A New Orleans Kind of Christmas

For years now, the holidays have had a little extra special component to add to the excitement.  My daughter Emily's birthday is on Christmas Eve, and I couldn't imagine a better way to start the season! 

New Orleans knows how to celebrate any kind of holiday; it's just one superlative after another. You wonder where they store all of the decorations, given that they don't have any basements! In Emily's neighborhood, you'll find charming shot-guns a block away from jaw-dropping mansions; each and every showcasing the same passion for decoration and delight.

There is the gaudy display of kitsch... 

but the scale of the Santa  and the sense of humor rings the bell!

In New Orleans, elegance and enchantment celebrate the season minus the snow and the cold. Not to say that we didn't have the air conditioning running one day and the heat on the next!  But I  am so grateful that Emily chose Tulane so that I could come to know this great city as my home away from home.  Right now, with a little Sazerac, I'm in that "New Orleans state of mind", so...

Happy Holidaze to one and all!

Howard's Whisker

A few years ago, when my cat Howard’s vet proclaimed that Howard’s whiskers were the longest that she had ever seen, I felt as proud as a parent. For me, this was just one more example of how extraordinary and exceptional a cat that he was.

From that day forward, if I found a whisker that Howard had shed, I taped it to a door as a testament to his talent.  It was a wonderful curiosity that always made me smile.  

Howard came into our lives eleven years ago. While looking to adopt another dog, I got it into my head that it might be nice to have a couple of kittens, too. In order to coordinate with my interior design color scheme,  I wanted a gray cat and a black cat to complement  the two gold colored dogs. 

                          

Emily and her best friend Carolyn were given the honor of name selection.  They decided that the black one would be named Howard, and the gray one would be Simon.  

My mother called Howard “Dennis the Menace”.  He was always getting into mischief of one sort or another.

The years flew by and Emily went off to college at Tulane University in New Orleans.  That was an interesting choice, because her father and I had met when I had an apartment on Tulane Avenue.

Emily missed the animals and telephone conversations with her were frequently about Howard’s latest antics.  When she was home, Howard could always be found in her bed, day or night, and frequently both.

During her junior year at Tulane, Emily chose to study abroad for a semester at University College London.

This was another interesting choice because our home was on Westminster Place in St. Louis.  Who could have foreseen that she would live in the environs of Westminster Abbey one day?  

Emily had been in her London dorm room  for only a few days when she found what was clearly one of Howard’s whiskers.  It was smack-dab in the middle of her bed, on a new white sheet.  Her immediate response was to laugh, and then she taped it to the wall. 

When she told me this story, I marveled at the miracle. She hadn't packed sheets because English bed sizes were different.  Perhaps Howard had slept in her suitcase the night before she left, just as he had slept in her guitar case on occasion. How had the whisker made the transatlantic journey and not been lost? 

Here’s my theory: Howard had never traveled anywhere but to the vet’s office and occasional walks around the neighborhood. Of course, he couldn't accompany Emily on her voyage to London. As the armchair traveler that he probably was in his never-ending naps, he sent one of his whiskers instead.  Cats are known to have a particular sensitivity to the earth’s magnetic field and so are masters of direction. Was Howard trying to help Emily navigate the globe?

Whiskers also help cats determine if their body will fit into tight spaces. It’s as if Howard sent Emily the whisker to help her squeeze into a coach fare seat, 

the small confines of a college dorm room,

 a tight subway,

or crowded street. 

Though Emily had Howard’s whisker, and not Howard himself, I may be stretching things to suggest that she enjoyed the benefits of having an actual cat. But could the whisker represent an old friend and provide companionship? And as cats are known to do, could the whisker help to dispel feelings of loneliness that Emily might experience in her new situation, far from home? 

Emily’s semester abroad was coming to a close.  Her father visited in March, and I visited her in May, when she was done with her coursework and preparing to leave for two weeks in South Africa. 

Just as her father had brought her ski equipment to ski in the Alps, I brought her hiking boots to climb mountains and a wetsuit to surf off the tip of the continent.

Howard’s whisker was not done yet with its duties. It needed to help Emily to navigate to another hemisphere, and then home again.  It did.

Another inscrutable connection occurred a few days after Emily had returned home.  She took a bowl from the kitchen cabinet and exclaimed that it had the logo of University College London! It was a mismatched and random bowl that we’d had for years. Nobody knew where it came from. Most of the time it had been used to feed Howard his dinner  – until I decided he needed an official cat bowl. Then the bowl made its way back into the cabinet.  

Had the bowl predicted Emily’s study-abroad experience years in advance?  How had it traveled from a University College London dining hall to our St. Louis kitchen cabinet? How had Howard’s whisker traveled to a University College London dormitory? The whisker and the UCL bowl!  Are these curious coincidences or magical mysteries only Howard the cat can explain? Perhaps we’ll never know because Howard is always asleep!  But then again, that cannot be – because Howard is Howard and he’s only being himself – always making mischief!

