Glass Ceilings

The other day I wrote a post about floors, so today I thought that we should raise our heads and look up!

I'm an outdoors sort of a girl and I need and crave natural sunlight. It doesn't have to be sunny outside, any shade of natural light will do. My home needs to be open and bright, the more the better for me. I do not mind the sun coming through my window in the morning, in fact, I do love it and can think of no better way to wake up. It's like having an organic alarm clock. It happens slowly, calmly and not at all jarring. I am an early riser, though, and do suppose if I had night owl tendencies I may not enjoy the sum on my face quite as much!

My last home was filled with skylights. Big, beautiful, wonderful windows on my ceiling. My bedroom had two and there was one over the shower in my bathroom. The skylights in my bedroom allowed me to be outside no matter the weather. I loved to watch the large oak tree directly overhead as she changed her wardrobe for each season. In wintertime, my skylights were often covered up by heavy, wet, white blankets. I admit, however, during those intense summer storms that would sweep through our town during the wee hours of the morning to having looked up once or twice, and cursing at those very windows I loved so dearly. Big, bold, bright bolts of lightening accompanied by the powerful, ground shaking booms of thunder were not welcome in my bed, especially when they woke me in the middle of the night!

When we moved I lost my bedroom skylights but I gained two over the dining area in our kitchen and one over my large bath! My kitchen overlooks a vast back yard bordered by so many trees one would imagine there was a forest in my backyard. That part of the kitchen is painted in Benjamin Moore's Leaf Green, as I wanted to feel as though it is an extension of our back yard. With the skylights directly overhead, one almost feels as though one's eating en plein air!

My favorite, by far, is the large skylight directly over the bath. I love to soak in the rain, beneath the moon, in the snow, and under the midday sun. There is nothing better!

In my grandmother's house in the South of France there was an atrium which resembled more of an outdoor hallway. It connected the detached garage to the rest of the house. If memory serves me correctly the space was, at one time, exposed to the elements and in later years covered by glass. There was a lovely lion fountain on the wall outside the garage, and when the area became glassed in, room developed a very zen-like feel. My grandmother converted this ordinary walkway to a rustic and yet elegant dining area. It was there, at a very young and impressionable age, where I developed my love for glass ceilings.

image via Light Locations

image via Colorado Classic Sunrooms

image via Dwelling Gawker

image via Dwelling Gawker

via Haute Indoor Couture

via Design Sponge

image via Austen Patterson Architects

image via Porch Light Interiors (original source unknown)

Don't you just want to bring the outside in as well?!

Have a lovely day,

XOXO

Jessica

Une Maison des Vacances Sans Fin... La Jolie Grandmere a Cannes

Here's an aerial view of the pool at Jardin des Arbres. Directly behind the banquettes were rows and rows of very fragrant olive trees. She had orange and lemon trees on her property as well. From this vantage you can see how high in the mountains she was. And now you can understand how steep that driveway was and why the need for the turntable! To the bottom right-hand corner of the photograph you will see a set of stamps built into the landscape. Those stairs took one to the "Garden Level" down below where my grandfather kept his office and where I shared a bedroom with my Nanny.

I really wish these photos were not in black and white, but alas they hail from various Maison & Jardin magazines from the late 1960s and early 1970s. This was my bedroom. It was green and white. It was called the "Bamboo Room." (La Jolie Grandmere named all her rooms.) There was an elegant bamboo colored wall paper on all of the walls and into the bathroom. The beds were four poster bamboo beds. (Look closely and you will see.) Next to the Nanny's bed (mine was on the inner wall) were French doors that slid open to a small terrace and a garden of bamboo trees all around. I simply adore bamboo! The bamboo theme was carried into the light and airy bathroom behind. I loved to sit in that tub at the end of the day and soak up all the various wonderful smells that surrounded me in the South of France. There were the wonderful aromas from the outdoors, the smell of my red gelee Bain de Soleil (SPF4!) as well as the lavender or lemon verbena baths I would soak in, followed by the scent of Nivea (then only found in France and we had to ship suitcases of it back to the States!) that was rubbed into my tan little body at the end of the day.

My grandfather's tiny office (and I do mean tiny!) was located directly next to my bedroom. Here he would work on his novels and movie deals. One could hear the clack clack ring of his typewriter throughout the day, even up by the pool. I always found it a soothing sound. Clack clack ring. Clack clack ring!

