The English countryside is where blogger and author (“Hill House Living”) Paula Sutton arranged this cheerful display, featured in Flower Magazine. / Photo by Simon Brown. On the front, the photo of Stephanie Cavanaugh’s fantasy mantel is by the author.
Natural materials—eucalyptus, magnolia, evergreens—dominate the West London mantel of UK garden designer Butter Wakefield, joined by bird ornaments and candles. Her mantel was featured in Flower Magazine. / Photo by Clive Nichols.
Flower Magazine showed this holiday mantel in the home of Keith Meacham, owner of the chic home-goods shop Reed Smythe & Company in Nashville, Tennessee. The green garland is studded with pomegranates, apples, pears, and persimmon branches. She placed candy-striped amaryllis and tulips in the vases. / Photo by Laurey W. Glenn.
An antique horizontal beam in the foyer of Washington DC event planners Rick Davis and Christopher Vazquez is a fair stand-in for a mantel, showcasing pinecones, tree ornaments, candleholders, and tiny trees. The display was featured in Flower Magazine. / Photo by Jenn Verrier.
By Stephanie Cavanaugh
HERE’S ONE NICE thing about growing old(er): Unless you’ve downsized to a little flat or Marie Kondo’d your home into an ascetic void, all neatly rolled socks, and a single frying pan that brings you joy, you’ve probably amassed all of the materials you need to create a showstopping holiday fireplace mantel.
If you have any of the following—candles and candlesticks, crystals, silvery cups, assorted small vases, figurines, ribbons, scarves and tassels—and can scavenge branches of magnolia, ivy, and pine (try a garden center that tosses out Christmas tree clippings—ask and ye shall receive), you have everything you need for an extravagant display.
If you must spend money, a line of paperwhite narcissus would be delightful, or a lineup of flaming red amaryllis, a blizzard of baby’s breath, pops of hydrangea, or maybe translucent slices of dried fruit to catch the lights. Oh, right, lights.
Fresh flowers are lovely, poked into little water holders—but you have to keep filling the holders.
The centerpiece for my personal production is a fabulous peacock feather boa Baby gave me several years ago, after we saw one in New Orleans (really, where else?). Peeking out from the feathers is a collection of glittery birds, a small brass birdhouse, a few other baubles. Wrapping it up, a twinkle of white lights and a gorgeous length of ribbon, turquoise and gold with peacocks, another Baby gift.
Having a feather boa makes it all so easy—perhaps you have one from a Mardi Gras party that’s gathering dust?—but nearly as simple was the ivy I used to use, wrapping strands together with floral wire, twisting the rope across the mantel, then adding the other bits and bobs. The key is anchoring it so it doesn’t fall into the fireplace. Three little nails, one at each end and one in the center, should take care of that; just loop a bit of the wire around boa or garland and wrap it around the nail. If you’re a fancy sort with a marble mantel, try those sticky-backed picture hangers; they’ll do just fine.
I’m not showing how-to pictures because it’s easier than it looks. Three nails. Floral wire. Shove and poke. Done. I’ve looked at photos for you and decided that those stylists in their little smocks and perfectly done nails and makeup doing extremely neat and picky things with more equipment than you’ll need (oh, you’ll want a scissor or snips, for the wire) are really intimidating. If such pictures were all I had to go by, I’d throw up my hands, pour some wine, sit on the sofa, and rewatch Call My Agent.
Anyway, the only purchase I’ve made this year is a $7.98 spool of floral wire, which was probably unnecessary. If I had really looked, I’d probably have unearthed three or four rolls that were put away in what I had assumed would be an obvious spot.
Flower Magazine has a collection of beautiful mantels—some are elaborate, some elegantly simple—and a few what-to-do’s when your fireplace has no mantel, and instructions, if you must. There are no instructions for what to do if you have no fireplace. But, you have my condolences.
After owning one of the best cooking stores in the US for 47 years—La Cuisine in Alexandria, Virginia—Nancy Pollard writes Kitchen Detail, a blog about food in all its aspects—recipes, film, books, travel, superior sources, and food-related issues.
JUST KIDDING. Charlene, who is one of the co-conspirator cooks for Kitchen Detail, and I have considerably fewer than 50 versions of this easy, seductive dessert preparation. But the combination of different types of chocolate with hot cream lends itself to all sorts of pleasures. Yes, ganache is a glaze or frosting, but it can also be whipped as a mousse and used as a filling or be served naked as a dessert with a fruit or cookie garnish. And ganache is the very heart and soul of chocolate truffles. It can be thinned to make seductive drips along the edges of a cake. You can make it slightly runny and dunk strawberries, banana, or mango slices into it. You can, with a slightly different technique, make a white chocolate ganache that can be flavored with the hazelnut paste from our Setteveli post, or with pistachio paste. These variations are used extensively for the filling of macarons and other pastries. Ganache is magical.
Ganache 101
Take the plunge and get a scale if you don’t currently own one. Join the rest of the world and weigh your ingredients—and it’s particularly important for ganache. Once you establish the ratio of chocolate to cream, you are in control of the ganache universe.
While the base of ganache is simply hot cream mixed into chopped chocolate, there are some essentials you need to know about your ingredients. Using chocolate chips, which are low in cocoa butter and high in additives, will not give you a real ganache. You must use a couverture chocolate, which is made from high-quality cocoa beans and contains a higher percentage of cocoa butter (32% to 39%), rather than chocolate you purchase for snacking or baking. Couverture chocolate is enriched with more cocoa butter and is conched (this is an agitator process that distributes the cocoa butter and cocoa solids to make a smoother and richer-tasting chocolate). Finally, couverture chocolate is tempered, giving it its distinctive sheen, its snap when broken, and its unique deep creamy flavor.
Even if you depend on individual recipes for ganache creations, it is helpful to keep these weight ratios in mind. With a bittersweet chocolate (55% to 65%) the ratio should be 2 parts chocolate to 1 part cream. For a semisweet or milk chocolate (32% to 42%) 2½ parts chocolate to 1 part cream works best. White chocolate uses 3 parts chocolate to 1 part cream. Some chocolate makers prefer equal parts of bittersweet chocolate to cream for their truffle centers or for a thick fudge-type frosting.
Oh, and by cream, we mean a cream within the range of 35% butterfat. You can make an excellent ganache with crème fraîche too, which you can mix with heavy cream or thin with light cream; and that can have a butterfat content from 15% to 30%. Crème fraîche will lend a little more zip to the chocolate flavor.
Some Not-So-Kinky Tips for Success
If your chocolate is solid rather than in pistole or chip form, chop it up roughly and, with a bench scraper (this one is my personal favorite), add the chunks to a heatproof bowl. Hot cream poured on top will melt the chocolate before it cools down. If the chocolate does not melt in time, you then have to reheat it in a bowl over hot water. And you want the chocolate (particularly white chocolate) to stay below 110F.
Heat your cream up to the boiling point over medium heat. Pour into the chocolate. Allow the mixture to rest for a moment and then stir gently from the middle out to the periphery. Both Charlene and I prefer to use a wood spoon or spoonula rather than a whisk to smooth out the chocolate and cream. We found whisking sometimes caused little bubbles, an interference with the seductive smoothness of a perfect ganache.
You can heat the cream with an herb or spice to create an infused cream before adding to the chopped chocolate; mint leaves or stick cinnamon are good examples.
If you want a shinier surface, simply add a small amount of butter to your ganache. Also, you can add another flavor with an extract, essence, or a liqueur once you have reached your desired emulsion.
When you choose a bittersweet chocolate with a high cocoa content (above 68% cocoa solids) you will need to add about 20% of its weight in glucose, a neutral honey, or corn syrup or it will break.
Any hardened ganache can be gently reheated over barely simmering water without damage. To thin it further, add some thin cream to get to the texture you want. And, if your ganache is too liquid, or if you have some runny ganache left from glazing a cake, add more chopped chocolate to it when it is warmed to thicken it for another use.
Just as for coloring fondant, it’s best to use gel paste colors or even oil-based candy coloring to tint ganache. Don’t use a watery food coloring, which could seize your chocolate and won’t give you the color you’re after. Add a few drops of concentrated color after you’ve mixed your cream and chocolate together to get the desired shade. For the most vibrant colors, start with white chocolate. But use milk or dark chocolate if you’re coloring to black.
Place a piece of plastic wrap directly on the surface of the ganache to stop a sugar crust forming, and leave at room temperature until you get the spreading consistency you desire. Ganache can be kept refrigerated for a couple of weeks or can be frozen for up to three months and defrosted at room temperature.
