drying out as she types

the first day of fall is just one week past, but the baron is already feeling the effects of this change in the weather: she gets all dried out in these crisper months.

lucky for her, she very recently discovered Badger brand Cocoa Butter Lip Balms at her neighborhood market. she picked up a three pack, above, with cool mint, sweet orange and cocoa flavors. the first two are delicately flavored, not like some bonne bell assault on her mouth and nose, and the last one has no flavor or scent at all. all are creamy and long-lasting, and on the label of each is written 'a little magic for your lips'. you know what, reader? it IS a little magic for your lips!

how did this get here?

the baron and the husband spent part of their weekend thrift shopping, visiting some of their favorite ones. they could think of nothing in particular that they needed, really, though the husband did have an eye out for halloween decorations. for her part, the baron really just wanted to get out of the house (it had been a rainy, cooped-up kind of weekend).

once they got to their first stop, though, the baron realized that she did want something: didion's 'the year of magical thinking', a book that the she had often (always!) seen at the thrift store. it happened that the two or three thrifts they intended to visit had excellent book sections, so the baron felt certain that she'd find her book.

but.

the afternoon turned out to be an education for her, an education about the books left to thrift stores. for example, she saw lots of copies of frey's 'a million little pieces', proving once and for all that oprah's reach is mighty and far. she also saw a number of 'what to expect when you're expecting', quite a few of the 'the da vinci code' (in hard back), and LOTS of harlequin romance novels.

what troubled her about the whole thing, though, was the appearance on the thrift store shelves of some of her favorite novels: 'the corrections' (in both soft and hard back), 'absalom, absalom', 'the color of water', 'a confederacy of dunces', 'moo', and even a hard cover copy of 'me talk pretty one day'. 'me talk pretty one day'!!! mccullers, rowling, morrison... they were all there together, abandoned, and the baron was sad.

the baron was left wondering, how did these books get here? and, to the husband, can we buy them? don't you know someone who wants a copy of 'harry potter and the sorcerer's stone'? alas, he did not... and all the books stayed. the baron said a little something under her breath, something for the books she loved, hoping that someone good would buy them.

as for her - there was no didion, not this time anyway. there was, however, thackeray, and 'vanity fair' is proving a good read so far.

with this ring...

today, the baron presents the nearly accurate transcript of a conversation she had with the husband had last night:

the baron: i have to tell you something.
the husband: yes?
the baron: i've been thinking that i'd maybe like a wedding band...
the husband: instead of the rock, you want a band?
the baron: well, yeah... a thin band, something plain.
the husband: like mine?
the baron: well, yes, but thinner.
the husband: ok, it's your finger. we can do something with your ring and get a band.
the baron: what?
the husband: what?
the baron: i didn't mean 'instead of' my wedding ring, i meant 'in addition to'. wtf?
the husband: ...

outside living, done

reader, you may remember that the baron and the husband recently built a retaining wall and patio?

well, said retaining wall and patio are now totally finished and occupant-ready! low growing, foot-traffic tolerant moss has been planted between the pavers. ferns and bananas have been planted around the patio's perimeter. the furniture is back, and buddha has found a place among the greenery.

reader, it's a pretty sweet spot - it turned out very nicely indeed.

dragonfly, for candles!

reader, the baron knew you would have the answer.
special thanks to k, for having an idea and a link with a photo, and to t for bridging the gap.
photos are coming, once the dragonflies are properly outfitted with their new candle holders and tea lights.

dragonfly, for what now?

the baron and the husband found this iron dragonfly (and its twin) at a thrift store early this past summer. both pieces are quite heavy for their size, and a bit rusty... overall, they make a lovely, rustic pair of ornaments. if you look closely, you can see a hole in the dragonfly's head, so it can be hung flush against a wall. and at the bottom of its body, you can see that hinge there... that hoop thing moves up and down on that hinge.

reader, the baron is fairly sure that that hoop thing is meant to hold a candle, and that the whole dragonfly contraption is meant to be hung outdoors, on a wall or an arbor or something similarly flat. but, reader, how will the candle stay in place? how will the candle stay on the hoop, rather than falling through the hoop? ideas, suggestions and answers appreciated.

