Old Feelings, New Memories

When the ownership of a beloved house passes from
one generation to the next, it is not an easy transition.

Our family's beach house on Long Island's North Fork

 There are so many emotions, so many memories, so many mixed feelings.

Above all, there is a natural reluctance to make any changes.  It is still "their" house.

Only, it's not.

And now it's up to us to care for it.

You look around, and you see the nearly 20-year old paint on the walls, the worn out areas on the carpet, the cotton curtains that are actually falling apart, destroyed by intense waterfront sunshine . . . and then you know.  The house, well loved and cared for, and happily lived in until it could not be lived in any longer, needs help.

 Second floor family room

 That's what we're doing for the next few days, my sister Peggy and her husband Bill, Howard and I -- beginning to spruce up our family's beach house on eastern Long Island.  We had planned to begin this two years ago, but chickened out.  We did take things out of it, to have in our own homes, but we didn't make any real changes.  Pop was still with us, and when he was able to visit his house we didn't want it to look too different.

View from second floor deck

This is hard.

We are beginning modestly, with some new flooring on the first floor.  Fresh paint on the ceilings and walls.  Some needed plumbing repairs.  Slipcovers on the sofas and chairs.  New curtains.  And a down-to-the-tiniest-corner professional cleaning that will banish the very last of any lurking dust bunnies.

Decking.  Time to restore it, too.

The Sunday before last, we gathered out there with my brother Lindy and his wife Carol.  We did what we hadn't had the courage or the heart to do before then . . . we actually disposed of some of my Mom's kitchen kitsch.  The local thrift shop will benefit.

Looking into the kitchen from back entry

I can't tell you how hard that was, and how many times Peggy and I had to reassure

one another that we didn't need to keep everything just because it had belonged to Mom.

Some things we suspect she kept only because they'd been gifts.

Dion asleep in his spot in the kitchen

I told my daughters, who were with us that Sunday, that when I am gone they must not

feel guilty disposing of something that I loved (as long as it's not their father!). 

 

We know that our Dad, who passed away on February 2nd, would want to see the house

he designed, that he thought a paradise on earth, used again.  

First floor living room

We can do this now.  For us, and for them.

I know we'll have tears, but we'll have laughs, too.

 Our mother was a strong believer in life being for the living;

I know she would want us to put on our big girl pants,

and fix up the home that gave her so many happy years with the man she adored.

So I'll be away from blogging for a few days.  No computer access out there.  No TV.

But we've got some good wine, a corkscrew, some books, a board game or two,

and an endless supply of memories to smile over, and plans to make.

We wish our brothers and their wives could be with us too, but they have become

Southerners.  Imagine that.  And if they were at the beach house

with us, we wouldn't have enough beds for everyone!  Not yet, anyway.

The lawn and dock in winter

Deep breath.

Southold, here we come.

Play nice while I'm gone.  :-)   Cass

Dumping

No, not Dumpling -- because those are delicious.
Instead . . . Dumping.
As in . . . Mother Nature, stop dumping snow on us!

As I sit at the computer, I look out the window on my left and see this:

This lilac has leaf buds.  Under the snow.

 Even our big flower pots are unhappy with this:

 And I'd love to have you come for a dinner al fresco:

But the gas grill says, "No way!"

 Yes, the snow is beautiful.

Beneath these blobbies lies our grape vine -- which also has leaf buds.

I noticed them just yesterday.

 Pretty.

Pretty sloppy and cold, too.

 The other lilac.  Also smothered in snow.  Buds in hiding.

 

 And in the dining room, looking out at the side yard through the old windows, more snow.

 And that's my Outdoor Wednesday, friends!

Honestly, having unexpected Spring Snow is a minor inconvenience;
our dog Dion is enjoying it, and I've decided to adopt his attitude,
stop bellyaching, and look on the bright (white) side.

Just think how much more we will appreciate the Spring glories to come after this snowy winter!

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Go visit A Southern Daydreamer and say Hello to Susan,

who hosts this popular link party.  Click here!

I'm pretty sure I am not the only Snow Baby today,
but I'm hoping for pictures of Spring springing elsewhere!

 Susan herself has wonderful shots of spectacularly brilliant hot air balloons.  Marvelous!  -- Cass

Dion Turns Twelve

Yes, he did.

Notice?  I trimmed the "slippers" on only 3 of his 4 feet.  Dion, Mama is a dunce.

Our goofy Cavalier spaniel Dion DiPoochy has reached the ripe old age -- in dog terms -- of twelve, and still doesn't

know that it's not polite to drag the toilet paper off the roll from the powder room all the way to the sunroom.

Or stare at guests till they accidentally drop food.

Or bark at pedestrians on the street below That Old House.

Or try and romance visiting lady dogs.

Our little guy, who was born right before my very eyes in March 1999, has been with us

since our girls were in middle school, and they are now graduate students.  

Dearest Dion . . . stay well.  For me.

And one more thing.

On your next birthday, don't let Mother Nature do this:

 It's Spring, for goodness' sake!   No more snow, or I shall have to report it to the authorities.

It took me 2-1/2 hours to do a normal 50-minute drive on Monday.

Did everyone in north Jersey forget how to drive in the snow?  Overnight?  Remember January?

Oh, Dion DiPoochy -- my little dog -- a heartbeat at my feet, as Edith Wharton wrote --

don't get mad when I take you to the vet on Tuesday for that little thing near your eye.

I do it out of love.  Keep repeating that . . . .

Love . . . Mom

Goodwill Meets Industrial Chic

Industrial chic.
It's probably not what you think of when (or if) you think about That Old House.
Industrial we are not, and we certainly aren't
anywhere near the posh neighborhood of chic. 

