Family Retreat

If you’re planning a vacation but don’t want to leave your furry companion behind there is such a thing as luxury pet-friendly accommodation. Situated in southern Maine above Crescent Beach in Cape Elizabeth, I found such a place called Inn By The Sea. This luxury shingle-style property with 43 one- and two-bedroom suites—all with ocean views—considers your furry friend a VIP guest. In early August my young golden retriever, Bella, and myself with husband in tow decided to hit the road and explore the state deemed “Vacationland.” We really wanted to partake in an end-of-the summer trip but not without our “ginger menace” as we so affectionately call her. So we headed up the coast to idyllic Cape Elizabeth to visit this “pet-friendly” seaside resort.


Upon our arrival, the staff cheerfully greeted us with “Welcome Bella and family”– I thought maybe it was her good looks and charm (next to two very weathered parents) which sparked such attention but soon realized it was the reason this luxury resort was named one of the top ten pet-friendly hotels by USA Today. To our surprise the one-bedroom garden suite (complete with kitchen and porch) was fully stocked with lots of goodies (special pet package) including organic dog treats, pet bowls, made in Maine doggie rain coat, and all of it personalized just for Bella. Needless to say it didn’t take long for Bella to feel right at home. Although she never had the chance to sample the gourmet pet menu, I think it would tempt even the most finicky pooch.
We spent the entirety of our trip exploring nearby Portland plus being entertained by Bella at the beach. Crescent Beach, the site of Inn By The Sea, is surrounded by a nature reserve (recognized by the National Wildlife Federation as a wildlife habitat) and easily accessed by a private boardwalk to the beach and paths that run parallel from the inn. If that weren’t impressive enough, in 2006, the inn received green lodging certification from Maine’s Department of Environmental Protection (DEP). As you can tell they really take pride in taking care of all living creatures, both green and furry. If you have a water dog like Bella then head to Ferry Beach (dogs allowed year-round), just a 10-minute drive and a popular meeting spot for other dog parents. There are two state parks in Cape Elizabeth, so if you are the outdoorsy type, there is plenty to explore.


In the end, we couldn’t have asked for a better experience. As a side note, if you’re city dwellers like us, don’t be alarmed when at some point during your stay you are greeted with– “Have a great Maine day!” It’s very charming indeed.


Some of the other amenities include:

• Dog sitters and walkers can be prearranged for $10 per hour; also grooming services are available
• Garden tours provided by the head gardener (check with front desk for schedule)
• Heated outdoor pool, tennis, Crescent Beach (dog restriction from April through October)
• Audubon Room restaurant

Inn By The Sea
40 Bowery Beach Road
207/799-3134
(www.innbythesea.com)

Here are a few of our favorite stops in and around Portland for food, shopping and art:

Portland
This popular coastal city is admired for its rows of colorful Victorian cottages, and recently a new wave of young artists and foodies have arrived on the scene, creating a real metropolitan vibe.

I’m going to make a bold statement—especially considering I live in New York City—but the best pizza I’ve ever had was at Flat Bread Company in Portland (72 Commercial St.). Their organic pizza is made entirely with organic ingredients and fresh produce grown from local farms, baked in a wood-fired clay oven . . . superb!
www.flatbreadcompany.com

As a dog mom I am always on the hunt for quality pet products, and I really loved shopping at Fetch, a pet store on the main street (195 Commercial Street), which has completely embraced the best of holistic and earth-friendly pet products. Even the pet placemats are made with recycled tire rubber.
Fetch, 207/773-5450

We wouldn’t leave Maine without visiting a lighthouse so we drove to Ft. Williams historic park just off Shore Road in Cape Elizabeth to see the famous Portland Head Light. There is a museum and gift shop and if you get lucky you may catch one of the local historians who frequent the monument telling adventurous tales at sea. Plus there are special areas where dogs can roam off leash and you can enjoy the spectacular views.
http://www.portlandheadlight.com/park.html

Within Portland there are many cultural delights to enchant, including The Portland Museum of Art (Seven Congress Square; 207-775-6148; open Tuesday to Sunday 10 a.m. to 5p.m. and Friday 10a.m. to 9p.m.) The museum houses an amazing Winslow Homer collection not to be missed.
Portland Museum of Art, www.portlandmuseum.org

