Books Have a Life of Their Own

M. B. Goffstein

Crossroads Recycled Lumber

This looks like a great place. Found them on the web a few days ago, called & spoke to Marc today, and a package with sample pieces is now winging it's way toward me.
All for a cabin project, a little house in the mountains that is coming along well . . . a real joy. The client's focus, delightfully enough, is to design the whole shebang in the most environmentally friendly way possible. It's a delight. Months ago, we installed soaring arched windows (from Whole House Building Supply) which once graced the facade of a classic San Francisco townhouse: those San Francisco windows now look out over a lushly wooded mountain top that reaches, just beyond sight, to the Pacific.
It's a mountain greenery, for sure.
I'll let you know when the samples arrive. (Thank you, Marc!)

the style saloniste

have you visited the style saloniste?
it's a wonderment
perfectly magnificent

Unclutterer: The Book Is Here

Unclutter Your Life in One Week just arrived yesterday. I've become a faithful reader of the blog, and can't wait to see if this is the sacred tome that will change my life. Let's keep our fingers crossed, shall we? Above, an office space that Erin posted. (I'm nowhere near this uncluttered. But hope doth spring eternal!)


On Life

Life is organic. Each task is part of the fabric.

Do it well & you are having fun.

M. B. Goffstein


Back in the Saddle

I love this book and believe
(if I am remembering correctly)
that it was almost impossible
to find a year or two ago.
Looks as 'tho it's back in town.
Thank Goodness.


Camp Meade 1917 [via Shorpy]

Some range!

Don't you just love the rakish toque
and saucy stance on the left?

The creased sleeve and defined posture
seem to offer subtle proof that style can
transcend the most unusual circumstance.

And then there's that killer flue.

[photo: via the always
spectacular SHORPY]

image for nifty close-up


Over the Backyard Fence

I was fifteen when we moved in next door, and babysat their children a few times. They had three little blond boys with an extreme amount of energy. Wore me out. Sweet kids. The youngest could ride a trike like nobody's business. Fast. Really fast. (He's an architect now.)

A couple of years later, on a muggy summer evening, my best friend and I permanently borrowed a couple of beers from their back yard cooler during a party. This would be no big deal, but i guess we were still in high school and a few months away from the legal beer-drinking age in Virginia. (I didn't remember this, but the Pilots did. It was a good story.)

The Pilots were our neighbors. Mike was a terrific gardener. An amazing dad. He had a laugh you'd never forget, perfectly marvelous.

I met their nephew one summer. Over the backyard fence. An interesting boy, visiting his aunt and uncle after science camp. He lived in Alaska, on a Aleutian Island (a Navy family). Nice kid. (Strange place to live, Alaska.) Cute, but (I thought) younger than I was. I was almost a junior in high school! So very worldly. Talked to him for a few minutes, walked back in the house. I'm sure I had such important things to do, and not a lot of time to visit with members of the neighbor's extended family.

Three years later, that boy was back in town. His aunt and my mom set us up: a blind date, the first for both of us. (I suppose if we had remembered meeting each other at the fence it wouldn't have been blind.) His family had relocated. He was going to the Naval Academy in the fall. He was still cute. Turns out we were actually the same age.

After the date, he drove me back to my house and my mother asked him if he wanted to stay for filled peppers. He said thank you. He loved filled peppers.


That boy is coming home for dinner in a few hours.

I wonder if I know how to make filled peppers? Would our four kids like them as much as their dad does?

I can't begin to wonder what life would have been like if we had never moved next door to the Pilots when I was fifteen.

They introduced me to the love of my life.

Uncle Mike, we'll miss you. More than we can say.

It has been an privilege to be a member of your extended family. It was an honor to know you, to see the grace with which you lived, to know how well you loved your boys, their families, Aunt Mae.

Godspeed, Uncle Mike.

Owl: The Art of Calef Brown