Thoughtful Thursday

Greetings from frickin' freezing Florida! If today, at any point, you feel the need to feel smug or do the "I Told You So" dance, think of the Baroness - who stupidly brought only summery clothes to Florida after careful research and tracking of temperatures for the last month. This morning it was a balmy 39 degrees. Farenheit. Actually, I think Al Gore is doing the I Told You So dance. In all of our faces. For god's sake, people - ride the bus today, recycle, change the lightbulbs - I've got 2 more days in this fridge.

While you may initially feel a little squidgey when you hear that today's Thoughtful Thursday comes from a passage that I jotted down one day while reading the obituaries (I'm always looking for new ideas), the intent of the piece is lovely, and comes from a well-loved children's author. Enjoy.

Thoughts, rest your wings,

Here is a hollow of silence,

a nest of stillness, in

which to hatch your dreams.

Joan Walsh Anglund

It's a Small World After All

Greetings, dear readers, from the bottom-right-ish corner of the U. S. of A - home of 80% humidity, great orange juice, and ridiculously expensive taxi service.

The Baron and I are having a grand old time on our adult-only business/fun trip (let me clarify that by "adult-only", I refer here to the absence of Dukes 1 and 2; we are not at some loosey-goosey clothes-optional establishment nor is any swinging of any sort taking place). We were aware that the gods were giving us their blessings when we actually boarded our plane on time at O'Hare. Mind you, we then proceeded to sit on the tarmac for another 15 minutes while they fixed some sort of air conditioning mumbo-jumbo; that is but a mere trifle.

Much like Big Daddy, the lovely Scarlett's dear husband over at I'm No Belle, the Baron had many suggestions for upcoming blog topics regarding the various etiquette (and lack thereof) preceding and during the air travel process. I will say that there were a good many ideas tossed about, and I will endeavour to include these at a later date. I'm not sufficiently cranky enough to do them justice just yet. What I am amused enough to talk about today is the apparent Disneyfication of the area we are staying at.

Let us first make our way back to the Way Back Machine, back to the time when the Baroness was a mere child of seven, embarking on her first pilgrammage to the original land of the mouse. For me, of rich internal life, impossibly fertile imagination, and high-potency rose-colored glasses, this really was a magic kingdom. I loved every minute of it. While the Baroness does not usually like to play favorites, I did have my top three. Number One - "Pirates of the Carribbean". For many, this was merely amusement. For me, it was a true thrill ride. I nearly had an anxiety attack over all the fires that sprouted out here and there throughout the attraction, and was concerned that no one seemed in too much of a hurry to extinguish them. I was in shock over the carousing and lewdness going on - surely a brawl would ensue - would they jump from the displays into the water and drag us in? I believe I told my mom to tighten her grasp on her purse - these people were savage, and the crowd was about to turn ugly. Part of my love of this particular attraction was when it was over. I heaved a sigh of relief that we narrowly escaped with our lives and our pocketbooks, and that no one was shot. Crazy drunks.

The second favorite was the Submarine Ride. Imagine - after all those years of watching old war movies with my dad, I was going on an actual submarine! Not only were there fish swimming past the portholes, there was a staggeringly beautiful mermaid, brushing her flowing sea tresses. Who knew that glamour could be under the sea as well as on shore? This California place? Exactly what I expected from the movie magazines I read.

The last, but in no way least, favorite was "It's a Small World". Oh, those cute little dolls of different countries. Singing, twisting, beckoning for all to join hands in one big global love-in (what do you expect? It was the 70's...). They were sparkly and bejewelled, and I was smitten by the happy chappy in the leiderhosen. I think I dragged the parental units on this ride numerous times; eventually they were making outrageous promises to each other not to be the one to escort me. Regardless of the behind-the-scenes administrative business, I was in love with the happiest place on earth, and I was frantically conjuring up scenarios that would allow me to make this place my permanent residence.

Flash ahead some 20-odd years. Now it's the Baroness and her newly acquired Baron tromping the yellow brick road. We're still very excited to be here, and the Baroness is playing ambassador, as it's the Baron's first time. As I begin to show the Baron all of my favorite haunts, something becomes extremely obvious. My rose-colored glasses have been crushed under the heel of adulthood. Those flames in "Pirates"? Fans, lights and fabric. The fish "floating" by the submarine window? Attached to the bottom of the tank with fishing line, some of the knots have slipped, and the fish are floating at an odd 45 degree angle. "It's a Small World"? Clearly a cult. And for god's sake, could someone please take a Swiffer and dust of the tops of these freakish puppet heads? And dude in the leiderhosen? Hasn't aged well - I think I spot the demarcation line of a bad toupee, and some hints of a fake tan.

Flash forward to present day, where the von B's are at another kingdom - this one courtesy of Universal Studios. While I would never presume to bite the hand that feeds us, I would also be remiss if I did not mention how the hotel/resort we're staying at reminds me so much of our adult Disney adventure. The theme here is Italian, and I feel like I'm actually on a movie set; I'm expecting Giancarlo Giannini to emerge from around the corner brandishing a bottle of Chianti and a smattering of antipasti. Rather than fish tethered onto the bottom of a tank, they've gone full-scale here, complete with quaint, artificially-aged fishing boats anchored around a pseudo-marina. Vespas (sans engines) are bolted here and there, and there are troubadours roaming the lobby during happy hour. Crickets chirp at night, but strangely only in certain sections of the property. Everyone says "Buen Giorno" and "Bueno Sera", regardless if they're Haitian or Puerto Rican. It's a little bit jarring. All that being said, the facility itself (other than the fantastically fake trompe l'oeil exterior) is quite lovely, with loads of murals, and spectacular Marino glass chandeliers (the Baron is quite partial to the speaker in the bathroom that pipes in the tv, so he can hear sports scores while abluting). And you know what? There's enough little shops around here, I'm sure to find some rose-colored glasses somewhere.

