort to heat vents and brushing for the drying of our hair.

But this morning, again dutifully obeying my Mom's voice (even now at 51 years of age), I drove all the way to the train with the red rocket's COLD (NO heat - long story!) air on high, with the vents pointed directly at my head.

drying my hair so i would not get dead

“PEANUTS! PEANUTS!’

I could have sworn that is what the conductor was shouting this morning as she entered our train car.

I quickly realized she was saying “Tickets! Tickets!” as I was deep in thought, constructing a blog about my sister Wendy’s 50th Birthday this Sunday. (She has avidly collected elephant items for most of her adult life!)


Born on March 21st (the first FULL day of Spring) in 1960, she was dark haired and looked very different than her older fair haired sisters, Vicki and me. We resembled our German father, but Wendy, she was definitely filled with our Mom’s Irish/English blood.

Which was probably the reason she was such a “momma’s” girl from the get go. Once Wendy was old enough to voice her opinion, there was not much sharing of our mother.

And not only is she determined, beautiful and smart (“the only one that a high school counselor said SHOULD go to college!” I have heard our Mother say over and over!), she also has been blessed with a take charge, choleric personality, that, as one of her older sisters, I could not appreciate until later in life.

She is my rock.

My Jiminy Cricket.

My pain-in-the-butt-why-does-she-ask-me-the-hard-questions-all-the-time sister!

She is also all of that to our family and here are just a couple of big time examples...

When our father was diagnosed with lymphoma, she became his patient advocate, jumping into that role, feet first – researching and learning all she could about the disease.

In 2001 when he passed away, Wendy (like the rest of us dealing with horrible grief) only had a slight reprieve from her take charge, caretaker role...

because on October 29th of that same year, I, Susan Snippets, was diagnosed with lymphoma and without blinking, Wendy put her nurse hat back on and again stepped into the role that she perfected with our father.

Needless to say I credit her (along with God, the great folks at Loyola Hospital, and many other family members and friends) with the saving of my life.

So when just under two months ago, Wendy herself was diagnosed with lymphoma – it stopped me and the rest of the family in our tracks. (This is our third diagnosis of a disease that is not “suppose” to be hereditary.)

We now are her rocks.

Her cheerleaders.

Her advocates.

We will start with, amongst other things, celebrating her 50th Birthday!

So, to our dark haired sister, whom we love so much...

Happy 50th Birthday Girl!!

twirl twirl twirl

"Hi, I am Susan Snippets and I'm a...

DAR."

A what?

Maybe it is actually D.A.R., I will have to look that up.

But...in the meantime what I do know is that my sister Vicki has been encouraged by her friend, Laurel, to research our family lineage.

And, thankfully, Vicki has been enjoying the detective-like hard work of finding out exactly who we descended from.

This investigating has already led her to some exciting discoveries, the first of which is that a distant relative on our mother's Batson side of the family (my daughter Anna Mae is named after my great-grandmother Anna Mae Batson), a Mordecai Batson, served in the Revolutionary War.

Because Mordecai served in that war, and we have the records to prove it, me, Susan Snippets, and my female relatives are official Daughters of the American Revolution!

which led to the signing of our constitution

"Always listen to your first instinct."

was something that my sister Wendy said to me over the summer.

Like when you are setting something down and think "That could fall over"...but you put it there anyway and within minutes you hear a big crash!

That kind of listening.

So, when I was walking past my favorite little snack store inside of the Merchandise Mart at lunch today, and I thought "I really SHOULD NOT go inside and buy myself those Banana Laffy Taffy's that I LOVE so much!", but instead I do buy a handful of them (only ten cents each!) unwrap one within 5 seconds of paying for it, and pop it into my mouth...


and IMMEDIATELY bit the inside of my right cheek so hard, that at first, I only heard a little noise...

like the noise that you might hear when you chomp down on a piece of steak, a really tough piece of steak;

then, almost simultaneously, I felt a shooting pain and tasted blood, all of those niceties were followed with an intense headache over my right eye socket.

