Kansas City Street Fashion - Week of May 11

Mary's Buffet

When I was growing up with my parents’ illnesses, after awhile I didn’t realize how much those illnesses occupied my life.  And when each of them died, I had some space from the illnesses and began to forget about them. 

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been preparing to sell my parents’ house and then hold an estate sale of their belongings.   I’ve been knee deep in cleaning out and organizing.  Going through item after item – every decision about whether to keep or discard something felt like a decision to keep or discard my parents.  And then I came across six solid filing cabinets full of my parents’ medical records.  And I couldn’t ignore how much the illnesses had consumed me.

For almost two years, I went back and forth about the amount of my parents’ furniture I was going to keep.  At one point, I planned on taking almost half of it.  The furniture is beautiful.  It is.  Well-crafted, dark wood and formal designs.  Purchased for when my parents entertained with fancy affairs.  Purchased for a different life than mine. 

So instead, I took five items of furniture.  One piece was “Mary’s Buffet. “ When I was a small child, I thought that  “Mary’s Buffet” was the formal name of this piece of furniture – like a breakfront or a secretary desk.  But it’s just what my mom called it, because it was her college roommate, Mary’s, buffet.  It is not fancy or unique or even that pretty.  But it stayed with my mom for over forty years from Denver to Kansas City to Washington, D.C. and then back to Kansas City again.

After the estate sale company had set everything up in my parents’ home for the actual estate sale, I drove over to the house late at night and wandered around.  Each room was set up like a little boutique. 

I flipped through boardgames on a table and hoped that some other child would find them endlessly fun as I had.  I traced my fingers along the edges of my mother’s beautiful Portmerion dishes and hoped that some other mother would fall in love with these dishes the way my mom had.  I sat down on a couch in the living room and surveyed the room, and I hoped some other family would find many happy memories on this sofa.  Or maybe, happier memories.

*A special thanks to all the people who helped make this new chapter possible: Max Jones at Remax Revolution, Sue Shores at Changeit Redesign, Absolute Estates Sales, and Tucker Painting.

I Dream in Blue and White

The incomparable Charlotte Moss via

I'm about to sell my parents' house and move into a new place in a few weeks.  Right now I'm in the process of planning the interior design of my new home.  I've never done this type of thing before, and I have had so much fun doing it.  The other day, I truly spent 2.5 hours just looking at table lamps.

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Over the past 10-12 years, I've kept a black three ring binder, filled with pages I've ripped out of magazines.  The pages include things like moving passages in magazine articles, profiles on inspiring women, stories about historic hotels and lists of essential wardrobe items.  I also have been keeping pages from magazines for my "dream" interior design.

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Needless to say, I'm over the moon to finally be able to use all these "dream" interior design magazine-page-rip-outs.  My dream bedroom always has been in light blues and creams and neutrals.  I love traditional shapes and ideas, but with a modern twist.  The pictures on today's blog post are some of my inspiration for the bedroom.  I can't wait to see how it all comes together!

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Stan's Birthday

The other night, I was in Washington, D.C., and I celebrated my friend Stan’s birthday with his family.  I met his children and grandchildren and greatgrandchildren for the first time.  His wife, Sara, was not there – which was a strange thing, because it’s hard to think of Stan and to not think of Sara.  But Sara passed away a few months ago.

Right after college I moved to Washington, D.C., and worked for a Congressman; and like many twenty somethings, I was intent on changing the world.

A few months after I moved to Washington, my mom visited me.  During her visit she arranged a dinner with Stan and Sara.  Stan was an editor at The Washington Post and my mom’s boss when she worked there.   We met at the Odeon Café on Connecticut Avenue near my apartment.  Stan and Sara got there before us.  Stan was wearing a sports coat.  He always does.  We shared stuffed mushrooms, and I had the salmon linguine. 

After that dinner, Stan and Sara took me under their wing.  I don’t know if that’s just the type of people they are or if they saw that I was in need of taking-care-of.  Regardless, for the next two years, every couple of weeks we would get together for dinner. 

One time, the three of us were walking out of the restaurant at the Mayflower hotel.  Stan went ahead of Sara and me to get their car.  Sara took me by the arm, leaned into me and said, “My hope for you, dear, is that someday you meet your Stan.”

Stan is an incredible journalist.  Sara was always so proud of that.  His writing is searing in its simplicity.  He’s uses almost no adverbs. 

He got the itch to be a reporter at a young age, when a substitute teacher took over his middle school class and with no lesson plans from which to work – had each of the students write newspaper articles.  Stan has had a storied career.  He was one of the reporters whom Robert Kennedy famously told that John Kennedy’s running mate would not be Lyndon Johnson, and as Stan said, “I thought John Kennedy’s brother was a pretty good source!”

Stan is one of those great men.  From a generation of men with a strong work ethic, with gentlemanly manners, and with a sense of duty.  And more than anything, I think what Sara meant is that – day in and day out – Stan is kind and he is decent.  We should all be so lucky to meet “our Stan.”

London's Macintosh Typefaces

It’s been over two months since I left London and came back home to Kansas City.   I’ve asked myself over and over again, “What was the point of my time in London?”  I haven’t figured it out yet.  I am reminded of the Steve Jobs anecdote about how he dropped out of Reed College, and then for the pure fun of it, audited several calligraphy classes there.  Years later, these calligraphy classes became the foundation of Mac computers’ typefaces.  So perhaps I will discover the purpose in the years to come.

  

When I was in London, I had all these grand plans for side trips throughout Europe: Barcelona, Vienna, Copenhagen. But I fell in love with London.  I fell in love with the rows of tiny chimneys atop the townhouses, with the Capability Brown designed parks, and with the winding streets that revealed a bit more of the city with each turn.  I fell in love with my long walks along the Thames, with the electrifying theater of the West End and with the inspiring programming at the V&A.

  

And I fell in love with the English countryside too.  The rolling hills of Yorkshire, Derbyshire and Lincolnshire; dabbled with white sheep and their little black faces; each view more beautiful than the next.  But most of all, I fell in love with the quiet politeness of England.  A country so thoroughly courteous and thoughtful, that I hope it stays with me forever.

  

London's Decorative Details

Many of my days in London were spent wandering around my neighborhood admiring the architecture and decorative elements of the homes.  Every item was an opportunity for refinement and expression.  A stark contrast to so many cookie cutter homes in America.  No cement slabs for the walk up to your front door; rather intricate mosaics or playful polka dot fun.

Why bother with a boring, brass doorknocker – when you can have a whale or a fox or the goddess of love herself?

And what about the beautifully detailed windowpanes?  Such lovely designs, with each pane catching the light differently.