Ciao, et mucho abbracchios!

How About That?

Bonjour, dear readers! Did you have a restorative sleep? How's the funk* going? The Baron and I had a delightful evening out, supping on a delicious dinner with friends; much frivolity ensued. It was the perfect defunk-ifier, and the stone I will turn over in my hand for days to come. Many thanks to the vonHenrys for the invite.

Once again, The Baroness will be sketching out the plethora of marvelous "holidays" for the entire week. The vonB's will be off on a jaunt to the land of NASA and Mickey Mouse. I will endeavour to send missives from there; I can't promise anything. The Baron had a smidge of difficulty with the wi-fi situation when we were in Chicago - I blame you-know-who. She really is everywhere...

Pen and calendar in hand? Superb. Here we go:

Saturday, February 23rd
It's hot, it's cool, it's the whole enchildada. Today is not only "National Chili Day", it's "Curling Is Cool Day". Again ambiguity prevails, and I'm not sure which curling is cool - hair(pretty pretty), pototoes (yum), toes(ooh la la!), or the actual sport of curling. I'm going with this last one, as a nod to my fellow Canucks - it ranks right up there with hockey for national beloved winter activity. Our ultra-hip niece and nephew were visiting from Manhattan not too long ago, and became absolutely mesmerized by the telecast of The Brier. It's kind of like the visual equivalent of trance music - very zen-like and hypnotic. And having played a couple of times, The Baroness can verify curling is cool.

Sunday, February 24th
Last week, Mr. Rogers. This week, Sesame Street. One of TV-Land's coolest dads - Gordon - has a birthday today. Also notable and thought-provoking, today is "Nylon Toothbrush Birthday". This wonder of hygiene came to be in 1938, and begs the question - exactly what were people using before this? Corn cobs? Twigs? Feel feel to post your hypotheses in the comments section. And no know-it-alls, please - it's much more amusing if we all take a wild stab in the dark.

Monday, February 25th
"Quiet Day". A whole day? What whack-a-doodles conjured up this day, and what barren tundra do they live on? For those who can manage it, even for a minute - luxuriate in it, and think of those of us who live in a perpetual state of cacophony. Bloody dog. Bloody kids. Bloody racket. And you know what? I wouldn't have it any other way.

Tuesday, February 26th
I believe, much to the dismay of the New York Transit Authority (and cleaning staff, if there is indeed such a thing), that these three days can be combined: "Tell a Fairy Tale Day" (Once upon a time, there was this fab-ulously dressed man named Lyle, who smelled like clean laundry and looked just like David Beckham...), "National Pistachio Day", and the anniversary of The New York Subway (nee 1870). Be careful who you sit near, Guv' - and don't slip on the shells littering the floor.

Wednesday, February 27th
"No Brainer Day". How much does everyone love it when someone states what is apparently obvious to only them and declares "It's a No Brainer"? Perhaps followed by a "D-uh!", and a shoulder shrug that suggests your intelligence ranks right up there with pocket lint?

Yeah, well this is the day that The Baroness decrees we collectively give them a swift kick in the kishkes. Kind of like "Murder on the Orient Express", when everyone took a kick at the cat (The Baroness wishes to reassure her good friends at PETA that no cats were actually harmed in the making of this blog). There is no way that I will celebrate the people who feel compelled to point out these little gems. Shut up already, you pompous buffoons.

Thursday, February 28th
A couple of weeks ago on CBS Sunday Morning, one of the correspondants went to Detroit (I think) to partake of a yearly ritual - the eating of a donut-like confection called a Paczki. Well, Thursday is "Paczki Day". Which dovetails quite nicely with "Public Sleeping Day". This will no doubt happen after too many Paczkis are consumed, and the elevation in blood sugar puts many into a diabetic coma, right in front of the bakery. Motor-City-ites, just let them sleep it off. Maybe a blanket would be nice - and some kleenex to dab down that drool puddle by their left cheek.

Where would CSI be without "DNA Discovery Day" (1953)? And where would we be without the invention of pockets? This happened way back in 1590, when the Baroness was a mere toddler. Whoever is responsible for this - our keys and wallets bow to your whimsy.

If paczkis were not enough to tax your insulin production, we end the day with "International Pancake Day". I'm sure I don't have to tell you about the house with the booths and the syrup. It's a no-brainer. D-uh. Shrug.

Friday, February 29th
For all of those Leap Year babies in the crowd - Happy Birthday to yooou. And to 36 year old Mikey T. who technically is only nine, I hope you get that Lego set you were hoping for.

It's also "National Surf and Turf Day". For the Baroness, this would be the day where you try for 5 hours to catch that perfect wave (Ok, you try to actually stand upright on the board). (OK, 9 hours). Then you turf said board into the nearest dumpster in the parking lot. Bite me, Duke Paoa Kamanahoku. Hang ten? Hang this.

For the rest of the less-hostile, enjoy steak, lobster and Pepcid. Because those Red Lobster buns are addictive, and they'll swell up in your gut like a North Shore wave.

Have a fabulous week, everyone! TTFN.


*As an aside here, whilst at the supermarket today, waiting in line and catching up on some valuable reading, I came across an article about thyroid issues. Apparently Miss O is suffering from this particular malady (she really is everywhere), and it outlined some of the symptoms. I do believe that I will be getting my thyroid checked out upon my return - this could possibly explain some of the funkiness. Maybe you might find this worthwhile pursuing as well?

Gettin' Down and Funky with Your Own Bad Self

It would appear, while doing my daily lurking in the blogosphere, that there is a lot of funk going around. The Baroness wonders - what the deuce is going on? Is it something in the water? The radiation from the microwave? The alignment of the planets? I've been doing a lot of thinking about this (like I don't have anything better to do - sheesh), and I've come up with a couple of theories.

