Want It Wednesdays: Gilt (y) As Charged

Photos courtesy 1stdibs, Cupboards and Roses Swedish Antiques, One of a Kind Antiques, vandm.com and Jones & Cole MJH Design Arts

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Our Man Stan Is At It Again

My house does not have an official mudroom.

You could, however, call the space just inside and to the left of my front door a muddy mess.  I am not sure when or why we appointed this little 3' x 3' space as the designated place to remove shoes, drop all belongings, and act as if we have a mudroom, but we did, and it is.  This area, our "muddy mess," is the bane of my existence.  But, as fate would have it, our man Stan, author of The Find, has come to save the day with a great piece he has produced about none other than, you guessed it, mudrooms for This Old House.  For more marvelous info and photos check it out here.

Photos courtesy This Old House and Helen Norman

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Want It Wednesdays: Just My Type

Photos courtesy The Old Cinema, vandm.com, East Market Street Antiques Sandra Mackintosh, and The Old Cinema

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86,400 Seconds Times Two

There is this song by Kris Allen that has lyrics that suggest that since there are only 86,400 seconds in a day we should make every second count and live like we're dying.  Nobody is dying, I just have some family business that needs my attention.  

I'll be back with a Want It Wednesdays in 172,800 seconds.

See ya Wednesday!

Image courtesy Jeff Canham

When LeAnn Met Mr. Holmes

I have two words for this past week - OY VEY!!!

I've been washing, ironing, pressing, painting and upholstering everything that doesn't move out of my way - such a glamorous life I lead, I know!  Da Hubbs and I leave today for the spring Antiques Week in Round Top, Texas.  I'm not ready - not gonna be ready - never ready -  I've been contemplating faking some sort of psychosomatic episode - one of those curl up in bed and suck my thumb and rub my blanky against my cheek, kinda deals.  But, alas - the junkers and antique-ers call, so I must press forward . . . .  Get it, "press" - I slay me!

So, instead of continuing the "Yikes -I'm-freakin'-out-cuz-I'm-a-chronic-procrastinator-dance," I have a story . . . .

Ready?

Last week I made a new friend.  I elected to change her name in this story for various reasons.  This is mainly out of respect for the fact that most people don't make new acquaintances in order to appear later in a blog post.  I've made only one exception to this self-imposed policy of anonymity.  Mr. Holmes really is named Mr. Holmes.  I wanted to use his real name because it is integral to the story.

This friendship was formed during . . . . Wait for it . . . . . . BINGO NIGHT!!! . . .  I new it was only a matter of time before I was wheeled down to the senior center to play "the bingo", but I suspected I had a few more years before this happened.  I've decided to call my new friend Jo Betsy Greenberg - she's one of those lilting southern ladies - only with quite a colorful vocabulary and a really quirky sense of humor.

Any-who, we arrived at BINGO NIGHT and were being taken around to meet the other folks at the party.  Within a matter of seconds, she was there - her hand held out and ready to shake.  She introduced herself as Jo Betsy Greenberg and then said, "My husband's the Jew - I just converted for the jokes." 

You love her yet, or what?  Wait, it gets better . . .

She, motions toward the sofa where her little yip-yip dog is perched and says, "That little horn-bone over there is Mr. Holmes."  I didn't get it until later, when it hit me that she was referring to John Holmes, the 1970s porn star.  It hit because Mr. Holmes proceeded to sexually assault my left leg for the next 30 minutes.  Finally, Jo Betsy said, "Just fake an orgasm and he'll quit."  So, I did - all Meg Ryan-like from When Harry Met Sally fame and he stopped and went over to his little dog bed and shot me "call me later" glances, punctuated occasionally by little squeaking noises that sounded like air being released from a balloon little by little, to which Jo Betsy would say, "Poor Mr. Holmes - he's got "the gas."  By the end of the evening, the air in her apartment was visible and smelled of rotten eggs, dead body and a tinge of Ben-Gay, which dilated ye old olfactory nerve, making the stench summon tears and my gag reflex repeatedly!

Okay, so that was gross, but I had to share and continue my lot in life as the "Too Much Information Giver." 

So, now I must be off to Round Top for the next 8 days to sell some vintage goodies - so wish me luck!  Keep checking in though, cuz I'll occasionally post updates, pics and more stories.  And unlike Vegas - What happens in Round Top does not necessarily stay in Round Top!