Covering a Naked Cake
Once your ganache has cooled and set up to the thickness you want, it is ready to use. If the ganache firms up past the point of being spreadable, place it in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. Beat until the ganache is a spreadable consistency, just a minute or two. A rough idea of how much to use for a cake would be 400gr chocolate/200gr cream for an 8-inch layer, and 500gr chocolate/250gr cream for a 9-inch layer. Charlene and I brush the cake with an imbuing syrup before glazing or frosting. If it is a glaze, put the cake on a cooling rack on a sheet pan, and pour over the still warm ganache.
If you wish to make a light mousse-like ganache for filling (or even as a dessert by itself) you can add to your bittersweet chocolate ganache the same weight in cold cream as the weight of the chocolate you started with. So if you started with 200gr bittersweet chocolate, you will add 200gr cold cream to the cooled ganache for whisking into a mousse. For milk chocolate, it would be 76% of the weight of the chocolate used, and for white chocolate, 50% of the weight. When you have added the cold cream to the cooled ganache (meaning room temperature), whisk in your mixer at medium speed until you get a light, airy texture. Do not over-whip as it will become grainy. And you can alter the ratio of additional cream for a whipped ganache: Add less and you will have a denser mousse.
That Said, Some Twists on Ganache
We thought we would give you a couple of more-unusual recipes for ganache, the seductive Italian Baci di Dama and a meltingly delicious Biscuit de Savoie from France.
Our favorite Baci di Dama recipe is adapted from pastry chef Gina DePalma (who died from ovarian cancer in 2010) and was a shining star at the restaurant Babbo in New York. She took the basic recipe and, in our minds, just made it better. You can bake the cookies, fill them with her ganache and then freeze them. They are still delicious. Her book, Dolce Italiano, is worth purchasing, if you love to bake.
Baci di Dama
Yields at least 30 double cookies.
Gina DePalma’s recipe for this classic Italian cookie is our favorite. Put plenty out on your cookie tray as no one can eat just one.
Recipe by Gina DePalma.
Adapted from Dolce Italiano.
Ingredients
½ cup (48gr) almond flour
1 tablespoon (12.5gr) caster or granulated sugar, plus more for rolling
1½ cups (180gr) unbleached all-purpose flour
1/3 cup (50gr) Dutch-processed cocoa powder
¼ teaspoon (1gr) baking powder
½ teaspoon (2.5gr) fine sea salt
1 cup (225gr) unsalted butter, softened
1 cup (110gr) confectioners’ sugar
2 teaspoons (8.4gr) vanilla paste or extract
1 tablespoon (12.6gr) dark rum
For the ganache:
8 ounces (227gr) bittersweet chocolate, chopped
1 tablespoon (14.2gr) butter, softened
¾ cup (173gr) heavy cream
2 tablespoons (26gr) dark rum
Instructions
Preheat the oven to 325 degrees.
Toast the almond flour in the oven or on top of the stove until it is golden brown and fragrant, about 10 minutes. Remove from oven and cool completely. When cool, mix in the caster or granulated sugar.
In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, cocoa powder, baking powder, and salt and set aside.
Using an electric mixer with the paddle attachment, beat together the butter and the confectioners’ sugar on medium speed until creamy and light, about 2 minutes.
Add the vanilla paste or extract and rum and beat. Scrape down the sides of the bowl to make sure the dough is thoroughly mixed.
On low speed, mix in the flour-cocoa powder mixture, and then the almond-flour-sugar mixture.
Remove the dough from the bowl, flatten the dough into a disk and refrigerate for about 1 hour.
Preheat the oven again to 325 degrees. Line two baking sheets with parchment.
On a lightly floured surface, flatten the dough into a rectangle about ¾-inch thick.
Using a 1-inch scoop, create balls and place on parchment sheets about 1 inch apart.
Or you can create logs ¾-inch thick, cut them into 1-inch lengths and roll into balls.
Bake cookies for 12 to 15 minutes, rotating them halfway through. They should be puffed and slightly cracked on top.
Cool on cookie sheets for 2 minutes and then remove to wire racks to cool completely.
To make the ganache filling:
1. Place chopped chocolate in a heatproof bowl and heat cream until it just starts to boil at the edges.
2. Pour the cream over the chocolate and allow it to rest for a moment or two, before gently mixing with a spoon or spatula from the center outwards. When the mixture is smooth and glossy, add the rum and stir thoroughly.
3. Allow to cool, until the ganache is thick enough to pipe.
To assemble:
1. Pair the cookies up according to size. Use a pastry bag or a small offset icing spatula and spread the filling on the flat side of half of the cookies and then top each with another to form a sandwich. Store in an airtight container or freeze in Ziploc bags.
Notes
We prefer caster sugar as it dissolves so easily in a batter or dough.
Make sure you get blanched almond flour and not almond meal, which is coarser and has the residue from the almond skins.
Biscuit de Savoie
The classic Biscuit de Savoie, above left, gets real dazzle when coated with Caramel Chocolate Ganache (see recipe below) and trimmed with fruit.
Biscuit de Savoie is a centuries-old cake recipe that can done in a mold, or as a layer to be split, or even as a roulade, so you can fill it with whipped ganache, roll it, and finish it off with our Chocolate Caramel ganache glaze. We all should be so lucky! This recipe works in any 6- to 8-cup or a 9-inch layer cake pan. For a roulade, use nothing larger than a 10×15 sheet pan. We usually butter the pan of choice and then use almond flour instead of regular flour for lining the greased interior.
This modern variation of the centuries-old recipe creates a light melt-in-your-mouth cake. Serve it with fruit compotes or covered with ganache. It can be split into layers with any filling too.
Ingredients
40gr unsalted butter, plus butter for greasing the pan or mold
50gr all-purpose flour, plus flour or powdered almonds for lining the pan or mold
4 large eggs
2 teaspoons vanilla paste or extract
100gr caster sugar
50gr potato starch
Instructions
Preheat oven to 190C.
Butter an 8-inch/20cm mold of your choice or plain layer cake pan.
Sift flour (or powdered almonds) to coat the greased mold.
Separate the yolks from the whites.
Melt the butter and allow to cool.
Whisk the yolks in a mixer bowl with the vanilla and half the sugar until the mixture is creamy and smooth.
Sieve the flour and potato starch together and add it to the yolk mixture at the edges without folding the flours in yet.
Whisk egg whites until they hold somewhat stiff peaks and then gradually fold in the remaining sugar, still whisking.
You will have a meringue-like mixture, which you will fold into yolks, flours and cooled melted butter. This folding method keeps the cake lighter than if you folded ingredients in stages.
Pour the batter into your mold and slide into oven. Bake approximately 25 minutes, using a skewer to test the middle. It should come out clean.
Allow the cake to cool for about 5 to 10 minutes before releasing it from the pan. Place cake on a cooling rack on top of a half sheet pan.
You can split the layers and fill with whipped cream. Cover with one of the classic ganaches from this post. The ganache can be decorated with a variety of fruits in any way that you choose.
Refrigerate until ready to serve.
Allow cake to rest about 15 minutes at room temperature before slicing.
Caramel Chocolate Ganache
A simple but clever variation of a classic ganache. Allow to cool before testing as a truffle filling or whipping for a mousse dessert.
2 tablespoons (30gr) unsalted butter, cut into small cubes
Instructions
Chop the chocolate and put into a heat-resistant bowl and set aside.
Combine the sugar, water, and lemon juice in a heavy saucepan (I use unlined copper as it inhibits crystallizaton).
Over medium heat, stir just until the sugar has dissolved.
Allow the syrup to come to a boil, without stirring.
When the syrup has reached a dark amber color, swirl the pan to distribute the color and heat.
Then remove the pan from heat and pour in the cream in three increments. There will be a fierce bubbling at first and then the mixture will subside.
Gradually add the cubed butter and return to medium heat.
Stir until all ingredients are combined and then pour the caramel cream into the chopped chocolate.
Allow the cream to start melting the chocolate and then stir in circles (I prefer spoon or spoonula to a whisk) from the middle outward to the edge of the bowl.
You should attain a glossy pourable thick glaze. which can rest at room temperature for an hour or two.
If you want a thicker frosting-like texture, allow it to cool either on the counter for three hours or for half an hour in the fridge, until you get the spreadable consistency desired.
What’s in Her Closet . . . as Nancy Pelosi Steps Down
Four years ago we ran this story on Nancy Pelosi, who was Speaker of the US House of Representatives, twice. The story was part of our “What’s in Her Closet?” series featuring prominent women who get photographed all the time. With the national spotlight shining on her as she announces her decision not to seek the leadership role again but to remain in Congress (where she has been since 1987), we thought a refresher course in Pelosi style was a good idea. Her individual outfits may have changed but not her sophisticated style.
NANCY PELOSI has a tough job and that’s in addition to her role as [Speaker of the House]. Her wardrobe must subtly convey her position of power and authority. With that in mind, we poke around in her wardrobe and see what pointers we can find.
House Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi on her way to attend a news conference where House Democratic lawmakers and the LGBT community voiced opposition to Trump’s transgender ban in the military, July 26, 2017. / Photo by Michael Reynolds / EPA / Rex / Shutterstock.
