My fab sister, Pamela Kogen, has just launched a new card line for Princeton. Spring has sprung!

Check out: http://PamelaKogenIllustration.com/main.sc

What is this?

Feeling game-y? We are taking a poll: What this is?

Q: "So how do I know when you have a new Huffington Post?"

Several readers sent me the same Q: "How do we know when you have something new on Huffington Post?"

If you search my name in the subject line, a story will pop up. Hit the "Become a fan" widget at the top. After doing so you'll automatically get an email update letting you know when I've published something new.

Q2: "Can I leave a comment after reading it?"

Absolument. I welcome your thoughts & feedback.

"Mrs. Davy Jones 4ever" / HUFFINGTON POST

Springtime. Crushes. Reignite your heart with my new post, "Mrs. Davy Jones 4ever" -

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/bonni-brodnick/mrs-davy-jones-4ever_b_1359501.html.

Have you heard this one?

"Tell me if you've heard this before ..." If someone asks this question before lamming in to a story, it's quite likely that you have, indeed, heard the story before.

"But did I tell you the one about ...?" You might not have heard this one. Keep an open ear.

We have a code in our family: if we've heard the story a handful of times before, we hold up the number of fingers for the number of times we've heard the tale.

"What about this one? Have I told you this?" Blah, blah, blah, yadda-yadda, yeah-yeah-yeah. Yep. Yup. Heard that one.

So what else is new?

Springtime in Pound Ridge: The Sounds of Roosters + Cows

Want a taste of Pound Ridge Past? The following excerpt from the book features Pat Marshall Bartram, who grew up here in the 1930s. Life was so simple ... and noisy.

"Two things I know that are not loud in town today are roosters and cows. In the mornings it used to be Grandpa's and Everett Knapp's roosters crowing to my south, and the cows mooing to my north. I used to go down to the barn and hear the old mother sow and all her little piglets. These are sounds that I take with me my whole life. You think nothing of it when it's happening to you, but when somebody says something, it can bring back so many memories ... like sitting on the stone wall fence in front of my grandparents' house. Gram would make us a big bowl of soap and water, we'd get out our bubble pipes, and sit on the fence and blow bubbles.

To read more about what life was like from the 1920s-70s in this bucolic town in Westchester, New York, follow the bubbles to PoundRidgePast.com.

Quiet vs. Peaceful

My mother has been in Greenwich Hospital post-surgery for the past week. When I went up to visit her on Sunday evening, I noticed that most of the rooms that were full throughout the week were now empty-bedded and softly lit, awaiting new patients.

"It's so quiet," I remarked to the night nurse.

"Don't ever say that a hospital floor is quiet," the nurse reprimanded me. "That's when all hell breaks loose. Better to say, 'It's peaceful.'"

"Just like never saying 'Macbeth' in a theater?" I asked.

"Exactly," said the nurse as she handed me a cup of ice to bring in to my mother.