Well, of course it’s the last place you look, the old saw goes, as why would you keep looking once you’ve found it? One could assume, perhaps, that what the saying should be is that it’s the last place you’d think to look.  And then you did.  And there it was.

Such was the case as I was pouring over the the Wright catalogue for Italian Masterworks.  Having a weakness for dark hair, dark eyes and carbs, all things Italian tend to appeal and the contents of this catalogue were no exceptions.  It was a pleasant surprise to find this image of Mr. Ponti’s Distex lounge chair in such inspiring surroundings.

I’ve picked up some graphic, rather geometric, art lately.  I thought it might be just the thing for the family room, but it just hasn’t felt quite right.  Finding these pictures all framed in white on a neutral wall made everything clear.  More (when isn’t this the case with me?), all framed white.  Right?  Wright.  Grazie mille, Signore.

I was telling a friend yesterday that Frances Elkins and I have been having an on-going tete-a-tete about my office.  Ms. Elkins used her solarium as her home office as well, and she sat overlooking the walled garden that her brother, David Adler, designed for her.

My office is three walls of windows very similar to this, though they go nearly to the floor.  I was telling Ms. Elkins that I did not care for the style of the mullions on my windows; they are a bit arts and crafts for my taste and don’t relate to the house in any way.  She paused before pointing out that they are exactly the same as her windows, though hers had a further flourish.  This reassured me a bit as she knew it would.

In the spirit of solidarity I ordered a new white bamboo desk chair.  (She did not have white bamboo here, but I was sure that she would approve.)  It was happily in place when Bill came home from work.  “Is that comfortable?” he asked taking in the criss-crossed lattice of the back.  I stared back blankly and he nodded, “Never mind.”

He thinks it would be a fine idea, however, to buy a day bed to go underneath the windows on the long wall opposite my desk.  “You could read a book there.  Or nap.”  This made me wonder how he thinks I spend my day, but rather than take the bait I noted, “The only beings that would sleep there would be Dexter and Rosie.” “Well, that would be ok, wouldn’t it?”  It would, actually, as it would provide an excuse to hunt down two rope lamps to flank it.

I can feel my work improving already.

(By the way, if you think there is any chance that I could get the boys to say “solarium,” you are delusional.  I can’t even get them to say “sofa” though they have never heard me utter the word “couch.”  I blame the media.)

Image from Frances Elkins Interior Design, Stephen M. Salny, W.W. Norton & Co. 2005.

 “I want you to use the Retin A on your forehead every day.”

I stared back at my dermatologist and tried to decipher just what she was saying.  She’s equal parts clinical and personal, and I like her not just for her flawless skin which gives me hope.

“Oh.  Yes, well, the forehead isn’t really the problem, it’s my eyes.”

She arched one perfectly drawn brow in response.

“Yes, actually I’ve seen a plastic surgeon about it.  My eyelids are so heavy that unconsciously I am raising my eyebrows in order to lift them off of my lashes.  That’s what is causing the wrinkles.”

“It’s significant enough that I think your insurance might cover it.  You should check with your optometrist.”

Cut to a clandestine meeting in a neighborhood coffee shop where a friend said, “She could be right.  I think you should make an appointment.”  Neither woman said the word, “bad” as in “bad enough to be covered by insurance as your eyelids have dropped to the point that they are impeding your peripheral vision.”  But that is the case.

It’s not a surprise, really.  If you saw my father’s eyelids you would see where this is headed.  Still, as I stood in the kitchen and explained the stitches and the bruising to Bill he said, “Please don’t do it.”  I just can’t tell what would take more courage; the scalpel and the slice or the slow slide.

Living elegantly with a little wear was Princess Claude Ruspoli in, yes, Paris.  She was quite fond of antique fabrics, the patina of which adds to the allure of her apartment overlooking the Seine.  Architectural Digest, International Interiors, 1979; photography Pascal Hinous.