The Impromptu Dinner Party

The first of last week, a client of mine came over to approve some handmade tile for a project. As we were chatting to coordinate the visit, I invited her to dinner.

"You are coming a long way. Please stay for dinner. It will be no big deal ~ homemade macaroni and cheese, Caesar salad, a baguette and some red wine."

As we lingered over dinner, she mentioned that her birthday was next week; that she was not looking forward to it and could she spend it with me.

"Absolutely," I said. "Let me work out the details and we'll set it up." In the interim, a friend of a friend sent me an email ~ Heidi – why am I only now discovering your blog? It’s fabulous and I’m subscribed so I can get all your decorating secrets. I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE the kitchen cabinet fix up! Someday I want you to invite me to come see your house so I can copy all your brilliant ideas.  XOXO  Liz

All week long as I met with friends and close colleagues, I invited them to come for dinner. I invited Byron on the way back from the Elwha Dam removal documentary. I called my friend, Audrey, on Bainbridge to see if she was going to be in town. Then, Karen and her husband, Ron. In my brain, it started out as four and, as the week wore on, it ended up with eight.

What to fix? Comfort food. It's been raining like hell all week. Beyond drizzle. As I watched the rain sheet down the windows, I thought ~ potato soup with celery and artichokes with maybe some freshly smoked salmon crumbled on it, some crusty bread, some brie, wine.

I went to the store and bought a whole wild-caught Sockeye salmon, had it filleted, brought it home and grilled it on a cedar plank. Pink and smoky. Oh, yum! The potato soup was easy. While I don't consider myself such a red-hot cook, I do have lovely dishes and they just don't get out enough. So, I brought out the demitasse, the liqueur glasses, the Majolica cabbage soup tureen, the linen napkins ~ the whole shootin' match.

Byron brought an apple strudel pie just warm out of his oven. Laura brought a wonderful chocolate number and a couple of quarts of nice ice cream. Everyone brought a nice bottle of wine. And, we celebrated not just one but two birthdays ~ Laura, my client and Audrey, my dear friend.

At the end of my shopping trip, I had stopped at the store and bought everyone a lottery ticket and tucked it under each plate. Much hilarity ensued. We might be dining with a multimillionaire. What would you do with the money?

The impromptu dinner party? A group of strangers met for dinner and left as friends. At the end of the evening, we were discussing a monthly dinner party. I've always wanted to do that. I'll keep you posted.

Such a Lovely Word ~ Spring! Oh, and . . . Cleaning

This was such a lovely weekend in Seattle. Warm. Sunny.

S*P*R*I*N*G

'Course the thing about spring is the increased light and ~ what the hell! Cobwebs everywhere. Dust. Uck. I guess that's why it's call Spring Cleaning.

On Saturday morning, I decided to tackle the cupboard about my stove. Now, the thing about my kitchen is it's small. I like it very much, but, I don't kid myself. It's minuscule.

When I "remodeled" my kitchen several years ago, I clad the rift cut oak with bead board, replaced the doors of the cupboard above my stove with an old window with true divided lights. Luckily, it was exactly the size of the original doors. Popped right in.

Then, I painted the whole shootin' match the perfect "white." I had this romantic idea of having an interesting display cabinet in my kitchen. After I'd loaded up the cupboard, I realized it was missing visual interest. The cupboard holds my every day dinner dishes. While I'm very fond of celadon, there wasn't enough going on. Dullsville. What it needed? Flavour, please!

Which brings me to the beautiful solution. One of the things one buys when traveling in Italy is a calendar from the little kiosk in Piazza del Duomo. Of course, what do you do with that calendar when the year is up? The images are way too pretty to end up in the recycle bin. Mine ended up in my plan file.

While rummaging around for inspiration, I found my old calendar with botanical images of fruits. Perfect. I lined the entire interior of the cabinet with brown shopping bags turned inside out. Pawing through all my craft supplies in my studio shop which I laughingly call "The Well of Despair," I assembled all my half empty jars of matte medium, my brayer, sharp scissors and got to work.


