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Sobremesa Kansas City

Sobremesa Kansas City

I tell stories for a living. I freelance and tell the stories of people and their homes, but I also work part-time at a local university in the marketing department. When we have new people join the department, their supervisor brings them around to meet everyone, and when they get to me there’s a pause. “Patricia writes for the foundation and …”

I smile back from my swivel chair in my grey cubicle that’s only decoration is a Mondrian-style white board that holds my to-do list and say, “I tell stories. I write words.”

It may seem simple, but I am not minimizing what I do. I tell people’s stories. When I sit down with someone – whether he or she is a student or engineering professor or donor – I feel their protective shell. I hear the formality of their voice. I understand their need to protect – their story, their project, their ego – and I respect it. I honor all of those things.

I know in this moment at the beginning that regardless of how it goes, I will be able to tell their story. I am, however, uncertain that I will be able to assure them that they can trust me. I physically hold my heart open so they sense that I’m there to receive what they have to say. I don’t judge. If I am lucky, they will know that I am interested – whether I have technical knowledge or not – and will do my best to translate the specialized and intricate nature of what they do to people who might not be familiar with it at all.

Sometimes I go into these assignments with a sense of trepidation. I worry that the information will be way over my head. Often, this is a real concern. I tell them, “Explain it to me as if I were your mother and your mother did not understand anything about the subject.”

They laugh and do just that. We find our way. In the end – as I turn off my recorder and flip closed my legal pad – we are relaxed. We trust one another. What is more likely than not is that they email to tell me more – something they thought of later that makes things clearer, richer. To a one, they always let me know that I can follow up if I need more.

This is, in essence, the same concept of the Sobremesa dinners. A bringing together of people all over the world for the same meal that creates a sense of community and connection. “Sobremesa” is the Spanish definition of that time after dinner where people relax and linger.

My partner and chef, Todd Schulte and I are hosting a Sobremesa dinner in Kansas City with Ryan Sciara of Underdog Wine Co., Chentell Shannon founder Convivial Production and Leslie Fraley in her remarkable shop, Fine Folk, on June 15th. This global series developed by Sunday Suppers supports the The Hunger Project. It will be the perfect occasion to be with people you know – or maybe don’t know – and hear their stories.

We’d love it if you’d join us.

All images courtesy of Sunday Suppers.

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Falling in Love Again

 

Nina Campbell’s Interior Decoration: Elegance and Ease

It’s different falling in love again in my fifties. The last time I fell in love I was in my twenties and I had a lot of time.  I’m not sure I felt this way then, but I don’t remember ever thinking, “Oh my god, I simply don’t have time to go to work, the grocery store (which was rare, honestly), hang out with my friends, exercise and see my boyfriend.”

Maureen Footer’s Dior and His Decorators

I’m not in any way implying this is impossible now – or a burden – but it takes a different level of focus and scheduling.  I don’t think we’ve ever exchanged a text along the lines of –

“Hey, wanna hang out?”

“Sure.”

Having dinner or coffee – or five minutes at the front door to simply kiss and say, “Hello, I hope you have a good day,” can take a text string of communication that seemingly mimics the coordination of a satellite launch.

Mary Randolph Carter’s The Joy of Junk

Obviously, it’s worth it.  We do schedule five minutes at the front door, but we also have long lunches and sometimes late nights when our dogs and children are settled somewhere else, that we’re able to sort what is happening now with work and family and focus on what we want to happen next.

Michael C. Kathrens Kansas City Houses

When I saw his home for the first time I asked him, “Who did this?’

“Who did what?”

“Who decorated your place?”

“I don’t know what you mean.  I did.”

It was unexpected. As is always the case with seeing someone’s home, it gave me an insight that was unavailable chatting at a gallery or talking across a table.  Loads of books, clean lines, warm leather and dark metal showed me he was curious and had a good eye. That he’d found five vintage desk lamps to light his bookcase meant he was either good for the hunt or had incredible luck. The scattering of pictures of his daughters on the refrigerator let me know that he was not all about aesthetics; family first.

When we talk about our future there are lots of things to consider.  But I won’t lie and tell you I never look around and think, “How is all of this going to work the Le Lac?

My book reviews are coming late and short.  This is my round up of suggestions from the Fall season.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dior and His Decorators: Victor Grandpierre, Georges Geffroy and the New Look by Maureen Footer for Vendome Press is simply stunning.  If you enjoy design history, this is an absolute don’t miss.

 

 

 

 

 

Nina Campbell Elegance and Ease by Gile Kime for Rizzoli New York is a delight.  The Art of Decoration was one of my first design books and I still have loads of tear sheets of her work.

