Neha Leela

Swept up in prepping my living room to be entertaining-ready, I’ve admittedly neglected my bedroom thus far. I fell too quickly for a warm golden wheat, fleur de lis printed wallpaper and refuse to part with my treasured oriental red writers desk so Ive been devising a way to steer away from the more traditional direction given the antiques and tiny motifs, or the masculine feel I could easily create by adding navys and hunter green. I finally feel like I’m landing on a palette that both, accomodates for the existing colors in the bedroom, and creates some continuity with the more fresh and feminine living space.

I loved the images I collected in this board because they kept the pop of the deep red and the warm golden threads, but countered the richness of that with a more contemporary shade of cyan. Let me know what you think!

Credits: Emerson Made, Ulrica Wihlborg (2)

The art of handwritten correspondence is one I will hold onto for as long as I can. I could take this high virtuous standing or admit that this most likely stems from a need to defend excessive stationary purchases.

Though I have no dearth for notecards between home and work, I fell for these tiny motif letterpress folded cards over the weekend. I got a box of mixed messages, with different motifs for getwells, thanks yous, I forgots, birthdays and blanks. Each with a different clean image against the cream colored stock: a simple symbol for expression. And after looking them up, extra excitement ensued because each design from B Designs is letterpress printed on recycled stock, locally in a studio in Amesbury, Massachusetts. Visiting their site, I learned a little bit about the design duo behind these (Karen & James) and the art of letterpress (which I’m compelled to take a class or two in) and their new online store proved to be not surprisingly addictive.

Hope your week is also starting on a sweet note!

Woke up to signature september crisp chill, so it felt only right to celebrate with a butternut squash and green apple inspired lunch on the roof for one of my friends to kick off an afternoon of pampering in the city.

I made a creamy butternut squash soup with with crusty baguettes and a side of a green apple & walnut salad. I love having the mums and root vegetables on the table to evoke even more autumnal bliss.

We just finished up and are off for an afternoon of salons, shopping and south end exploring; Hope everyone is having an equally savory saturday!

Butternut Squash Soup

1 can of butternut squash puree (I cheated, I know)
2 tblspns of butter
2 cups of chicken broth
cumin, nutmeg and salt and pepper to taste
1/2 cup each diced carrot and onion
1/2 cup half & half

Heat butter in large pot. Cook carrots and onions for 3 to 4 minutes. Add butternut squash puree and stir. Stir in chicken broth and season with salt, pepper, nutmeg & cumin. Bring to a boil and simmer for 10-15 minutes. Stir in half & half and cook and continue to simmer for 15.

Apple & Walnut Salad

Fresh greens ( I choose spinach)
1/2 cup toasted walnuts
1 apple
Balsamic vinagrette, to taste

Place spinach, walnuts, apple, and cheddar into a bowl. Drizzle with balsamic vinaigrette, and toss.

In the wee hours of the morning, when my eyes flicker open I go through a brief period of denial where I convince myself that I’m dreaming and keep my eyelids clenched, then an intense moment of aggravation for another dream of “sleeping in” squashed and finally an acceptance to surrender.  When its too nippy to go upstairs to start watering plants, the today show is hours away from airing and breakfast time is still unacceptable, what else is a girl left to do but shop?  

So these have affectionately and addictively become by etsy and ebay hours. Vintage and handmade items aplenty, I scour with a determination to find unique pieces to add that much-coveted charm to my place.  

Today’s early a.m. quest yielded jars and bottles in various shapes and sizes – two are the epitome of rustic charm and one a bit of romantic glamour.

Ceramic and cast from the bottles from cream companies in the city, this collection will be touted on shelves in my kitchen.

Mason jars, to me, represent simplicity and elegance converged, bringing a sense of humbleness to a room. This lamp , configured out of an old mason jar, will help make a sweet reading nook.

Remenascent of a victorian vanity years ago, this may be the bit of girly that could work on a bedside table.

Kudos to the creative artists behind these; click on the images to meet them and see more of their lovely collections.

Happy Friday everyone!

Lured in by the attractive storefront featuring a vintage bicycle, complete with basket chock full of pastel packages, I made my first stop at Hotel Chocolat, a newcomer to Newbury street.  

After refraining from asking for seconds when we were greeted with the samples, I  took in the shelves of gorgeous parcels of milk and dark shock-oh-lah that touted eclectic combinations like “raspberry and prosecco” or “chili and almond”.  

Thinking it would be a challenge to make an exit without racking up a bill, I was thrilled when I found an aqua box with “Vintage Buttons” in traditional typeface across the front.  It might as well have had my name stamped on there as well!

The Story… We researched old buttons from the 1700s, 1800s and early 1900s and became so absorbed that we brough our own collection.  Insie you’ll find a selection of buttons that best highlight the great skill and artistry that was put into the humble button.

Thoughtful, pretty and swathed in chocolate, their goodies make for the perfect hostess gift, sidetable decor or just a tasty treat.  If you’re in the neighborhood, pop in! (Hotel Chocolat, 141A Newbury Street between Clarendon & Dartmouth)

Autumn has long since held special meaning, as it illicits memories of waiting for the bus, too heavily bundled in new duds from back to school shopping, with butterflies wondering how your new teacher would be, who was in your class and what the new year held in store.  So that crisp air still brings back that eagerness.  

