Tag Archives: Musings from the Dream House

At a Loss for Words

July 3, 2012UncategorizedMusings from the Dream HouseMrs. Blandings

I’m not going to say that I’m putting this thing to bed as I’ve seen other bloggers do that in the past to find themselves quietly crawling back onto their soap box with a gentle, “ahem.” At the very least I hoped to make it to mid-August, Mrs. Blandings’s five year anniversary, before taking a good long break. But I find I have nothing to say. What used to be pure joy, truly a giddy, gleeful release, is now something of a chore, like making your bed when you are a teenager. “What’s the point?” lingering in the background.

I strolled into blogging and was stunned to find a community of people who could recognize designers’ work at a glance. I was grateful to be welcomed into the conversation and thrilled that anyone besides my husband was interested in reading. In the beginning I wrote as an exchange with a handful of bloggers: Courtney, Jennifer and Megan being of the first to be friends. That anyone has stopped here and stayed to read these ramblings of home is nothing beyond remarkable.

I can’t possibly express how grateful I am to the designers and editors who have graciously answered my emails over the last few years; I am forever in your debt.

I may jump back in now and again – it may be best to subscribe by email if you are interested in future posts.

postscript: You will, of course, continue to be able to find me in Spaces Kansas City and archdigest.com.

Image, above, the immensely talented Nick Olsen, featured in July/August Veranda; photography Melanie Acevedo, produced by Olga Naiman.

Want Need Have

June 18, 2012UncategorizedMusings from the Dream House, ResourcesMrs. Blandings

I like things a lot. I don’t think of it as an admirable trait. In fact, I fear it’s shallow, too rooted in the physical world and while I don’t worry much about my status in the great beyond, I think I could be spending my energy and resources better in the here and now.

I don’t know if that is why I so often pass on something I see and want, why I pick it up and set it down thinking, “I don’t really need that.” It would be all fine and good if that is where it stayed, but what happens, a lot – more than I’d like – is that the thing takes up residence in my consciousness and refuses to leave. A squatter, noisy and with a habit of poking, it won’t go away.

So I go back. Back to the thing. There are three possible outcomes: it is there and I was right the first time – I don’t need it; it is gone and is immediately elevated to “the best thing there ever was” that I now cannot have and mourning begins; or, we meet again and angels sing and I cough up what ever it takes to bring that wonderful thing, the thing that even in the not having has already brought me both torture and delight, home.

This happened to me recently in Atlanta. Both Sid and Ann Mashburn’s shops had been recommended by every stylish person who advised me on where to go when I was there. I could not stop thinking about these black African beads at Ann Mashburn’s. I had a picture of them on my computer and I kept pulling it up and thinking, “I really do like those. I’d wear them a lot, I’m pretty sure. They’re not expensive. Three? Five?” So I went to the site and while there were lots of pretty beads, no black. Clicking further, I also realized what I really wanted, needed as well, was this lightweight wool scarf to stave off the chill of relentless air conditioning.

I do hate to be a bother, but I rang them up and was flooded with relief to know the beads were still there. A very nice young woman popped them in the mail and I had them by the end of the week.

The scarf has a lovely hand, drapes like silk and is long enough to wrap but not so wide as to be cumbersome. The beads are light as air and fall to at just the right length and I was pleased with how they look against tan skin (add vanity to greed and lust – a lot of deadly sins for three skinny strands.)

I just can’t stop thinking that maybe I need two more.

Part Two of my visit to Atlanta is now up at archdigest.com here. Do take a moment to visit Sid and Ann Mashburn’s site here.

Of Mice and Men and Me

May 21, 2012UncategorizedMusings from the Dream HouseMrs. Blandings

When I came down to feed the dogs last Thursday, I noticed that a small hole, gnawed by a small creature, had appeared over night. About an inch away, under the rug, was a piece of dog food. While I cursed his destruction, I also felt a little sorry that the guy had worked so hard and still gone to bed without supper.

When Bill came down I showed him the evidence and he said, “Looks like we have a mouse.”

We’ve been through this before. “I don’t think we have ‘a mouse’. One. Do you?”

“Yes, I do. I’ll set a trap tonight.”

And he did. Before we were both settled in bed we heard the snap. He could not have looked more victorious if he had slain a bison to get us through the winter. He went to check.

“Do you have a shoebox?”

I looked up from my book, “Well, yes. Are you going to bury him?”

“No. It’s just. He’s not dead yet.”

“There’s one in my car.” (No explanation needed I’m sure.)

He returned sheepish and wincing.

“Did you get him?”

“No, he got away.”

“Did you reset the trap?”

“Um, no.”

