Slightly West of West 44th Ave, NYC

Dorothy Parker. Robert Benchley. George S. Kaufman.

According to the ever- omniscient Wikipedia, these bon vivants, along with a few choice others, were the members of an elite, "celebrated group of writers, critics, actors and wits.

Gathering initially as part of a practical joke, members of 'The Vicious Circle' gathered for lunch each day at the Algonquin Hotel from 1919 until roughly 1929."

Ah, the Baroness loves her the clever folk.

Many's a day when I have whiled away the time wishing that I could be a fly on the wall of The Rose Room during that heyday.

Or, perhaps, I could be their waitress - although I'm sure the tip would be appalling.

Writers, ya know.

The truth is, (and one that I am dubious to share, as I'm sure you will flock here in droves once you know of it), I need not fritter away my time on such wishes.

I have my own Vicious Circle - right here - at the von B kitchen table. Well, the "Circle" may be more of an oval, and the topics may not always fall into the "Vicious" category, but make no mistake - the high level of intellect and verbal repartee when the Baron, Duke 1, Duke 2 and I are together would rival any Algonquin lunchtime chin wag.

Some examples of our evocative and compelling topics of conversation:

. A frenzied debate over who was the Head Power Ranger, and, if we were the 4 Power Rangers, which form we should take to best drive down our slush and ice-covered side street

. The petition by Duke 1 of his belief that people who say "Merry Christmas" to everyone (regardless of their potential religious affiliation) are merely intending to infuse the spirit of the season, rather than being evangelical Christians who assume everyone celebrate this particular holiday

. An observation, after seeing "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button", that the deathbed Daisy, played by Cate Blanchett, bears a striking resemblance to Emperor Palpatine of Star Wars fame.

. Yet another dog anecdote, told by the Baron, of how our horny little cur was caught pre-flagrante delicto, "preparing" his dog bed for some afternoon delight, by nudging his nose underneath to flip it in half (think taco here, people, and connect the dots)

"How did you know that he was getting ready to hump his bed?", asked Duke 1, foolishly stepping onto the landmine.

"Well, I usually nudge my nose under your Mom to flip her over".

Hilarity (and a fair share of digust) ensued.

. The bantering back and forth betwixt Dukes 1 and 2 over what is the correct term - GILF or GMILF, again after seeing an aged (yet somehow sexy)(?) Cate Blanchett, who again looks like a Star Wars-esque dried apple head doll. Replete with liver spots.

. The innuendo-laden instructions, read aloud for all to enjoy, that came with Duke 1's new harmonica. Lots of "place tongue over 3 holes", "blow gently", and "That's What She Said" comebacks. Whoooooooo!

. The eternal debate: Is Samuel L. Jackson the greatest over-actor of all time? Results of this round - 3 for, 1 against.

A certain Gertrude Atherton once described the Algonquin Round Table as a group "where the cleverest of them - and those who were so excitedly sure of their cleverness that for the moment they convinced others as well as themselves - forgathered daily. There was a great deal of scintillating talk in this group of the significant books and tendencies of the day...They appraised, debated, rejected, finally placed the seal of their august approval upon a favored few."

The von B Round-ish table - august?

Hmmm.

I think not.

We're more of a July.

Proof that Whoville Water is Tainted with LSD

I was reminded today, whilst perusing one of our fine specimens of journalism, that oh my - how the Baroness loves her some Dr. Seuss.

Especially on days like this, when there is nothing else to do while sitting in front of a roaring fire but wax nostalgic. Something like this:

"Oh, now c'mon - it's been this cold before - in fact, one of my earliest memories is of watching out the front door as the wind chill factor made the steam from the mastadon's nostrils plum freeze their snouts shut - damn things dropped like wet bags of sand. Ha, ha, hahhhh - good times!", or

"Now kids, remember that time before when we ran out of firewood? We just put on all of our clothes and started burning Grandma's furniture - and that's why we have no heirlooms left to give you", or

"Ah, winter. It's always been a time where we wax nostalgic around a roaring fire. And we try to quieten down the inner voices that make me want to wallop you with that fireplace poker BECAUSE WE'RE ALL STUCK INSIDE AND YOU'RE DRIVING ME NUTS!!!"

