The Strawberry Bathroom

I grew up in Michigan with this bathroom that I shared with siblings. Isn't it wild? I think it was completed in the '70s when I was little or unborn, because I have no memory of seeing it for the first time. Now when I see it, I'm shocked at the wall-to-wall-to-ceiling coverage. It always makes me smile, and whenever friends and family visit, they ask to go upstairs to see "the strawberry bathroom."

My mom, pictured above in a high school portrait, definitely had fun here, unlike my father, whose duty it was to paper the corners, around the vents, over the shower hood, which I think is upholstered in matching material (I accidentally deleted the picture), and around the plumbing and the vanity. Nightmare! Below are strategic photos taken with great concentration, as you can see in my face in the mirror; one of my siblings uses the space for extra storage--a bookcase here, a world globe there--and those pieces, unlike everything else in the room, are not plastered with strawberries.

See you February 6...

I'm going to blog monthly for a while, with posts beginning on the first Mondays of the month, so I can focus on my "long-form" writing, as they call it. I have a number of essays that need some attention, and I can't wait to hole up and work.

Check back in a few weeks to see my Nana in Michigan or a gallery/home Kansas or maybe Tuxedo Park, New York, or...? I'll still be on Twitter and Facebook and, when I remember, Tumblr, and you're welcome to Follow or RT or Friend or Like.  

For now, please enjoy cake pops and Lucian Freud from my recent visit with author Adele Griffin, whose Brooklyn townhouse provides for some seriously glorious snooping.

Dinner party in Chelsea

Friends Azi and Carrie hosted a fabulous dinner party last night--candles; wine; strands of pearls; tea candles (the lotus above reminded me of sculptures by Lee Bontecou (below), whose new work is currently at Freedman Gallery); Tom & Jerry water glasses; a perfectly cooked turkey that Carrie won when she blazed a Turkey Trot; lively guests, including a hedge fund manager whom I heard say worked in "mismanagement" (he actually said "risk management," ahem); an artist; a yoga teacher; Carrie singing Bryan Adams ballads in Chinese at 2 am; Azi with pens in his shirt pocket; flowers from Trader Joe's; not one but two kinds of potatoes; a full moon and full belly on the warm walk home.

Little girl's room

This little girl's room had me longing for single-digit age. In particular I fell for the giraffe in the corner, an eternal guest at the knee-high tea party. Other highlights: beautiful wallpaper in the bathroom (walking with geese and other country antics); a scalloped bookshelf; a piggy and crewelwork; pale pinkness; chifforobe; little girl things.

Figment & a fur

Book party! As I mentioned earlier, Young Adult author Adele Griffin was hosting this event at her home for another YA author, Blake Nelson, whose novel Dream School was published by Figment in early December. Guests flooded the townhouse, while Edith, above, on all fours, stood guard of the desserts, as well as her buddy Blake, who was giving a toast. That's Adele, below left, with her friend, author Courtney Sheinmel.

Also below: A photo of the tops of people's heads, because I don't like posting faces without approval (plus, so many cocktails napkins and hors d'oeuvres and open mouths!); A. N. Devers in her famous fur coat once owned by Edward Gorey; one of many foursomes; "Hold still, I'm zooming to get a close-up of your flowers;" men and women alike, we all tried on that Gorey coat; we emptied the hot toddies, too; gift bags, yesss; a goodbye from the street.

A moment with a doorknob...

When I walked into the living room, which I prefer to call the salon, I turned to put down my wine glass--on the marble-top table, yes, where the lamp's bear base (below) stood serious guard--and the doorknob caught my eye. It caught my eye because it was though it had moved, which it didn't, but I was moving, catching the knob in the light at different angles, and I realized it wasn't opaque but was translucent crystal the color of ox blood (or Pinot Noir, depending on the references). I knew this door knob! Oh...

Years ago, I was an editor at Western Interiors & Design, a wonderful, now defunct, contemporary design magazine (with an unfortunate name; the investors were already in). I produced a product column, calling in samples of new flooring, tiles, door hardware, what have you, and styling the shoot. I requested this specific doorknob from E. R. Butler & Co. in this specific shade. The knobs were so stunning, with their subtly shifting color, it turned out to be one of my favorite columns ever. How I hated returning this knob, folding it into tissue and sending it off in drab cardboard. I haven't forgotten its surprising heft, like holding the world in your hand.

I've examined the facets and the shank and the beveled escutcheon plate and everything, so I'm pretty sure it's a Butler, and resident Adele Griffin said her architects at Meyer Davis Studio were very excited about using them, too. Besides, Butler's patent on the attachment of a denticulated crystal knob to a keystoned brass socket dates to the 1830s, so put that in your pipe and smoke it.

I wandered around. A casual gorgeous weapon adorns a bookshelf; dimmer sconces; this awesome drawing by singer-songwriter-musician-artist Daniel Johnston of Hi, How Are You; leaves; pup Edith in downward dog; another one of those lovely chairs with crossed legs, ladylike.

Brooklyn Salon (Part 1)

A few weeks ago, I visited the gorgeous home of Young Adult author Adele Griffin. A writer of more than a dozen books and a two-time National Book Award finalist, she was hosting a book party for another popular author, Blake Nelson, whose novel Dream School was published by Figment in early December. 

I showed up early for Homebodies, thanks to our mutual friend, A. N. Devers, who runs Writers' Houses, the fantastic site about authors' homes. Allison, as she's known, nudged me once at a reading and whispered about her friend, "She has the most incredible home! You must go see her!" Ms. Devers knows her writers' houses, that's for sure.

Fast forward a few weeks, and I've arrived, and I'm ringing the wrong buzzer. For a few minutes. So many floors! I finally figured out to enter through the lower level, which isn't pictured. It occurred to me only later that I didn't stray far from this first-level living room: I took photos of one end, and then the other. And the little girl's room. (Apparently exploring any space too much bigger than my studio apartment is terribly overwhelming.) Sorry, but I skipped the bedrooms, the kitchen, the dining room, another floor...

While the place hands down is, as one of the guests at the party later put it, "the swankiest brownstone in Brooklyn," it's the coziest, too. Adele was so laid back, and wickedly funny, and hospitable, even as friends tore through her wardrobe for just the right outfit ("boots or shoes?") and hot curlers came out of hairs, while her first guest--ahem--poked around with a camera and rested her glass of red wine on a marble-top side table without a coaster under it. Mi casa, su casa! 

As I was saying, my photos are mostly of this room--one side, then the other, so note the two posts today.

Below: can you spot my glass of red wine? Legs & legs (I love this chair!); an elegant dusty blue sofa I wanted to faint over, Victorian-style, maybe next time; the collage above the sofa is by Arturo Herrera; the ceiling; a peek at The Other Side of the Room...