Mrs. Blandings

Idol Worship

2012-01-30T21:23:00.001-06:00

I have an issue with my mailman. Or I have no issues with my mailman, depending on how you look at it. I think that I have mentioned before the rarity of my big mail delivery. Perhaps he feels this 1950 ranch should have 1950-size mail; for most days letter size is my only prize. About once a week my mail slot is crammed, stuffed, smushed with catalogues and magazines. Except for February's. No February magazines at all.

So I bought them. (This annoys Bill and when they eventually arrive he will say, sadly lifting them from the kitchen island, "Oh. That's too bad." It's as if he thinks they have died in vain.) Worth the double dip as I found Claire Weiss awaiting me on the pages of AD in that remarkable vintage Azzedine Alaia dress. And those pearls. In front of that mural.

Speechless.

The Cartier pearls are "the only jewelry she wears." (They rest atop vintage Fornasetti trays, which is, well, perfect.) The grandness of this overwhelms me. It is the kind of thing that I would proclaim and then find myself a week later mouthing "liar" in the mirror. Still, I wish I were a little more Weiss-like. Read the whole article here.

Images, Architectural Digest, February 2012; architecture, Steven Harris; design, Lucian Rees Roberts; photography, Thomas Loof; produced by Robert Rufino and the balance of the number of small object in the piece is nothing short of miraculous.

Off the Rack - Luxe de Luxe

2012-01-30T10:59:00.001-06:00

Just a heads up that Luxe Interiors + Design has wonderful images from the recent Maison de Luxe show house in their Winter 2012 issue. Michelle Nussbaumer's green and black and white foyer and card room are offering some personal inspiration, but all the rooms have photographed beautifully.

Great coverage of the house at both the Peak of Chic and Style Beat.

Progress Report

2012-01-25T20:38:00.000-06:00

We are in flux. I'm offering a quick update on Dexter. He is big. In fact, the boys are delighted as I call him a "big galoot" ("galute" is also an accepted spelling) and they think I have made up this word. Dexter, in his current state, could inspire the creation of the word "galoot." He lumbers and lopes (when he is not running and leaping) and often bumps into things. He is ten months and Bill keeps saying, "I think he's finished growing," but his feet still seem too large for his (big) body and his ears are overly floppy, often backwards as a result of exuberance. I used to hold him while I worked and he doesn't seem to realize that he's rather outgrown this. He drapes himself across my lap and rests his chin on my desk. Remember, he was the runt. I adore him. He is soulful and I feel sure that he will be a noble beast. Currently, in flux.

The chairs are back, but I have ordered a round table and now it needs a cloth. Flux.

I've made progress on the hallway, but still have about half of this stretch to finish. Flux.

And I am adding lamps here and there, though there is still a cavernous dark spot in the back of the living room. Every time we entertain I drag lamps from the bedroom in there and think, "By the next dinner...." These are for the hall and await their shades. Flux.

Hit and Run

2012-01-19T23:00:00.000-06:00

My first real friend, my first chosen friend, was PhillipKent. He lived across the streetfrom me in Atlanta and was the youngest of four boys. His brothers were high school aged and older when we werein third grade. His mother likedto say he was a “blessing.” Iagreed.

We moved from “the apartment” to the house across the streetfrom the Kents and Phillip introduced me to the joy and wonder of thecreek. The creek was a smallstream that ran behind his house bordered by banks about a foot high. In the spring it was full of pinchycrawdads and tadpoles as big as Tootsie Pops. We would kneel on the side and scoop the life out of it,capturing wonder in Mason jars. When the weather grew warmer we would stand bare legged, water half wayup our shins and watch critters swim under the water and rest on top.

My mother would rant and rail against the Georgia clay ground into my clothes on my adventures with Phillip. “Stay out of that creek!” she wouldshout, though we both knew it was for not. Before there was Phillip I hadhosted tea parties and taught school with a legion of stuffed animals. I can’t imagine now what I had to offerhim, though he would take a place at the tea table on occasion. Besides the creek and all it had tooffer he tutored me in kick ball and won us a place in a pack of older kids whoroamed the neighborhood.

Phillip and I planned rock concerts for our parents, who satpolitely in folding chairs while we showed them treasures from our rockcollections. We spent the night ateach other’s houses to the delight of his older brothers who hoped we weresetting precedent. Near the end ofthe third grade we were allowed to walk home from school together.

It was a few blocks, five at most, made longer by having tocross at the light and come around “the long way.” It was a hard-won battle and we were sworn to cross with theguard at the busy street. Mostlywe did, but on days that we lingered on the playground after school, we wouldwalk the winding road that led to a path through a wooded area that backed upto our street. The shortcutcovered our naughtiness.

On a day without a cloud in the sky we decided to take theshorter route. We ambled along theempty road until it spit us out at the edge of the busy street. This side street was just over a crestin a hill and we sprinted across, exuberant in our deception.

I was just in front of Phillip so I cannot explain the clearimage that I hold in my head of his body as it flew over ten feet in the air afterbeing hit by the car. I have nomemory of the sound of the wheels as they skidded to stop or the impact of thecar when it hit him. I cannotremember a single detail about the car or the woman who was driving it. I did turn back to see the papers fromhis notebook raining down around him.

I do remember the woods and the trees, some no larger thansticks, as they blurred by in my peripheral vision. I remember the pounding of my heart and the stitch in myside as I ran across the lawns of our neighbors, home, to tell my mother thatPhillip was hurt.

I burst through the front door screaming, “Mom, Mom! Phillip was hit by a car – you have tocome!” She did not say a word,but grabbed her keys and drove right to the spot, the spot that she must haveworried over the dozens of times we walked home uneventfully.

In the few minutes that it took us to drive there, neitherof us spoke a word. Just as wearrived one of Phillip’s brothers came running down the street, his arms heldwide, screaming his name. Therewas a crowd and then there was the ambulance.

He was in the hospital for months. A ruptured spleen, countless broken bones, a collapsedlung. He would miss the rest ofthe school year, but he would live. “I heard she was driving too fast.” “The children weren’t supposed to be walking home thatway.” “I heard she swerved to missTrish.” The women of the neighborhoodwhispered in clusters on the curbs of our street.

At the beginning of summer vacation my mother took me ona trip to see one of our friends. On the day we bought matching clogs she told me that my parents weregetting a divorce and that it was not my fault.

Phillip was not out of the hospital before we moved. I did not see him again until I was incollege, back in Atlanta for a visit. He was a man I did not recognizeand some of the old neighbors said he never really recovered after theaccident. He was my first friendand that day in the woods I am not sure if I was chasing it or if it waschasing me, but that was the first time I felt death in my presence and we werethere both breathing hard.

The General Store

2012-01-17T22:04:00.000-06:00

After my big city friend moved to New York and we began visiting regularly, I confessed, "I can't figure out this upper-lower-east-west-village thing. What the heck?!"

And he patiently pulled out my Streetwise Manhattan and pointed saying, "Prairie Village, Mission Hills, Leawood, Brookside. They're neighborhoods." And I was never confused again.

We have our own names for things here, too, and shorthands and zip codes.

Which can be cozy. And reassuring. The only problem being that sometimes something really good is happening outside your burg.

For me, this means I sometimes need a little extra nudge.

The Star. Spaces. And finally a text from Mrs. Larson (reaffirming my belief that personal is the most influential) asking, "Have you been to the General Store in downtown OP?"

Overland Park is not my usual stomping ground, though there are several cute shops and good places to eat. In the midst of carrot cake and swim pick up I dashed over.

Really, it's too good to be true. Chocked full of carefully curated treasures, you are sure to find something you need.

Design services, too.

Don't wait as long as I did. Go.

The General Store

7922 Santa Fe Drive

Overland Park, KS

You can ring them at 913/797-9915 or find them on-line at generalstorekc.com

A Happy Tune

2012-01-17T11:06:00.000-06:00

I went to the symphony last weekend. It's not on my usual list of weekend events: basketball, school project supplies, laundry.

It was an amazing treat. Mozart was lovely, but it was Rachmaninoff's Symphony No. 2 that delighted my ear and captured my heart.

It is such a happy piece and I was struck with wonder at the ability to create something, anything, so beautiful.

Here I sit surrounded by projects undone. An astrologer scribbled three stars next to the date "February 15," underlined it, circled it, then added a bracket for emphasis. The point of which was, "Get off your duff and do something." My stars are aligning.

So I was thinking (wasn't the point to stop thinking and "do?") that music might move things along.

Would you send other suggestions? Classical music that will uplift, inspire, delight. Brooding I pretty much have covered. I'd love your recommendations.

I intended to illustrate this post with busts of composers, but once I hit 1st dibs I was enchanted by the variety there. So, these are irrelevant, except that I like them.

Anon - thanks, my mistake. You can see why I need the education.

The Morning After

2012-01-15T22:33:00.000-06:00

The dinner turned out just fine with no major mishaps. The stand-out dish without a doubt was the Triple-Layer Carrot Cake with Cream Cheese Frosting which you can find here. I did, as the recipe says, grate the carrots on the smallest side of a box grater. I did not have a comparable attachment for my food processor and I believe that it made all the difference. The consistency of the carrots post-grating was similar to canned pumpkin, so the cake was incredibly smooth and rich. The recipe says that 1lb. of carrots will equal about three cups. This is a complete and total bold faced lie, or was in my case; I needed 2lbs. Carrot cake in my book is only a vehicle for cream cheese frosting anyway, so the extra layer made it a total home run. I had it for breakfast the next day.

We copied the Brussels sprout salad from a dish that we had at the Mixx here in Kansas City. You can vary it to your taste, sprouts, arugula, cranberries, almonds, bacon*, shaved parmesan with honey mustard dressing. The Brussels sprouts are raw. Yep, raw and delicious. Trim the bottom and separate so they are basically leaves. Bill did julienne (right?) them a little. I'd be careful with the sprout/arugula ratio as ours seemed a little arugula heavy. Better yet, eat in or carry out from the Mixx.

*Mr. Sulzberger, you are welcome to order yours without bacon.

Does She Bake an Apple Pie?

2012-01-12T22:20:00.000-06:00

"What do you want to do for your birthday?"

"Um. Nothing."

"I was thinking we could have a few people here."

"Maybe it would be easier to go out."

"I was thinking I might cook."

"What?"

"I was thinking I might cook."

"The dinner?"

"Yes, the dinner."

"What were you thinking of making me?"

"Happy?"

"I'm already happy."

"I'll figure it out."

So I am making Julia Child's Boeuf Bourguignon, a Brussel Sprout Salad with arugula, bacon, cranberries and parmesan with honey mustard dressing and a Triple-Layer Carrot Cake with cream cheese frosting. Favorites all. I am hoping that I can pay as close attention to detail as Mr. Gambrel has here.

All images from srgambrel.com.

You Say "Solarium", I Just Say "Office"

2012-01-11T22:19:00.003-06:00

I was telling a friend yesterday that Frances Elkins and I have been having an on-going tete-a-tete about my office. Ms. Elkins used her solarium as her home office as well, and she sat overlooking the walled garden that her brother, David Adler, designed for her.

My office is three walls of windows very similar to this, though they go nearly to the floor. I was telling Ms. Elkins that I did not care for the style of the mullions on my windows; they are a bit arts and crafts for my taste and don't relate to the house in any way. She paused before pointing out that they are exactly the same as her windows, though hers had a further flourish. This reassured me a bit as she knew it would.

In the spirit of solidarity I ordered a new white bamboo desk chair. (She did not have white bamboo here, but I was sure that she would approve.) It was happily in place when Bill came home from work. "Is that comfortable?" he asked taking in the criss-crossed lattice of the back. I stared back blankly and he nodded, "Never mind."

He thinks it would be a fine idea, however, to buy a day bed to go underneath the windows on the long wall opposite my desk. "You could read a book there. Or nap." This made me wonder how he thinks I spend my day, but rather than take the bait I noted, "The only beings that would sleep there would be Dexter and Rosie." "Well, that would be ok, wouldn't it?" It would, actually, as it would provide an excuse to hunt down two rope lamps to flank it.

I can feel my work improving already.

(By the way, if you think there is any chance that I could get the boys to say "solarium," you are delusional. I can't even get them to say "sofa" though they have never heard me utter the word "couch." I blame the media.)

Image from Frances Elkins Interior Design, Stephen M. Salny, W.W. Norton & Co. 2005.

Look Into My Eyes

2012-01-10T22:33:00.000-06:00

"I want you to use the Retin A on your forehead every day."

I stared back at my dermatologist and tried to decipher just what she was saying. She's equal parts clinical and personal, and I like her not just for her flawless skin which gives me hope.

"Oh. Yes, well, the forehead isn't really the problem, it's my eyes."

She arched one perfectly drawn brow in response.

"Yes, actually I've seen a plastic surgeon about it. My eyelids are so heavy that unconsciously I am raising my eyebrows in order to lift them off of my lashes. That's what is causing the wrinkles."

"It's significant enough that I think your insurance might cover it. You should check with your optometrist."

Cut to a clandestine meeting in a neighborhood coffee shop where a friend said, "She could be right. I think you should make an appointment." Neither woman said the word, "bad" as in "bad enough to be covered by insurance as your eyelids have dropped to the point that they are impeding your peripheral vision." But that is the case.