I deckled the edges of the calendar pages and cut individual fruits to overlay the pages. When I was finished, it did everything I wanted it to do. It was visually interesting, beautiful, and utterly romantic. Best of all, my celadon plates coupled with oxblood porcelain made a show-stopping picture.


I covered the spice shelf with entry tickets and pensione bills from the places we visited and stayed during our trip. Now, when I pull out the sage or the marjoram, I'm reminded of that wonderful life-changing trip my sons and I had.

  

 

Friendly, beautiful, romantic and exactly what I had in mind.

The Pressure Washer ~ Friends with Benefits

It was a lovely day in Seattle yesterday. Mild sunny. Practically spring.

Those of us in the Pacific Northwest are known to rush outside on the first sunny day and lose our minds as we "frolic and detour" out the front door (not in the legal sense, mind you, but in the "it's been raining since October and we've got to get out of the house and put our hands in dirt" sense.) It's true, I've made the mistake of planting basil in April or hurrying to get my starts in the ground. Yup, we're overly enthusiastic about the prospect of warmer days ahead.

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote to my friend Zen about how ghastly my blog photos looked when I really looked at them. I believe I said ~ Did you like all the moss and black slime covering my pots, bench, and limestone? I like to think it's atmospheric and not a filthy disgusting mess.

He responded with his very generous characterization ~ I prefer to think of it as having a rich yet bohemian-like earthiness........much like the patina on the bronze bells of the Cathedral of Notre Dame, or the rich sediment at the bottom of a bottle of Chateau Lafite Rothschild.....I'm thinking a '61........

I decided rich yet Bohemian-like earthiness had to go. Here's the rub: my late husband was Mr. Tool and, because he was a fighter pilot, he was also Mr. Redundant Systems. Unfortunately, after his death, one-by-one all of his small engine equipment died as well. The worst was the pressure washer.

Pressure washing the stone around my house is a completely contemplative thing. Utterly Zen. Struggling with a dead pressure washer is entirely not Zen.

Surprise! To the rescue! My friend Karen and her husband Ron arrived yesterday morning via a big honking truck with the most amazing pressure washer I've ever seen.









We all got to work. Pressure washing the stone and the benches, scrubbing the black slime off the pots, planting the pots with optimistic bright pansies and primroses, cleaning out the scruffy dead stragglers in my little kitchen garden and getting it ready for planting basil and tomatoes in May, raking up the mulch in the perennial beds, filling the bags with yard waste ready for pick-up on Monday morning, scrubbing off the awning.

Heaven!

We worked all afternoon. Then, we made a veggie pizza, opened a bottle of wine and basked in our success.

After they left, I went out and walked around the yard. I love the look of "cared for." Cared for doesn't have to be expensive or chichi. It really is often small.

 

I slept the Sleep of the Righteous, the Contented. Of course, this morning, I can hardly walk, but, that is another story.

The Perils of a Prix Fixes Wedding

This is a blog post that when I look back on it in a couple of years, I will die of embarrassment. It's a cautionary tale. Here are the facts: I have a really, really beautiful home. The grounds are interesting and chock full of pots heaping with flowers. The house is on a nice quiet lane and set back from the road. It's lovely.

Over the years, several friends and family members have held weddings and special occasion events here. All beautiful. All successful.

During the financial crisis and economic downturn (or, as those of us in construction say ~ the depression), I decided to use all my skills and make every aspect of my life a "profit center." Uck, buzz words! Loathe them! I put them all in the category of thoroughly stupid phrases that are designed to make you seem smart, but, generally make you sound like an idiot, i.e., "mission statement," "way finding," "on message," "at the end of the day," "impact," "in my thoughts and prayers," etc. But, I digress . . .

So, I posted my ad on our local Craigslist:

Don't let Wall Street put the damper on your wedding plans. What you need, you cutie pies you, is a beautiful, romantic wedding for not much money. Impossible you say? Come with me. I found just the place.

Columns on the Park is a deluxe Bellevue B&B with an Italian sensibility. Columns has put together an amazing wedding package for your small weddings ~ say around 20 people. Your hostess is an award winning interior designer so, yes, she's got the china, silver and the touch to make everything beautiful for your special day. And, best of all, her studio is in a Tuscan Villa. And, I'm not kidding.