 

 

 

 

 

Mary Randolph Carter is the very best person to write The Joy of Junk.  Remarkably talented, insightful and funny, her approach to junking is pure delight.  Lots of good advice on where and how to look.  Rizzoli 2018.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kansas City Houses, 1885-1938 by Michael C. Kathrens for Bauer and Dean Publishers is essential for any KC house lover.  Chocked full of history of our neighborhoods, civic leaders and architects with remarkable pictures of the houses when they built and – when possible – today. An absolute treasure.

 

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Shop Mrs. Blandings

For the last couple of years I’ve been creating needlepoint canvases.  I have  13 canvases in production and 14 canvases sitting in a box right now waiting to go to my painting service.  I’ve been long on ideas and short on salesmanship.

I also created a line of letterpress prints featuring a few of the sayings that have gotten me through parenting.

“Healthy people take the stairs.”

“TNT – try new things.”

“You don’t get better at something by doing it less.” 

And, yes, “Nothing bad is happening.” I understand that right now, a lot of bad things are happening.  A pithy poster is not a response to this.  “Nothing bad is happening” addresses the every day disasters that tumble around in our heads, but rarely happen.  When I really go down the rabbit hole of my financial future I often say, “I’m going to end up eating cat food.”

I usually manage to bring myself back around.  (Often with the help of a friend or two.) “Nothing bad is happening” can come at the end of all the stuff I tell myself to bring me back in off the mental edge.  “I’ve always had enough. I have skills.  I’m not eating cat food today.  Or tomorrow.  Right now, nothing bad is happening.”

I launched my site this week. I mentioned it – once – on Facebook and Instagram.  (You know, because I don’t want to be intrusive.)  I received my first order today that was not from a friend.  I cannot describe the pure joy of this.

I’d really love it if you’d pop on over to the site and check it out.  The prints are also available here in Kansas City at Stuff in Brookside and The General Store in Downtown Overland Park and Leawood.  Canvases can also be purchased locally at KC Needlepoint.

As inconsistent as content is here, I promise I won’t become all about what I’m selling.  (And, yes, I’m finishing book reviews over the next week or so – I swear.)

 

 

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What Goes Around Comes Around

Way back in July of 2011 (which wasn’t even the beginning – I’d been blogging for four years) I wrote a post about hoarding design magazines.  The first image featured designer Paul Fortune’s home in Laurel Canyon.  I can remember turning the pages of House and Garden and stopping – stunned – on this image of his living room.

Half of the way through the email from Rizzoli asking if I was interested in covering Fortune’s Notes on Design, I was hitting reply to answer, “Yes!”

There’s no question that Fortune’s work is stunning, but the true delight of this book is his story.  He is an engaging and delightful writer.  While he is not hesitant to share his views on design – and there are many and they are both informative and amusing – but also his insights on life.

His perspective is not to be missed.  (And also enlightening, perhaps, to those who are on a somewhat indirect path.) If you’re wise you’ll pick this up (and soon be that much wiser.)

Not a horrible idea, either, to read it with his pomegranate margarita in hand.  Its cheerful rosy color will be just perfect for the holidays.  What’s that? Margaritas are for summer? Nonsense.  Tequila is always a good idea. This recipe was included in the resources section of the magazine back in the day when magazines were beautiful, inspiring and delightful.

Notes on Decor, Etc. by Paul Fortune, Rizzoli New York, 2018.  Images top and bottom, House and Garden, September 2004; photography Oberto Gili.

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No Hands

I am friends with a woman my age who lost her mother to cancer when she was a young adult, as I did.  She told me once, “You will feel guilty when you pass the age that your mother was when she died.”

My mother died when she was 52; I was 26.  I did not feel guilty on my 52nd birthday last year.  Even at 26 I did not think my mother was old when she died.  I knew she was much too young to be in the range of having had a good run.  But what I did not understand was that 52 might not feel older than 42, just richer and better.  I did not understand that she must have felt very firmly in the middle of her life.  I did not understand that she may have been planning new adventures.  I did not understand that she may have still been building her life. To me it seemed settled.

But I find that as I turn 53 I do have a sense of not knowing what to do now that I am still here.  It’s as if 53 was unexpected.  I imagine there are women who pattern their lives after their mothers’. They see their mothers’ lives as worthy blueprints on which to build their own.  My mother’s life was more cautionary tale, yet her story provided its own outline for the structure of mine.

I have said that when she died I felt looser in the world, as if I were in a car without a seatbelt. I feel that way today.  Her life of instability can no longer be the crutch I use to prop up my decisions. As I’m forced to release the comparison as measure, I’m feeling unmoored, if not unsure.

At each chapter of my life I have felt as if I were just getting started.  Going to college, getting my first job, getting married, having children, getting divorced, beginning the emptying of my nest have all felt like being on the brink. Each time these changes have come with readiness and anticipation; I have always had a map firmly clutched in my hand.

Today there is no map.  While I’m aware of it, I miss it less than I thought I would.

I am pretty sure Mrs. Blandings turns 11 today. 11! That was not in the plan. Thanks for following along.

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