It's not a surprise, really. If you saw my father's eyelids you would see where this is headed. Still, as I stood in the kitchen and explained the stitches and the bruising to Bill he said, "Please don't do it." I just can't tell what would take more courage; the scalpel and the slice or the slow slide.

Living elegantly with a little wear was Princess Claude Ruspoli in, yes, Paris. She was quite fond of antique fabrics, the patina of which adds to the allure of her apartment overlooking the Seine. Architectural Digest, International Interiors, 1979; photography Pascal Hinous.

A Happy Book

2012-01-08T23:02:00.000-06:00

And so we are off. The boys are back at school and I am home again in the quite with only the rustle and woofing of the dogs to disturb me.

I received an email, the subject line of which was "Be Well in 2012" and I originally thought the sender was "The Universe." Ominous, once opened it turned out to be from The University of Kansas. Nice, but less profound.

I could use a little profundity as I have had a few projects come to an end and rather than feeling relieved, I feel adrift. Two volunteer projects sit on my desk like bags of snakes. They twist and curl, slither and hiss just here at my left elbow; I keep thinking I have their sacks firmly tied, but they make me anxious just the same.

And, our new year feels more like mourning than morning. Over the holidays we were seeped in death, dipped again and again and again. It did not diminish the joy of the carols, but often made them seem a little too loud.

As joyous as the season is, and as much as it touts beginnings, it is the end of things as well.

To shake off the snakes and escape the gloom of my musings, I set out to see the world. A great find came, as great finds often do, on a dusty shelf in a thrift shop. It was waiting there for me, without its wrap (and not needing one as our weather has been fine), knowing that I would find it and its meaning in good time.

Ludwig Bemelmans's The Best of Times is a compilation of his articles for Holiday magazine recounting his travels through Europe following World War II. Mr. Bemelmans took his title from Dickens, and, indeed, it is not always a rosy view. But to me it said, "Go. Don't wait. You never know."

All images by Ludwig Bemelmans from The Best of Times, Simon and Schuster, 1948. The title is taken from the introduction. "I set out to write a happy book. The mood was somber, then as it is now, but I disagreed with the opinion that was screamed at us from the radio and the front pages..."

A Modern Man

2012-01-02T18:51:00.006-06:00

When one of our friends told us he was gay I said, "I would be so disappointed if one of the boys..." and before I could finish he said, "was gay." "No. Was gay and felt like he couldn't tell me."

Ten years later what strikes me is that there is a need for any telling at all. That the gender of the person to whom you are attracted is news.

Born in 1922, interior designer Melvin Dwork, grew up in Kansas City. I have no idea if there was a discussion or not, but he notes that his family took his homosexuality in stride. This is remarkable not only for its day, but for this city where coming out stories of forty and fifty year old married men are not uncommon even now.

As a few local designers have done, he loved the Nelson, attended the Kansas City Art Institute and furthered his design education at Parsons. He enlisted for service in the U.S. Navy's Hospital Corp during WWII.

Upon suspicion of his homosexuality, the Navy confined Dwork to the Brig for a month, breaking his confinement only for interrogation and psychoanalysis. The Navy eventually released Dwork from service with an undesirable discharge. He returned to New York and Parsons allowed him to attend on scholarship.

Seventy years later, after decades of work, the Pentagon changed the status of his discharge from undesirable to honorable and reinstated his benefits.

Filmmaker, Mike Jacoby, is making The Undesirable, a film of Dwork's story. Much work has been done, but they are still raising money to complete the production. I have made a small donation and I am inviting you to donate, too.

Dwork has had a successful and celebrated career in design. His work has been featured in nearly every major shelter magazine and the New York Times. He has been a member of the AD100 and Interior Design magazine's Hall of Fame. That should be his story. Being persecuted for being gay shouldn't be anyone's story. If we tell these stories enough, maybe they won't be.

More information on The Undesirable, here. To donate, here. And, my latest piece in Spaces KC profiling Dwork is here.

Top two images from House & Garden, next, via Blue Remembered Hills, the New York Times image of Dwork's apartment follows, then one from The Peak of Chic.

Happy New Year!

2011-12-31T14:40:00.000-06:00

Whatever your last year - neat, shaken, stirred, straight up or dirty-

I am wishing you the very best in 2012.

Image, The Well Lived Life, from the editors of House and Garden, Assouline 2003, photography, Don Forbes.

2011 Inspiration - Take It Where You Find It

2011-12-29T17:32:00.000-06:00

Not all my inspiration for 2011 came from magazines. The Wall Street Journal's Off Duty and Magazine have both provided loads of entertainment. This particular piece by Timothy Corrigan inspired the ceiling color, Farrow and Ball Cream (No. 44), in Bill's den. You can see the article here.

Richard Mishaan's Phillip-Jeffries paper at Kips Bay Show House sparked a project for the front hall.

And, I am obsessed with the Giacometti lamps in Frances Elkins's projects. These in particular. Obsessed. Stephen Salny's book is available here.

Paris was a great influence, but the color of the limestone was very sticky; I can't shake it.

And, Mad Men, which I began watching this time last year (shut up in my room in the dark with my iPad for hours.) What jumped?

Jon Hamm? Too obvious. Sterling Cooper's office door color. Could not get enough.

2011 Top Ten - Six thru Ten

2011-12-28T23:00:00.000-06:00

Veranda, July/August 2011, Lyford Cay home, design by Andrew Raquet,
photography Max Kim-Bee

As I said yesterday, don't over-think it.

Elle Decor September 2011, Lynn Nesbit's NY apartment, design by Coleman and Brockschmidt,
photography William Waldron

A little black and white. A flash of gold. Bare floors.

Veranda, October 2011, antique dealer Jean-Phillipe Demeyer's Belgian home of his own design,
photography Miguel Flores-Vianna

Rich color.

Architectural Digest, January 2011, design by Windsor Smith,
photography Erhard Pfeiffer

Books. A little Chinoiserie.

Elle Decor, December 2011, Fabrizio Rollo's apartment of his own design,
photography Eric Piasecki

Mirror. And all that personal jumbly goodness that says someone lives here.

2011 Top Ten - One Thru Five

2011-12-27T10:27:00.001-06:00

Elle Decor, December 2010/January 2011, Rusty and Mary Lynn Turner's Idaho home of her design,
photography Miguel Flores-Vianna

I have done year end lists now and again, though last year I did not. (Did not stitch ornaments, did not send out holiday cards, did not, did not, did not.)

House Beautiful, May 2011, Atlanta designer, Stan Topol's office,
photography Thomas Loof

I don't mean to imply that these are better or worse than any other, but they meant something to me.

World of Interiors, May 2011, Eileen Gray's apartment, photography Roland Beaufre

It was a very structured and orderly process, if you consider sitting amidst a pile of magazines with a pad of sticky notes structured and orderly.

Architectural Digest, July 2011, Philadelphia townhouse design by Thomas Jayne,
photography Pieter Estersohn

Don't look too hard for a common theme.

House Beautiful, July/August 2011, Rebecca Phillips's Brooklyn apartment, design by Nick Olsen
photography Bjorn Wallander

They meant something to me.

Coincidentally there were ten rooms. I've drawn specific inspiration from all of them, but they appeal in the big picture as well. Six through ten tomorrow.

Hang Time

2011-12-26T22:38:00.000-06:00

This has always been a jumbly stream of consciousness, so I am sure that you will understand that in the midst of cleaning up paper and breaking down boxes I stopped to look at Carrier and Company's portfolio. You can't convince me that everyone doesn't do this sort of thing.

Loads of pretty things there, but I was charmed by these hangers on. Quick and easy curtains - you could make them while your children are playing X Box (or Wii or PS3 or Chinese Checkers if there are still children who play such things) - two small knobs, a finished square and a couple of loops. No fuss, no muss, but it has the same casual elegance as Astaire's handkerchief.

Images courtesy of Carrier and Company.

Twelve Days of Christmas

2011-12-22T20:31:00.002-06:00

For heaven's sake, I had not intended to be gone so long. Just as at your house, things are in full swing around here. I finished the diamonds in the foyer (the pattern will eventually - hopefully by the end of Winter Break - go all the way down the hall) despite the amount of bother they have caused. The doors are Farrow & Ball Dix Blue and the color is delicious. Details on all of this after the holiday.

And, the lantern is in place. The fabulous folks at the Light Shop in Kansas City helped me with the canopy. Turns out that it is possible to order a light from Visual Comfort without the wiring. I am pleased as punch.

The chairs are finished and the fabric is off to the upholsterers for the cushions.

And I WON A WATERWORKS FAUCET. I so rarely enter giveaways. Oddly, as a blogger, I feel like they aren't really for me, but I entered the Waterworks giveaway on Grant Gibson's blog (which is terrific, by the way) as I love their product. Waterworks has introduced Studio, a new more moderately priced line and its Three Hole Cross Handle Faucet from the Flyte Collection is sitting snugly in a box in my basement waiting for installation. (The boys were most delighted by this development. "You WON a faucet? How does someone win a faucet?" It was a Christmas miracle.)

As I was going through all my magazines from 2011 to see if I could come up with a "favorite rooms" post, Elle Decor reached out to say, "Do you have a favorite room from 2011?" I do, and you can find it here, along with other terrific picks.

Finally, (well, Christmas will be "finally" - this is nearly finally) we hosted twenty-five friends for dinner on Wednesday. I spent yesterday getting ready and most of today cleaning up. Parties are a gift; there is nearly nothing I enjoy more than having our friends in our home. I loved every minute.

I hope your house is filled to overflowing with joy this season. We are wishing you the best.

A Year in Provence

2011-12-12T11:35:00.001-06:00

Over Thanksgiving I started floating the idea of traveling for the holiday next year.

Mr. Blandings and the boys are neither stubborn nor unreasonable, but they get a little set in their ways.

Many things around here happen through the sheer force of my will, but I find new ideas are more easily adopted if I bring them up far in advance. I grind away at their resistance and then work to fill the trough with my enthusiasm. Admittedly, I wear them down.

As we made the long drive to California a couple of years ago, I pointed out to Bill that in ten years the boys would be finished with school and we could live anywhere, my voice and imagination filled with wonder.

"Where else would we want to live?"

"We could live in France." "We could live in France." "We could live in France."

All images, via the Wall Street Journal Magazine, the home of Betty and Francois Catroux in Provence. The story, these images and images of their Paris apartment can be found here. Photography, Francois Halard.

DIY Hell

2011-12-07T22:52:00.001-06:00

Did I mention that I've created a little DIY hell for myself over here? Math. Measuring. And beyond that, I've bought my children no fewer than one hundred and fifty (give or take) rulers and the only one I can find is blue, with nearly illegible numbers and a three hole punch.

What's that? Christmas? Oh, heavens, there's plenty of time.

Help is on the Way

2011-12-06T22:36:00.001-06:00

I am in the middle of a little DIY hell. It involves math, which is never good, but this "quick" project is taking a little longer than expected. In the meantime, a few readers asked the name of the wonderful stuff mentioned in yesterday's post. I am pretty sure that it was Omorovicza Complexion Brightener. I can attest that the back of my hand resembled the inside of a fine porcelain cup. Several stores carry it, but I'm giving my pitch to Bergdorf's as they provided the introduction. $140/oz. Here.

Dim Sum

2011-12-05T22:56:00.000-06:00

In New York to attend the celebration of the New AD100, I found myself with a pretty swell dress and pretty tired stockings so I cut a quick path to Bergdorf's.

Descending the escalator, I was dropped into cosmetics where I felt like an unsuspecting tourist in a 19th century opium den. I tried to keep my head up and avoid eye contact, but my naked lips advertised my naiveté and the calls for "make-up freshen" and "free gift" came fast and furious.

A bolder soul stepped directly in my path. "I need to show you something," she said as she grasped my right hand. She never broke eye contact as she held my fingers in hers, eased some elixer from a bottle and rubbed it on the back of my hand. My bare lips forgotten, I stared at the raised veins and sunspots of my long and well-baked skin. She swirled the creamy substance in circles, pausing only briefly to hold her fingers just under my nose, "See,"she reassured, "there's no scent. And see?" she coaxed," the redness is gone, the spots are gone. It's like porcelain. You wouldn't even need foundation. Now, let's step over here..." she lured.

Unable to break her gaze, I carefully extracted my now flawless paw from her grasp. Anything this wonderful, I knew would be dear; worse, it could be addictive. Forty dollars for tights suddenly seemed reasonable and I stuck with a vice I knew.

I backed away, apologized profusely and made a clean escape. And hoped for dim lighting at the event.

The January issue of AD is on newsstands now. Pick it up to see beautiful rooms by: Bunny Williams, top, photography by Pieter Estersohn, produced by Howard Christian; Stephen Sills, next, photography by Francois Halard, produced by Robert Rufino; and, Daniel Romualdez, photography by Roger Davies, produced by Carolina Irving, styled by Robert Rufino. The New AD100 list can also be found here.

Images from the event at the Guggenheim of the Maurizio Cattelan installation and Architectural Digest Editor-in-Chief, Margaret Russell, courtesy of Lee Mindel.

Shopping the Show with Charlotte

2011-12-04T22:05:00.000-06:00

Sketch by Raymond Espinasse, Soloman Suchard Antiques and Fine Art, Shaker Heights, OH.

