He Was a Very Good Boy: Pancho 1994 - 2010
Our blogger, interior designer Carey Maloney, and his partner Hermes Mallea, an architect, are principals in the M (Group).
My Pancho died this afternoon. I can’t stop crying.
I know, I know he was sixteen, and he lived the life of a prince. I’m crying for me, not him. I had so much fun with him.
I did pull myself together for a moment and thought, “I should write about Pancho.” He deserves a great New York Times obit in the style of the legendary Robert McG. Thomas, Jr. Above the fold. With a photo.
So I turn on the laptop and within moments, I can’t see the keyboard through the tears.
I doubt Robert McG. Thomas, Jr. had this problem…
It all went as well as it could have. A few weeks ago, he stopped eating, tests were run and steps taken and he started eating. Then rinse and repeat four times—bad/good/bad/good until yesterday. The cancer showed up on an ultrasound and his kidneys had failed and his little heart murmur was speaking up…He was dying.
His very kind and pretty veterinarian, Dr. Kim Rosenthal, called with the news and the options. The options were too many and too invasive and he was too old. At sixteen he wasn’t a candidate for this painful scenario.
I asked Dr. Rosenthal if she could make a house call. I’m Old School when it comes to life’s ‘moments.’ I want them private. I could not face the nice people in her office or the walk there and home. I could not face taking Pancho to the only place where he was unhappy or hurt—back on that metal examination table. She was reluctant—it wasn’t the clinic’s policy, and she really didn’t do that. Then she kindly agreed. She said she’d come over between 4:00 and 5:00.
So at 4:00 Hermes and I sat on the sofa with Pancho in my arms, and we waited. His breathing was labored. His little heart was weak. I was under no delusions that it was me comforting him—it was him comforting me.
We were mostly quiet. Only our wracked little breaths and my sniffles.
Then he threw up on me. A welcome diversion. Hermes held him while I went to change shirts and have a cry in the bathroom. Then we three sat back down.
We had a wonderful quiet hour—an important hour orchestrated by Hermes, who has kept me calm throughout this ordeal (I can’t remember the time I’ve ever spent an hour sitting quietly… Never?),
At 5:00, Dr. R and her lovely nurse arrived. Pancho and I were settled—him draped across my lap. I stayed seated while Hermes brought them into the living room. How uncomfortable for those two nice women. Not knowing whether they were coming to a weird place with weird people. They were brave—I truly appreciate their effort.
The apartment was bright and I had lots of flowers around. He was in his home on his sofa with his two daddies. Our histrionics were restrained—my WASP-y silent tears streaming and Hermes’s elegant Cubano machismo. We were quickly all comfortable as a little group with a purpose, and we began the work at hand.
One shot of Valium (I was jones-ing for that needle—I needed it as much as he did), and he was in The Land of Nod. A couple of minutes later, another shot, and he was gone. Just like that. Gone. His heart stopped, and his eyes closed.
We wiped away the tears and said our goodbyes—me still sitting with him on my lap. Both Doctor and Nurse were so lovely and kind. The amount of time spent was perfect. Neither perfunctory nor overwrought. As they were leaving, I gave Dr. R. a copy of Pancho’s book, If Only You Knew How Much I Smell You, my last copy signed by the author Roy Blount, Jr. and the photographer Val Shaff.
The front door closed and the dikes opened. Hermes sat back down, and I had a good long sob.
Then Hermes and I got him settled, wrapped up in a nice clean towel and in a nice Gucci box (I knew there was a reason I bought that briefcase…) to go upstate to be buried.
So
I still can’t stop crying - but when I do, I’ll know my run with that little guy was extra long and extra good.
I got him at a time in my life when things were difficult— ‘nough said on that front. Having a little creature that needed me, that I could dote on, and that made me so happy was a wonderful gift. Back in his youth, he really was a therapy dog—when I didn’t want to ruin Hermes’s day with my problems, I could whine or cry with Pancho, and he always cared. He was blessed with a face that always looked concerned…
He was a big part of my life—he brought me great pleasure. He was happy and smart, friendly and low maintenance. Portable—sort of like carrying a 12 pound canned ham around…the perfect accessory.
Admittedly, him being so handsome made me shamefully proud. Yesterday as I was carrying him to the vet, a man stopped me and said “What a beauty!”—so at 16 and on his deathbed, he was handsome and ageless.
The brilliant Val Shaff launched his career. He could have been a remittance man but he chose a career. As a model. I know, I know—if anyone else said that I’d cringe. “Can’t he pursue something with more substance?” But he brought a level of complexity to his work that transcended tacky catalog projects or runways. He was more Muse than subject. He was in the book I mentioned above. He was on a Hallmark birthday card. He was the cover boy and Mr. February in a calendar. His little face graced The New York Times, House and Garden, House Beautiful, Architectural Digest. Always gracious, he only worked pro bono.
Pancho and Mini-Pancho Everyone has a different canine connection. A dog for the kids, an outside dog for the country, a substitute child…with us it was sort of a Mini Me thing—with him playing the Austin Powers role and me as Mini Me.
Our connection was 24/7 for sixteen years. He went to the office everyday. He was employee of the month so many times, we just retired the award to him. He was the best diversion. Our office is no snake pit, but everyone needs a little comic relief. Pancho ripping up fabric samples (exactly at 5:30 every day). Pancho’s birthday parties. Pancho’s barking to get up on an architect’s chair to lie in the small of his back as he worked. (“Nyet, I do not mind.” “See Hermes, Dimitri doesn’t mind.” “He does mind—he’s scared you’ll call the INS if he complains.”) I think they liked him. Four times a day a pretty woman or a handsome man took him for a little gambol to ‘check his messages’ from his canine acquaintances.
Office Monitor – always diligent….
He was a big Country Dog in his little City Dog body. He ranged far and wide, walking south to the convent (“Mr. Maloney, the little monkey is bothering our ducks again.”) and north to our neighbors (“Pancho’s here—we’re having bacon.”) He chased the turkey and deer. Barked at the hawk—and then always barked at The Colbert Report opening when the eagle screeches. He wandered far-and-wide over 120 acres—and he always came home right at the moment when hysteria was building…
He loved to eat. He would have eaten himself to death. And he was, in his youth, remarkably nimble. Friends who babysat him one Thanksgiving found him on the dining table, eating the turkey, and when confronted he calmly lifted his leg, peed on the centerpiece, and jumped to the floor (it was their fault—they shouldn’t have screamed at him). On New Year’s Eve 2000, there he was, back on the dining table, chowing down on hundreds of dollars worth of foie gras, while sitting in a thousand dollars worth of caviar. The hostess was following him around with a cracker by his butt…
He was so cute.
Pancho tries on the De Niro tennis pavilion for size…
Of course, he slept in my bed. For sixteen years, I grudgingly clung to my 20% of the bed surface while he commandeered the other 80%. I’m trained to sleep very carefully—no thoughtless flipping around in bed with a chihuahua… One wrong turn and he’d be toast… His beds were legion. He had a choice of electrically heated or sheepskin, Revillon mink or leopard velvet. A 19th-century Indian chair and a summery wicker basket. And that was just in town…
He dressed simply. He was too handsome for gimmicks. His rolled brown leather collars with nickel buckles were from Paris. I told him they were Hermes, but I lied. They were really from the BHV —sort of a Parisian Macy’s with a great pet supply department. He wasn’t an easy fit—large chest and tiny waist (that apple didn’t fall far from the tree) so his vests were made by my mother’s sewing lady (how dated is that term?) in Texas—Ultrasuede that matched his coat perfectly with white piping for summer and orange for hunting season.
I swear this was not posed. Someone looked out on the office terrace and there he was, warming his little bum in the potting soil.
He was fun for me—and I think I was fun for him.
Well - - the two hours I’ve spent on this indeed have made me feel better. He was my first dog as an adult, and we had a great and long run. He joins a lovely pack of the other Maloney dogs from my youth—Penny, Gypsy, Butch, Bwana, and Angus.