If you are planning on attending Antiques Week this spring, I would love it if you would come by and see me at my spaces at Vickie Davis' wonderful venue, The Texas Rose Antiques Show, located across from Marburger Farms, 2075 South State Highway 237.  You can find directions here.  The show begins Saturday, March 27th, and runs through Saturday, April 3, 2010.

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Blog It forward: Inspiration

Thanks to The Sweetest Occasion for passing the baton on to me during the Blog It Forward - made possible by Victoria from sfgirlbybay - Thanks so much!  And on Tuesday the blogger mash up  continues with The Wandering Writer.

I have many sources of inspiration that might give insight into the way I work. My passions are many and various: from art, music and books to flowers and gardening to family and friends. So here is what inspires me:

COLOR

PATTERN

Along with Vera,  Tricia Guild and Florence Broadhurst provide constant inspiration.

 PRINTED TEXTILES

STORIES 

Sites and podcasts like Selected Shorts, The Moth, and The New Yorker Fiction Podcasts

MY GENE POOL

FUNNY PEOPLE

As Erma Bombeck said, "If you can't make it better, you can laugh at it."

Photos courtesy Erma Bombeck, Haven Kimmel, Sloane Crosley, David Sedaris, Amy Sedaris, and  Simon Rich.  Logos courtesy Selected Shorts, The Moth, and The New Yorker Fiction Podcasts.

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Girl Friday: Carmen Natschke

I'm all flush and the room is kinda spin-y because the marvelous Carmen Natschke has profiled The Vintage Laundry on her blog called The Decorating Diva.  The series is called Inspired by Home Decor Store Design and can be found here.

Natschke is an award winning designer and co-founder of Room In A Kit and The Decorating Diva online magazine. She has received many accolades for her outstanding retail design and merchandising skills and her design and trend forecasting expertise is sought by many industry giants, which makes this profile of The Vintage Laundry all the more flattering. 

Carmen thanks you so much for this lovely feature and a long over due thanks for an earlier listing of my Want It Wednesdays blog posts in your Best of the Web Series.

Logo courtesy Decorating Diva

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City Wide Garage Sale This Weekend!

This week I've been painting, upholstering and washing myself into a full fledged frenzy preparing for this weekend's (March 13th and 14th) City Wide Garage Sale at Palmer Events Center here in Austin. My booth is #217 near the red skirted info desk. There is a $7 charge to park in the garage or there is a free parking lot at One Texas Center on the Southwest corner of So First and Barton Springs, as well.

Saturday morning between 8:30am -10am City Wide offers early shopper passes for $10 each.  This allows those who choose to have early access to the show and get first dibs on vendors merchandise before the general admission customers enter at 10am.

I hope you get a chance to come and see me, cuz I have some really marvelous goodies this show!

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Want It Wednesdays: Orange You Glad I Didn't Say Banana

 Photos courtesy 1stdibs, Swank Lighting, Lavish Home and Found for The Home

So, That Happened

The other day I was sitting on the sofa with my leg slung over the arm simultaneously watching NCIS, flippin' through my new Coastal Living Magazine, and munchin' on some Bugles - multi-tasking equals power, people!  The Bugles that I hadn't eaten yet were perched on the tips of my fingers posing as Lee Press-on Nails, when, all of sudden, like out of nowhere comes da Hubbs and little did I know, but I was about to have one of those, "I -love-you-you-are-perfect-now-change" conversations.

Da Hubbs walks in and sits on the floor beside the couch and says, "I'm gonna do some sit ups . . . . You want to join me?"  I said, "No," and continued, "I have crossed and uncrossed my legs several times this afternoon and I'm pretty sure that move is classified as an intermediate to advanced yoga workout . . . . it's true, I heard it on Oprah!"  "U-huh . . ."  he grunted.  Then, I followed with, "I'm doing my Kegel exercises right now anyway."  "Kegel exercises?" he questioned. "Yeah, you know I'm flexing my pelvic muscles . . . . Like internally like . . . . .  Its supposed to strengthen my core,"  I said, as I ran my Bugle adorned fingers over my stomach region.  The Hubbs kinda shot me a sideways kinda look and said, "Okay, well it doesn't look like you're doing anything but having a snack.  "That's the beauty of this particular exercise," I shot back, "you can do them anywhere, without anyone knowing!"  So every time he looked over at me, while he was counting out his sit-ups, I would kinda scrunch up my face and tilt my head heaven-ward and squeeze my right eye shut to imitate physical exertion.  To be honest, I mostly just looked like a was about to sneeze or like a bee had flown up my nose - either that or like I was constipated and needed some of that yogurt that Jamie Lee Curtis eats.

