I’m a copy cat. I’d love to think I have a bit of creative genius, but what I really am is a style thief. Sometimes as I am tearing (literally) through the magazines I pull something just because it makes me gasp. And then sometimes I think, “I want that.” or “Heck, I can do that.”

And then sometimes I do. Technically I did not copy the wall color, above, but I adored it and knew I’d use it someday. Then I bought the dream house, and the kitchen was already this color.

Kismet. What are the chances? The artist we bought the house from had created the color herself. I know because there are many quarts of a little bit bluer and a little bit greener in my basement. It is the most cheerful, and as I spend 90% of my waking hours here, it should be.

This is from a old Sarah Gayle Carter rug add from the ’90s.

Remember Mr. Blandings is the great outdoors man (opposites attract) so I stitched this pillow for the den in the old house. I loved the graphic nature of the rug, but it was a bit much for the room. The pillow was a bit of a compromise.

House and Garden spotlighted this product a while back. I used it on the coffee table in the kitchen, the front door and the interior kitchen door. I’m a bit chicken; I’d like to do all the interior doors, but…well, I’m chicken.

Kate Spade has black interior doors in her New York apartment. And she’s from Kansas City. So that makes us….different in almost every way.

This little Dessin Fournir number caught my eye a couple of years ago. I have a guideline that I follow before I bring new pieces into the house. If I would totally lose it if the boys ruin it, then it’s not invited. (Don’t bring up the Fornasetti tables; rules were made to be broken.) So, the jazzy Rateau Coffee Table with the iron base/silver leaf finish with Macasser ebony top with gold and silver leaf decoration was not to be.
But there was this quirky little shop in Brookside that carried iron tables that you could tile. Cheap. So I bought the base, gold leafed it and tiled the top with a really great, and indestructible Bisazza tile.

Here is a vintage image of Nina Campbell’s bathroom. I could not get over the tortoise wallpaper. It’s especially lovely here as it makes you feel like you are in a rare box. With a little ivory trim. (Look closely, that might be Girl About Town, Rita Konig in the snap on the wall.)

Before we moved into the dream house, we had the luxury of getting the downstairs walls painted and papered before we moved in. I’m not sure Mr. Blandings felt like paying two mortgages was a luxury, but it worked for me. The house has a lot of color, certainly, and even I could see it needed a bit of a neutral somewhere. The dining room is almost perfectly square and a bit dark. Even though it has a south exposure, we have a very large crab apple right in front of the window.

When the sample was laying out, the elder Mr. Blandings pointed out to me that my choice was, well, brown. I told him it reminded me of David Hicks. You should only copy from the best.

A sampling of the ten (I’m not kidding) quarts – ok and a few gallons.

Uh-huh, I resorted to mixing myself.

My home brew.

I could hang a banner, “Crazy person lives here.” but I’m into abstract expressionism. We are going with the furthest patch to the right.

Oh, my. I recovered Mr. Blandings grandmother’s chair in this blue and white ticking fifteen years ago. It was in our previous house and the room was the very best navy blue that I copied from my friend, Mrs. Milledge’s, dining room.

When we moved to this house it wasn’t right for the office anymore, but I was busy with toddlers and babies and so she waited patiently for a suitable reupholstery.

As is often the case, sometimes you have to have a complete breakdown to get any attention at all. So, office chair did the only thing she knew how to do and came to pieces completely. It wasn’t her fault; she’d been neglected for years.

While darling Rosie began to tear at her stuffing, I draped any number of tweeds and wools and herringbones over her back, but none seemed to suit. Part of the problem is that in my plan, this room will eventually have antelope carpet and everything was looking a little brown.

And then someone, I think Peak of Chic or maybe Stylecourt, did a post on Chinoiserie and it hit me. Not camel, not brown, not more red. Turquoise, aqua, robin’s egg blue.

I’d been hanging onto this memo of Ralph Lauren glazed linen for a long, long time. I’ve moved it here, moved it there, but I think it likes this chair. Red contrast welt, a few buttons, nail head trim. I’m calling the upholsterer this week. She’s been so patient, I think she deserves it.

I picked up the Fornasetti tables today and absolutely adore them. It’s funny how your taste adapts. The black tops with the seashell decoupage were sure to be a hit, but I have never liked shiny brass. And yet, on these tables, they are just the right thing.
I see the one under the tulip watercolors that I bought in Boca Grande on vacation with my boys, next to the French chair of my husband’s grandmother, and it all seems just right. Coming down the stairs to let Rosie out in the morning the reflection from the sun coming in through the South window sends out a bit of a sparkle. Yes, perfection.

Except. Except that I have a strong predilection toward symmetry and pairing and now it looks like we are stock piling furniture for Noah. Three pairs of chairs, check. Two pairs of tables, check. A pair of lamps, a pair of planters, a pair of cream ware dishes, check, check, check. The black chairs flanking the windows – recently given to me by a dear friend who just moved to San Francisco – might need to move. They are charming, and handy for a party, but it is starting to look a smidge manic.

But for now we will just say, “Welcome to the Ark, Piero” and hope he feels how much he’s adored here.

I know this isn’t a peony – it’s a chrysanthemum – be patient.

I tore this image from somewhere, likely Southern Accents, no less than a million years ago. I felt like I was inside the garden. Not looking at it, but a part of it. And, since I don’t really like to go outside, my immediate thought was, “Someone should paint a room like this.” So I saved it.

And then, one hundred thousand years later, I bought a house that has a peony hedge. They must have been pretty common in my neighborhood at one time, because several remain. If I were a flower, I might be a peony. You know, a little showy.

So, anyway, again in an unlabeled Southern Accents came this:

Oh, and then I turned the page.

So. I have this little powder room at the front of my house. Just to the right as you are looking at the front door.

Tiny. Almost no grown man could walk into it and turn around. (Warning: the sight of this bathroom might be offensive to some viewers. Please be advised.)

The concept is something like this – black, matte tile on the floor,

mirrored wall to the right with a marble ledge

and a tiny, tiny nickel bar sink

wall mount faucet,

and a diminutive chandelier my parents bought on their honeymoon in New Orleans in 1963.

And four-foot tall peonies on the remaining walls. Yes?