Sixteen very happy years that flew by…I hope he’s having fun, eating foie gras and chasing ducks.
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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 03/15/10 at 05:59 PM • Permalink
The Wandering Eye Goes Ethno
Our blogger, interior designer Carey Maloney, and his partner Hermes Mallea, an architect, are principals in the M (Group).
On Friday January 15, Stair Galleries will have a two session “Asian and Ethnographic” sale. Before Stair became so international, we grabbed some great buys there in the Ethno field. The weekenders were focused on Ye Olde Americana stuff—the guy buying a weather vane wasn’t going to be fighting us for a Sepak Valley shield. Those days are gone—I fear Stair’s online presence will have us competing with dealers in Paris and Bruges. Oy.
This sale definitely falls into my “see it and touch it before bidding” category. Failing that, break out the yard stick at home and mock up the dimensions—then call the gallery for condition reports. There are four geese (lot 337) that, in theory, would be fun on a dining table or by a fireplace. In fact, they are the size of calves—huge! Who’d a thunk it? Try to preview the sale in person—avoid surprises.
We’re great fans of Ethnographic art. The first piece in our “collection” was a mask my parents brought me from Africa in the early ‘70’s. As a college student, I bought and schlepped back a Bambara antelope from Cape Town. I cherished it until it got smashed in a move. Maybe lot 479 is a replacement?
Ethnographic is defined as art produced by indigenous peoples. Once we called it Primitive Art. Now, in our post-Colonial world (some would argue Neo-Colonial) the PC term is Primary Art. The Metropolitan Museum opts for the truly safe “Arts of Africa, the Americas, and Oceania.”
Assuming we all know what constitutes Africa (well - Sarah Palin was a bit confused on the continent versus country status…) and “the Americas,” most of us don’t know what makes up Oceania (love that name! Mythical.) So here’s a map.
Huge right? Besides the geographic diversity, you have cultural diversity to the tune 800 different languages spoken in New Guinea. (800?!?) These little tribes would live tooth and jowl—villages within sight of each other—and could not speak any mutual languages. Sounds like a recipe for chaos right? Add cannibalism (still a “lifestyle”) to the fracas, and you’ve got a bunch of skittish natives. Oh—and English is the national language, spoken by 1% (!?) of the populace. What we have here is a failure to communicate…
The jewel in our personal Oceanic crown is a slit gong from Vanuatu. These are the largest musical instruments in the world and were used to send messages from village to village or island to island. Ours spent many years in the driveway of a client’s house in Hobe Sound (how cool is that??). Now he holds court in our living room. Those crazed whirl-a-gig eyes symbolize the morning star and the slit is the mouth. One piece of wood, 14’ tall. Kewl.
I’ll admit it—we buy for looks and price since we are not experts in this field. Like anything else, if you look at things carefully and analyze condition with a bit of common sense (if this wooden statue had spent its formative years in a hut on the African veldt, would it look like this today?). And only spend what it’s worth to you—then, even if it’s a fake, you can’t go wrong!
Lots of cultures fetishize statues and other objects believed to have magical powers. There are a number of these in the sale and lot 385 says it all.
Materials used in making these fetishes may include blood, human hair (head hair and pubic hair), horns, shells, nails, feathers, mirrors, metal, twine, paint, cloth, raffia, fur, beads and herbs—anything thought to add power or magic.
While we’re on the fetish subject, what’s with Posh and these shoes??? Damn. And David Beckham dressed up like a race track tout? What a waste…
I love “dress up”—Bantu Barbie guards our coat closet, which is sheathed in a Coromandel screen. She’s very multi-cultural.
One of our purchasing Rules of Thumb: always consider how the piece is mounted. Pricey custom mounts (or frames or lamp bases…) imply the owner spent enough on the thing to warrant the expense of the mount. People usually don’t spend big bucks displaying dreck. (That said, I’ve been known to spent ten times the cost of the ‘art’ on a frame… So buyer beware at our House Sale!)
Case in point: Check out Lot 206 for the best mounting I’ve seen in a long time. This handsome little horse resides in a beautiful glass vitrine with bronze mounts. It puts today’s Lucite boxes to shame. The horse benefits from this guilt by association—Mrs. Warburg spent a bundle on the box so maybe she spent a bundle on the horse too!
For the best art mounting in New York City, go to William Stender—he is brilliant, The Met uses him, every dealer we knows uses him, and his firm has a great website and catalog for off the rack things. Put a little rock on a Lucite cube and suddenly it becomes an important little rock.
Locally, our friend Jeff Budd at Budd Ironworks (518.325.3912) has worked his magic for us for years. He got Bantu Barbie upright with a very clever cantilevering thingy… (I can hear the screams from some dealers in Hudson as I give out his name. My theory on “trade secrets” is, spread the word and help our favorites get more work—keeps us all in business.)
There are some pre-Columbian (before 1492) things in Ethno sale. I love Colima dogs—those fat little ancestors of my Pancho. They were made as funereal offerings and were buried with Mayans so they’d have food in the afterlife (!?). There are lots of fakes out there—every airport gift shop in Mexico features these puppies. Pancho Senior came from our favorite dealer in pre Columbia stuff, Spencer Throckmorton, and hangs out in my dining room with the Japanese fox.
Stair’s lot 395 would be a perfect cacti container.
Lots 1- 130 are yet more beads and jewelry from the estate of the collector, Patti Cadby Birch. Fun stuff. We spent the holidays in Palm Springs and a friend took us two hours west to Quartzsite Arizona—the Brimfield of the rock and gem world.
OMG…Patti woulda gone nuts. Over 1,500,000 people trek to the desert and wander acres of parking lots lined with trailers and tents full of rocks, gems, beads, Americana, Asian stuff. Who knew?
Our own Metropolitan Museum’s recently reopened Michael Rockefeller Wing is the nearest world class cache of Primary Art. Michael Rockefeller disappeared in New Guinea while on a post-Harvard research trip in 1961. His camera was later found in a cannibal village, but his fate remains a mystery.
When you’re in Paris, do yourself a favor and visit the Musee Quai Branly. Only the French can pull off such fantastic support of the arts…for Asian, visit the Musee Guimet—talk about great mounts, each piece is shown to perfection. Helena Rubenstein’s world-class collection is housed in the little Musee Dapper and is well worth the time.
For books—I believe if you try any one of these, all by J. Maarten Troost, you’ll end up reading them all. He is FUNNY.
The Sex Lives of Cannibals: Adrift in the Equatorial Pacific
Getting Stoned with Savages: A Trip Through the Islands of Fiji and Vanuatu
Lost on Planet China: One Man’s Attempt to Understand the World’s Most Mystifying Nation
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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 01/12/10 at 09:49 AM • Permalink
The Wandering Eye’s Guide to Indoor Plants
Our blogger, interior designer Carey Maloney, and his partner Hermes Mallea, an architect, are principals in the M (Group).
I love house plants. I am no gardener.. Perhaps because my mother is a brilliant gardener and a landscape architect, I wanted nada to do with digging in the ground, and still don’t. I do enjoy digging in pots though – containers are perfect for me.
A room with one little plant or a single flower truly is transformed from lifeless to full of life. A tiny pot of ivy in an old clay pot set in a blue and white Chinese dish – you’re done. Granted, a huge bouquet of peonies works wonders too.
These succulents last forever… Sort of.
In past years, I’d bring that summer’s crop in from the screen porches and try to find a nice south window for it. Stuff generally declines in December and January, becomes a real eye sore in February, and gets pitched out in March.. Then in May/June I start over.
The Inspiration. Rousseau used the Jardin d’Hiver to inspire his work – since he never saw a real jungle…
Now that winter 2010 approaches, I’m rethinking my approach. My new post reno bedroom has a 10’ x 10’ sun porch with lots of glass facing south, a slate floor, and a big mirrored wall to bounce more light around. I never go out there—it’s like a NYC terrace, more important as a view than as a functioning [habitable] space. So I ditched the Home Office idea [that inspired me to build it] and turned it into my Jardin d’Hiver. Dragged a glass top table and glass and chrome shelf unit up from the basement along with lots of stands of various height to hike plants up to optimal light. Baskets and jardineres and clay pots dress up the occupants.