The first theory is strictly calendar-based. It would appear that mid-February is just around the tipping point where the people who are geographically blessed with seasonal mayhem cannot possibly take the winter weather another day. Even here on the left coast, we have been teased mercilessly by Mother Nature. We get glorious sunny days, we think spring is here, and then it rains for a week. Another sun-soaked couple of days, then rain again. My poor daffodils are so befuddled, mental illness of the botany kind is imminent. Rather than looking like a Monet painting, the von Bloggenschtern gardens are going to look like some Dali melting nightmare.

The second theory is a little more psychological. And while The Baroness is in no way a professional, I have been known to see a psychologist once or twice, and I also own Season One and Two of the original Bob Newhart show. So, I know of what I speak. Perhaps our funks present themselves so that we can sit with our unhappiness, our restlessness, our yearnings for awhile. No one really wants to acknowledge the icky black tar that gums up our spirit, but perhaps now is the time to muddle through it. By reframing the funk with a dose of positivity, we can choose to look at the funk as an experience that leaves an lasting impression, so that even experiencing the mediocre will begin to seem spectacular by comparison. How dull would our lives be if we had it easy and carefree all the time? Look at those who seem to have it all - they seem to feel the need to infuse drama into their lives just to break up the monotony. In keeping with the Spring analogy, maybe we're a bit like seedlings ourselves - we've been buried all winter, and now's our time to writhe around a bit underground before we emerge through the warmed spring soil.

So what do we do to de-funkify? We're all feeling a little lethargic - how about we all just take baby steps? Think of one, singular, wonderful thing in your life right now. Just one. I know that I've read some requests for five or ten things that make you happy - but for now, let's just start with one. Let's grasp that one thing in our hand, and turn it over and over, and admire it, and love it until it's all smooth and shiny and polished from our devotion. To that one cherished thing. Major, minor - it doesn't matter. Sit with that for about a week. If we feel energized, we'll move on to a second. If all goes according to plan, we should have quite the little pocketful of wonderful by the time Spring actually comes to stay.

I thought I would also send along a link that my sister sent me - it's a great pause for thought, and a inspirational way to start the weekend. The fellow's name is Randy Pausch, and his spirit is extraordinary (and no, I didn't watch Oprah to get the link. Honest. You know how I feel. This is one of the good things she can do, albeit I could have done without the camera pans to her attentive visage. Ack.)

The Baroness really means it when she signs off with the following:

Peace Out.

Thoughtful Thursday

Why, hello, dear readers!! It is so very nice to be back. "But wherever could you have been, dear Baroness?". Let me tell you. For the last 4 days, The Baroness has been submerged in Crazy Scandinavian D.I.Y. World, in the land of hexagonal screwdrivers and pictorial instruction manuals, of wooden dowels and Phillips screwdrivers. I did have fun, mind you, and came to realize that this flat-box furniture is the adult version of Lego. Finally I have emerged from the cardboard jungle, with renewed appreciation for the furniture makers of the world, and with an inexplicable craving for meatballs, gravlax, Aquavit and Ingmar Bergman movies. Heavy on the Aquavit.

Today's Thoughtful Thursday comes from yet another fabulous recommendation from my dear friend, the Countess KR. Also known as the Book Pusher. And the Soup Angel. She is always steering me towards wonderful things. She knows that I find reading obituaries fascinating, so she sent me this. She knows that I love words, so she sent me this link. She knows that I adore the funny, so she sent me the link to www.macaronimaniac.blogspot.com. In Macaroni's profile, she humbly professes/confesses to playing the accordion. This fact alone made my ears perk up. The fact she's wearing leopard skin just clinches the deal. The Baroness strongly urges you to check this relatively new blogger out. Unless, of course, you don't really find humor humorous. Then you should watching Bergman instead of me.

Here I discovered a truly witty lady, and with her permission, and high praise to her cleverness, I give you her interpretation of the great Walt Whitman's "Crossing Brooklyn Ferry", written from the perspective of a high-school-shopping-mall-dweller. Enjoy.

Oh you acid-washed jeans wearing teen,
Oh you harried mother with stroller,
Oh you security guard letting a young shoplifter off with a
warning,
Oh you lamp store sales clerk on a brief smoking break,
I walk with you all along faux-travertine floor-tiled avenues of
commerce

Together we go to the food court, celebrated provider of
sustenance,
Together we eat of the bounty of the food court,
Quenched are we by the flowing waters of Orange Julius,
Quieted are we by injudicious ingestion of Carvel soft-serve
The last hot dog sits lonely beneath the heat lamp,
The man will come along who will eat it

What sturdy youth flock to Spencer's for novelty gifts,
What aging fellowhood seeks out the toiletries aisle of CVS,
The poet walks with them singing their sorrows and singing their
joys,
The song of the people rings out from emporia
Attention shoppers we have a special today

For Macaroni's entire post on Walt Whitman, click here.

How About That?

Hello, my darlings! It's time for yet another fascinating weekend installment of "How About That?". In light of the fact that the Baron and Baroness have just returned from Crazy D.I.Y. Scandinavian Emporium , and will be building office furniture until the beginning of the next millenium, I thought I would take advantage of the computer whilst I still could, and fire off a extended version of the week's upcoming holidays. Really, perusing the list, I just could not omit a single day. For there is much work here to be done, people. Celebrations to celebrate. Anniversarys to , er, anniversar. Let's get to it, shall we? Busy, busy, busy. . .

Saturday, February 16th

"Do a Grouch a Favour Day". In the Baroness' neck of the woods, there are only 3 and one half hours left to fulfill this obligation; I'm hoping that on your side of the globe the day is done, and you missed this day entirely. Because, hmm. Why in the world does some asshat crankpot need a favor? OK, let me rephrase that. Why in the world would anyone do a favour for a cranky asshat? Unless you're Mrs. Andy Rooney, and then there's some sort of archaic wedding vow loophole. Poor her.

