I love flowering quince. One of the earliest blooming shrubs, usually right behind forsythia, or “for Cynthia” as I used to call it, quince is one of those things you can just stick in a vase and it’s beautiful. Going through seven million photos the other day I ran across this one taken few years ago in my New York office-and-guest room, with the morning sun coming in just so through the lace curtains.
Here’s a better view of the lace curtains, now gone, along with the beat-up French café chair. The sweet bust of the little girl is in another room. Our lives change, and our things change with them.
I’m not sure what that chair’s doing up there. Probably there wasn’t space for it anywhere else. As you can see there’s a lot of stuff in this room. Longtime friend and designer the estimable John Oetgen gets it just right, and then I come behind him and mess it up. (Please do yourself a favor and visit his beautiful website.)
The lace curtains went away after His Grace (now my husband) came into the picture, and my office-guest room took on yet another task as His Dressing Room. The lace gave way to more manly stripes. But I love the wallpaper on the ceiling (still there) and the grosgrain ribbon trim with the silk camellias glued to it (gone girl). The framed pages of an old sketchbook are today re-hung in Bee Cottage. The Palm Pilot is in a museum.
I’ve found myself getting nostalgic about the old 69th Street apartment, because I’ll be leaving it soon. We need a little more space when we’re in the City. It’s all good, but still…
Meanwhile I found a place at my (other) new home in California to plant some quince. I’m excited about that. I could never have planted quince in 69th Street.