Dating My Wardrobe: Blooming Romance at Sonnenberg Gardens and Mansion

Dating human beings in the summer: terrible idea. Who really thinks it’s a good plan to be canoodling with some 98.6 degree bag of skin, sopping wet with urea stinking perspiration welling from every pore?? Darlings, listen. Leave your hormones for humans at the front door, and run straight to your closet for romance! I have been dating my wardrobe for years, now, and I don’t regret my decision. Forget smelly mammals with opposable thumbs! Cool cottons and breezy hats make much better summer lovers. On my date to Sonnenberg Gardens, Canandaigua, NY, I chose my most compatible summer companions from my wardrobe: a light-cotton 1960s day-dress, and a 1940s broad-brimmed straw hat. While my last summer date with my wardrobe ended in mild heat stoke, and far-out hallucinations, I was determined that for this date I would be as cool as a cantaloupe in June.

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Sonnenberg Gardens was the perfect location for my date, not just because it’s a great place to impress a vintage hat, but because it boasts nine spectacular themed gardens of the world. Mary Clark Thompson was the living force behind the creation of the gardens, but the death of her husband, Frederick Ferris Thompson, served as the impetus behind the horticultural masterpiece.  A few years after Frederick’s death in 1899, Mary set about creating a literal living memorial to her husband using one of the greatest creative mediums of the Victorian and Edwardian era: gardening. You want to tell a deceased someone that you love them, forget marble mausoleums like the Taj Mahal. Spell your Victorian mourning out in the bold language of flowers, water features and puddingstone lined pathways.

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The germ of cynicism which lives under the brim of my 1940s straw hat leads me to believe that the incredible gardens of Sonnenberg resulted primarily because Mary Clark Thompson found herself with more time on her hands, now, that Freddie was dead, and had access to large sums of money. Sonnenberg, after wall, was merely the summer home of the Thompsons. Frederick was a prominent New York City banker, and Mary was the daughter of a New York governor. These people were not strapped for cash. Yes, I do not doubt that Mary was very sad that her husband had died, but I’m imagining that time and money were greater building blocks than grief.

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Now, that I’m through with being critical of romantic tales of memorials, let me get back to the history of the gardens. So, Frederick dies in 1899, and soon after Mary begins her tour of famous gardens of the world. Among others, she surveyed classic Japanese gardens, tidy English landscape gardens, and formal Italian gardens. When she returned to her home at Sonneneberg, she was armed with research and inspiration. Between the years of 1902 and 1919, Mary created her nine representations of classic gardening, boasting such thematic features as Roman baths, a Japanese tea house, and a devotional Greek temple for the goddess Diana. With an entire globe of gardening history represented in her backyard, I don’t believe that Mary had the time to mourn for old Freddie. She was too busy managing pansies and heliotropes.

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One hundred years later, I can enjoy all of Mary’s efforts as an overeducated poor person, with a taste for romancing inanimate clothing objects. As I idly stroll through some of the most beautiful gardens in the world, with my purple dress swaying in the breeze, I have to appreciate that someone had enough money and means to create such a romantic landscape to roam.  I also must appreciate the turn of events which made these historical gardens open to the public. Here’s a brief overview: Sonnenberg– which translates into “sunny hill”– was purchased as a 300 acre farmstead in 1863. In 1887, the farm house was replaced by a Queen Ann-style mansion. Frederick Thompson dies in 1899. Mary Clark Thompson developes the gardens between 1902 and 1919. In 1923 Mary dies, and, having no children of her own, the property goes to her eldest nephew, Emory Clark. He sells the property to the Federal Government in 1931, and the house and property were turned into a VA complex.

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Over the course of 40 years, the property is vandalized, and generally just trashed. Realizing the historical significance of the property, a local citizen’s movement begins to purchase and restore a 50-acre portion of the estate and gardens in 1966. A formal bill transferring ownership of the property from the VA to Sonnenberg Gardens (a not-for-profit organization) was passed and signed into law in 1972. A year later, restoration work began, and involved mapping-out and uncovering buried gardens, and taking-down the partitioned and boarded-up mansion rooms. Between 1973 and 2003, Sonnenberg Gardens struggled to maintain the property, burdened by huge debts. Then, finally, in 2006 the Sonneneberg Gardens and Mansion was purchased by New York State. By the time we arrive in 2018, I can purchase a ticket to meander about 50 Acres of jaw-dropping beauty for $14. Considering the fact that I just spent $17 to stuff a bagel with cream cheese, and small latte down my gullet, I regard $14 for four hours of world-class culture and beauty a real deal.