Sunday, February 17th

Ooh, this day's like the three scoops of ice cream in a banana split - each a slightly different flavour, but sweet, sweet, sweet! (Dude, dude, dude). Numero Uno: "My Way Day". Either this is a tribute to Ol' Blue Eyes himself, or it's just a day where we all go around acting like contrary 4 year olds. Nowhere on my list is mention made of "Highway Day", so the ultimatum thing is not an option. Choose one of the others - they both work for me. Although, Sinatra. Singing. I'm feeling an almost-uncontrollable urge *...

(* "Shameless Self-Promotion Day" - did I mention that one? Hah! I made it up.)

Numero Deux: "World Human Spirit Day". Would you feast your eyes upon this? It's a biggie. Here is the day to validate your metaphysical parking ticket, give yourself a big hug, kiss your cheek in the mirror and celebrate the craziness/loveliness/foolishness/fill-in-the-blank-ness that is you. And those around you. And when I say "around", I really mean "around". Oh, ho, ho - the Baroness has had wa-a-a-y too much sugar and coffee today.

Numero Trey: "Random Acts of Kindness Day". What a peach of a day. Trust me on this one, dear readers, if you try something - no matter how small you think it is - it will make a huge difference. Were you aware that there is actually a Random Acts of Kindness Foundation? For those that might be just a titch challenged in the kindness department, this website is chock-a-block full of inspiration. Check it out. Not that I'm saying you are in any way lacking in kindness. You're all marvelous, and I'm lucky to have you. But here. Just in case. No one has to know.

Monday, February 18th
"Thumb Appreciation Day". Everyone together, ay-y-y-y-y. Yes, kind folk, it is this appendage that guarantees our position on the evolutionary scale. What to do? Turn a doorknob, hitchhike, use chopsticks, change the channel. Marvel at the opportunities we have. Just don't make fun of the dog - he's still a little sensitive about the whole lack of opposable you-know-whats.

Speaking of dogs, Monday is also "Pluto Discovery Day". My list wasn't really explicit as to whether or not this was the planet-wanna-be or the cartoon dog. If it's the former, let's get a petition going to restore it to its former glory, and send it off to WNOPO (World Nerd Organization for Planetary Organization) - I'm not ready to throw out my solar sytem mobile just yet. If it's the latter, I don't know exactly how Mickey lost him to begin with, but I hardly think that finding him canoodling in the closet with Minnie is worth creating a whole day for. Yeesh. Bloody Disney people.

Tuesday, February 19th
It's a wonderful day in the neighborhood on Tuesday - it's the anniversary of the debut of "Mr. Roger's Neighborhood". Fred started visiting our living rooms in 1968, and snuck his way into our hearts two minutes after the beginning of the debut in 1968. In honor of him, put on your creepy King Friday hand puppet and have a lovely conversation with yourself about absolute nothing. FYI, King Friday, Queen Sara, and Prince Tuesday were actually part of the vonBloggenschtern principality, but we exiled Friday in The Great Uprising of '67 (an unfortunate consequence of his communist leanings.) Today, put on a cardigan and some sneakers, and make yourself a yummy hot chocolate.

Wednesday, February 20th
"Love Your Pet Day". Extra treats, a nice massage with some bacon-scented essential oils, and a hug every hour on the hour (before the massage). That's what'll happen at the vonB household. What we'll do for the dog, I haven't decided yet. For the dyslexics and Yodas in the crowd, "Pet your Love Day" it is. Knock yourself out.

"Clean Out Your Bookcases Day". Really. In an earthquake, they're sure to pin someone underneath. If I have to do it, then you do too. Suck it up, buttercup. It can't always be fun and games.

Thursday, February 21st
I'm giving you advanced warning. Thursday is "Card Reading Day". Again, the list didn't specify tarot or greeting - the interpretation is up to you.

It's also "Single Tasking Day", to give you type "A" overachievers a bit of a break. One. Thing. At. A. Time. Slowly. Now breathe.

And it's "International Mother Language Day". Hmm. Does this refer to speaking in your mother tongue, or the language that Charlie Brown and his friend hear when any adult is talking to them? "Whuh, whuh, whuh, take out the garbage, whuh, whuh, whuh, pick up the wet towels, whuh, whuh, whuh, stop pulling on your brother's eyeball - it's loose already."

Friday, February 22nd
How stupendous - "World Thinking Day". If we could all do this before we speak, we might just still have a companion for the movies on the weekend. Or if we do it before we act, we might just live to see another weekend. Food for, well, ya know.

Last, but in no way least, is the birthday of our favorite little cave baby, Pebbles Flintstone. I'd normally offer you some cake, but it's a little dry this year.

Have an amazing week, everyone!

Affectionately,
The Baroness

Thoughtful Thursday

The Baroness' good friend, Countess KR (also know as the Soup Angel, and the Book Pusher) has been trying in vain to get me to give author Jennifer Weiner another chance. I've read one of her books (Good in Bed), and while it was very well-written, it just wasn't my cup of tea. Sorry, Book Pusher.

However, there is a movie based on one of Jennifer Weiners's books - "In Her Shoes" - that appeals to the Baroness on all sorts of levels. It's title itself. Hell-oooo? Shoes. We're off to a good start (as a quick aside here, the silver shoes I wrote about here? I wore them to a wedding reception on the weekend, and they hurt so much, they almost made me cry. What price vanity, indeed.) Back to the movie. Sisters, a peachy grandma, cute little Jewish men - all topics near and dear to the Baroness' heart.

