Light vs. Dark

The Kenmore Arms has been bustling this week.  My climbing roses are finally gathering courage and beginning to wrap themselves with long graceful sweeps around the front balcony. 

Maybe it's good karma rubbing off from this book I'm reading...

...because I have what's known in horticultural circles as the dreaded "thumb noir". Even cacti wither around me. But speaking as a newfound optimalist, the bright side could be that I have undiscovered talents in composting.

Anyway, let's move inside, where the painters have been busy priming and painting since Monday. I have been itching to redo my upstairs office for a while now and, after much consideration, settled on Farrow and Ball's "Old White." It's a beautiful color, gentle and soft. 

And I liked it for all of four hours.

(Tuesday, April 5th)

Unfortunately, as soon as it dried I had a huge revelation that what I actually wanted was the complete opposite. (Why do all revelations come after you write the check?)  I craved drama, mood, mystery. My office needs to double as an occasional Lilliput-sized screening room and I wanted a destination that would feel sophisticated by day and ever-so-slightly sexy by night. A bit Babington House...

with just a dash of 18th century Spitalfields.

(Photo of Dennis Sever's house, which I discovered through a 

commenter... Thank you, Linda! I am officially obsessed.)

Dark doesn't scare me. As you can imagine, life here in California is very, very sunny (to put it mildly). To me, the sun is a huge Klieg light in the sky with its spotlight relentlessly trained on every man, woman and child. It's fine for The Divine Italian; he's a heat-seeker. I, however, am Norwegian and Irish and I am a pale snail looking for a dark refuge. 

So I bit the bullet and told the painters to come back on Thursday so that they could redo what they just that minute finished doing. 

This time, I went with Farrow and Ball's "Railings", a deep bluey-black...

(Thursday, April 7th)

...and I can't believe how much more I love it. It's a totally different room. It was suffering from an identity crisis and now it's found itself.

And see, it still gets a lot of light. And despite its admittedly more masculine feel, right beyond those French doors are all those sun-loving roses, entwined in pink splendor.  So it's all very yin yang. 

Of course, now that it's painted, I am itching to change everything else. Like the curtains, the couch and the desk chair. Last November, I was lucky enough to visit Peter Dunham's "Gentleman's Study" at Veranda Magazine's Greystone Mansion Showhouse and I still can't get it out of my head.

I would love to create my own mini homage to it at The Kenmore Arms. His "Globe" curtains speak to me in a profound way. They're very Royal Geographic Society meets Diana Vreeland.

And I might have to reupholster my desk chair in his "Almont Stripe".

Stay tuned.

And The Winner Is...

...Mary Rowe who has won her very own copy of "Mapp and Lucia."  Congratulations, Mary!  Email me your address and I'll send it to you posthaste. (FYI, entrants were assigned a number according to the order in which I received their emails.)

And a special mention to those of you who wrote such lovely sentiments along with your entries. You touched my heart with your comments. I only wish I had books enough for all of you.  xx

Yours For The Asking

I recently purchased an extra copy of one of my favorite books, E. F. Benson's "Mapp and Lucia", for a blog giveaway. If you'd like to enter, just send an email to [lborgnes@mac.com] with the subject line "Giveaway." The deadline is Thursday, April 9th at midnight PST. I'll use a random number generator and send it postage-paid to one of you wonderful people, regardless of whether you live in Ohio or Oman. Only one entry per person, please.

I recently blogged about the book here, so if you didn't read my post, find out why Noel Coward, Nancy Mitford and W. H. Auden famously decried, "We will do anything for Lucia books!"

As Lucia would say, "Buona fortuna, my caros!"

Paper Beats Scissors

"Wear the old coat and buy the new book."

(Austen Phelps, 1820-1890)

When I was in London recently, I didn't buy anything that was cut, sewn or stitched, which I think is the first time ever that I've come home without indulging in some sort of sartorial fix. I did purchase some books, however. Thirteen, actually. And Luca bought twelve.