In September, I attended the Lauritzen Garden Antique Show in Omaha, Nebraska. The fundraiser was founded by Mary Seina and the late Kim Lauritzen. "It was partly thanks to John Roselli. We were in his shop [Treillage in New York] and he said, 'You should go to the Brooklyn Show,'" remembers Seina.

Tortoise Dressing Mirror, Sallea Antiques, New Canaan, CT.

After visiting the New York Botanical Garden's Antique Garden Furniture Show, Seina and Lauritzen decided that they needed to something similar in Omaha, a city long on interest, resources and taste, but short on antique shops.

Tiffany Bamboo Tea Service, Atlanta Silver and Antiques

Aiming to attract top national dealers, the pair figured the best way to get the dealers' attention was to buy from them.

Cane Folding Garden Chairs, Linda Pearce, Kansas City, MO.

"It turned out to be an expensive project," notes Seina. But it worked.

Leeds Pottery Horse, Earle Vandekar, Maryknoll, NY.

These were some of my favorite pieces.

Pair of Venetian mirrors, Anthony Armand Scornavacco, Minneapolis MN

Click over to Architectural Digest to see some of the things that Charlotte Moss pointed out and pick up some tips on shopping antique shows.

All images my own except the last which is via AD from Lauritzen Gardens.

Read Between the Lines. Or Read the Lines.

2011-11-30T07:00:00.000-06:00

Here we are passed Black Friday and Cyber Monday and everything in between and I have yet to buy one gift.

If you are in a similar spot, Out of Print may provide a snappy stocking stuffer. Journals, featuring the covers of some literary favorites, use the opening sentences of famous novels as "lines."

They're clever for coming up with them, you're clever for ordering them. Here.

Line Drawing

2011-11-28T19:40:00.001-06:00

Not in the budget to hang a Mondrian above the mantle? Perhaps it would suffice to have a little line and dash before the sofa.

Try a new sound and give the greatest hits of Adnet, Probber and Wormley the night off.

The Right Angles coffee table is a new design by Jason Phillips. It is available through the Phillips Collection here and you can see more of his work here. Also, it reminds me of my new dress. If only I had shoes with a little gold capped heel.

Images courtesy of Jason Phillips; the table measures 48 x 34 x 17 and will be limited to twenty pieces.

Winning Mr. Gili

2011-11-28T08:09:00.000-06:00

More than once in the last week someone has mentioned to me the experience of sitting down with a design book - cozy chair, good light and hot tea - to read and to dream. These books offer us both concrete inspiration and magical escape.

I am happy to give, in conjunction with Rizzoli, a copy of Oberto Gili, Home Sweet Home, to Karen, whom I have contacted already.

Image courtesy of Rizzoli New York by Oberto Gili from his book Home Sweet Home.

Pop In to Pop Up at La Plates

2011-11-27T18:41:00.001-06:00

This is the last week to take care of your quick and easy La Plates ordering in person.

Owner, Lara Shelton, has set several displays to give festive party ideas.

Custom orders can be placed through December 4th for Christmas delivery.

Plates....

and more.

As a bonus, Lara has extended the Naughty and Nice giveaway through today so I could get the word out. Click on over to the La Plates facebook page and leave a comment to enter. (I actually designed the plate, so, you know, it's double fun for me.)

The shop is open 10 - 3, but stop in Tuesday night (the 29th) from 6-8 for cocktails and shopping to help benefit Kansas City's Children's TLC. Ten percent of sales will go to TLC, an organization that supports children with disabilities.

La Plates Pop Up

Corinth Square

Prairie Village, Kansas

Happy Thanksgiving

2011-11-23T10:04:00.001-06:00

I originally ran this post for Thanksgiving 2009, but these images are worth repeating and are by Oberto Gili so we are quite on topic. The sentiment remains the same.

Whether your Thanksgiving is filled with sterling and squab

or Cornell and carry-out,

we are wishing you

a very happy Thanksgiving.

All images House and Garden, November 1986; consistently, perpetually delicious photography by Oberto Gili. The silver pieces are French, commissioned for the Portuguese court in the 18th century.

More of Less is More (and a Give Away)

2011-11-22T22:56:00.000-06:00

Yesterday's images from Oberto Gili's new book were delicious and dense.

Today I am giving you a little taste to cleanse your palette before the feast.

Still Gili, still distinct, but with more air.

I know you may have been shopping or cooking or traveling to someone who is shopping and cooking on your behalf, so to soothe the strain I am offering up a copy of Oberto Gili's Home Sweet Home.

Leave a comment here by Sunday, November 27th and I will announce the winner Monday morning. Now, think this through. I must, must, be able to get in touch with you if you win, so you might need to leave your email address in the comment section. There's no way around it.

All images courtesy of Rizzoli New York, photography by Oberto Gili.

Eye-Bob n Along at Stuff

2011-11-22T16:29:00.001-06:00

My friend Sloane emailed to tell me that my Dash and Albert runners were in at Stuff (more on that later) and I had a chance to look, but not to linger at the Eye-Bob trunk show. A bazillion pairs of super cool glasses that you can try on and find the pair just for you. You know I pined for glasses nearly my whole life so nothing could make me happier. 20/20? They come in sunglasses, too. So pick your frames, specify your lenses and Stuff will order them right up. Also, Sloane is nice. When I said, "These make me look like Sally Jesse Raphael," she said, "The shape might not be the best for your face." See? Nice.

Eye-Bob Trunk Show

Stuff in Brookside

316 W. 63rd, KCMO

Now thru Nov. 28th

I blog for love and not for profit; no compensation was received for this post.

Sumptuous and Bohemian

2011-11-21T22:43:00.001-06:00

There are people for whom the images of memory are not just things they have experienced themselves, but also the pictures they have seen. In galleries. In museums. And in magazines.

Pictures that are so close, so clearly remembered, that they feel they were in those spaces. That they experienced them in a very personal way.

Many images by photographer Oberto Gili are in my files, both paper and mental.

"I try not to change anything and not to style," Mr. Gili told me. He has shot the homes of friends and strangers and says neither is better or easier, but "The difference is if they are interesting or not. An uninteresting person will for sure live in a dull house."

He has favorites, as I have favorites (the pool, the flag, the cows), but will he click and tell? "I could name many, but I go down to two - Richard Meier and Isabella Rossellini." I remember them well.

If you are an Oberto Gili fan, you will be thrilled with his new book Oberto Gili, Home Sweet Home: Sumptuous and Bohemian Interiors. Bill was shaking his head and smiling as I kept saying, "Oh, it's so beautiful." All images courtesy of Rizzoli New York and are, of course, by Mr. Gili.

La Plates and Quadrille Pop Up!

2011-11-17T20:13:00.001-06:00

I am such an incredible ding-dong. I made a point of going by the super-adorable La Plates pop up shop today to take pictures of the very fabulous Quadrille trunk show.

Except I was late. And they were closed. And I am out of town tomorrow.

Which is my own personal little tragedy, but don't you miss it. La Plates has great holiday ideas (which I will show later when I actually am inside the shop instead of outside the window) and Quadrille products through Friday afternoon.

La Plates

8227 Corinth Mall

(just by Jewelry Arts)

Prairie Village, Kansas

10 - 3

PJ Party

2011-11-15T17:18:00.001-06:00

I went to stay with friends about a month ago and unthinkingly tossed my favorite pajamas in my bag.

When I pulled them out, now in sumptuous surroundings instead of my master bedroom that is reminiscent of a large dog bed, I was shocked by their shabbiness.

I think it is time for Marigot to the rescue.

Men's-style pajamas tailored for women in high count cotton with snappy trim is just the answer. There are nightshirts, too and coming for spring these really jazzy prints.

Long cashmere sweaters on top create a cozy cocoon. Oprah likes them, too. Marigot made the gift guide, so if you enter "OPRAH" at check out you will receive 10% off through December 1st and a chance to win a full set including the sweater.

Patina Style

2011-11-15T11:55:00.000-06:00

I missed meeting Brooke Giannetti when I was in Los Angeles a while back. My schedule was hectic and she was busy with business and children and our paths did not cross.

But I have read her blog, Velvet and Linen, for a long time and I liked her already.

Brooke and her husband, Steve, own Giannetti Home where they offer up interesting antiques and beautiful (and sensible) architecture and design services. I've always enjoyed their aesthetic as it seems so genuine.

I've watched Brooke spiff her kitchen, build a chicken coop and become friends with Penelope Biachi (which brings about a little envy.) And, now she's written a book, Patina Style.

There is no doubt that the interiors are beautiful, but the bonus is the amount of really helpful advice that you will find here. Her thoughts on paint are worth the price of admission alone, but there are also great sections on using architectural salvage, furniture placement and display.

If you like things that show a little bit of the life they've lived, you'll love Patina Style.

Images, courtesy of Brooke Giannetti, photography by Lisa Romerein except the last which is Steve Giannetti.

Catching Up

2011-11-14T09:54:00.001-06:00

It's always a treat to see a new Suzanne Rheinstein project and there is a particularly lovely one in December's Architectural Digest. You may remember the beautiful mural in Rheinstein's New York apartment painted by Bob Christian; he struts his stuff again here with great results. That Rheinstein used a Pottery Barn sisal in this room confirms my impression that she is both charming and down-to-earth. Knowing where to put the low in high-low is quite a knack.

Image Architectural Digest, December 2010, design by Suzanne Rheinstein, produced by Robert Rufino; photography by Francesco Lagnese.

Out and About - Pear Tree

2011-11-06T21:15:00.001-06:00

If you would rather stand barefooted on the cool, textured tile and admire a crisp collection

than empty your purse for a pair of matching shoes

then you are in luck. Pear Tree Design and Antiques has received their shipment, including the most delightful blue and white porcelain.

Call or stop in:

Pear Tree Design and Antiques

313 East 55th Street

816-333-2100

Images, top, Oliver Messel: In the Theatre of Design, edited by Thomas Messel, Rizzoli New York, 2011, photography Derry Moore. The two images bottom are my own; click on them to see them larger.

If the Shoe Fits

2011-11-03T20:59:00.000-05:00

Recently I asked a friend if $700 shoes (and $800 shoes and $1200 shoes) really feel different than $300 shoes. We had a brief, yet believable, exchange about quality and longevity. A few days later, pouring over Oliver Messel's design of Rayne's Shoe Shop I thought, "This was a place that girl would dig."

Shelves and pedistals, mirror and silk, this was a shrine to shoes cloaked by a "Shop" with no "pe." This was one side of one room. There were rooms. This is the sort of spot, like the couture section at Hall's, where my foot would never cross the threshold.

Later that day I received an email from a friend who sends me pictures of houses he likes with subject lines like, "Yes. This," and no other text. The latest contained a link to a post at The Selby with a brown-that-was-supposed-to-be-red chair and this. A modern day version of Rayne's for one's very own. A cabinet so lovely that she just might become vain, but who keeps her head as she has such a serious job to do.

This jazzy cabinet belongs to Brooke Cundiff (Director of Merchandise at Park and Bond) and her husband, Michael Hainey (who is just about everything - writer, artist and deputy editor of GQ.) And the chic grosgrain ribbon on this convoluted shoe box? This pithy quote at the end of the post that I just might treasure more than a pair of Louboutins:

Image, top, from Oliver Messel: In the Theatre of Design, edited by Thomas Messel, Rizzoli, New York from the Victoria and Albert Museum, Theatre and Performance Collection. Image, next, via the Selby.

Act II

2011-11-02T21:19:00.000-05:00

Obviously, there is set design and decoration. Pages of sketches of costumes and stage.

There are also examples of decoration of both rooms and painted walls.

Don't forget tales of British aristocracy and politics and life-long friendships.

But the best parts of Oliver Messel: The Theatre of Design for me are the houses he designed in Barbados and Mustique. Those chalky walls, bare floors, porcelain and chintz. My copy's spine is already cracked to Chapter Five. For the design? Yes. But also for the reassurance that one can shift focus, try something new and succeed.

This book truly has it all - great design, a rollicking story, a great romance and best of all a dashing leading man. And wonderful pictures to boot. All images courtesy of Rizzoli for Oliver Messel: In the Theatre of Design edited by Thomas Messel. Photography for all photos but the third by Derry Moore, the other is by Dale Curtis. Rizzoli provided the book for review.

Light of My Life

2011-11-01T22:01:00.000-05:00

"Is Halloween on a full moon?"

"No."

"Then I'm going to be a werewolf, because since it is not a full moon I can just be a regular kid."

"If you don't wear a costume, you can't go trick-or-treating. House rules."

"Then I'll be a lamp."

With a pause I looked up over the top of my glasses, "I can totally make you a lamp."

Do not double-dog-dare me. Not to make you a lamp or take the tequila shot or drive to Dallas to see The Who. Because I will. When I suggested he tuck the end of an extension cord into the cuff of his pants and carry the plug over his elbow he said, "You have to stop now."

This is my way of explaining why posts have been spotty. Picking paint colors and working and managing the boys all take a little energy and some creative juju. Sometimes there is not enough left over for a blog post. I'm not quitting, just getting things together. A woman who I worked with a million years ago, one of my favorite women ever, used to say, "I need to get my shit in one sock." That is, indeed, what I am trying to do.