Today's Thoughtful Thursday piece comes to you from a poem by e.e. cummings, read during the marriage scene in the movie. It's such a lovely, kleenex-grabbing moment, rife with emotion and love - the look of adoration on the groom's face as his bride walks down the aisle, the bond between sisters, but most important to me - the younger dyslexic sister reads! Very, very exciting. So, dear readers, my Valentine to you - may you day be filled with love, chocolate, and most importantly - laughter.

i carry your heart with me
i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or the mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
e.e. cummings

Dryer, Dryer, Pants on Fire

The Baroness proudly presents... her first Public Service Announcement. No, this is neither a joke nor a test. I strongly urge you to fight, fight, fight the impulse right now that is shooting from your brain to your clicking finger on the computer mouse, and instead take 2 minutes to read this. While I don't usually see the need to wax rhapsodic over my household appliances, I decree that this pretty important, and it sure was something that I didn't know. Chances are, you might not have known about it either. Or you do, and I really do live under a rock. Imagine. Read on...

Today's Good blog (i.e. the Good. The Bad. The Irksome) comes directly from a missive sent by the Baroness' long-time pen pal, Countess Juanita. She sheds a light on a scenario that, while on the surface seems kind of silly, has a fairly frightening reality of happening, and a potentially tragic outcome.

And I quoteth:

"The heating unit went out on my dryer! The gentleman that fixes things around the house for us told us that he wanted to show us something and he went over to the dryer and pulled out the lint filter. It was clean (I always clean the lint from the filter after every load of clothes).

He told us that he wanted to show us something; he took the filter over to the sink, ran hot water over it. The lint filter is made of a mesh material - I'm sure you know what your dryer's lint filter looks like. Well, the hot water just sat on top of the mesh! It didn't go through it at all! He told us that dryer sheets cause a film over that mesh - that's what burns out the heating unit. You can't SEE the film, but it's there.

It's what's in the dryer sheets to make your clothes soft and static free - that nice fragrance too, you know how they can feel waxy when you take them out of the box, well this stuff builds up on your clothes and on your lint screen. This is also what causes dryer units to catch fire & potentially burn your house down with it!

He said the best way to keep you dryer working for a very long time (& to keep your electrical bill lower) is to take that filter out & wash it with hot soapy water & an old toothbrush (or other brush) at least every six months. He said that makes the life of the dryer at least twice as long! How about that? Learn something new everyday! I certainly didn't know dryer sheets would do that. So, I thought I'd share."

Countess J, from all us at the von Bloggenschtern compound, thank you for deeming this factum worth sharing.

And as for you, dear reader, grab that filter and scrub.

Ring-A-Ding-Ding, Baby

For some reason of late, I have been feeling extra super dee-dooper nostalgic.

You may recall from earlier blogs that the Baroness had a childhood richly steeped in liberal doses of pop culture and -gasp- television. Forget those formative lessons to be culled from religion, social action or philanthropy - these were not my parents' scene, man. Papa was far too exhausted after a day of work to do much else other than eat and recline. Maman (dear, sainted Maman) was far too exhausted after a day of buffing up the home life of Papa to do much else other than prepare said meal and collapse in a heap after dishes were washed, put away, sinks were polished, floor washed, garbage taken out, yadda yadda yadda. You get the point. I'm even tired writing this, and will have to retire to the royal bedchamber for a restorative lie-down. How she managed for 40 plus years is a testament to her fortitude. And infinite patience.

Although most "rules" were rather fluid at the home office, one thing was certain - my bedtime was 8:00 pm. No ifs, no ands, and definitely no buts. (While this started to seem somewhat ridiculous in high school, I did not protest in my early years). One of the fascinating features of our rancher-fabulous slice of suburbia was that the layout of the house was such that my bedroom was right at the end of the hall. Its location had the exact opposite accoustics of, say, the Hollywood Bowl. All sound - especially that of the television in the living room - filtered gloriously through into my room. So, even though I was exiled at 8:00 pm, I could still hear everything. Many a night, I would drift off to sleep to the laugh track of The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour, or the duh.Duh.Duh.Duh-dahhh of Mission Impossible. One night, I was especially entranced by "The Dean Martin Show", as he said during his intro that he would have on his show that night a fellow member of "The Rat Pack", Frank Sinatra. What the deuce? A man who was part of a pack of rats? Yowza. I couldn't wait to see/hear what possible talent this Mr. Sinatra could have. Biting through cardboard? Spreading bubonic plague to the live studio audience? I waited, and I waited until finally all the chit-chat was over and it was go time. What did Rat Pack Man do? He sang. Crap. For this I waited? But after my silent conniption fit, I actually listened to what he sang, and all was forgiven that he didn't display any rodent-like talents. His performance must have left a huge impression, because I tucked up this catchy little ditty in my wee 7 year old brain, and snuck it with me into school the following day.

When lovely, calm, cat's-eye-bespectacled young Mrs. Young called on me for Show and Tell, I belted out a riveting performace of "Strangers in the Night" - complete with most of the "doobie doobie doos". In retrospect, I'm not sure how Mrs. Young kept a straight face, but I distinctly remember that she cut me off before the big finish. Huh. I guess I hadn't been informed about the strict guidelines of Show and Tell, nor was I aware that we lived in a Communist world where music, and the appreciation thereof, were verboten. Because let me tell you, right here and right now, I was kickin' it, and my fellow Grade 1'ers were digging me. And I was digging them digging me. And. She. Cut. Me. Off.

From that point on, my once-beloved Mrs. Young was dead to me. Well, at least until the end of the day. OK, recess. She kept me in, and told me that while she appreciated Frank Sinatra as much as the next person, it just wasn't really appropriate elementary school material. I sighed, nodded as if to agree, and secretly felt great pity for her and the rest of my plebeian class, but let it go.

We exchanged glances. What were the chances? It turned out so right. Dooby, Dooby, Doo.

How About That?