The night before we flew home to LA, the stack of tomes had grown to an alarming height on the desk in our hotel room. Using my expert packing tactics, I managed to cram most of them into my suitcase but when the zipper threatened to throw a fit, I buried the rest in Luca's.  The Divine Italian muttered something about bricks the next morning when he heaved the suitcases into the cab, but I busied myself with looking for my sunglasses and pretended not to hear.

Here are my new companions in their new Hollywood digs, with titles below...

1. Lolly Willowes, Sylvia Townsend Warner

2. Three Men and a Boat, Jerome K. Jerome

3. Diary of a Pilgrimage, Jerome K. Jerome 

4. All Passion Spent, Vita Sackville West

5. The English, Jeremy Paxman

6. Craven House, Patrick Hamilton

7. Two People, A. A. Milne

8. Voices from Dicken's London, Michael Paterson

9. The Uncommon Reader, Alan Bennett

10. The House by the Churchyard, J. Sheridan Le Fanu 

11. Widow Barnaby, Fanny Trollope 

12. The Haunted Hotel, Wilkie Collins 

13. Rhapsody in Green: The Garden Wit and Wisdom of Beverley Nichols 

And here are Luca's:

1. Read Me and Laugh, Gaby Morgan

2. Horrid Henry Robs the Bank, Francesca Simon

3. Horrid Henry and the Abominable Snowman, Francesca Simon

4. A Hat Trick for Horrid Henry, Francesca Simon

5. Legend of Captain Crow's Teeth, Eoin Colfer

6. Digory the Dragon Slayer, Angela McAllister

7. Secret Agent Jack Stalwart, Elizabeth Singer Hunt

8. Scream Street: Fang of the Vampire, Tommy Donbavand

9. Beast Quest: Torgor the Minotaur, Adam Blade

10. Beast Quest: Sepron the Sea Serpent, Adam Blade

11. Beast Quest: Epos the Flame Bird, Adam Blade

12. Beast Quest: Trillion the Three-Headed Lion, Adam Blade

I highly recommend this one. Luca begs me to read it aloud to him when he's in the bath, which of course I am more than happy to oblige. His favorite poem so far is "The Day I Got My Finger Stuck Up My Nose" by Brian Patten, which he can now recite by heart, complete with dramatic effects. Despite the cautionary message of the poem, his finger has yet to leave that particular refuge, but I'm still hoping.

Here's the reading nook I had built in his bedroom. 

I filled the little side shelves with some of my favorite childhood books like "The Phantom Tollbooth", "The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles" and "The Wolves of Willoughby Chase", but he hasn't reached for them yet. Maybe when he's exhausted his "Beast Quest" obsession, but I think they publish them as quickly as he devours them; at last count, there were 18 different titles on Amazon. 

I know I need to remind myself that half the adventure of reading is in the choosing -- the narrowing down of endless possibilities to the author whose story you want to discover. If I want Luca to love books as much as I do, he needs to embark on his own journey and I need to keep quiet and let him.

Ooh, but it's hard.

If You Want To Blossom, You Have To Plant A Blossom

(Unlikely berry patch, Scotland, 2007)

There is a great article in Time magazine this week about positive thinking. It's no shock that it cites studies which show that looking on the sunny side of life really does affect your health in the long run.  

(Children at a Tibetan orphanage, 2007)

What is surprising, however, is that some experts don't suggest being optimistic. It appears that being wildly hopeful and seeing the glass as relentlessly half full is what positive psychologists call being "cheerfully deluded."

Instead, they recommend "optimalism", a combination of optimism and a healthy dose of realism. Optimalists are not people who believe everything happens for the best, but those who make the best of things that happen.

(Prayer flags at Dalai Lama's palace, Lhasa, Tibet, 2007)

I so agree with this. I've always had an issue with the whole "everything happens for the best" concept...because it doesn't. Bad things happen to good people, a lot of good people. Life is freaky. Accidents happen. At times, we struggle.