Jewelry I Cannot Afford

2011-10-20T22:53:00.000-05:00

This started as a series entitled, "Bracelets I Cannot Afford," but I am broadening its scope. Tiffany must be ringing my bell as the Sugar Stack rings were/are also my list. This new Venezia Stella ring by Paloma Picasso is simply terrif. Honestly, I wouldn't even need the diamonds (though they do come with.)

There are some pretty jazzy silver and enamel bracelets and rings in this collection which I actually could afford. Sadly, that is not usually how my wish list works. You can see the entire collection here.

After the Party

2011-10-19T22:11:00.000-05:00

In the last two weeks we felt the loss of both a cultural icon and a long-time friend.

Both deaths caused me to pause and consider. Lucky, and aware of it, I was relieved and reassured that I am doing what I want to be doing. What I think I should be doing.

You might have seen Steve Jobs's Stanford commencement speech and while it acted like heated oil to several kernels of ideas, most significantly it made me wonder what I would do if one of my boys wanted to quit college and start some crazy business in my garage. Or be a fisherman, as one claims he will.

Sharing this with a friend at dinner he wondered, "If he's happy, what difference would it make?" "It's important to live up to your potential," I replied and he asked further, "But how do you know if you are?"

Then he rose to pull the chicken from the oven leaving me with a mental party favor that I've carried around since - setting it on the counter here, loading it in the car there. We won't know, I suppose, any more than these artists knew their work would live for centuries. At the time they were just making brushstrokes on wood or silk or porcelain.

All images from Exotic Taste: Orientalist Interiors by Emmanuelle Gaillard and Marc Walter published by The Verdome Press. The book includes hundreds of images of rooms and objects influenced by the Far East, India and the Islamic world. It's stunningly beautiful and if you have a strong connection to Chinoiserie or porcelain or unbelievable tile, it is a must. All images Marc Walter. The publishers provided the book for review.

Black and White and Green All Over

2011-10-16T21:49:00.000-05:00

A few months ago a dealer called and said, "I found some chairs you might like. I thought I might clean them up myself, but if you want them I'll sell them to you." At first I couldn't decide if they were better than my old chairs, or just different. In the end I decided better.

Obviously, they needed to be painted. The dealer thought they should stay light, as did the landscape designer, but the curtains may have a Miles Redd-inspired ruffle and I thought the sweetness of the room needed to be cut a little bit. So I preceded to turn my dining room into a work room and, as Mr. Blandings is not me, he didn't say a peep. For weeks.

Painting things black I got. The gold detailing is more vexing than the entire wall project. Times ten.

Still. I am determined.

Full Circle

2011-10-12T22:08:00.000-05:00

Truth be told, a great deal of the clothes in my closet could be from the boys' department. Dungarees, oxfords and loafers. I still wear a watch, want a watch, need a watch and am pretty sure the only one that will ever grace my wrist will be a man's. When I dress up, mostly my selection is lean. Sheath. Pencil skirt. Heels. I like the exclamation.

But I love a full skirt. I love the sway of it, the swing of it, the breeze of it. When you walk in a full skirt you can't help but shift your hips a little. The same motion, form fitting, would shout "tart," but here, encircled in yards of fabric, the movement just whispers "flirt."

When you walk in a full skirt with a long stride, its folds can catch between your legs, wrap around your wrist. You feel the hem brushing the front of your shin, the back of your calf. When you stop, it still moves. A slight swirl before it rests. And in all that girlish vulnerability there is just a hint of easy accessibility.

Image of Jil Sander Spring Ready-to-Wear via Vogue.com.

New Heights

2011-10-03T22:18:00.000-05:00

A reader recently asked me about the Kauffman Center for Performing Arts. In case you are out of the loops Kansas City, performing arts and architecture, the Center, designed by Moshe Safdie, is the recently completed home of our symphony, ballet and a venue for a variety of performing arts organizations in town.

Mr. Blandings and I took a hard hat tour last Fall and the space is remarkable.

I was working at the Ewing Marion Kauffman Foundation when his widow, Muriel McBrien Kauffman, began to envision this project.

While Mrs. Kauffman's foundation could have absorbed much of the original projected costs of the building, the trustees felt it was significant that the community feel that the Center was its own. It is a testament to their leadership that it was built with private funds and the city has embraced it so completely.

Opening weekend was a few weeks ago with loads of hoopla, though Bill and I did not attend. I am taking our middle son to see Tom Sawyer next week and am filled with anticipation for the performance, but also with seeing the ballet, and the building, through 11-year-old eyes.

Seriously, you cannot take a bad picture of this remarkable structure; it soars. For more information on the Kauffman Center click here; to purchase tickets to Tom Sawyer, a new ballet choreographed by William Whitener, music by Maury Yeston, click here. To see a terrific slideshow of the space with images by Paul Warchol (including this one) at ArchDigest.com click here. All other images my own.

Out and About - Omaha

2011-09-26T07:30:00.000-05:00

I was in Omaha last weekend to attend the Lauritzen Garden Antique Show. I had spoken to a few dealers before I left and all agreed that one of the draws of the show was the remarkable hospitality provided by their hostesses. I was the very grateful recipient of this hospitality, which extended to a wonderful dinner in a private home Friday night.

While we were having a tour of the house I stopped dead in the upstairs hall. Hanging there, nonchalant and elegant, vibrant and graphic, was Sonia Delauney. We'd met, Ms. Delauney and I, at the Cooper-Hewitt last spring and were surprised to bump into one another again in Omaha.

Charlotte Moss was the speaker at that day's luncheon and she began her talk by noting that all of our experiences are tucked away somewhere and they surface as inspiration and reference points as we move through the world. I'd expected good things in Omaha, but I had not expected to be able to press my nose to the glass of a Sonia Delauney painting. There is wonder everywhere we go.

Image via the Cooper-Hewitt. This was not the painting in the hall, though it was similar. I did not, literally, press my nose to the glass. I swear.

Full of Wonder

2011-09-25T22:53:00.000-05:00

When I had the opportunity to tour the American Galleries at the Nelson-Atkins with Catherine Futter a few years ago, I was intrigued by the process of the design of the galleries and museum exhibits. As they are kindly letting me noodle around over at Architectural Digest, my editors indulged my curiosity on the subject. I really enjoyed this piece and hope you might, too. You can find it on archdigest.com here.

The story centers around Wonder of the Age, an exhibit that opens at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York this week. More information on the exhibit is here. The image is the cover of the book by curator John Guy and Jorrit Britschgi.

Patchwork

2011-09-22T07:30:00.000-05:00

In one of the preschool grades of our children's school there was a block on the curriculum entitled "TNT." Try New Things. I thought it was delightful. Then again, when one is four there are so many new things coming toward you that I imagine the idea behind this is as much acquiring coping skills as broadening one's horizons.

In the last few weeks we have started a number of new things. My oldest's transition into high school has been remarkably smooth. And busy. I have started a couple of new projects at home and away. And Mr. Blandings and I have started taking horseback riding lessons. "Why?" seems to be the common response to this news and, as it was my idea, I feel the need to justify it somehow, but really it just sounded fun.

It is fun, but it is harder than I thought it would be. I was aware that I usually don't want to try something at which I don't think I will be successful. This doesn't reflect well on me, I know, but there it is. I was, let's say, impatient at the first lesson. I wasn't getting it and Bill was and I found it annoying. (Both my not getting it and his getting it.) In addition, during the lesson I realized I don't like it when people tell me what to do. Even this perfectly lovely and capable woman whom I was paying to instruct me. Who was helping me. Obviously, there were lessons that needed learning beyond keeping my feet flat and my knees in. TNT.

Thanks for your patience while I have patched things together over the last couple of weeks. I am headed to Omaha today to try another new thing. If you are anywhere near the area do come up, over or down to the Lauritzen Garden Antique Show. Lauritzen is one of the best antique shows in the country. Both Charlotte Moss and Suzanne Rheinstein will be there speaking and shopping. I will be wandering around as well. My second riding lesson was yesterday so if you see someone who looks like me with a little hitch in her get-along, please say "hello." More information on the show and its events here.

Image, the work of Roberto Peregalli and Laura Sartori Rimini, featrured in Vogue, October 2011; photography by Andrea Passuell for Rizzoli.

Current Obsession

2011-09-16T10:49:00.000-05:00

Elle Decor has graciously included my current obsession in their Weekly Finds column (a great source for on-line discoveries.) You can see where I'm clicking here.

Don't Be Late

2011-09-13T10:26:00.000-05:00

I am a little tardy getting this out, but do make a point of stopping by Hall's tonight. You can pick up a few things for Fall (it's coming Thursday, have you heard?) and help out the victims of the tornado in Joplin. You can register to win over a dozen stylish prizes including a Marc Jacob's handbag and a piece from the India Hicks jewelry collection. Cocktails from 6 - 9 courtesy of Hall's.

Christmas Comes Early and Often

2011-09-08T07:30:00.001-05:00

Once upon a time I got over my aversion to red and green together. Meaning not hunter green and burgundy, of the 80s/90s greatest hits, but the primary red and grassy green of this Albert Hadley Kips Bay Show House room.

And, like many flirtations that bloom into full-fledged infatuations, there was Spring and Jil Sander. You can always woo me, seduce me, sway me with a full skirt and white top, but the smack of those red lips was irresistible.

Don't play to type and do overlook the text, but concentrate instead on that gleamy green and the dash of red at top and toe.

Walls cannot be the be all end all and we must start to flesh things out - to heat things up.

Miss Scarlet in the Dining Room with the Folly Green walls. I do think it would make me Beeline Home.

Oh, my, it's late and all this photo sourcing seems daunting. Hadley, I believe is from the book by Adam Lewis; Sander might be Vogue; Roehm is, certainly, from Litchfield Style by Annie Kelly; photography by Tim Street-Porter; and the really wonderful Scarlet Lamp by Beeline Home was featured in Elle Decor, September 2011.

Dining Room How-To

2011-09-06T07:30:00.002-05:00

Thank you so much for your nice comments on the dining room walls. The base color is Farrow & Ball's Folly Green. It took me about a week from start to finish, but in my world start to finish includes a few fits and starts.

To complete the project you will need: (clockwise from top left) A plastic cup resembling a party favor, a crumpled paper towel, a clean sock, paint, tracing paper, a palette knife, a white graphite pencil, a piece of chalk, brushes, a Gladware bowl that is missing its top, a used kitchen sponge and inspiration.

I had ordered stencils from Stencil Library and they are lovely. I gave them a go a few weeks ago and they were not for me. It sort of turned the project from something creative into a job. That said, they are very nice and if you are not confident enough in your drawing skills, they are a fine way to go.

Instead, I regressed to an old favorite past time of drawing on the wall.

As the walls are green, I used chalk to outline the design. It wiped away very easily and did not leave a mark when corrections were needed.

I alternated between holding images from Michael Smith, Mary McDonald and Gracie to create the design. The Smith room had a paper very similar to this Gracie panel, though it was a little denser than what I wanted for the room. The McDonald walls had the right feel, but different flowers.

I drew the entire project before I started painting. (This is unlike me, as painting is the fun part.) Sketching in the design easily took twice as long as painting. Prep is always longer and a little less fun.

But then I got to go to the art supply store, which is almost as good as jewelry shopping. I explained to the lovely woman working at Utrecht that I was trying to avoid having to go over the design twice. She suggested Golden paint in a dense opacity. We chose Titanium White and then she suggested Titan Buff to take the edge off; Iridescent Pearl (Fine) (and it was) was added for a little luminosity.

I chose the brushes myself and developed a deep and lasting love for both the large #10 and the smaller #2. #6 and I took an immediate dislike to one another and will never be friends. Beyond that, we cannot see what anyone would see in the other, though we stopped short of become enemies. We will smile and nod, but will be unable to move beyond social pleasantries.

I'd like to give you a formula here, but basically you squeeze a big blob of white, about a third smaller blob of buff and a dollop of iridescence and mix. When you run out, do basically the same thing again. I started my stirring with a kitchen spoon, but it was inefficient; palette knives exist for a reason.

Then I thinned it out with a little water and, when I made a mess, I cleaned up with a paper towel.

I did pick up a couple of pieces of green poster board to test color and consistency. And, yes, I agree, based on the testing it appears that I made a rather large leap of faith.

I could not manage to draw a good butterfly. Eventually, I created a template from the stencil and traced around these with the graphite pencil (chalk would have been too thick.) The butterflies were the best part.

Once the paint was dry I rubbed off the chalk with a clean and coincidentally-inside-out sock that was sitting in the laundry basket that I had just brought up from the basement. I imagine a clean, soft cloth would do.

Somewhere along the way I've heard the last shall be first and the first shall be last and I don't think it was related to puberty, though it worked out that way in my experience. Also with the mural. I should have painted the "ground" first and then the trees and bushes, but I didn't quite know how to go about the ground so I skipped to the good stuff. As it turned out, it was pretty easy. I used the same paint combination, but thinned it until it was very watery. I then looked for my sponge brushes for twenty minutes, gave up, and used half of a sponge from under my kitchen sink instead; it worked fine.

Onward and upward. Or downward as I think a rug may be next.

Pleased as Punch

2011-09-02T07:30:00.000-05:00

The dining room walls are (mostly) finished.

There is a blank spot here just the to left of the door that you cannot see. (Also, out of range, is the pile of paint and paper and nonsense that is atop my dining room table.)