One of my favorite-est non-head trauma inducing winter memories are of Dr. Seuss' "How the Grinch Stole Christmas". And after a day of trudging, barefoot, 20 miles to school in the snow (uphill both ways, natch), I don't have to tell you that I liked to kick back with some cocoa and petite marshamallows, and begin my petitioning for the hogging our singular TV between 8:00 and 8:30 pm.

I usually did not get any argument with the parental units for this; mercifully, there were no siblings to contend with - this made getting my way all the easier.

That and the fact that I'm an amazing master of manipulation and have acting skills up the yin yang.

One of my favorite songs from this most magical of musicals? The one that made my brain once again tickle, just reading the lyrics today?

"Trim up the Tree".

Let's hope you all already have this matter well in hand. In the event you don't (you then win the prestigious BvonB Extremely Late Book Review Award for tardiness) - here are some pointers that will get you well on your way...

Trim Up the Tree
Trim up the tree with Christmas stuff
Like bingle balls, and whofoo fluff
Trim up the town with goowho gums and bizilbix and wums
Trim every blessed window and trim every blessed door
Hang up whoboohoo bricks
Then run out and get some more!
Hang pantookas on the ceilings
Pile pankunas on the floor
Trim every blessed needle on the blessed Christmas tree
Christmas comes tomorrow
Trim you, trim me!
Trim up your pets with fuzzle fuzz
And whiffer bloofs, and wuzzle wuzz
Trim up your uncle and your aunt
With yards of whofut flant
Trim every house in Whoville from the cellar to the roof
Hang up a mile of dafflers
And three miles of snaffer snoof!
Hang dang-donglers on the bathtub
Trim the occupant the with floof
To every home in Whoville and to every blessed Who
Christmas comes tomorrow
Trim me, trim you!
Trim up the tree with Christmas stuff
Like bingle balls, and whofoo fluff
Trim up the town with goowho gums
And bizilbix and wums...
Trim up the tree with bizilbix and wums

Ah, One of "Those"

I am one of "those people".

You know the ones - the ones who believe that things happen for a reason.

That peoples' paths cross for a reason.

That people say things, write things, try to re-connect - all for a reason.

The Baron thinks that I'm one of "those people" because I read too much into every little thing. That I focus on the minutia. That I think too much.

I do not believe that anyone can think too much. It is my belief that if the majority of people only spent a little more time reflecting on things, the world could potentially be a much better place.

In this vein, I must give credence to the e-mail received yesterday from an old friend of mine. We haven't chatted much as of late, though we've had no falling out; there are no hard feelings being harbored here.

We just have two lives that I thought didn't intersect at all in the Grand Venn diagram.

Yet, when I watched what she had sent me, I knew immediately that regardless of the lack of contact, there is a thread - fine as silk and strong as steel - woven between our lives that neither distance nor time will never weaken.

It is the transcendence of friendship, and it is eternal and beautiful and spiritual.

Take a look, and in the spirit of the season, think of sending this gift of appreciation and admiration to one of your long-ago friends...

Thoughtful Thursday

"I planted some bird seed. A bird came up. Now I don't know what to feed it."

Steven Wright

Like most houses in the civilized world, it's a busy time in the vonB homestead.

As it has snowed a whopping 4 inches in the last week, our coastal Canadian city is paralyzed. Ya, ya, ya - I know. We're Canadians. We're supposed to be used to this. Igloos, ice floes, dog sleds, blah, blah, blah.

Y'all are hilarious.

In this neck of the Great White North we are not used to the bitter, bitter cold(insert sarcastic eyerolling here), nor the snow; something radical seems to happen to everyone's good judgment once the thermometer dips below 32 degrees Farenheit. Morons who believe themselves immortal in their SUV's careen through the icy streets, leaving dents and rendered bumpers in their wake.

This is the occasion when I take my grown-up snow day/week/month.

Of late, my time has been filled with baking, casting adoring gazes at my amazing sons, and revelling in the fact that all my chickies are nestled together under one roof.

I have also taken to watching the psychotic birds who are swarming the bird feeders and suet blocks.

These mini butterballs are a messy lot, and they manage to slop out as much seed onto the ground as there is in the feeder itself.

I will keep you all apprised as to what sprouts up in the spring...

Stay warm, and be kind to each other.