there's a chill in the air, if only

today is the first day of fall, reader, and the baron is happy about this turn of seasonal events. crisp, clear days are coming - the kinds of days that, from indoors, trick you into thinking no jacket is needed. also, fall is the best time for clothes, wool ones and tweed ones and corduroy ones, in browns and greens and yellows and oranges. the pet industry marketing people know this too, and fools like the baron just buy RIGHT INTO IT.

mid-70s saturday, the day the husband came home, was one of those good fall days, cool enough for a sweater, even in the sun. high-70s sunday, less so. sunday's higher temperature didn't stop the baron and the husband, though, from picking up this fall-appropriate item for harlan.



and the close-up.



and, the tag attached to the sweater, the tag that really SOLD them on the sweater for harlan...

saturday, 0608

reader, it is pre-dawn.
it is a beautiful and chilly morning; the moon is still big in the sky.
the baron is awake.
the baron is quilting.
the baron is trying to decide between a shampoo infomercial, a makeup informercial, a "this body stocking smooths your body under your clothes" infomercial, and this movie.
the dogs are asleep all around her, at her feet, on the rug, on the couch.
the husband is coming home today.
the baron thinks it's going to be a good saturday.

september 16, 1997

reader, today is a sad day in the baron's personal history, a very sad day indeed. september 16 marks the 11th (11!) anniversary of the death of her father, and she's feeling kind of - but not totally - glum about this tuesday reminder.

the baron and her father had a complicated relationship, mostly because the baron was just a kid when he died; she was 20, and not a terribly mature 20. she was actually a kind of "wow, the 31 year old baron really cannot believe she was ever that self-centered and selfish" 20. in hindsight, the baron can understand why she and her father fought so often; less easy-going than her brother, the baron pushed back every chance she had. she invented opportunities to push back. see how annoying?

so, 11 years ago-ish, the baron, her brother, and their friend sweet lady x went to a movie; the baron's parents were two doors down, seeing a different movie ('air force one', as it happens), one that started just 30 minutes behind the baron's film.

can you see where this story is going, reader?

the brother and lady x and the baron finished their movie and went their separate ways... lady x to her home, and the siblings to theirs. it was evening. some time later - much later, which the baron remembers because she absentmindedly flipped through the channels while waiting for her parents to return and came upon 'nypd blue' - her mother came home, weeping. and, the saddest part of all - even sadder than her crying - was the sight of the baron's mother clutching her recently dead husband's shoes.

(an aside: it pleases the baron that her father died at a movie (for all intents and purposes - he faltered at the theatre, was revived by a good samaritan, and died on the way to the hopsital), because reader, he LOVED movies. he loved them. he liked his entertainment to be mindless and agenda-free, so movies like 'air force one' were perfect for him. he used to play hooky anytime a new 'star trek' movie was coming out. isn't that endearing?)

the baron's first thought upon seeing her mother was nothing. no thought at all. does not compute. makes no sense.

then she thought, 'i am an afterschool special. i will spend many maladjusted years trying to recover from this.'

perhaps you are thinking, shoes? how is that sad? or perhaps you are not thinking that at all, but the baron would like to share the rest of her story anyway.

her father - let's call him the father - was one of many children - 6 or 7, and yes reader it IS shameful that the baron doesn't exactly remember how many. his family was poor, very, very poor, having moved from illinois to redondo beach, california. the father's own father had left his family when the father was quite young - and, reader, that's a sad story too - so the father and his siblings were raised by just one parent; with that many children, the baron can only imagine how hard it must have been. anyhoo, this poverty marked the father, in two very specific ways.

first, by the time the baron knew him, the father always had cash in his wallet. not two singles and 3 quarters, like the baron, but real cash, lots of cash, as a tangible reminder that he could afford it (it? whatever it was). he wasn't wasteful with it, but he always had it... like a paper security blanket.

second, the father always made sure to buy expensive dress shoes. it confounded the baron, even in her selfish youth, because the father was a printer, a man who worked with his hands - and italian loafers just did not fit into his print shop lifestyle, smelling as it did of chemicals and awash in the steady, steady hum of the printing press. those shoes meant something to him - he told her as much once, when they were at a relative truce. that he was able to afford them meant something (something? what?), and the baron has happy memories of seeing her father in the mornings, every morning, polishing his shoes before putting them on (usually, it must be said, with a small silver shoe horn).