The butterflies were an unexpected delight, and as you have no before and after you cannot tell, but they really added something. Movement maybe. Whimsy.

I will be back on Tuesday to post colors and materials and process.

Promise.

Please Stand By

2011-08-30T07:30:00.000-05:00

I really did expect to be posting by now. I got the boys back to school, did a fair amount of work in the basement, then I got a wild hair to paint the dining room. I told Mr. Blandings yesterday that next to marrying him, this project has offered more immediate satisfaction than any other. I hope to finish Tuesday and should be back on track by the end of the week. Details to follow.

152 Insights to My Soul

2011-08-26T07:30:00.000-05:00

Thank you so much for your patience with my vacation. This was my 100th post. This rerun is 999. Eight hundred and ninety-nine posts later my feelings about this blog and the people who come here remain the same. This post originally appeared December 11, 2007.

Last night I watched You've Got Mail. As Kathleen Kelly had read Pride and Prejudice dozens of times, so have I watched this film. Movie. It's not really a film; no complicated sub plots, no symbolism. A movie. A romantic comedy. There is something about this movie, Nora Ephron's little Valentine to New York, that strikes a chord for me.

I'll take a minor character first. Parker Posey's Patricia. First of all, Parker Posey is hilarious. She's just engaging enough in the movie to not make you wonder why he was with her in the first place, but quite bad enough to make you wonder why he stays. And her name is Patricia, which is also my name. Very few characters, major or minor, in film or literature (or movies or books) are named Patricia. It's tricky. Formal and long and, for those of us who are Patricia, neither Trish or Patty nor Patsy or Tish will do. Even as the other actors in the movie are saying it, it sounds a bit uncomfortable, like they wish Ephron had chosen something different. And this amuses me.

And you have to like Frank. I mean, you have to like anyone named Frank as it is one of the all time great names. But I have had a crush on Greg Kinnear since he was on Talk Soup. And. Well, truth be told, I think he looks a bit like Mr. Blandings. Two thumbs up.

So back to Kathleen Kelly. All through the movie Meg Ryan says things that resonate for me. "Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life. Well, small, but valuable. And sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven't been brave? " It's just a movie, right? Not a film. But that is a very big question.

Then there is the whole exchange about finally saying the thing that pops into your head and how unsatisfied you truly feel once you've done it. My father taught me when I was very young that you can't take things back. I have a bit of a temper and am, unfortunately, one of those people for whom the mean thing does come fully formed into my head at a very alarming rate. And usually I hold it back. It's never my wish to be unkind. But every now and then my rage gets ahead of me and I say something truly awful and whether it was seven years ago or seven minutes ago I have the same sense of shame. And you see that on Meg Ryan's face at the restaurant.

Tom Hanks, our all-American everyman, who, when faced with his father's recovery from his recent split and quest to begin again, opines, "Oh right, yeah, a snap to find the one single person in the world who fills your heart with joy." Yes, that is something. It makes me well up every time, because I thought I wouldn't, and I did.

And she discovers writing. A life long reader, a devotee of time and space to piles of books, through her internet romance she discovers she is a writer. People ask me why I have a blog. "I like it. I mean, I read it. But I don't understand why you do it." It's confusing, you know, because I don't get paid. I don't really have a good answer. Except it brings me joy, and it gives me an avenue to write.

But why even start? Well, a year before my youngest would go to Kindergarten, a month after I read Margaret Russell's editorial page mentioning her new love of blogs, a few weeks after I sent some ramblings to an old and dear friend who typed back the word "blog" again, I went on-line. Like Kathleen Kelly. And at first I read. Then I read and connected. And then I read and connected and wrote. The risk was so great that my head felt like it just might explode from it. For what? It's not much of a medium for failure. How would you measure it? I didn't tell anyone I was doing it. Who would know if I had a little blog party and no one came?

But, like most things in life, I had the support of kind and generous women. The connecting does matter. Like a favorite coffee shop, it's better because my friends are there. I look forward to the whole experience every day - the writing, the scanning, the uploading, the publishing. And the waiting to see what you see, what I missed, what you like, what you'd pass on. It's a crazy sort of exchange, but as Kathleen states, "The odd thing about this form of communication is that you're more likely to talk about nothing than something. But I just want to say that all this nothing has meant more to me than so many somethings." So, on my hundredth post, I rejoice in knowing that, even though computers are too sophisticated to say "You have mail,"every time I log onto my e:mail and I see "(Mrs. Blandings) new comment on..." I am so happy you have stopped by.

On Second Thought

2011-08-25T07:30:00.000-05:00

In case you were wondering, Mr. Blandings thinks I am amusing, but takes almost none of my advice. The minutes that are mentioned here absolutely exist. This post originally appeared September 19, 2008.

Dear Mr. Blandings,

I agree. Perhaps I should give the Duck Club a try. The dead-mouse-in-the-olive-oil story notwithstanding, I can see that it has a lot to offer. I appreciate your showing me the minutes dated 1972 stating, "Wives' opinions are considered irrelevant and will not be considered in matters of decor." Still, I have enclosed a memo to the members for them to consider a few changes. A spit and polish if you will.

MEMO

To: Members, Fontana Farms Duck Club

From: Mrs. Blandings

Re: The Benefits of Good Design

Gentleman, I hope you do not think I am interfering in your peaceful retreat, but I am enclosing images of a John Stefanidis project in Scotland that I thought you might enjoy. While originally uninterested in your clubhouse, this rustic gem has provided a bit of inspiration. I think you will agree that it could serve as a model for your renovation.

The tackle room is simply charming. The rustic, industrial lighting, cubbies for supplies and a well-stocked bar would surely be a welcoming sight. I'm sure you won't mind if I store a needlepoint project or two bottom right.

The living room is chic and cozy. The graphic display of the black and white prints in their sleek silver frames really pops against the wood, don't you agree? And fresh flowers are always a nice touch.

A small print in the kitchen would be a bright and cheery way to start the day, and, as you leave at o'dark-thirty to begin your blood quest, this would certainly lift your spirits. Mrs. Milledge could make her delicious, homemade jam right there while you are away.

No need to sit around in the evening watching T.V. Once these simple changes have been made, wives and children can enjoy the Duck Club, too. We can play charades. What fun!

I'm sure you will agree that the entire membership would benefit. If, however, you are determined to move forward with the original plan, which is, if I understand correctly, clean out the refrigerator and order two pleather recliners, Mr. Blandings is correct. Nebraska Furniture Mart is just the spot.

All images courtesy of Rooms by John Stefanidis; photography by James Mortimer.

Sometimes I Look the Other Way

2011-08-24T07:30:00.000-05:00

This was the first essay that I wrote for the blog; it was originally published September 5, 2008. I have yet to set foot at the duck club, but there are new and fabulous mattresses in Colorado.

Out to dinner last Friday night we dined with the most delightful couple. Both ensconced in successful careers in New York, he declared he was a Missouri boy born and raised and longed for home. When asked if she fought the move she turns her head just slightly to the side and replies, “I loved New York, but I loved him more.” Delightful.

As we shared the minutiae of the week over gourmet burgers, Mr. Blandings extolled the beauty and serenity of his duck club. The bounty of her land and her ponds; the joy that the work that she requires is so satisfying. When our friends asked if I enjoyed it, too, his eyes sparkled as he said, “Four years and she’s never been there. Never put her foot on the property. Has not laid eyes on it.”

Incredulous, they asked why. Why, indeed. Like any woman who is aware that her husband would rather spend his time in the company of another, I am curious of my rival. Curious to know if her beauty is greater than mine. Curious to know if she makes fewer demands. Is her company more charming? More soothing? Somehow more satisfying?

But beyond the curiosity is the fear that any, or all, of these things are true. The girlfriend who came right before me adored the outdoors. She and Mr. Blandings fished together and skied together and camped together. I’m sure she could pitch a tent and bait her own hook and clean her own fish. There was a gap between us, neither would perceive the other as competition, but I was always very much aware of what she had that I did not.

Mr. Blandings has declared from the first that he does not mind that I do not care to go outdoors. We are more the opposites-attract kind of couple than the separated-at-birth kind of couple. Sadly, I fear I have influenced him more than he has influenced me. I believe almost all of his traits to be more attractive than mine. Better. Purer. Not the least of which is enjoying being outside. I think people who long to be outside are superior to those, like myself, who do not. And yet. And yet, I enjoy my controlled environment. Briefly, in spring and fall, I like to have the windows open, but all of us have a touch of allergies and then there’s the dust and suddenly the sashes come down with a thunk.

Unfortunately, I’ve noticed Mr. Blanding has given up outside more than I have given up inside. Like our youngest son, he has a gift of making himself happy wherever he is. If I am inside, then he can make his way inside as well. Or could, until the purchase of his little slice of heaven about an hour and a half from here. I had been to a friend’s farm with him before. Newly married, we had a plan. He would fish; I would sit on the dock and read my book. Perfect, as both endeavors require quiet.

The dock, I noticed immediately, was dirty and a little splintery; care would be needed. Also, being by water it was buggy. I’m not sure you are aware, but spiders like bugs, so spiders, too. Deep breath, doing fine. “That spider is not going to bother you.” “I know, I know. I didn’t say a word.” Hot. A little hot. And, well, now sweaty. Fine, it can’t last forever. It certainly wouldn’t kill me to sweat a little. And then I saw the snake and announced, slightly strained but chipper, that I was going to wait in the car. “Take your time. I’ll be fine. Really. No rush.” That basically was our last outdoor outing together.

Even indoors in an outdoor environment can be dicey. Seven months pregnant with our first son, we vacationed in Mr. Blanding’s family home in Colorado. And when I say family, I mean family; my boys are the fifth generation to tread its floors. It will celebrate it’s centennial soon. And it showed the first time we went. Once charming and rustic, it was then mostly tired and scary, but my husband could see only the magic of his childhood summers.

Edgy and nervous at the isolation (the noises that I was hearing out my window were not the reassuring city kind of noises, but more like, say, critters) we dropped our bags and headed out to dinner. Upon returning home, weary from travel and my burgeoning belly, we decided to go to bed. The mattresses were brand new in 1945. Soft and sagging, with the added difficulty of my out-of-proportion middle, we slid to the center of the double bed again and again until we resigned ourselves to the spot.

Around two a.m., bladder full, I lay awake not wanting to get up but knowing I would never be able to get back to sleep until I took a quick trip to the bathroom. Scratch. Rustle, rustle. Cripes, what now? “Darling, do you hear that?” “Hmmm? What? No.” Which was reasonable because then there was nothing. Rustle, rustle, scratch. “That, did you hear that?” “Hmmm?” Incensed, I flipped on the light. A mouse the size of my fist dashed behind the basket of pinecones on the hearth of our room.

Clearly, he felt as indignant as I that territorial lines had been crossed. Each time he ventured from behind the basket, I screamed and he ran back. While Mr. Blandings begged me to go to sleep (unlikely as I had still not gone to the bathroom) I cowered in fear. Again, my refrain of “I’m sleeping in the car,” brought action. We moved to another room, towel stuffed firmly under the door, mattress as insufficient as before, touching from shoulder to ankle while I lay awake all night listening for the attack. In hindsight, I admit it might have been a chipmunk. Cuter, but a trauma just the same.

A lot of women perform bait and switch tactics between courting and marriage. I was not among those. I was clear from the beginning that my philosophy is “Inside is best.” How can I visit the duck club and watch the slight relax of his shoulders as he approaches her? How can I witness the poetry of his cast and know that there is no place for me in it? How can I go to meet her knowing that she holds an attraction for him with which even I, his beloved, cannot compete?

So I don’t go. “It’s for the boys.” I declare as they load up to visit my rival. But each day, during the late summer, I begin to take my coffee and my paper to the patio in the cool of the morning. I’m not ready for the duck club yet. I’m easing in. Besides, I hear the bathrooms are atrocious.

Camp Closed

2011-08-23T07:30:00.000-05:00

It seems fitting to include this as we are just back to school. This follows up a post containing a "letter" from the boys to Mr. B which you can find here. This post originally appeared August 29, 2008.

Memorandum

Date: August 29, 2008

Re: Camp Closing Procedures

To: Staff

I'd like to thank everyone for another successful summer at Camp Blandings. Besides the usual transition issues, the summer seemed to go well. In general, the maturity of the campers seemed slightly better than last year. We can only hope this continues to be the trend, but as we phase in a teen-agers over the next two years it's best to not be too optimistic.

In order to be better prepared for next year's campers I am recommending the following:

A consistent policy on swim team. The responsible party needs to be clear, either campers are always expected to go practice or practice is completely optional and attendance is determined by the whim of the camper, generally based on who will be there and what kind of snacks might be provided. This year's counselor was greatly influenced by her own level of interest and energy which was based on who would be there and what snacks would be provided. We need stronger leadership in this area.

It might be helpful if next year's counselor were a little more willing to spend time outside. It is hot and it is buggy, but a more positive disposition might be in order.

While archery and marksmanship are not part of the regular curriculum, perhaps we should explore their addition to the schedule next year. There seems to be a high level of camper interest in shooting, spearing and wrecking things. Along this line, I believe pyrotechnics would be a popular offering.

There are a few general maintenance items that need to be wrapped up as well.