My bedroom porch at rear – before the transformation… Transformation photos to come if and when there is one.
I’ve stuck a space heater and a humidifier out there, upped the wattage on the track lights, and put them on a timer for 12 hours of supplemental daylight.
So far (it’s only November…), it works!
When we decamp to the country, two or three special things get lugged out of the Jardin on Friday evening, scattered around the house, and returned Sunday afternoon.
Re: Care and Nurturing—there’s loads of info. We have a shelf of books from The New York Times Book of Houseplants to Sunset Books on houseplants to funky little tomes. Great for advice and identifying. Of course, there is always the Web…
A few sort of random suggestions…
Focus on finding truly water proof dishes. Function over form! Plastic (there’s good and bad..) or glazed pottery dishes, deep enough to actually hold the water overflow, and set on a cork pad to avoid the condensation. I still have plenty of rings and ruined surfaces – and I am careful.
Cacti are perfect. Ignore them and they thrive – for eons. Water them or treat them well – you are doomed.
Plants are the equivalent of Cut Flowers in cost but we hope for a longer life span than flowers. That said, should the plant ‘fail’ – become unsightly - get rid of it. House plants should be happy – your Weeping Fig (ficus benjamina) should be weeping for joy, not mourning its imminent demise. Cut your losses – be brutal. You are using these things to decorate. When they are no longer decorative – euthanize. (BTW – Speaking of euthanasia – all you cranky oldsters might beware 2010. Zero inheritance taxes for 12 months could lead to a rash ‘mercy’ killings.. You heard it here!)
When you can, take the plant to the water (tub, sink) and spray ‘em and soak ‘em. Let them drain there before returning to the mahogany table. Much safer than bringing the water to the plant. But slower. I drove my college roommates crazy – they’d throw open the shower curtain only to find massive wet vegetation. (Do you think the houseplants and the Bette Midler album sort of ‘outed’ me in the jock dorm I was relegated to?).
More often than not, I buy hanging baskets. Not to hang – to set in another pot. They have nicer shapes and more body at the bottom. One year we did a dining room for the Kips Bay Designer Showhouse. My florist was a bomb so I took matters into my own hands. Bought a big healthy hanging basket of ivy. Plopped it in the middle of the table, trailing vines radiating out and added votive candles – and the table was perfect. Not overdone, not expensive – tailored and lovely and easy to copy… Very Kips Bay.
A stellar begonia hanging basket with some roadside grasses behind it.
This summer I bought a huge fully flowering begonia at Tivoli Farm Market. Plopped it on the front hall table and it was pretty fantastic. Bloomed for weeks. Last month I cut it back and we’ll see what happens next year.
Whatever kind of ‘fig’ the left side plant is, it is doing pretty darned well! At 9’ tall, it was an investment….
For the big stuff, we buy in town at Foliage Gardens on 28th Street in NYC and have our movers bring it up. For smaller things, I hit the local Lowe’s. They now sell combination ferns—two varieties mixed in the pot. Love that. $12. The little $6 and $8 pots are great too…
Lowe’s also has some decent simple jardinières. I like the three sizes of verdigris copper that pretty much disappear when the hanging basket is dropped in. Cheap—and water proof. They have great rolling bases – cast iron and strong – to facilitate moving those big pots from their corner, where they look best, out into the light – where they have a chance to live…
Then I run across to Michael’s and buy bags of moss. Dampen it, cover the dirt and the edge of the plastic pot and you’re done.
Like anything else, plants get dusty. Wipe the leaves (or spray them) with 80% water, 20% milk solution for a nice shine. And ‘green’!
Winter brings the pests out. The grossest pest response I have read is “Kill a few aphids and leave them at the base of the plant. The smell drives the others away.”. How horrible is that?? Even I could quickly see the flaw in this advice – where are they running off to but another plant!? So for most of my pest problems I resort to Safe Soap stuff…
One website I found is devoted to the power of plants to remove toxins from the air. Cool, right? Super green! Well, if I have detectable formaldehyde I won’t be waiting for my philodendron to fix it. (FYI, that toxic Chinese wallboard wasn’t sold on the East coast. They say…)
Of course, you can always really go nuts and go hydroponic!
My favorite TV show is Trailer Park Boys, a Canadian series shown on Direct TV. The plots follow a simple yet winning formula. Ricky, Julian, and Bubbles are constantly trying to figure out new ways to get rich, get high, and stay out of jail. Suffice to say, I bought the complete seven season DVD set. Only ‘Absolutely Fabulous’ ever got that commitment from me. I love it. The boys are accomplished horticulturalists—their hydroponic double wide is a thing of beauty, all surfaces covered in aluminum foil they borrow from neighbors. Be careful—the Feds track your power usage. (I’ve heard). They use heat-seeking cameras——too much ‘lectricity and you show up on the map. (Again—I’ve heard)
In our neck of the woods, check out the monster in the window at Byron Parker Plumbing (436 Warren Street, Hudson). I’ve ‘admired’ it for years. When I stopped last weekend to snap a portrait, I see there is even a descriptive sign! 65 years old. Damn. And ugly to boot. And healthy. “Feed me, Seymour!!”
Farther down Warren Street, check out the plants for sale at Hudson Supermarket (310 Warren Street). Botanicals by Olenka has very cool things—papyrus and orchids and ‘exotic’ things I gravitate to.
Welcome the New Year with a nice new healthy house plant (since you will, of course, be removing all vestiges of Christmas by December 31, right??). Paper White Narcissus bulbs or a Home Depot orchid or a Chia Pet – any will make the room look better, make you feel better, and maybe even get rid of some of the benzene (what is benzene???) in the air.
Chi Chi Chia….
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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 12/02/09 at 08:24 PM • Permalink
The Wandering Eye: It’s Huntin’ Season! Oy…
Our blogger, interior designer Carey Maloney, and his partner Hermes Mallea, an architect, are principals in the M (Group).
Hermes reminds me I’m overdue on a new blog—this during an afternoon walk on Woods Road, wearing multiple cunning bits of “Don’t shoot me!” orange. A vest for him, a scarf for me. It can’t be a ‘nice’ orange—like a Loro Piana or Hermes orange. Nooo—that would be too ‘natural’ in Autumn. It has to be Walmart orange—a florescent color not often found in nature and not often found on me.
Why wear ugly stuff? ‘Cause it is hunting season and the guns are drawn.
So - a blog on hunting! I was thinking I could talk about the various seasons and give hope that it will soon end. Upbeat. Funny pics.
Wrong. Very wrong.. Damn…
I was quickly drawn into the ugly internet netherworld of gun trade, gun rights, and blood sports—lots of bad, wacky shit, by my peaceful gay urban standards.
The 2009 nightmare began when this past weekend’s valuable naptime was interrupted (understatement..) by what registered first in my addled brain as the finale to Macy’s fireworks.
Noooo. Can’t be fireworks, dummy.
So the sun was setting (how pretty!) and somewhere—way too close—it sounded as if maybe five men with various enormous assault weapons had stumbled upon a thieves den of dangerous prey… Or more likely, one poor dumbass deer… Whatever they found, that animal was not getting away alive.
So I’m huddled there in bed, calculating the trajectory of a bullet through three panes of glass (“I think we’re safe, Pancho..”) and wondering/growling..
1. Why so many shots ? What kind of weapons do these guys use? This is “sport”?
2. How many of them are there out there??? (I thought there were one or two hunting out there, not a battalion)
3. When is it over?
The answer to the first question—automatic and semi automatic weapons. The National Rifle Association finds the term ‘assault weapon’ pejorative, and declares most of the differences in weapons to be ‘cosmetic’. We can agree on one thing, guns these days are scary looking.
