Soul Food Love
Peanut Chicken Stew
Congressional Cookbook: The Junior League and the Congress
Library Desk: Doors and Desks
Sleigh Bed: Texas and Louisianna
Keepsakes: Earth Stars and Sky Stars
Portrait Table: Icebergs and Angels
Battle of Nashville: Slaves and Soldiers
Maid of Honor Portrait: Three Third Grade Bridesmaids and a Sexy Brilliant Woman Priest
Red Dining Room: Table and Chairs
Jubilee Singers with Lavender: Alfred Stieglitz and Fisk
Mirror Portrait Caroline: Caroline and her Portrait
Sofa: Couches and Dreams
Silver Coffee Urn, Saul Martin Portrait: Zelda Sayre and Gatsby
Harlem Chairs: Tammany Hall and Harlem
Tuskegee Wardrobe: Brownies and Smithies
Portrait Chair: Harper Lee and Sigourney
Dear's Ice Cubes
Working Library: Cynara and Windsor, and Hope
Me and My Blog
Fort Pillow Massacre: Nathan Bedford Forrest and Madison Smartt Bell
My Boots: Nancy Sinatra and Roy Rogers
Longpage, 1913: Stephen Stills and Frank Lloyd Wright
Cold Cucumber Soup
Six Cases of Cookbooks: Julia Child and Caroline Williams
Magnolias: Magnolias and Magnolia
Statute of Alexander Pushkin: Pushkin and Othello
Take The Ow Out Of Now: Buddha and Nietzche
Stars and Bars: Stars and Stripes and Stars and Bars
Joan's Nicoise
New York Times Editorial: Copyright and the First Amendment, or Margaret Mitchell and John Seigenthaler
Soul Food Love

    Longpage, 1913: Stephen Stills and Frank Lloyd Wright

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    Our house. And it is a very, very, fine (thank you, Stephen Stills) house. When we first saw it, I didn’t want to go in. The house didn’t look like anything from the street, or anything else on the street, and hardly anything else in the city. It wasn’t a four square. It wasn’t a cottage. It was pink. There was a strange four car stone garage, that looked, to me, like Tobacco Road.
                  David went in. I waited in the car. He came back wanting me to go back in with him. He said, ““I’ve found our house.”
                 It was my favorite neighborhood and the rooms had the proportions he wanted and it was as old as a house in Nashville was going to get in the West side of town. I went in.
                 And eventually we named it, for obvious and less obvious reasons, Longpage. One of the less obvious reasons was the original name of Blair Boulevard was Long Avenue. We particularly liked giving that old and all-but-lost street name a shout out because Long Avenue had the distinction of being an integrated street from its earliest days. And we called it Longpage because a long page is a kind of legal document and David is a lawyer descended from lawyers; and we called it long page to celebrate happy long days of writing for all who live within its walls.
                 The people who sold us the house thought it was from the thirties. It was really built in 1913. There were all kinds of practical reasons to love the place: It’s walking distance to Vanderbilt, to the Harris Teeter, to Brown’s Diner, to the firestation, and what was then my daughter’s school, the University School of Nashville. And it was architecturally intriguing: Notice the low overhanging asymmetrical roof. I describe it as our prairie house in the center of the city. But none of that is why I knew we had to live here. 
                   I knew it was the house for us when I walked into one of the upstairs bedrooms and a rose vine had grown into the room and three fine scented roses were blooming.