Rabbit Stew

In the last two weeks we have tackled back-to-school and readying the house to put it on the market. I ramp up quickly and unwind slowly so it has been a couple of weeks of my feeling like a high-wire performer who has had too much caffeine. I wish it were a foreign feeling; it is not. Usually, just about the time I think I might come undone, my brain starts to send out satellites to see what else we can add to the mix to really tip things over the edge.

Over a week ago, as I was talking to an incredibly interesting woman on the phone, I looked out the back door to see Rosie putting her nose on the ground then lifting it up. Touch, pull back; touch, pull back. Like a ballerina whose shoe hovers just above the stage. "Great," I thought, "there's something icky and dead out there and now I have to go get it before the carnage begins."

So, still on the phone, I made my way across the yard to see what was up. There, in the dry grass was a very still furry creature. I couldn't quite tell what it was, mole or mouse or rabbit. Rosie stood next to me, looking down at the discovery then up at me to see what I would do. I put an index finger under her collar and brought her inside so I could pick up the boys.

I filled them in on the way home and when we got back they went to investigate. "A rabbit," they declared, "Really small, but a rabbit." Sakes. The last thing I needed was a baby rabbit in the middle of my back yard. Later, I was off to "Curriculum Night" so I brought Mr. B up to date and was out the door.

One of my best friends is well educated in wildlife. She amazes my children by picking up turtles and frogs and most things furry. She recently filled me in on chicken sex, but that is another story for another day. She mentioned that the nest was probably very nearby. "I don't think so. It's right in the middle of the yard."

When I got home Mr. Blandings and I went out with a flash light and our rabbit was where we had left him. With a bit of poking around we found the nest was, indeed, just a few inches away, nearly directly in the center of our backyard. And, naturally, our new friend had siblings. Three. "What a dumb bunny. What in the world was she thinking? And he must have been quite a dashing hare to have swept her off her feet so late in the season." We sort of nudged the loner back into the nest and went inside.

"I really don't know how I'm going to keep Rosie away from them."

"I was thinking I'd put up a little fence." Pause. And a beat.

"You kill things."

"What?"

"You kill things. You're kidding me that you are going to create a wildlife perserve in the middle of our backyard."

And the mighty hunter indignantly declared, "I don't kill infants."

The next day began with tragedy. Our friend from the day before had been evicted from the nest again and had passed in the night. It was a speedy service; we did not tell the boys. When they left for school I purchased some wire fencing and had a chat with my old friend the internet. As it turns out, our bunny was not so dumb. Rabbits nest in the open because their predators are less likely to hunt there. Also, rabbit mommies are not nearly as high strung as I. They do not fret over homework and transitions and the amount of sleep their darlings are getting. They nurse their babies about five minutes a day, usually at night. So basically they deliver their children into a shallow den in the middle of the open and kick some grass and fur over them and come back to check every twenty-four hours or so.

The fence, of course, did not keep out the curious Boxer. I looked out a couple of times to see her looking back at me with rabbit fur on her muzzle. It was not the fur of the young, but the camouflage of the mother; the bunnies were fine. I rolled a wheelbarrow into the yard and tipped it upside down over the nest, propping it on bricks so their mother could drop in if she felt like it. The boys sprang to Rosie's defense, "She doesn't want to eat them," they declared, incredulous that their pal had been labeled a potential mass murderer, "She's protecting them."

"Really? You think so? That seems a little inconsistent with canine instinct."

"She's seen you taking care of them, so she is taking care of them, too." Maybe.

We checked every day, lifting the wheelbarrow and pushing aside the dry grass and hair. As their cover began to stir they would jump slightly like the pulse of a heart. I can't say they welcomed our intrusions, but they allowed the petting and cooing, turning their faces to the side of the den employing the strategy of human toddlers, "If we can't see them, they can't see us." We referred to each as "he," "him" and "his brother" because it is all we know. They were significantly bigger every day.

Then, about a week into our ministrations, when we lifted the wheelbarrow, one hopped out of the nest. He didn't go far and my middle son corralled him back in. That night we saw another in the yard. The next morning they were gone.

We haven't seen them since, dead or alive, and as the boys liked to imagine Rosie the Great Protector, I like to imagine they are happily munching the landscaping of my neighbors and making plans for their own litters in the Spring. I like to think those bunnies made it despite the odds and that sometimes cute and fluffy prevails over hard and sharp. I like to think that sometimes things work out.

If Walls Could Talk

As we think, and talk, about moving a few people have said, "Oh, it will be fine. I know you love your house, but where ever you go you will make it great."