I felt like I had escaped the "Fitness Forest" unscathed and could breathe easy. But I was wrong, because 20 minutes later he decided to go for a jog and invited me along.  I had to go this time cuz when he asked me I was caught in the act of polishing off a Haagen-Dazs Bar.  As we ran, I was trying to keep up and look all in shape and junk, when I got a huge stitch in my side and had to come to a screeching halt on the trail.  The Hubbs started jogging in place while trying to encourage me to push through it and continue.  What I wanted to say was, "Listen up, Triscuit, I'm fairly sure I dropped my uterus back there, and all this sweating is making my mid-life acne worse, not to mention that, at this precise, moment my underwear is wedged up somewhere close to my cerebellum - so back off!!"  What I did do was a little different - all that I really could think to do at that moment was throw up or cry, but I couldn't decide which one to do first.  I decided I should throw up first and get out of the way so when the uncontrollable sobs and snubbing started, I wouldn't suffer from a 1960s-rock-star-type-death.

I have to tell you, barf really comes in handy when you are trying to get out of doing stuff - just ask my Mom or my 1st grade teacher!  Da Hubbs just wrapped an arm around me and told me to hang on and quickly took me home and tucked me into bed and handed me my magazine and got me a Diet Dr. Pepper.

That's it . . . that is my big segue into this month's episode of "SO, THAT HAPPENED AND NOW LOOK WHAT I FOUND IN COASTAL LIVING."

No, really, look what I found! 

One feature I was particularly taken by was the piece by Steele Thomas Marcoux on Manhattan Beach designer, Jill Johnson, and her labor of love.  She converted a 1922 one-bedroom shack into a four-bedroom beach bungalow, nearly doubling the cottage’s size without enlarging its original footprint.  Johnson shares how she remade a rental mess into her dream cottage, one room at a time.

I'm all inspired now . . . where's that paint brush?!

Photos courtesy Coastal Living and Grey Crawford.
 
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Mr. Selby I Presume

I'm sure most of you know about The Selby already, but just in case, I'd like to introduce you.  The Selby is like porn for home design lovers.  Fashion and interiors photographer Todd Selby's idea for his blog, The Selby, is simply to show images of artists, designers, musicians in their studios or working environment - kind of a voyeuristic peek into the world's creative types.  And, as luck would have it, a  256 page hardback book filled with unique, never before seen spaces of acclaimed individuals all around the globe called The Selby Is in Your Place drops April 1st and is available for pre-orders at Abrams Books and Amazon.

Like Mr. Selby, I love to see how personal style is reflected through interior design in private spaces of other people - I believe that particular level of curiosity is also known as being nosy - one of my most prominent personal traits, I'm afraid.  Unlike Todd, however, I don't have acquaintances like Simon Doonan and Jonathan Adler, Karl Lagerfeld, Andre Walker, and Olivier Zahm, who are featured in his book in glamor-rific locations like New York, Los Angeles, Paris, Tokyo, Sydney, and London.  And to add to his marvelous-ness, a big honkin' congratulations is needed because he was just named one of the top Fashion/Style bloggers by this month’s Vogue magazine. Bravo sir - well played - well played, indeed!

I don't know about you, but I'm not gonna miss out on this jewel, so...... I'm headed over to pre-order right after I get this post up!

Photos courtesy Todd Selby and Abrams Books.

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Want It Wednesdays: Blue Blazes

Photos courtesy 1stdibs, Moss Antiques, Ruby Lane, Butler and Butler Gallery, V and M, Sultan Chic

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Want It Wednesdays: Earn Your Stripes

Photos courtesy Etsy, Special Items, Bella Umbrella and Candy Warehouse

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Happy 101

The marvelously talented Janis Nicolay of Pinecone Camp has passed on the Happy 101 Award to me. You are the grooviest and I thank you so very much!

