So many magazines arrived on Monday that they had to be heaped inside the storm door rather than dropped through the slot.  A good day.  Carefully sitting down to lunch with my stack (which one first – start here, go slow) I welcomed two happy surprises.  Town & Country, to which I subscribe for the jewelry ads and articles, has several very good home features. And, Elle Decor, to which I subscribe for the heavenly homes, had a big, fat jewelry feature on Jean Schlumberger.

R. Louis Bofferding tells us a tale in Elle Decor that Kitty Miller, Duarte Pinto-Coelho and Billy Baldwin, legendary bon vivants, were discussing what the contents of a lady’s bag reveals about her.  (What else would you be discussing in the ’60’s sipping Bloody Marys in Majorca?)  Tipping Miller’s bag produced a cascade of Jean Schlumberger goodies, “cigarette lighter, cigarette case, powder box, lipstick case – everything you can imagine.” recalled Baldwin.

It does, indeed, say a lot about Mrs. Miller.  What then, friends, would the contents of my bag say about Mrs. Blandings?  Phone, Mason Pearson brush, vintage Wayfarers (I charged them to my dad while in college and received an earful,) three lipsticks, all different brands, all the same color, calendar, Moleskin, paint chips, workout schedule (I grab one nearly every time to eliminate my excuse of not knowing when the classes are,) two pens, a pencil (I can be manic about having a writing instrument,) a jazzy little J. Crew card case that has become my wallet as it holds business cards, check card and driver’s license (I never seem to have cash anyway) and three Legos.  My bag usually holds my camera, too, but I was, well, using it to take the picture.  While this might seem a bit styled, you can be assured that it is not, as I would have never chosen a green Lego.  And I can’t believe there were only three.

I’m a bit envious of Mrs. Miller.

Center photo Town & Country, October 2008.  Photograph by Gabriella Imperatori – Penn.  The enameled bracelets in the bottom left of the image are Jean Schlumberger for Tiffany, just to give you and idea of what filled Kitty Miller’s bag.  The Smythson aqua Deluxe Five Drawer jewelry box would be such a happy home for one’s baubles.

Quite a while ago, I posted some polo stools from 1st dibs that would be just the thing for the soccer mom in denial.

“My dear,” said her husband, the cob, one afternoon, “do you never find your duties onerous or irksome?  Do you never tire of sitting in place and in one position, covering the eggs, with no diversions, no pleasures, no escapades, or capers?  Do you never suffer from boredom?”

“No,” replied his wife.  “Not really.”

“Isn’t it uncomfortable to sit on eggs?”

“Yes, it is,” replied the wife.  “But I can put up with a certain amount of discomfort for the sake of bringing young swans into the world.”

So, now I have one week under my belt.  I’d like to say I ran to sloth, lolled around and wallowed in my solitude.  But I did not.  I began the great Blandings purge.  I am shamed by the amount of stuff that has accumulated.  The amount of stuff that has made it’s way in while, apparently, nothing has made it’s way out.

That being said, the expanse of unstructured time has freed my mind a bit.  I had visited this bench a few times and pined for it, but I did not have a good spot.  I have a lucite stool in front of my fireplace, and the room needs it, otherwise it will tip to something more like showroom aesthetic.  Unpleasant.  Then, inspiration struck.

Part of the restructuring has been a commitment to keep my vanity tidy.  Messy, don’t forget, I tend to pile this handy spot with clothes, both dirty and clean, as they are shed.  Then, once a week or so (maybe twice) I sort and return things to their appropriate spot.

You would think this would drive Mr. Blandings crazy as it is the first thing you see upon entering the bathroom.  When asked, he replied, “Honey, it’s just what you do.”  Which is the kind of thing that defines him as a much nicer person than I; in a similar situation, it’s unlikely that that would be my response.  So I’ve placed a few things here to deter the heaping and, so far so good.  (I’m out of silver polish, in case you hadn’t noticed.)

I recently played ring-around-the-rosie with some light fixtures and moved this crystal pendant here.  Which I like, but it made me realize the whole thing needs a bit of spiffing up.  The sheer was existing and the stool moved from the old house – a “temporary” space filler, still there eight years later.  Eureka!  Chinoiserie stool, plain sheer and a mirror, done.  Except the chinoiserie bench is sold and my heart is broken.  Darn.

Then, looking for bottles or jars to place upon the bathroom shelf at Curious Sofa, I ran across this charming bench.  Perfect!  Just the thing to replace the coffee table, whose lip cuts into the back of your heel when you place your feet upon it to watch TV.

Just the right size, the patina is great, works with the ticking of the sofa.

Sadly, all wrong with the rest.  The color was a smidge too gray, it’s chic shabbiness was all off with the tub chairs and the tiger striped child’s chair.  Reluctant to give her up, I tried to find her a home with a particularly stylish friend, but she was a tad too big for the space.  After much consternation, back she went. 

Darn, again.

“Children,” he began, “I have news for you.  Summer is drawing to a close.  Leaves are turning red, pink and pale yellow.  Soon the leaves will fall.  The time has come for us to leave this pond.  The time has come for us to go.”

“Go?” cried all the cygnets except Louis.

“Certainly,” replied their father.  “You children are old enough to learn the facts of life, and the principal fact of our life right now is this: we can’t stay in this marvelous location much longer…All things come to an end.  It is time for us to go.”

If you have never read Trumpet of the Swan by E. B. White you are missing something special.  Read it.  If you have the opportunity to read it aloud to a child, rejoice.  I am reading this to the youngest and a work of fantasy to the oldest, and while I enjoy both books, White’s prose sings while the other clunks.  It is a book to not be missed.  

The old ones, a sort of faux something, had a great grey color, but were deteriorating quickly, crumbling on the bottom.

These are metal, both the frame and the liner, and powder coated, so they should hold up for the long haul.  Which is good, because even half-filled with styrofoam peanuts, dirt and yews they weight about 50 bagillion pounds, or so estimated the youngest.

Being a lover of presents, I have no problem buying one for myself.  I emailed Hollister Hovey recently as I had become fixated on riding boots.  Real ones, not, say, J.Crew.  Which is funny, because this is just the kind of thing I would usually abhor.  Safari jackets for explorers, diving watches for divers, riding boots for equestrians.  But Hollister has captivated me with her style and I simply had to have them.

One friend warned that dress boots are not made to walk in necessarily and hinted they might not be so comfortable in dashing about town.  Undeterred, I headed out to CM Tack.  Oh, the wonder of a spot like this, unparalleled by even hardware and art supply stores.  A most delightful woman patiently helped me.  I had to have zippers as I am a bit claustrophobic and the pull on models were giving me the heebie-jeebies.  I also learned that I have “healthy calves” a new euphemism to apply to my aging parts.  

I brought them home and wore them around the house.  The initial fit revealed a lot about the evolution and practicality of the goose step.  In addition, I now understand why those WASP-y and elegant riders appear in photographs sanguine with legs outstretched and carelessly crossed at the ankle.  If you think I returned them to their over-sized box you are wrong.  After an hour the leather was already beginning to soften and give and, frankly, they had captured my heart before I’d even pulled them from the box.  

Form over function you say?  Perhaps, but I say “Hurry up Fall.”