Hello Kitty (!?).. For those rowdy rural PTA meetings.
So boo hoo, NRA, ‘Assault weapon’ still works for me. They assault my senses, and they assault my sense of fair play. And they kill people. Your old-fashioned, basic, double-barreled shotgun is tres passé, replaced by militaristic killing machines that pump out exploding bullets. At deer??
The answer to question #2 is 700,000 New Yorker’s hunt. 3.6% of the population. A rather loud 3.6%, no? Don’t’ even think about suggesting a Wait period or security check, because to quote one site, “Concealed handguns provide a means to protect yourself from attack by the predatory criminals in our society.” Damn. What happened to scream and run away???
Less Gear = More Sporting. These guys are very sporty…
And for Question #3—go to the New York State Department of Environmental Protection website for the dates for everything – bear, muskrats, weasel, deer, squirrel, etc etc. There’s a season for all sorts of critters.
This topic is a hotbed of anger and, well, violence! NRA supporters are all guns, all the time, no holds barred. (BTW, Charlton Heston was gay, gay, gay. I write that in the hope he is flipping over in his grave). Brady Bill supporters think maybe some sort of supervision is called for … Go figure.
This topic leads one into the depths of internet scary places fast. Your basic creepy sites, like the NRA’s, quickly become tame compared to “Armed and Christian” or “Geek with a .45”… My current favorite, “Students’ for Concealed Carry on Campus”—what could go wrong?? Finally, Packing (as in a gun…).com, “perfect for the traveler” (!).
No way I am sharing the images. Violent and stooopid and aggressive. Trust me on this—it is not an ‘attractive’ crowd. As they say in Beaumont, Texas, “Not Garden Club material”.
Why can’t our hunters look like these hunters? Definitely Garden Club material.
On the high end of the scale would be Dutchess County’s Clove Valley Rod and Gun Club. Muy rico, the Clove. Seventy members purportedly spend $100,000 a year (I doubt this figure, because our member friend is not shelling out a hundred grand—he is way cheap).
In 2007 Dick Cheney was a guest so you know Good Sportsmanship lives on at The Clove (I hope their First Aid kit includes a defribulator and a Breathalyzer). I’ve hunted there (huh?!?) and can attest it is perfect for the spoiled rich WASP with a gun and a thirst for blood and booze. Name your game and it is released sportingly in front of you. They raise tens of thousands of birds and fish – I’ve seen the milling corrals of baby ducks. Little do they know what freedom will bring…Ducky One ”Look, they opened the cage door!” Ducky Two, “OMG! Don’t go out there!”
The local gang… Hey, Earl!” “Yep, Earl?” Squirrels, Earl! Them’s good eatin’!”
On the low end of the scale, you have ‘our’ hunters—headquartered at the Germantown Stewart’s Shoppe (FYI – the Mobil Quick Stop is parvenu, Stewart’s is ‘Old Money’). Our Local guys show up at our door annually with a little gift bottle of Cointreau or Bailey’s and the request to hunt on our property. Since they have permission to hunt all around us—we are a 5 acre island in a 120 acre sea—we always reluctantly say OK. They’ve been there for years, and they seem sober. We aren’t happy, but we aren’t threatened either…So far, so good.
I’m assuming (my assumption shallowly based on personal appearance and hygiene) that these guys eat what they kill. I suggest the 1960’s “Joy of Cooking” for useful suggestions for healthy, tasty, seasonal, family treats.
“The Joy of Cooking” lost me at “feed for ten days.”
Booze and guns seem to go hand-in-hand. In my Texas youth, it being the ‘70’s, we were inspired to add drugs to the mix. We’d pile in someone’s car—drunk—and drive hours to a ranch in south Texas, drink more. Drop some speed, smoke some pot, and ‘hunt’ feral pigs (clocking in at 300 mean pounds), while sitting on this tall, tall, swaying thingy attached to a Jeep. I distinctly remember a sub-machine gun being involved but we never saw a pig. (Those suckers, BTW, will kill you and eat you).
Since Cheney will always be a demon and I see no reason to let go of my anger, let me weigh in on the incident when he blasted that old man in the face. One word: Drunk. Liquid lunches are de rigueur. Been there, coulda done that (but happily I didn’t—and he did!)
If baiting game is illegal in New York, what’s with the tethered kid? “Other side” of the river?
Supporting New York’s fur industry—our first lady in squirrel, Mme Chiang Kai-shek in beaver. I’ll bet Mei-ling could skin a beaver with a single piercing stare…
How to skin a squirrel, “Joy of Cooking” style. Snappy gloves and booties!
So, my advice, through the end of the year, keep you head down, watch your back, and wear Orange fleece (gross!). Hey, finally, the excuse for cheap clothes you’ve been looking for in “these difficult times.” To quote my mother, “I’m one of those people that doesn’t look good in cheap clothes.” Then aren’t you lucky you don’t own any? Hermes would say that this apple didn’t fall far from that tree. —Carey Maloney
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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 11/12/09 at 09:14 AM • Permalink
The Wandering Eye: The Hunt Slonem Sale at Stair
In 2001, Hunt Slonem, a New York-based painter with a passion for collecting and preserving historic houses, purchased Edgewood Terrace, an imposing Second Empire-style brick mansion that stands at the top of a hill overlooking the city of Kingston across the Hudson. After restoring his country retreat to its original Victorian grandeur, Mr. Slonem filled the rooms with an eclectic combination of 19th-century furniture and decorations, modern art, and his own exotic, vibrantly colored, neo-expressionist paintings (below right). On Saturday, October 24, Stair Galleries will host an auction of the Hunt Slonem collection from Edgewood Terrace. The sale will feature an extensive selection 
of 19th-century furniture, decorative arts and fine arts as well as a number of 20th-century paintings, prints and photographs. Also known as Cordts Mansion, the house was built 1873-1874 by a wealthy brick manufacturer, John H. Cordts, whose factory was located in the Rondout area of Kingston.
Our blogger, interior designer Carey Maloney of M (Group) offers this preview:
OK – I’m flying blind here. There is a great single-owner auction coming up at Stair Galleries on October 24—The Property of Hunt Slonem. The bad news: We won’t be upstate between now and then to view it and leave our bids…Aargh!
I’ve belabored this advice in the past—it is really, really best if you can see/touch/smell before you buy. But we’ll be in Havana, and I’m bummed. (BTW, in Cuba, if there was anything to buy, which we haven’t found, we couldn’t legally spend the $ anyway. Freeing on one level—travel without shopping. But frustrating—what’s travel without shopping? End the Embargo!!!—so Carey can shop.)
Back to the Stair sale: This is a “Do as I say, Not as I Do” situation. ‘Cause lot 363, sight unseen, the Larger than Life Size Hermes is MINE. Make my day—bid against me. Forewarned: You’re gonna have stiff competition.
I’ve never met Hunt Slonem but we share friends, and for years, I’ve heard great things about Edgewood Terrace, his amazing house in Kingston. Huge and chockablock with cool stuff. A bit ‘lush’ for me—but pretty wonderful.
The sale has lots of great quality Gothic, Renaissance, and Elizabethan Revival furniture and decorations. The trick with Gothic revival and that other crazy stuff (frankly, the trick with most styles…) is to look at the trees not the forest. Too much of anything is Too Much. And too much Gothic Revival can result in visual and visceral overload.
But a bit of it? That works for me. A bedroom suite, a hall tree, a side chair…I have a chair similar to Lot 70 parked next to a Russel Wright chest of drawers in my bedroom upstate. Gothic meets Modernist and both survive. My chairs Gothic peak is the perfect clothes hanger too.
Lot 82 is a more interesting variation on the ballroom chair.
Anglo Indian? Music to my ears. Lots 79 and 87 are a PAIR! I thought I was having an acid flashback as I scrolled along. Two identical, very large hall mirrors—polish these up, and they will be fantastic, given the right (generous) space. And both in one hall? A Madras palace!
