I was in New York last week and got home last night to piles of mail, hundreds of email messages and 152 blog posts to read (you were busy while I was away.) Oh, and to hear them tell it, the three best behaved children in the world.

I thought I’d be all caught up today but find the Family Fun Fest schedule and a soccer game over hill and dale after school will impeded a post even tomorrow. Certainly by Wednesday.

These images are stand alone pieces from a shop we visited. It is a pretty easy do-it-yourself. Most of the bulbs are not wired, but just looped over the grate from which they are suspended. The ones that are lit are wired directly into a box which rests on top of the grate and does not need to be hidden because it’s an industrial jumble already. There were about a dozen different kinds of bulbs. Figuring out which ones are burned out might take some concentration.

I asked permission to take the photo and was denied. The enchanting sales person then mumbled, “But I don’t have any control over what you do on the sidewalk,” and turned to straighten some stock. I like people like that.

He: Mmm…hmmm.

She: Maybe we should go ahead and plant the boxwood and hydrangea in the front.

He: What’s that?

She: The boxwood and hydrangea in the front. We could probably go ahead and plant them.

He: Oh.

She: We agreed, right? Or do you not think that is a priority right now?

He: Sure.

She: “Sure” we are on the same page with the planting or “sure” now is a good time?

He: We’ll see.

She: It’s not my crazy idea; it’s in the plan.

He: Oh? Where is the plan?

And so they both retreated to their corners, each stealthily eyeing the opponent and planning strategy for the next round.

Last week I received a call from Mr. Blandings’s aunt. She is something of a grande dame. She and her husband are movie star gorgeous. They look a bit like Lauren Bacall and William Powell. Only more stylish.

When we see them Mr. Blandings says, “I hope we look that good when we are their age.” And I say, “Darling, we don’t look that good now.” And he knows that it is true.

Clothes, as you know, are not so much my thing, but as I was talking to Mr. B’s aunt about Valentino she said, “Oh, I have a bunch of old stuff you could have. Too bad you’re so tall.” Never in my life, not for two seconds, not even when I had a crush on a pre-growth-spurt boy have I ever wished I were shorter. Until then.

But I went last week to see the “stuff” as she assured me she had a seamstress who could work wonders as well. Her house, well, her house is simply stunning and I try not to gawk when I am there but I don’t think I succeed. Like her clothes it is classic and chic but never boring.

She carefully pulled open the doors of the two closets in the spare room and we began to pile clothes on the beds. She told me stories of trunk shows and runway shows and shopping in New York. She recounted tales of parties large and small, of things she thought worked and things that didn’t quite when they arrived, and she told me of finagling a coat from Pat Buckley who had had it on hold.

“Take it, take it,” she said, “I’ll just end up giving it to the thrift shop.” She reminded me that this bounty did not come from a single spree, but years and years of careful investing. “I don’t think any of it looks dated,” she declared. And she was right.

There was not a pair of harem pants in the lot.

All illustrations by Virginia Johnson from Kate Spade’s Style.

I don’t even really like pink, but these are terrif. On the hunt (just looking…) I ran across this:

Not that I need any more turquoise and gold, but geez. And, in the six degrees thing, it is very similar to the ring Stanley Tucci wears as Paul Child, which you can see on Meg’s blog here.

Image, top, Bazaar, August 2009. And, I’ve lost the link for this particular ring (it’s been that sort of morning) but you can search for Gurhan and they pop up all over the place.

Everyday, like Scooby Doo when he sees the villain in the rubber mask, Rosie accordions the rug in the front hall when the mail carrier arrives. Everyday.

And everyday I straighten it out while she dashes through the house, hits the lever on the back door, runs around to the gate and barks until he gives her a dog biscuit. Every. Single. Day.