While driving along Congress Street, I spotted Ferdinand, a hip and funky shop just waiting to be discovered. The owner, Diane Toepfer, designs most of the assembly of jewelry, stationery, clothing (especially love the organic cotton onesies featuring whimsical objects and animal caricatures), plus stocks a medley of vintage modern housewares too.
(243 Congress Street; 207-761-2151)
www.Ferdinandhomestore.com

We couldn’t visit Maine without perusing the L.L. Bean outlet in Freeport (just 30 minutes away), which has three levels of merchandise for men, women, home and pets. Plus you might find a bargain or two at all of the other shopping outlets within walking distance.
www.freeportusa.com

After the first two days of traipsing around town, we couldn’t bear to leave our pooch behind for another day so we decided to embark on a short journey across Casco Bay to one of the neighboring islands, which are easily accessible from the ferry terminal in Portland. Peaks Island is the nearest destination (a quick 30-minute ferry ride) and a perfect spot to enjoy a lobster roll (at Peaks Island House, www.innonpeaks.com) followed by a stroll around its rocky shores. And, yes, you can purchase a ferry ticket for your dog for just $3.25. A visit to Peaks Island was the perfect half-day excursion and had we been sans dog, a bike ride along the five-mile perimeter road overlooking the scenic coastline would have been the optimum end to the day.
http://www.cascobaylines.com/

The Angst and Glory of a Kitchen Renovation

A bit more than a year ago, my husband and I completed the renovation of our kitchen. I’ve had a year of preparing meals, entertaining, hanging out, and caring for this new space. So what do I like and dislike about kitchen? What could I never live without and what would I do differently? To help those now involved with or contemplating a kitchen makeover, I offer these friendly words of advice—won through 9 months of breathing plaster dust, washing dishes in the bathtub, and agonizing over tile colors.

First of all, don’t try to do this by yourself. Work with an architect, kitchen designer or interior designer, and builder who you are in tune with you. These projects demand so many decisions—from where to place electric sockets to how many BTUs you want in a cooktop—that you’ll want to foist some of these questions onto someone else. Yes, you pay for these pros, but I promise they will come up with innovative solutions that make better use of your space—and your money. Also, when you are slow to make decisions or are continually changing your mind, a project will take longer and cost more.

We hired a wonderful architect who came up with the inspired idea of moving our basement stairs, which allowed us to expand our kitchen’s square footage without altering the footprint. (The stairs originally ran behind one of the kitchen walls and they were moved under a stairway to our second level.) This shift would never have occurred to me, yet it made a world of difference in the total design and was relatively easy to execute.

The architect also added a 10x12-foot mudroom/pantry and back entry next to the kitchen, giving us more storage space and an out-of-the way place to feed the cats. (How many times did we kick the cat’s bowl when we were trying to fix dinner in the old kitchen?)

The kitchen designer was a gem who provided cabinet and drawer space for all my everyday dishes, good china, pots and pans, and serving pieces. I absolutely love the pull-out trays in the cabinets that make accessing dishes so easy. And my husband adores the new “bar cabinet” in the mudroom. Floor-to-ceiling pantry cupboards in the room are equipped with pull-out tray shelves where we keep bar glasses and liquor bottles. Make sure the pull-out shelves and hardware are heavy duty so they can support all those heavy items, such as food processors, stand mixers, and other countertop appliances.

Other favorite features: 1) The farmhouse sink in the mudroom, where I can water plants and soak messy barbecue racks. 2) The central vacuum’s “vac pan” in baseboard next to the range. (With a kick of my toe, I open a powerful vent that sucks away crumbs and debris.) 3) A chest-style island where I store pots and pans in drawers and have a central workspace close to my range, refrigerator, and sink. 4) Refrigerator, dishwasher and pull-out trash inconspicuously concealed behind cabinet panels so they are integrated into the room’s design.