But it doesn't work like that. Some houses are just great. The architecture is beautiful and the scale is just right and everything has been beautifully calibrated. Houses like that are not within my reach.

But the houses I will see, far less grand, will either have soul or they won't. Houses have soul. I've yet to see someone inject it; it's there or it's not regardless the wallpaper or paint or linoleum.

As I came up the walk of my current house, toddler in one hand, baby carrier in the other, I thought, "This isn't it. Darn. A waste of time." A sort-of Tudor, seemingly smallish from the street, sure to be full of awkward rooms and nooks and crannies that a symmetry-and-space-loving woman like me could never appreciate.

And then I stood on the threshold of the front door, and, as it turned out my next ten years, and its energy washed over me in a way that the scent of baking cookies could have never conveyed.

Images courtesy of Vendome Press from Lars Bolander's Scandinavian Design by Heather Smith MacIsaac, photography, these images, by Staffan Johansson. The book is beautiful and brings to life the philosophy that country does not mean kitsch. The rooms delight and while distinctively Scandinavian, provide inspiration for anyone interested in using that soothing mix of formal pieces, informal fabrics and wonderful color.

Style in Spades

"She seems so lovely," has been the comment I've heard again and again since the September issue of Spaces hit newsstands and mailboxes. She is. Spaces's September issue focuses on fashion and I was over the moon when my editor requested an interview with native Kansas Citian, Kate Spade. You can read it here.

I was delighted, too, to see Spade wearing Ted Muehling's Queen Anne's Lace earrings in the accompanying photo. They are very high up on my wish list. I made a stop into Muehling's shop on my last trip to New York and was not surprised when the woman who helped me confided, "You know, besides being an amazing designer, Ted is so nice." I've enjoyed knowing that as much as I've enjoyed the earrings I've worn nearly every day since.

Image, top, Spaces, September 2010; photography by Noe Dewitt. Image bottom via Muehling's site from a piece in Departures, October, 2001; I could not find a photo credit, but happy to add it if you have it.

Animal Vegetal Mineral

A couple of readers have asked about the chair in the previous post. It is the Vegetal Chair by Ronan & Erwan Bouroullec whom you may remember from a past post on bathroom elements.

Information on the design of the chair (which, in a nutshell started with the concept of it growing from the ground) here; you can purchase the chair here.

Image via Ronan Bouroullec, photography, I think, is Paul Tahon.

Sumptuous Not Stodgy

Farrow and Ball, darling, you were just reading my mind.

My bedroom, the one out of which I may be moving? I was just thinking it should have this subtle but not so neutral palette.

And then you send me this. A little wallpaper Valentine telling me that, yes, the stars have aligned and all is just as it should be.

The new Baroque Collection which is available this month in this particularly appealing and never before seen combination of Charleston Gray (ground) and Parma Gray (pattern) and sixty-two others. Yes, that's right, sixty-three color-way combinations. No wonder they are calling it "sumptuous."

All images courtesy of Farrow and Ball; the second is a scan of the paper and is most representative of the color. Or colour.

Art Needlepoint

As I've mentioned (again and again) my love of needlepoint, both the product and the process, a few readers have emailed occasionally to say, "Hey, where do you find your projects?" Because, honestly, some canvases are a smidge dated. I've had a lot of my canvases painted by our local needlepoint shop, the Studio, but I fear not every one is so lucky as to have such a nice resource.

Except you do. On-line. Art Needlepoint has hundreds of amazing canvases - truly something for everyone. Some may look familiar, like Harrison Howard's design, top, or Anne Harwell's, above.

But there are lot of fresh patterns whether you are enhancing living room, child's room or den. These butterflies would be unbelievable finished.

Barbara Mangini's Fern on Indian Print could freshen the sunroom,

and Jane Parkes's designs

could add a graphic dash of style and color

to tired sofas everywhere.

Some canvases are sold as kits, regardless, Art Needlepoint is happy to pull yarn of any variety for your project. Custom specifications available. If you stitch quick you still have time to get a project completed by Christmas. That's what I'm hoping anyway.

All images courtesy of Art Needlepoint.

Found and Lost

You might be surprised by how often people land on this site looking for something from the set of the movie Julie & Julia. I've had several requests to contact the set decorator about napkins and lighting and on and on. I do feel like, when I reach out to folks to do these interviews for the blog, that they are doing me a favor. So, I rarely go back and say, "Um, so, where did you find the pillow?"

