Tall Husband was busy today checking out the fine details at the garage/studio behind The Bunny Bungalow. This week the Arts & Crafts windows are going in and the siding is going up. I'm already dreaming of being here!
See more new photos in the slide show to the right.
Preserved hydrangea in a vintage Hungarian seedling pot.
An antique German pudding mold.
An old antique bed fit for a shabby chic princess.
Unique floral arrangements and a wonderful ceramic chicken, taking it all in.
The Fabulous Flora of Behind the Garden Gate
Behind the Garden Gate, a popular Houston Heights shop, recently moved into a new space, just down the street from the original spot on West 19th. Flora, aptly named canine shop girl, greeted Tall Husband and me on our visit there today.
Felix Hernandez, owner, has a wonderful way of juxtaposing floral arrangements, organic candles and unusual antiques. He also has a great selection of botanical books and local honey. His new shop offers the ultimate in chic cocooning.
There was a handsome, whitewashed terracotta toad hiding under an old table, next to an antique German pudding mold. He came home with us and will find a home with Tall Son, who is absolutely superstitious about toads. This toad truly seems magical, like everything Felix brings to Behind the Garden Gate.
Behind the Garden Gate Felix Hernandez 238 West 19th Street, Suite B Houston, TX 77008 713-864-1679 firstname.lastname@example.org
Maggie, named for a favorite aunt, is the newest addition to our bungalow. We've been on the look out for a vintage dress form and when we found the perfect one at a neighborhood antique shop, Tall Husband insisted that I have her as a Valentine's gift. I simply couldn't say No.
As we were in his roadster, with no room for Maggie, Tall Husband carried Maggie over his head, back to the Bunny Bungalow. Though she had a brush with a low-hanging branch of a Redbud tree, she suffered no visible damage.
The other day, Tall Husband and I went looking for Felix Hernandez's Houston Heights shop, Behind the Garden Gate. We found him in his new space, a jewel box of a shop with sea grass floors and bright jewel-toned walls. He wouldn't let us leave without a gift box of some his new products: an orange blossom candle, Houston Honey, and soap from Provence...a bee theme!
Next Saturday we get to go back and shoot some photos so you can see Behind the Garden Gate for yourself.
This beautifully made baby was once a stage prop for the traveling show, Ragtime. She can be found at Heights Station Antiques. She reminds me of a time when I thought I was Nonie's.
There are a few mysteries in my life and Nonie is one of them. My memories of this woman with a warm, ample lap are so vivid that I can quietly inhale and recapture her fragrance...soap, the sachet that she put between her breasts where she cradled my head; the smell of her lovely food simmering in large pots on the stove. When I really need to feel loved, I remember Nonie's nurturing.
Nonie is my first memory...for me, all life began in her arms. So when I found myself being pulled along a street by the hand, wearing clothes that didn't seem to be mine, it's no wonder that I balked and demanded, "Where is Nonie?" Implicit in that question was, "And who are you?" Those two questions, spoken and implied, brought a threatening reprimand from the stranger gripping my hand. This is my first memory of my mother.
Over the years, though fearing to ask, I persisted in trying to find Nonie. Sometimes it was suggested that I had imagined Nonie, made her up out of thin air. Other times I was promised an answer, "When you're old enough." As a grown woman, I asked my mother about Nonie and she told me that Nonie had been our maid. (Here I should mention that my mother frequently constructs her own truth.) I refuted with, "Nonsense! We weren't well off enough to have had a maid." It was then that I resigned myself to never knowing who Nonie was.
The last time I remember Nonie, she was holding me in her lap while sitting in her rocker on the front porch one summer afternoon. An old neighbor man approached, asking, "Where did you get that white kid?"
I sat up abruptly, looking around for the white kid. Nonie threw her head back in laughter, "Baby, you can be black if you want to be." It had never occurred to me that Nonie and I were different in any way.
So, wherever you are Nonie, thank you for the memories. Over my long life, taking sanctuary in the memory of your love has given me strength, courage, a sense of self, and...most of all... a capacity for boundless love...just like you!
The fish-shaped silver foils from my chocolate fish were too pretty to throw out, besides they reminded me of a song that Nonie* sang to me when I was a toddler, Three Little Fishies (written by Saxie Dowell.)
*Nonie is my first childhood memory. Family members deny that she ever existed...yet she is the one person who imbued my life with a sense of wonder, showing me that all things are possible. Someday soon I'll post about Nonie.
Yikes! What happened to the wrap? It seems that the Structural Engineer visited the construction site and decided that more nails and metal bracing had to be added to the structure...remember we have hurricanes in these parts. So off came the Tyvek and on went the heavy metal. This little puppy won't fly!
There are more photos of the...hold on!... AC and spacing of the eves in the slide show to the right.
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