Would I do anything differently? Nothing major. I might add task lights (either a pendent or a couple of sconces) for the main sink area. There are plenty of recessed lights in the ceiling but the one over the sink tends to illuminate my head, not what I’m doing with my hands. I’ve thought a frosted glass pocket door between the kitchen and dining room might be nice to conceal the kitchen when entertaining. If we’d had the budget, I would have loved to add in-floor heating in the mudroom, where the tile is chilly underfoot. (The kitchen floor is hardwood, which I love.)

Other words of advice: Plan on spending 25 to 30 percent more than you originally budgeted. Plan on the project taking twice as long as predicted. But remember, it will be worth it. (“It will be worth it,” will be your mantra. Recite it over and over when you’re on your knees washing dishes in the bathtub.) A new kitchen is a great investment. It dramatically ups the value of your home and will make it sell quickly when the time comes. But most of all, it makes every day so much more pleasant.

Word Nerd

Head to Head

Headlines and their offspring, subheads and blurbs, give us word nerds an opportunity for way too much fun with geeky word play, terrible puns, annoying alliteration, and obscure references to pop culture that show not our cleverness but our age. (When my blurb “Simply Irresistible” made the September 2005 cover it was the next best thing to being a Robert Palmer dancer until I realized the Robert Palmer dancers all have stretchmarks by now.)

I managed to sneak the blurb “fanciful, frivolous, forever young” by on a piece about Marie Antoinette last month but only because at the close of the issue my colleagues are too proof-blind and desperate for gin to fuss. Ditto goes for my past mini-masterpieces “a sassy salute to spring,” “quintessentially quince,” and “make mine marmalade.” Last month, one fellow editor had enough life left in her to question my blurb, “the glories of faking it,” for a story on fabulous fake jewelry because it seemed reminiscent of Meg Ryan’s anticlimactic scene in “When Harry Met Sally.” But this was at the eleventh hour, and when I accused her of being dirty-minded, she knew she was licked.

In recent issues, I like the heads “Ranch Redressing,” although I always find introducing the idea of foodstuffs into home design a little disconcerting, perhaps because I take my groceries so seriously. “Into the Woods” (with apologies to Sondheim) is a nice one; likewise “Seeing Red;” “Outward Bound;” “The White Stuff” (done to death, but who can resist it?); “Home on the Range” (for a kitchen story); the Otis Redding-ish “Bliss on the Bayou” (there goes that annoying alliteration again); “Girls Just Wanna Have Clean;” “Young at Art;” “Bahamian Rhapsody;” and “A Lot to Love.” The last one reminds me of the way my late father would wolf whistle, whenever he saw a lovely large woman, “Lotta lovin’ there!” Headlines, by the way, are referred to as “heds” in our business and “decks”—the explanatory line(s) under the hed—as “deks.” I don’t suppose that in a professional lifetime, the seconds we save by leaving out the “a” in “head” and the “c” in “deck” add up to even one long lunch, but it makes us feel important to think that our time is so precious we dare not waste a second.

One of my all-time favorite headlines comes from a newspaper in Iowa, where two little towns are called Manly and Fertile: “Manly Man Marries Fertile Woman.” We haven’t scored one that thrilling in the three years I’ve been at Trad Home, but we try. Anything that can be played off of a book or movie title is catnip to us; naturally we dubbed our November piece on the home of Early Show co-anchor Hannah Storm “The Perfect Storm.” The piece actually started life as “Storm Warning”—which made more sense than you’d think because the outside of Hannah’s Georgian farmhouse belies its Art Deco interior, making the warning idea implicit. But the implication was awfully subtle, and anyway, we decided “Storm Warning” had an ominous, Macbeth-like “something wicked this way comes” tone.

One of us wanted to stay away from the “Storm” theme entirely because it’s the journalistic equivalent of shooting ducks in a barrel, but others of us who long ago made fast friends with the obvious wore him slowly and inexorably down. The weather forecast terminology reminds me of my late, great friend, the larger-than-life novelist Thomas Gifford, who wrote the thriller The Windchill Factor. When someone would say musingly, “I think I’ve heard of that,” Gifford would throw back his leonine head and roar, “Of course you have, you twit! You’ve listened to a weather report!”