JANET: This simple knee-length (or just slightly below the knee) sheath plays well for a busy day at the office. The pink ensures she doesn’t fade into the background, and it’s a cheery choice for a warm summer day. She’s slightly top heavy, so for balance she elongates her legs with a pair of pointy pale pumps.
NANCY: I think this is a terrific look: Pelosi gets to shed the armor of a suit jacket but in no way does she look the less powerful for it. In fact, I’ve come to think that one of the most powerful female outfits is a slim skirt or dress with those sky-high heels. (I didn’t say comfortable, just powerful.) She has the identical (I think) dress in a vivid green and it looks great too. Fashion folks may have shed their pantyhose on warm days, but on conservative Capitol Hill they’re apparently still a must.
KATHY: It must be terribly difficult for a woman to dress for Capitol Hill. To be taken seriously must you don manly power suits and forget femininity? I think Pelosi has found the solution with this ladylike pink number. Plus pink does wonders for a brunette’s complexion.
Nancy Pelosi and husband Paul at the MusiCares Person of the Year awards honoring Tom Petty in Los Angeles on February 10, 2017. / Photo by By Kathy Hutchins / Shutterstock.
JANET: A good lesson on how to do formal. By wearing black shoes and some sort of black stocking with her pants, she doesn’t disrupt the line. Pelosi’s white tunic works two ways: The funnel-shaped collar (a look favored by Brigitte Macron) frames her face, and the verticality of the V-neckline and the side slits taper the top half of the silhouette.
NANCY: I love this look: It’s feminine yet still dignified as suits her office and her age. In fact, it’s rather sporty, albeit in fancy fabrics. The shorter sleeves keep the jacket/tunic from seeming too heavy. It’s a look a lot of us gravitate to naturally, and here’s an excellent example to reinforce that instinct.
KATHY: I love this look too. It’s so elegant, pretty and unfussy. Plus the drape of the tunic takes 10 pounds off and who can argue with that?
Pelosi at the 50th anniversary of the March on Washington, Lincoln Memorial, August 24, 2013. / Photo by Joseph Sohm / Shutterstock.
JANET: Rolling up shirt sleeves is a studied, casual look and requires practice to achieve. On the other hand, pushing up sleeves on a suit jacket just looks unpolished.
NANCY: I’ve done this with the sleeves of a lined jacket to save a trip to the tailor, but now I see how sloppy it looks and promise to stop doing it. Like most of her male colleagues, Pelosi wears her jackets buttoned when she’s standing (President Trump is the one man in public life who famously does not button his jacket, and it looks bad). But Pelosi has a little too much chest to always pull this look off successfully; in most of the pictures we’ve looked at, her jacket is pulling or gapping above and below the bust, making it seem like she’s wearing the wrong size. Working on the Hill does lend itself to conservative skirt suits and pantsuits, but maybe—note to self—adapting the cut of her evening jacket/tunic in white, above, would be more flattering.
KATHY: I want to like seersucker. I really do. But it conjures up images of panama hats and boardwalks. Yes, Washington can be unbearably hot in August, but this suit simply isn’t cool.
Pelosi with adorable grandsons at the Logo Trailblazer Honors in New York, June 22, 2017. / Photo by Andrew H. Walker/Rex/Shutterstock.
JANET: I don’t like lace much except on tablecloths, handkerchiefs and lingerie. Save head-to-toe lace for the boudoir. And, yes, I know lace is a big fashion trend. I don’t care.
NANCY: I know, it’s been hard to avoid lace these past few years—it’s everywhere, for day and night. But I think this outfit is simple and flattering. It’s obviously for a big awards ceremony, where it’s not over the top. It may not be my first choice either, but I think she looks great in it.
KATHY: I don’t have a problem with lace. It appeals to my inner frou-frou. Therefore, I’m a fan of this outfit. One of the things I like about her evening dress-up choices is the simplicity and ease of the outfits, as in easy to wear.
Pelosi, House Democrats call on GOP to cancel recess and return to the office to D.C. to do the country’s business, Oct. 2, 2012. /Photo by Mark Wilson/Getty Images.
JANET: Pelosi knows her strengths. Bright colors flatter her. This photo was taken [10] years ago, but pantsuits—and ones with flared legs—are having their moment today. Wide legs look better with chunky heels than high-heeled pumps. Wear the stilettos with your skinny pants.
NANCY: Here’s thesuccessful version of the Pelosi everyday formula: a pantsuit whose jacket fits correctly without any pulling or gapping, a blouse that cuts through the male-ness of the suit by allowing for a décolleté and simple jewelry, and high-heels that appear feminine but are capable of a powerful stride. Even though this jacket fits well, I still have doubts about always having it buttoned up. I don’t think a woman loses power points by letting it stand open.
KATHY: There’s no ignoring a woman in red. Female journalists learned that covering Ronald Reagan. If they wanted to be called on in press conferences they made certain to wear the red Nancy Reagan made so popular. Red stands out and so does Pelosi in this handsome suit.
Above and on the front, a little Capitol Hill front yard that is chockablock with seasonal color. The evergreens provide structure and the crape myrtle trees along the right side form a living fence. / Photos by Stephanie Cavanaugh.
By Stephanie Cavanaugh
Q: THIS IS embarrassing, writes a reader. Everyone else seems to know that in order to have something always blooming you have to plant your garden that way. So, for example, when the tulips bite the dust, something else is supposed to be blooming. But how are you supposed to make that happen? Plant something that blooms later?
A: Uh, yeah?
Occasionally I get questions. This is one. Oh, it makes my life so much easier. After 401 columns, hearing what you want to hear about is so helpful. Like asking My Prince what he wants for dinner and instead of saying, I don’t care, whatever, he says . . . Meatloaf! After (approximately) 14,235 meals, my brain is depleted. I’m thrilled to make meatloaf.*
So. Yeah, plant plants in stages. There’s a nearby garden I’ve returned to several times over the years as the perfect example. A tiny front patch with several evergreens forming a half circle in front of a crape myrtle and a couple of rose bushes and phlox along the front border. Within that half circle is space for seasonal displays.
In fall, bulbs are planted beneath a mass of ornamental cabbages and pansies, maybe a mum or two.** By spring, tulips and such will push their way up into a delightful floral bomb beside the sidewalk.
As summer sets in, the cabbages will bolt, the pansies will become straggly, and the bulbs will be kaput.*** These are all yanked and replaced by sweet-potato vine and annual flowers. In the fall, the cycle is repeated.
It’s a sunny spot, this garden, so anything grows.
One key to success is the evergreens. They’re big enough that they pull focus from the crape myrtle, which is not at its best in the depth of winter, and the roses, which just look like a nasty mess of thorns. With so much going on in the foreground, these are softened, obscured. The flower play in front is what catches the eye.
Another key is the planting is done on an angle, in drifts—no rigid rows allowed.
This is a very small garden, as I’ve said. But a larger area can be treated similarly. Like designing a large empty living room and setting up several seating areas. Look at the garden as a series of green spaces, each anchored with evergreens, and fronted with a seasonal display of bloomers.
For a collection of plants with cold-weather color and interest, HGTV has a tidy list.
*He’s less thrilled to clean the kitchen, but he does it.
**While mums are pretty, in this DC climate they’re as short-lived as cut flowers. If you intend to replace them several times during the fall, fine. But don’t count on a one-and-you’re-done buy. A blast of heat and pfft. A blare of cold and pfft.
***It’s sad to yank tulip bulbs. They might come back but they probably won’t. Just take a deep breath and pull. Daffs are simply a nuisance in the small garden.
THERE’S A flutter of activity in the square glass vase beside the queso and chips on Chris Alvear’s coffee table. Flashing through a crumble of ornamental columns and the roots of a pink peace lily flowering high above the water’s surface is a beauty of a betta, a Japanese fighting fish, all black with a spectacular ruffle of red-orange fins. As if a tsunami hit a tropical shore, sundering a temple and leaving the ruins beneath a limpid sea.
A few inches away, a deep-blue betta shares a glass cylinder with a pagoda and what appears to be a pothos plant, tossing a mane of green over the lip of the vase. Another container holds a flashy red-and-black betta, which darts amid more traditional aquarium greenery.
“That’s Mr. Tie Dye,” says Chris. “The others are Mr. Big Red and Mr. Blue.” They’re males, which are much flashier than females, whose fins are smaller.
This is a setting made for flash. The mid-century row house Chris shares with his partner, Ward Orem, and their Chihuahua, Gigi, has been transformed into a circus of curiosities, with paintings covering nearly every inch of wall, some by Chris, a fine artist, others by others. Naked mannequins, and mannequin parts, are strung with beads. There are pillows and more pillows and throws and boxes and a strangely contented-looking deer head over the fireplace. Religious icons and elaborately dressed skeletons line the mantel, a memento mori to the Day of the Dead and Chris’s Southwestern heritage. French doors open to a terrace with a view of their exceptional garden * —and a glimpse of the Washington Channel.