Sure you could have your wedding in chambers, but, for $####, you get a wedding in a drop dead gorgeous garden, a keepsake garter, dozens of photos of your wedding, a true wedding cake, a complimentary bottle of Italian champagne, two keepsake champagne flutes, the perfect music, and a coffee, tea, punch reception with china plates and linen napkins.

Oh, the adventures that begin with "Yes." Did I mention the garden in the spring? Book now!

What happened, you might ask? Was it successful? Were you able to turn your skills into a "profit center?" Well, yes. . . and, no.

Having worked my way through college working retail, nothing much surprises me about working with the public. First, there were the calls wanting to know if they could have 50 people. What about 75? Sheesh, what part of 20ish wasn't clear? Those calls were followed by "was there a room for the bridal party to dress?" My first thought was "what part of 'in chambers' sounded like dressing rooms were involved?" Could they bring their hairdresser? Nail artist? Could they come the night before to set-up?

Yes, there are speakers in the garden. Yes, I have lovely wedding music. Sure, I will put your wedding mix tape on. No, I can't time it to sync up with the instant you finish your vows. 

Yes, I provide three cake flavours. Yellow, white and chocolate. No, they are not gluten-free. No, there is no "tasting."

Mostly, it went well. But, occasionally, when my life reads like a story problem, things happened. And, not good things.

Like the time . . .

I'd had back-to-back weddings and there was a lot of clean-up, tidy-up, prepare for the second wedding to do. I'd finished one cake, cleaned up the house, pressure washed the stone, blew off the driveway, dead headed the roses, emptied the trash, washed the napkins, ironed the napkins, started the dishwasher, started the second cake, set the timer and, just closed my eyes for a second . . . and sat straight up in bed!

Oh, my God! What time is it?

Oh no! It's 2:30AM. The cake's been in the oven since 9:30.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

It's burned all the way down. No chance of scraping off the charred edges. It's dead! Utterly, absolutely dead!

Shit! Shit! Shit!

Get in the car. Speed to 24 hour grocery store. What the hell? What are all those police cars speeding past me in the parking lot with lights and sirens blazing? What are all those police officers doing leaping out of their cars with their guns drawn?

Shit! Shit! Shit!

My Safeway is being robbed! Oh, brother! My life really is a complete story problem! Nightmare!

Shit! Shit! Shit!

Find another 24 hour store ~ right the hell now. Thank God, I live in the suburbs. All the grocery stores can't be being robbed in the middle of the night.

And, home again by 5:00AM. Cake cooling on the counter by 6:30AM. Sigh.

I really must buy a lottery ticket.

The Romance of Naming your Home

After my husband died, I decided to blow this pop stand and take my sons to Italy at Christmas. It was a two week slumber party and the first time I'd heard them laugh in months.

My sons are both 6'5" tall ~ talk about seven league boots! In Florence, they were striding along and pretty soon out-distanced me but I could hear them laughing from the next block. Heaven.

Because I adore architectural salvage, my walking was hampered by the visual wonder of Italy. I stopped often to admire a door knocker or a light fixture or the brace of an eave. Walking along the streets, block after block was the salve my soul needed.

We were in Florence for Christmas when we decided to take a midnight stroll and watched the full moon rise between Giotto's Bell Tower and the Duomo. Breathtaking. In one of the side streets of the Piazza del Duomo, there was a very small shop with a soaringly high ceiling and walls filled with wonderful signs. Enameled letters. Brass plaques. Individual house numbers in bronze and brass and steel. Utter desire!

The next day, we stopped into that mouthwatering store. As we entered, a thousand year old man walked out from the back room with the International Tribune under his arm. I started to ask him a question. He just turned on his heel and walked back into his office. We stood there a little flat footed and finally left.

The next year, my oldest son was studying in Florence. After nine months of Italian lessons and just before my birthday, he returned to the shop and ordered me a sign for my 50th birthday. And, in an understanding of the importance of international peace, he said that the owner reminded him of Grampa ~ a bit of a curmudgeon, he doesn't like speaking English to "tourists" but was very charming when you get to know him.

And, there it is ~ a little grace note on the side of my home. And, a touching present from my son. Heaven!