Home Again, Home Again

I was in New York from Thursday until Saturday.  Short but sweet.  And cold.

I normally stay with my big-city friend but decided to go out on my own this time.  Be a grown-up.  I stayed in a hotel.  I stayed in a pod room, the thought of which concerned Mr. Blandings, but I assured him that there was a double bed and a private bath.

As we lay in bed the night before I left he said, "Be careful."  "Of what?" I wondered.  What does he fear for me there that is any different than the mishaps and tragedies that pop up around here?  But I said, "I will," instead so that he could sleep.

I caught up with several friends and stayed out too late and had so much fun.  The only real surprise was how often people asked me, "So why are you here?"  

As if one were to need a reason other than to celebrate a victory, catch up with a friend over pomme frites and devour a homemade meat loaf amid conversation that sparkled like my dinner partner's jewels.

I needed nothing more.  Except, perhaps a memo sample or two.  We have wonderful designer showrooms here in Kansas City and I have access to almost every line a girl could need.

But not Quadrille.

I've tweaked my dining room.  I discovered, with the help of a friend, that I was trying to make it something that it was not.  It was reaching above its station; holding itself apart from the rest of the house.  But with a little therapy we both realized, the dining room and I, that it is not a grand salon, but a room with a table that hosts our friends but also our school projects and my crafting and it needed to, well, relax.

I had brought home Clarence House's Flowering Quince and tucked her behind the ropes in my double hung windows.  She is nearly perfect, but her price tag is as magnificent as her design and with yardage and labor...it was not meant to be.

So I made my way on my first day in New York to the D & D building to see what Quadrille might have for the Dream House.  There are now several samples scattered across my dining table, which was reason enough to have gone.  But there is more, of course.  Who did I see as I marveled at Roy Hamilton's vases in the Brunschwig & Fils showroom?  Chatting and wandering and delighting everyone working there?  Mario Buatta.  By himself.  No fuss, no drama, no assistants, just a fist full of memos.  I texted Megan giddy as a school girl.  

Why was I there?  For design junkies like me, there can be no better place.

All images via the Quadrille website, other than the bottom two, which are mine.