the story of a bad boy

"Books by men and women must be segregated, the old Bostonian wrote, to avoid any appearance of impropriety amongst the sexes. Of course, if two writers were married, one may make an exception and place them together.
We were assured that this custom was not followed in our great-grandmother's library. Edith Wharton's books sat next to those of Henry James. (They were great friends in real life, so why should they be kept apart on the shelf?) As a child, this odd and ancient rule fired up my imagination. Could books actually have a life of their own? Would Sarah Orne Jewett fall in love with F. Scott Fitzgerald if their books touched on a shelf? Foolish, I know, but it is often striking what one remembers from childhood."


to camp



the esteemed 20x200
has a wondrous set of
VIP Selections:

these via

(with an all-time
favorite: here)


and i think we should all go

authentic home

Just thinking, more and more, during the new year, that a home -- a successful home -- is far from being the sum of it's accoutrements.

The stage is good, the settings important: but, really, isn't love all?

A home is commitment. A daily joy, a daily slog. It's the warmth of opening a door to be somewhere you want to be. It's the indefinable scent of love: you know when you are home. It is sweet.

But not easy, home is not. Home must be built, and it is in this I am finding (this is the more and more part) that it is built not on furniture and fixtures but upon care and strong abiding.

Chairs, I have found, are the easy part. The hard part is making room in the home, always, for love and care to sit.

As busy as our lives can be, this is an often combustible mix. To have a perfect (looking) home [glance around] and to have a home where love can sit, relax, become soothed/become energized, have strength to go forth into the world...well.

Home is so much more than a good snapshot of a perfect space.

And this is part of the new direction. To find home, to find where we want to be: it is seeming, to me, that chairs (tiles, floors, fabrics, fixtures) have very (very) little to do with it.

For years, I struggled (a former army brat) to give my children roots. That they would be from somewhere; this seemed so important! (The military is a noble place to be from, but we were there no longer.)

As a treasured friend wrote the other day (and this I think I always knew but would not admit so readily, fearing that we must all be someone from somewhere): our roots are in our hearts.

It is this that draws me in more and more now.

Our roots are in our hearts.

How do we make our home around that?

To me, the question is one of pure delight and utmost fascination. This is authentic home. It is what matters to me most. To be a somebody from somewhere means less and less. Nothing, soon, I hope.

To know where your true home is. That means everything, doesn't it?

How to create a real home? One must begin by being honest (in a steadfast and ready way) to their heart. From here all things are done. The rest, as I've learned from another dear friend, manifests itself. Patience. Strength. Elbow grease. Breath. Love. And more patience.

(Let it be noted that I will always be charmed by the art of an excellent chair.)


i married a submariner

but he wasn't issued this jacket.



bumbershoot? (parasol, more likely)

(lord, how i admire a fine row of canvas tents)

whither shall I wander?

is also having a chair moment

thought you'd want
to take a gander

[i might note that i wore, for
a good part of the early '90's,
a plaid skirt from Brooks Bros.
that was awfully similar -- 'tho of
far lighter fare -- to the one (on
the lovely woman) in the far right
of this picture and, honestly, i
will never ever have another
skirt that i love quite as much
or was able to wear quite as often.
interestingly enough, it went with
everything. including my favorite
blucher hi-tops and black tights]

on adding light to winter

a few solutions (from Germany, which is where I must admit I'd love to be right now...if only the rest of us could skip over to join K.B. for dinner with Alexander and B! What a joy! Instead, we send love and light. Always always.)

chair fix




always had a thing for
a very good old chair
(our living room will attest)