Built In Summits

A few of you have asked about the undercounter refrigeration, and I'm excited to tell you that we decided on three of these.



They're stainless steel Summit commercial grade units that I've been dreaming about for the last few years, but never had the right space for. (They were the first ones that I talked about here.) I like that they're true built ins, meaning they're designed with front ventilation, because they can be placed snugly into the countertops. They're also Energy Star rated. I think they're perfect for this kitchen, because a traditional refrigerator takes up too much counter space.

Here, let me show you what I mean. This is what The Kitchen looked like when we bought the house. Ugh.



And here's rough five minute sketch I put together showing where we'll be in a few weeks.



The walls on either side of that center sliver have already come down and everything was reinforced. A french door refrigerator and freezer will be built in under the counter enabling us to have a long expanse of prep area on the right with tons of open shelving above. On the left, the doorway was moved and the (useless) pantry on the right was sealed off. This allows for a third refrigeration unit (for this one we chose a glass front panel) next to the stove, plus more cabinets and shelves. The strip of wall that remains will anchor a commercial grade stainless steel prep table which will double as an eat in nook overlooking the backyard. (If you remember, we're adding a fixed single lite french door to the existing french doors, so that wall will essentially feel like a row of glass panels.) We're also installing a small flat screen television near the end of the doors that will be within sight of the stove, sink, and prep areas.

Because, you know, Andrew insists on watching Snookie when he's making waffles.

This Is Love: Vintage Trucks

I'm pretty sure that I could live in this truck.

Look.

Say Anything: 18

"Life isn't about finding yourself, it's about creating yourself." Unknown

The Big Ones Are All So BIG

I've looked at two hundred and ninety six refrigerators today. And it's not even dinner time.

Anyway, I thought I'd mention that I'm seriously considering this, this, or this in lieu of our current stainless steel monstrosity. I'll have to get at least two, plus another under the counter freezer, to make sure that we have a reasonable amount of space, but on the up side, I like that I'll be able to have one on either side of The Kitchen.

So that'll be nice.

Thinking Of His Thumb

My friend, Miss Chelsea, has a sick puppy, and yes, that's HAS and not IS, just to be clear.

The poor little boy's thumb has a boo boo.

BOO.

If by chance he, too, has to paint his hallway this weekend, I'm going to tell him use a Purdy Prep + Paint Kit, which the company sent me for free, because they said, "It's so darn easy, that you don't even need thumbs or a brain."



No. They didn't really say that.

But they did send it to me for nada and ask me to review it on the blog, so I'll be trying it out in the next few days.

Oh, and that's PURDY not PURTY.

Just to be clear.

Shameful

In a typically well timed move, I pulled these summery Calvin Klein wedges out of the back of my closet this week.

I'm wearing them until Christmas.

Before + Progress Pictures: The Historic House By The Water: Kitchen, Part 6

Before + Progress is an ongoing series keeping you up to date on whatever project is currently occupying our time. There is still lots to be done at this point to make the Progress photos actually qualify for the coveted After stage.

Double click on the photos for a close up view.

When I came home yesterday, sporting a newly untangled E.T. style heart monitor, I found these roses sitting on our doorstep, and I fell in love with Andrew's parents just a little bit more. To give you an idea, these are the same people who busted out the Thriller dance at our wedding reception and sent our dogs care packages for their birthdays. With oatmeal cookies. And organic shampoo. It's like I hit some sort of In Law Lottery, isn't it?

In other news, I finally tried one of these Think Thin bars, and besides tasting a little bit on the bland side, I really liked it. Instead of sugar alcohols and sucrose it's stuffed with protein and vitamins, and I actually stayed full for over four whole hours. Which is probably the equivalent of three days for most of you.



Last, BUT TOTALLY NOT LEAST, there's been notable progress in The Kitchen. Which makes me happy enough to do cartwheels. Or seventeen back handsprings while juggling half a dozen knives. You know, HAPPY.

Check out some Before + Progress shots.







I'd like to point out that that the wall is finally down. Hallelujah. HALLELUJAH.

