Appetite for Destruction

Love at first sight -- it is indeed a rare and special thing. I was lucky (unlucky?) enough to fall prey to it recently...On a leisurely weekend walk with a friend, I was inexplicably drawn to see what lived around the corner from the public beach we strolled past. I spotted a hint of a dock, and thanks to a few pre-walk cocktails (I know, I know), my accomplice -- I mean, friend -- and I waded through the water, around the bend...and I was instantly a goner.

There, before my eyes, was the most perfect house I had ever seen. Granted, all of its doors and windows were covered in cobwebs. And the stagnant pool water was the oddest shade of blue-green I had ever seen. And peering into the windows, I saw disarray and rubbish everywhere. But it was still like nothing I had ever seen in Seattle -- a Hollywood Regency diamond in the rough, made for Slim Aarons-esque pool parties and Black and White Balls.... I could see it all, even through the dirt and cobwebs.

I decided then and there that someday I would live in this house. I felt it to my core. After snapping some photos and committing the address to memory, I raced home to research the history of the home, its current ownership, etc., only to learn it had sold a few years earlier for more than $6 million. But I didn't let this deter me -- true love conquers all, right?

Here's what hooked me:

The front entrance. Really.

The fence separating me from my destiny...the fence and $6 million.

The kidney-shaped pool on the banks of Lake Washington

The world's most perfect pool house

The dock

Sunset

Detail of windows and brass hardware covering the entire back of the home

Listing photo of the home when it sold several years ago

A few weeks ago I stopped by for a quick check-in with my future home, to spot a crew of roofers hard at work...on a Sunday morning. A bit troubling, but I clung to my belief in fate and wrote it off to a minor interruption in the process of me and my house finding each other -- after all, it would take me some time (ahem) to raise the necessary $6 million to reclaim my house destiny.

So imagine my sadness when on a recent visit, instead of my dream home, I saw this in its place:

The house was....gone. As if it had never existed. Although sad to realize I would have to find a new home to be my star-crossed lover, more than anything, I mourned that no one else would ever be able to experience that same delight I felt when I discovered the house so unlike any other in Seattle, imagining what it had been like in its day -- what it could be like again. I am guessing a year from now, in its place will stand some sort of spartan modernist box, which seems to be the trend these days. Sigh.

Royal Albert

As those of you determined enough to follow along despite my infrequent-of-late posts may know, I grew up in the South -- Nashville, Tennessee, to be exact -- where gorgeous, old, traditional homes abound; I was even lucky enough to grow up in one myself.

A few days ago I learned one of Nashville's most beautiful homes recently went up for sale, and I was finally able to peek inside. Built in 1931, the home is rumored to have been decorated by the legendary Albert Hadley of venerable interiors firm Parish-Hadley. (Full disclosure: said rumor comes from a family member, but I am unable to verify this in Hadley's work history.)

Despite my lack of written proof, the home smacks of Hadley's genius and could be straight out of a recent issue of Veranda or Architectural Digest.

I love the various furniture groupings -- the perfect way to make a large space more intimate.

The window treatments here, in what appears to be the Library, are stunning, as they are throughout the home.

Love the table stacked with books.

Probably my favorite room -- guessing this may be the lady of the house's office...? The black lacquered walls, the lucite table and the pops of green throughout = pure chic.

The apple-green walls are so fresh and vibrant, set off by the white furnishings and woodwork. Love the trim on the closet doors!

The pool house. The pool house! I could die a happy woman in this image.

What I can only assume is the pool house interior. Isn't it perfect? The coral and white are so cheerful, and I would arm wrestle someone for that coffee table.

Stripes!

Not sure what is happening on these walls, but I like it. And the curtains? Perfect.

Lucite luggage racks? Yes, please.

Can you imagine this as your driveway? I can.

