Tag Archives: blogs

Masochistic Tendencies

Boys, as it has been said, will be boys. A lot of the time, left to their own devices, they are like puppies. Or lion cubs. Their play is rough. They say it is good natured, but I wonder. As the days have been warmer and longer my boys have been playing outside more and have taken up a game that they devised that is appropriately called, “Wrestle ’til You Cry.” We have met new neighbors because their young cubs have pointed in the direction of “Wrestle ’til You Cry” and said, “I want to go over there.” My long time friend and across-the-street neighbor said with a shrug, “We called it “Uncle.” Same thing.”
“Does that seem like a good idea?” say I, the continuing voice of feminine unreason,”playing a game where the stated result is pain?”
“We like it.”
Decorno began about the same time as Mrs. Blandings. I don’t know the blog author so I will not begin to speculate why she has stopped blogging, but I have been stalking the comments section of her last post. I think it’s interesting how often her readers, while lamenting their loss, mention their regard for her in relation to other blogs. Other blogs which they appear to loathe.
When I read the Kansas City Star, it makes me a little crazy to see the simpering smile of a certain columnist. It doesn’t make me crazy enough to, say, write the paper and complain, “I hate that woman and her narrow views and it ruins my coffee to know that my subscription helps pay for her syndication.” But it could.
But blogs are delivered to us voluntarily. We go there. And I say “we” because I do it myself. I read a couple of blogs that make me absolutely nuts. Then I rant to Mr. Blandings about them and he says, “So stop reading it.” But I don’t seem to be able to. There’s something about it that I must like.
That’s my question today, and I fear I am going to regret asking it, but
Why do we read blogs we hate?
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Shelf Life

Jennifer Boles at the Peak of Chic recently posted about how fresh Albert Hadley’s work is.  Even ten years after his apartment was published in Elle Decor it appears current.  Timeless.
As I have been having a fantasy love affair with “Trixie” – the Red/Black on Off-White has been on my desk for months – I have noticed Hadley’s wallpapers popping up hear and there.
Here is Trixie in chic black and grey in Kate Rheinstein Brodsky’s New York kitchen. 

Splatter in Eddie Ross’s window at Bloomingdale’s.

Reddish Rose in Elizabeth Mayhew’s daughter’s bedroom.

And local designer, Ann Egan’s, kitchen in the December/January issue of Spaces.

Christopher Spitzmiller has a stylish lamp named “Hadley,” and while I love it in this matte finish

I can’t help wondering what it would like like with the “Miro” pattern applied tone-on-tone

by Roy Hamilton.

Images from top, Elle Decor, February 2000, photography by Fernando Bengoechea, via the Peak of Chic, Hadley’s Connecticut home from Albert Hadley, The Story of America’s Preeminent Interior Designer by Adam Lewis, photography by Fernando Bengoechea; Brodsky’s apartment, Elle Decor, March 2010, photography by William Waldron; Bloomingdale’s window via Eddie Ross; Egan’s kitchen, Spaces, December/January 2009/10, photography by Aaron Leimkuehler; Hadley lamps from Christopher Spitzmiller; last image, my own.

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S’not What I Was Thinking

I was away last week which led to some wonky posting and comment moderation.  Forgive me.  I hate to give the internet a heads-up when Mr. Blandings and I are away and the boys are home.  Upon returning from sunny climes I found they had conned the babysitter into fixing their lunches (they were supposed to be “hot lunch”) letting them eat all their Valentine candy in one sitting and not bathing the entire time we were gone.  Five days.  “They didn’t really want to,” the explanation.  The oldest did shower after basketball, both practice and games, which was oddly reassuring.  In addition, the youngest claimed we were “out” of Pop Tarts so a newly opened box greeted me from the pantry.  Everyone agreed they were perfect angels.  Why wouldn’t they be?

And, yesterday, I woke up with a cold.  Not the flu, not a fever, nothing dramatic, just a garden variety cold.

So, today, no post, but I need a little help.  I’ve received sporadic emails that some, though not all, readers who receive the email subscription of Mrs. Blandings  are having trouble with jumbled text and pictures.  I have done a little tweaking to see if I can fix it, as Google provides absolutely no support for either blogger or feedburner.  Do let me know if it is better today.

The image, above, is Cecil Beaton  for Vogue using a Jackson Pollock as a backdrop.  I can’t begin to remember where I found it, but it is all over the internet .  It seemed mildly on theme.  If there ever is such a thing here.


I wish I looked as chic as she; I more closely resemble the chaos behind.

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Best Wishes, EEE!

Emily Evans Eerdmans is an author and historian and very dear blog friend. I was delighted to find her recent blog post announcing her wedding – hooray! Emily is gracious and lovely and smart and generous with her time and knowledge. As is often the case with this type of person, she has gathered many friends and admirers. Today, a few of us celebrate Emily’s wedding by offering up virtual gifts.
Emily and Mr. EEE, one of the things Mr. Blandings and I enjoy most is entertaining together. We are at our best as we prepare a meal at home. We are rarely happier than we are surrounded by friends at our own table. Mr. Blandings and I wish you many years of happy occasions in your home; whether you celebrate wonderful events or mundane Tuesdays will matter not. And, just to make sure everyone has a spot to sit, I offer a set of T. J. Robsjohn-Gibbings klismos chairs. Gibby would approve, I think, as you’ve done a lot to advance his cause.
Great happiness! Good health! And here’s hoping you never have to attach your hair with an elastic strap. We couldn’t be happier for you.
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Best Wishes, EEE, from Magnaverde!



I figure since Emily & Mr. EEE spent their honeymoon amid tropical breezes, when it’s time for their first long weekend out of town, they’ll want a change of scenery. And pace. What could be better for that than a stay at Minnesota’s Naniboujou Lodge, a secluded Art Deco gem hidden away on the shores of Lake Superior? Pine-scented breezes, sparkling blue skies, clean & cold water surround the historic lodge itself, opened as an exclusive private club a scant three months before the market crash of 1929. Inside, the décor is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before: a jazzy cocktail of Native American ornament mixed with the rustic architecture of the great camps of the Adirondacks, all garnished with a brilliant (& woozy) 1920s palette. I don’t know what was in the illicit hooch that the designers of this place were drinking—illicit because the country was officially “dry” at the time–but it must have mighty powerful stuff, because someone clearly conjured up the Great Spirit of Sonia Delaunay.

So, what’s to do at Naniboujou? Well, let’s talk about golf. If Emily & her new husband love a challenging 18-hole course, well, they’re out of luck. There’s no golf course. Tennis? Forget it. Pool? Nope. Cute toddlers squealing with delight at big-headed cartoon characters from the movies & TV? Wrong place. In fact, the rooms don’t even have TVs–or phones, so there’s no internet. When the Ramey family that’s run Naniboujou Lodge for twenty years calls the place a getaway, they mean AWAY. But you can eat in the beautiful dining room, you can talk, you can walk in the woods, you can sit on the shore & watch the line where the sky meets the water, then you can go back to your room and, um…nap. Basically, a stay at Naniboujou is as close to time travel as you’ll ever get–a vacation as our well-off grandparents might have known it eighty years ago–which is exactly why I like it. I hope the happy couple will like it, too.

P.S. I’m hoping someone else will give the happy couple a cool Art Deco travel bar, with room for a few bottles, chunky crystal cocktail glasses & some sterling silver olive picks, because they’ll need it. The place is still dry. How authentic can you get?

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