Can't you visualize my wall of shelves now? It'll kind of be like The Wall Of China. Minus the whole ancient dynasty thing.

I was thinking about these shiny bits for the shelf brackets.



Want.

Love.

Must.

Have.

Except my schedule and budget prefer these, painted to match the walls and the cabinetry.



Tell me that you won't kick me if I end up choosing the latter.

See Part 5 here.

See Part 4 here.

See Part 3 here.

See Part 2 here.

See Part 1 here.

The Last Time You'll See Two Doors

I took this picture during a meeting with Contractor Bobby this morning, right after we decided that, hey, as long as we're bulldozing the entire back of the house, why not add another french door? And a wall mounted television? And maybe another herb shelf?

I asked Andrew what he thought and he was all, "Yes. Whatever. Do it. JUST FOR GOD'S SAKE FINISH IT BEFORE FOOTBALL STARTS."

So it looks like our neighbors will be seeing thirty three percent more waffle making.

This Is A Mistake, Probably

What's better than a sock monkey?

A sock monkey BED.

Link Your Kitchen

I have issues. I mean, aside from the fact that my heart beats as fast as a tortoise who was raised on fried chicken in the South. You see, I had this idea that SOMEHOW, even with allllll of my past experience, that we wouldn't run into any problems with The Kitchen project at The Historic House By The Water.

I know. Here, let me smack myself. I'll save you the effort.

Among other surprises, when we finished tearing the wood off of the brick on that center wall, we noticed that there was no slack in the cables that run to the electrical box. None.



And perhaps now is a good time to mention that I only share with you a small percentage of the mishaps that actually go down around here, for example, I totally didn't tell you about the crater size hole we put through the garage when we decapitated that tree last weekend. And maybe I didn't point it out, because I didn't want Andrew to feel completely and solely responsible, not that anyone's placing blame FOR THE FACT THAT THERE'S NOW A TREE IN THE GARAGE. Like I said, it was an accident.

But back to The Kitchen. Right. We're talking about the wires and The Kitchen and moving on from that episode where my eyes were rolling into the back of my head and a small army of teenage Tweeters posted pictures of me next to the word crackhead all over the internet. None of which I had good hair in. Which is really what irks me.

Anyway.

Contractor Bobby can't nail down exactly how long it's going to take him to splice and relocate each of those wires, but he came by and started the work yesterday. Which means that I've spent the last twenty four hours bedridden while suppressing an involuntary urge to rip each and every one of those wires out with my teeth while throwing stones at the electrical box. HOW CAN I POSSIBLY HAVE LOW BLOOD PRESSURE?

It's a conspiracy.

So considering that I'm chained to my mattress right now, I was sort of hoping that you all might humor me. Don't worry, it's not like I'm going to ask you to tweet disclaimers that SHE'S NOT A CRACKHEAD, SHE ACTUALLY HAS A VERY SERIOUS CONDITION OF FAT TORTOISE HEART, YOU INSENSITIVE BASTARDS, though I probably won't stop you if you try. What I was hoping you might do is participate in a little kitchen link up partay.

Um, yeah. You read right. I hopped on the Linky bandwagon.

Anyway, if you want, link up your kitchen or a kitchen that you've posted that inspires you. Or maybe just include something that you think I should incorporate.

You don't have to explain what makes it work, it's just important that it doesn't have a small power plant hanging in the middle of it. Points finger at self.

Link back here if you like.

Please Enjoy This Intermission

So yesterday morning I passed out. It happened in the waiting room at my doctor's office and I imagine it was pretty embarrassing. Sadly, I wasn't conscious to witness the mayhem that ensued, but I awoke to find myself surrounded by three nurses, four firemen and some guy who didn't think that I heard him whisper, "Her heart rate cannot be that motherfucking low or SHE'D BE DEAD."

But I did. And it was.

Another person I remember was my nurse at the hospital who wanted to tell me allllll about the big balls doctor she was marrying, the one who I didn't give two hoots about except for the fact that he was apparently treating me, and did I know that he had given her an engagement ring similar to the one that I was wearing and could she take mine off of my finger to look at it? Because, you know, SLIPPING IN AND OUT OF CONSCIOUSNESS PUT ME IN A PERFECT POSITION TO ARGUE.