“Ick. Now I’m going to be worried that he’s going to be dashing across the kitchen every time I’m in there.”

“Don’t worry, if you see him in the kitchen he will be running in circles.”

“What? Why?”

“He’s missing an eye. The trap hit him, it just…”

“Stop, stop, stop!” I said, eyes closed, faced turned away. Killing him brought no qualms; maiming him was unthinkable.

“I still think you should reset the trap.”

“Really?”

“Well, I do think he has friends.”

“You won’t see them tomorrow.”

“Why not?”

“They’ll all be on a deathbed vigil,” he assured me as he snapped off the light.

Out of Office Reply

March 23, 2012UncategorizedMusings from the Dream House, Out and AboutMrs. Blandings

We arrived in Florida late on undesirable flights due to a mix-up I had made with dates. Because of the mix-up and its late discovery, we stayed the first night in a hotel in Sarasota that resembled a Quentin Tarantino movie set less the contrived lighting.

It’s a short drive to Boca Grande from Sarasota. Driving on Florida highways always makes me wonder where people live. Real people. The people who are accountants and bankers and not fishing guides and small shop owners. I have a skewed perception of coastal highways that open up to beach towns with nothing in between.

The last few years we have arrived around the same time and driven straight to a favorite haunt for lunch. This year, as the waitress began to hand us our menus Bill said, “I think we pretty much know what we want.” “How many years in Boca?” We both turned to look at our oldest and said, “Fifteen. Give or take a few in the middle.” And I wondered, “Don’t you know us? Don’t we look familiar to you? We belong here.”

We spent the day at the beach. When the boys grew hungry and headed back to eat I stayed to finish Middlemarch, George Eliot treating me better than Austen ever has. At the house I showered with different soap and towels that smelled wrong and blew my hair with a dryer without enough heat. All of these things would be unforgivable at home, vexing and bothersome. At home these details are reminders of shortcomings, of things undone, errands not run. They are reminders of an imperfect life. On vacation they are negligible. Nuance. Insignificant compared to the sun and the release.

I have learned small things about myself on vacation. I like to walk to town for the paper and coffee and bread. That fresh blueberries are delicious. That having music on during the day is delightful. Being away is wonderful in its own right, but the best of it is coming back better.

Heavens, I did not mean to be away so long. A couple of projects kept me before we left and then I tried to unplug as much as possible while we were gone. My apologies to Iris and anyone who noticed my absence and was concerned. All is well, if somewhat messy and unorganized. I should be back on track next week.

To Twee or Not to Twee

February 13, 2012UncategorizedMusings from the Dream HouseMrs. Blandings

I posted this on the same day three years ago. I am pretty level-headed, not one for sap, but I do love Valentine’s Day. It allows us to gush, encourages us to romance and ensures we need not make excuses for sentiment.

I just read a friend’s blog post describing her back and forth with Valentine’s Day. Commercial, jaded and grown-up v. romantic, inspired and whimsical. Most of us experience a little of both. I love having fresh flowers in the house but flinch when presented with a florist’s bouquet on Valentine’s Day as I know the cost, while equal to the sentiment, was inflated. Especially with roses. So, while my male readers may be small in number, I offer some advice.

Choose another flower, one that can be purchased reasonably, sometimes at the market, and make your words your gift. It is often tricky to say something sappy aloud, especially if your relationship has progressed pass the first bloom. It is much easier to write.

Tell her she is as feminine and complex as French anemones. (Let me stress complex. Don’t get muddled and say complicated as this will surely start a row.)

Tell her your heart bursts with the joy of lilies each time she enters a room.

Tell her she is as elegant and fresh as the day you married her with an all-white bouquet as a reminder of her bridal gown whether you saw it sixteen years ago or sixteen months ago.

Tell her the bend in the stem of the tulip reminds you of the curve of her neck as she leans over the crib.

Or take her a fistful of color wrapped in ribbon and tell her how happy you are that you are bound together. The flowers will enchant her in the short term; the note, which surely if she is a woman worth having, she will keep forever. And every time she finds it tucked in a drawer she will feel the blush of this Valentine’s Day all over again.

You might even get lucky.

Images from top: roses, unknown, but I think House Beautiful, French anemones – which are not inexpensive, I don’t think, but beyond beyond- Vogue, lilies and Todd Romano Elle Decor June-July 2001. Photo by Pieter Estersohn, white bouquet, hmmm..no idea, tulips, unidentified H&G, tulips, again, Southern Accents some time ago. Clearly, my entertaining file could use some due diligence. This last arrangement I have used again and again in a tea caddy with both colorful flowers and all white. Pretty, and pretty easy.