Now, in lieu of school buses and covering your textbooks (can you tell that was my favorite activity?), cider donuts, mums, squash, argyle and herringbone get me equally excited. Take a peek at my board for a dose of fall inspiration.

Credits: Bonnie Boden, photomato, AngelArt, Sara Remington

Something borrowed, something blue.  And so the customary wedding adage goes, but i’ve sought duality in its meaning and it doubles as my decorating rule of thumb. The origins of that tradition stem from the bride bringing continuity from a life past, adding new to symbolize hope for a fresh beginning, toting a treasure from family to bring luck and the blue… well, the color was just symbolic, so I feel perfectly fine slightly adjusting to read: aqua & pink. 

When I was presented with this completely blank slate, it was easy to run amuck in the Pottery Barns and Williams Sonomas of the world.  Eager to fill the emptiness with clean lines and crisp linens.  And so I quite easily did and will tackle the “new”. 

The old and the borrowed, however, are what counters the crisp and the clean with charm – bringing not just continuity and good luck, but making a house a home. 

On a trip to Bombay years ago to visit my late grandmother, I had found in her old apartment this jewelry box tucked into the far reaches of  a musty closet.  Even then, years before I would leave for college, live on my own or let alone have an apartment to decorate, I knew it was a piece worth rescuing from the moth ball infested crevices of that closet.  She chuckled and shrugged, confused why I would want what looked like a dusty, dismantled wooden box.  But disguised as a terrific tome with brushed gold inlays,  my great grandmother had used it to protect her safekeepings. 

So despite the unfortunate circumstances that brought me home yesterday, I uncovered in the far reaches of my own old closet the jewelry box.  Finally years later, I have the perfect place for it. 

And those gold thread embossed placemats … they went from beautiful backdrop for a blog photo to “borrowed” … thanks mama!

I spent this past afternoon back in my hometown, surrounded by friends Ive grown up with over the years – this time uniting not over a birthday or holiday but instead to celebrate the life of one of the kindest, most genuine and energetic of friends.  I was so impressed both, with the warmth and unsurpassed strength of his family during the waking hours and the sheer masses of people who came to say goodbye.  Friends from every circle from our old high school class came to pay respects, and though there was little to be said to alleviate the shock and sadness that accompanies this passing, the outpouring of support is a testament to how many lives he touched.

Evan – you’ll be missed.

The lavender season was behind us, the remnants of sunflower fields was rather dismal, a bit of rain hampered my overambitious plans of biking but eight days and six pounds (oops) later I can’t say I mastered it (sorry Jules), but I can certainly say I thoroughly enjoyed the art of French cooking.

And it truly is an art.

Preparation begins at the markets, which we reveled in visiting – basically planning our village hopping around local market days. The high-pitched falsetto of vendor’s greetings invites you to all but stick your nose into (I may have come too close to their disgust) the colorful arrays of sels de mer, seemingly ornamental artichokes, oriental red tomatoes, crusty baguettes and candied fruits.

I imagine each of these women who were scampering around me, returns to a kitchen like this one, that I fell in love with. Our hosts took pride in their kitchen; making it not just a workstation but ofcourse, a work of art. Lilies to add cheer, crisp white crockery – the more chipped the more charming – liberally displayed behind rustic, bold cabinetry. Scattered lovingly, vintage cake platters and brushed silver trinkets to showcase love and use.

And that charm, grace and effortlessness continued to the table making simple concotions look so sweet. Breakfast didn’t need to be omlettes, waffles or pancakes to look extravagant – a basket of sliced baguettes and croissants with perfectly portioned dollops of jellies hand spooned into compote jars and yogurts ladled into ceramic jars looked equally decadent.

Each of the villages where we stopped seemed like the set of “its a wonderful life” with an endless series of boulangeries, patisseries and charcuteries embedded into cobblestone streets. But each was home to a distinct and different delight – the perfect fig (Nice), the crispiest creme brulee (Aix-en-Provence), my first experience with cod– laden with creme fraiche and swathed in puff pastry (Rhone), a pomme tartin that was heaven (Rousillon) and a crepe soaked in raw cane sugar and dusted with cinnamon (Uzes). Yum! Now resumes mastering the art of creating that at home.

Prompted by the resurgence of Julia (thank you Julie Powell), I cannot track down a copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking and the fronts of Williams Sonoma are clad in red, white and blue touting special dutch ovens for pot-a-feu.  So I too, perhaps subconsciously inspired by the legendary great and the images of Meryl Streep strolling through Parisian markets, am leaving for Nice this afternoon.

I’m a tad worried about using a week of vacation time against idling in a foreign country instead of waiting for furniture deliveries, re-upholstering and trying to understand the violent shaking of my new washing machine.  This concern is quickly dissolving with self-convincing that I’ll be returning with a statement piece, quite possibly  hand-painted posters from Atelier Contre-Jour or a gem from the Marche a la Brocante, an antique market in Nice, or at the least lavender milled soap from Provence.

Whether or not I return empty handed, I’m very excited about attempting to haggle at the markets, noshing on crepes suzette and local plats du jour and biking around the villages (clearly have an image here of sunflowers and a baguette in my front bike basket).  I’ll return in a week with lots of pictures or at the very least I may be able to report that I had a much easier time getting my hands on Julia’s narratives of french cuisine.