Tag Archives: Musings from the Dream House

Fall Reruns

Oh, yes, Fall is supposed to be about new shows and new shoes, but a couple of folks have asked to see pictures of the house before we move. While I feel like it is all out there already, it is not all in one place. In fact, just putting this together required hunting and pecking through files and blog posts.

Here is my hand-drawn-not-to-scale and likely-inaccurate floor plan. I can’t really visualize houses based on floor plans, but I know some people can (like my husband) so I am including it to provide a little perspective for those who think that way. (What? You were expecting 1/4″ = 1′ and that super-cool architect’s handwriting? Honestly, I wish I worked like that.)

Front hall – Dash and Albert runner, do-it-yourself color blocks and the rug that Rosie wrecks every single day.

Coat closet – channeling Dorothy Draper. A tiny, little bit.

Powder room – this was a last minute spif.

Living room – I did a little shifting in the last few weeks. We purchased a new TV and the chest that was formerly here seemed like a better fit than what we had in the kitchen. Then the dominos began to fall. Dining room tables and mirrors moved here and the dining room was once again (always) barren and sad.

South view – and my favorite of the three configurations over ten years. Also, the briefest.


Office – Sorry, Toad, the rug is coming with.

The National Disaster that is my Dining Room.

Sitting area in the kitchen. That armoire is now upstairs holding books in the boys’ room. Was. The books are all packed. Mr. Blandings, in a move that rivals his rants about how many apples the boys eat, had groused a bit about the number of boxes of books that have been loaded into the container.

Kitchen eating area – with beloved Cherner chairs. They swivel. They are a bevy of gals with the nipped waists and the full skirts doing the twist. I adore them.

Kitchen bath – behind the door is a make-shift mudroom with cubbies and hooks. (Margaret Russell said once, somewhere, in relation to Steven Gambrel’s powder room in the last Sag Harbor house, that it is tricky to photograph bathrooms without showcasing the toilet. Clearly, I didn’t manage it; I’ve done it twice in one post.)


Our bedroom is sort of where furniture goes to die. It was always the step-child of the house.

These pictures were taken once we readied it for the buyers to see, so, per all how-to-sell-your-house tips, we had removed all personal pictures and items. It looks incredibly spare to me.

The sitting room – these chairs are basically staging. There were other, shabbier, more comfortable chairs in here to facilitate TV viewing that are now in the basement. I inherited these from a friend and this is the original upholstery. They will be recovered, someday, when we land in a new spot.

Master bath

with one sink. This was the only drawback that Mr. Blandings could find the first time he saw the house. Just this week, ten years later, he said, “It really wasn’t that big of a deal.”

This room has changed, as you may know, from nursery to teen-ager room. Unfortunately, I did not get a picture of the new set up before tear down.

Play room – I may live to stamp again. I loved this project.

The littler boys’ room,

dressing area
and bath.

Normally this is where we would start, out back, for drinks and snacks. The whole lot is a jumbly mess right now, so it is nice to see each room when it was at its best. We have not confirmed where we are going. Through the power of the universe and the internet we will be held at a friend’s who is on an adventure of her own. No better place to be on-hold than a spot where she coaxed me through the first stages of my oldest putting his toe outside the nest.
From there we will see what comes next.
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A Fond Farewell

This may not seem significant to you, but this is the end of an era. This gas station, Prairie Village 66 and before that Prairie Village Standard, is a neighborhood icon. Was. Mr. Blandings’s family has known the owners from way back and we go out of our way to get our gas here because, well, that is what we do. Did. We took our cars to Roney’s for gas and air and tires, but we also took them there when something was wrong, something that we knew they couldn’t fix, knowing that they would send us somewhere good and fair. Because, well, that is what they did.