The pool at night. As spectacular as I remember! One evening my parents my parents were headed out to a black tie gala with my grandparents. I was about a year old and I was running or tripped and ended up in the pool, at the bottom! My father, minutes away from getting into the car, jumped into the pool to my rescue, tux and all! I believe the story is that he was able to borrow and extra one from my grandfather. After that day my grandparents decided that there ought to be a safety covering over the pool. But my grandmother being, well, my grandmother, would stand for nothing offensive or obtrusive. She was not going to ruin her beautiful scenery with an ugly and cumbersome sort of covering. She created her own that resembled a heavy fishing net. It was white and tucked into the outer rim of the pool. It was elegant and completely secure. Typical to the Style of La Jolie Grandmere, even the pool could get dressed up! I have been unable to locate a picture of the pool covered up, but will post one when I do!

This view is from the living room area (see how open it is!) out to the terraced dining area, We ate en plein air toujours! Unless it was positively pouring sideways, we could eat outdoors. My grandmother used the outdoor dining area for entertaining all the time. I always marveled at the elegance of it all... the rows and rows of silver... the elegant glasses all lined up as if ready to dance around the table... And dining outdoors at night was even more spectacular, as you can imagine from the above photo.

Another view of the outdoor dining area...

The indoor dining table was not a table at all, but a creation of her own. My grandmother often used architectural artifacts in her decor. Here two lion pillars (taken from an old building of sorts) are used to form the table's legs. A finished stone slab serves as the table top.

My grandmother's kitchen was custom built for her. It was tiny. All her kitchens were tiny, in fact. I suppose this was because it was easier for her to navigate around in a wheel chair. The counter tops were built to accommodate her level, and were a good bit lower than standard counters. Even though she had Help in the kitchen, my grandmother was a fabulous cook. Her appliances were all imported from the US. You will notice that the dishwasher is the same green as the cabinetry. She painted it that way, of course! (Many years later in England, she would paint her television set pink to match her bedroom!)

The Living Room area. Books would always play a huge roll in my grandmother's decorating. I love the elegance and simplicity of the black and white. I love the black walls. In a room as large as this, with as much natural daylight as this one had, the black worked beautifully. Indeed, much of my sense of style comes from my grandmother. Again, if you look at her coffee table you will see it is not a table at all. Two more architectural pieces, perhaps Greek in influence, gracefully carry a sturdy piece of glass which is used as the table top.

My grandmother's house, that she built all by herself (well, she hired the actual builders to do the building!) is Mediterranean with Greek inspiration. (I need to find a better picture of the exterior as well.) How I would love to go back and bring my children and share with them all my wonderful memories. I am so grateful to have all the wonderful magazines and books that featured my grandmother's beautiful homes. They all evoke such wonderful memories, but none so lovely and magical as the house in Cannes.

La Jolie Grand-mere a Cannes... more to come!

More is coming... I'm working on it... slowly but surely... attendez un petit peu plus s'il vous plait!

Summering in Cannes chez Jardin des Arbres

I thought La Jolie Grandmere had the biggest house in France, at least in Cannes. As a child it was sprawling, vast and truly magnificent. I am delighted that I can still recall her house, Jardins des Arbres -- translated Garden of Trees -- so vividly and colorfully. I am so happy, that even from the eyes of a young child I could see and truly appreciate the magnificence that was this house. With all the elegance and glorious aspects of the architecture and decor, there was still plenty of whimsy to entertain a young girl like me.

My grandmother's bedroom and bathroom were all pink. Bubblegum pink. Well, pink and white, actually. Bright pink walls with a bed made out of white trellis. It tickled my young senses. It was whimsical and yet so elegant. It takes a strong man to live in a bedroom such as this. Her adjoining bathroom matched in color and detail. Certainly this was a bedroom suite for Princesses and Queens... and Fairies.

The living and dining room area were open. There were two walls. Both were painted black. One lined with books and bookshelves. The other stood plain, save a few pieces of art. The other two sides were exposed to the open air -- to the pool and olive trees and mountains and the Mediterranean beyond and to the atrium which would later on become a glass ceilinged dining area. The furniture was white and the floor was a crisp, cool, elegant white tile. The natural light from the outdoors changed the tone of the room as the time, days and seasons changed. The snow on the pool area beyond blanketed the outdoors. Glass doors were pulled together so that no matter what the weather, one would always feel at one with the outdoors. Of course, I never experienced Cannes in the winter. I only summered there. Her house was photographed so many times that I am privileged to own these acclaimed magazines.