It was a strange day.

Anyway, aside from that I had the awesome experience of lying with my feet propped above my head, completely vulnerable, explaining to a room full of strangers that all I needed was a stiff latte and I'd be good to go.

"I don't think you understand, Kelly. If you stand up, YOU WILL PASS OUT AGAIN. Your blood pressure is too low. Your heart rate is forty one. You're not going anywhere."

Then they asked Andrew if I am usually so pale. Pale. I am never pale.

In any case, it's over now, and there will be no more fainting incidents, I want to assure you, because I've personally ordered my heart to beat no less than fifty times a minute, and for crying out loud, I have never had a problem with low blood pressure in my life.

I blame this entire incident on Andrew, since it's been all sunshine and rainbows and tossing the day planner and cell phone out the window since he came into the picture, and I know for certain that this would have never, ever happened a few years ago. Back then it was all about hair pulling and late hours and ulcers and meetings and egos and deadlines and payments. High blood pressure came along with the territory.

And now look at me.

God.

I'm all happy with a sluggish heart.

I Would've Tweeted From The Ambulance If I'd Been Conscious And Knew How To Use Twitter

Yes. I was rushed to The Emergency Room today.

You might have caught the entire saga on Twitter, though not from me, since Andrew reported a healthy crowd of onlookers who whipped out an army of cell phones, and they were not all calling 911.

I hope no one was taking photos. Comatose is not my best look.

Before we get into all of that, though, let me share this gem that landed in my inbox this afternoon.



That's Andrew on the top left sporting a Cub Scout's uniform and flashing a Crip sign behind his elbow. Or maybe he was farting. I'm not sure. Anyway, what does this have to do with the hospital?

Nothing, really.

But after what happened today, I'm especially proud to call that guy my husband.

Even if he is currently enforcing my medical house arrest.

No, Really

I'm sorry I always buy cartons of ice cream in pairs. Truly.

It's a sin.

I think that I do it for a sense of balance, since a scoop of Rocky Road can fly out of control if not reigned in by a bite of Vanilla Bean.

You understand.

Then comes the torturous decision of whether or not to add a colossal size portion of pie. Which usually lasts eight and a half seconds.

Sometimes Andrew can't stand how I'll veto half a dozen restaurants for dinner because they use regular pasta, as opposed to wheat pasta, or white bread, as opposed to whole grain bread, or flour tortillas, as opposed to lettuce wraps, or rice rolls, as opposed to cucumber rolls, and DOES HE JUST EXPECT ME TO SCOTCH TAPE A BISON TO MY BACKSIDE?

And then after our gluten free, low calorie, carbo fearing, minimally fattening dinner we'll come home.

And I'll have this.



And if we don't have both kinds of ice cream I make a special trip to the store.

Off With His Head

This is Andrew and our neighbor, Keith, beheading that tree that I told you about. On Saturday. In the rain.

This is me smiling from ear to ear as I was hauling it away from the house today. You know, 'cause I was being helpful. I also thought to tie a rope around my waist so that I could drag a handful of two thousand pound logs to the street.



Which ended with me running in place. Basically.

"Look, honey! I'm, like, Ted Bundy!!!"

I was very proud of myself.

"You mean Paul Bunyan AND OHMYGOD WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

My New Roses Are Knock Outs

Here are those new knock out roses that I told you about the other day.



I picked out the mammoth one and Andrew picked out the modest one and guess which one is dying and which one is blooming with four thousand six hundred and ninety seven flowers today?

So, apparently, he's good for choosing more than the accountant.

p.s. It's hard to follow a story about meeting a rock legend, so I've included a relevant music video to ease the transition. And because I'm sure that I'll get at least one email asking, no, I've never met L.L. Cool J. But I did have a run in with Vanilla Ice outside of The Pad By The Sea a few years ago, which I know is, like, totally not the same thing because L.L.'s like Gandhi and Vanilla's like, well, you know. Himself. So never mind.