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The cultural moment in time which I was sampling on my tour of the home and gardens was the sweet, bountiful cusp between the Victorian middle-class boom, along with all of its Victorian bric-a-brac and manners, and a reactionary Edwardian Age, with its Arts-and-Crafts sensibility, and aesthetic shift to the “orient.” The Garden complex is a reflection of both Victorian and Edwardian garden aesthetics. At its foundation, the group of gardens exhibit the three major styles of Victorian gardens: Picturesque style, Neoclassical style, and Gardenesque style, but include elements of newer style developments which emerged during the Edwardian Era: Arts-And-Crafts and International Style. The Japanese rock garden– designed and built by a Japanese designer in 1906– adopts the conflated principals of the Victorian and Edwardian. The garden reflects characteristics of the Victorian Picturesque style, leaving old growths, rutted paths and textural terrain in the design scheme, additionally embodying some of the design principals of Gardenesque style, showcasing exotic and indigenous plant specimens, using small scale natural vignettes, and island beds as dramatic flourishes. But above all, the Japanese garden exemplifies the Edwardian trend in constructing International Gardens: dreamscapes of far-away places built in one’s own back yard, and the Edwardian Arts-And-Crafts garden, which includes seemingly untouched woodland glades, naturalistic water features, and rustic pathways leading through rock gardens.

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Uniting the tea house, buddha statues, and gateways of the garden is a stream which passes under five bridges, in which case I am fortunate enough to have traipsed over each and every one. My favorite bridge to frolic across was the striking red Japanese-style bridge which afforded my vintage dress and I a fantastic view of the Lilly pads in the stream below. Thus, I began my romantic date under the cool shade of the specimen trees, and by the babbling waters of the Japanese garden. I can tell you that the evergreen laced breezes not only kept my amorous apparel from getting too hot and heavy, but allowed me to enjoy an aroma which was the very exact opposite of the smelly human flesh of summertime.

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From the Japanese garden I walked to the Roman baths which are currently slated for renovation in the coming year. The original pool, styled after ancient Roman baths, was designed by architect Francis Allen. The pool complex boasted a slew of gracious changing rooms and restrooms, heated water, and, at its center, an aqua-blue gem of a pool, lined with turquoise English tile.  So refreshing. So tranquil. Hold onto your hat, I’m ready to dive in!

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Only, not really. I was just pretending to dip my toes into the waters, wearing my Edwardian wool serge bathing suit, swim cap, and lace-up gum shoes. In real life, my purple dress and I had an imaginary swim amid the romantic decay of what appear to be ancient Roman ruins– a romantic fantasy which my 1940s straw hat wanted nothing to do with!

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As my straw hat was too practical for musing over ruined Roman baths, I decided that I needed to find a spot that was more contained and orderly. Following a wooded, winding path, I eventually found myself in the Sub Rosa (below the roses) garden. Everything living in this particular garden is green. Green grass, green boxwood trees, green evergreens, greens waters, and even a handsome green frog! This garden is so cool, crisp and delightful, I could not help but repose (upon my hat’s approval!) by the white marble fountain, which is presided over by statues of Zeus, Artemis and Apollo. While it was an honor to be amongst the gods, I was more interested in having a conversation with the denizen of the fountain– a little green amphibian which I named Miguel Ángel He was absolutely charming, and had the most beautiful glossy green nose. However, my purple dress and hat became pretty jealous of my interest in Miguel Ángel, and I had to move onto the next series of absolutely stunning gardens, including the Italian garden, the rose garden, the old fashioned garden, the pansy garden, the blue and white garden, the moonlight garden, and the old-fashioned garden.

 

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Dear Readers: the nine gardens of Sonnenberg Gardens are so beautiful that I’m not going to bore you with an exhaustive list of adjectives describing each– which include, but are not limited to, words like “beautiful,” “gorgeous,” “dazzling,” “dizzying,” “dramatic,” “beguiling,” “mesmerizing,” and “freaking good.” And I haven’t even gotten to the point in my date where I toured the interior of the Queen Ann-style mansion!

