January 27, 2013

Lady Sybil Branson née Crawley (1896 - 1920)


Lady Sybil Branson

"My dear, when tragedies strike, we try to find someone to blame. And in the absence of a suitable candidate we usually blame ourselves. You are not to blame, no one is to blame … All we can do now is cherish her memory, and her child."

Click here to reminisce about happier days at Highclerc Castle. (Turn up the sound.)

January 24, 2013

Yeah, but did they sleigh back then?



     "We had a brook on the property and dug a pond that froze over in the wintertime. Kids from all over town would come and clear the snow off the ice, go skating and play ice hockey. They'd go over to the neighbor's property and sleigh through a pathway that went down by my house and halfway down the road." ~Excerpt from POUND RIDGE PAST, 1950s: "Jackie Rodney, Barnegat's Good Neighbor."

To read more about winters long ago in a town often referred to as "God's Country," contact poundridgepast@gmail.com or on Facebook send PM.

Signed copies of POUND RIDGE PAST are $30 + $4 for shipping/handling.


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January 21, 2013

"Squirrel" Talk - More than 4,872 people are chattering


       Many thanks, readers, for all of the feedback on the squirrel story. Who would have ever thought these scurrilous rodents could be so embracing?

Here's the link to madness: "Squirrel Appreciation Day: Don't Miss Celebrating!"

January 17, 2013

HUFFINGTON POST: "Squirrel Appreciation Day: Don't Miss Celebrating!"


     I'm thankful for many things and my list runneth over, but I've never thought squirrels could be counted among them. Until now.

     * Here's the link to my new Huffington Post,



January 15, 2013

"My Life at Downton Abbey" (Dream On!)



I am as obsessed with "Downton Abbey" as I am with "Mad Men." So much so that this morning I awoke from a dream that I LIVED at Downton Abbey and was wearing Lady Mary Crawley's wedding gown. And, amidst the splendor of this sizzling British drama that was now my life too, I saw my reflection in a gilded mirror as I floated down the main staircase. Large paintings with fruit, flowers, foxes and doughy ancestors lined the walls. As Robert Crawley, the 6th Earl of Grantham and Lord of the castle phrased it, "I was so happy, so very happy, I felt my chest would explode."

A silver lace wedding train trailed my dainty steps, which are usually cloddish.  (I love that anything is possible in the Land of Nod.) Adding to the zip of the moment was the antique diamond tiara that sat upon my finger-wave hairdo. Between my nimble footwork and the rocked-out tiara, I was far from hobblety-hoy.

At the bottom of the staircase, Lord Grantham's lab, Pharaoh, sat and stared at the wall.

"Good morning," I said.

He turned his head towards me in boredom. With tongue flapping, the castle canine said, "Good morning, madam."  (Who wouldn't love a dog that so casually threw in a palindrome? I wanted to take him home with me. Was I already home though? Time travel in dreams can be so confusing.)

I proceeded to the dining room. A small fire crackled in the fireplace, relieving the grand chamber of its morning chill. I pushed my veil aside, took a seat and observed the well-set table.

"Nothing succeeds like excess," I thought as I recalled something Grandmama Violet Crawley, Dowager Countess of Grantham, had said.

The door to the dining room swished open.

"Tea, my lady?" asked Lord Grantham's valet, John Bates. He balanced the silver tea set with grace. His eyes were dreamy. (Wait, wasn't he supposed to be in jail? Or upstairs doing something valet-ish? Where was Mr. Carson, the head butler?)

"Would you like some champagne marmalade on your toast tips?" asked Anna, Mr. Bates's wife and head housemaid. (And wasn't she supposed to be organizing one of the 300 other rooms in the castle? I was thrilled, though, that she and Bates-y were finally reunited.)

Thomas Barrow, the under-butler, walked through holding six crisply starched shirts. I held up my finger to acknowledge him and he sneered. (Reminder to self: Someone needs to talk to that man about his attitude.) He also needed to polish his shoes ... which brought me to the topic of personal grooming.

I thought if I was feeling nerve-y. Today would be the day that I introduce Daisy, the scullery maid, to a new invention called "shampoo." I was certain that once she washed her scene-stealing greasy hair, Mrs. Patmore, the cook, would be more forgiving when she asked whether Daisy had "swopped places with her evil twin." 

Morning light filtered through the dining room window. The crystal chandelier dazzled with a rainbow of colors that were as glorious as the Swarovski crystals and tiny rice pearls that edged the lace of my wedding gown.

Grandmama entered. The ruby and emerald broach nestled in her bosom jostled each time she tapped her cane in syncopation to her sassy comments. Her sage green chiffon dress shivered.

"If only the fog would lift," she said liltingly. "London would be saved."

Saved from an onslaught of trench coats? Or Burberry scarves? I wasn't exactly sure what she was talking about.

Upon finishing my English breakfast (which, brilliantly, can be both a meal and a tea), I heard loud bells ringing. Was someone beckoning from the Robing Room? The Big Library? The Small Library?  Could someone please see who's at the front door?

Lord Grantham jumped in and broke my train of thought.

"I've invested too much into Downton to give it up now," he said apropos to the fact that everything was going down the toilet for the Granthams. 

"I'm with you, my Lord," I responded in a fake English accent.  "We all are. All 7.9 million of us. Each and every Sunday night."

Lord Grantham looked at me quizzingly. The bells continued to toll.

It took me a while to realize that the ringing was not a call for the servants, but rather for me to wake the heck up. It was morning and the miniature Big Ben alarm clock on my bed stand was clanging to be silenced.

I slammed it to stop the bloody ringing. As I stretched in languor, I reached my hand to my head. There was no tiara. Nor were there any jellied molds in sight. The cup of Earl Grey tea by my bedside was cold.

I was back in New York. Lady Mary's wedding gown had morphed into my old red-tartan flannel pajamas. Where was the elegance? Where was the grace? The only consolation to waking up so harshly was that there are only a few more days until the next masterful episode of "Downton Abbey," which I will watch fervently ... and dream on.


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January 12, 2013

POUND RIDGE PAST at Lionheart Gallery



POUND RIDGE PAST now at LIONHEART GALLERY

I'm delighted to let you know that signed copies of POUND RIDGE PAST: Remembrances of Our Townsfolk are now available in the small works gallery at Lionheart Gallery, which specializes in Modern and Contemporary emerging and established artists from Europe and United States. They have a broad inventory of fine art photography, paintings, works on paper, mixed media and sculpture. The current exposition, “Helluva Town: New York City in the 1940s and 50s,” by 92-year old documentary and street photographer Vivian Cherry, is a gem.

Gallery hours: Wednesday-Saturday, 11am-5pm; Sunday, noon-4pm, and by appointment. (Its advised to call before going as they close on occasion for private viewings with collectors.)

Lionheart Gallery | 27 Westchester Ave. Pound Ridge, NY 10576 | tel. 914.764.8689

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- If you can't make it to Lionheart, contact poundridgepast@gmail.com or leave a PM on the POUND RIDGE PAST Facebook page.

January 7, 2013

Bob, Wave and Twist


In recognition of the new 1920s finger wave hairstyle on "Downton Abbey," 

let us all wave today (but don't get too hobblety-hoy about it).

January 5, 2013

Resolute Question for 2013


Was one of your New Year resolutions to lose weight and cut down on drinking wine? The imperfect solution is to get a bad cold and go on amoxycillin. Not only will you lose your appetite, but you are forbidden to have alcohol while on this potent antibiotic.

By the end of the bottle (of amoxycillin), voilà ... did someone call me a slim and trim teetotaler?  (They meant that in the good way, right?)

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