The sofa pillows in the mess tent are trashed. While each camper claimed, "I didn't do anything!" all pillows are literally coming apart at the seams. Please see they are repaired by the upholsterer immediately.

We are missing roughly 47 balls, the breakdown being something like this: 24 baseballs, 7 playground balls various sizes, 6 lacrosse balls, 8 golf balls and two tennis balls that were mainly used for playing with the camp hound. Before restocking for next year please check all window wells, flower beds (especially the hydrangea and azalea bushes) and neighboring property. They didn't walk away by themselves, folks.

The piles of books by campers' beds must be re-shelved. Keeping campers supplied with books was often challenging, but I think we did a fine job. Still, cabin floors need to be cleared so one can at least, well, walk through the room.

The policy of keeping the session free of worksheets and study guides seemed to work well for campers and counselors alike. I recommend next year's staff replicate this year's staff's encouragement of brain deterioration and spotty retention.

Thank you, again, for your help with a wonderful summer session. As we say every year, "It went so fast." We hope to see you next year.

Image, above, a view of the sunset on the inlet in Sag Harbor from the patio of our big city friend's home. It is all that it appears.

The Significance of Chintz Curtains

2011-08-22T07:30:00.000-05:00

Last week it was all about the women; this week I plan to revisit posts featuring Blandings boys young and old. This post originally appeared October 7, 2009.

Many years ago, when Mr. Blandings and I were first married, we went out to dinner with his father and step-mother.

Mr. Blandings the elder is old school. He mostly likes things the way they are, or rather, the way they have always been.

In a cozy restaurant on a winter evening we began to discuss a club to which the elder Mr. B belonged. I made an off-hand and stinging comment about the policy of having a separate dining room for women during the lunch hour.

As often happens, small sparks start large flames and he and I were heatedly engaged as our spouses stared quietly into their soups. In a firm voice he finally proclaimed, "When I am eating my lunch I do not want to sit next to a table of damn women talking about chintz curtains!"

As my Mr. Blandings felt my muscles flex to rise he put his hand on my knee and leaned in to say, "It's cold and they drove." We stayed. No one ordered dessert.

After seventeen years I better understand the roots of tradition and the minefields of dinner conversation. I am, however, still mystified that someone would not want to join in a conversation on chintz curtains as I find them irresistibly divine.

Images of Cecil Beaton's home, Reddish House, from Architectural Digest Celebrity Homes, 1977; photography by Beaton. The Aesthete posted on Reddish yesterday. I had already written this and should probably have pitched it. Sadly, I'm too lazy.

Great Sets

2011-08-19T07:30:00.000-05:00

Thank you for the responses to the posts this week. I've chosen to end on an up note; for those of you who were interested in my relationship with my mother and had not read the essay, "Growing Up," it is here.

I was late to Mad Men but now I am January Jonesing for the return. This post originally appeared March 11, 2009.

Maybe it's because of this, but I'm a little weary of the straight and sleek.

Troubling times call for a little lift.

Follow my mother's advice - you may not be able to change your life, but you can always change your hair.

A shampoo and set or some such thing. Some bounce. An errant curl to toss out of your eye.

Make sure it's a bit of mess to show you're not too much of a good girl. The time is right.

Image, top, January Jones and Jon Hamm from Mad Men used without permission, but much gratitude, from AMC, Ingrid Bergman, Sofia Loren, Grace Kelly and Elizabeth Taylor, all from IMDB.

Freudian or Jungian?

2011-08-18T07:30:00.000-05:00

I can't tell you how much fun I am having going back through old posts. I'm like that person at the cocktail party who laughs the hardest at her own jokes. This post was originally published March 7, 2008.

Frankly, you don't have enough time to hear about my mother. But, I was in Brookside on Wednesday, and World's Window, a symphony of imports and snappy gifts, was carrying some of these action figures.

Who says only those with a fascination for fantasy a la Marvel Comics and Steven Spielberg get to have miniatures of their idols?

Hero worship is all relative, right?

It is certainly your choice to be, or not to be, a collector of such kitch.

Not to be morbid, but maybe you would want only this, and nothing more.

I know Aesthete's Lament is a purveyor of the classics.

And, Mamacita would surely be persuaded to pony up. My question is, if Accoutrements put out a line of famous designers, who would make up your collection? (Ask the Blandings boys, it's all about the collecting.)

Nancy Lancaster? She would definitely come with this hat and coat.

Van Day Truex? And a place setting of Tiffany bamboo?

John Fowler? Crown included.

Albert Hadley? Glasses, for sure.

Billy Baldwin? Brown vinyl box.

David Hicks? "on decoration" firmly grasped.
Or maybe you would go with a more current crew. Kelly Wearstler; full wardrobe, including wigs.

Thomas O'Brien? Alone. Perfection. OK, maybe a Gio Ponti vase.

Steven Gambrel? Well, for me, yes. Could I stand to leave him in the box, or would I need to bring him out to help with furniture placement? He'd have his labradoodle, Dash, by his side.

Ruthie Sommers? Blue and white porcelain to pile around? Yes, Courtney would be camping out at Target to be the first one on her block. Fifty-one mentions. Sister, you might need therapy.

All black and white photos, except Truex, Influential Interiors, Suzanne Trocme. Truex from his biography by Adam Lewis. Wearstler, Modern Glamour. Thomas O'Brien, Inspired Styles. Gambrel, House and Garden. Sommers via Alkemie.

Roots of Addiction

2011-08-17T07:30:00.001-05:00

I mention that the Mrs. Livengood of this post was one of my mother's best friends; I later realized she was one of mine. It was her birthday yesterday and I thought we would throw some good wishes her way. Krissy appeared in the previous post; she was helping me open my birthday presents. This post originally appeared October 15, 2009.

You know those stories about celebrities who give their children controlled substances? And how you read these accounts and wonder, "What were they thinking?"

Well, my mother was a little guilty of this. When I was small and we lived in Atlanta my mother made a very good friend while we were on the playground. I, in turn, became very good friends with the friend's daughter as these things sometime happen.

While my parents' house was an ever evolving array of tasteful yet jazzy (probably department store) finds, Krissy Livengood's parents' house was not.

Krissy Livengood's parents had a pair of Wassily chairs. When I walked through their living room I was mesmerized by the slats made of leather. With every visit I'm quite sure her mother anticipated wiping my grimy fingerprints from the cool chrome. I could not resist running my hand along that silvery steel.

They were wonderful. I was in awe of those chairs. In my memory the room where they resided was always quiet, but perhaps my ears were ringing. While everyone else found it so intriguing that Krissy's father had one blue eye and one brown eye, I thought that merely a quirk of nature. The thing that made the Livengoods interesting - fascinating even - were those chairs.

We moved from Atlanta when I was eight, but the chair addiction was firmly established. Imagine my delight with Judith Miller's new book, Chairs. Over one hundred chairs, beautifully shot by Nick Pope, on big pages, presented in chronological order. Truly a chair lover's dream.

And a terrific red cover. Almost as good as having a Wassily of my own.

P.S. Mrs. Livengood, in true Southern fashion, has passed her chairs to her daughter. Who now goes by Kristin.

Chairs by Judith Miller was provided to me for review by the publisher, Conran Octopus. All photographs by Nick Pope. The Wassily chair is fourth from the top.

My Mother Was a Crazy Person

2011-08-16T12:12:00.001-05:00

I had my cards read at a birthday party I attended in May. The reader asked me about my relationship with my mother and I told him that she had died nineteen years ago. "She was unstable," I told him. "She is not unstable now," he replied, "And you need to honor her." He suggested planting a tree or some such thing. Going through old posts I noticed how often I mention her; the rest of this week will be a small tribute. This post was originally published May 9, 2008.

I could have also titled this "A Tale of Many Sofas" but it seemed important not to bury the lead. My mother was, indeed, crazy. Not, she always said, "Healthy people take the stairs!" (like I do) but really crazy. I'd love to put a name on it for you, but there doesn't seem to be one. Clinically depressed with a soupcon on paranoia, or something close. I'm going to tell you now that she died sixteen years ago. I always hate it when someone asks a question about my mother and I have to say she's dead. It's not upsetting for me, but it's so awkward for the inquirer. You know, because people are generally nice and mothers dying is bad.

She was aesthetically focused for sure. The picture, above, was taken in Atlanta and I have no memory of it ever being that cold there. Clearly, this was all about the look. My mother loved clothes. A lot. And shoes. She was a smidge taller than I am, close to 5'10" and she wore a size 6 shoe. Like her feet had been bound as a child. When we cleaned out her closet after she died she had beautiful shoes from size 5 to about an 8.5. I mean, a deal's a deal.

She read a lot and she read a lot of magazines but I don't remember any shelter magazines. She was creative and stylish, but I didn't think house stuff was really her thing. I sort of had an impression that she got things the way she liked it then left it alone for five or ten years or so. Then I started going through pictures.

The picture with my dad, above, was taken in "the apartment." That squarish sofa with its jazzy geometric upholstery very nearly screams 1965. It made the move in it's original fabric to the new house.

Within a year it was recovered, maybe slip-covered in this solid, nubbyish linen. I think it's sporting a contrast welt. (I jumped off of a couple of pillows and hit my head on this coffee table. I still wear the scar.)

I have no memory of the floral chair in the background and it is never seen again. Banished. (Note the Victorian crystal lamp; it resides in my living room now.)

Ah, Spring. Apparently blue floral was the way to go, but in the curtains and not the chair. That was all wrong. So, curtains up, nifty new chair. And, yes, jazzy p.j.'s if I do say so myself.

This is my birthday, mid August, 1970. Same sofa.

And then, within two weeks, gone. Black leather, with a chair to match is in its place.

My parents got divorced and we moved from this house in '72, so a new set of sofas appeared within two years. And curtains and a rug.

And this floral chair, which I think might be ingrained in my subconcious, because I think I love it. But I don't remember it or any of its predecessors. I do, however, remember receiving that Scarlett O'Hara Madame Alexander doll. She graced my shelf for years.

The sofas made the transition to the townhouse in Tulsa and stayed the rest of her life. They were recovered maybe twice in the next twenty years. The thing about being crazy is, it didn't necessarily diminish all the other things she was. Smart, funny, creative. She was fabulously unstable, but she was also just plain fabulous. She came by her craziness naturally as her mother was crazy, and yes, I do understand the implication. I just hope someday one boy takes the time to sit down and sift through the pictures and take note. Of themselves, of my craziness or the sofas. Moms are like that. We need to be remembered.

On Aging and Writing - The State of the Blog, Year Five

2011-08-15T07:30:00.001-05:00

My friend Mrs. Grizwald mentioned once, “It’s funny how there are billions of the people in the world and only 365 days in a year, yet we are always delighted and amazed when we find out we share a birthday with someone.” It’s true. I recently discovered, while thumbing The Secret Language of Birthdays yet again, that I share a birthday with Myrna Loy. I’ve probably mentioned it to a dozen people since then.

As a great over-thinker, birthdays offer me the guilty pleasure of self-indulgent self-reflection. It’s not just the heat of August that makes me quiet and pensive, but the recognition that my year is about to begin again. I rarely run willy-nilly, but rather pick a careful path and to do so, every now and then, I have to survey the terrain. The funny thing is, the most significant insights seem to find me. It’s remarkable with the amount of information and observation that bombards me daily, that there are some things that hit at just the right time. That stick.

This year, about the time I started to be still and take stock, two men, writers both, stopped in to remark on aging. The first was F. Scott Fitzgerald. In a review of his essays, The Wall Street Journal noted Fitzgerald as saying that old people were incapable of self-improvement, “Almost barbarians.” And by old he meant thirty.

The next was David Foster Wallace in his collection of essays, A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again, “I’m starting to see how as time gains momentum my choices will narrow and their foreclosures multiply exponentially until I arrive at some point on some branch of all life’s sumptuous branching complexity at which I am finally locked in and stuck on one path and time speeds me through stages of stasis and atrophy and decay until I go down for the third time, all struggle for naught, drowned by time. It is dreadful. But since it’s my own choices that’ll lock me in, it seems unavoidable – if I want to be any kind of grownup, I have to make choices and regret foreclosures and try to live with them.”

Also in the Journal (the Journal offering some sticky stuff that week) was a review of Kurt Vonnegut’s Novels & Stories, 1963 – 1973. It was noted that in response to the question, “When may we expect your next novel?” following the release of Slaughterhouse Five, Vonnegut reported thinking, “Next novel? That was it. That was my novel.” This notion was very sticky.

About this time, I finished Jonathan Franzen’s second novel, Strong Motion. Franzen is one of my favorite contemporary writers. Strong Motion was like looking through a box of your college boyfriend’s childhood pictures. I recognized him, though he was not so lean. But I didn’t like the book and I couldn’t care for the characters and I know more about seismology than I ever wanted to. I’ve past feeling the need to finish an unenjoyed book, but I needed to know Franzen better. I took the book by spoonfuls and about three-quarters of the way through I realized that what it was showing me, the stickiness of it, was that writers mature.

There are books that I keep holding up to myself as the excuse to not begin, but they are not the beginnings. Like all other things, writing takes practice. At a book signing here in Kansas City someone asked Franzen about his process, and he said, spinning his arm like he was hitting the final chords in an air guitar solo, you just have to keep churning and churning until there is something.