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The modest, little 40 room summer residence of Frederick Ferris Thompson and Mary Clark Thompson was designed by architect Francis Allen, and built between the years of 1885 and 1887. As I entered the home, my fashionable cotton and straw date was bathed in the most delicious lighting, pouring like nectar from the bay windows. If you want to look good on your date with your lover (textile, or otherwise), this is the place to be! The lighting inside of Sonnenberg Mansion was better than the lighting designed for Elizabeth Taylor’s White Diamonds perfume advertisements, first airing in 1991! Take your dear amour to this parlor, and let them see you in this light. They will not let you out of their sight!

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As for me, I found the lighting particularly lovely in Mary Clark Thompson’s bedroom, which is covered wall-to-wall in the most beautiful art nouveau style wallpaper. Talk about the perfect compliment to my wardrobe!

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At this point, my woven sartorial lovers were thoroughly impressed with the date I had arranged at Sonnenberg Gardens and Mansion. We whispered sweet nothings to one another in the privacy of the pansy garden, mused over our future together, playing-out domestic fantasies as we toured each room in the Sonnenberg mansion, and vowed our eternal love for one another near the ruins of the temple to Diana. How could this date get any better?! I’ll tell you how. World-renown glass houses. Glass houses. Many, many glass houses.

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I have always been a lover of the glass house. To begin, I have invariably adhered to and respected the proverbial wisdom given to people who live in glass houses. I may walk around looking super cool, and in the company of an amazing wardrobe, but I am, in fact, just a fragile human who fears someone reminding me of my many flaws. Therefore, I will not be bandying about proverbial stones. Furthermore, glass houses are simply stunning. They shine like jewels in the sun, sparkling with promise in the distance. Once inside the glass house, you are not disappointed. The interior is filled with verdant greens, delicate flowers, or prickly cacti. Second only to my wardrobe, plants are the best company to keep.

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Sonnenberg Gardens boasts what is considered to be one of the United States’ most important residential greenhouse complexes, which were manufactured by Lord and Burnham. If you please, you can walk through several of the refurbished glass houses, including a remarkable domed conservatory, and peer into the romantic decay of the glass houses yet to be repaired.

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The Sonnenberg greenhouse complex was born out of the hey-day for glass house construction. There are several reasons that the Victorian and Edwardian era became the cultural incubator for glass house popularity in England and America. To begin with, there was a middle-class boom in England and America, an extension of Colonial reach, and the expansion of the world market. Importantly, the glass tax was repealed in England in 1845, and the window tax in 1851, reducing the cost of a structure made almost entirely of glass and windows.

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Additionally, exotic plants became more readily available on the English and American market, and plant cultivation and collection became increasingly sophisticated, eventually developing into an all-out plant craze. Victorians were ga-ga for greenery! Finally, technical and material innovations of the Industrial Age spilled-over into glass house manufacture. The mechanization of paint and brick manufacture, increased production of wrought and cast iron, cheaper manufacture of glass, and lighter construction materials (combination of composite wood, and cast and wrought iron) made glass house construction easier, cheaper and more available to the masses. Combine all of these factors into one cultural crucible, and the end result is an increase in glass house popularity. The glass houses of Sonnenberg Gardens are exceptional examples of this popular movement.

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And this is where I ended the date with my vintage duds– within the exceptional confines of the glittering glass structures of Sonnenberg Gardens. As I stood in the center of a glass house filled with cacti, I finally felt a bit flush. My vintage dress and hat and I had traversed a summertime landscape of remarkable beauty together, never breaking a sweat. Now, suddenly, I felt a warmth wash over my body, and radiate from my darling purple dress. While I could blame this moment of heat on solar radiation, and containment (AKA the greenhouse effect), or the way in which my purple dress was hugging me so dear, I like to think that I was warmed by a love which radiated from the cockles of my little heart. If I have learned anything about glass houses and their relation to people, those who live in glass houses will radiate with warmth. And that is– after all– not a bad thing!

 

Appendix

The Following Images can be found on the New York Heritage Digital Collection Site,

from Mary Clark Thompson’s personal photo album, 1907

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Temple of Diana (1907)

“Erected in 1905 at the western edge of the pergola. The classical structure contained Diana, the Goddess of the hunt. Pillars are made of marble, and a reinforced cast mortar temple dome represents early use of this material. Unfortunately, the structure suffered extensive deterioration over the years. It was dismantled in 1999 for safety reasons, and the statue (of Diana) moved to the Blue and White Garden.”