On the other side of the atrium with the wonderful lion water fountain built into the ivy-lined, concrete wall that constantly trickled a steady stream of water, was the tiny, plain, one car garage. There was nothing at all fancy about this concrete square with a roof overhead. Nothing unless you are a young child fascinated with over-sized turn tables!

The small garage was atop a long, winding, and very steep driveway in the mountains overlooking the sea. Perhaps this long, never ending driveway is why I thought the property to be so vast. To my little legs and espadrille-clad feet, the driveway seemed endless. I learned recently that it was not. I learned recently that my grandmother actually had a fairly small piece of property in the mountains by the sea. And together my mother and I found it with a million thanks to Google Earth. There she was, as lovely as ever! But indeed smaller than she seemed in my youth. And that long driveway? Not that long at all! But still steep indeed. And the reason for the roundabout, or turn table. Or as I liked to call it, the Merry Go Round! One simply could not back down the driveway... at least not with ease. And there was no room whatsoever to turn the car around at the top.

Charles was my grandmother's right-hand man, and chauffeur. When she did not venture out with my grandfather, Charles was always by her side. He was a wonderful man about 20 years her junior who lived in the house in an apartment on the garden level with his wife Lilliane.

 Charles and Lillianne were witnesses at Bettina (La Jolie Grandmere) and Larry's wedding

Charles and Lilliane had a small one bedroom apartment on a lower level. The apartment was small but well equipped. It was near where the gardens would eventually go. The climate in Cannes was perfect for growing strawberries, lettuces, cucumbers and other items for one's food requirements. La Jolie Grandmere had a self sustaining garden long before Alice Waters and others made this term trendy and en vogue. She also had a small vineyard. Funny how memorable that was to me, even as a child. Foretelling, perhaps, of my great love of wine?!

Even though my Nannies traveled with me to France I used to like to hang around with Charles. (Nannies were allotted time off here and there.) He was gentle and loving and treated me as he would his daughter or niece. It was not uncommon for me to end up in his apartment with him and Lillianne. Sometimes I would show up unannounced and Lillianne or Charles would welcome me in as though I was a much anticipated guest. They would offer me glasses of water or juice that they would pour into their glass tumblers. The same tumblers that they drank their wine from. Again, I am quite amused that even as young as 3 or 4 I would hone in on the fact that they drank wine not out of stemware but regular tumblers! (Quite common practice in Europe, actually.)

One afternoon I was hanging out with Charles and Lilliane in their apartment. They were enjoying a glass of wine and a cigarette. This was the early 70s and everyone smoked. My mother and grandmother both did. They smoked filterless Gauloise (strong French) cigarettes that were just nasty -- of course I had to try one at some point in my teen years! Whether one knew, in the 1970s, that smoking was terrible for you, was uncertain. I do remember thinking that people who wore deep tans and smoked were terribly glam! Anyhow, one afternoon Charles and Lilliane were enjoying an afternoon smoke with an afternoon glass of vin rouge. I must have been watching them carefully, closely, curiously, because suddenly Charles offered me a puff. I accepted.

I remember being up in the kitchen not too much after my first cigarette with Charles, my mother and my grandmother. He told them of our afternoon. Both women started to laugh. "What did she think of it?" my grandmother asked Charles. He replied, also in a tone of laughter, "Hopefully that was both her first and her last cigarette!" Yes, I took a drag and began to cough uncontrollably.  I remember being given a butterscotch candy to suck on to help the cough. The taste of the smoke and the butterscotch have left an indelible mark on my brain. I can't say it is a terribly good one! Nor did his lesson work. I smoked for some time once I hit my teen years. Perhaps my only true regret thus far in my life...

Charles and I used to play on the roundabout when my grandparents were out. The garage would stand empty. I would walk onto the large metal turntable that resembled more a record player than Merry Go Round. Sometimes my feet were clad in one of my many pairs of colorful espadrilles, other times they were barefoot. When I was barefoot I remembered feeling the pattern of the cool metal beneath me. I remember the smell of metal and leather and petrol in the garage.