Greetings, dear readers! Although I am a day late and a dollar short (or a Loonie short, for the Canadians out there in the crowd - you know who you are), here is the latest installment of "How About That?" to get y'all ready for the exciting "holidays" gracing the calendar this coming week. Note here I will avoid any discourse regarding the 14th; I remember many a lonely Valentine's that came and went without acknowledgment - I think this overblown day gets enough marketing without my assistance. Never you mind. You have a fantastic personality, and he/she/it doesn't know what he's/she's/it's missing. Idiots.

Sunday, February 10th
Oh, how the Baroness loves it when a plan comes together. Is it some weird twist of fate that today is "Umbrella Day", and tonight at the Grammy awards, young Miss Rhiannon will no doubt sing her smash hit honoring said defense against embarrassing wetness('ella, 'ella, 'ella)? Why anyone would honor this accoutrement with its own day, why someone would use it as an inspirational springboard for a pop song, and why a teenaged girl would feel compelled to sing about it are all points we can mull over during our daily meditations. Perhaps it's yet another ploy to illustrate the downside of this ridiculous "global warming" theory. Crackpots.

Today is also the YMCA's 138th birthday. Thanks to a rigorous program of isometrics and a liberal dose of hostellry to keep it up on all things au courant, it doesn't look a day over 125. Another honoree, another song. Yet this one, The Baroness finds, is a little more danceable. And multi-cultural. Again--global. But no warmings here. Just a warning - wear a condom.

Monday, February 11
This, my friends, is a day rife with possibility - "National Inventor's Day", "Make a New Friend Day", "Don't Cry Over Spilled Milk Day", "La-Z-Boy Chair Day". Think of the frivolity to be had by combining these - "Make a new Friend who's a Lazy Boy Day" or the more popular "Make a New Friend On a La-Z-Boy Chair Day", or , or "Don't Cry Over Spilled Milk - I Stole your Invention Day". How to celebrate? Three items - naugahyde, ice cream, something from Ronco - and wah hoo! You got yourself a party!! One small request - no YouTube videos or internet movies. Difficult concept - some things are better left private.

Tuesday, February 12
Normally, The Baroness would not venture this far in to the week, but there's a great opportunity that bears suggestion. Tuesday is "National Lost Penny Day". While I'm not entirely sure that I thoroughly grasp the intention here (this day surprisingly coincides w/Lincoln's birthday), I would offer that you should put your two cents in and leave some pennies around indiscriminately, begging to be found. Because, as we all know - find a penny, pick it up, and all the day you'll have good luck.

Really - a mere 1 cent to give someone a day of good luck? A prudent investment, in my humble estimation.

Have a fabulous week, everyone!

Thoughtful Thursdays

Good day, my beautiful readers. Today's Thoughtful Thursday's inspiration comes from Khalil Gibran, the 20th century Lebanese/American artist and poet. As usual, I cannot remember where exactly I first came across this fine fellow, but what I do remember was the evocative feeling of calm wisdom and his always-lovely phrasing.

The Baroness suggests, like Mr. Gibran, that you take the opportunity to look in a mirror today, and see the beauty burning like a flame inside you. Because you are that flame, and you are beauty. It's really there. Own it.

Beauty XXV

And a poet said, "Speak to us of Beauty."

Where shall you seek beauty, and how shall you find her unless she herself be
your way and your guide?

And how shall you speak of her except she be the weaver of your speech?

The aggrieved and the injured say, "Beauty is kind and gentle.

Like a young mother half-shy of her own glory she walks among us."

And the passionate say, "Nay, beauty is a thing of might and dread.

Like the tempest she shakes the earth beneath us and the sky above us."

The tired and the weary say, "beauty is of soft whisperings. She speaks in our
spirit.

Her voice yields to our silences like a faint light that quivers in fear of the
shadow."

But the restless say, "We have heard her shouting among the mountains,

And with her cries came the sound of hoofs, and the beating of wings and the
roaring of lions."

At night the watchmen of the city say, "Beauty shall rise with the dawn from
the east."

And at noontide the toilers and the wayfarers say, "we have seen her leaning
over the earth from the windows of the sunset."

In winter say the snow-bound, "She shall come with the spring leaping upon
the hills."

And in the summer heat the reapers say, "We have seen her dancing with the
autumn leaves, and we saw a drift of snow in her hair."

All these things have you said of beauty.

Yet in truth you spoke not of her but of needs unsatisfied,

And beauty is not a need but an ecstasy.

It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth,

But rather a heart enflamed and a soul enchanted.

It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear,

But rather an image you see though you close your eyes and a song you hear
though you shut your ears.

It is not the sap within the furrowed bark, nor a wing attached to a claw,

But rather a garden forever in bloom and a flock of angels forever in flight.

People of Orphalese, beauty is life when life unveils her holy face.

But you are life and you are the veil.

Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in the mirror.

But you are eternity and you are the mirror.

Khalil Gibran

If Loving You Is Wrong, I Don't Want To Be Right

When one is craving inspiration, one must be on one's tippiest of toes, alert, aware. For it can be elusive, this sly inspiration - a shadowy figure zipping out of sight, a perfectly turned phrase only half-heard. For the Baroness, it turns up in the weirdest places. Or in the weirdness places. Today's little gem lunged at me whilst I was in the midst of changing the royal linens. I had the music station on the t.v. cranked to 11 - it really does make light of things, la-dee-dah-dee-dah - and the afore-mentioned song came on. If loving you is wrong, I don't want to be right. There's some conviction for ya. I will do something completely against social convention, devoid of acceptable behaviour, in the face of correctness because damn - this is a mighty fine thing. Mmm hmm.

