Sunday Respite

This blog is about a lot of things, but hopefully the constant thread that runs through it is to live with style, grace and a healthy dose of eccentricity. For me, lately, it's all about making the little moments count. I am never unaware that the clock is ticking, ticking and whereas when I was in my twenties, this would strike panic in my heart ("Hurry! Do something! Make your mark!"), now I find this knowledge empowering.

Do you know the poem "In Flanders Fields" by John McCrae about the young soldiers of WWI? There's the most heartbreaking phrase in it:

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Armed with this state of mind, even the littlest moments can be as memorable as the life-changing ones.

While the coffee brews, I unload the dishwasher. Because it's Sunday and I'm not rushing off somewhere, I can take my time. And I do. The simple repetition of stacking plates on top of one another becomes a meditation in blue and white.

The flowers I bought at Trader Joe's two days ago are reclipped and given fresh water. They are grateful and immediately crane their necks into a sun salutation.

Piero is returning from London this afternoon, and Luca is in a state of fervid anticipation. I suggest he go outside and burn off some energy. I perch myself on our brick wall and watch him go up and down the sidewalk on his new skateboard.

I restrain myself from giving him any helpful tips (because shouldn't kids have to figure out some things for themselves?) and watch his precarious balancing attempts. My latté is steamy-hot and milky-sweet. Above me, two birds catch up on each other's lives in plaintive harmony and the dusky fragrance from a nearby privet hedge wafts over to me.

I close my eyes and feel as though my whole existence consists of three things: scent and song and the rhythmic clackety-clack of wheels on sidewalk.

I don't want to move. I just want to stay here, exactly like this, for eternity.

Luca: Mom? I'm done.

It was brief, my little idyll. But it was good.

An Irish Reverie

This is the library at Bellinter House in Navan, County Meath, Ireland. I snagged it from their website months ago after my friend Stephanie sent me a link to the hotel. "It looks like your kind of place," she said.

Does it ever.

I've imagined myself in this room so many times that I know every detail by heart. Can't you see me, just out of frame? I'm padding around in my stocking feet because my muddy boots have been sequestered on the boot rack in the massive hall. I was out investigating some nearby Celtic ruins but had to cut my ramble short because an ominous cloud appeared over the hills and I realized I had no umbrella. I sought refuge in the library and I'm so glad I did. Just look at the light coming in from that window. The sky has turned an unearthly gold that immediately precedes a heavenly downpour. How fabulous. We can spend the rest of the afternoon drinking copious cups of tea and investigating the bookshelves by candlelight. Isn't that an entire set of World of Interiors over in the corner?

Who's in?

Life's A Peach, Isn't It?*

*I know squinting is not an attractive trait, but I truly believe that looking at the world with an uncritical and slightly blurry gaze can infinitely expand your sense of contentment. Rose or peach-colored glasses will provide the same effect.

I love this 1908 advertising poster for the London Underground which I found in the wonderful book, "Everything You Can Do In The Garden Without Actually Gardening" by Philippa Lewis.

(click to enlarge)

The charming little house with its casement windows, the mother and child ensconced on the tidy back lawn, the husband in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat watering the sunflowers, and the sleek city train in the distance -- it's a perfect evocation of English suburban life at the turn of the last century.

And, how much, really, has changed? One hundred years later in Los Angeles, I have a not-dissimilar little plot of land that I also consider my refuge from city life, my haven for careless days of peace. I am looking for lawn chairs just like the one pictured. I love the idea of gardening in a proper outfit. As ridiculous as it may sound, I wholly believe that just a stone's throw from the tumult of Hollywood and Vine, I am living a miniature version of country life.

Whether anyone else agrees with me has no bearing on my rose-colored vision.

You may look at my garden and see tiny; I see endearing.

You may see too much shade; I see a refuge from the Klieg lights of the city.

You may see emptiness; I see potential.

You may see leaves in need of a rake; I see a layer of texture and color.

You may see a lack of design; I see grass waiting for bare feet, cartwheels and spilled lemonade.

(Snacktime in the Secret Grove of Holly Wood)

And Now, The Conclusion to "Give Me Liberty":

I went, I saw, I bought.