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Fountain of Neptune, Italian Garden (1907)

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Japanese Garden (1907)

 

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Orchid House (1907)

 

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Italian Garden and Pergola (1907)

 

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Old Time Garden and House (1907)

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Dating My Wardrobe: Negotiating Space at Naumkeag

As I embark on a sartorial romance, dating my vintage wardrobe, I realize that the clothes on my back are the only real constant in my life. Every seven years, my very own body freakishly exists as collection of completely new regenerated cells, and I certainly have changed my mind over the steady march of time. I lived in various places, as visitor with a lease agreement, but nothing so permanent to call my own. My clothes. My woven companions. These are the only things which cling to my person with any sort of permanence. This negotiation of space, both personal and geographical, always includes a piece of my beloved wardrobe. But enough about me. Let’s talk about Naumkeag, and my date with my vintage 1980s circle skirt and off-the-shoulder shirt.

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Moi in the “Afternoon Garden”

I realize that the places I typically drag my wardrobe along to exist as historical sites, and are generally reserved as a landmark, and preserved for public posterity only after some rich, old white dude from the Gilded Age drops dead, and his descendants of a modern age can no longer afford to upkeep an overgrown, and ostentatious property. This is where a board of trustees, or the government swoops in to care for the property, offering its remarkable beauty to the public (for a nominal fee). This period of historical tourism, for any designated space, is only one chapter in the line of many. As I visited Naumkeag, in the Prospect Hill district of Stockbridge, MA, I do so considering the many different people, structures, purposes and names that the historic spot possessed. Like myself, Naumkeag is a space which has experienced a history of negotiation and reorganization. As I tip-toe through the “Chinese Garden,” perched on a Hill once inhabited by Native Americans, but now exists in an exclusive residential area of New England, only the company of my 1980s tropical motif skirt makes any sense.

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Joseph Hodges Choate, old, rich white dude

While I can’t account for the Stockbridge region during the Mesozoic, Cretaceous, Neolithic eras, historically, Stockbridge was inhabited by Mohican Native Americans. During the 1730s, Stockbridge was founded as a Mission Community, where reading, writing and the Christian doctrine was taught to the Mohicans, and other Native tribes. In the late-19th century, the site on top of Prospect Hill which would become Naumkeag was purchased by prominent New York City lawyer, Joseph Hodges Chaote. Here’s where some name/place negotiation gets tricky. Choate came from the Essex County area of Massachusetts, originally inhabited by the Naumkeag Native American tribe. Before Salem, MA became Salem, it was known as Naumkeag– most likely derived from the Algonkian root “namaas” (fish), and “ki” (place)– or fishing place. Joseph Choate liked the idea of the tranquil fishing hole behind the name Naumkeag, and so he named his Stockbridge area summer home, purchased in 1884, “Naumkeag,” leaving behind his Choate name in the Essex County area, where one can find Choate Hall and Choate Island.

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The Front Entrance to Naumkeag

Ok. Considering the naming, and renaming of all of these places is making my head spin. I’m holding my familiar circle skirt and fanny pack near and dear, and moving on to my date. To begin, I park near some cows in the visitor parking area, put my lipstick on (with the approval of onlooking heifers),  and march-up Prospect Hill. I purchase my ticket, and while I wait to tour the 44-room shingle-style “summer cottage” of Naumkeag, designed by the infamous Stanford White of the architectural firm McKim, Mead & White in 1885, I stroll around the thematic gardens of the property. I think about Stanford White’s violent end, while I admire the tranquil Berkshire Mountains from the Tree Peony Terrace. Aside from being a talented architect, Stanford White was a seasoned lover of the ladies. unfortunately choosing to romance celebrated beauty– and wife of millionaire Harry Kendall Thaw– Evelyn Nesbit. In a fit of rage and jealousy, Thaw murders White in what was contemporaneously termed “The Trial of the Century.” Needless to say, White’s career–among other things– ends.

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View from Tree Peony Terrace Where I Contemplate                                                 Murder…That of Stanford White, of Course!

But, I’m not fixated on the house for long. My attention is drawn to the gardens of property, largely developed by the last resident Naumkeag, Mabel Choate. Following the death of her father in 1917, Mabel took the reigns of revamping the gardens, collaborating with the landscape designer Fletcher Steele in 1926 to create the Afternoon Garden, Rose Garden, Tree Peony Terrace, Evergreen Garden, the Chinese Garden, and Steele’s world renown Blue Steps, featuring a graduated series of water fountains with cobalt blue tiles, and flanking staircases.