You could not possibly believe how quickly my delicate shell-like ears perked up. I would liken it to the Lemonhundt's head when he hears a jar of peanut butter being cracked open. I'm weak with relief that I did not incur a severe case of whiplash. This, it seemed, to be happenstance. And of a strangely appropriate source. Because there is something I love, and the cultured mucketty mucks among you be damned. I don't want to feel right. I confess to you, dear readers, right here and right now - I love television.

And I miss television. Sure, there's still stuff on, but that's the problem - it's just stuff. American Gladiator? Biggest Loser? Celebrity Apprentice? Don't get me wrong - I'm sure that each of these has its positive features, and a niche target audience. I just don't think I'm in the mix. I realized last night as I watched "House", that this was quite possibly the last one filmed before the writers' strike began. The wheels have finally fallen off the cart. The Baroness finds this extremely irksome, as I have in no way, shape, or form even begun to unravel the mystery inside an enigma dressed up as a gimpy riddle that is Gregory House. I watch every week, in naive hope, that he may actually show some indication of a redeeming personal quality. Now, that smallest of hopes is dashed. Wah. And, yes mom, I know that he's just a character on a weekly series, but when I devote so much mental energy to figuring out what makes this guy tick, he's real enough to me.

And what of those fine folks down at the CSI lab? Who's minding the shop in their absence? Will unsolved crime go rampant? I'm sure that it's just a matter of time before all those chip-clickers on the World Tournament of Poker start to lose it & turn on each other and the dealer. I know that I feel vaguely homicidal when I watch for more than 3.6 seconds. Sunglasses inside? Inane conversation, color commentary on rivers and flops and cameras under the table - this is entertainment? I'd much rather stare at a picture of dogs playing Texas Hold'em. (Watch out for that shephard - he's not to be trusted). As for the Las Vegas crew, I'm quite worried about Warrick - has anyone else heard from him lately? He's on a slippery slope, that one.

Someone else I miss in my living room? Lorelei Gilmore. How I miss watching the weekly saga of the The Gilmore Girls unravel - walking the streets of Stars Hollow, waiting for Kirk to do something wacky, listening to the witty repartee between mother and daughter. What would the imperious Emily be doing to throw a wrench in things? And now they're gone, gone, gone. (I know that this has nothing to do with the writers' strike - I just feel like whining a little more). I recently saw a picture of Lauren Graham at the Sundance Film Festival. She seems to have moved on. Pity I haven't.

So now, with my favorite people/characters all suffering from writer-imposed "locked- in syndrome", I have turned to my standbys - some old, some new - the DVD's of all the television shows I love and miss. Which I believe is how this whole thing started in the first place. Love. So complicated. So wrong. Yet so right.

I Don't Want to Talk About It

Bonjour, dear readers! Here I am - back after an oh-so-brief "day off". Did I use this day wisely? Absolutely not. Productively? Perish the thought. As a result of spending most of Monday dealing with soul-sucking administrative mumbo-jumbo, the Baroness finds herself at a complete loss for an inspiring topic. I know that I have told you many times that inspiration abides everywhere. I'm beginning to sense that I may have been selling a little metaphysical snake oil with that assertion. For today, it abides nowhere. Ugh.

For a brief moment, I thought of commenting on the CBS Sunday Morning piece on artist and film director Julian Schnabel. Would I talk about his art? His tour de force movie, "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly?". No, no, no. I was merely digging the fact that this man considers his pajamas to be his daily uniform. A feat not many can pull off - the only other person I can think of is Hugh Hefner. And he's about what - 200 years old? Respect your elders, I say. Yet Schnabel schlubs around without appearing either pretentious or eccentric. At least to me. Truth be told, I'm kind of jealous. But I don't really want to talk about that.

I also entertained the thought of talking about yet another Sunday Morning piece. Quite the little expose where they shed some light on a grave world issue taking place, as we speak, in Northern England. The growing number of American squirrels are threatening to exceed the population of the the more genteel and refined indigenous Red Squirrel. Scandal! Mayhem! Get the United Nations on the phone! Page Angelina Jolie! While I find the whole situation strangely enlightening - in a ridiculous sort of way - again, The Baroness is once again kind of jealous. Of the Earl or Viscount or whichever sad representation of fifedom he is. For this has become his vocation, his mission. Judgement aside (and here I would state the obvious - I have many judgements on this particular story), the man has direction and focus - he wants to rid Great Britain of American squirrels. He's the Churchill of the chipmunk world (I know - chipmunk, squirrel, not the same. Back off, Nitpick Police - it just fits). Imagine. But I really don't want to talk about that.

I thought of this amazing wisdom article I read in Yoga Journal titled "The Awakening". It outlines all the steps that follow when one is faced with a transformative event in their lives. It was appealing to the Baroness in particular as she herself has stared down something pretty big. You can actually find it through the Yoga Journal's treasure trove of a website. But really - given the choice - would you rather hear about my health woes, or read about another cowboy in my past? Three words. Yippee. Ky. Yay. But I don't want to talk about that today.

Hopefully today, I'll be able to find my way to the well, and dip my ladle into something that will slake my creative thirst. Until then, I don't want to talk about it.

Oh Come, All Ye Faithful

We pre-empt The Baroness' regularly-scheduled "How About That?" Saturday column for an important bulletin.

It has been brought to my attention, like a bolt from the blue, that yesterday while waxing rhapsodic over all of my favorite bloggers and readers, I foolishly glossed over one very important person. I feel great shame over this, as she has been a staunch supporter from the very very beginning. How this oversight happened, I am not sure, but now's the time to make it right.