Tucked in among the flora is the fauna. Okay, it’s a betta fish and a houseplant. / Photo by Stephanie Cavanaugh.
Then there are the fish. Their three vases are kept close together, so they can entertain one another, but separated because the fish might fight, which could either mean death or severely damaged plumes, which is kind of the whole point of having them.
Surprisingly, for such vicious little fishies, “they’re super friendly,” Chris says.
There are no heaters, no filters, none of the fancy accouterments associated with aquariums. Other than changing the (purified) water each month, for the plants as well as the fish, they’re fuss free. They eat their own droppings, he said, keeping the water clear. Ick, but okay.
“We’ve had our betta fish for over two years,” he says. “Amazing luck—other friends have them a few months and then it’s burial at sea ( the toilet). People tend to overfeed them. Don’t! Their stomachs are the size of their eyeballs so feeding them a pinch twice a week is best.
“We use a pellet food made by Aqueon, which has a formula that brings out the colors of the bettas. We also give them a treat of dried bloodworms.”
What a cheap thrill this can be, well, might be. Find a glass vase; there’s probably one under the sink or in a closet. Give it a few inches of glass pebbles. Pop in a plant and a fish and voilà!
Bettas can be had for as little as five bucks at pretty much any pet shop, or upwards of a thousand from a specialist. A Kachen Worachie sold at auction this past July for $1,500.
I would not start out with a thousand-dollar fish. Like a pound puppy, a five-dollar fish can be just as lovable, and the (inevitable) farewell above the commode a bit less tearful.
There is a host of plants that can grow quite nicely in water, and are not toxic to fish (though bettas don’t care for the taste of plants). Monstera, pothos, peace lily, spiderwort (wandering jew), and the twisted stems of lucky bamboo are all easy to grow in water. If they start to get stinky, change the water.
It’s also a nifty way to start new plants: Enjoy them on a tabletop now and move them to the garden next spring. For more about caring for these dazzling fish, check out A primer for betta care.
*When I last wrote about Chris Alvear, he was front-of-house manager of the Kennedy Center’s Roof Terrace Restaurant. He is now a senior manager at the BLT steak house in downtown DC. If your betta goes belly up, you can complain to him directly.
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That’s a teeny tiny kale plant tucked in between the ivy on the right and the sweet-potato vine at center. By mid-winter that little sprig will be full-size. / Photo by Stephanie Cavanaugh.
By Stephanie Cavanaugh
IT’S TIME once again time for the sniffinpoofs* to flair their aristocratic nostrils at the very thought of planting flowering cabbages and kale. So pedestrian! So boring! So overdone!
So what.
Dissing these plants has been going on for years, 30 or so by my count. Yet, they continue to be planted—and thank the gods of gardening for that.
Few plants ride out the winter in such glorious color. Hot pinks and greens and purples and combinations of such, in the ruffled leaves of kale and smooth leaves of cabbages (both are part of the kale family, the leaves are the difference).
The size of basketballs at maturity, they are as delightful to the eye as a child’s birthday card, one of the ones with bunnies sniffing roses and butterflies winging about and blue birds in the branches of the flowering trees all thoroughly doused with glitter. Do they still make cards like that?
Anyway. Perhaps they’re overdone in the suburbs; being a city person, I wouldn’t know. In the small gardens around here in Capitol Hill, they’re a delight. While pansies, that other winter stalwart, weather the weather just fine, they still flinch at the cold, sitting in a huddled clump waiting for the sun. Cabbages and kale brave whatever winter tosses at them, petals spread wide as if to say Bring it on, do your bloody worst.
Both varieties are particularly charming, and useful, in window boxes. Mix them with pansies and ivy for a cheerful, cold-tolerant display from now until spring: A depressing window box (0r five) full of dirt is not a necessary by-product of winter.
In the garden, as well as in boxes and planters, they can be planted over tulips and flowering bulbs: The bulbs will push their way up, wriggling round whatever is planted above, and flower to fine effect.
Wherever you plant them, remember to water. Some people, me for instance, get lackadaisical about watering in the middle of winter, an unhealthy habit.
BIG TIP: Start them small, otherwise they’ll bolt before spring, sending up Dr. Seussian frizzles above limp leaves. This is not attractive.
Keep your eye out for six-packs of wee ones, particularly if you’re planting window boxes or pots. Big-box hardware chains are probably your best bet; most garden centers, I’ve found, stock only the full-leafed, glamorous big kahunas.
Small ones can be squished into spaces where summer plants are breathing their last glorious breaths and will ripen soon enough to replace spent blossoms and foliage, reaching full size when you need color and joy most. In the dead cold of winter.
*Not a word, but should be.
MyLittleBird often includes links to products we write about. Our editorial choices are made independently; nonetheless, a purchase made through such a link can sometimes result in MyLittleBird receiving a commission on the sale, whether through a retailer, an online store or Amazon.com.
IN SOME precincts, the fall Craft2Wear show is considered a get-yourself-a-new-couture-jacket weekend. Other show-goers opt for hand-crafted jewelry, leather goods, even shoes. All made by hand.
And every year the Smithsonian Women’s Committee fills this premier juried show with new artisans to supplement the go-to favorites who dependably present new wares every year.
Two of the newbies this year specialize in clothes for babies and kids.
Bumbershoots by Nana came into being when “Nana,” a/k/a Judy Carr, became a grandmother and seriously doubted the quality and durability of the sleep sacks available for precious bundle John. She was looking for a high-end product whose fabric and utility were up to her standards. Couldn’t find it.
She started sewing “bumbers,” lined sleep sacks, in custom fabrics for baby John, then for friends, then for friends of friends. Now she makes them for a whole lot more people, sewing them in her Annapolis, Maryland, studio. She goes deep into her customers’ needs, listening when they asked for longer zippers for easier diaper changes, tactile fabrics and custom trim and color combos. It sounds like, if you can dream it up, “Nana,” in Booth 9, can do it. She can also do blankets and stuffed “friends,” and jammies.
Tuff Kookooshka has been making clothes for kids since 1999 and has now arrived at Craft2Wear.
The makers pride themselves on using local fabrics and making them in their Cape Cod studio. One obvious aim is to make colorful, warm clothing inspired by their Russian folk-art schooling. Another goal is to get as close to Zero Waste as possible, using extra pieces to craft scarves, hats, appliqués and other adornments. Beyond “beautiful,” which is abundantly present (for instance the wool “Butterfly Garden” coat (bottom left and right), there is also humor, such as the “Sperm Whale and Giant Squid” pattern (top right) and “Lobster in the Flowers!” apron dress with bloomers (not shown).
There’s so much more to Craft2Wear, and we’ll continue to whet your appetite until the big weekend is here.
Smithsonian Craft2Wear, October 20-22, 2022. National Building Museum, 401 F Street NW, Washington DC.
Hours: 10:30am to 5:30pm, Friday, October 21, and Saturday, October 22.
Preview benefit: Thursday, October 20, 6pm to 9pm: Drinks, hors d’oeuvre, meet and mingle with the artists.
Admission: Preview tickets are $100 per person. General admission is $20 at the door or online after October 17. Advance online tickets are $17 each. All at Smithsonian Craft2Wear.
Giant monstera leaves set amid elephant ears and other greens. / Photo by Stephanie Cavanaugh.
By Stephanie Cavanaugh
A YEAR AGO, Baby gave me an offshoot of one of her philodendrons, a fine Monstera with several glossy leaves and a tangle of roots just beginning at its base.
I stuck it in a tall, vividly colored Chinese vase and set it on the drum table in a corner of the living room, figuring at some point I’d pot it up, but other things, I don’t recall what, were more urgent.
There it sat, happy in the vase, a handsome thing and, fortuitously, one of few that do not leak. Soon, a new leaf appeared, and then another. The roots grew thicker. Sometimes I’d add a branch of something from my greenhouse, an elephant ear or palm frond, or I’d splurge on a bunch of flowers to shove among the leaves to add a little extra oomph. The philodendron forms a fine base for such floral flourishes. The only effort required was to change the water every week or so (the cut stems begin to rot, and the stink is a handy reminder to do so).
In late spring, the sago palm, a cold-averse tropical, moved from its pedestal on the hall chest to a grander pedestal on the front porch, and the vase took its place in the hal, the plant still thriving in water. Summer flowers from the garden looked charming tucked among the greens: sweet-smelling mock orange with its tiny white flowers, caladium leaves with their dramatic sunset streaks.