(A determined bee, Sussex, England, 2007)

Having said this, wallowing in sadness does nothing but entrench you more firmly in a quicksand of depression. You have to find a way out. Apparently, happiness is "contagious." Scientists have noticed that people who smile in their Facebook pictures tend to have other friends who smile. 

(Tibetan monk on pilgrimage, Lhasa, 2007)

Go check your Friends list.  It's true. :)

How To Turn Your Child Onto Museums, Guaranteed

I have devised a foolproof strategy on going to museums with children that I absolutely have to share with you. It will revolutionize your vacations, and I'm not kidding.

Just to recap, I have a seven year old boy whose passions run more to aliens and baseball than to medieval portraits or decorative art. No surprise there.

But Luca and I went to five museums in London, and aside from a slight miscalculation in the Textile Study Room at the V&A Museum (read my last post), he had the time of his life, as he will be the first to tell you.

How did I manage to pull off such a feat? Easy.

1. The moment you step foot inside a museum, head directly to the gift shop. If your child is normal, they will instantly start grabbing toys. Don't panic. Let them choose one or two. Tell them these will be their "prize."

2. Next, steer them to the postcard section. Let them pick out a bunch of postcards which feature artworks in the museum.

3. Hand your child his stack and announce that "the TREASURE HUNT begins now!" They must locate the work of art represented on the postcard and once they do, they can turn the card over to you. When the stack is gone, they have officially earned the prize they picked out earlier.

If they are old enough to read a museum map, all the better. Otherwise, the guards stationed in each gallery are more than happy to help with directions.

Important note: If there are some rooms/artworks that you specifically want to see, be sure to buy some postcards of your own and 'sneak' them into his pile.

I can't tell you how many stressed-out parents we passed trying to interest their sullen, foot-dragging children in the glories of [insert art history period here]. I wanted to grab them by the shoulders and say, "Look! Postcards! Treasure hunt! It works! We've been here for an hour and he's still smiling!"

Here are some of the postcards I now have from our various treasure hunts:

And here are two of the prizes Luca earned:

If anyone had told me that my son would be grabbing my elbow and shouting, "Mom! We need to find the Elizabethan Portrait Room!" I would have told them they seriously needed to 'up' their medication.

Let me know how it goes.

Hail Britannia, Part Four

Another day, another full agenda. Our trip was nearing its end, and I began moving in faster and faster motion. First on the itinerary was a brisk walk around the corner to the Victoria and Albert Museum. It was just going to be a quick visit today -- we were visiting only one room.

On the way in, I took a fancy to this lovely ornamental ironwork that bordered the museum...

...and was delighted to discover it repeated as a motif inside.

I handed Luca the museum map and and pointed to my favorite room. He accepted the challenge. I followed his little steps as he directed me past the ancient statuary...

...down the beautiful halls...

...and into the room that to me, is Christmas itself, the Textile Study Room. All of these enormous cabinets house the most precious embroideries in existence. And do you see all the brass handles? Give them a tug and out comes a framed treasure. Samplers, embroidered clothing, textile patterns, dating from the 1500's to the 1900's -- there is a selection of everything you can think of. Along the wall are tables so that you can prop them up and drool over them at your leisure.  

I love this little school handkerchief. I find its austerity quite modern.

At one point, I turned around and saw this amazing framed piece of fabric created by the Bloomsbury Group. I was overjoyed. It hadn't been displayed on my last visit.

I would totally upholster a pillow (or even a chair) in it today. Wouldn't you?

Next is the most heartbreaking work of embroidery I've ever seen.  Made around 1830 by a young woman named Elizabeth Parker, it's an autobiography in thread:  the story of her early life in domestic service and the horrible trials she underwent from various employers, nearly leading to suicide.

Some haunting extracts: 

"...Then I went to Fairleigh, [as] housemaid to Captain O., but they treated me with cruelty too horrible to mention....For trying to avoid the wicked design of my master I was thrown downstairs...I never told my friends what had happened to me...I acknowledge being guilty of that great sin of self-destruction....Day and night have I cried..." 