Call Me Color Blind

In defense of defenseless colors worldwide, I am now going to rant about the rampant racism I regularly witness. Who will stand up for these poor colors that have no voice of their own?  How would you feel if you were unfairly maligned simply for the color of your skin? Do you hold prejudice against certain colors, innocent by their very nature and incapable of malice or scorn in return?  In a taupified world such that Restoration Hardware espouses, do you ever speak out for the underdog when you witness discrimination?  This past spring I have been stupefied by the splendid flowers, by the brave little buds that proclaim, for example, "Look at me, I'm magenta!" They put out their chests, hold their heads high, and show off their colors with pride.

                 Please don't hate me because I'm beautiful!                                                          

When a client makes a grand pronouncement of hating one color or another, I am somewhat stymied.  Hate is such a strong word! And how has green come to be a popular color to despise and deride?  It usually has to do with some wretched hospital experience or being forced to eat canned peas as a child.  Well, I say, look around you, the world is largely green, and even then, the green is fast disappearing.  How can you dislike the color of trees and plants?  How can you loathe the color of growth and rejuvenation?  Former English majors sweat out a living coming up with names such as 'Glamorous Green' and 'In The Meadow'.  No need to spray 'Round-Up' everywhere!

 Color Profiling

Once, at the request of the client,  I did an alcove with purple upholstery.  All was well, until at the time of installation, the upholsterer made a stupid comment about it "Looking like Barney". Then the client hated it and wanted it redone.  Such emotional reactions tend to inhibit design solutions. I remember my daughter, Emily, going through a  period when pink and purple were her favorite colors.  One day, with a very serious and concerned look on her face, she asked me, "Do you like brown?" I've had clients dismiss worthy colors  with criticisms such as "Looks like baby poop", when the romanticized name might be 'Cut The Mustard'. Perhaps some of my clients could have another career coming up with paint color names such as 'Victorious Vomit', 'Bileous Bile', or 'One Too Many'.  

Red Man

I love the story of designer William W. Stubbs, who had the assignment to decorate a client's home while the client was out of town.  I'm not sure that Mr. Stubbs mistook his carte blanche for carte rouge, but when the client returned home he found a scheme based on red.  The client called Mr. Stubbs and said, "I hate red! You're fired!"  This story had a happy ending, as the client got to like the red rooms, and Mr. Stubbs was rehired.

Ready, Aim, Fire!

People aren't born hating certain colors.  I believe they were taught to be color racist by their parents and other early childhood influences. Come on now, it's not all black or white in the box and everyone has to get along!

Peach Flesh

Did you know that crayon names could be politically incorrect?  I never questioned the color 'Flesh' growing up in white suburban America, but in 1962, the color was renamed 'Peach' in response to the Civil Rights Movement. 

                                              Orange Man

You might need to select the orange crayon for coloring George.  And be sure to stay in the lines that the plastic surgeon so carefully crafted!  When starting an interior design project, sometimes a good clue as to what colors the client would be most happy living with are contained in their clothes closet. A quick perusal tells the truth. 

Blue Man Group

My favorite color in the Binney & Smith box of 64 crayons was 'Cornflower'.  Speaking of which...there are those who "hate blue". See the sky above you, and the oceans and lakes?   Saying you hate a primary color such as blue is equivalent to wiping out the entire string section of the orchestra. 

Out of an infinite number of colors, we can likely see only 10,000,000. So many choices!  We can expect that certain hues will go in and out of style.  I would like to suggest that though we may have our favorites and overall preferences, that we watch our word choice and no color's feelings will be hurt. Inclusiveness and tolerance will make for perfect harmony!

And Now Simon

Simon

2000-2011

Presumably a fast-growing cancer; it probably started around the time of the blue jay dive-bombing five weeks ago.  We had since then been regular visitors at the animal hospital. His blood work showed very elevated calcium.  His prognosis was poor.

My favorite colors: gray, black,  gold, and white.  

He was the brother of Howard, and they died within 6 days of each other.  They were two distinct personalities, more like black and white than black and gray as they were.  Howard was
 outgoing yet a homebody; Simon was more shy, yet decidedly adventurous.  He was the one who usually volunteered to accompany the dogs and me on a promenade.  He even dared to cross dangerous streets to stay with us, while being very careful, though, to look both ways.

 He was a friend to Nicholas (died 2000).

He was a friend to Alice.

Simon in happier days with his catnip mouse. He was buried with it in his paws.

Unlike her name, Dr. Savage was warm and compassionate.  Simon's little heart lingered on after the first syringe.  Dr. Savage gave him a second and then he was gone.  I held his lifeless body tight.

Together to the end

It was back to the boxes of Emily's doll clothes in search of another little pillow and some sheets and blankets.  Now next to Howard he rests in peace.  Little did I know when I bought these Mexican river rocks for putting in a fireplace interior that I would use them for initializing graves.

In the stillness of the garden graves, a robin appeared.  He danced on the newly dug soil, his beak filled with wriggling worms.  And so life goes on.  The mourning dove coos and the great horned owl in the pine tree hoots.

In cat heaven...


Is there such a thing anywhere as an ordinary housecat?