So here's the deal, I'm supposed to tell everyone 10 things that make me a "happy camper". Ready, set and go:

 

Thanks again Janis - you are the darlin-est creature! Now, I think I'm supposed to pass Happy 101 Award on to a few other bloggers who make me happy and oh so loved. So, I choose:

Stan of The Elegant Thrifter
Debbie of Talking Trash
Cheryl of Stash Studios

Photos courtesy Cabbages and Roses, i gigi, The Laundry, Pale and Interesting, Polly Wreford,

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Hope You had Great Valentine's Day!

I Lurve You!

The year was 1991 and I had fallen in love.  I had graduated from college, acquired my first real job in a design firm, gotten fired from said job, and was back working in retail until I could find another graphics design position.  I was living out my life in terms of romance, egged on by alot of hormones and pheromones.  My newly-found LOVE was a young attorney in the DA's office.  He was very different than the arty, free-spirited liberal guys I was usually drawn to.  He wore suits and ties and had a great checkbook-wallet-type thingy he kept in the breast pocket of his suit coat, just like I imagined Carry Grant might have.  (And yes, I get how ironic it is that I was taken by where he kept his cash - can you say pre-nup?!)  He was a conservative, a Catholic, and could deliver a mean voir dire .  He could, I figured, write a brief or an amendment to the Constitution instead of composing a song about me - to spell out what I meant to him and how he had never met anyone like me and couldn't imagine living his life without me.  VAIN you say? - absolutely, positively - but I was young and ME and what you thought about ME was my favorite topic of conversation.

Our first Valentine's Day spent together, we drove to a restaurant in the adjacent state and had a marvelous dinner, sipped on grown-up drinks and told each other stories about our families, our past relationships and our shoe sizes. (Wha?????)  On the drive home I became intoxicated with the feelings that I was experiencing and said really loudly and with kind of a speech impediment, "I LURVE YOU!"  It was at that moment that my LOVE turned and looked at me and smiled . . . . . . . . insert cricket sounds . . . . . . . tumble weeds rolling around . . . . . only the sound of the car on the road . . . not a word . . . . . and definitely not the words I was longing to hear.  It was at that moment that I was seized with an irrational need to fling myself over the bridge we were driving over.  What I wanted to do was throw him down, stick a knee in his chest while assaulting him with a tourette-syndrome-like tirade, using every cuss word I could think to rant.  But, I didn't.  The mood in the car was anything but romantic after that point and I was filled with resentment and anger... and a lot of urine - I'd forgotten to pee before we left the restaurant! 

But, here's what I did do . . .

I finally broke the silence with something along the lines of "What the #@$% is wrong with you?  When someone says that they love you, you just DON'T SMILE!!!  You say something back, preferably the same thing . . . . verbatum to be precise, only with a "too" at the end of it!!!!!"

We had meet 2 years prior to that night at a party that I was at with my then current boyfriend-type person.  When my LOVE walked in the door our eyes locked on each other and I asked my boyfriend in a kinda short of breathe like manner, "WHO IS THAT?"  Bad move - I'm aware - of course the boyfriend was offended and blurted out that, "Oh that's So-and-so and he pretty much hates women!"  "You mean, he prefers men?" I shot back.  "No, no, no he's just gotten out of a really awful relationship" said the boyfriend.

Fast-forward 2 years and I'm at a club dancing with friends.  I look up and see my LOVE staring at me with a drink in one hand and the other hand in his jeans pocket.  He's staring and staring and staring some more.  Finally, I got fed up and made a bee-line over to him and asked, "So, are you going to stare at me all night, or are you going to talk to me?"  And, it's at this point that his oratory skills acquired from his career in law came to their full potential with the most romantic thing I've heard, "Errrr . . . .uuuhhhhh . . . . . mmmmmm . . .eerrr . . . . gulp."  I mean seriously, he had me at "Errr", don'cha know!  Later that evening, we checked each other for tonsils and began what has turned into a fantastic 19-year adventure together.

