Out of Control

Photo courtesy of Thinkstock.com

The other evening my husband stumbled onto a household dilemma. He aimed the remote to the television but there was no movement, just the same talking head on CNN complaining about this or that. What followed next amused me: lots of slapping the energy bar-sized remote against his palm, some fidgeting with the controls, and even a dissection of its back panel to test the batteries. Allan is not the type who can land on one station and be content for the evening, thus it was an early night for him.

The quandary did not end there. He contacted the company that makes our television, spoke to techie friends for advice and even budgeted time the following day to go to the hardware store to fetch new batteries. Nothing worked.

I could not help but recall the days of my youth, when there were only 13 channels that were changed by the interaction of human touch to the television dial. Yes, you had to get up out of your seat! In the later hours, programs would be replaced by a block of colored strips that aired to a sound that could deafen an animal. Ignorance is bliss, as this system worked.

We haven’t yet left the warmer months in which watching television while summer activities beckon should be an anathema. While the warm weather lasts, test it out—see what would happen if you went without a television and what would be missed.

By Jacqueline deMontravel

Relaxed Refinement

Handmade cards will be saved over anything with a bar code on the back. The cupboard is filled with chipped café au lait bowls because I prefer my toddler eat from china over plastic. While I’ll always be in awe of a home that is styled opulently, it will remain far from my grasp, along with traveling by helicopter for weekend trips.

Rooms styled with chinoiserie-patterned wall art painted in gilded tones that connect to the pillows, valances and upholstery on little footstools are
certainly well-designed, though the thought of shoving that little footstool a bit to the right—an action that would set off a team of designers armed with tape measures—does not scheme into a life filled with sandy people and a 2-year-old boy who terrorizes the garden in search of bugs.

There are displaced shovels in the shower and wooden trucks in the birdbath, but refinement still remains in high regard. Original art hangs from the walls. Beautifully illustrated children’s books create a timeless mosaic within the shelves. Formal dinnerware is used regardless if the meal is halibut or fish sticks. Beautiful things are cherished without being victim to them.


By Jacqueline deMontravel
Photography courtesy of Thinkstock.com

How Luc Came Into Our Lives

It started in the evening, a piercing contraction that started the momentous journey of your birth. Your father told me to relax, suggested I take a nap or watch a movie, as it would be a long night ahead. He even toyed with the idea of a bike ride. Nothing about your labor was like the six-hour “Super Sunday” class we took to prepare us for labor, where they showed a video of weary couples bouncing on exercise balls, engaging in crazy breathing exercises and husbands giving pain stricken wives massages. By the way, your father still owes me that massage.

Luc Came Into Our Lives

Before this evening I wanted you to leave my womb so you could join us. I spoke to you, watched you move across my stomach. I wondered about you. What would you look like? Would you be funny or serious? And as quick as making a wish, your arrival was fast and exciting. No, I did not watch a movie and your father did not ride his bike. The contractions crept in and overtook the clock. We were on our way to the hospital. The nurses called the doctor on night duty. They told Daddy to attend to the car since I was 6 cm dilated. On his departure my water broke. I was pushing, and the delivery process had officially begun. In a blur I saw the doctor enter. I followed her instructions with one vision in mind: that I would finally be meeting you. And then I heard your glorious wail, announcing your arrival on Earth, and you were in my arms. I was overwhelmed that all my thoughts on who you were could now be seen, heard and felt. You are the miracle that marks my happiest moment.

Thank you, Luc, for introducing me to such euphoria. I am your protector and will do anything to ensure your happiness. You are loved unconditionally. Even when you urinate on The New York Times Book Review as I am about to turn the page, I can’t help but think that you came with a witty sense of humor on how to get Mom going.

Remembering Sixteen Candles

There is one boy I never got over. My husband, however, does not consider him a threat. He was tall, sculpted and had the sensitivity of someone considering a life in the monastery. He was unattainable but put himself out there. His name was Jake Ryan.

