I tell stories for a living. I freelance and tell the stories of people and their homes, but I also work part-time at a local university in the marketing department. When we have new people join the department, their supervisor brings them around to meet everyone, and when they get to me there’s a pause. “Patricia writes for the foundation and …”

I smile back from my swivel chair in my grey cubicle that’s only decoration is a Mondrian-style white board that holds my to-do list and say, “I tell stories. I write words.”

It may seem simple, but I am not minimizing what I do. I tell people’s stories. When I sit down with someone – whether he or she is a student or engineering professor or donor – I feel their protective shell. I hear the formality of their voice. I understand their need to protect – their story, their project, their ego – and I respect it. I honor all of those things.

I know in this moment at the beginning that regardless of how it goes, I will be able to tell their story. I am, however, uncertain that I will be able to assure them that they can trust me. I physically hold my heart open so they sense that I’m there to receive what they have to say. I don’t judge. If I am lucky, they will know that I am interested – whether I have technical knowledge or not – and will do my best to translate the specialized and intricate nature of what they do to people who might not be familiar with it at all.

Sometimes I go into these assignments with a sense of trepidation. I worry that the information will be way over my head. Often, this is a real concern. I tell them, “Explain it to me as if I were your mother and your mother did not understand anything about the subject.”

They laugh and do just that. We find our way. In the end – as I turn off my recorder and flip closed my legal pad – we are relaxed. We trust one another. What is more likely than not is that they email to tell me more – something they thought of later that makes things clearer, richer. To a one, they always let me know that I can follow up if I need more.

This is, in essence, the same concept of the Sobremesa dinners. A bringing together of people all over the world for the same meal that creates a sense of community and connection. “Sobremesa” is the Spanish definition of that time after dinner where people relax and linger.

My partner and chef, Todd Schulte and I are hosting a Sobremesa dinner in Kansas City with Ryan Sciara of Underdog Wine Co., Chentell Shannon founder Convivial Production and Leslie Fraley in her remarkable shop, Fine Folk, on June 15th. This global series developed by Sunday Suppers supports the The Hunger Project. It will be the perfect occasion to be with people you know – or maybe don’t know – and hear their stories.

We’d love it if you’d join us.

All images courtesy of Sunday Suppers.

It’s different falling in love again in my fifties. The last time I fell in love I was in my twenties and I had a lot of time.  I’m not sure I felt this way then, but I don’t remember ever thinking, “Oh my god, I simply don’t have time to go to work, the grocery store (which was rare, honestly), hang out with my friends, exercise and see my boyfriend.”

I’m not in any way implying this is impossible now – or a burden – but it takes a different level of focus and scheduling.  I don’t think we’ve ever exchanged a text along the lines of –

“Hey, wanna hang out?”

“Sure.”

Having dinner or coffee – or five minutes at the front door to simply kiss and say, “Hello, I hope you have a good day,” can take a text string of communication that seemingly mimics the coordination of a satellite launch.

Obviously, it’s worth it.  We do schedule five minutes at the front door, but we also have long lunches and sometimes late nights when our dogs and children are settled somewhere else, that we’re able to sort what is happening now with work and family and focus on what we want to happen next.

When I saw his home for the first time I asked him, “Who did this?’

“Who did what?”

“Who decorated your place?”

“I don’t know what you mean.  I did.”

It was unexpected. As is always the case with seeing someone’s home, it gave me an insight that was unavailable chatting at a gallery or talking across a table.  Loads of books, clean lines, warm leather and dark metal showed me he was curious and had a good eye. That he’d found five vintage desk lamps to light his bookcase meant he was either good for the hunt or had incredible luck. The scattering of pictures of his daughters on the refrigerator let me know that he was not all about aesthetics; family first.

When we talk about our future there are lots of things to consider.  But I won’t lie and tell you I never look around and think, “How is all of this going to work the Le Lac?”

My book reviews are coming late and short.  This is my round up of suggestions from the Fall season.

Dior and His Decorators: Victor Grandpierre, Georges Geffroy and the New Look by Maureen Footer for Vendome Press is simply stunning.  If you enjoy design history, this is an absolute don’t miss.

Nina Campbell Elegance and Ease by Gile Kime for Rizzoli New York is a delight.  The Art of Decoration was one of my first design books and I still have loads of tear sheets of her work.

Mary Randolph Carter is the very best person to write The Joy of Junk.  Remarkably talented, insightful and funny, her approach to junking is pure delight.  Lots of good advice on where and how to look.  Rizzoli 2018.

Kansas City Houses, 1885-1938 by Michael C. Kathrens for Bauer and Dean Publishers is essential for any KC house lover.  Chocked full of history of our neighborhoods, civic leaders and architects with remarkable pictures of the houses when they built and – when possible – today. An absolute treasure.