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Studying the Art of Leisure in the “Chinese Garden”

I move from the Tree Peony Terrace to what is called the “Chinese Garden,” which showcases Mabel Choate’s collection of Asian sculpture, acquired from her travels. Despite my current status as a post graduate student, working two internships, and living with my aunt in a little pink room, I am able to pretend that I am a lady of leisure, in an age dripping with golden opportunity. I sit in a comfortable orange recliner, located in the fantasy Chinese pagoda-style outdoor patio, and admire the geometric and minimalistic water features of the garden. After a bit of lounging, I exit the Chinese Gardens through a lovely circular gateway– an action which is considered good luck.

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The green inhabitants of the Afternoon Garden

The rest of my garden-tour is an ongoing series of walking, stopping, having my breath taken away from a view, sitting, making sure that my skirt stops riding-up my leg, and fanny pack quits its 360 degree revolution around my waist, and walking again. Through this experience, my vintage wardrobe and I grew closer than ever. Negotiating spaces can be confusing. Names change, people change, places change, but clothes remain the same.

 

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My Own Muse: Hot Date With Myself, No. 6, “Lilac Time, Montgomery Place in the Spring”

Being dumped by someone who said that they would love you forever sucks. The occurrence makes you rethink the slippery word “forever,” and also the people who aren’t old fashioned romantics, who relish the idea of growing decrepit and old together. Hey, monogamy isn’t for everyone, but don’t waste my time if you’re not captivated by the notion of being euthanized together on a bed of roses when you’re 88! As an integral part of this “don’t waste my time mentality,” I decided to date myself. Dress like a babe, go to all of my favorite places, and just romance the heck out of myself.

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After a few successful dates, I decided to enjoy the breathy bough of spring in the lilac perfumed gardens of Montgomery Place, Red Hook, NY (sorry if this date is slightly out of sequence). By late April or early May, the lilacs at Montgomery Place are in full bloom, infusing the balmy air with the sticky-sweet aroma of bursting lilac clusters. As I walked through the lilac bushes, buzzing with bee activity, I was lulled into a hazy state of utter relaxation. It was an olfactory heaven, accompanied by the tune of one hundred honey bees flapping their gossamer wings.

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At this point, you can tell that I was really swooning for myself amongst the lilac branches. Imagine that scene from Disney’s Bambi, where the cute forest creatures are being walloped over the head with love in the spring– a phenomenon termed “twitterpated.” Yes, indeed, I was twitterpated, all right! In my state of amorous delirium, I walked over to a small garden, nearest to the Montgomery Place mansion–  the mansion was built as a Federal-style home in 1804 by Janet Livingston Montgomery, and transformed into a Classical Revival mansion between the 1849s and 1869s by Alexander Jackson Davis.
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The small sunken garden paths were lined with early blooming bulbs, giant snowdrops, and unfurling ferns, leading me down to the belly of the garden where a tiny pond exists. A layer of green duck weed skims the surface of the pool, obscuring the black water beneath, and acts as a cloak for the dozens of frogs living there.  As I neared the pond, I was amused by the sight and sound of many fleshy frogs hurling their fat little bodies into the water. Well, with all of these handsome amphibians about, perhaps I’ll find prince charing here!

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You’ll be happy to know that I did happen upon a completely alluring frog, who was not only an attractive shade of green, but very friendly. What a hunk!

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Because I was wearing blue velvet covered shoes with a five-inch heel, I figured I should forget about navigating the wooded trails on the Montgomery Place property– one leading to the Hudson River, the other leading to a waterfall. While I do consider my heels athletic-wear, they were no match for the twisted-root riddled trails. That being said, I hopped, skipped and jumped with my pointed toes to a neighboring garden with darling brick paths and a central sun-dial.

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With lilac in the air, and amphibians in my heart, I strolled into the sunset on a perfect hot date with myself. God, if only those frogs could see me now! So, dear readers, if you ever happen to visit Montgomery Place– which is now a part of the Bard College Arboretum– be sure to visit all of the meandering pathways which afford incredible views and garden delights. And don’t forget to say hello to my beloved froggy friends!