An Apple a Day

September 26 was John Chapman's birthday. We know him better as Johnny Appleseed. I have to admit I thought for a misquided moment that he was the actor who played opposite Roseanne in the eponymous TV series, but no, this is the fellow who wandered around the mid-Atlantic states sowing apple trees. We owe him a huge favor for the inspiration he gives us to do the same, no matter where we live. In my rural English garden I planted an orchard of a dozen heritage apple trees like 'Cornish Gilliflower', 'Sack and Sugar', 'Venus Pippin', 'Court Pendu Plat'. I think I chose them for their names as much as for their savor. Here in my Des Moines garden, which I'm slowly carving from the ubiquitous lawn of the 'burbs, I inherited two apple trees of unknown name. One produces red apples, one yellow.

They are sorry looking things as the previous owner's idea of pruning was to fire up the chainsaw and let rip. There are protrubances up and down their trunks, like amputated limbs—a truly painful sight is a poorly pruned tree. But, my lands, how they produce new growth! And apples! Which are quite delicious. I owe this discovery to my husband, who has a thing about apples. I stopped buying them at the supermarket (our 'fresh produce' in these stores hardly qualifies for the name — it's shameful, really).

The saying "American as apple pie" may well have its origins in the fact that apples were once the mainstay of every homesteader's garden; one of the earliest orchards in the New World was reputedly planted in Massachusetts in 1625 by an apple-loving clergyman, who developed a variety known as 'Blaxton's Yellow Sweeting'. Pomologists reckon that there were at one time as many as 8000 apple varieties grown in the USA. The rise of supermarketing over farmersmarketing quickly whittled that down to a few sorts that could be depended upon to bear-heavily and produce uniformly-sized, 'resiliant' apples that would give shoppers the kind of apple experience they thought they wanted! Same deal with tomatoes. But guess what, consumers got bored with the same-old same-old, and just like heritage toms are making a revival, so are heritage apples. If you think you might like to participate in this glorious revival, a good source of accurate information and trees to buy can be found at Trees of Antiquity of Paso Robles, CA. They have a list of 147 old and some new apple varieties to make your mouth water (well, mine did!). They ship good quality plants and will help you choose the best for your locale and Zone. (www.treesofantiquity.com). They even list 'Court Pendu Plat', dating it to 1613, and 'Cornish Gilliflower' (1700s); then there's 'Pumpkin Russet' (1832) and one I would love to try, 'Seek-No-Further' (1870). Looking at the photos online of the different varieities, I think my red apple may be 'Arkansas Black'

Donald started eating our apples in June. A bit early, since they were only just becoming apples, but he likes 'em sour, I guess. Only now, in late September, they've come into their own, and he even got out the ladder to pick what he could reach, though we've been feasting on the windfalls. The red skins have turned a dusky burgundy and the greeny-yellary has gone gold. And each has a distinct flavor.
The red is acid and good for cooking, the yellow sweet and crunchy for munching. And because these two old soldiers have so stoically endured neglect and abuse for so many years, yet continued to flower (ever so sweetly) and fruit (generously), I have vowed to have an arborist tidy them up, to wrap their trunks in winter and spray them at fruit set against borers and worm. I owe it to them. They way I see it, plants are living things, and deserve to be rewarded when they done good.

This last spring I also planted a plum tree. Don't ask the name—the label was missing, and the tree was stuck in a corner of the nursery lot like an unwilling debutante trying to avoid attention, but actually longing to get out on the dance floor. Well, leave it to me to select just that tree—it looked so sad and neglected and clearly needed a home. We dug a generous planting hole (a $10 hole for 50 cent plant is the rule.) It produced 3 pounds of juicy yellow-fleshed, purple-skinned plums from a total of three branches. And now there are lots of new shoots that hold promise for next year's crop...and plum jam.
It just goes to show you—a little kindness goes a long way.

Topsy is turvey

It is a difficult thing to eat a bowl of Cheerios while lying down. Smoked salmon on thinly sliced whole wheat bread and butter goes down a treat. So does Jello — the red colors have the best flavor, tho' tint plays no part in easy swallowing. McVitie's Digestives tend to get lodged mid-esophagus, but a gulp of milk speeds them on down. Carroll Stonor's meatballs in red wine and tomato sauce are silken over the tonsils. So, in all, this post back surgery recovery is not too horrid. And I'm seeing the world from a new perspective—upside down.

