Tag Archives: Musings from the Dream House

Camp Closed

August 23, 2011UncategorizedMusings from the Dream HouseMrs. Blandings

It seems fitting to include this as we are just back to school. This follows up a post containing a “letter” from the boys to Mr. B which you can find here. This post originally appeared August 29, 2008.

Memorandum

Date: August 29, 2008

Re: Camp Closing Procedures

To: Staff

I’d like to thank everyone for another successful summer at Camp Blandings. Besides the usual transition issues, the summer seemed to go well. In general, the maturity of the campers seemed slightly better than last year. We can only hope this continues to be the trend, but as we phase in a teen-agers over the next two years it’s best to not be too optimistic.

In order to be better prepared for next year’s campers I am recommending the following:

A consistent policy on swim team. The responsible party needs to be clear, either campers are always expected to go practice or practice is completely optional and attendance is determined by the whim of the camper, generally based on who will be there and what kind of snacks might be provided. This year’s counselor was greatly influenced by her own level of interest and energy which was based on who would be there and what snacks would be provided. We need stronger leadership in this area.

It might be helpful if next year’s counselor were a little more willing to spend time outside. It is hot and it is buggy, but a more positive disposition might be in order.

While archery and marksmanship are not part of the regular curriculum, perhaps we should explore their addition to the schedule next year. There seems to be a high level of camper interest in shooting, spearing and wrecking things. Along this line, I believe pyrotechnics would be a popular offering.

There are a few general maintenance items that need to be wrapped up as well.

The sofa pillows in the mess tent are trashed. While each camper claimed, “I didn’t do anything!” all pillows are literally coming apart at the seams. Please see they are repaired by the upholsterer immediately.

We are missing roughly 47 balls, the breakdown being something like this: 24 baseballs, 7 playground balls various sizes, 6 lacrosse balls, 8 golf balls and two tennis balls that were mainly used for playing with the camp hound. Before restocking for next year please check all window wells, flower beds (especially the hydrangea and azalea bushes) and neighboring property. They didn’t walk away by themselves, folks.

The piles of books by campers’ beds must be re-shelved. Keeping campers supplied with books was often challenging, but I think we did a fine job. Still, cabin floors need to be cleared so one can at least, well, walk through the room.

The policy of keeping the session free of worksheets and study guides seemed to work well for campers and counselors alike. I recommend next year’s staff replicate this year’s staff’s encouragement of brain deterioration and spotty retention.

Thank you, again, for your help with a wonderful summer session. As we say every year, “It went so fast.” We hope to see you next year.

Image, above, a view of the sunset on the inlet in Sag Harbor from the patio of our big city friend’s home. It is all that it appears.

The Significance of Chintz Curtains

August 22, 2011UncategorizedMusings from the Dream House, Vintage DesignMrs. Blandings

Last week it was all about the women; this week I plan to revisit posts featuring Blandings boys young and old. This post originally appeared October 7, 2009.

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.

Great Sets

August 19, 2011UncategorizedMusings from the Dream HouseMrs. Blandings

Thank you for the responses to the posts this week. I’ve chosen to end on an up note; for those of you who were interested in my relationship with my mother and had not read the essay, “Growing Up,” it is here.

I was late to Mad Men but now I am January Jonesing for the return. This post originally appeared March 11, 2009.

Maybe it’s because of this, but I’m a little weary of the straight and sleek.

Troubling times call for a little lift.

Follow my mother’s advice – you may not be able to change your life, but you can always change your hair.

A shampoo and set or some such thing. Some bounce. An errant curl to toss out of your eye.

Make sure it’s a bit of mess to show you’re not too much of a good girl. The time is right.

Image, top, January Jones and Jon Hamm from Mad Men used without permission, but much gratitude, from AMC, Ingrid Bergman, Sofia Loren, Grace Kelly and Elizabeth Taylor, all from IMDB.

Roots of Addiction

August 17, 2011Uncategorizeddesign books, Musings from the Dream HouseMrs. Blandings

I mention that the Mrs. Livengood of this post was one of my mother’s best friends; I later realized she was one of mine. It was her birthday yesterday and I thought we would throw some good wishes her way. Krissy appeared in the previous post; she was helping me open my birthday presents. This post originally appeared October 15, 2009.

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.

My Mother Was a Crazy Person

August 16, 2011UncategorizedMusings from the Dream HouseMrs. Blandings

I had my cards read at a birthday party I attended in May. The reader asked me about my relationship with my mother and I told him that she had died nineteen years ago. “She was unstable,” I told him. “She is not unstable now,” he replied, “And you need to honor her.” He suggested planting a tree or some such thing. Going through old posts I noticed how often I mention her; the rest of this week will be a small tribute. This post was originally published May 9, 2008.

I could have also titled this “A Tale of Many Sofas” but it seemed important not to bury the lead. My mother was, indeed, crazy. Not, she always said, “Healthy people take the stairs!” (like I do) but really crazy. I’d love to put a name on it for you, but there doesn’t seem to be one. Clinically depressed with a soupcon on paranoia, or something close. I’m going to tell you now that she died sixteen years ago. I always hate it when someone asks a question about my mother and I have to say she’s dead. It’s not upsetting for me, but it’s so awkward for the inquirer. You know, because people are generally nice and mothers dying is bad.

She was aesthetically focused for sure. The picture, above, was taken in Atlanta and I have no memory of it ever being that cold there. Clearly, this was all about the look. My mother loved clothes. A lot. And shoes. She was a smidge taller than I am, close to 5’10” and she wore a size 6 shoe. Like her feet had been bound as a child. When we cleaned out her closet after she died she had beautiful shoes from size 5 to about an 8.5. I mean, a deal’s a deal.

She read a lot and she read a lot of magazines but I don’t remember any shelter magazines. She was creative and stylish, but I didn’t think house stuff was really her thing. I sort of had an impression that she got things the way she liked it then left it alone for five or ten years or so. Then I started going through pictures.

The picture with my dad, above, was taken in “the apartment.” That squarish sofa with its jazzy geometric upholstery very nearly screams 1965. It made the move in it’s original fabric to the new house.

Within a year it was recovered, maybe slip-covered in this solid, nubbyish linen. I think it’s sporting a contrast welt. (I jumped off of a couple of pillows and hit my head on this coffee table. I still wear the scar.)

I have no memory of the floral chair in the background and it is never seen again. Banished. (Note the Victorian crystal lamp; it resides in my living room now.)

Ah, Spring. Apparently blue floral was the way to go, but in the curtains and not the chair. That was all wrong. So, curtains up, nifty new chair. And, yes, jazzy p.j.’s if I do say so myself.

This is my birthday, mid August, 1970. Same sofa.

And then, within two weeks, gone. Black leather, with a chair to match is in its place.

My parents got divorced and we moved from this house in ’72, so a new set of sofas appeared within two years. And curtains and a rug.

And this floral chair, which I think might be ingrained in my subconcious, because I think I love it. But I don’t remember it or any of its predecessors. I do, however, remember receiving that Scarlett O’Hara Madame Alexander doll. She graced my shelf for years.

The sofas made the transition to the townhouse in Tulsa and stayed the rest of her life. They were recovered maybe twice in the next twenty years. The thing about being crazy is, it didn’t necessarily diminish all the other things she was. Smart, funny, creative. She was fabulously unstable, but she was also just plain fabulous. She came by her craziness naturally as her mother was crazy, and yes, I do understand the implication. I just hope someday one boy takes the time to sit down and sift through the pictures and take note. Of themselves, of my craziness or the sofas. Moms are like that. We need to be remembered.