Precursor to Status Anxiety

I'm back in Oxford for a few days to work on my film about Thacker Mountain Radio. The weather is perfect - a nice, humidless eighty degrees - and the town is quiet. I also realized as I was driving thirty miles an hour how much I don't miss Atlanta's aggressive drivers.

This week I have the pleasure of staying my dear friend A.'s parents' home just off the Square. A. didn't grow up in the home, but her sister did and the vestiges of her childhood are everywhere: prom photos, a cheerful decor, and a trove of nail polishes in a rainbow of colors. My own bedroom in Atlanta is a palette of muted browns, and I noticed that getting out of bed at 6 a.m. this morning (far earlier than I ever do in Atlanta) must have something to do with the cheery decor. Color, we've know for a long time, affects us.

I noticed, too, that A.'s parents repainted their kitchen. This has been an ongoing affair; last time I was there it was tangerine orange reminding me of Mario Batali's Babbo, or his shoes (though I prefer the former.) Now, it is a pleasant shade of pale blue, somewhat breathy, therefore adding a nice airiness to the space. I find in A's mother a similar desire to change up rooms on a regular basis. Just as many rooms make up a house, so do many views.

On a side note, I had two wonderful conversations with A's parents. The first was with her mother on status anxiety and how it relates to our homes; and the latter was with A.'s father about finding your voice as a writer, a process which he describes as finding "your ear."
(A's father is the author of a rolicking book set in Mississippi.)

I'll be posting on status anxiety in the upcoming week after I revisit Alain de Botton's book of the same title.

Strikes Me As Lovely

Lame is all I've got for you. Between spotty email, bathroom/roof repairs that have drained our pockets and zapped what remains of our energy after long days of work, I've been slow to post anything anywhere -- except for Twitter. Check out my feed on what I'm making, renovating, or turning upside down at our house with additional tweets on what what strikes me as lovely.

Mixing Business and Pleasure

(Sketch for my first business card.)

This week I started working for an architecture firm as their Marketing Director. The job is somewhat serendipitous considering my interest in the idea of home. Many of the projects Houser Walker Architects develops are for museums, libraries, and universities, and like homes, these places foster dreams.

When I was kid I wanted to be an architect, then as fate would have it a cousin enrolled in the architecture school at University of Florida and the few times I saw her during holidays she seem bogged down by books and projects. This was not the life I envisioned for myself, so instead I grew up to work in a place surrounded by books and kept hours more akin to a lawyer than to a bookseller. Life has a way of coming full circle though, and despite the fact I still have no desire to actually be an architect, I have the opportunity to work with them, share ideas, and most importantly, strengthen a business that nutures our identities.

The Kitchen Ascent

(Cozy up in the kitchen and see where it leads.)

J. writes, "I was on Southern Living. com and came across this kitchen idea. I think you might know the owner of this kitchen (from City Grocery in Oxford.)"

She's correct. The image is from the kitchen of dear friends John and Bess Currence. The first time I saw their recently-completed kitchen, I had to take a deep breath. What you can't see in the picture is a small, spiral staircase that ascends to the master bedroom. I often talk of the kitchen dance that couples do, but the Currences have taken it to another level. I like it.


Image Source: Southern Living

Life's Ups and Downs

(Rest in Peace - Benson Albemarle Attebery, a fine dog and friend.)

A few updates:

• Chris' family dog Benson passed away this week, so we've all been dealing with the loss by bunkering down as a family. Yesterday, Chris and his parents buried Benson in our front yard. It's hard to think of that little guy no longer with us.

• I've just been hired by Houser Walker Architects to do strategic planning for marketing and publicity. It's only part-time but with the film and book, it couldn't be more perfect.

• My first guest is coming to Atlanta next week: My twin sister Jacqui. We have a couple of things in mind to do including some house beautifying and eating at the Mexican restaurant Chris discovered a few months ago that blows Taqueria del Sol out of the water.
  

Selling Ideas of Home

So I just got back from an interview with an architecture firm in Atlanta. No, I am not thinking about a career change. Rather, the job encompasses marketing and publicising the firm. I feel like this opportunity is right up there with my interests and I was impressed with the principal who I met with -- he and I seem to be on the same page with regards to sustainability, ideas of home, and how the environment impacts our outlook on life.

I won't know anything until Monday, so everyone keep your fingers crossed.

Formerly of the Hospitality State but still Hospitable

(S. took this picture of me this morning. )

"S. is coming this week," Chris told me a few days before his arrival. S. is Chris' friend from college who is now a sales rep for Taylor guitars.

Not the kind of person to open my home to guests without a made bed, I pulled my old sheets from the closet and outfitted the bed I lugged from Mississippi. I'm sitting next to it now. It's in a room that was once the abode of Chris' roommate who has since vacated. The room has been restored as a guestroom/office. The walls are terribly white, and in the morning the room grows bright and is filled with birdsong. (Some people -- Chris for example -- find it annoying, but I prefer it to the janky alarm that resounds at 7:30 everyday via Chris' cell phone.)

Apparently guests slept on the couch or an air mattress before I moved in. There was another empty room, but it was never set up as a place for guest to rest. I like to think that S. will be more productive today having slept in my old, comfy bed (which I miss) instead of the couch. Or, that the breakfast I offered him -- just as I offer Chris most every day -- will sustain him. It's these little touches, a bed offered or a hot, homemade meal that make the difference.