The vase looks good in the hallway, brightening the dark green walls. I was going for something Sherlockian, deep and velvety, but slightly missed. It looks more like a British police station on some BBC crime show; Vera, Endeavor, or Lewis. Flowers help. Anyway, repainting would distract My Prince from the already lengthy list of Honey Do projects lined up.
Specifically, that would be replacing my second-floor greenhouse, which he tore down in a burst of energy last April, with a master plan in hand for expansion and . . . and . . . so I have a helluva crowd of cold-fearing plants to deal with this fall and nowhere to put them. That’s an aside.
Anyway, it’s getting to be time to move the sago palm back to the hallway from its porch perch, which means the philodendron, still in its vase, will return to the drum table in the living room. Why mess with success, even if it’s inadvertent.
I’m thinking that an explosion of orange berries and sunflowers stuffed among the leaves would be quite nice amid the exotica cluttering the tabletop.
Jacques and Jill, a mix of mauve-pink and orange tulips put together and sold as a combo by Colorblends. It’s a genius way to look as though you’re the brilliant gardener.
By Stephanie Cavanaugh
I’M HOBBLING around Costco, a few days before the official advent of fall, with a stone in my sandal looking for signs of spring. Specifically, tulip bulbs.
Halfway through the giant store, I am assaulted by Christmas. Giant Santas, reindeer, lights! Wrapping paper and ribbons. Out of the corner of my eye I spy Halloween, a rack of costumes. Princesses and Spiderpersons—they don’t categorize by sex (or presumed sex) anymore. Anyone can be a princess!
There are bushels of candy. Snickers and Mars Bars, Mounds and Blow Pops. No Tootsie Roll Pops, which have become a bit of an addiction. Very hard to find, these.
No sign at all of Thanksgiving.
At last, I find a meager half rack of bulbs, the leavings. Daffs, fritillaria, allium, hyacinth, and tulips, lots of tulips. They’ve been stocked since August, but I just couldn’t look at them so early. It’s like trying on bathing suits in January, even though I know the pickings will be lean (unlike my girth) when Memorial Day comes around.
One bag stops me in a dormant hot flash. Hottest of hot pink flowers softly brushed up the sides with a blush of purple. Mystic Van Eijk, they’re called. Fifty bulbs for $14.99.
I cannot pass them by.
Another bag, a mix of Purple Lady Triumph Tulips and a fat and frilly double tulip called Foxtrot. The purple is a shade too funereal, even for me, but the pinks? Mmmm. $14.99 for 50. Sold.
They’re all midspring bloomers too, which is what I look for (on the bag). Opening in early April, just as the Kwanzan cherry bursts into pink blossom; add some butterflies and dancing mice and it’s a Disney cartoon. Timing is critical. I want them done by the end of the month to make way for summer blooms and tropical foliage.
This visit was supposed to be purely for investigative reporting (and some ribs), not a bulb-buying trip, but who could resist such prices? Lady Astor in Laura Ashley, skipping about in the morning dew gathering a bouquet for the library, I ain’t.
There are many fine growers out there, the catalogues began arriving in July, when I have absolutely no interest in looking at them. Van Engelen, John Scheepers, White Flower Farm. They’ve been gathering dust on the hall table. The years flick past fast enough; I have no desire to rush the seasons. Others don’t seem to mind: Plenty of bulbs are already sold out.
For the last few years I’ve been getting bulbs from Colorblends, a justifiably praised company that stocks a well-priced selection of single-colored flowers and unexpected combinations, such as Jacques and Jill, which combines mauve-pink and orange tulips in a riotous blast. Pick a collection and Colorblends does all the work for you, except planting.
The result? You look genius. Like you know your way around bulbs, which is nice, particularly when you write a gardening column that often features examples of your own bad judgment and minor disasters.
Tulips are the only bulbs I’m buying this year. Allium, which I adore, are a perpetual flop. The scent of hyacinth makes me sneeze. And daffodils? Like mums, in this semi-tropical climate they’re five-day wonders (if that).
But tulips? Having the taste of a 7-year-old, as long as mine are some shade of pink and purple, I’m happy.
Though I keep thinking of those orange fritillaria at Costco, how they’d toss a little acid into all that sweetness . . . hmmmm.
Just a typical busy day on Juno Beach, seen from sister Jeanie’s terrace. / Photo by Stephanie Cavanaugh.
By Stephanie Cavanaugh
I’M SITTING on the back porch, staring at the garden, struggling with what to write about this week while being distracted by my toes.
We were in Florida over the Labor Day weekend, celebrating my sister Jeanie’s 90th birthday (she’s old enough to be my mother, in case you’re wondering). The whole family was there: My Prince, my baby sister Bonnie, her daughter and son and grandchildren, my Baby, her toddler Wesley, and her Personal Prince Pete.
There was a big bash with another 20 or so guests in the pool house of Jeanie’s oceanfront condo. Easy stuff, just hot dogs, burgers, piles of sides. Cake. Balloons, many balloons. Jeanie likes balloons. Sinatra on the boom box. Lots of wine and chocolate—what else do you give a 90-year-old who lives in Paradise?
Baby and I were headed back to the apartment to get something or other, maybe pickles. We followed the serpentine path to the side door, meandering through clusters of palms and beds of tropical flowers. The colors here are unreal, like an early Technicolor movie.
I yanked open the heavy, hurricane-proofed door, dragging it right over my left foot, scraping the skin off my middle toe. Ouch.
Blood poured into my Birkenstock Gizeh sandals, which have a previously unappreciated raised rim—which, it turns out, is perfect for pooling blood, keeping it from dripping onto white carpeting. I squished to the elevator, and in the bathroom, Baby gently bathed my toe in the tub, wrapping it in gauze and surgical tape so it was roughly the size of my thumb.
This was very dramatic-looking, though no one at the party noticed, much as I tried for attention. Seems, at the very moment I was being crippled by a door, My Prince’s hand was being bitten by a dog he’d attempted to pet, and he had repaired to the pool terrace in a Shakespearean slump, wearing more swaddling than I was. He took this attack very personally. “I’m a dog person,” he has said, and said. Not that we have one.
I didn’t notice until later that the nail of my fourth toe over, the one between the middle toe and pinkie, was vertically split from tip to cuticle. Baby should have bandaged the whole foot, or maybe not bandaged it so well that there wasn’t just a little seepage—maybe that would have been noted.
Anyway. I’m sitting out here, thinking about gardens and what to write about them. Anderson Cooper, my white parakeet, is sitting beside me, having a loud conversation with one of the little birds that flit about the yard all day. Yes, I know why the caged bird sings. This is more distracting than my toe. Can it, Cooper.
The garden does look nice, I will say that. There was no rain at all in Florida, which usually has a mini-monsoon every afternoon at about 4, often followed by a rainbow over the ocean. This time every day was blindingly sunny and hot, unbearable if you weren’t in the pool or the ocean. We alternated between them then broke for cocktails.
And here we were prepared for a hurricane—sister would have her birthday in the midst of hurricane season. Because of this, we’ve been through several, including Andrew. Now, that was a ballbuster.
Meanwhile, back home, the clouds burst daily, we were told, so everything is lush; the elephant ears and philodendrons have reached prehistoric size, the hibiscus are covered with new buds, as are the jasmines. It’s as if the garden doesn’t realize that fall will be here shortly.
That summer is almost past. Next week, if I live, we’ll tackle early-onset fall.
Lily Tomlin and Jane Fonda come to terms with their new lives in “Grace and Frankie,” a new Netflix series.
Jane Fonda is in our thoughts this week following her announcement that she has begun chemotherapy for non-Hodgkin lymphoma. Here’s a story we wrote about her in June of 2015.
By Nancy McKeon
WHEN DID I FALL IN LOVE with Jane Fonda? Was it years ago when I stumbled upon her, chattering away in French on the long-time French literary talk show “Apostrophes”? Was it when she swooped chicly into the boardroom in HBO’s “The Newsroom” as the powerful owner of the news operation’s TV station? Was it when she acknowledged having work done on her face in “Prime Time,” the aging-bravely book she brought out in 2011? (See page 12.)
Whenever it was, my awe of her (as the woman who did all the things I didn’t have to courage or tenacity to do) is cemented with her new role, as Grace in “Grace and Frankie,” with a delightful Lily Tomlin playing Frankie. The TV series was released a few weeks ago by Netflix, where all episodes of Season 1 have been posted.
There’s a moment in one episode when Fonda sits on her bed in a negligee, holds one arm out and, with a whaddya-gonna-do? look on her face, bats the flesh on her upper arm, sending it into a pendulum swing, demonstrating that you don’t have to be Jewish to have a “Hadassah muscle,” or what some of us call batwings.
Lily Tomlin and Jane Fonda in a lighter moment in “Grace and Frankie,” a new Netflix series.
“Grace and Frankie” is full of such moments. Some critics have chided the show for not getting beyond the clichés of aging and of older women being left by their husbands (who are leaving the women for each other, in this case) and playing scenes for shallow laughs. But the moments of self-recognition are compensation enough.