My laptop has become a stomachtop, so email is possible, as is blogging...but the mind tends to wander as the drug bath has yet to empty from every corner of my cranium. So some -- maybe much -- of what I write will seem a little la la. Oh well, blame it on the internet.

Viewing the world from a prone position is like seeing only the middle part of the picture. I can see the trees beginning to drop their leaves but I can't see the ground, which must be ready for its first raking. My eyeballs glaze over staring at the patterns created by the pebble finish on our ceiling (ancient Mayan faces, Toulose Lautrec ladies in big hats, Darth Vadar ... I've always thought pebble finish was wierd and now I know why, peopled as it is with latent 'toons from the Heironymus Bosch school of art.) I also play the game of rearranging the furniture, imagining the ceiling as the floor. I used to do this as a child, lying upside down in an old horsehair armchair in my Gran's Milwaukeee living room. Boy, did she have furniture! So, there I'd be, imagining the three-tier whatnot next to the chaise, with the lamp just so...Early glimmers of interior design shaping in my youthful synapses. But I moved onto landscape design, and it really is quite impossible to play the same game out doors, shifting plants around on the sky just doesn't cut it...there are no boundaries, no corners. It's an unsolveable puzzle.

But mostly I do my designing on the ground (tho it may sometimes look like I've done it from Planet Ethne), in a perpendicular position, which it's about time I resumed for purposes of taking a gentle stroll to the kitchen. Then perhaps I'll repair to an armchair for a spell at an obtuse angle—one I find myself in all too often.

Seeing Red

I believe everything I read in Traditional Home. Every word – even though I’ve now worked here for seven years and know everyone who contributes to our magazine. Familiarity has not, in my case, bred contempt, and I’m glad.

Long before I worked here as travel and entertaining editor, I loved Trad Home, as it’s called in the industry. So when I read, “Seeing Red,” in our February-March 2006 issue, produced by neighbor and colleague Krissa Rossbund (our offices share a wall), I knew I’d found the answer to my decorating dilemma, which was this: My mostly champagne and taupe house needs punching up. Maybe it should be a color. Would red work?

And there, in print, was the answer! The story featured furnishings in my favorite vivid color. Something clicked. I loved every single piece pulled into the photo shoot. No surprise, since she and most of our editors devote their work lives to finding the most beautiful home furnishings in the world to feature in our pages. A bonus: Krissa and I share a taste for glamor. And that’s what her feature was about: voluptuous furniture and accessories with fine lines and glorious finishes in brilliant shades of red. It inspired me. I got busy.

Over the next few month here’s what we did to our living room. We painted the fireplace wall a bright Chinese red, a shade that went with the dark red in the mostly taupe Tibetan rug in front of it, which in turn went with the medium-brown bamboo floors we love. I bought three good-sized silk-covered pillows at an Asian home store. Each was different, but all were embroidered in black, one with gold. I tossed them onto sofas and chairs with the terracotta pillows already there.

I dug out a glossy, deeply concave, red bamboo bowl I had put away and set a red pepper ristra from Santa Fe in it. The wreath didn’t quite reach the top of the bowl, so I carefully folded a red hand towel and set the wreath atop it. I made two window shades with glue and careful folding and pressing —no sewing—of a deep red quilted fabric, which I mounted with Velcro to cover the multiple paned French doors that lead from living room to study. In addition to ensuring privacy in the room that doubles as our guestroom, the shades added an extra note of red, not a match but complementary.

As a bonus, I inherited three pieces of red and redder furniture when my daughter moved to another state, and they added a note of cheer --I’ve already told her I want back the low Chinese table I gave her as a housewarming gift. (She laughed, but is not giving it away.)

The finishing touch cost just pennies: I bought a bag of the brightest red apples I could find and piled them in a wide, flat pale bowl (unlike the other bamboo bowl) atop an extra-long table runner made of Sherri Donghia’s Horizon Jacquard stripe fabric (featured in our March 2004 issue). There are five shades of red in the runner and somehow it ties the entire room together.