Culling through the online catalog, check out the Japanese dragon calling card stand—Lot 406—scary but great.
Lot 253 is a lovely Tiffany Studios pine needle pattern calendar frame – usually sold as part of a desk set with ink bottle and blotter etc.. So the set was broken up—perfect! Who needs a blotter? Everyone needs another picture frame.
There are garden ornaments (Lot 285) and conservatory furniture, Asian art, some antiquities, contemporary art by a slew of Hunt’s friends, and even paintings by Hunt.
Again, I apologize that I haven’t seen these things in the flesh. My favorites list would change/expand if I get to the viewing.
Stuffed peacocks (Lot 284), birdcages and bird imagery—very Mr. Slonem. Speaking as someone with lots of taxidermy, condition is KEY. Tatty is bad.
My first stuffed purchase was a 100 year-old pug dog we named “Frisky.” He was the accessory of choice for weeks and turned some heads in his day. He fit perfectly in a tote, little head sticking out. Gleeful children, “Look Mommy, that man has a dog in that bag.” Then the realization that the dog was dead quickly followed—scowls from parents and more glee from the kids. “It’s stuffed?!?!?” At his picnic in Riverside Park (we were young…), he got many compliments on his perfect behavior—“Your dog has not moved!” Then the OMG/revulsion moment came. People are funny about taxidermy in general, domestic pets in particular stoke the PETA fire. Hey, he was dead 50 years before I was born. It’s not like he was mine.
There are a few rugs, 
including a Chinese pillar rug, Lot 378. I bring this up, not because I like the rug (left) frankly it’s sort of horrible, but an interesting ‘objet.’ Pillar rugs were used to wrap and warm up a cold stone column in the cold Chinese winter. They have a border top and bottom, nothing down the sides. We used a beauty (right) in this front hall—pale ivory with pale blue dragons. Very swell. (When I first saw it at Doris Leslie Blau, I piped up, “Oh, this one will be cheap because it’s been cut down. See no borders on the sides.” I was quickly (and politely) corrected. Wrong …And not cheap.
To sum this banquet up, there are over 500 lots. There will definitely be something of interest. It’s like a mathematical probability or something.
I was looking for some books on Gothic Revival. The best one was written by the worst next door neighbors we’ve dealt with professionally in years…They were terrible. So not gonna mention that one!
A recent example of Spanish Gothic in the news: This is their presidential family with ours. I regret my yearbook picture, but these two are gonna be sick about this ‘look’ some day! —Carey Maloney
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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 10/06/09 at 10:53 AM • Permalink
The Wandering Eye: Doris Leslie Blau Lands in Hudson
Our blogger, interior designer Carey Maloney, and his partner Hermes Mallea, an architect, are principals in the M (Group).
Hermes is getting worried. My favorite NYC resources keep establishing outposts in Hudson, so I’m able to do ‘city shopping’ in the country. I have even more excuses for my office absences (yippee).
So, Naga North is showing rugs from Doris Leslie Blau. For the uninitiated, Doris Leslie Blau is to rugs what Harry Winston is to jewels—the best. (OK, one of the best, but the list is short. I can think of three….). Mrs. Blau has been a powerful (loved and feared!) force in the design world for decades. Doris is elegant, refined, intellectual, and has a mouth like a sailor. Love that. Talk about a Man’s World—women in the rug world are rare. She’s spending less time at the gallery these days (our loss) and Nader Bolour (of the Los Angeles rug dynasty) runs the show. I was worried about that transition—there are a lot of designers that are very devoted to Doris—but Nader has won us over.
You go to DLB when you want something really special. The taste and the quality are tops. We’ve gotten pieces from France, Persia, China, Tibet, Morocco, the Caucuses, yadda yadda yadda. Their specialty is the truly Special with a capital S.
We love rugs. They truly make the room. Sure, we’ve all done the beautifully finished floors (oxidized, hand colored, polished) and thought “perfect as is.”. A few months/years later, you throw down a rug, just to try it, and go figure—a new, vastly improved room. Softer, quieter, more substantial.
We like our rugs old and aren’t afraid of wear. An aged textile whose colors have faded (blues go first) and that has even wear and has been given good care is so much more magical than a new ‘fake’ old rug. (That said, there are some amazing fakes!)
Old rugs can be good value—this nursery has a really charming Persian garden motif rug with hunters and maidens. It cost less than sisal would have. It is softer for the baby—and these things wear like iron.
Naga North’s focus is Asian art and the rugs Jim has chosen for his gallery are soft Persians and, my personal favorite, Samarkands—cross cultural Spice Route motifs and pale colors. Sadly, they’re usually long and narrow so limited to corridors. When you find a room-sized Samarkand it is WAY pricey. The front hall in this penthouse on lower Fifth Avenue has a Samarkand. Pale and simple and good in the space.
We like our rugs big—hate ‘area’ rugs, love room-size rugs. If the rug is right but the size is wrong? (“OMG – it has olive and purple! I thought we’d look forever..”), don’t despair—get creative. I’ve folded plenty and cut a few down (ouch!) A River House living room we did was long and narrow and I suggested carving the rug out around the fireplace surround to allow for a wider rug. “Cut a big hole in a $125,000 rug? Are you crazy?” Well we finally found the rug, an Oushak that was almost monochromatic and without pattern and I continued to whine “It’s perfect if can we cut it.”. So we measured and pondered and looked again and damned if someone hadn’t cut a 3 foot ‘notch’ within inches of where I wanted one and then repaired it! Vindication. The rug was bought and cut (again) and installed and those gained inches indeed spread the room out… I was a design hero—for a moment.
This dressing room sports a Khotan. They look almost medieval to me—love them in a slick room. This rug fit to the inch…maybe to the half inch.
I broke one of my own rules (my prerogative?) with this dining room—the rug is a bit smaller than ideal. In a perfect world, the rug would have extended over the herringbone floor to the border, but the world isn’t perfect, is it??? Doris described the color as “snow,” and we loved it. The room was glazed sort of tortoise shell to show off the Roman and Greek marbles.
Rugs and Carpets (a size issue—carpets are bigger than rugs) is a subject that is way too complicated and vast for a blog. (Thank god—wonder how long I can hide behind this dodge??) The more you see, the more comfortable you’ll be. So start looking.
Check out the Stair Gallery sales. Rugs are hard for people to grasp/envision, and rug photographs are big-time misleading. Color, texture, even pattern gets blown away by the flash and when you venture to the auction house or gallery to see your internet or auction catalog ‘find,’ you’ll often be surprised (sometimes pleasantly—usually not) at the completely different animal you see in the cold light of day. Always try them in the space, on the floor, before committing, if you can. A good dealer will let you; an auction house cannot. At auction, you are often bidding against dealers, not private buyers (which is a good thing—dealers spend less!). You can get some amazing bargains. Our kitchen sports a 7 x 9 Moroccan that cost $75.
Maintenance with textiles is always a big concern. Moths are the enemy—they can decimate a chunk of rug in days. And sunlight (rotate annually!). Today’s super duper vacuum cleaners are too efficient. Only use the flat sucker side, NOT the rotary brush thing… Way too abrasive. I finally ordered an old fashioned, non-electric carpet sweeper for our old rugs and banished the Electrolux.
This website gives some good advice – check it out.
Our dining room in the country has a big sisal rug covering the room and a 19th-century Tibetan rug on top of that. The sisal allowed us to fit into a big bay window and fill the room. The Tibetan is eye candy. This is also the MOST IMPRACTICAL rug ever. Every time he sees me, Nader says, “You can return it”. Very old and very fragile and VERY wonderful. Butterflies and ‘pop’ flowers surrounded by cloud motifs. I love this rug but it tears if you look at it. Only a designer could live with it.