This is different. A very nice young man is on a quest to find these glasses that appeared in the film for a very specific person and purpose (which I may share at a later date.) I did, in fact, go back and ask the set decorator for Julie & Julia from whence they came. She's nice, as most people are, and let me know she found them at le Cafeteria in New York, but that the shop had changed hands and they might not be there anymore. They are not.

Two sources agree that the glasses are French (though I don't think that is critical to the quest.) What say you, design crazies? Can you help a guy out? Any suggestions?

Off the Rack

My flight home from New York was delayed (setting my mind on a skitterish path of worry and fret) the upside being that I was able to read the entire issue of the New Yorker cover to cover. Gluttonous feast for someone who is usually confined to grabbing an article here or snacking in the carpool line. There, on pages that seem like onion skin compared to the shelter magazines, was Agatha Christie. Yet when I first turned the page I thought for a moment that I was looking in an enchanted mirror. Needlepoint shoes, rings stacked knuckle-to-knuckle, watch on a thick black strap and, yes, beads. The swollen ankles will likely be mine as well as they surely resembled this during each pregnancy. The only unlikelihood being the hair; I fear I will always be putting off the gray for "next year."

Also, this. Jail cell? Secret al Qaeda operative headquarters? Nope. This is where Jonathan Franzen writes. And writes well. He's removed all distraction from the room (I'll say) and all hope of connection to the internet from his computer. I have ordered my copy of Freedom. And will wait, somewhat impatiently, for its release next week. You can read the Time profile here.

Image, top, the New Yorker, August 16th & 23rd, 2010; photography by Lord Snowdon. Image, last, Time, August 23, 2010; photography by Dan Winters.

Don't Look a Gift Show in the Mouth

I attended the gift show in New York last week and I'm going to give you a quick round up. I went to see what was fresh and new on the horizon. The big news is, well, not a lot. That's not exactly true, there was great, great stuff, but as far as trends (I know we don't use the "T" word here, but it is reality), it is pretty much the same. Vendors are still showing a lot of color, like these great pieces from Dransfield & Ross, above. (I circled around three times to see this vignette again and again.) Also, as far as soft goods, I hope you are enjoying suzanis and hand-blocked fabrics because you are going to be seeing them a while longer.

There was not much in the avenue of the current craze for all things Belgian (perhaps Restoration Hardware has cornered the market) and there was not nearly as much industrial thrift knock off as I had expected (though it was there.)

I was enchanted by Chelsea Textiles Mid-Century Modern Collection (previous two pictures) which had several pieces with punch in fab finishes including lacquer and, yes, there is still a lot of that, too.

Mr. Adler greeted me with "Pow." While I sometimes wonder if this happy chic will take on the edge of mania, Adler keeps producing product that delights. These brass tables, in particular, seemed a nice addition to the line and escewed the reserve of the antique finish with a bright and shiny gleam. A brass fretwork table base (implied, but not show; it is under the wood top) would be a great addition to homes both mod or trad.

Along with ethnic prints geometric graphics were still everywhere and Adler is the King of Pop in this catagory; new table linens showed a fresh face to these designs.

Ah, yes, don't forget the children. A local retailer told me once that there is a theory that when things are tight people will continue to spend on their children even if they are cutting back for themselves. Hmmm...another post for another day. Back on topic, I think Adler's children's line debuted in January and it is very, very cool.

little nest had terrific, iconic pieces for the pint-sized. I must say I would have delighted in having my little chicks reading The Pokey Little Puppy in an Egg Chair.

A new Dream House? Perhaps, and this one comes with fewer clipped heartstrings attached. This is brinca dada's Emerson House composed of glass corners, minimalist cut stone and hardwood floors.

I didn't play dolls and Barbies always creeped me out with their permanently pointed feet, but this is a doll house that would make a girl leave Little Women behind.

The house and the furniture are sold separately but don't be surprised to find mommy banging her fist and crying, "I want it all!" especially when she discovers that the fully functional solar panels charge the LED recessed lighting.

And, perhaps I was just missing toddlerhood (unlikely), but this tray with puzzle piece utensils is delightful and seems to solve the problem of Junior waiting for his peas and carrots. Plus, those little red knobs? Grasping those helps with fine motor skills. The puzzle concept? Addresses spacial relationships and eye-hand coordination. All important work for baby. And it just might give Mama time to fix herself a drink.

Favorite Mistake

My first piece for the Chicago Tribune, Their Favorite Mistakes, appeared in the paper on Monday; you can find it on-line here.

Image courtesy of Suzanne Kasler.