And I made you endure that story to tell you this one and to go "on the record" about how time and age changes one's attitudes toward romance.  This story begins with my little sister,  Pauli.  She is a marvelous cook, she's also a vegan and exercises and generally eats bark and pretty much ranks in the "super hero" division of mother to her two little boys.  The other day we were visiting about our plans for Valentines day.  She was planning a dinner with a menu that consisted of grilled shrimp salad, scallop chowder with Pernod and Thyme and grilled kebabs with guava BBQ sauce.  Frankly, after a few minutes of hearing this, I was feeling like my planned dinner of Pringles, Altoids, and Cheddar Whizzy shot straight out of the can into our mouths, lacked a little something.

So, of course I said, "say who? . . . what the . . . where did all that come from?"  "My Coastal Living,"  she said, "it came in the mail the other day and those recipes were in there - it's their annual islands issue."  So, of course I rushed home and pulled mine out of the mailbox and immediately turned to the "It's Five O'clock Somewhere" article and found a ton of new booze recipes to increase the whole island bartender vibe I'm throwin' out these days.  They were sharing cocktails from islands around the world, like Bali, Fiji, Nantucket, Capri and Mauritius.

I also got really inspired by their piece on "The Prettiest Island Rooms."  They have pulled together some of their favorite tropics-inspired rooms into one super slide show.  You can go to Coastal Living.com and see it here.

 

 

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Want It Wednesdays: That's a Fact Jack

Photos courtesy Jimmie Martin Ltd., SMEG, Lulu Guinness

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Play Like I'm Sally Fields

I need to ask you to suspend reality for just a moment and play like I'm Sally Field and I'm making a really earnest acceptance speech at the Academy Awards show.....

Are you there?

No?

Okay, how 'bout if you imagine I'm on a float in the "The Little Miss Colorado River and Surrounding Tributaries" parade waving like a true festival queen . . . . ya know - elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist, elbow, elbow, while simultaneously trying to retrieve my beauty queen one-piece swimsuit out of my. . . .  uhm . . . . err . . . . crown jewels.

Okay . . . now you're there . . . aren't 'cha?

So, YAY! The winners of The People's Choice Awards were posted today on Poppytalk and I won 'Favourite Vintage Shop!!!' Thanks to everyone who voted.  You are all the most marvelous creatures on the planet and I'm sending lots and lots of gushy affection in everyone's general direction!

Photo courtesy Lisa Kettel

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Want It Wednesdays: Stroke of Midnight

Photos courtesy Stash Couture, 1stdibs, Great Stuff Vintage Furnishings, Paris Hotel Boutique

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A Stroll Down Owee-ka-bowee Blvd.

If you plan on painting your stairs as a chosen DIY project, there's about a one-bazillion percent chance that you'll spend at least a portion of that undertaking in an urgent-care clinic at the corner of Owee-ka-bowee Blvd. and Lord Just Take Me Now.

I hadn't foreseen this inevitable possibility, thinking naively that it's just some paint and a little tape applied to some harmless looking risers and steps.  Sadly, I was mistaken.

As da Hubbs and I sat for what like seemed like an eternity in the "We Use the Word Urgent Loosely Medical Center Clinic," I comforted myself with the image of a steaming hot bathtub in which I could soak my bruised and bonked-up body parts.

I had worked so hard not to be here, I had held tightly to the hand rail when I scaled up or descended down the stairs, always being very careful to keep my "size boat" feet within the 6 inch space that remained unpainted on each step. It all went wrong, however, when the big toe on my left foot became snagged on the hem of the right leg of my "you-got-a-ka-donky-donk-butt" warm up pants.  I pivoted toward the handrail in order to stabilize myself with my other hand and it was at that point that I started tumbling backward down the staircase.  The scene may have looked something like a gymnastics routine but it sounded more like a shoe in the dryer - a big ol' six feet one inch long, one hundred somethin' somethin' pound steel-toed heavy soled shoe!!

Exactly one hour later the doctor was ready for us.  After a flashlight in the eyes here and a poke and a picture there and a "Yep, that's quite a bruise" statement or two, I was released to go claim my long awaited soak in the tub.  After 2 days of nursing all the sympathy out my family that I could extract, I'm happy to say the only things that are still bruised are my ribs, my tailbone, and my ego.  Oh, and the stairs? . . . . they're fine . . . .  not even so much as a scratch . . . . I'll let them know you asked after them.

So, as a result of all that mess, all have to show you in yet another installment of " The Project from Hell " is more in progress pics.  So here goes:

 

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