And for those problem spots, a rug is invaluable. Rugs can cover a multitude of issues—psychological and physical. In the ‘hood, we hear, “Hey Pancho. Lookin’ good, Man!” But I know they snicker behind our backs. “Por favor! Is he blind? What is he thinking!? He’s a born blond. No way he can pull off brunette.”
Pancho has a thing for Adam—“El Cartwright mas caliente.” Poor Pernell—a hat and a rug. All that head gear must have been miserably hot on the Ponderosa.
—Carey Maloney
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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 09/16/09 at 10:55 AM • Permalink
The Wandering Eye: Boning Up on Upholstery
There is a constant up here in the country: We all share resources, but even so, we all have gaping holes in our Rolodexes/Palms/Outlooks. “Do you have a good, cheap painter?” (Dream on.) “My mowing guy quit! Who do you use?” (First tell me why he quit…) “My ‘bootlegger’ is ‘up the river’!!!” (I might know someone…)
As a decorator, the one I get constantly is, “Do you have a good upholstery/curtain guy?”
Me, I think sofas should be “seen but not heard”—background not foreground. I’d prefer that the guests find either the company or the “fine” art and antiques more interesting than the “soft goods.” And, though I hate spending big dough on a sofa when I could be spending big dough on a Charles X commode, you gotta do what you gotta do.
The soft goods—upholstered chairs and sofas— are key to the way a room works. People gravitate to an inviting seat and guests linger at a table with comfortable dining chairs. As with anything in design, its all about balance—not too much soft stuff, not all hard-edged either.
We consider ourselves very lucky—our upholsterer of over 25 years, Michael Gonzalez (Diamint Upholstery) has his workrooms halfway between Manhattan and Germantown, so I get “city” services upstate. Diamint is comfortable and happy working from Manhattan to Chatham. I can stop by to tweak the furniture and curtains we have in the works either on the way up or on the way back. Works for everyone.
Tweaking is key, especially for a novice. Me, after 25 years, I can envision the final product. I know that I want tiny French nails or huge iron ones, I can throw out “make it a medium Bridgewater,” and Michael and I both know exactly what I mean. Shorthand…
For you, an Amateur—cut up magazines!!! Measure carefully. Copy details from pieces you like. Think “comfort.” Find that chair you love to sit in, and it becomes your muse—measure the depth of the seat, the height of the seat. Focus on where that favorite chair fits you—me, I’m tall so I like ‘em deep. Then there is the pitch of the back—somewhere between upright Puritan and Odalisque should work.
With upholstery, the important and, therefore, pricey stuff is on the INSIDE (hate that; invisible spending. Big Bore) and only your upholsterer can guide you. Best quality foam wrapped with down and feathers for the seats eliminates constant fluffing (but even these will flatten out if not beaten into submission frequently). Back cushions can be down and feather. Throw pillows should be 100% down and light and airy. I like them under-filled.
Off the rack, mass-produced things are glued not screwed, and tend to be all foam, no feathers. What starts out looking snappy quickly sags and flattens. I am the first to admit that there is a lot of great looking, well designed ‘catalog’ furniture out there, but when I do the math, I always opt to go custom, pay more, and rest assured it’ll look good until I tire of it (which, in my case, probably will happen long before it wears out).
Fabric: If you are going for practical, then pause a moment and think. Forego unforgiving silk velvet (that naked lady is playing with fire—on so many levels..) and go nubby synthetic (not the curse it once was). Practical need not be brown. And always consider how it feels against skin—summer and winter.
If you think sofas and club chairs are complicated, wait until you delve into curtains, shades, and blinds. Layer upon layer: One makes the room dark, another kills glare, this element is stationary, that element just raises, and that other one raises and lowers. A good upholsterer/curtain maker should be able to supply venetian blinds, black-out shades, and curtains—one stop shopping is KEY to both success and peace-of-mind. The questions are endless: Lining? Interlining? Color of lining? Handsewn? Size of hem? Weighted hem? French pleats? Reversed French pleats? Poles or traverse rod? Yadda Yadda.
There is no way this blog can be anything more than the most basic tutorial: Lesson One being, find a good professional!
BOOKS
Jeffrey Bilhuber’s Defining Luxury (Rizzoli 2008) is a veritable catalog of upholstery details and curtains. The book seems more about the chairs than the rooms – but that works for us! For example, the dining chairs on page 120 have leather seats, beige linen backs, green linen anti-macassars and nail heads. So, pick your poison! But do pick… Life, even for the rich, should not be an all-you-can-eat buffet. Restraint.
Stephanie Hoppen’s “The New Curtain Book”(Bulfinch, 2003) is a gold mine of info. There are 27 entries in the Index under “valances” – yippee! The book is touted as a master class and contains the work and opinions of 30 designers. Very useful.
Note: Perhaps the more observant readers notice - how shall we say? - a ‘scatter shot’ aspect to my blogs. Blame it on the web. One thing leads to another – and before you know it, UFO’s are in the picture.
It isn’t just me – last night a friend was half bragging/half bemoaning his son’s web surfing and the wealth of info he picks up. “He can tell you the price per sq foot of the average Malibu mansion, or obscure baseball stats – but he probably couldn’t pick out California on a map.”
You get an idea – and then it runs with you…
I Wikipedia’d ‘upholstery’ – a first step. And learn about Henry the Upholder, 14th century upholsterer, and the guild with its tent motif (left). Tents – how obvious. So I think, wasn’t it Henry the VIII with the great tents? Double click and voila – The Field of Cloth of Gold (below), the legendary tent city for the meeting of Francis I and Henry VIII in 1520.
So I think – Tent City? The Shah’s of Iran’s tent city? That was cool. So Google that – and we move to 20th century Persia for the 2500th anniversary of the Persian empire, hosted by the Shah in the ‘60’s and a harbinger of problems to come. I think they bit off more than they could chew with Jansen, the Paris decorators, as the party planner.
I’m on Jansen at that point so I revert to an actual book (! I have to get up and lug it back to my desk??? www creates Sloths!) and read up on the Persopolis fete and then I segue to Jansen’s Havana work (they had an office there off-and-on and did some incredible houses/palaces/
churches). I find the photo of a room Hermes and I stumbled into on our last trip—a Jansen dressing room currently being used for “Damas” after the house was converted to a factory. Since the book doesn’t give much info (“Havana”), it was a design discovery akin to El Dorado. “Mira! El bano Jansen! Dios mio…”
At this point I’ve expended lots of time and lots of clicks (and some page turning) – all of which was fun for me but not very focused on the Upholsterer’s Art as it pertains to our lives…
So my process is arbitrary and meandering, but like Little Pierre and the Malibu real estate market, I can rattle off Tent stats and revisited Francis I – the subject of my first paper in 10th grade Modern European History class. Amazing. —Carey Maloney
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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 08/19/09 at 12:04 PM • Permalink
The Wandering Eye: The Taconic, Reconsidered
Our blogger, interior designer Carey Maloney, and his partner Hermes Mallea, an architect, are princpals in the M (Group).
So, there we are cruising along the Taconic headed back to town on a pleasant Sunday evening. Pondering. Pensive. Bored out of my gourd. What to fix The Eye on next??
The Taconic! A subject if not dear to our hearts, then certainly one we all have an interest in. That Love / Hate thing. I’ll bet you are like me (do I sense a shudder through the readership? “No way..” ), I have favorite trees, favorite exits (that would be Route 199—our exit!), and useful landmarks (the intersection of 84 is the precise halfway point for us—one hour to go…). Quick calculation: we’ve covered over100,000 miles of Taconic driving over 18 years—four times around the earth. That should qualify anyone as an expert.
The favorite exit. So many options! My new favorite international symbol, seen last month in the Jacksonville, Florida Airport. Larry Craig (ex-Senator) got his own sign!? Nah - it’s the Airport Chapel (Not that I’ve been in many, but they’re not ‘happy places’..)
Anyway.
You have to love the ‘look’. Sweeping vistas, gently rolling hills, stone bridges – a total of 105 miles of parkway built from 1929 to 1963.
