Survival Secrets of The Kenmore Arms

How To Get Out Of Bed In The Morning:

Remind yourself that there are flowers that need tending to in the kitchen. They are depending on you and you alone. (Note: Straight men do not care about flowers.) They are behaving very politely about the situation (as flowers usually do), but save an immediate infusion of fresh water and some zealous clipping of stems, they will soon be limper than Stephen Tennant's wrist.

Once there, locate the tea accoutrements and brew oneself an exotic wake-up call.

How To Get One's Child Out Of Bed in the Morning:

Tell him that if he takes a quick shower, brushes his teeth, gets dressed and eats his breakfast, he might have time to watch one episode of "Phineas and Ferb" before we leave for school.

How to Excite A Cat:

Absentmindedly leave dining room doors ajar. Watch as feline instantly sneaks in on a blissful mission to mess up books, tamper with guitar and continue his unwavering quest to shred the back of sofa.

How to Motivate Oneself For Carpool Duty:

Hang out your beloved Dries Van Noten coat the evening before. Tell yourself that if you keep it buttoned up, no one will be able to see your pajamas underneath when you drive through the school dropoff line.

How to Prepare Oneself for Six Hours of Sewing:

Remind yourself of all the interesting words you get to sew.

How To Pay Bills In A Timely Fashion:

Keep an inspirational quote handy...

...and a stern face within your gaze at all times.

(Dominick Dunne, 1925-2009)

After A Quiet Day, How To Prepare Oneself For The Onslaught That Lies Ahead:

Remind yourself that though it is a truly marvel of science that so much noise can burst forth from one tiny body...

(Luca)

...it's nothing a couple of earplugs can't overcome.

(Written nine days before his birthday. Hmmm....)

"Alhambra": The Prequel

Behind every great textile design lies an inspiration. Here is one such story, step by step...

1. Travel to the Alhambra in Spain.

2. Become seduced with the serene geometry of a Moorish citadel.

3. If your name is Philip Gorrivan, allow it to clamber inside your brain and tattoo itself upon your memory.

(Philip Gorrivan)

4. Use these Byzantine influences as a starting point for your own elegant, modern interpretation.

5. Evoke the lush palettes of far-off destinations when you fabricate your colorways. I don't know about you, but when I look at the tones below, I'm reminded of a walled garden in Morocco.

("Alhambra" by Philip Gorrivan for Highland Court)

(Marrakech, 2007)

With these next three, I have a flashback of Agra at dawn.

("Alhambra" by Philip Gorrivan for Highland Court)

(Taj Mahal, 2007)

6. Finally, have the ethereal Margaret Russell throw you a cocktail party in LA. Speak so charmingly and persuasively about the genesis of inspiration that a blogger with two-toned hair feels galvanized to rush home and explore Moorish/Byzantine/Islamic architecture for herself...

...but not before she gets a quick snap on the way out.

(Margaret Russell and yours truly)

To see the rest of Philip's lovely new textile line for Highland Court, click HERE.

To see the Alhambra with your own two eyes, click HERE.

Titled

Saturday

Woke up freezing. For some reason, my usual penchant for cold temperatures had deserted me. I felt like a serf in a straw hut during an ice storm.

Needed hot liquids. Fast. Decided to make chai from scratch, but in my morning fog, couldn't remember how much masala powder I used the last time I made it.

Realized the Little Prince was upstairs fast asleep and that for all intents and purposes, Piero and I were alone.

Was immediately disabused of any notions of misbehavior by a thunderous footfall upon the stairs.

Fed the feline who exhibited his familiar ravenousness and appreciation.

Fed the offspring who exhibited his familiar disdain for anything nutritious.

Ended up greatly enriching our trash disposal with vitamins and minerals.

Contemplated going for a hike in the Hollywood Hills to keep the ol' physique in fighting trim and then decided against it.

With the prospect of exercise out of the way, noticed an immediate rise in spirits.

Buoyed myself with the thought that I was never going to be a contestant on "America's Next Top Model" anyway.

Was prevented from dwelling on this sad realization by a surprise knock on the door. Spent the next hour in high spirits.

Was interrupted by complaints of boredom from my son. Optimistically suggested he put together one of the countless puzzles in his room.

Was assaulted by the high-pitched whine, "Why can't I have a Wiiiiiiiiii?" Told him to go "Wii Wii Wii" all the way up to his room.

Was about to despair when in a sudden swoop of kindness, The Divine Italian provided salvation in the form of one tub of hot bubbling water and two bathing suits.

Was left free to rummage through my wardrobe in preparation for the party this evening.

Wondered what everyone else would be wearing.

Reminded myself that I was free to dress however I chose, whether it be kaftan, kurta or corset.

Heard Piero and Luca singing "Feliz Navidad" from the pool and realized I needed to start thinking about where I last saw our passports.

Hail The Three Little Pigs

(Stone wall, Mont St. Michel, France, 2008)

A stone or brick house is the ultimate refuge from the Big Bad Wolf: strong, impregnable and protective. I have long felt a powerful love for dwellings fashioned from these elements and for the images and feelings they inspire: a safe haven against the fierce outside world, a tangible evocation of romance and a palpable connection to a long-distant past.

In choosing stones and bricks as our materials, we are able to build houses like my son builds his Legos -- in ceaseless shapes and variations and colors. Whether stacked painstakingly on top of one another according to a precise plan...

(A Voysey house, South Kensington, London, 2008)

...or added onto haphazardly over generations and then abandoned...

(Stone and brick cottage, Scotland, 2007)

the results are the same: a unique monument to individuality which lies in sharp contrast to the increasingly anonymous poured-concrete-and-steel world we live in today.

(Macchu Picchu dwelling, 2007)

The house below I am convinced is enchanted. After years of walking through Hyde Park (I could swear along the same pathways), suddenly one day it appeared in front of me, nestled in a thicket of trees, looking as if it had just escaped from 1850's Barsetshire.

(Cottage, Hyde Park, London, 2008)

Built centuries ago, some buildings seem to vibrate with the pulse of countless ghostly inhabitants, but I don't find them spooky in the least.

(Bruges, Belgium, 2008)

On the contrary, I like to think that each generation of inhabitants (no matter how small) adds a new layer of character to their dwelling...

( A children's manor house, Normandy, France, 2008)

...and that with the lapping caresses of time, we are lucky enough to behold them today, swathed in a well-worn patina of charm.

(Scottish cottage, Loch Lomond, 2008)

Just as the best cooking pans are the ones which have been seasoned through the enjoyment of endless meals, so are the best houses the ones which have been enriched to perfection through generations of lives well lived.

(Farmhouse, Normandy, 2008)

As one of my great heroes, Winston Churchill, so eloquently remarked, "We shape our buildings. Thereafter, they shape us."