Here’s an idea of how the Fonda character plays to women–at least to me. The two husbands and wives have had their disastrous dinner, the women learning that the men are outta there. Now Fonda is home, sitting at her dressing table, staring at herself as she dismantles her public face. First she pulls off one strip of false eyelashes, followed by the other. Then she reaches up to the back of her head with both hands, and I’m cringing, thinking she’s going to remove a wig. But no, it’s just a small hairpiece that fluffs up the crown of her ‘do.
But now she’s traveling up and behind her head again. Her fingers work at something, and soon two strings? elastic bands? are hanging down. A couple of friends thought these were her hearing aids. But no: They’re elastic bands that loop around the head to pull up a sagging jawline.* Fonda sits there, forlorn, surveying what should be the wreckage of beauty, but of course in her case is no wreck at all (how on earth could Martin Sheen, as Robert, her husband and a man with too much money for such lousy, oversize dentures, want to leave her? Although, yes, she is a bit chilly).
I watched the dressing-table sequence a couple of times to be sure, but unhooking the elastic “temporary facelift” has no effect at all on Fonda’s surgically ensured jawline. (And good for her, I say: I had a whole array of chins surgically removed a couple of years ago and have been deliriously happy with the result every since. Honk if you believe in plastic surgery!)
Fonda’s Grace is a well-heeled, up-tight businesswoman who created a beauty empire, with her face and honey-color hair selling boxes of hair dye (or some beauty product). Her daughter is in charge now, but that doesn’t stop Fonda from coming up with ideas, even if they come by way of the hippie-dippy Frankie, not Grace’s favorite person, who has concocted a vaginal lubricant from yams. Uh-huh. Daughter/CEO of the beauty company of course wants nothing to do with it, wants to aim for a younger audience. And that’s the point at which Fonda cites the adult female demographic: Do you know that 84 percent of post-menopausal women find sex painful? And the cri de coeur of our generation: “You are missing out on a HUGE market!”
I’m part of that, and it’s emblematic of the invisibility of the “older woman.” Also, it’s a tonic that the show is aiming above the level of the “Golden Girls” (in interior style and fashion taste and disposable income) to add muscle and bone to what is really an attractive, affluent demographic.
Okay, the show was created by Marta Kauffman, who co-created “Friends,” so maybe there’s not a lot of digging under the skin. But early on, a less-than-sensitive Robert–he’s a divorce lawyer, after all–says he didn’t think Grace would mind the breakup very much, he didn’t think she was that happy in their marriage.
To which a wounded Grace hesitates then responds, in a spirit most of us can identify with, “I was happy enough!”
* There are “face lift tapes” or elastic bands all over the Internet. Not sure what was used in “Grace and Frankie.” And of course, in the case of Jane Fonda, it didn’t have to work.
The bands vary from brand to brand–Secret Lift and Bring It Up are two brands I’ve found–but they basically involve a clear piece of tape you paste to your temples or behind your ears (or both). The elastic band attached to each tape gets pulled up and back, locking together with its mate somewhere where you can hide it under your hair (bangs are recommended to hide the tape, and some fluff at the crown of the head can conceal the elastic). Now if they could just come up with such a thing for the Hadassah muscle.
Over the past 30 years, this abundant Sweet Autumn Clematis has voluntarily swept across the Cavanaugh alley fence, affording fall flowers and privacy in a tight neighborhood. / Photo by Stephanie Cavanaugh.
By Stephanie Cavanaugh
THE SWEET Autumn Clematis that has spent the summer sending its green tentacles rambling along the top of our 9-foot-tall alley fence, has popped into bloom.
A volunteer, this plant. Appearing maybe 30 years ago in a far corner, lofting into the wisteria that straddles the garage roof, streaking a white blizzard across the green, lasting several gorgeous weeks and—poof!—gone.
iStock
It’s said not to mind some shade, but this one is in that rare position (for us) where it enjoys a southeast exposure, basking in the sun most of the day. It’s said that it can grow 30 feet in a season. That is correct. It blooms when other varieties of clematis don’t, from late August into September. That is correct. It’s also said to have a sweet smell (hence the name), but unless you stick a branch in a paper bag, insert your head to condense the fragrance, and inhale, there’s not much of that to carry on about.
Where our clematis came from I don’t know. I see the vines here and there in the neighborhood, muffling chainlink, climbing porch pillars, but none grow near enough to make a leap, or creep, into our garden. Seeds must have been stowaways in a long-ago-purchased pot of something.
For some reason, willful thing that it is, several years ago it began to grow in the opposite direction, away from the garage (cunningly disguised as a cottage) and toward the house. It begins somewhere behind the purple Rose of Sharon, and scrambles along the fence line to the porch, climbing up the drainpipe for a pretty frill—like a peek at the hem of a lacy petticoat.
One might think this was by design. As if it’s doing what I might intend it to do, for once. I do not pat myself on the back. It does what it does.
As it happens, the neighbors across the alley from time to time relax on their upper porch, giving them an unwelcome view of our private space. My Prince installed an elaborate screen, made up of lattice and screens, blocking the view. The clematis has stretched to tangle in the fencing, a wall of white flowers appearing each year around now. A pretty sight for them, privacy for us.
Such serendipity.
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‘IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL morning. All along the river, sunlight shimmered through the willow trees, making the leaves glow a luminous green . . . wild cyclamen grew along the path in patches, like tiny pink butterflies.”*
Oh my, I said to myself, closing the book. Wild cyclamen. Tiny pink butterflies. Add glitter and you have a child’s birthday card.
I want, I said again, just to myself.
The Maidens, by Alex Michaelides, from which I pulled this quote, is set at Cambridge University. It can be beastly cold and wet in that part of England in winter. Surely such tender flowers wouldn’t survive. But it seems the temperatures there are similar to those in our southern states, including Florida plus Hawaii. You might feel miserable, bone-chilled, but frosts and snow are rare. Which is why, in the more southern reaches of England, geraniums perk up window boxes throughout the year. And cyclamen, it seems, blossom in springtime.
Would it be possible to naturalize wild cyclamen here? Perhaps under the massive oak in front of the house, where the sun speckles the shade in the heat of the summer months. They do prefer shade.
This reminds me, and here I digress, so stop reading if you wish, of crackers. I recently realized that I can make crackers. Baking bread, sure. Pie, sure. Cake, of course. But crackers? They come in boxes. I happen to like stoned wheat thins, which have a bit of character but don’t fight with the Brie. It never occurred to me to bake them. I haven’t yet, but that is neither here nor there. That I can is enough.
To get back to the story at hand. The first cyclamen I ever saw was 40 or so years ago at the Washington Cathedral Greenhouse, a magical place with many little pots of this and that which I’d never seen before, probably because I never had a garden. These were perfect for my fire-escape balcony in Adams Morgan. The cyclamen were particularly enchanting; How could something so perfect exist? The colors so brilliant, the texture like velvet, all held within a corona of green leaves, like a natural bouquet.
Though they come in pink and white and purple and shades of red, it is the deep pink, what we call fuchsia, that particularly enraptures me. (Some years later, in a mad departure from black, I bought a silk shirt that color and actually wore it once, I think; colors make me nervous. That’s an aside. Not a digression.)
I bought one, of course, and another. Each year they flowered, then withered and were tossed. With no garden or greenhouse, and given the unreality of the flowers, I assumed they were annuals, or at least too tender to survive, tropical.
Most of the cyclamen we see in florist shops and garden centers are grown as ornamentals; they are not bred to survive outdoors, where temperatures drop below freezing. But there are plenty of wild cyclamen, grown from tubers, that will do just fine in the cold, arising in late winter with the snowdrops and crocus and such. Other varieties bloom at other points throughout the year, so you could, in theory, have a constant show of blossom.
You can also plant seed, but it will take years for them to materialize. Even the tubers can take a year or so to settle in and flower. Plant deeply, in the shade, and if it is to turn brutally cold for a spell, snuggle them under a thick layer of mulch. Once they take, if they take, cyclamen have a 100-year lifespan.
Imagine a scattering of them along a shaded path, maybe as a border for ferns, poked among the rocks surrounding a garden pool, velvet flowers unfurling as the frost melts, and disappearing into the foliage of something else as the summer heat blasts in.
For a positively exhaustive, though totally engaging, discussion of cyclamen, including the varieties most likely to survive outdoors in your area, see “Cyclamen—Great Hardy Perennials for the Garden” on the Plant Delights Nursery site(handily, they sell them, too).
MyLittleBird often includes links to products we write about. Our editorial choices are made independently; nonetheless, a purchase made through such a link can sometimes result in MyLittleBird receiving a commission on the sale, whether through a retailer, an online store or Amazon.com.