I am insecure, anxious and dismissive of my writing. A middling talent. Something that could have been something, but will not; I’ve started too late. And, if I have a story to tell, I feel that it is one story, only mine, and if that is all there is to offer then it’s not really a talent. It’s dictation.

Still, I am writing in my head all the time. Turning the words for blog post or article or some other as yet undiscovered thing. It tumbles and tumbles and tumbles and then it sort of throws itself out onto the page. I don’t know how to begin if it is not finished yet.

But I believe that American lives can have second acts. Creativity and complexity do not end in one’s thirties. And even though I may be in a sort of active intermission, a vivacious mingling in the lobby rather than a full-on second act, I think it may be richer than if the same sort of momentum had converged for me at twenty-six. Middle age does not encompass only atrophy, decay and regret even among grown-ups.

So I’ve decided to ignore these words of Fitzgerald and Wallace and follow instead the implied message of Vonnegut, whom I care for least of the three. I’m 46 today. I’ve been writing Mrs. Blandings for four years. The exercise of sitting down and writing this blog every day has been remarkable. I don’t intend to quit blogging, but I need to try to write some other things. Some longer things. I’m not quite sure how that will affect what happens here, but I didn’t want you to think I’m losing interest. I’d just like to write something that takes longer to read than a minute-and-a-half .

In addition, I need to get my house in order. Literally. The moving out and the moving in to the house with no name has left everything in a jumble. I am taking a little time off. A week. Maybe two. But I will re-post some of my favorites here just in case you stop by.

You will never know how grateful and flattered I am that you make Mrs. Blandings part of your day.

We Have Winners!

2011-08-12T05:00:00.000-05:00

Very lucky Deborah will be constantly surrounded by sunshine with her new yellow Scalamandre umbrella and Amy will be oh-so-chic in black. Thanks so much for reading and playing along. A special thanks to Peter in the Scalamandre Chicago Showroom for providing the umbrellas.

Deborah, I will be emailing you shortly; Amy, you commented at 7:51 on the 9th, but I don't have contact info - can you shoot me an email at blandings.dreamhouse@gmail.com. Numbers for the drawing were selected through random.org.

Sssensational

2011-08-11T21:55:00.000-05:00

Snakeskin in gorgeous hues has strutted (no, not slithered - there's nothing low or sneaky about this) across runways and through magazines for the last couple of months. Grab a little homespun home run runway to reality with Robyn Brooks's boxes and trays in super-saturated colors. You can visit her site here, or stop in to say hello at the New York International Gift Fair; Robyn will be in Pier 94, booth 44045.

I did not receive compensation for this post. The box, which I adore, was a Mother's Day gift from Mr. Blandings and the boys.

Out and About

2011-08-11T07:30:00.000-05:00

I have a good little bit of painting to do, but the heat of last week did me in. Even now, with the weather displaying its decidedly split-personality (it's 78 and not an ounce of humidity - for a day) I can't seem to motivate.

I've been reading a lot. A lot. Venturing out to shop, though I need to make some kind of headway, seems so taxing. (Pathetic, I know.) But I have happened upon a few treats. I picked up two outdoor lanterns and the star light from Christopher Filley last week. Bad hardware store lighting makes my teeth hurt. I can't help it.

There are a few other pieces that keep popping up on that mental slide show (what? you don't have that? it's a curse.) The top is a Venetian glass light fixture for which I have one possible spot (maybe two) but no obvious location. Think, think think. It's at Show-Me Antiques. The next is a kilim that I think would be just right for the den, but Mr. Blandings thinks is much too small. (That grey stripe is not grey at all, but the delicious color of Farrow & Ball's Dix Blue which my doors will someday be if I would just paint them.) It resides, on sale, at Knotty Rug Company. And the last are yes, Greek Key and chairs and a greyish metal making them completely crushable but, well, if you know me at all you know I don't need another pair of chairs. Except maybe these. At Barbara Farmer's Parrin & Co.

If you beat me to them it's my own darn fault.

Domestic Safari

2011-08-09T07:30:00.000-05:00

As marvelous as Margot?

As spectacular as Spade?

We should all be so lucky. But, hey! You can be lucky! Even if you don't have the right spot for Scalamandre's Zebras wallpaper (really, how could you not have a spot?) you can surround yourself with this wonderful pattern on a rainy day.

I am giving away two Scalamandre umbrellas. Both are generously sized (fit for a downpour); the yellow is a full size golf umbrella and the black is retractable. Here's the gig:

Leave a comment on the blog (below the post) telling me which umbrella you'd prefer (you have to choose.) No emails (I can barely tell if my children have bathed or have just been swimming; I need to keep it easy.)

Your comment needs to include contact information or link to a blogger account with an email. (It's no fun to win if I can't find you.)

And, let's keep this in the continental U.S.

The upside is that I will pick two winners Friday and you will have your super cute umbrella by Fall!

Perhaps we have taken too many pictures of Dexter, who, when the camera appeared, moved right in front of me and sat down. He's a ham. When he is not being the devil. While he is only five months, he is nearly as tall as Rosie, who seems to like him even when he is chewing on her ears.

411

2011-08-08T07:30:00.000-05:00

Sometimes the things we need seem 911 when they are really only 411. I am trying to take the emergency out of the situation by starting here first.

I have not so much as googled as I am avoiding what could be hours of clicking and checking. I was thinking my designer friends just might have a resource that could help. I bought a vintage star lantern like this a week or so ago. What I need, the emergency, is the canopy. That piece that fits against the ceiling. Anyone?

Image, Veranda, July/August 2011, design by Andrew Raquet; photography Max Kim-Bee. The fixture pictured here is Charles Edwards.

Need 'Em Needham Lane

2011-08-04T11:30:00.000-05:00

My grandmother wore "house dresses." Cool, sleeveless cotton shifts that she would have never worn outside the house, but were here summer uniform at home. Recently, I stumbled upon these charming cotton shifts from Needham Lane. They are more tailored than those house dresses and mine is certainly going out and about. True to size, well constructed, fresh and happy prints and only $88.

The site is chocked full of pj's, scarves, shower curtains and the like as well. Here.

Fairy Dust

2011-08-04T11:21:00.000-05:00

One of the things I like about art fairs is being able to see such a wide variety of artists in one place.

I've had a little stack of cards on my desk since the Brookside Art Fair, including Jody Depew McLeane's pastels, top.

Signe & Genna Grushovenko collaborate on oil paintings based on vintage photographs.

And Dick Daniels's cartoonish commentary.

All images via the artists' sites which you can find through the highlighted links above.

The Appeal of French Men

2011-08-02T07:30:00.000-05:00

On the plane to Paris I read August Vogue cover to cover.

There is a tiny, tiny image of Chahan Minassian's work. Tiny. But it made a big impression.

Minassian and Thomas O'Brien were at Ralph Lauren at the same time and I think their work could be cousins. You can see Minassian's site here.

My Friend Tom

2011-08-01T13:30:00.000-05:00

These humble red shoes are my friends for life. I wore them almost every day in Paris. "Don't your feet hurt?" No. They didn't. Ever. They were so amazingly comfortable, had support, and allowed me the illusion that I was wearing an espadrille. I would not, could not, wear anything resembling a sneaker.

I might have them bronzed.

Toms. Here.

Our Daily Bread

2011-08-01T13:25:00.000-05:00

I ate and drank everything without a care and gained nary an ounce, hereby confirming that the fried potato is the enemy. (It must be a embedded in my Irish peasant genes; I can never resist.) Certainly a country filled with bread and pastry and wine is going to be high on my list.

Will I remember, I wonder, the smell of the lillies in the Rodin Museum? Or the sound of the rain on the gravel path?

Or the feeling of getting on a bicycle for the first time in thirty years as the young woman gave the seat a shove and said, "Don't worry! Momentum is your friend!"?

I hope that I do. I will certainly remember our last lunch, our best meal. He had his tenth piece of beef, so rare he could barely cut it, so delicious he could barely pause to speak. Though he'd tried a variety of things, escargot being the most memorable, he refused a bite of my pate. A foolish move.

"If we didn't have to leave tomorrow, if we could stay as long as you wanted, how long would you stay?"

"I would stay for years."

That meal was unforgettable.

We received so many wonderful recommendations for food that it would have taken years, indeed, to try them all. These are a few favorites. Brasserie Fernand, Polidor, Le Bouldogue - where we actually ate twice we were so charmed (and not just by the three French Bulldogs in attendance), and Le Comptoir de le Relais. The last was our best meal, as it had been promised to be. We'd been instructed to wait if there were a line. There was. We did. We were glad.

Treasure Chest

2011-07-29T07:30:00.000-05:00

Catherine Futter, Curator of Decorative Arts at the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, commented to me once, "All art is decorative." And, indeed, most artists create for personal buyers.

One of my favorite spaces in Paris was the Musee de l'Orangerie. The Waterlilies, yes, the waterliles.

But more so for the remarkable collection of Paul Guillame. Guillame was a dealer and collector in Paris in the early part of the century - a great supporter of the arts. He amassed a remarkable collection that his widow, Domenica, donated upon his death. Cezanne, Matisse, Modigliani, Picasso, Rousseau. (My youngest son studied the Impressionists in second grade and since he will say things like, "That is so Rousseau," and "That's definitely a Matisse." His voice was in my head the whole visit.)

There are small dioramas depicting Guillame's home, its walls graced with the art now in the galleries.

It was so personal.

The collection is actually the Jean Walter and Paul Guillame Collection. Domenica named the collection for both her husbands, Guillame and Jean Walter who followed him. This seems a little wacky to me, but women do all kinds of crazy things when it comes to men. All images my own, some tragically blurry, but I could not leave them out so charming were the "rooms."

Details, Details

2011-07-28T07:30:00.001-05:00

Paris was such an interesting combination of large and small. It's difficult not to be struck by how many enormous and enormously beautiful buildings there are. And the enormous egos and energies that it took to create them.

Additionally, the amount of detail involved was staggering. No anonymous, graceless office buildings these, but intricately detailed spaces.

Sometimes it was all I could absorb, the painstaking details of the personal necessity of these spaces.

As we approached the massive facade of the Louvre, I asked my son, "Can you even imagine conceiving of something so massive? Of designing something so large and in such detail?"

Without a glance to me, his gaze steady on the building all the time, he said, "Yes. I can." And I marveled some more.

The top image is a detail from a statue near Napoleon's Tomb; the next two images are of one of the lanterns at Les Invalides, now the military museum. The lanterns are held by rope that threads through the pulleys attached to the chain; the ropes then run down the wall and into this box, which one would assume contains some sort of crank for raising and lowering. The ropes appear fresh, though I wonder if they still function as originally intended. The following image is the interior and exterior windows and interior shutters at the home where Rodin lived and worked; the lion is one of a few on the property. The last is a column that I can't remember except for its brilliant blue, which has not begun to be captured in this image.

On-Line Beauty Absolutely

2011-07-27T22:32:00.001-05:00

Do you know my friend Anna? Anna Spiro is a remarkable designer and shop owner in Brisbane, Queensland, Australia. When I started reading her blog Absolutely Beautiful Things I was enchanted by her aesthetic. Bright and bold and brave, her shop and her interiors have such confidence. As I continued to read I was impressed by her limitless energy. Dogs, boys, shop, blog, business, she strides into it all.

Lucky for us Ms. Spiro has taken her act on the road. Today she opens an on-line shop - a new concept of sorts - to offer her eye and her finds world wide. Click over to check it out. I guarantee it will be Absolutely Beautiful. Here.

From the Ground Up

2011-07-27T07:30:00.000-05:00

Hugo saved Notre Dame with Hunchback, so writers can have great impact, but what am I going to tell you about Paris? Writers and artists and photographers for ages have captured her spirit better than I ever could.

It was rainy and chilly, which dampened not our enthusiasm, our energy or our exuberance for Paris.

Only there seven days we did not see it all, but checked off many of the greatest hits: the Louvre, the Orangerie, Versailles, the Rodin, les Invalides, the Conciergerie. Sacre Coeur, Notre Dame, Sainte Chapelle. The Eiffel Tower, The Arc de Triomphe.

We delighted at Deyrolle, received a C- from our guide on the Fat Tire Bike Tour, ate our weight in bread and pastries and bowed down to the French teacher who was our guide; she made the entire visit both spectacular and spectacularly easy.

And through all of it I marveled at the floors and steps, some tile, some marble worn into indentations deep enough to offer a dog a good, long drink. After all those feet upon those treads, what can I tell you of Paris?

Mrs. B at AD

2011-07-26T07:17:00.000-05:00

I am gathering my thoughts (and everyone's laundry) but wanted to say, "hello," and let you know that I have a piece up on Architectural Digest this week. The usual: life, death and should we hang it on the living room wall. You can find the story here. Paris to follow.

Image, Terry Evans, Field Museum, Swan, 1891.

Trippingly

2011-07-15T07:30:00.001-05:00

We are off tomorrow. I will not be posting while I am gone. Hubris to believe that is necessary to have something here while I'm away; folly to worry about internet connection and posting comments while in France. Back soon.

Yet another image from House Beautiful, March 1965. A lovely table bursting with pattern from Van Day Truex, then design director of Tiffany and Company; photography by Wesley Balz.