Of course, as our designated driver, I never see these vistas. To ride the Taconic is lovely – to drive it takes un peu more concentration.
OMG. No central divider. They call this four lanes???
The chunk we all hate is about 20 miles of terror-inducing tarmac from Putnam up to Southern Dutchess. Under the best of circumstances, this stretch demands the driver’s undivided attention. Good weather and no traffic—pay attention anyway. But add rain and/or snow and/or darkness and/or traffic, and you’ve got HELL. Stone walls on one side, imminent over-the-cliff death on the other, cunningly divided by a nasty slew of jagged iron rails. It can be very white-knuckle. That bit’s over in about 20 minutes… In our youth, when we first headed north for weekends, there were 40 minutes of Hell. The endless construction has indeed resulted in real improvement. !?Who’d have guessed?!
We can thank Calvert Vaux and Frederick Law Olmsted for the parkway concept. Their Eastern Parkway in Brooklyn was completed in 1874—the novel idea of a beautifully landscaped road designated for recreation, not commerce. It originally connected Grand Army Plaza to Olmsted’s Prospect Park. Our Taconic was conceived by Robert Moses and championed by TSPC(ommission) chair, Franklin Roosevelt. When Moses found his beloved Long Island projects were pricier than anticipated, he stalled funding on the Taconic. FDR fought for the bucks and building continued.
Our route is the Henry Hudson (Parkway) to the Cross County (Parkway) to the Sprain Brook (Parkway) to the Taconic (Parkway) all the way up to Route 199 Red Hook / Pine Plains. All Parkways all the time. And Parkways—by definition —forbid commercial traffic. For this we are very very grateful. Having grown up with Interstate 10 as our town’s Main Street, I know from commercial traffic. A 16-wheeler manned by a cranked up cracker who hasn’t slept in 48 hours is not a vehicle to trifle with. But on the Taconic, no trucks! (Cranked up crackers—peut etre…).
Damn. Ok. Ok. It’s the law, it’s the law. Damn. And would you understand the Low sign if you didn’t speak English? “Arrows? What ees low arrows?”
BTW, you know you are in rough conversational territory when it devolves to “And how did you get here?” Very L.A. When Bette Davis was asked by a starlet for advice on how to succeed in Hollywood, Miss Davis replied, “Always take Beverly.” Probably not the advice the newcomer expected, but useful!. Years ago, seared in my memory, I overheard a friend ask her dinner partner, “And how do you get to work?” and I knew the evening was gonna be looong for all of us…
The TSP, as it is called (? by whom?), was built in four chunks. Watch the stonework on the bridges, you can date the stretches yourself. Starting in Valhalla in 1929 (Ouch! Bad year for new public spending…), it crossed the Croton Reservoir in 1932. It got to Route 55 (Poughkeepsie exit) in 1938 and in 1949 made it to our exit, Route 199 Red Hook/Pine Plains. By 1963 it had made it north to connect to the Thruway at East Chatham.
Why would you ever leave? “Valhalla” by Emile Doepler, 1905.
Our Taconic stays pretty true to its recreational roots as a beautiful route for holiday makers. Two other jewels in the National Parkway crown are the Natchez Trace (a national park and 444 miles long) and the Skyline Drive (another national park – 105 miles). “Parkway” gets broadly defined. Two less successful examples are the Garden State Parkway (it passes through Newark—‘nough said) and the Arroyo Secco Parkway (Trips off the tongue, no? It’s the Pasadena Freeway.).
I would attach lots of lovely photos but no way I am pulling onto the shoulder—the rare places there is one—to snap the remnants of the defunct Lookout at Bullet Hole Road (!) or the Noxon exit ( Where did “Noxon” come from? The sign was just there one day, right? Palindromes (good word) always sound fake.). Upshot - I’m sure you’ll sympathize. You’ve driven and ‘lived’ the road yourselves, no need for me to die to showing it to you again.
We aren’t the only ones admiring the views. There was a rash of UFO sighting in the 1980s. To quote witness Ed Burns, “Then the craft seemed to stop. The different colored lights seemed to go off, and just the white lights seemed to stay on. It was hovering a bit. It was just there looking like it was observing us as we were observing it.”
“This guy I was talking to—I was rambling on to him about how excited I was about this strange craft—never answered me. He looked at me once and then glanced up at the craft.”
Mr. Burns, perhaps what that man was not saying was , “Shut the F’ up, Man!! We’re about to be abducted by F’ing aliens!!!!
Which of these guys is the loquacious Ed Burns….?
OK, admonishment time. Don’t speed on the Taconic. Even if you see a UFO. It’s too busy these days. We have to slow down.
Safety aside, ‘in this economy’ (blech – stop talking about it…), there is the (potential) expense of speeding. Multiple municipalities seem to want a bit ‘o the speeding ticket proceeds action, and there are cops galore. Rumor has it Westchester is pretty free and easy, but once you cross into Dutchess and Columbia, slow down. I suggest keeping it under 70 mph. The one speeding ticket I’ve gotten was for 78 (‘gettin’ down’ with Bow Wow Wow’s “I Want Candy” didn’t help matters…I didn’t hear the si-reen). Getting it knocked back to under 75 mph cost a bundle in lawyers hours but I felt it was worth the effort; 20 miles over the limit and the ‘points’ rise exponentially.
The good old days. No way that horse could catch our car.
I got pulled over another time. There was a weird convergence of traffic and in an innocent effort to expedite matters, I passed/pulled in front of a cop (he’d sneaked in line). Not a good move. He pulls me over (very Village People—tall, handsome black guy in full Captain’s highway patrol drag—even those high riding boots. Hot). He says “You passed me??”, shaking his head like that had never happened before. Another cop pulls up. (Hermes mutters, “Oh great. Back-up…”) The Captain leaves, sorta huffy I thought, and the new cop (not Village People material) steps up and says, incredulously, “You passed the Captain??” I realize at that point some law enforcement protocol had been seriously breached. “He said to let you off.” Like the frontier American Indians, the State Troopers won’t harm the retarded.
Now that I think about it, I guess I’ve been pulled over a few times. Once this nice young man let me off with an invented seat-belt infraction to save us the consequences of a Moving Violation. I said to Hermes after, “He was nice to us because he was gay”. HM looks at me like I am mad. “He was wearing a lavender tie. What straight cop wears a lavender tie?” Turns out New York State Troopers do—with matching hat bands. OK – get this – the purple is a reference by the uniform’s designer to the Roman Praetorian Guard. Whoever thought up that one? Gay.
Nice tie! Such a handsome couple. Great body language.
Anyway, traffic tickets aside, our Taconic is dangerous and us regular users have to respect the Sunday Drivers and ease up a bit. As the years pass there is more and more traffic – and truth be told, I find that if I go 60 mph or if I go 70 mph we pretty much get home at the same time (Oh noooo!! A math ‘word problem’! No way I’m going to figure that out. I’m still haunted by New Math). Upshot - It ain’t the Autobahn and it’s dangerous and rude to drive aggressively.
Another bit o’ road advice. My youthful Texas driving experiences were, safe to say, extensive. I had 14-year-old friends with cars. I cringe. We were so bad . Texans drove everywhere for anything…five hours to Dallas or Nuevo Laredo—no problem. Two hours to Houston to get your pants shortened—d’accord. This resulted in useful knowledge (for example, travel with ‘ponies’; the beer stays cool longer than in a big can…). Today’s advice is: if your car is disabled, it is best to walk away from it and wait for help elsewhere. Leave the car. Seems parked cars are more likely to be sideswiped. Like a moth to a flame, passing cars gravitate to the lame one. Oddly makes sense…And I’ve seen it happen. True.
Enough happy stories! The National Register of Historic Places and I agree—the Taconic State Parkway is a treasure. —Carey Maloney
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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 08/05/09 at 11:36 AM • Permalink
The Wandering Eye: The Mills Mansion
Barely back from another research trip for their book on the great houses of Cuba, our intrepid blogger, interior designer Carey Maloney and his long-suffering spouse Hermes Mallea [Writer’s Note: Rather brutal editorializing, RI guys…], an architect, both of M (Group), have hit the historic house trail again.