Affectionately,
The Baroness

In the Heart of the Season

For reasons not clearly understood by yours truly, some morbidly obese gentleman clad in what appears to be a bathmat seems to get a good majority of the lip service during the holiday season.

But you and I know who the real mastermind is behind all this hoopla. Don't we?

The one who does the near-impossible scheduling, who mediates during labour disagreements, who keeps the gingerbread and hot cocoa flowing fast and furious?

The one who makes sure "the" suit (aforementioned bathmat) is laundered, pressed, hung up and ready to go?

The one who has ensured the rig has had its 10,000 mile oil change, brake alignment, and that the livestock are re-shod, groomed, ethically treated& pumped full of organically-grown nutrition? Who shovels off the path and the runway, and sweeps to make sure the ground is clear and safe for all who walk it?

The one who ensures that all involved, from the best of friends to the most minor of acquaintances, have an appropriate and thoughtful and tastefully wrapped gift?

The one who busts her nut to make sure that the post-gift-giving-extravaganza feast has all of the necessary foodstuffs, and who has toiled all day to lay out a traditional spread?

It's the woman.

I hate to assume (because u and me know what happens), but by and large, it's the females out there who run this show called "The Holidays". I acknowledge that males are involved, and these days more than ever, but still...

C'mon.

And it is for these beautiful angels who make it all proceed with the grace of a gazelle and the precision of a Swiss watchmaker that this post is for.

Normally, I cringe when I see a forwarded e-mail in my inbox.

This - usually - can only end badly, with me either breaking some sacred, around-the-world-20-times chain, or by disappointing the Dalai Lama by not forwarding it to 10 of my friends.

However.

When I took the time to read this one, it just seemed to resonate with me.

Firstly, because rumour has it that I am of the female persuasion.

Secondly, because I believe that - regardless of the lovefest - the month of December is one of the most stress-filled, distressing months in the calendar year for wives, mothers, caregivers.

And lastly, because I have such an amazing treasure trove of lovely, vital women that I want to cling to for all eternity. Maybe you do, too.

Whether you're one of the handful of truly fabulous male readers I've had the good fortune to get to know, or one of the women who make me laugh and think and consider - this is a lesson to share with everyone you know. Right now.

Especially right now.

I usually try to be polite - but this time I'm going to get bossy.

This is important and worthy, and if it could potentially save a life, it was worth you doing. I wish I'd know about this 6 years ago - my mom might have recognized the signs earlier...

Read this. Learn. Share.

"I was aware that female heart attacks are different, but this is the best description I've ever read [regarding women and heart attacks]. Did you know women rarely have the same dramatic symptoms that men have when experiencing heart attack. You know, the sudden stabbing pain in the chest, the cold sweat, grabbing the chest and dropping to the floor that we all see in movies. Here is the story of one woman's experience with a heart attack.

I had a heart attack at about 10:30 pm with NO prior exertion, NO prior emotional trauma that one would suspect might've brought it on. I was sitting all snugly and warm on a cold evening, with my purring cat in my lap, reading an interesting story my friend had sent me, and actually thinking, 'A-a-h, this is the life, all cozy and warm in my soft, cushy Lazy Boy with my feet propped up.

A moment later, I felt that awful sensation of indigestion, [like] when you've been in a hurry and grabbed a bite of sandwich and washed it down with a dash of water, and that hurried bite seems to feel like you've swallowed a golf ball going down the esophagus in slow motion and it is most uncomfortable. You realize you shouldn't have gulped it down so fast and needed to chew it more thoroughly and this time drink a glass of water to hasten its progress down to the stomach. This was my initial sensation - the only trouble was that I hadn't taken a bit of anything since about 5:00 pm.

After it seemed to subside, the next sensation was like little squeezing motions that seemed to be racing up my spine (hindsight, it was probably my aorta spasming), gaining speed as they continued racing up and under my sternum (breast bone, where one presses rhythmically when administering CPR).

This fascinating process continued on into my throat and branched out into both jaws. 'AHA!! NOW I stopped puzzling about what was happening - we all have read and/or heard about pain in the jaws being one of the signals of a MI [myocardial infarction] happening, haven't we? I said aloud to myself and the cat, Dear God, I think I'm having a heart attack!