Magical Charm

2011-07-13T07:30:00.000-05:00

The March 1965 issue of House Beautiful which I featured yesterday is titled, "The Individualist." It's delightful even forty-six years later.

Besides the Mathews' home there is an entire section of "applied individualism." These images are of Mr. and Mrs. Tony Duquette's bed-sitting room in Los Angeles. If you described the palette it might sound like you were describing a bruise, but there's nothing painful about it. It's hauntingly beautiful.

Images, House Beautiful, March 1965, design by Mr. Duquette, photography by Danforth-Tidmarsh. The title of the post is a description of the room from the article.

Second to None

2011-07-12T08:58:00.000-05:00

Christopher Spitzmiller's Seconds Sale starts tomorrow so stop on over for sensational style. (How I wish it started on Saturday as I would have been able to work one more "S" into that sentence.) Spitzmiller's lamps are legendary and high on my wish list. Shipping available if you are an out-of-towner. Here.

Elegant Rewards of a Disciplined Choice

2011-07-12T07:30:00.001-05:00

I'm nearly hopeless at furniture placement.

Mine is nearly always a ring around the rosie (otherwise known as the coffee table) with the sofa against the wall like it's getting a mug shot.

Somewhere, sometime (it's been nearly four years for heaven's sake) another blogger mentioned "the ladies who love dead decorators" (or something like that.) I can't assume that I was referenced, but I recognized myself in the description.

I do like looking back to see what still strikes a note; it helps me pull out my own aesthetic.

These rooms were created before I was born. My mother could have rested this copy of House Beautiful on her bulging belly. Perhaps that is why I recognize this tailored treat and that wonderful, wonderful view.

All images House Beautiful, March 1965, the home of Mr. and Mrs. Edward J. Mathews. The post title is the same as the title of the article which implies that the decorating was done by Mr. Mathews who was with the architecture and engineering firm Skidmore, Owings and Merrill. Photography by Ezra Stoller Associates - and isn't the lighting amazing? By the way, there is wear on the third image, not a pattern on the carpet which appears to be a solid, short pile.

We'll Always Have Paris

2011-07-08T07:30:00.000-05:00

I leave for Paris in a week. I am taking my oldest son. I love to travel, but hate to fly over water so had talked to my doctor about a small prescription (both in strength and number) of Xanax, which cures my ills. I had decided not to take it after a friend, who had just made the trip, assured me that one is not over open water all that long. The news yesterday sent me to the pharmacy.

Now that I am assured of the edge being chemically taken off, I'm on to the next thing on my list. Help me out with a couple of things, will you? Please suggest one thing, one, that you think I should see (or eat) while I'm there. Please, please, please, please, please do not recommend something like Versailles or Laduree. I'm looking for something I wouldn't find in a guide book.

I'm also taking recommendations of either the best book or movie you would take on the plane to set the mood. One. Pick the best.

Image, Architectural Digest International Interiors, 1979, the home of Princess Claude Ruspoli on the Ile Saint-Louis. Photography Pascal Hinous. And, yes, trellis.

Oh, Nicky You're So Fine

2011-07-06T07:30:00.000-05:00

Alternately titled, "Whoa Nelly, Olsen!"

I had a crazy day yesterday (such days call for my writing my schedule down on a separate piece of paper which I carry around like a security blanket) and still made time to sit down and enjoy the apartment designed by Nick Olsen in the July/August House Beautiful. And if eight pages of Olsen aren't enough, you can watch an on-line interview where he shares his secrets of decorating big in a small space.

Image, House Beautiful, July/August 2011; photography Bjorn Wallander.

The Significance of Petty Details

2011-07-05T07:30:00.000-05:00

I stood barefoot at the kitchen island Monday eating pasta from a small, white bowl. It was a recipe I'd requested from the night before. We've avoided pasta and the like, existing on cold dinners and carry-out in an unspoken resistance to heating the kitchen, but crackers and pizza crusts were not satisfying my gluten gluttony and my husband agreed to boil and toil.

So I stood, the next day, enjoying again the snap of the peas and the bite of the pancetta, reading a hamburger recipe from Thomas Keller's Ad Hoc at Home, which friends had made for us Saturday night. The hamburgers had achieved mythical status in my mind and I needed to know just how difficult they would be to prepare.

I flipped through Keller's book, soaking up both knowledge and olive oil while gnawing left-over ciabatta. I breezed through searing and stock until I discovered the recipe I'd been looking for. Our host, the night of the dinner, had asked, "Do you really think it makes a difference to grind the meat yourself?" Well, yes, now I do.

It was a beautiful evening and we sat under white lights and fabric flag garland ironed and hung by their fourteen-year-old daughter. We had dined together just a week or so before and had come around to my interest in astrology. "You must have The Secret Language of Birthdays?" "What? I don't. Do I need it? Are you mocking me?" "Yes, a little, and yes, you do." So in a reverse sort of hostess gift, they gave it to me and we read aloud our profiles after dessert.

"Those born on this day are not overly concerned with petty details, choosing instead to focus on the broad line, the big show."

And as I read Keller's recipe I wondered if this is why I am not a good cook. Wondered if inherently I can't attend to the pre-grind seasoning, to the careful not over-combining. Wondered if this is why it is unlikely that I will create a dish as elegant as Keller's or rooms as elegant at Frances Elkins's.

All images Mr. and Mrs. Kersey Coates Reed home, architecture David Adler, design Frances Elkins from Frances Elkins Interior Design by Stephen M. Salny.

Intoxicating

2011-07-01T07:30:00.000-05:00

I don't mean to imply that you should collect (hoard) old design magazines as I do. I can't recommend that you fill shelves and drawers with images and ideas. It's perverse. I mean, wonderful new magazines are published each and every month chocked full of wonderful, wonderful pictures.

But, if you do, you might want to keep an eye out for House & Garden, September 2004.

This particular issue is an out-of-the-park home run. To begin, it opens with that fabulous shot of Miles Redd leaping in his mirrored bathroom and offers pages of his insight into the process of decorating his own home. I offer here the close-up of his kitchen and its mirrored backsplash.

The issue focuses on designers' own homes (always favorite fodder) and includes Charlotte Moss's townhouse.

One of the things I enjoyed about HG was the tidbits that it offered on process and resource. Naturally, this little gem on mirrored trellis and its maintenance caught my eye. (I might have mentioned that the new house likes mirror.)

On to Piero Castellini's Milan palazzo and finishing up with

Paul Fortune's Hollywood home, which is one of my all-time favorites.

Snuggled in the credits in the back is Fortune's recipe for pomegranate margaritas, long before pomegranate was known as a "super-food." The first shot I ever took was at the bar at the Mad Hatter in 1986. It was Mr. Blandings's idea (he was a drinking buddy then.) Being a gentleman he allowed me to pick my poison. "Tequila!" "Are you sure you don't want a watermelon shot or something?" "Watermelon shots are for sissies," I declared as I licked that tender spot between my thumb and forefinger, sprinkling it with salt.

I still believe this, but now we know that pomegranate is full of anti-oxidants. So these are good for you.

Enjoy the 4th.

Best Friends for Frances

2011-06-30T07:30:00.000-05:00

Frances Elkins arrived by post on Monday, swaddled in brown paper, and promptly changed my life. It may be a week, a month, a year of Elkins, but for now, here is the dining room of Mr. and Mrs. Kersey Coates Reed, Lake Forest, Illinois, 1929. This room came up last week (and you can see the later version of the room here) and many readers referred to the room as Elkins originally designed it.

The hidden door and the camouflage screen are both there, but indeed, no chandelier (and certainly not two) and then there are the wonderful bamboo chairs. And, yes, if Mrs. Elkins sat next to me on a plane, I do think we would be friends.

Image from Frances Elkins Interior Design by Stephen M. Salny; photography by Luis Medina.

Paper Dolls

2011-06-29T07:30:00.000-05:00

Cole & Son Georgian Trellis may be the paper for the front hall. The color looks remarkably not like this at all, but is a creamy background with a bronze design.

I've had Rooms to Inspire in the City open to Tamara Mellon's London apartment, designed by Martyn Lawrence-Bullard, for about a week. This paper is Cole & Son as well, Pompeian in Beige and White, I am pretty sure. It's such a striking room, but what caught my eye was the lovely shade on the ceiling. Nowhere near "ceiling white" and making a humongous difference to the room. Which is leading to more ceiling paint here at The House with No Name.

Image from Martyn Lawrence-Bullard's site, used without permission - please, please forgive me.

Too Much is Never Enough

2011-06-28T07:30:00.001-05:00

In other dining room news, I bought more chairs.

At first I wondered if they were better than, or just different from, my current chairs. Also, there is the issue of my chair addiction. Further, I am now captivated by the idea of the bamboo dining chairs in the Reed house. Still, the long and short of it is, I am usually long on ideas and short on funds and it is likely that it would take me a while to a) find better chairs and b) afford better chairs.

So when these literally landed in my lap it seemed wise to snap them up. (I have two pieces of art on my wish list as well and they are taking priority.) I was originally thinking I would paint these black, but this pale yellow is so cheerful I wonder if it should be the "new" color as well as the old. They have, literally, lifted the spirit of the room.

I haven't the heart to count my chairs again, but whatever the last horrendous number was, it is now that + 6. Sakes.

The wall color is Farrow & Ball Folly Green.

Design Therapy

2011-06-27T07:30:00.000-05:00

I hadn't realized that I was unconsciously mining this image for inspiration until last week's episode of Million Dollar Decorators. When Mary McDonald walked through (by? I can't remember) this dining room, my conscious mind went, "Oh, yes, of course. That has been it all along."

I wish this little nugget had slid into the conscious side of my brain a little sooner. I'd been holding off on ordering the stencil for my dining room project as something about it seemed not quite right. It wasn't working with the rest of the house and I couldn't put my finger on why.

When I saw the dining room (again, fully conscious) I realized that the stencil, above, was too bold for my space. Too heavy. Too much.

So, I'm ordering this all-over pattern instead and am going to use it in pieces to create an airier silhouette similar to the wall above. It wasn't my first foray into analysis, but it was most certainly the most fun.

Top two images, Mary McDonald Interiors, Rizzoli, photography by Melanie Acevedo. Remaining images via Stencil Library.

Emerald City

2011-06-22T07:30:00.000-05:00

The paint has arrived for my dining room. The final two choices still remain, side-by-side, on the East wall and occasionally I wonder if I selected well. Selected best, I suppose, as they are both fine shades of green. The universe keeps handing me gumdrops of reassurance, not the least of which was this wonderful image from Matthew White and Frank Webb. They are partners in the firm White Webb and produce a lovely design log which you can find here. This issue they are exploring the glory of green and make reference to Oz in the nicest way; I couldn't resist.

Today the electrician comes to scoot the sconces out a bit. I think Mr. Blandings would advise to play it where it lays, but he is keeping it to himself. By the weekend I am hoping the room will be ready for the wizard himself.

Image courtesy of White Webb and is used with their permission.

Now You See It

2011-06-17T07:30:00.001-05:00

Many of you will recognize this as the dining room from Reed House designed (between 1926 and '28) by David Adler. The Colonial Revival House notes that Adler's sister, Frances Elkins, "became heavily involved with selecting interior furnishings." So, as we finish out the week sprinkled with Chinoiserie walls and screens, it seems fitting to top it off by noting the screen camouflaging some domestic tediousness in the right corner. Not the only sleight of handsome; there is a hidden door on the left.

Image, The Colonial Revival House, Richard Guy Wilson, photography by Noah Sheldon.

The Greens of Summer

2011-06-16T07:30:00.001-05:00

When my babies were little Mrs. Green told me, "You can't put sleep in the bank." When I had toddlers Mrs. Green told me, "Put the oxygen mask on yourself first." And a few years later, when summer shifted from splashing in shallow pools and long naps on hot afternoons to swim practice and baseball and two loads of laundry a day, Mrs. Green told me, "Lower the bar."

She didn't mean to parent less or lazily. She just realized that it's better to focus on what must get finished, to be bothered less by the mess and to slow the heck down. So, there are dishes in the sink and likely a wet swimsuit (or two) on the floor, but there is also a final green paint swatch on the wall of the dining room. We all have our own priorities.

Books, clockwise from top, Walls, Florence de Dampierre; The Colonial Revival House, Richard Guy Wilson; A Flair for Living, Charlotte Moss; Interiors, Mary McDonald; Elements of Style, Michael Smith; Vogue Living: Houses, Gardens, People; Regency Redux, Emily Evans Eerdmans; Wallpaper, Carole Thibaut-Pomerantz.

Lazy Hazy Days

2011-06-15T07:30:00.000-05:00

What if I had a month of one-a-days? I tend to use about five images a post so that would put me at about a 20% workload for the summer. (See how I've now stretched it from a month to over two?) If I did, limit myself to one image a day that is, I'd have more time to lounge about on this pretty, airy love seat. And love it, I do. Stripes softer than crisp and the Bennison fabric on the wall - pretty as pretty can be. And that punchy little pillow is just what I need beneath my head. (You won't mind if I prop my feet up on the arm, I hope?) Oh. Except it's not mine. Bother.

With all this time on my hands, I realize it's been a long while since I've seen East Egg; perhaps this is the summer to go back.

Image, Luxe Magazine, Spring 2011, design Peters & Mbiango Interiors; photography Troy Campbell.