Can’t get enough Valerie Monroe? There’s more at https://valeriemonroe.substack.com.
By Valerie Monroe
For nearly 16 years Valerie Monroe was the beauty director at O, The Oprah Magazine, where she wrote the popular “Ask Val” column.
If you’re interested in feeling happier about your appearance—especially as you age—you might like reading what she has to say about it. For more of her philosophical and practical advice, subscribe for free to How Not to F*ck Up Your Face at valeriemonroe.substack.com.
I HEARD the miraculous Frances McDormand say in an interview (with Nomadland director Chloé Zhao) how pleased she was about someone’s assessment that looking at her face was like visiting one of our country’s national parks. Isn’t it, though? As majestic and breathtaking as Yellowstone. (Her own retelling starts around minute 12 but the entire interview is worth checking out.)
Then I thought about another miraculous actor: Jane Fonda. What does her face make us think of? (She talks candidly about her aesthetic decisions here.) And of course! Fonda’s face—fantastical and ensorcelling—is our Magic Queendom, our Disneyland.
Two brilliant actors, two very different choices, both American beauties. What do you think?
Yes, fashion hits the backyard. Here’s the Minnidip x Alice + Olivia Tufted Luxe inflatable Pool designed by Stacey Bendet for Minnidip. It’s $70 at the Minnidip site (and has a coordinating beach ball and float-drinks-cooler combo.
By Stephanie Cavanaugh
IT’S BLOODY hot out there, but at Architectural Digest it’s chill. I don’t always appreciate this magazine: It’s often too pretentious and insanely pricy. But the new, September, issue offers plenty of styling jelly beans and bubble gum, rooms full of color and joy—there’s even a steal in there.
Of course, most of the wares are over the top; a $36,295 Murano glass chandelier frosted with multicolored blown-glass baubles would be just the thing, wouldn’t it?
But then, the eye stops, seizing on an inflatable pool, of all things, with tufted sides patterned in black and white, surrounding a gamine face with a swish of black bang above enormous round black shades and a rosebud mouth. One would have to dress for this, of course, and nothing chintzy: a white ruffled bikini perhaps, so Bardot. A sleek black maillot.
An inflatable pool in Architectural Digest? And it’s $70? A mere mortal can actually do this! Although they appear to suggest you accessorize with a lipstick-red enameled-ceramic cocktail table from Ralph Pucci ($2,820, shown in black on the site). It’s the high-low business that makes the pool amusing. Darling.
Designed by Stacey Bendet,* founder of the whimsical fashion house Alice + Olivia, for Minnidip pools, it’s 5½ feet in diameter, large enough for the average-sized woman to wallow, and 21 inches deep—that should be enough to cover most bellies.
There’s also a 7-foot-round pool if you want to entertain guests, and coordinating umbrellas if a bit of shade is in order.
For a touch of class, there are inflatable pools with—I kid you not—fountains in the center, one with hints of a Moroccan garden, its sides covered in an elaborate pattern in turquoise and white; just bring on the eunuchs. Another, they say, in a deep green boxwood pattern, for what they call a “chic midcentury hotel vibe.” Both are out of stock, of course.
But it’s the adult pools that are so captivating, so playful. Plunk one in a tiny yard, on a terrace, a deck. Surround it with potted palms, hibiscus, an orchid or two. Now pour yourself something chill. Here’s to surviving August, with a grin.
A first! And no wonder it’s sold out at the moment. It’s Minnidip’s Topiary Luxe Inflatable Fountain in an all-over boxwood print. You use a garden hose to supply the fountain with its spritz. Until it’s back in stock you might content yourself with the 3-foot-wide Topiary Beach Ball ($33) or its 20-inch-diameter cousin ($16). All on the Minnidip site.
The Speckled Terrazzo Pup Dip Dog Pool, engineered with no inflatable elements to withstand doggie paws (those nails, you know, but they should still be trimmed). It’s $45 at the Minnidip site.
If pink will complement your peonies, the Blushing Palms Luxe Inflatable Pool will call to you ($55 on the Minnidip site).
Moroccans know the allure of cooling blue. The Marrakesh Luxe Inflatable Pool, $70, was inspired by intricate tile work throughout the North African kingdom. It’s on the Minnidip site.
*Bendet’s eye-candy apartment in New York’s fabulous Dakota apartment house is featured in this issue of Architectural Digest. With no terrace, one does wonder where she puts the pool. The living room? It wouldn’t look out of place.
IT’S AN OLD story: Getting on in years invariably involves getting grayer and probably whiter as well, a condition women usually fight by artificial means.
To be or not to be as nature intended is obviously an individual matter, depending on what you think about “looking one’s age.” A lot of tricky psychology is involved.
The pandemic accelerated the issue for sure. Holed up at home by a virus threat encouraged many women to drop the pretense. A trend was born.
Being an ornery sort with a yen for experimentation, I went the opposite direction—at first. My head changed from a blah brownish-blonde with white roots into solid auburn within an hour one spring morning two years ago under the hands of a trained stylist with a theatrical bent. Both of us were masked.
He convinced me I would look younger and better. (That old line . . . ) He was on the side of “‘having fun,” trying a “new look.” Well, it worked, but maybe boredom was at the root of it.
Indisputably, I was transformed. I was different inside as well, or maybe I just imagined it. I boasted about inheriting “natural” red hair from my Greek ancestors. Indeed, a decades-old wedding photo revealed a strong red tint in my untamed untouched-up locks.
“How different do you feel?” a friend asked after the transformation, assuming that I must be in a changed emotional state.
I admitted that part of me felt fake, as though I were inhabiting another person’s body. Truth to tell, I liked having two personalities. I liked hearing similar reactions to my new self from longtime friends and acquaintances. Maybe I just liked the attention.
My mentor tried various shades during those months, always with the promise he could always reverse course at any time. Some friends felt they had no choice. The pandemic had closed down most salons and an at-home paint job was deemed too risky. (A friend who stripped down her blonde locks in one go now admits she looks much better au naturel.
Another said how at age 40, after living with red hair since birth, she let nature have its way while working overseas for the Peace Corps. Two years later, she had a totally white head. On return, she was met at the airport by her sister and an 11-year-old nephew whose first words of greeting were “Bobbye got old.”
She never looked back. She had tried a dye job and found it difficult to blend new shades into the white. And she didn’t like the fact that hair follicles go dry after a while under the weight of chemicals.
Truth to tell, I disliked the obnoxious fumes involved in the process. Plus, I realized that I was missing out on a trend. A whole new feminine cohort everywhere was rejecting the old ways. So, not to be left behind, I compromised. It took several weeks, but I managed to become a short-haired woman with blonde streaks on top and pure white in back.
Pure self-deception, because I couldn’t see myself from the rear.
The test came while bending low to the ground in a local hardware store to check an item when a tall white-haired man asked me in kindly fashion. “How do you do that?” presumably referring to my agility in such a pose. “I can’t do that.” He thought that I might not be able to get up again. A clerk in the same store urged me to “please take the elevator” when he saw me carrying a heavy item upstairs.
I noticed strangers holding doors open for me more often than usual. Some even offered to carry my belongings if they looked heavy. A flight attendant on a recent plane ride challenged my ability to respond as needed in case of an emergency since I was seated in an exit row. A shuttle driver in the airport looked personally offended when I rejected his offer of wheels to get to my next airplane. Or maybe he saw a missed tip.
The real test will come the next time I try to lift my carry-on bag into an airplane’s crowded overhead bin. Will it be every man and woman for him or herself or will the old lady finally get her due?
For nearly 16 years Valerie Monroe was the beauty director at O, The Oprah Magazine, where she wrote the popular “Ask Val” column.
If you’re interested in feeling happier about your appearance—especially as you age—you might like reading what she has to say about it. For more of her philosophical and practical advice, subscribe for free to How Not to F*ck Up Your Face at valeriemonroe.substack.com.
A LONG TIME ago—in a galaxy far, far away—I had a brief but significant brush with what felt like, at the time, an alien culture. I wrote about that close encounter for O, The Oprah Magazine:
Can’t get enough Valerie Monroe? There’s more at https://valeriemonroe.substack.com.
There are about 35 of us beauty editors at a presentation of a company’s new product. I’m new, too, new to the job of beauty editor, just learning the ropes. Most of the women are lovely, sparkling, and girlish; only a few of us have seen 40 (and fewer yet, like me, are peering fondly back). A convivial young man standing at a wooden podium welcomes us. “Thank you all for coming,” he says, sparkling a little himself. “I have a question for you,” he says. He leans against the podium professorially: “Can anyone tell me, what are the four signs of aging?”
I generally do well in classroom situations, and greenhorn though l am, l know the answer he’s looking for: fine lines, sagging skin, thinning hair, etc. But I’m reluctant to raise my hand. Because if l do, and l give him the answer I believe is true, I’m afraid l might put a blight on the magazine l love and now represent. What if the young man is offended because I’m not playing along? So l sit on my hands and regretting, regretting, bite my tongue.