At the Target I visited, the homeware, garden and outdoor items had not yet arrived, but clothing was plentiful and I found a few lovely things. The mens flowered Tana Lawn shirts surpassed my expectations -- they are well-constructed, finely woven, perfect for summer and at $24.99, a fraction of the regular £125 cost. I purchased two for Piero (he took one with him to London yesterday, so here's the other)...

...and bought one for myself as well, along with a few pairs of $5.99 boxer shorts (perfect for underneath a dressing gown). I just couldn't resist all those colorful prints.

(Post-laundry, pre-ironing)

I didn't buy any of the womens clothing, but my friends did and were in ecstasies over their retro sleepwear. I am resigned to the fact that Target will apparently be rolling out items over the next week or so, which means a return trip (or two).

The Garden Chronicles

(Detail of my garden)

It's that time of year again when a girl's fancy turns to all things abloom. Visions of picnics and chairs dragged out on the lawn and watering cans and flowered gloves and a tea table heaped with hot scones and lashings of jam and butter come immediately to mind.

(Illustration by George du Maurier, 1834-1896)

Yes, I am an utter romantic when it comes to my Lilliputian grassy kingdom, and I make no apologies.

My own garden, however, is still in "Early Eliza Doolittle" phase. We have privacy, a pool and a new troupe of grass seedlings busy making a brilliant fledgling debut, but not much else.

Most of the gardens in my neighborhood have been transformed into wondrous outdoor living areas. They are truly incredible; however, the downside is that they have given up most of their lawn in the process. In place of grass, there are hardscaped dining areas, stone fire pits, pebbled pathways, fountains, petanque alleys and other assorted features.

But I'm reluctant to give up my plot of verdant turf...and therein lies the rub.

You see, I don't own a dog, but I have a son, which amounts to much the same thing.

Luca uses that grassy stomping ground to chase his friends, lie on a blanket and read, and hurl as many types of balls as high, far and fast as he can.

I can't bear to take that away from him.

And, to be perfectly honest, I love looking out my kitchen window and seeing that little swath of green. It's an enchanted Arcadia to me.

(English countryside)

I do have some immediate plans, though.

1. I want to plant potato vines...

(via here)

...beneath the wall of ficus trees that extend the length of the property and let their pale green tendrils clamber up the branches and sprout delicate little white flowers. (The restaurant Ceccconi's in West Hollywood does this and it's wonderfully effective in adding texture and drama to a living wall.)

2. Over in the corner behind the pool, I plan to erect a wooden pergola and then create some kind of reading/dining area beneath it. It's especially lovely to sit somewhere and gaze back at the house (it creates the feeling of more space), so I want to make the most of this little visual illusion. I will paint the structure in Railings from Farrow and Ball, which is the most wonderful blue-black...

(color via here)

...and then cover it with pale, pale pink flowers in a color like this:

(color via here)

What kind, I don't know, as I am a novice gardener of the highest order. (Any ideas?)

3. Next, I would like to find some pale grey cement planters and perch them around the edge of the pool so that it feels like a little Victorian bathing pond. Whatever type of plant goes in them needs to be sturdy, structured and unprickly.

(photo via Bardy Farms)

4. I'll leave one corner by the pool bare to give me room for one of these cement poufs from Harbinger LA which I absolutely can't stop thinking about (they come in 25 colors). They'll look even better after a couple of years in the sun, wind and rain -- they'll be seasoned, literally.

(via here)

5. A beloved tree which gracefully overarches the pool...

...and which we adamantly refused to chop down...

Pool Contractor: But the leaves will make a mess.

Us: Isn't that what a skimmer is for?

...will gain an extra function with a wooden seat encircling it, á la this photo of designer Peter Dunham:

(photo via here)

5. Other than that, I guess our garden furniture will have to be restricted to the portable kind for now. But as I mentioned in the opening of the post, there's something wonderfully old-school about dragging indoor furniture outside. Plus, it gives you the freedom to create whatever type of environment you like, whether you seek to emulate the civilized luxury of a Victorian fete...

...or something a bit more sybaritic.

(Photo by Lee Miller of Nusch and Paul Eluard,

Man Ray and others, Cannes, 1937)

It's a work in progress. I'll report back.