I lowered the footrest dumping the cat from my lap, started to take a step and fell on the floor instead. I thought to myself, if this is a heart attack, I shouldn't be walking into the next room where the phone is or anywhere else...but, on the other hand, if I don't, nobody will know that I need help, and if I wait any longer I may not be able to get up.

I pulled myself up with the arms of the chair, walked slowly into the next room and dialed the Paramedics...I told her I thought I was having a heart attack due to the pressure building under the sternum and radiating into my jaws. I didn't feel hysterical or afraid, just stating the facts. She said she was sending the Paramedics over immediately, asked if the front door was near to me, and if so, to unbolt the door and then lie down on the floor where they could see me when they came in.

I unlocked the door and then laid down on the floor as instructed and lost consciousness, as I don't remember the medics coming in, their examination, lifting me onto a gurney or getting me into their ambulance, or hearing the call they made to St. Jude ER on the way, but I did briefly awaken when we arrived and saw the cardiologist was already there in his surgical blues and cap, helping the medics pull my stretcher out of the ambulance. He was bending over me asking questions (probably something like 'Have you taken any medications?') but I couldn't make my mind interpret what he was saying, or form an answer, and nodded off again, not waking up until the cardiologist and partner had already threaded the teeny angiogram balloon up my femoral artery into the aorta and into my heart where they installed 2 side by side stents to hold open my right coronary artery.

I know it sounds like all my thinking and actions at home must have taken at least 20-30 minutes before calling the Paramedics, but actually it took perhaps 4-5 minutes before the call, and both the fire station and St. Jude are only minutes away from my home, and my cardiologist was already to go to the OR in his scrubs and get going on restarting my heart (which had stopped somewhere between my arrival and the procedure) and installing the stents.

Why have I written all of this to you with so much detail? Because I want all of you who are so important in my life to know what I learned first hand."

1. Be aware that something very different is happening in your body not the usual men's symptoms, but inexplicable things happening (until my sternum and jaws got into the act). It is said that many more women than men die of their first (and last) MI because they didn't know they were having one and commonly mistake it as indigestion, take some Maalox or other heartburn preparation and go to bed, hoping they'll feel better in the morning when they wake up...which doesn't happen. My female friends, your symptoms might not be exactly like mine, so I advise you to call the Paramedics if ANYTHING is unpleasantly happening that you've not felt before. It is better to have a 'false alarm' visitation than to risk your life guessing what it might be.

2. Note that I said "Call the Paramedics". And if you can, take an aspiring. Ladies, TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE!

3. Do NOT try to drive yourself to the ER - you are a hazard to others on the road. Do NOT have your panicked husband who will be speeding and looking anxiously at what's happening with you instead of the road.

Do NOT call your doctor - he doesn't know where you live and if it's at night you won't reach him anyway, and if it's daytime, his assistants (or answering service) will tell you to call the Paramedics. He doesn't carry the equipment in his car that you need to be saved! The Paramedics do, principally OXYGEN that you need ASAP. Your doctor will be notified later.

3. Don't assume it couldn't be a heart attack because you have a normal cholesterol count. Research has discovered that a cholesterol elevated reading is rarely the cause of an MI (unless it's unbelievably high and/or accompanied by high blood pressure). MIs are usually caused by long-term stress and inflammation in the body, which dumps all sorts of deadly hormones into your system to sludge things up in there. "

You Can Take My Tree, But You Can't Take Carol

For those who had the misfortune to not be able to witness the freak-a-licious John Malkovich on Saturday Night Live this past weekend, he kicked off the holiday show with a riveting reading of "'Twas the Night Before Christmas", complete with roaring fire beside him, quasi-attentive children at his feet, and a belly full of bile just waiting to be spit into everyone's hot cocoa. Check it out:




Not to be outdone, the Baroness feels compelled to also jump into the spirit of the holidays with a riveting rendition of her own. It's infinitely better and far more spirited-er than some strange, semi-crossed-eyed certifiable whackadoodle (and I didn't spit in anyone's bevvies. Honest). Without further ado, may I present to you:

Deck the Halls
(from the poem by John Cieriog Hughes)

Deck the halls with boughs of holly

(photo credit here)
Fa la la la la, la la la la

'Tis the season to be jolly

(photo credit here)

Fa la la la la, la la la la

Don we now our gay apparel

(photo credit here)
Fa la la la la la, la la la la la

Troll the ancient Yuletide carol

(photo credit here)
Fa la la la la, la la la la.

