Widely Shallow

I never trust people who brag about being low maintenance, down to earth or unpretentious. I am the opposite of all of those things and damned proud of it. I think most people who boast that they have such qualities are masking something much more sinister and are the types that garner multiple restraining orders.

Thus I've long been fascinated by the A. Everett Austin, Jr. House of Hartford, chronicled in the book Magician of the Modern which outlines the life of its namesake who preferred to be called "Chick". When built in 1930, it caused an uproar for being the height of pretense (a grand compliment in my book) and for being only one room deep. Each room seemed to have been designed like a stage set. How else would you design a room?

Having started with a career in journalism, that sensibility has long since guided me as I have knowledge one room deep about a galaxy of topics. It, no doubt, reflects these times we live in and too many channels to choose from. Although I've had many in-laws in Connecticut, I've never made it to visit this house which is up there with the Green and Green houses in Pasadena as a site of nearly holy pilgrimage.

The JunkPlex, of course, is a mix of stage set and a gallery of cabinets of curiosities.

Garden Variety

Is it a sign of one's impending dotage or is it the absolute verification of a full blown, now officially in advance stages dotage to keep a garden journal? I've kept a life journal since I was age nine with never more than a three week gap in entries. There are also travel journals, gym journals, house journals, spiritual journals, and journals on...oh, I'll just let you use your imagination. I swear, I am truly carrying the torch of Brigid Berlin.

One of my exes, a Jewish-Italian American from Connecticut who always said I reminded him of the people from the other side of Connecticut, once remarked that the garden journal was actually the quirk that he found most endearing about me. He kept cooking and entertaining journals. The fact that he was one of a still to be disclosed number of ex-beaus of Jewish-Italian heritage from the states of Connecticut and New Jersey that are a concurrent theme in my life should, perhaps, inspire me to keep a journal on that topic. But, believe me, I've written and typed endless pages on those boys in the other journals.

Regardless, I've had a few recent nudges asking me to post shots from the aforementioned journal. While not spectacular, at least they show my nifty birdbath and those rose rocks in the background of the iron lantern that come from the famed Lazy Acres estate. How many of you have rose rocks in your garden?