It ends abruptly with the words, "...what will become of my soul." Difficult as it was to tear myself away from it, I find it even harder to stop thinking about now.

I was also struck by this 18th century sampler because the little girl who embroidered it was only seven years old, the same age as Luca. I thought he would find it fascinating.

He didn't.  Strike one for Mommy.

So we hightailed it to the cafe, where his mood lifted enough to notice the incredible painted ceiling above us.

We both thought the orb lights were pretty amazing, too.

Then it was off to the National Portrait Gallery near Trafalgar Square.  Upon entering, Luca was handed this wonderful activity book, along with a handful of colored pencils.  He was thrilled and so was I.

Every room became an adventure...

...and an exciting chance to record history.

He was obsessed with this young man's frilly high-waisted outfit. I told him people used to dress like that, but he point-blank refused to believe me. "How do you know he wasn't going to a costume party?", he said.

There was a quick detour to St. Martin-in-the-Fields, where Luca did this brass rubbing of a bear...

...and a dash to Hatchard's, the oldest bookseller in London (or close to it)...

...where the sales clerks dress jauntily in shirt and tie and are erudite beyond all telling.  The oh-so-elegant shop boasts what I consider to be the most well-edited five floors of books in London.  The Queen has given it her Royal Seal of Approval, so you know you're in good hands.

Finally, it was next door to the mother of all grocery purveyors, Fortnum and Mason.

I tremble every time I cross the threshold.

Everything they sell is heartstoppingly delicious. And the red carpet has me at hello.

I feverishly scanned the store until I spotted my Holy Grail: the jam section.

There, in all its glory, were pots and pots of my beloved rose petal jam, along with about fifty other mouthwatering selections.  I loaded up my metal basket as quickly as I could, as ever since my jam post, I have been inundated with requests to bring some back.  (One pot is for you, dear readers.  I'll let you know when it arrives.)

I also purchased some biscuits...

...and Gentleman's Relish, a highly touted concoction of anchovies and spices. (I asked the salesman what it tasted like and he replied, "Fishy and salty." That was good enough for me.)

Their food hampers have been world-renowned for hundreds of years and justly so. One day I vow to order myself one.

After Fortnum's, Luca and I returned to the hotel, met up with The Divine Italian and hailed a black cab to Barnes, a posh suburb south of the Thames, where Luca was having his first international sleepover and Piero and I were having our first night off.

We had been invited to join four friends for dinner at one of the most long-standing private clubs in London, The Chelsea Arts Club. 

Founded by James McNeil Whistler in 1899, it's been a central gathering place for revolutionaries, bohemians, and intellectuals for over 100 years.

Imagine a place where everyone resembles Lucien Freud, David Hockney or Sir Ian McKellan and the women are all wild-eyed and passionate and you'll start to get the idea. Everywhere I turned, I was greeted by a wild shock of hair, a lilac velvet smoking jacket or a silk foulard flung carelessly around someone's neck.  Those were the men. The women were intense and lovely with lashings of red lipstick and fervent gazes.

We had a delicious meal that went on for hours, the kind of dinner where laughter gives way to more bottles of wine being opened and you hope that it never ends. At one point, we all noticed that the wait staff had cleaned the entire restaurant except our table. On the way out, I snuck this single photo. 

I'm kind of loving a dark painted wall right now. With candlelight and gold accents, I think it's terribly glamorous.  On the wall are paintings of previous members enjoying themselves in the very room we were in.  Lovely.

After that, we all repaired to The Gore for a post-prandial cocktail.  (Please don't ask how I felt the next morning.)

We had one more day in London and I went camera-free, so I'm afraid we've reached the last of my photos. We went to the park, we browsed, we dallied, and on our last night we all had dinner at Shoreditch House in the East End with some expat friends and their too-too adorable three year old twins. As we drove back to the hotel, we pressed our noses to the window to take in every last beautiful sight.

That's all she wrote.