Charles would ask me if I was ready. "Prete!" I would shout out to him. (He spoke no English so therefore we only spoke in French together.) And he would flip the light switch and ever so slowly the large metal disk would start to turn. And I would stand on it. Arms stretched out to my sides as far as they would go. My eyes were closed and a smile was on my face. You couldn't possibly imagine how fun this was! Charles had the patience of a saint and we would play on the Merry Go Round for what would seem like hours at a clip. Sometimes he would sing Sur le Pont D'Avignon, Alouette... sometimes I would sing Lundi Matin, Au Clair de la Lune .. sometimes we would sing together... Il etait un petit navire, Savez-Vous Plantez les Choux?

Oftentimes when my grandmother had returned home from a trip to town, Charles would look for me to see if I wanted to ride in the car as he turned it around in preparation for its next outing.

(Tomorrow photos and text from sales brochure for Jardins des Arbres!)

La Jolie Grand-Mere's Lunch With Estee Lauder, and a Duck

Yesterday I decided to do a bit more tidying up in the basement. As I did I spied a box marked OLD PHOTOS in my handwriting. It was heavy and on a top shelf and I probably should not have lifted it, but I did. I opened the box to find piles of photographs, magazines featuring her old homes, books and story she had written for me that I thought I had lost forever! My grandmother was documenting her life for me in a wonderful story format. I love the story of the Pressed Duck I really wanted to share it with you.

This will be a long post... save it for later, print it out, but read it. It's a great story!

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Pressed Duck

In 1953 my mother took us on a grand tour of Europe. We were 5 strong; my husband, my two children aged 10 and 12, mother and me. And GRAND it was. We were away for 100 days staying one month each in France, Spain and Italy with shorter stops in Portugal and Sicily. Our car traveled with us on the beautiful French liner La Liberte. A derrick swung our convertible Buick on board like a child's toy. It went into the hold. To accompany the car there was a small open trailer purchased at Sear Roebuck to accommodate our 6 trunks, providing us with maximum comfort in the car. Each person had to be self-sufficient within his particular trunk -- No borrowing. No "you've got the toothpaste." Each one was labeled with his Christian name in giant red letters for instant identification.

The 6th trunk was for extra supplies, especially paper products. Wardrobe trunks, when stood on their sides, open to become just that, wardrobes with hanging space on the side and drawers on the other -- no unpacking.

As we rumbled across the cobblestones of Europe, our trailer was a source of endless intrigue; children clapped their hands, grown-ups gaped. When we parked they crowded around us as though we were from outer space.

We stayed at wayside inns and grand hotels.I had researched the trip for an entire year and our organization never failed us. We never drove more than 300 miles a day and mostly less. We lunched in cafes and bistros and dines in renowned eating establishments.

We had planned that whenever we wanted to lengthen out stay at one particular place, we would, and once we did. We were enchanted by Seville and the Hotel Alphonso the 13th where the old world splendor of our rooms overlooked a garden of orange trees. it was the stuff of wonderland, and so we canceled Valencia and stayed on.

The children sketched what they saw which engraved it in their memories. They mailed back to school essays about their experiences which were in class and often to the whole assembly. (Years later, when Hart [my uncle] was a student at Princeton, he and his room mate toured the continent. Hart acted as guide and was happily astonished to find that he had total recall of his childhood adventure.)

Paris was our last stop before heading back to Le Harvre, our ship L'isle de France, and our home.

While in Paris we stayed at a small hotel in the rue Jean-Goujon [cannot decipher word!], the San Regis. They had just 16 rooms. Our suite was very posh, resplendent with delicate antique furniture and quite unsuitable for children. However they were unaware of and unimpeded by the finery.

Our plan was to visit the Louvre every day, taking it in small doses so that the young ones would find it neither a bore nor a chore. But we got it wrong; on our first visit when we, grown-ups started to fade we assumed that Hart and Linda would have had their fill and announced that we were leaving, at which one of them piped up "Are the tickets still good? "Yes." "Do you mind if we stay a little longer?" So we collapsed on a bench and we waited for them!

The whole trip was like that, our enjoyment being doubled by the vicarious delight of seeing such enthusiastic reactions from our offspring.

At the San Regis breakfast was sent to our rooms, On the continent, if it isn't served in your room then it isn't breakfast, This is true in the humblest inn, Often there was no dining room, as at the San Regis, They did, however, own Paris' most famous restaurant, Le Tour d'Argent which was number one on our "must" list.