Our Hudson River Valley estates tour continued last week at the Staatsburgh State Historic Site—the Mills Mansion. This was our first visit, which is dumb since it’s about 4 minutes from one of our ongoing projects in Rhinebeck. (Reminds me of an apartment we did opposite the Met Museum—during the course of two years, neither of us found the time to simply walk across the street for a quick art field trip. I guess that’s why they call it “work.” And very us…taking advantage of all New York City has to offer [not]).
Anyway, this house is grand and huge and much cooler than the Vanderbilt house down the road. Ruth Livingston grew up at Staatsburgh, an 1832 Greek Revival house on the Hudson. She married Ogden Mills (daddy Darius made a fortune in California—gold, silver, real estate, railroads), inherited her family house, and promptly hired McKim, Meade and White in 1895 to redo the place. She upped the ante from 25 rooms to 79—and the new 54 rooms were very splendid. Old-Money Livingston lineage, gigantic social aspirations, and a bottomless pit of money made for quite a house.
Staatsburgh is a marriage of early 19th-century and early 20th-century residential design. Twelve-foot ceilings in the original central section morph to 20 feet in the wings, and Stanford White’s talents in the space planning and transitions are evident throughout. The older rooms became parlors and intimate ante rooms to the amazing dining room and library in the new wings. Upstairs, bedrooms have the original Greek Revival moldings—you have to pity the poor architects who must have begged to knock the old place down and simply start over. “It’d be way cheaper, Mrs. Mills.” But the combo works, and I’m sure it gave Ruth pleasure to know her old digs (and old name) were alive and well somewhere under there.
While the Vanderbilt house was devoid of personality, the Mills house survives intact, stuff-wise. Lots of family portraits, bibelots, and original furniture and rugs that really give the visitor an idea of the house in its prime. The rugs blew me away. Huge Turkish oushaks everywhere. I am usually not impressed by historic house rugs - - either not my taste (Persians with medallions) or simply not there (too fragile and long gone…) But here, some rug dealer in 1896 was made very happy by the Mills order. Lots of beautiful rugs—every room (and bedroom) we saw had a winner.
My photos don’t do the house justice. For lack of a better excuse, I blame this on Hermes. He kept “borrowing” the camera and/or directing me to “Take that” or “Did you get that?”—he dammed up the flow of my creative juices. (I hear a knowing murmur from the peanut gallery, “That honeymoon is over.”). I’d recommend the virtual tours, but frankly, they’re not that great either.
One room I did capture on film was Mrs. Mills’ bedroom. Jeez… Belle Watling meets Dorothy Draper. I was speechless. (speaking of speechless—while spell-checking Belle Watling, I see that there is a teenage Belle Watling on Facebook!??! Who names their daughter after Hollywood’s most famous madam??? Someone in Puyallup, Washington, that’s who.) The dog is cute, right? Another internet Belle Watling.
Anyway—that red! Ca c’est quelque chose. And that little Marie Antoinette bed platform—what’s with that? Robber Baron consorts all had them. Me—the last thing I need in my bedroom is a 4” trip hazard (which reminds me—why was there a big schmear of yogurt and Grape Nuts in my bed this morning? Damn Ambien. Just imagine if I’d had a platform to maneuver, semi-conscious… disaster).
I digress.
The dining room has marble walls (very Vatican), the best “fire dogs” I’ve seen in a while, and beautiful mahogany and giltwood mirrored doors that were used throughout the ‘new’ rooms.
And how about that pantry? With very official silver vault. In an adjacent hall is another safe, for family and guests to ‘check’ their jewels (access was then limited to the pre-dinner dressing hour and upon departure).
The grand exterior was covered with Shotcrete (spray on concrete stuff) at some point. Now the process is underway to restore the exterior, removing the concrete layer and returning to the white stucco. In this photo, the left side (southern façade) is restored to white stucco, the left side is the old grey gunite. It’ll be nicer white, no? Home-ier.
The combined Mills-Norrie State Parks total 988 acres and features trails and recreational stuff, including the Dinsmore Golf Course, whose original nine holes were prive and shared by three families. The entrance is handsome and restrained— neat but not gaudy. I’m a sucker for (good) gate eagles—not crazy about the Agway concrete ones.
During the course of the tour the (very nice) guide mentioned that the Mills had a Paris house (in addition to Newport, New York, and California). Interest piqued, a quick internet search came up with their Parisian address—73, rue de Varennes – the Hotel de Broglie! Damn—not exactly low profile. (FYI - I hate that name – no way I can pronounce it. ‘Neuilly’ throws me too). The portrait is the famous Countess Albert de Broglie by Ingres. #73 is now the Sultan of Brunei’s Parisian pied a terre. ‘Nough said…
Check out Staatsburgh—we enjoyed it.
The Reading List
For reading, I guess “In the Pink: Dorothy Draper, America’s Most Fabulous Decorator” should feature (just compare the cover to the Mills bedroom—I’m right, right?). There are some very daring and very over the top interiors. Mrs. Draper did the lobby at 770 Park and the rooms give me pleasure every time I walk through them—urns with up lights, black-and-white marble floors, a fountain with a draped nude.
It’s summer and there is no better ‘beach’ reading than The House of Mirth. Edith Wharton and her heroine Lily Bart shared with Ruth Mills the life experiences of turn-of-the-century American aristocracy. You’ll gain insight into that world, and you’ll get a real summer potboiler—perfect. And then wander up to Lenox to see The Mount.
Maybe pipe Yo-Yo Ma’s, Paris La Belle Epoque into the garden. He and Kathryn Stott perform a ‘medley’ of lush Continental music of the period.
—Carey Maloney
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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 07/21/09 at 11:01 AM • Permalink
Endangered Architecture: Tour Two and Hear About 10 More
While our Restoration blogger Carey Maloney and his partner in all things Hermes Mallea of the M (Group) are vacationing in Cuba, we are temporarily usurping his space to announce a not-to-be-missed preservation event. On Sunday, June 28th, the Preservation League of New York State is conducting a members-only tour (you can sign up on the spot) of two of their “Seven to Save,” both in Columbia County—the Plumb-Bronson House in Hudson (above) and the Jan Van Hoesen House in Claverack.
Tour 1 - 3:30 p. m.
Reservations Preferred
Tour departs promptly at 1 p.m. from the Plumb-Bronson House, on the grounds of the Hudson Corrections Facility (enter through gate south of Hudson on Worth Avenue/Route 9)
Admission/free (members); non-members may join for a (minimum) $35
After the tour, John Winthrop Aldrich, New York State Deputy Commissioner for Historic Preservation, will give a talk. His topic: 12 sites in the Hudson Valley, including Plumb-Bronson (right, as it was and one-day will be again) that deserve immediate attention and advocacy. Aldrich, a passionate student of the region’s history and advocate for preserving its natural and historic resources, has lived beside the Hudson River all his life.
Historic Hudson Lecture
Sunday, June 28, 4 p. m.
Stair Galleries
549 Warren Street, Hudson’
Admission/$10
Reception follows.
To attend the lecture, it is not essential to first take the tour.
And another thing…
The Kent School in Kent Connecticut is the site of the Litchfield Antiques Show this weekend to benefit the Greenwoods Counseling Service. The show features a mix of forty dealers, all high end, with specialties in period European, Asian and American, art, folk art, artifacts, jewelry, through quality mid-century modern furniture and accessories.
Preview Benefit
Friday June 26, 6:30 p.m. - 9 p.m.
Admission/$100 ($60 is tax deductible)
The Kent School
Springs Center
Kent, CT
Saturday, 10 a.m. - 6 p.m.
Sunday, 10 a.m. - 5 p.m.
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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 06/22/09 at 11:07 AM • Permalink