Finally, The Sambora Story

It was five or so years ago, and I was fighting the urge to stare shamelessly at the members of countless eighties metal hair bands, not because I recognized any of them, but because I'd never seen such a large collection of hair plugs performing seemingly impossible gravity defying feats at the same time in the same place. I was at a benefit dinner for The Tico Torres Children's Foundation.

So there I am, being served three hundred dollar bite size cocktail sausages, trying desperately not to wet my pants. It wasn't from the celebrity excitement, but because I'd rushed to Palm Beach from my office without taking the time to rid myself of the afternoon's six cups of coffee. One, two, three, four, five, SIX. And you know how there are times on this blog when I might exaggerate slightly to get my point across? THIS IS NOT THAT TIME.

I began scoping out exit strategies, before realizing that it was probably too late, and I was about to whiz all over my favorite pencil skirt, which is not the sort of thing that you can cover up in a room full of hair plugs. Frantic, I grabbed the nearest cocktail sausage carrier and hissed, "Sir! Where is your restroom?!"

To which he replied, "No comprendo," because, duh, this is South Florida not, like, the United States.

I know that I should have thanked him, then casually waltzed out of the ballroom, and checked for some sort of directory signage, I KNOW, but instead, I panicked and fled, at a speed that I've only reached twice, once as a collegiate track athlete, once when I was dreaming about being chased by a boat size piece of bacon.

I love this part of the story, not because I made it to the toilette without exploding or because I headbutted Richie Sambora as I was leaving the Ladies' Room, but because all that went through my mind was, That sparkly blue blazer is outrageous, AND NOT IN A GOOD WAY. Even after I apologized as he looked me directly in the eyes and touched my forehead and asked if I was all right, I had no idea who I was standing in front of, but I somehow knew that he expected me to know, probably because of the way that he stepped back coolly, expectantly, and awkward silence ensued.

Awkward. Silence. No. Idea.

And then he grinned.

In my twenty something workaholic eyes, he was just another annoying, flamboyant, eccentric, aging trust fund baby who'd jet set between coasts, eating two thousand dollar steak, and doing all kinds of other things that I didn't have time for. And now he was grinning at me. And wearing a glittery blue blazer.

The nerve.

But, still, when he asked me if I was at the same dinner and if he could walk me back inside, for some reason I had a hard time saying no, which is why we linked arms and he led me into the ballroom.



When the spotlight shined on us as we passed through the doors and a voice boomed through the speakers announcing, "EVERYONE, PLEASE WELCOME RICHIE SAMBORA AND-?" my first thought was, Ohmygod, I am going to die right now.

And my second thought was, It's a good thing I already went to the bathroom.

Satchel As The Cheshire Cat

Andrew's stuck in an airport headed back into town from Godknowswhatcityhe'sintoday, and I thought I'd quickly share this photo of Satchel keeping his desk warm. Just to be clear, I do not allow this sort of misfit behavior on a regular basis, I SWEAR.



Though I may be known to photograph and post pictures of it on the internet.

Thirtieth Bag Of Mail: Design Decisions

"Great progress on The Kitchen! Have you made choices on back splashes, flooring, etc.? I wonder how you make decisions with these type of things -- primarily with what YOU like in mind, or what is the most liked by OTHERS (e.g. people who might buy or rent from you)?

Elisa"

Well.

Do you like what I design?

See, early on, I decided that I would only purchase properties and put together spaces that I myself would live in. Even though I've sold more than a few, I do not consider myself a person who flips houses. I think of myself as an architect with an ever expanding playground. I believe that decoration never trumps good design which, to me, means functional spaces that communicate a language woven together by a set of principles. Those principles are defined by things like budget, community, and purpose.



That's how I approach every project. I do not design based on what I believe will be most marketable. Still, there have been a few ideas that I've wanted to experiment with but have not, because I know that they will certainly hinder the resale of particular properties. So I'm saving them for when I find the right spaces.

The fact that I've had some type of success, supports my suspicion that most people would rather eat concrete than live in a decorated or staged home. While not everyone will always agree on every specific design decision, I think it's easy for most people to choose thoughtful aesthetics.

It's almost like they're starving for them.