The inside of my right cheek now resembles raw ground beef...

So do you think that experience would stop me from eating the rest of the Laffy Taffy???

Nope...the left side of my cheek was still unharmed.

I must say...

as a learner, I am exceedingly slow.

need some aspirins so i must go

“Barb, I think one of the guys that you just met with left his glasses in the conference room.”

I let her know as I handed them to her.

"Thanks, Susan." she said, placing them on her desk and then proceeding to send the guys an email that she had the eyeglasses.

Barb and I then both went home.

When I got to the office this morning an email was in my inbox from one of the lawyers here in the office...

“I am missing my prescription eyeglasses. If anyone has seen them, please let me know. Thanks!”

Rut Roh!

It turns out that within minutes of the clients leaving yesterday, Mark went into the conference room and started reading, thus taking off his glasses and laying them on the table.

He cannot see up close with his glasses on.

And, he CANNOT see FAR with his glasses off.

So, he could not drive home.

Instead his wife had to make her way to our office so she could drive their car.

note to self next time I find glasses leave them where they are

The winds of change....

are a blowing...

and hopefully when the gusting is all said and done...some things (finances) will be even better!!

when i cannot post do not fretter

“Why are you wearing THAT pin?”

a co-worker inquired this morning.

Along with my black corduroy jacket, purple lace cami and one of my favorite necklaces, I also included a crude, popsicle stick flower pin.

A pin that I have cherished, since my back-then 9 year-old daughter, Anna, made it and presented it to me on Mother’s Day.

Now fast forward to the present and Anna has grown into a 19 year-old, who is quite often cranky, mouthy, and a complete know-it-all, who during these times...I have difficulty even liking.

So I included it in my "flair" today (especially), front and center, as a warm and fuzzy reminder of those occasions when she outwardly loved me, which made it so much easier to love her back.

often i am thisclose to a heart attack

"Susan, it is YOUR story....

not his!"

My sister Wendy stated last night over a bowl of my homemade chili.

"But it such a good story!" I replied.

The "story" she was talking about was one that I wrote about here.

This past Saturday was not only my son Phillip's 22nd birthday, but it was also the day that the William Eggleston Exhibit opened at the Chicago Art Institute.

And my fire about the "story" was further stoked when I went to the Art Institute’s website to confirm that the William Eggleston exhibit was still opening on the 27th...and I read:

”William Eggleston will be making a RARE appearance on the 27th to sign his new book.”
What!

It IS meant to be!!!

I told you...YAHOO!!

My mind started racing....

we are going and I am bringing my Red Cube No. 9 and a little book that I will put together with all of the comments from the Red Cube site and the photographs that Phillip submitted as part of the assignment for our cube and I am having Mr. Eggleston sign the cube;

and I will introduce Phillip to him;

and I will give him the book I made;

and by looking at that book he will immediately see Phillip’s talent;

and Phillip will become “discovered” overnight and his life will be filled with happiness, money, sunshine and rainbows.

But that is not what happened.

Phillip told me early last week that he really did not want to go.

I insisted and quite frankly demanded that he HAD to go.

So he went.

And he was not happy about it.

He did not want me to give Mr. Eggleston the “book” that I had made.

He actually forbid me to give it to him.

He did not want to meet Mr. Eggleston, so he did not.

He did not even want to be at the Art Institute.

What he wanted to do was...

walk to Central Camera to buy some film - which he did;

have dinner at Big Bowl - which we did; and

spend time in Chicago, with his out-of-town girlfriend, alone, not with his Mom and her boyfriend in tow.

So my sister, Wendy's statement around the dining room table last night, was...oh so right.

It has been my story ever since I found the cube.

And I have loved telling that story over and over...

sucking my audience in with all the parallels between Phillip and Red Cube No. 9.

And although I still believe those parallels are true, the cube that I found is MY story, not his.

His story...

well Phillip will have to write his own.

as for me i need to leave his writing alone