Today, however—two years of experience and a lifetime of antiaging presentations later—is a different story. Ask the question again; in fact, I dare you to ask the question. Because now l am very sure there is only one right answer, and it is my happy responsibility to give it.
What are the four signs of aging?
They are Wisdom, Confidence, Character, and Strength.
As I said, I wrote this many years ago. In fact, I wasn’t even old when I wrote it. Today—now that I am old—I would add to those four somewhat high-falutin signs a more pedestrian one: dry, cracked feet.
I used to be vain about my feet. I had bi-monthly pedicures—happily contributing to the multibillion-dollar foot care industry—even in the colder months when my feet entertained no public audience. During the pandemic lockdown I skipped the winter pedicures (partly due to isolation) and have noticed for the first time that my feet are having issues. An excellent reader around my age wrote to say she and her buddies were experiencing similar stumbling blocks, so I wondered if the problem was related to . . . maturity. Also, I wanted a solution, because come summertime, as usual, I planned to wave my feet flag high.
Do you remember spiritual marathoner Lao Tzu’s famous quote, “The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step”? He didn’t mention what happens to your feet after a thousand miles but I will: They take a lot of punishment, which can manifest in more unsightly ways than you might care to imagine. One of those ways, suggested to me by the dermatologist Brooke Jackson, is a condition called keratoderma climactericum, more winsomely known as Haxthausen’s syndrome. If your feet are so cracked and dry that it hurts when you walk, your doctor will likely inform you this is your new jam. (Jackson says she sees it regularly in her practice among post-menopausal women and other younger, frequently barefoot people or those who are particularly rough on their feet.) Are your symptoms milder? Sorry, then: You may not be able to call yourself a card-carrying Haxthausener. But no matter, because the solution is the same.
As for treatment options, Jackson favors the over-the-counter cream Flexitol Heel Balm.Apply it at night under a pair of cotton socks, she says, which is a problem for me, since I can’t sleep with anything covering my toes. I bought a pair of these spa socks and they seem to work well, though in the morning I often find annoying fabric crumbs at the bottom of the bed. Jackson also recommends treating your feet to Dove Exfoliating Body Polish once or twice a month. A Dove-lover, Jackson also suggests that their new hand cream, Dove Body Love Moisturizing Hand Cream, is just as good on your feet because, she says, it’s fast-absorbing and non-greasy, and moisturizes for up to 48 hours. I’ve been using the more utilitarian O’Keeffe’s Healthy Feet to excellent effect. Another reader, Ann B., wrote to suggest a prescription product, ammonium lactate cream; you can also find that ingredient in the over-the-counter AmlactinUltra Smoothing Intensely Hydrating Cream.
Whew! I became so distracted by that flurry of product recommendations I forgot to explain the climactericum moment in the keratoderma diagnosis. Those night sweats you may be having—or have had, or can look forward to having—are but one indication that you’re entering or have passed through your climacteric, the biological stage of life in which reproductive capacity declines and finally ceases. (Menopause, on the other hand, refers specifically to the cessation of your periods. Did you know that? I didn’t.) Anyhow, I prefer to call it the climateric, a far better description of a process in which you experience your own private global warming, including unpredictable flooding and other momentarily tragic events. The good news is that our personal climateric passes; unfortunately, Mother Earth’s will not.
Because I don’t want to leave you feeling low, I found this “walking” video, which suggests there are more things on heaven and earth (and the Internet) than are dreamt of in our philosophies. (The accompanying music reminds me, weirdly, of the opening music in the TV series Big Little Lies.) And this one, with two chatty physical therapists, to help you give your hardworking hooves a little extra love.
One of my window boxes, with sedum, wandering jew, ivy, sweet potato vine, geranium and a fledgling coleus. / Photo by Stephanie Cavanaugh.
By Stephanie Cavanaugh
LAST WEEK I wrote about the Rose of Sharon, a plant heroic in its ability to withstand anything I can throw at it.
There are plants that others consider foolproof; zinnias come immediately to mind. The sort of plant that clearly states on the seed packets that it’s great for a child’s first garden. No disappointment here, no siree.
I cannot, for the life of me, grow zinnias. The best I did was the year I got one plant and it was orange-flowered. I do not like orange flowers.
All that said, I have a short list of plants that do well for me. That I can abuse, ignore, divide and divide again, and plant with no more sophisticated a tool than a chopstick.
Here are five . . .
Wandering jew—I know I’ve discussed this little wonder time and again, but it bears repeating. Break off a bit of stem and jab a chopstick into whatever kind of soil, stick the cutting in and boom. This is my original chopstick plant; though a pencil would work just as well, a chopstick lends the process some gravitas. Tradescantia, which comes in various shades of green and purple, sometimes shot with pink or white, is great for plugging garden gaps, planting in containers, and dripping from hanging baskets. They are tropical so will die with first frost; but clip a bit before then, stick it in with some house plants—or even some water in the kitchen window—and you have a starter for the next growing year. You don’t need much: It springs forth from pieces.
Sedum—AKA mid-summer-men, garden stonecrop, livelong, orpine, and (most delightfully) witch’s moneybags, is formally known as Hylotelephium telephium, which rolls off the tongue in a rather bewitching fashion, dontcha think? These are marvelously robust wenches. I had a patch that I actually bought (I think) and planted next to the pond. Though I do nothing to sustain them, they come back each year. Just now, in fact, popped up a densely packed ruffle of pink flower on a six-inch stalk. Thinking to cover a spot of death in the window box one year, I broke off a few stems, took my trusty chopstick, inserted it into said sad spots, and inserted the clippings. Damned if they didn’t take off. And again, with absolutely no more input than an occasional bit of praise, they return each year and last until well past first frost.
Ferns—Some are a bit tender, like Boston ferns, which won’t survive long in subfreezing weather. But most ferns, such as Autumn Fern, shown, don’t mind frost, dying back but returning year after year. In a shady spot, there’s nothing cooler-looking, or easier. I’ve bought several from Plant Delights Nursery in Raleigh, cadged others from friends or growing along roadsides. I’m just as happy with the latter (truth to tell, I don’t remember which patches are which anymore). They’ll fill up a blank spot fast, providing lush texture, often fanciful forms, and are problem-free. The more common varieties are particularly helpful in an area, say, that’s always behind a chair and is not worth the dollars or effort of a fancier plant. Plus, they’re great at punctuating the whatnots in a flower arrangement, or on their own, swaying about in a vase—instant centerpiece drama.
Geranium—This is one I spent years fussing with, reading the wisdom of others to pull them out in November or thereabouts, since they can’t stand severe cold, hang them upside down in the garage or the cellar, then cut back their straggly bits and replant in the spring. Then, one day, I pinched a stem to jam into a sorry-looking pot of something, just for a party, you know. And it rooted. You can have all the geraniums you like with virtually no work and for virtually nothing. I mooched some lovely salmon-colored numbers from a friend last week and stuck them under some potted palms. If you have a sunny windowsill, they’ll do fine in the house over the winter. Propagate by pinching and sticking as spring approaches: You’ll have a planter full. the geranium shown is a Cranesbill (Geranium Maculatum).
Coleus—Showy, showy and utterly foolproof. They come in all manner of psychedelic hues and toss off big leaves with ruffled edges. Their fat stems take to water like thirsty puppies, so you can root them that way. Or, employing the chopstick method, just plant a stem. A little growth hormone doesn’t hurt, though I think this is a knock-on-wood move since they’ll probably root with no effort anyway. Great in the border, boxes, anywhere you need color and fullness.
Have a favorite stupidly simple plant you propagate? Let me know!
By Nancy Pollard
Wandering jew—
Sedum—
Ferns—
Geranium—
Coleus
Jane Fonda at the 2017 awards.
Can’t get enough Valerie Monroe? There’s more at https://valeriemonroe.substack.com.
By Valerie Monroe
If you’re interested in feeling happier about your appearance—especially as you age—you might like reading what she has to say about it. For more of her philosophical and practical advice, subscribe for free to How Not to F*ck Up Your Face at valeriemonroe.substack.com.
I HEARD the miraculous Frances McDormand say in an interview (with Nomadland director Chloé Zhao) how pleased she was about someone’s assessment that looking at her face was like visiting one of our country’s national parks. Isn’t it, though? As majestic and breathtaking as Yellowstone. (Her own retelling starts around minute 12 but the entire interview is worth checking out.)
Then I thought about another miraculous actor: Jane Fonda. What does her face make us think of? (She talks candidly about her aesthetic decisions here.) And of course! Fonda’s face—fantastical and ensorcelling—is our Magic Queendom, our Disneyland.
Two brilliant actors, two very different choices, both American beauties. What do you think?