Now Goodwill on the other hand . . . that is what you think of when (or if) you think about That Old House.

That's definitely our neighborhood!

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 When we redid out kitchen, we extended the butcher block counter
on Jabba the Hutch so that we could tuck a stool there.

After all, it's lovely to have a place to park a carcass -- especially your own -- in the kitchen.

My ancient metal drafting stool was, well, drafted back into duty.

Before the kitchen painting.  Ick.

When I was 20 I could sit for hours on that stool, with its small hard masonite seat.

Now . . . not so much.

These days, I need more cush for my tush.

And I found it -- brand new -- at Goodwill.

It's metal, it's heavy, and

 it's got plenty of cushy tush room!

The sueded microfiber upholstery may find itself switched for something else one of these days.  Any ideas?

 I'm not sure you could classify this as pure industrial chic.

But I had real industrial chic with that old metal drafting stool,

and trust me when I say -- this is much better!

And considering that metal chairs like these, below, sell for

hundreds of dollars apiece, and I paid $29 for mine . . . I am happy.

And so is my tush.

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Meanwhile, right next to the kitchen,
the Christmas cacti in the sunroom continue to have identity crises. 

This one, our smallest, is busting its little gut pumping out flowers in honor of . . . what?

It bloomed before Thanksgiving.

It bloomed at  Christmas.

And now it's blooming just in time for . . . ?

It's too early for Easter, but I don't think it's gotten the message.

I had to prop it up on a box because the blooms hang down so far.

It makes me feel like such an underachiever.

(By the way, I do water that plant, but it's so busy making gaudy pink babies 
that it puts all its energy into that and always looks droopy when blooming!)

Have a lovely Friday; you might want to buzz over and visit the link parties listed below.

Loads of inspiration and just great good stuff.  -- Cass

At A la Carte, it's Junkin' Finds Friday.  Click!

At Tootsie Time, it's Fertilizer Friday.  Click!!

Visit French Country Cottage for Feathered Nest Friday.  Click!!!

Miss Mustard Seed hosts Furniture Friday.  Click!!!!

At My Romantic Home, it's Show and Tell Friday.  Click!!!!!

And there's Vintage Inspiration Friday at Common Ground.  Click!!!!!!

Crashing Waves and Smashing Seafood

It's a busy week at That Old House.
One week ago, these two Californians blew in -- to spend 10 days
in intensive wedding planning, visiting, and having a good time.

Our daughter Alida and her fiance Josh

On Saturday, we had about 30 people to the house to celebrate with us, to get to know Josh, to vote on whether we approve of this whole wedding thing . . . you think I'm kidding?  It wasn't a formal vote, just a show of hands.  It was an almost-unanimous "Yes."   :-P

On Sunday it was out to the family beach house,
so the menfolk could take out the ice-eater they'd put in last December.  

After the work was done, we had dinner here:

 

And it's not a boat, it's this restaurant:

The Soundview, on the North Road in Greenport.

And right on the edge of Long Island Sound.

From the tables by the big windows along the back, this is what you see:

And if you time it right you watch the sun set

over Connecticut, across the Sound.  The sun drops like a stone!

Wish I could grab that driftwood among the rocks!

We all ordered seafood.

Lots of it.

We can recommend the old-fashioned Fisherman's Platter.

Which is not made from old fishermen, thank goodness.

Josh and Alida got window seats, and they took the sunset and water pictures.

My sister Peggy and her husband Bill.  We ate at the Soundview with them in December.  This is getting to be an ice-eater tradition.

And our daughter Anne, who was very engrossed in the menu.

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It was a fun and busy weekend.

For our dog Dion, it was a mixed blessing.

On the one hand, many of Saturday's guests were quite liberal in sharing their

hors d'oeuvres with the doggy, or were at least prone to dropping tidbits.

But Dion paid a price. 

Help!  They've mistaken me for a pig in a blanket!

 A Saturday morning BATH.

Please save me from further indignities.

I hate smelling like coconut and vanilla.  I have such a nice natural musk . . . .

  The good part was a long snuggle in Mom's lap.

The bad part was the BATH.  But at least we didn't wash his ears; they take too long to dry!

On today's Wedding To-Do List -- finding that perfect photographer.  

He or she is out there somewhere.   -- Cass

When Iris Eyes Are Smiling . . . .

Yes, that's a silly title.
But you know what is not silly?  
The brilliant bloggers who identified the ugly lumps
in my garden yesterday as Iris rhizomes!

See these fellers?  These lumpy, fleshy, creepy looking guys?

Yesterday I called them tubers and wondered what they were.

 Well, put a bridle on me and call me Trigger -- 'cause my blogger buds pointed out that

these ugly goobers are not parsnips gone rogue, or even tubers, but are actually

Iris factories (aka rhizomes) and that in a few weeks this will be sticking out of them:

 Or this:

 And we can't forget this:

Up until now, the iris rhizomes have been quite well behaved; they never before clawed their way up

out of the ground, scaring the daylights out of the unsuspecting ignorant homeowner (meaning me).

Who knew this ruckus was going on under all that snow for all those weeks -- so much writhing and heaving!

Our gardens have rich private lives, ladies.

Iris pics from 2010 at That Old House

 And the good news is that I can pretty much leave the plug-uglies lying out

all nekkid and exposed and don't have to cover them with soil; modest they are not.

And who are we to judge?

 Join Susan at A Southern Daydreamer for more

Outdoor Wednesday stories and pictures.

Just click here, and you are there!

Happy Wednesday to all; those spring blooms are not far away now!  -- Cass