In researching the home, I was thrilled to learn that Albert Hadley was also born in Nashville, which certainly strengthens my suspicion of his involvement in the project. Hadley has also designed interiors for other Nashville luminaries, former Vice President Al Gore and his (former?) wife, Tipper.

I find that the older I get, the more I am drawn to these traditional interiors that cry out to be filled with family and friends over drawn-out bridge games, swimming parties, and political discussions that go into the night. Scotch on the rocks, anyone?

Song of the South

Maybe it's because the holidays are drawing near, but lately I've found myself missing home. Not home as in where I reside with my husband and children, where I have settled in over the last six years or so, where I love to return to at the end of every day, but HOME. The place where I played on my first (and last!) softball team. The place where I had my first (definitely not last) kiss. The place where I stayed up late with my babysitter watching "Fantasy Island" and tried to figure out exactly what was going on in that bungalow.

For me, Home with a capital "H" is Nashville, Tennessee. The South. I love the South. I know it has a lot of baggage associated with it, some of it deserved, some of it exaggerated, and some of it just plain made up by people who have merely passed through or never even visited.

What do I love about the South? The obvious, of course: it's home to all of my family. When you leave a place as a single girl, you miss your family all the time, but you're building your own life, so it's easy to push those feelings aside in favor of the here and now. But when your life transitions to the next level, when you begin to create a family of your own, that's when you begin to miss your family in a way that hurts....and not just because you have to pay everyone who's not family to watch your children!

Then there are the little things: the insane food which, no matter how anyone above or west of the Mason-Dixon line tries, cannot be duplicated. (If I had a nickel for how many times I've said, "You call that 'cornbread?'" I would be lounging on a tropical island at the moment.) Sweet tea. Chick-fil-A. Need I say more?

The friendliness. Sure, some of it is phoney, but in the south, when you walk down the street, people--people you do not know--look you in the eye and say hello; they don't avert their gaze as they pass. People chat you up in line for no reason. Just because that's what you do.

The landscape. The rolling green hills and three-hundred-year-old trees. The beaches and seafod boils. The front-porch swings.

The driving. People drive fast there. People get in the left lane and actually pass the people next to them. Who knew this was something I was taking for granted the first half of my life?

The hospitality. The luncheons for the most insignificant of reasons. The food people cook for you when you have a baby, lose a parent, lose a job. The table settings. The deviled egg plates. The effort.

The decorating. Yes, I said "decorating." Southerners are not afraid of going all out where aesthetics are concerned. Of filling every vacant space with objects. Of passing down items from generation to generation, even if said items are worthless to the average person. If it's not tied down, we monogram it; it's not that we don't know they're our towels, we just like an excuse to throw curly script on something, especially if it's pink.

I know many (if not all) of these things exist in some form in all parts of the country, even in the world, but I miss my own special variety of it all, or at least the variety I have conjured for myself. Some of it surely has been romanticized, but isn't that the great thing about all that is far away, whether geographically or chronologically? We forget all that made us pull out our hair in favor of that which makes our eyes glisten with nostalgia. Thank heavens for that.

I was fortunate, growing up, to have an extra-special home/Home. We lived just outside the city on 18 acres, in a home built in 1808. As a 9-year-old child, moving from a duplex I shared with my single mother to what then seemed a palatial home with outbuildings, a barn, a pool and a guest house, I felt like Little Orphan Annie moving into Daddy Warbucks' estate.

As an adult, I now see my house of childhood in comparison with the McMansions that have sprung up all around, and I see that our house is not so grand. The edges are worn, things need replacing. But it has something those McMansions will never possess: soul. And that is a fine thing indeed.

My family has since gone through some changes over the last few years, and our family house is now for sale. My mother sent over a few of the listing photos, which inspired me to reflect on not only my childhood house, but my childhood Home, and why I miss it so.

Then I remind myself: home isn't a place but a state of mind--it's the people who make it home, and we carry those people with us wherever we go.