 

 

 

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My Own Muse: Hot Date with Myself, No. 1, Vanderbilt Mansion Italian Garden

In June of 2017, I had a summer of fun heating-up on the horizon. My boyfriend would return from Florida, I was on summer break from grad school, and I had a killer new collection of crop-tops to show-off my hot rib-cage with! Yowza! However, the ripe promise of June came with a rotten surprise. My boyfriend returned home, only to inform me that he had found a new life in the sink-holes of Florida (Pun intended. He sure found some holes that he liked). After being mercilessly cast aside for a southern gal, and left broken and alone in my Hudson Valley home, I spent the first month of my summer break from school carrying around a box of Kleenex, weeping like a professional mourner from Mark Meily’s Crying Ladies (2003).  In June, I dressed like Queen Victoria. I mourned in black. My rib-cage hidden from the world.

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Then, in July, I got a hold of myself. I realized that it was unfair to my gracious friends to impose my driveling pool of gelatinous emotions upon them for another month. After recounting the fateful day that my ex-boyfriend unceremoniously kicked me to the singles curb about ninety-seven times, I took mercy upon my lovely friends, and decided to create a new narrative. I had to become that better me that I always read about in self-help blogs. I decided, on July first, I would date myself. I would fall deeply, madly, inextricably in love.

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So, I threw-off my somber black attire, and armed my new and improved romantic body with a sky-blue, off-the-shoulder maxi dress. With bounce in my stride, I took my rapturous blue hide over to the Italian Gardens of the Vanderbilt Mansion, Hyde Park, NY. Strolling along the symmetrical pathways between the precise flower beds, I felt a semblance of control returning to me. The extravagance of Frederick William Vanderbilt and his Gilded Age home (designed by architectural firm McKim, Mead and White, and inhabited by the Vanderbilt family from 1895-1938) and gardens reminded me that I could indulge in a bit of decadence. In an act of pure hedonistic pleasure, I updated my beloved miniature calendar book, while resting in the shade of the pergola. God, do I know romance!

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As I sensually penned dates into my itinerary for July, I was enamored by the sultry, shady ferns that surrounded me. There must be some significance in an entire garden devoted to the plant. After a bit of cursory research, I discovered a phenomenon known as Pteridomania (Aka. fern fever)! Throughout the Victorian period, there was a craze for collecting, hunting and cultivating ferns in both England and America. Much of this craze was fostered by botanists George Loddiges and Edward Newman. Owner of one of the largest hot-houses in London, Loddiges claimed that collecting ferns “showed intelligence, and improved both virility and mental health,” an assertion which his botanist buddy, Edward Newman, backed-up in his mid-century masterpiece, A History of British Ferns (1840). Frederick William Vanderbilt made sure that he was associated with the noble plant, thus ensuring his image of intelligence and manly virility with his handsome fern garden. Ugh. Where are all of these fern-cultivating men in the twenty-first century!?!?

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So, dear reader. As I concluded the first date with myself in the Vanderbilt Garden, I decided that I was one hell of a gal, and that only a fern loving gent could take me away from me! Swoon! Also, you’ll be relieved to hear that it was time to bare my ribcage to the word, once again.

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My Muses: Thalia and the Mona Lisa

As the Greek muse of comedy, Thalia is among my favorite of the fair affecters. She sparks a willingness to smile, and knows that a perfectly timed practical joke is worth a more than a picture and its thousand words. At least, that’s what my muse of comedy, Mona Lisa, could tell you!

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On August 21st, of 1911, Mona Lisa was stolen from the Grand Gallery of the Louvre by an Italian handyman named Vincenzo Perugia. Most people recognized this as a tragic blow to the art-world, but has anyone ever entertained the possibility of Mona Lisa just needing a little holiday?? I mean, just consider the famed “Mona Lisa smile.” I know that look all too well. That expression means give me a damn break! I’ve been entertaining crowds in the Louvre since 1804, and before that I had to hang about in Napoleon Bonaparte’s bedroom in the Tuileries, for da Vinci’s sake! I need to get away!

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Here’s what I believe happened. The winsome Mona presented to Perugia her most beguiling smile, and eventually (through her considerable charms) coerced him to take her away to see the sights. She decided to summer on the Riviera, and after getting quite a sun burn, insisted that she retreat to the Alps for some tranquil reflection. Her much needed respite ended in 1914, but reliable sources claim that she’s planning on another vacation, soon! Oh, Mona Lisa, you little minx!

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