For those who came of age with John Hughes’ films, Jake Ryan was the Prince Charming of our generation. If you are unaware of Jake Ryan, the character played by Michael Schoeffling in Sixteen Candles, here’s a brief synopsis:
The film’s heroine, Samantha, a gawky redhead, is a high school sophomore about to turn 16. Samantha’s birthday becomes an afterthought as her family gathers one weekend for her sister’s wedding.

Enter Jake Ryan, the demi-god senior who sits behind Samantha in homeroom, making her as hot as a volcanic flower. Throw in some amusing supportive roles—notably a geek with a penchant for floppy disks and a Chinese exchange student who wears cardigans—and a high school dance that trickles into Jake’s home with out-of-town parents. The night is comedic, with one-liners served in each scene, though we keep returning to Samantha’s romantic plight. Will Jake leave his perfect girlfriend for an awkward girl he only knows by poorly timed stares in homeroom? He does. Jake rescues Samantha from her sister’s wedding in a red Porsche—1984’s version of a white stallion. We cut to the final scene of the two seated over a birthday cake blazing with 16 candles. They kiss.

Sixteen Candles includes many improvisational moments and sultry, gratuitous Jake Ryan shots to assure its classic status with regular plays on cable television. Sometime after the success of the film, Schoeffling did a very strange thing: He fell from Hollywood to become the J.D. Salinger of young heartthrob actors. This one-hit wonder adds to his intrigue, which assures the love-lost phenomenon that has bewitched myself and countless others.

I related to the growing pains of a character like Samantha, completed the necessary credits in college to achieve a respectable place in the real world, met a man I love and started a family. But there is a part of me fueled by Jake Ryan. The side that is interested in how a couple met and what they do to keep the spark alive. How I waited to commit to someone who I could imagine driving to a wedding for no reason other than wanting to eat a birthday cake with me on top of a dining room table.

Source: Romantic Homes Magazine

Bring on the Holidays!

What falls into the category of a luxury? Dining at a restaurant with a waiter whose sole function is to grind pepper? Traveling to an exotic destination where immunization shots are required?

This past year, as my son, Luc, has fully assumed his toddler stage, an afternoon to just go blank is luxury: not checking work emails, not obsessing about how many pieces of broccoli Luc has eaten or whether Cheerios are really worth the mess—floors do not have to be swept on the hour.

There is an irony about Holiday Celebrating: The assumed pressure—decorating the home and making meals that involve ingredients gathered from three markets. The approach I enjoy is to take in the company of others who allow you to slip from
the mundane routine of everyday life to relish the celebratory—albeit relaxing—notes of the season. 

By Jacqueline deMontravel
Photo courtesy of Thinkstock.com

A Passionate Tale

If we could add a word to the title of Romantic Homes it would be “passion.”

Not the salsa dancing, late night, Miami Beach kind of passion but rather the artistic sense of the word. We profile creators enraptured by the process of being caught in the vortex of their craft. Perhaps they run their own online bedding store or they are moms who can make a plate of meringues look like high art. Regardless, their language is spoken through design, crafts, flowers, fabric, food, living.

Noel Solomon has such passion. She can get lost with a pair of scissors and some really great French paper. The once-blank sheets blossom into flowers on a beauty spurt. A dozen of these paper creations, adhered to the wall, widen the dramatic effect. So opulent, the effect is a formidable competitor to a Bergdorf window display.

Noel is a good read on inspiration, and we are devotees of those who inspire. Passionate people take risks. They will give up the nicely paying finance job so they can transform wire and ribbon into bird ornaments. They loosen the grip of reality to follow their desire Passion.

What is a ‘Romantic’ Home?

Every so often we editors gather to discuss what defines a romantic home. Pretty, feminine touches such as pillows, candles and personal mementos? Check. An abundance of vintage details that pull on a nostalgic feeling? Check. Cozy nooks and spaces? Check. Soft hues such as white, pink and celadon? Check.

However, the most romantic homes I visit have less to do with the props than with the leading characters. It’s the people who live there, their stories, passion and warmth that come alive through pieces that were thoughtfully acquired and arranged. They are fully involved in their home’s design and, like any good relationship, it’s a constant process that always needs a bit of work.

Throughout our website, we will show you inspiring places, but if you look closely you will also see the dweller’s personality in every image. Just find our website here.... Home Magazines