so, you see, reader, the sight of her mother - newly widowed, and holding so tight to a pair of shoes that, after all, meant so much more than footwear - was arresting. the baron can still see her mother, coming up into the light of the front walk, passing into and out of the baron's vision through the slits of the vertical blinds, and holding those shoes so close.

the father died before the commonplace use of digital cameras, and maybe she wouldn't even put up a photo of him anyway. some things are sacred.

the next days and weeks are a blur. the baron knows she became the VERY WORST version of herself, and treated the brother very, very badly.

but, you know what, reader? redemption and recovery are real! they are there, for all of us! we can get them, if only we loosen our grip and let them in.

so.

today, 11 years later, the baron had the following conversation with the mother:

the baron: hello?

the mother: hello!

the baron: where the hell ya been all day? i've been trying to get you since noon!

the mother: i had a class, and i have to go to yoga class! then alice and i went shopping.

the baron: oh - i thought you and jonathan went to daddy's grave, because, you know, didn't he die today?

the mother: yes. i'm going on friday.

so, you see reader? redemption and recovery. it's there for you.

chrysanthemums

fall is coming, and this chrysanthemum's flowers have mostly fallen. the baron likes the way spring signals new growth and other hopeful things, but she LOVES fall, especially a maryland fall.

obviously, a machine would be faster

the baron is convinced that the use of a sewing machine would have significantly affected her quilting in a positive way: the machine is faster and, unlike our baron, can make straight stitch lines.

but.

the machine isn't really an option for the baron. she's not very talented with her sewing machine, plus the needle is broken. plus, the quilt is REALLY thick and probably wouldn't have fit into, onto, or on the machine anyway. plus, being an unsophisticated hack seamstress, she's always done sewing by hand.

so.

see her hacky handiwork below. in the first photo, the baron is showing you, reader, the front and back of her quilt: the fabric in the foreground (the small squares) is one side of the quilt; the larger squares are the other side of the quilt, and the middle batting is just peaking through at the edges. the second photo, the baron thinks, is an example of ACTUAL QUILTING.

none to say

dear reader,

today, the baron is thinking about how she's let you down, all 7 of you that regularly check this website. she's thinking about how she'd like to have something interesting to report, but - in fact - does not. she knows that not updating this chronicle isn't disappointing in the same way that "sorry, you don't qualify for this home loan" or "i'm sorry to tell you, the biopsy found evidence of cancer cells in your thyroid" are disappointing, but still - she's disappointed in herself, for having nothing to write, for having no interesting photographs to share, for spending all her free time on the couch, hand sewing a quilt THAT WILL NEVER BE DONE (and, yes, stitchworks, the baron KNOWS that a sewing machine will make it go faster, she KNOWS!!).

the root of her malaise has been hard to identify, but she suspects it's a conflation of many things. she's recently taken a new job, and reader, the shine is wearing off. the weather doesn't help - summer is ending, fall can't get here fast enough, but in the meantime the humidity is lingering about like an unemployed teenager. this weather also affects the dogs: they dance around the house wanting badly to be outside, but once there, they immediately want back into the air conditioning. her yard, too, troubles her - it's ghastly to look at, and there's no real chance things about that will change any time soon.

probably the most bothersome thing of all, though, is the absence of the husband. this week, or maybe just today, he's in atlanta, though this trip started in wilmington, and will probably end up somewhere like houston. this is only the most recent of many, many trips he's taken lately, and reader, the baron is tired of being left. home alone, from time to time, is a welcome respite from
the usual marital tasks (laundry and cooking being fore among them), but after six months of his almost constant travel, she's tired. she misses him. she also would not mind having someone around to split the dog-caring duties, if you know what she's saying.

in short, the baron would like you, reader, to know that she's whining. can't you hear her from where you are?

what does this mean for you, reader? nothing, really, but don't fret - fall is, after all, on its way, and she loves fall. see? things, they're looking up already.