At the Tour d'Argent you dine in an oblong tower surrounded by windows framing spectacular views of Paris. It is romantic and breathtaking at night. (I have never seen it by day.) The Tour d'Argent is famous for their pressed duck, which I believe they invented and on which we would dine. The duck is put in a giant press which extracts its juices; the blood, in which the duck is cooked. Then the juices are simmered down to a delicate brown sauce.

Like every great dish I sampled on this gourmet-gourmand trip, I observed and tasted with great care. I made mental and written notes and contemplated duplicating the same the minute I confronted my kitchen in Rochester, NY. And I did.

I knew pressed duck was going to be a problem, but I wasn't daunted.

It goes without saying that "pressed duck" had never been heard of in Rochester, NY and as for a "duck press"... "a WHAT?"

I bought a duck from my butcher. I sealed it in endless plastic bags with space for juice and when I was satisfied that it was absolutely impregnable, I put it in my driveway and ran over it with the car. Lo and behold a very flat duck and a bagful of blood. (Ugh!)

Twenty-five years later I sat again in that famous tower where pressed duck was still playing the starring role. There was only one item on the menu named after someone. "Canard presse a la Colonel Daniel Sickles." Daniel Sickles was sitting next to me. We were at a small dinner party given [by my friend] Florence Gould. (Daniel Sickles' grandfather was the famous one-legged general in The Battle of the Gettisburg.) At the Tour d'Argent they number and record who ate which duck. i.e Duck # 1536 was eaten by President Roosevelt, #2021 by Queen Elizabeth, etc...

Estee Lauder and her husband Joseph were also with us. We often saw Estee when we lived in Cannes. She came to the house and we went to her "do"s. When she first met me she said "There are no flies on you, baby." (I really don't know what it means but it was delivered like a compliment.)

One day Bob Coe, our neighbor in Cannes (ex-American ambassador) said "there is a new woman in town." (Estee) "Florence (Gould) seems to like her, but she sounds like a refugee from Brooklyn." Which was not delivered as a compliment. When I met Estee at Social affairs she would rush over to me and ask "How do I look? Is my make-up OK?" It rarely was. She had no talent for putting on make-up. Sometimes I smoothed out a smudge.

Because Daniel Sickles was with us I suggested we all order "his" duck. There was whole-hearted agreement except from Estee. She was sitting on Larry's right. When our order arrived, she looked askance at Larry's plate and said sotto voce "Don't eat it!"

One night Estee gave a party at Moulin de Mougins a favorite local eatery. She had a small band. When they started playing numbers from the current Broadway hit Fiddler on the Roof, Estee started snapping her fingers and sashaying between the tables. We would hardly believe our eyes and normally she and Joe retired to a corner seeming, despite her phenomenal success, to be ill at ease with the rich and famous and minor royals. That night with the Yiddish inspired music she was transformed.

One day I said to Estee, that, having made such a success of her perfume Estee, she should launch a famous man's scent and call it "Josef" (after all she was Esther) and package it in striped of many colors, like Joseph's biblical coat. But she didn't. She used Joe's initials.

When she brought out her new perfume, Beautiful, she asked me "Why would anyone buy a fragrance called 'Poison' (just out and an instant success) when they could buy one called Beautiful. I said "You're wrong, Estee, the name 'Poison' is what sells it. She looked at me with disbelief. She had lost touch with the times.

I won't run over and ducks for her, baby.

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Gosh, I love my Grandmother's creativity, humor,witt and of course her lifestyle!

I hope you were able to make it to the end and enjoy!

La Jolie Grand-mere a Cannes...

I stumbled across this album this morning. It was my grandmother's. I don't think I had ever seen it before. I'm pretty sure I hadn't... wonderful pictures of their newly married life! I apologize for the poor quality... my not knowing how to use the scanner is partly to blame, but the pictures are set so securely into the black leather album that I did not want to mess with them.

Below my grandmother, Bettina and my grandfather Larry, on their wedding day in Cannes. The grand room, pictured below, served as both living and dining room. It was completely exposed on two sides. The glass doors slid fully open into the walls in the summer time so that one felt as though they were truly outdoors. The room was all black and white and naturally, as stunning as my grandmother was!

Bettina was not my grandmother's given name. She didn't like the one her parents gave her, Betty Jane, too old fashioned. Her name was legally changed. Everyone called her Bettina. Even her grandchildren. She was simply not a "grandma" or a grandmother in the typical sense. So true. I grew up calling my grandparents by their names Bettina and Larry. His was a nickname too.

And my relationships with Bettina and Larry were very special ones indeed!