See the blazing Yule before us

(photo credit here)
Fa la la la la, la la la la

Strike the harp and join the chorus

(photo credit here)
Fa la la la la la, la la la la

Follow me in merry measure

(photo credit here)
Fa la la la la la, la la la

While I tell of Yuletide treasure

Fa la la la la, la la

La

La

Now that's what I call holiday spirit! Suck it, Malkovich!!

Oh, and btw Johnny? I stole all of your butter sticks.

Say hi to Pai Natal for me.

It All Starts With One

Even on the worst of days, you beautiful readers of mine are a most indulgent lot.

So will you bear with me, one more time, as I try to take three seemingly random ramblings, segue them together and wrap them into one final pretty present? (Kinda timely by me, if you think about it...)

Thought #1
Where: The Deep End of the Pool, Length #30
What: What To Give To the Food Bank

The Wackness: Just as I was leaving for my Sunday morning swim, the Baron casually asked what I was doing on the way home. Would you mind, says he, stopping at Safeway and picking up some things for the food bank donation I have to bring to my Rotary Club meeting on Thursday?

At the pool, as I go into my zen-like swim state (I mean really - it's pretty automatic & clears the mind for many other things), I start going over the things that my friend (who works at a community food bank) has told me that the recipients really enjoy getting.

I start making up the list in my head:
. Cream of Mushroom soup
. Strawberry Jam or Marmalade
. Canned salmon
. Tea

I also remember that this time of year is a really stressful time for new parents, so I add:
. Powdered baby formula
. Baby cereal
. Arrowroot cookies

Simultaneously (because this is what happens when your brain is slowly being eroded away by chlorine and there is extra space for more than one thought), I begin to remember seeing pictures from the paper of our city's food bank.

It is sparse. There are items, scattered here and there, but many, many shelves are empty.

My synapses somehow fire into this segue:

Thought #2
Where: Our First Home, Front Garden
What: Talking to Visitors about our sad tulip/daffodil showing

The Whiny-ness: Years ago, as we were seeing some of our friends out the front door after a lovely lunch together, they asked to have a guided tour around our front garden.

I remember vividly that one of the things I was most excited about when we were able to make our foray into the housing market was that I would have the chance to plant my own flowers - as many as I wanted, wherever I wanted.

I went out to the nursery in the fall and bought what I thought was a huge amount of daffodil and tulip bulbs. I planted with gusto, and impatiently waited through the winter for the calendar to click over to the first day of Spring.

Daily I would scour the warming earth for any signs of green popping its head up. It eventually started, ever so slowly. I was beside myself with giddiness. It was finally happening. When my garden babies did bloom, I was a little taken aback at the effect.

And this was what our friends and I were commiserating about. They had found themselves in a very similar situation a couple of years earlier.

"I thought", the husband said, "that with all the bulbs I planted, our yard would look like a picture postcard of Holland - without the windmills." He smiled ruefully. I knew exactly how he felt.

"This was not the case. There ended up being 2 here, 3 there."

"Kind of like what you're looking at right now?" I suggested.

He smiled and nodded. He continued, "But then every year we added a few more bulbs, as we could afford. Over time, the cumulative effect has become quite pleasing. It's still not Holland, but it's close enough for me."

Thought #3
Where: In front of my computer
What: An e-mail forward sent by Mental P. Mama
The Wisdom: See for yourself. It's by turns shocking and inspirational:





The Wrapup

It is that time of year again. But this holiday season is significantly different from seasons of the past.

I know what the economy is like - believe me, I do. But I also know that, even if we weren't to buy one single solitary gift for each other, our family has an embarrassment of riches that you can't put a price tag on. We are healthy, we are warm, we are safe, we have creature comforts and then some.

There are so many others who can't say the same. Theirs is a heavy burden to carry; they certainly don't need the extra weight that comes along every December, beckoning to them to be picked up.

I urge you all to put judgments aside, and instead concern yourself with finding out ways to simply, kindly do what you can to help a fellow human being. Do you have any extra coats or blankets or mittens or socks that can keep someone a little warmer? Could you buy a little extra for the food bank when you're grocery shopping, give a dollar or two to the Salvation Army volunteer at the mall, make someone a meal, a batch of cookies, send a card to someone who's missing someone?

