One local friend has an identical house to ours, and ambitions far exceeding anything we could imagine. He has spent a huge amount of time sourcing (and refurbishing) accurate, matching doorknobs for all four floors of his brownstone.
Detail of a door with pressed flowers inside the glass panel. Currently for sale at Demolition Depot.
Today I’m searching for a very specific historic part for my 1891 bathroom. I find it tragic that so many beautiful things have been ripped out of NY homes, churches, and stores. These fixtures are truly irreplaceable – the craftsmanship and in many cases the materials are extinct.
I wish I could bring it all home. Or at least, this door. But unfortunately, I don’t need a door.
Back in Brooklyn, and beware the ides of March! Or in other words, happy birthday to Byron.
[It took a great deal of experimentation but I did figure out how to make the traditional family celebration cake in a coeliac safe manner. Forget all the weird flour combinations that rely on potato starch and xanthan gum. Just use a 50/50 ratio of tapioca and buckwheat. Problem solved!]
My great-grandfather was an ILWU enforcer. His descendants followed in his path, and I was raised with the above quote as a fundamental precept not just of work but also life.
I’ve been in the Pacific Northwest on and off all year dealing with the fallout from my mother’s death. The details are messy, but she would not want me to argue or complain. Her expectation was that everyone should just shut up and do their jobs.
But I will say this: the family that raised me is now as fractured as the public dialogue all around us.