Below, they sign their marriage document. In the background are Charles and his wife Lillianne who worked for them as Housekeeper and Chauffeur, serving as witnesses here.





I have no words for this!!! I absolutely adore this photo! Look at her dress!




Below are Charles and his wife Lillianne. I have fond memories of them both, especially Charles who offered me my first cigarette when I was 3 or 4!!! Can you imagine?! He told my grandmother that he had done so and her reaction? "What did she think of it?" She asked jokingly. "She hated it. She coughed and coughed and coughed!" He told them. Then went on to explain that was the reason he had offered me the cigarette in the first place. He had hoped I would never want to try it again!




I love how my grandfather looks at my grandmother so adoringly here. He did until the end. They were soul mates through and through. Ever so rare to see a love like theirs... She succumbed to Leukemia here in the States when she was a mere 83 years old. Fit as a fiddle, a tennis player well into his early 90s, he died 6 months later of, I'm positive, a broken heart.




A terrible photo, but I love the phone in his hand... I'm pretty sure Pottery Barn had a replica a couple of years ago.



Another photo... what a classic, timeless, stunning beauty she was. Like me she was a writer... notes, plans, recipes and stories. No doubt she would have been a blogger too!



Click on the below photo to get a better view... seriously she was a siren... a parapalegic siren to boot!



N'est-ce pas?




A strapping Holywood executive with their child, Ballyhoo, a Kerry Blue Terrier who was to be my best friend for nearly 13 years!



Below, taken after a visit to New York City... my mother at the table with her wine (sound familiar?) and a filterless Gauloise...


immediately after my birth!


My grandmother, in her early 80s looking fondly at her dessert!

Preppy Popsy

I've been having so much fun digging through all these old photographs! The ones of my dad are priceless... really a hoot! His style could grace the pages of GQ and Esquire. He exuded style. He was a formal man. (Less so these days.) I remember him always wearing dress pants. He didn't own a pair of jeans until I was a teenager. And they were his house pants. He would never dream of leaving the apartment in them!

In the picture below he's reading the paper poolside. My grandmother's pool was high in the hills of Cannes and overlooked the Cote D'Azur. I can picture it as vividly today... as if I was standing there now. The trees behind my father are mostly olive trees. The smell of the ripening olives was incredible! But I warn you, don't eat an olive off the tree! Terrible! (For more on my grandmother visit Beth's blog if you have not already done so!)

My grandmother's house was amazing. She entertained all the time and I will write about those (from a child's point of view) sometime soon. She had a garden with many vegetables. She had a small vineyard too! But this entry is about my father, Popsy.





Below Popsy's holding my hand. Love his shades, Lacoste and tight, short swim trunks! When I was really little, about a year old, my parents were headed out to a black tie affair. I tripped and fell into the pool. Dad jumped in wearing his tux to save me! Pool covers were not standard back then. My grandmother had one custom made. It looked like a fishing net. It was actually quite elegant.



Below Popsy's chilling in his dress pants and tie. They must have been preparing to go out someplace. He's got that Kenndy-esque thing going here too. Most people thought Jack, I don't know... I see a bit of Bobby/Teddy here... The olive trees are behind him in this picture as well.



This has to be one of my favorite pictures! Love the ascot! Really? What was he thinking? Hanging out all dressed up and reading the Times!



My father has tossed the ascot and doesn't walk around the house in ties and sports coats anymore. He has the best sweater and corduroy collection around. My mother usually picks out his stuff. I don't know whatever became of those one pair of jeans. Levis, of course. Haven't seen them in over 20 years. When he gets ready to mow he puts on a pair oh khakis to ride the John Deere!

My father was in the financial industry for his entire professional life. All his clients were in the fashion industry. He was actually instrumental in getting the ransom money for Calvin Klein when his daughter was kidnapped in the early 1980s. During the holidays we would get these huge, lavish, exquisite baskets filled to the brim of all these wonderful items from the King of the Tartan himself, Mr. Ralph Lauren. His clients chose well, don't you think?

My parents left the rat race of Manhattan in the late 1980s and settled in Newport, Rhode Island where they currently reside. My father had a short career in politics there as he was so fed up with the lack of progress and corruption. He switched his affiliation from Republican to Independent with the hopes of attracting more votes. He was successful at what he did, but had a hard time breaking through the brick wall that still remains. He tried. I think he switched his affiliation back to Republican. But I am not sure.