I DON’T MEAN TO GLOAT, but I keep confusing my life with a vacation. Going to the beach every day. Kayaking on Accabonac Harbor. Riding my hot-pink balloon tire bike. Eating lots of fresh seafood. Drinking margaritas on the screened porch. (My newfound ability to relax is due largely to having rented my Cobble Hill townhouse as of August 1st — to someone who saw my post on this blog!)
A friend is visiting this weekend. Saturday was a full day, with yard sales in the morning (I got a green wicker side chair for $25, a funky cattail lamp for $15, a Le Creuset pot for $2, and more), and in the afternoon, the East Hampton Antiques Show on the grounds of Mulford Farm, a 17th century farmstead in a state of exquisite preservation.
Needless to say, I didn’t buy anything there, but I enjoyed looking at perfectly restored and gorgeously upholstered Heywood-Wakefield rattan furniture ($12,000 for the couch alone) and saying hi to Rico from Objects in the Loft, a store in West Palm Beach, FL, I’ve written about in Metropolitan Home.
In the middle of the night the rains came, and I awoke at 2AM remembering that both my car windows and the cellar doors (slanted hatch doors that open from the outside and are referred to around here as ‘Bilco’ doors, which always makes me think of Phil Silvers) were WIDE open.
Today is Sunday. The rain has stopped, and I have some mopping up to do.