The Things of a Dove

To begin, I'd like to share some things I've learned over the last month:

1. Moving and blogging don't mix. (Does anything mix with moving? Maybe drinking.)
2. If you sell things at 50% off, it won't be enough for some people. (Not you, of course.)

3. The less often you blog, the less motivated you are to blog.

Yes, it has been something like a month since our last post. Though admittedly, we have been up to our ears in moving, ordering, reupholstering, quoting, and designing, we probably could have found a spare hour or two for some blog time. But I've found through this prolonged absence that blogging is akin to exercising: once you stop, you don't really feel like starting up again. Blogging inertia, I suppose? Same with Twitter. (Although thinking of reasons to "Twitter" anything is hard enough as it is.)

But I'm hoping it's like a bike: You just jump back on and it feels like you never stopped riding. In the spirit of that wish, I thought I would post a follow-up to a post from a few months ago about my glorious neighbor (and unofficial mayor of Georgetown), Jon Dove. I previously shared some photos of his beautiful yard and new garden room, and I visited him afterwards to capture some complementary images of his home interior.

Jon and I have differing interior styles, but I love so many things about his home: his attention to detail, his passion for collecting, and his love of accessories, as well as his affinity for history--both his own, and that of the land and people around him.

Take a look and see what I mean:

Upon entering, the taxidermy squirrels tip you off that you won't be seeing much Pottery Barn here.

Ditto the fowl on the bannister post.

I'm not exactly sure what the faux cat tells you.

I love this framed poem by the front door, especially the closing line. Jon actually went to Seattle High School, and did indeed become a fine and worthy woman. SHS would be proud.


Jon's lovely living room, with our own Palace Bench peeking out from the corner.

Of course I love the Greek Key border, and Jon's homemade bamboo curtain rod is simple yet so lovely.

A vignette showcasing some of our favorite books, and apparently Jon's, too.

Great art arrangement. The post was salvaged from a neighborhood building and repurposed as shown here.

I love how threadbare the rug is. If only it could talk!

A tighter shot of one of Jon's artful displays of treasures....

This urn is gorgeous, and the small painting of the woman is by a local artist who shows adjacent to our old location.... Jon brought it into the shop after he purchased it and I was green with envy.

This room is Jon's OFFICE. Could you die? It's like a scene from Tara.

Do we love a man who has a damask-covered chaise in his office? Yes, we do.

A menacing animal head and a turban-wearing duck don't hurt, either.

This is my favorite room in the house, though it's really more of a pass-through between the living room, kitchen, and office. The ceiling is wallpapered with fringe trim adorning the base of the ledge surrounding the room.

Light streams into the kitchen beautifully from the garden outside.

I am kind of obsessed with the turquoise-edged platter hanging above the stove. Jon, lock those doors!

I love the rainbow created on the shelves.

Jon had this light fixture custom-made by a neighborhood fabricator. Lovely, don't you think?

Jon, being a Renaissance man, is quite an artist. This is one of his paintings, which I plan on grabbing when make off with the platter.

The artist at rest. Even his fridge is cool!

Here we are upstairs. I love the detail on the doors, as well as the random objects Jon has installed over them all.

A man after my own heart: a fellow design-mag hoarder. This cupboard is filled with back issues of World of Interiors. I wish all magazines had white spines.

The Dining Room, something of a museum of religious artifacts. Dining in this room by candlelight is an unparalleled experience.

Turquoise shelves = happiness.

See if you can spot the pink David-head teacup. That's coming with the painting and platter.

Another one of Jon's paintings. He truly has a wonderful talent.

More dead animals, this time in the upstairs sitting room, which I love.


I love the gaslight, from an old funeral carriage.


Those peeling paint patches would keep me up nights, but for Jon, they work wonderfully. Love the paint detail at the tops of the turquoise chairs.


A vignette from the guest bedroom, themed as a child's room. The bookcase is filled with Jon's old toys and books.

The outline of a future mural. Can't wait to see the finished product!