Muster up as much love and grace as you can; set an example to your children, your family, your friends, your community.

It all starts with one.

With you.

Thoughtful Thursday

"Life is a caberet"
Sally Bowles

"Life is a carnival"
The Band

"Life is a never-ending journey to find the ever-elusive balance"
Baroness von Bloggenschtern

And for you? What is life for you, old chums?

Wordless (Almost) Wordsmith Wednesday

It has taken far too long, but I'm halfway through - and LOVING - this book.

What have I learned so far?

That, mercifully, this book has nothing whatsoever to do with Diane Gabaldon (seriously - have you seen the size of her books? And I thought I had a lot to say...).

I have learned that there is - once again - substantiated evidence that there is no substitute for the life experience of experiencing life with siblings. Sisters, to be precise. (Pardon me while I pout just a little - us only children can be rueful that way. Wah).

Also thrown in for the eerie/transcendental factor is the family's caregiver, an ancient Hopi Indian woman with mystical powers.

The story spans from 1966 to 1987; I am more than willing to file away my own nasty flashbacks from that era (a lust for Fortrel and an uneven shag hair cut) in order to immerse myself in the Los Angeles 70's of the Gabaldons.

I am hooked, hooked, hooked on these sisters whose movie-obsessed mom named them for her favorite stars: Bette Davis, Loretta Young, Rita Hayworth and Sophia Loren (there's also their brother, Cary Grant Gabaldon, but he's really pretty much in the background).

This is a story about the power of the X chromosome. And oh, the power these chicas wield - they are brainy and mean, sassy and hilarious.

I can barely write this for wanting to get back at it. Stay tuned for the official summary next Wednesday!

My Timing is Impeccable

Back in the day, the Baroness was quite possibly one of the worst time managers ever. Always late, always rushing hither and thither, always back-peddling, trying in vain to magically squeeze all the things needing to be done into a much smaller time frame.

And then she met the Baron, who taught her the value of a minute and of organization and how to be respectful through promptness. Her world changed for the better.

Imagine how excited I was when I realized that American Thanksgiving fell on a Thoughtful Thursday - my timing would be impeccable - I had the perfect quote ready. It was tacked up on our kitchen magnetic board, patiently waiting to be shared.

Imagine my confoundedness when I smugly strode in to retrieve it, and it was no longer there.

The Baroness is not amused when something takes the buzz off of her smugness. Especially whilst she is both striding and smug-ging. It throws her equilibrium completely out of whack.

I did have the presence of mind to quickly call the person who gave the quote to me in the first place; he apparently has delusions of American-deur and was off snarfing up poultry and pumpkin pie.

After leaving desperate messages, I finally received the fax.

Today.

Dude does not realize how committed I am to keeping my readers sated and inspired. You must know that I really did try to be on time with this, but like old times had to scramble around to make it work. I should say that I am sorry.

Rather than backsliding into once again feeling insincerely apologetic, I'll instead choose to be thankful that most everyone's next turkey event is only 24 days away; consider this an early Christmas present.

I just hope you don't have any allergies to peanuts.

Grace
May we be like Charlie Brown,
having the courage to get back into the ball game
even if we don't win, because we love the game.

May we be like Linus,
not afraid to carry our blanket
to name the wisdom that sometimes,
we need to lean on a higher power.

May we be like Lucy,
willing to admit that sometimes we are crabby
and we wish everyone would just do things our way
even though we know the world is bigger than us.

May we be like Pig Pen,
happy to just be who we are
no matter what other people think we should be.

May we be like Snoopy,
celebrating each time the supper dish comes,
with joy in the feast and readiness to dig in!

(in case it isn't obvious, I am Lucy and Lucy is me)

Steno Pool, You are S.O.L.

I'm sure there is some Freudian explanantion for my obsession/compulsion with all things bathroom.

That being said (but not being explored too thoroughly - I really don't want to know), there is a lot of information that one can glean from the toilet paper dispenser in a public washroom stall.

Like the ongoing struggle of hierarchy between the haves and have-nots:


Apparently, Georgia-Pacific only caters to middle management and above.

The rest of you peons are on your own.