I have known Countess Leah all of her relatively short life. What I have come to know, observing her evolution, is that she is one very fascinating person. Even though she's family, and I (according to me) am obligated to say nice things - I sincerely mean them. She's by turn enthusiastic, thoughtful, funny, loyal, sweet. She's the spirit that drives any team she plays for, and her ethics are such that she always tries to do the right thing. She's a mediator, a muse, and for me, a mentor. She has taught me many, many valuable things. Not bad for a 18 year old. Her antics, along with her cousins (she's usually the ringleader), are the fodder for many an amusing anecdote - and you must believe, dear readers, these are trotted out at every opportunity. "A Tribute to the Spice Girls", Anti-Smoking PSA's, "No Doubt on Rollerblades" - our family events often turn into Off-Off-Way Off Broadway productions. And we secretly love every minute of it. Too bad for you that you don't live Off-Off-Way Off Broadway. Wah.

When I was ill last year, she was one of the few extended family members who tackled the elephant in the middle of the room, asked about how I was doing, and was truly curious to learn more about what I was going through - you can rest assured that is something I will always remember with great affection.

She's now at the beginning of her adult path. I watch her navigate her way, and silently cheer her every step. She's one amazing cookie. I take this opportunity to tell her that I so appreciate her loyalty. Knowing that she's out there reading my blog means more than any award.

Snaps to you, Countess Leah. I think the world of you.

E-e-e-e-e! I ... E-e-e-e-e! I.... Oh!

Ah, E. Number 5 in a long string of ABC's, it works double duty as a letter and a vowel. Yesterday, if at all possible for a drawing of 4 little sticks, it worked even harder and also assumed the role of adjective and....award!! Look what came in the mail!

The Baroness extends many heartfelt thanks to the Magnificent Meal Planner, Pioneering in PA at Fried Pork Chop for this - though I'm quite new to the ways of the blogosphere, I am so grateful that there are actually appreciative readers out there, far and wide, who do not share the same genetic code as I. Don't get your knickers in a knot, Countess Leah & Duke 2, I still appreciate you. But you're family, you know? You're kind of obligated...

Like I just mentioned, I am a neophyte in this marvelous world of words (and pictures)(how revolutionary - pictures!). I am of the understanding that I now can pay homage -and play crossing guard by directing traffic over to some of the fabulous wordsmiths I've bookmarked. Here is but a smattering, and let me tell you right here and right now - it was extremely difficult to narrow it down. Everyone I read has a distinctive flair. I love y'all.

1. Barbara Peapod Disco Bubbles - Sweeties, what can I say? She was my first commenter who wasn't a close friend or relative. Alright, alright. Let's come clean. She was my first and only commenter for what appeared to be forever. She has taught me a lot. Like it or not, I'm extremely loyal, and I'm clinging to her like a unneutered chihuahua in spring. She is in turns hilarious, biting, questioning, and did I mention hilarious?

2. A Widow For One Year - I learned of this site through BPDBubbles blogroll. Sandi is a beautiful soul, a recent widow with 2 small children. She's opened a window for us to see into a life that many of us could never imagine, and provides valuable information on how to carry on, with grace and heart. She also quite often highlights one of her favorite charitable organizations, The Lustgarten Foundation for Pancreatic Cancer Research. I urge you to follow along beside her on the path that she didn't choose. Don't be a lurker - we need to let her know that we hear her.

3. Blogs are Stupid - I was originally drawn in from the title, and from her section headers, "Stupid Remarks", "Archived Stupidity", etc. The truth of the matter is that this lady is the antithesis of all things stupid. And she's an exquisite writer.

4. I'm No Belle - I could never forget this displaced Southern Scarlett Wanne Be. There are days when I am crying with laughter. She often posts pictures, and scoops us along on her wacky travelogue. Epcot, Disneyworld, chin hairs - nothing is sacred and everything (make no mistake. I mean anything) is up for discussion. Plus she actually refers to her derriere in the 3rd person - this is a fine quality, says the Baroness.

5. Psychotic Secretary - My new blog friend, the Guv'ner. Again, was drawn in by the title, stayed for the show. I've had my fair share of stunning employers, so can completely empathize with Guv's situation. She's Scottish. I'm of Scotch descent. She lives in New York. I love New York. (see, it says so right here on my t-shirt) Other pluses? Too numerous to mention. Go read about her Dark Uberlord and then go hug your a**hole of a boss in sheer relief.

6. Orangette - Yeah, like this Molly woman needs more traffic. But her recipes are sublime, her pictures make me salivate, and she's a "stonkin' good" writer. An oasis of bliss. Just don't read hungry.

7. Not Afraid to Use It - Oh. My. Lord. This woman had me at her header. And this is no ordinary header - it is her manifesto. She is the ultimate underground blogger - the flip side of a mommy blog, she actually has MIL Mondays, where she tells the on-going epic saga that is her Mother In Law from hell. So very, very clever.

8. Blessing Blog - This amazing lady, Kate Nowak, set up a project called the Heartfelt Blessing Project. I stumbled upon it somehow, and stayed because at the sign-off her original e-mailing she would say "Always remember you are loved beyond measure and a cherished blessing to me". What an amazing thing to put out into the universe! It is the perfect site to go to when you need a big hug and to have the top of your head lovingly smoothed. She always says lovely, nurturing things, and I so admire the tenacity she has had to make her site available to all.

9. Cranky Epistles - I found CrankyProf just recently, after an afternoon of leapfrogging from blogroll to blogroll. Of course the Cranky label caught my eye. An intriguing perspective of post-secondary education, and she's a marvelous, funny writer to boot.

10. Warped Viewings of My Mind - Again, another leapfrog discovery. She drew me in with her header - who in their right mind can not appreciate the ambitions of a tripod-bearing, picture-snapping squirrel? Really. Plus, the author apparently owns a pug. This alone would warrant respect and admiration, but I stay for the writing. What can I say? I love a good story.
And there are plenty.

There you have it - my love letters to my fellow bloggers. I would strongly urge you, nay - decree-e-e-e-e upon you - to broaden your blog horizons, be entertained, enlightened, encouraged.

Enjoy your weekend.

With Affection,
The Baroness