This is a story I’ve wanted to share for months. I’m motivated because there are loose threads of it everywhere I look. My mother continues to gift pieces of favorite collections. J.’s dad gave Alex an archival album filled to overflowing with collected clippings from every golf tournament he ever…
I’m thinking about a T-shirt we bought our (then) senior art director years ago. “Spellers untie” ran unceremoniously across the back. He couldn’t spell to save his life. Actually, I’m thinking about the word picture of that knot, how twisty I am and how paradoxical our lives can be. I…
Inside 30 minutes I answered—easily five or more times—the same questions. Touching our rescued-from-consignment, restored antique pine dining table and motioning to the places around it, did you bring this furniture with you? Oh, I can see you sitting here and your husband sitting there and your friends around you.…
Moving is oh, so hard. I have just spent a year editing furniture, art and accessories. In the first 30 minutes of our well planned and, to my way of thinking, organized move, our familiar mover Dax (familiar because he has helped us over the year of editing) told J.…
I’ve prized them in our home through life. Our first table, an iron, glass-topped, hexagon gem, was a garage-sale find that fit perfectly in our cozy townhome. Our French dining table and chairs were my heartthrob; in recent years, as I tried to sell them, they became a nonstarter. Paint…