A New Romance

Dear Autumn,

Perhaps you remember me from last year? We flirted with each other from across the room, but didn’t spend much time getting to know each other. Undoubtedly, you’ve heard stories about me and summer; I won’t lie to you. It was a deep and meaningful relationship. But now he’s gone and you can help me forget him.

Take me for a few strolls surrounded by red and orange leaves. Have a cup of tea with me at an outdoor café as we watch the sky turn cobalt together. Show me children dressed as pirates and bumble bees. Bring me a bowl of my sister’s butternut squash soup, and perhaps some hot cider. Remind me of my richly hued sweaters and shawls. Stay up late and talk with me about poetry and literature. And let me sleep in late just a little. Bring me a little gift, if you feel so inclined.

You see, I’m not so complicated. Welcome, Autumn. I think we will have a memorable romance.

Love,
Rita

A Little Monday Music

Have you ever had one of those days where you're frustrated and nothing seems to go right? Here's my advise to you ...

Imogen's voice has the sweet, tangy quality of fresh lemonade, don't you think?

Art Ball

I count myself among ‘most people’ when I say that most people don’t have the occasion, outside of their wedding day perhaps, to go to a formal event. But my husband and I have been invited as guests to attend a ball at our art museum, which requires all the trimmings. And frankly, it’s all the more delicious that someone else is planning it.

I’ve found the dress, and the perfect clutch. I also found a sweet aquamarine cocktail ring (simpler than the one pictured, but similar) at a local antiques shop for a song.


I have a black velvet swing jacket that will do, but the shoes have me a bit stumped. Never mind for a moment that I’m not particularly good at waltzing barefoot, but can I waltz in these?






































What would you wear?

Busy Days ...

Be back in a few days, friends, but meanwhile enjoy this bottle of French liqueur that my husband bought for me when I was away...

Lake Forest

I travelled to Lake Forest, Illinois on business last week and, if you’ve never been there, it’s a stunning place. I stayed at a place I’ve been to many times which only seems to get more charming with every visit. The original Deer Path Inn was built in 1860 as the residence of a wealthy Chicago family, and later became a weekend retreat and hunting lodge to Chicago's elite. In 1929, the existing structure was built, modeled after The Manor House (c. 1453) located in Chiddingstone - Kent, England; a half-timbered and stucco Tudor home.





Instead of joining in on the ‘group fun’ event, I went for a walk to the beach and enjoyed all the spectacular architecture along the way. Some of the houses were shrouded in verdant mystery, while others openly boasted their pedigree with proud mature trees, manicured lawns and long, winding driveways. My dear friend Jane sent me a link that details the history of the house at 965 East Deerpath (above). I love old homes with stories, and it was palpable that these houses had many.






I also discovered why the road was named Deerpath.

Dear Summer

Dear Summer,
I can see it in your eyes that you’re moving on. But we’ve had a good run, haven’t we? You gave me armfuls of flowers as if it was nothing. We sipped cold wine and laughed on the patio together. We fell asleep with the windows open, listening to crickets on a cool breeze. We even tramped about in the woods, breathing in that green mossy smell. I shall remember you fondly during the long cold winter, as I wistfully scan photos of times we shared.

With a tear and a smile, I bid you farewell and look forward to seeing you again next year.

Rita

P.S. If you find me missing for a few days, it’s because I’ll be drawing out the last few drops of joy you have to offer.

The Days of Wine and Roses

They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,
Love and desire and hate:
I think they have no portion in us after
We pass the gate.
They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
Within a dream.

Ernest Dowson

Happy Hour

A few years ago, someone in our neighborhood started a new tradition of the neighborhood happy hour. It takes place once a month, usually on a Friday night, in a different house. The character and style from one month to another varies according to the host, the season and who is able to attend. All those attending bring a covered dish and/or a beverage to share.

On Friday night, my husband and I hosted. I had to work on Friday, so my husband did a stellar job getting ready. He thought of everything; from borrowing the neighbors’ outdoor furniture, buying ice, bringing up a table from the basement, and lighting the torches.

While we were prepared to take it indoors, we were blessed with perfect weather as 40 of our neighbors poured in from every direction with fruit salads, hummus and pita, pasta salad, peach pie, crackers and cheese (boursin, my favorite!), as well as beers and wines of every flavor.

As all of the houses in the neighborhood were generally built in the 1920’s, we trade renovation stories, talk about the local political issues, and learn about who has expertise in what. And it always a treat to see how others decorate and restore their homes.

This event was a nice reminder of what a great neighborhood I live in, filled with interesting and talented people as our friendships grow stronger. We stayed up into the wee hours playing a computerized version of charades with the new couple across the street. And if you drink just a little too much; no worries, you can stumble home.

Vacation, Part III

I’ve had some difficulty composing my thoughts about this place because it has me spellbound. Do I talk about the family who commissioned it, or the famous architect who designed it? Honestly, with Fallingwater, one can’t see where one starts and the other begins. The Kaufmanns were close friends with Frank Lloyd Wright; they could live with Wright’s famous restrictions, but Wright gave them greater leverage because they understood his aesthetic. It was a symbiotic relationship, mostly.

The Kaufmanns (if you are unfamiliar) owned a department store that, in its height comprised 59 stores in 5 states, and was bought by Macy’s a few years ago. They had a home in Pittsburgh, and a few other vacation homes sprinkled throughout the country, but Fallingwater is by far their most famous – and for good reason.

My first glimpse of the house was the legendary one from downstream of the waterfall. Pictures simply can’t do it justice. Even by today’s standards, it is a forward-thinking, magnificent home. The house exists in perfect harmony with its natural surroundings, which became Wright’s trademark in residential design. Throughout the house, you can hear the waterfall. The elements of design; wood, stone, steel, and glass, and natural, colorful textiles are constant reminders of the purpose of the home. To relax and connect with nature.

I entered the house through the kitchen, about half the size of my own which, I might add, is considered small by today’s standards. Designed with the most current appliances in 1934, it seems humble and purely functional. As I made my way through the various spaces, I was moved by how each room was intimate, rather than an ostentatious display of wealth. While the house is made up of more than 3,000 square feet, about half of it is the terraces themselves, so interior rooms are smaller than one might think. In the great room, with light pouring in from the tall windows onto the long couches, you could kick off your shoes and flop down right there. As I moved through one rambling space to another, I could see the bookshelves loaded with books. Everything stands exactly as the family left it when they donated it to the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy in 1963, so it feels utterly lived in. None of the rooms have that precious quality where you are afraid to breathe, in spite of the Tiffany and Picassos. This was a house where a famous and wealthy family felt they could be completely themselves. I should like to hear a better definition of home.

Fallingwater has restrictions for the use of photography taken on the premises. I debated and struggled about how I might share my moving experience of such a magnificent space, and respect their wishes at the same time. With ample proof of utter disregard all over the internet, I thought I might at least give a glimpse. I have posted a few photos on my photostream here, which I will remove in one week. Until then, enjoy!