So, no I didn’t buy the red and gold, hand-painted Chinese chair for $1000 plus. I didn’t get new curtains or sofas or anything major. Still, the results transformed a room with an instant shot of energy and sophistication.

Inspiration is what our magazine is all about. And the process of the work expressed what I saw in the story, Seeing Red, made me happy to walk into our living room and helped me through the emptiness I felt when our daughter left home. She brought sunshine into our lives, and a few dashes of red won’t replace her. But decorating is such an expression of creativity that it’s a welcome distraction from the life of the mind that defines my daily job as an editor. And, somehow, the results satisfied my spirit. Thanks, Krissa.

Carroll Stoner is travel and entertaining editor at Traditional Home Magazine. She welcomes comments and stories about decorating and design.

Word Nerd

Word of the Issue

Familiar with the idea of the Collective Unconscious? Then you’ll have no trouble grasping a phenomenon at Traditional Home that we’ve come to call Word of the Issue.

If you’re Jung at heart, you already know about Carl Jung’s theory that we each have a part of our unconscious that is common to all other human beings, that is, the part you don’t want to go spelunking around in without a flashlight.

What we’ve observed here—too uncannily often to be an accident—is that as manuscripts come trickling in for an issue, a particular word keeps cropping up. Last winter it was “eclectic,” which in the design context means jumbled, but ever so artfully so—the thrift shop table beside the Chippendale chair. Then in March our writers became communally besotted with the terms of magic: “legerdemain,” “sleight-of-hand,” and “conjure,” leading our Curmudgeon in Chief (Copy Chief/Production Editor) Cynthia Mitchell to issue the edict that one cannot merely conjure but must “conjure up:” Conjure me up, Scottie! Sexy words all, but a little legerdemain goes a long way. (Incidentally, Cynthia will likely suggest that in my first paragraph, “collective unconscious” shouldn’t be capitalized because it is a term in common parlance and furthermore not capped in Webster’s. I would counter that an exception should be made because I want to call the reader’s attention to it, and also that there is something to be said for parallelism. If “Word of the Issue” is to be capped in the same sentence—and it should be because it just feels right, dammit—then Collective Unconscious should be too.)

Last May we fell hard for “serendipity,” another pretty word, but all too easy to use hyperbolically. If a designer and a client get on like a house afire, that’s hunky-dory—not to mention commonsensical (yes, that really is a word) on the part of the designer, who presumably likes to eat—but not necessarily serendipitous. And if the perfect house happens to go on the market just at the time a homeowner gets a jones for it, well, that’s ducky, too, but not serendipitous—just the real estate market doing what it’s been doing since Neanderthals first started playing musical caves.

For our July issue, we became fixated on the word “iconic,” which I have been trying to root out ever since I fetched up at Traditional Home three years ago. Cool word, but one that I’ve become iconoclastic about because it’s nigh on to meaningless from overuse—everything from Willie Nelson’s grizzled ponytail to the Taco John spokesmonkey is dubbed iconic. If everything is iconic, then nothing is.

For our October issue, we developed such a jag about “puddling draperies” that it got on the last Irish nerve of Managing Editor Michael Diver, who served notice that the next person to make a puddle would have some ’splainin’ to do. Speaking of ‘splainin,’ Michael doesn’t think much of “explains” for attribution, much preferring the spare Hemingwayesque “says,” unless another verb is truly called for. (Yes, I just ended a sentence with a preposition and if you wanna make sumpin’ of it, consider how Churchill responded to an editor on this nitpick: “This is the sort of nonsense up with which I will not put.”)

In the November issue we are preparing now, we seem to be in an “ironic” mood, as in a designer with an ironic edge. We copy editors look askance at “ironies” that are not truly ironic but merely coincidental. To pass the irony test, there has to be incongruity between an expected and actual result. It’s coincidental, perhaps even serendipitous, if you just bought an itsy bitsy teeny weenie yellow polka dot bikini the day before you were invited to a pool party but ironic if there is a drowning at a pool party for lifeguards.

You say iconic, I say ironic—let’s call the whole thing off!