My Stolen Moment

I've been running on a treadmill of ceaseless errands and carpool runs and playdates and appointments and writing and blogging and trying to fit in six hours of sewing a day since January. On Monday, I reached a point where my brain craved a breather.

I wanted silence and pretty pictures. Luckily, I found both.

My stolen moment is brought to you by Hipstamatic, the iPhone app I had absolutely no business uploading yesterday. It was the best $1.99 vacation I've ever had.

You can choose between different lenses, film types and flashes to create ambient, otherworldly images of the most commonplace of objects.

A fake styrofoam bird plopped into a vase of flowering branches becomes imbued with the moodiness of a modern Old Master painting.

A wallet and pair of sunglasses carelessly tossed onto a counter are given a beautiful sepia wash that make it look a bit like a postcard for a sale at Paul Smith.

Hipstamatic gives the most conventional of events a profundity that far outweighs the situation. Here, Twiglet exudes a trenchant intelligence which belies the fact that he's merely waiting for me to feed him.

A trio of containers over the stove reminds me that we're almost out of sea salt, and so I snap a reminder.

A cheese dome from Fortnum and Mason reminds me Luca needs more Jarlsberg for his lunch tomorrow.

Changing the lens to one called "Kaimal", my dining room takes on the aspect of a salvaged photo from a distant time. Very Retronaut-ish, actually.

Going outside, the magnolia tree appears to have blanketed the entire back garden with its glorious pink hues.

Changing the lens again (to the "John S.") gives the same scene a more stark, Wuthering Heights feel.

My pale silvery-gray tree looks as though it's cocooned in moss, a dream I've long harbored but know is unsuitable for a Hollywood climate. Through Hipstamatic, my fantasy comes to life.

I pick up my current book, V. S. Pritchett's "Complete Collected Essays." I've only recently discovered him and can't stop dipping into his short, incisive book reviews. He appears to have written about practically every English author under the sun (Evelyn Waugh, E. F. Benson, George Gissing, Charles Dickens, Anthony Trollope and about a thousand others) and his essays provide a wonderful launch pad for further reading.

I have an hour before carpool duty beckons, so I sink into a wooden rocking chair and flip to a page at random (it's that kind of book). I land on an essay about "The Remembrance of Things Past"...

...which is entirely appropriate given the fact that tomorrow my brief idyll into indolence will be but a distant memory and I will be hard at work again.

But I'll have the pictures.

I Want To Be A Retronaut

Some people haven't the slightest interest in reading period literature. "No thanks," they demur. "I'd much rather read books that were were written by my contemporaries." This has always frustrated me because so many of my favorite books were written in the last century (or well before) and yet when I try to persuade to them how modern they still are, they look at me like I'm trying to stuff Queen Victoria into a J. Crew bathing suit.

Well, to a certain point, I get it. To someone who isn't rabid about history, the past can seem awfully dull and two-dimensional. All those stony-faces, stiff postures and overstarched collars. What they need is an entry point. A rabbit hole, so to speak.

Well, I've found one.

Chris Wild's absolutely fascinating blog "How to be a Retronaut" features rare photographs and archival footage that bring the past to life with such vividness and power that you realize these ghosts are our contemporaries; we just happen to be inconveniently separated by the handicap of time instead of distance. When I watch these long-dead people laugh into the camera or dodge between horse-drawn carriages across a busy street, history becomes not only immediate but personal.

Take Edwardian London, for example. Watch this...

...and then read George Gissing's unsparing novel "The Odd Women" which was written around the same time. His tale of two respectable and increasingly impoverished sisters living in London will haunt you all the more after seeing the above glimpse into what -- as Chris Wild so neatly calls it -- "the business of being human was like back then." I swear if I squint, I can see one of Gissing's sisters atop an open-air omnibus on her way to another fruitless job interview.

(available here)

Or watch this incredibly affecting home movie of a much-loved little girl in 1930's England...

...and then lose yourself in Eleanor Graham's "The Children Who Lived in a Barn", a 1938 classic about five children who are forced to look after themselves after their parents go away and fail to return. After gazing at those cherubic faces smiling out at you from that sepia-toned film footage, Graham's novel will feel like an intimate, first-hand account of children you knew well 80 years ago.