One of my best friend’s husband has a flat and while they run their own company, well, they are a little befuddled about what to do now that Roney’s isn’t there. The lever that pops open my mother-in-law’s gas tank has been stuck for months, little trouble as the guys at Roney’s knew how to open it without a hitch. You may see her driving around town with that little door flung open. Helpless.
I know it will be one of those things I will continue to refer to, one of those things the boys will tease me about, “Mom, Roney’s hasn’t been there for thirty years,” as my friend teases his mother who still refers to Stix Baer Fuller.
But they will remember it, too, because they envy not just Mr. Roney but his son as well. To my boys, at least, very few things could be cooler than owning a gas station. How could you beat fixing things with your hands, having a legitimate reason to be dirty, while your friends stop in to get their oil changed, leaning on the counter for longer than they should while the fumes of gas and oil and hot cement drift in through the open door? The fact that the coffee resembled discarded WD-40 mattered not.
The thing that I love about this town is the same thing I loathe; it feels like Mayberry. But a little less so today.
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An Open Letter to J. Crew

J., darling, you know we go way back and I wouldn’t ask you for a thing unless I really needed it. I appreciate your offering stylish pieces from other folks – it is absolutely so smart and generous. I do, truly, like the Timex currently on your pages.

It’s just, well, I’ve had this one in my files for so long. Those squares and dashes, gosh, they can’t be beat. That slightly luminous face? Can’t get it out of my mind. I have searched shops both thrift and vintage and antique malls, too, to no avail. This gent is quite elusive. I’d be forever grateful if you could put us in touch. Even catalogue only. Looking forward to seeing you this fall.
Mrs. Blandings

Image, top, via J. Crew; image, next, Traditional Home, October 2005.
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Sold.

We have hammered out all the details; the house is sold. Sold-ish, I suppose, but we close on the 25th and then it will be a done deal. Yes, the 25th of October. It was the date that worked best for the buyer and, in case you hadn’t heard, it is a buyer’s market. But it was also like pulling the band-aid off fast. Better to get it over with.
A couple of readers have asked why we are moving and it was the convergence of a few different factors. The economy, certainly, decades of white flight and Mr. Blandings’s homing instincts. Missouri’s public schools are in a horrible state, and our children have attended private school. As we are selecting a high school for our oldest, it suddenly seemed significant that there is an outstanding public high school just across the state line in Kansas. Requiring us to move approximately five blocks. The school also happens to be Mr. Blandings’s alma mater. The younger boys will stay where they are and, assuming it is a good fit, the oldest will walk the halls his father walked, which is often how things work around here.
We’d planned to put the house on the market a little later in the fall, but these lovely people sort of landed at our doorstep. We have been looking, though we do not have a house. We are, momentarily, homeless. (“Not really ‘homeless,’ says the oldest, ‘yet.’) Surprisingly, the middle boy, the one who feels everything first and fiercest, thinks it is so “exciting.” I am following his lead.
As it turns out, it wasn’t the house that was the dream, it was the family, and they are coming with me. Along with the curtains.
Spotty posts and pictures to follow.
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Spin the Wheel

This week has been a bit of a meander with no discussion of interior design, so let’s finish it up that way and perhaps I’ll reboot for next week. Not to go too long without pulling something from a magazine, I bring you Belief-O-Matic via O, the Oprah Magazine. A quick-ish (though be prepared for a million pop-ups) quiz to help you figure out where you fall in the spiritual spectrum. Before you click off in a huff, I am not making fun. Mary Karr’s latest book, Lit, landed in my lap at a time when putting some framework around my belief system has seemed significant. Hitherto, I’ve cobbled together what I believe like I gather book advice, sort of scribbled notes that I find months later at the bottom of a bag. Something that I thought about that I meant to get back to.

In Lit, Karr describes her journey through alcoholic recover to Catholicism without making me blanch. Me, who flips closed the lifestyle section of the Saturday paper a page early to avoid the Beliefs section. After twenty questions, here are the Belief-O-Matic’s picks for me:

This is interesting and amusing only because my friend, the chicken sex expert, has been trying to set me up with the Unitarian church for a couple of years.

The bottom five contained no surprises, though I did say, “I told you so,” to my deceased mother at the last place finish of the religion of my youth. Still, I bear the Church no grudge; She provided a framework I value still.
Click over and see what comes up. I keep telling Mr. Blandings that I think we should both set up profiles on Match.com to see if a computer would set us up. So far, he’s declined. (Speaking of chickens.) This could be a little bit like that. In any event, your boss could hardly get mad at your taking an online survey about religion.
Also, the biggest ads? CB2 and One King’s Lane. Maybe there is some correlation between spiritual discovery and a quest for great glasses.
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