A Tale of Two Tables

October 26, 2009UncategorizedDream HouseMrs. Blandings

So, friends in from out of town, dinner planned, what next? Facials, manicures, injections? Extra trips to the personal trainor?

Heavens no. A little do-it-yourself face lift for the Dream House.

Inspired by Nick Olsen’s post I went on the hunt for local tables that could be used for consoles in the dining room. I like the tables he recommended from Target, but did not want to pay for shipping. And I didn’t want to wait. I’m bad about waiting.

Latin American Imports here in town usually has a good selection of iron table bases and they had a style that I thought would work. The rusted finish was not what I had in mind, but change is nothing but a spray can away. I had queried darling Nicky if he thought I should gold leaf the entire table. “Just the circles.” Wonderful. Just the circles is easy.

Per his suggestion I purchased paint grade wood for the tops and painted them with Rustoleum oil based paint. I used Sunset Red in gloss and mixed in a little glossy black to make it darker. Mr. Blandings popped in mid-project. “Is the black oil based, too?” His gentle way of checking to see if I had botched the whole thing. “Mmm-hmmm.” “Huh. Wonder if you sanded it between coats if it would look even more like lacquer?” Knee-deep in passive aggression I replied, “Excellent idea.”

Nick suggested moving the blanc de chine, which was spot on, but the wall still seemed a little bare. These paintings were together on a different wall of the dining room, but I’d never been comfortable with them there. The scale wasn’t right. They seem happy here. They like each other, but they get along better with a little distance.

It’s not Paul McCobb. It’s more Jolly McNow.

Out and About – In the Neighborhood

October 22, 2009UncategorizedDream HouseMrs. Blandings

You know I only like to be outside about fourteen days of the year and chances are good the majority of those days will fall during Fall.

On our regular walk route, Rosie and I pass this trellis nearly every day. I covet it shamelessly. Please tell me you can still get finials like that so I don’t have to lose any more sleep.

Also, these trees (below.) I’d love to have a row of trees like this along my back yard fence.

I’d like to, but I don’t know what they are. Or how mature they are. Or if they will get much bigger. Or if they will split in two with the first major ice storm like my pear trees did. Darn them.

But if you know, I’d love it if you’d let me know. You know, for the next time I go outside in the Spring.

Fall Forward

October 20, 2009UncategorizedMusings from the Dream HouseMrs. Blandings

Fall seems to set in with a flurry at the Dream House. A week or so ago Mr. Blandings’s sisters and their husbands were in to celebrate their mother’s 80th birthday. The week preceding was consumed by cleaning and fluffing and laughing and eating. All came off without a hitch and it was such a treat to have the women and men who have known Mr. B since birth here for such a happy occasion. I was reminded that I was merely a vessel; apparently, the boys all look just like him.

Most of us have had what we believe to be H1N1 and managed to dodge lice, which, while not uncommon among school-aged children still makes me itch just to type it.

This week my pulse is jumping as we have friends coming in from out of town and I can’t wait for them to see the city for the first time. Our weather was dreary last week and I fretted to Mr. B, “I hope it’s sunny and warmer. And that the trees turn a little more. But that the leaves don’t fall before they get here.” “I’m not sure that’s in your control.” I stared back in wonder at the irrelevance and sanity of this remark.

The visit has triggered a whirlwind of activity. The front hall needed a bit of spiff. Something, heaven knows, but I wasn’t sure quite what. The image above provided inspiration and the framer promises that the pieces will be back in time. Stay tuned.

In addition, I had sworn off junk. No more place holders, only really good pieces. Sadly, the Paul McCobb tables/consoles/chests that would be ideal flanking the bay in the dining room never seem to be a priority over football fees and field trips and food. Nick Olson provided inspiration here and if the consoles are not forever pieces, they may move on to one of the boys’ first apartment someday.

Mr. Blandings has the cookbooks out and keeps interrupting my painting and gilding with queries of dishes and desserts.

And Halloween is on the horizon. “What are the boys going to be?” a common question. For the last two years I have had a new code, “What ever your costume is, it exists in this house. Use your imagination.” Grumbling eventually gives way and they all come up with something of which they are usually quite proud.

My mania has peaked, I think, but I am never happier than when I have that creative muse whispering in my ear.

Image, above, Elle Decor, it graced the cover of the December 2006 issue, design by Shelton, Mindel & Associates. Photography by William Waldron. The image appears in the fantastic new book, Style and Substance, The Best of Elle Decor by Margaret Russell, which I received for review from the publisher.

Roots of Addiction

October 15, 2009Uncategorizeddesign books, Musings from the Dream HouseMrs. Blandings

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.

The Significance of Chintz Curtains

October 7, 2009UncategorizedMusings from the Dream House, Vintage DesignMrs. Blandings

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.