(Image via Persephone Books;

book available here)

Or transport yourself to the glamorous south of France in 1912...

...and then lose yourself Colette's 1910 novel "Vagabond", a poetic, passionate tale about a recently divorced music hall artist who struggles with the familiar conflict of independence versus love. The end of the video clip shows three actresses in much the same type of revue that I envision Renee, the main character, touring in.

There are so many other dazzling photos and images on Chris Wild's blog that I'm practically sitting on my hands to keep from typing about them -- I won't because it'll be more thrilling for you to explore his website on your own. It's still relatively new, which means you can catch up on all his old posts and then come sit by me while we wait/pant for a new one. (For the definition of a retronaut, click here.)

In an amusing corollary to the Macbook "book" protector I recently wrote about, I found this keyboard sticker set featured on the site as well. It's out of stock at the moment, but you can put your name on a waiting list.

(Rockett St. George's Vintage Typewriter stickers)

And now back to that rabbit hole. With the upcoming release of Tim Burton's "Alice in Wonderland", here's a rare clip from the 1903 original.

Note: All film footage is viewable in a larger format via "How to Be a Retronaut."

Monday Miscellany

We have a great deal to cover this morning. I've got a steaming mug of Yorkshire Gold tea on the desk next to me, so within moments, my brain cells will be fully operational. Let's begin, shall we?

Books...

First of all, I want to thank everyone who commented on the last post. I so, so enjoyed all the subdiscussions that went on and, like many of you, have added a slew of books to my Amazon wish list. I felt it was important this time to reply individually to each commenter; as of now, I think I'm almost caught up.

Blogs...

They really are the 21st century salon, aren't they? They are a virtual gathering place of like-minded souls who convene to be inspired, amused and enriched. All of you have your own personal list of the ones you frequent and, if you're like me, checking in on them is a de rigueur part of your day. I love that the internet has democratized such an elite tradition; centuries ago, they would have been strictly invitation only.

(Jean Francois de Troy, Reading from Moliere, 1728)

Ottoline Morrell, a woman I so admire, was well-known for her fabulous salon parties at Garsington.

(Portrait of Garsington House, 1920's, by Ottoline Morell)

Artists and aristocrats flocked there on weekends to partake of her generous hospitality while Ottoline floated around in a diaphanous dress snapping photos of everyone with her Brownie camera.

(Picnic at Garsington, 1920's, photographed by Ottoline Morrell)

And of course you know about Gertrude Stein's weekly get-togethers at her home at 27 rue de Fleurus.

(Photographed by Man Ray, 1923)

When you click on "A Bloomsbury Life", it's like you're stepping into my salon at The Kenmore Arms.

(Photo by Scott Ogden)

So I'll tell you what I tell all my friends: There's a pot of tea in the kitchen and cocktails and treats in the dining room...

...so help yourself to what you like and then come join us in the living room. Whoops, just move Luca's guitar out of the way.

People pop in and then pop out again, so don't worry if you have only have a moment, it's very informal here. Scooch over next to that dapper young man from Oxford, Stuck-In-A-Book. His list of 50 Books You Must Read will have you scrambling for a pencil. Or ask The Style Saloniste about her recent trip to India. Or eavesdrop on what Tartan Scot or Domicidal Maniac and Architect Design are working on now. Oh, and have you seen Ivan Terestchenko's photography? I feel as if I have grown to know so many of you over the past year-and-a-half and I want to make sure everyone's respective fabulousness keeps rippling outward.

Rectification...

Last week I posted about Liberty's upcoming collection for Target and I admitted to being less than thrilled about the wares I had seen in their television commercial. Well, I'm here to tell you I was wrong. Let me say it again: I was wrong. Why? Well, because thanks to a little website called Refinery 29, I spotted some other items that will be in stores on March 14th. And people, they are everything I was hoping for.

Just look at these lovely shirts. They're for men, but I don't care. I'm getting one.

And what about these sweet little clutches?

My husband will be receiving a few of these and if he doesn't wear them, I will.

I will buy these (for Piero, ostensibly) and figure out my own uses for them later: to wear as an improvised belt with a pair of faded cotton khakis, tied around a handbag, as a bookstrap, etc.

No words necessary.

FYI, I am fully expecting each of you to report back on what you purchased.