Set Styling for HGTV & Glade!

Photo from
genevievehgtv's instagram account.

Did I ever tell you about how I spent the majority of the early 2000's (and my 20's) watching Genevieve Gorder crack open raw artichokes for design inspiration and run around barefoot on Trading Spaces? Well I did.

And 13 years later, here is that lovely lady standing smack-dab in the middle of a set that I designed for a commercial shoot with HGTV and Glade last year!

I wish I had dorked out enough to ask for a photo op. In fact, I tweeted her this same sentiment... and she said that I should have!

New Glade Customizables
Two things ARE better than one... especially when it comes to scent! Learn about our new Customizables, which holds two fragrances, from our friend Genevieve Gorder, courtesy of HGTV.com. (http://www.hgtv.com/helparoundthehome)
Posted by Glade on Monday, August 26, 2013

This is the room she's standing in before 

final touches. We ended up adding a lot of 

black & white and brass. You can see the 

production crew's floorboard coverings and 

the homeowner's birdcage holding the 

doors open. Make it work!

In person, she is gracious, professional and smells like a real lady. I've worked with some other tv folks, and trust me, they're not as nice as you'd hope.

I can't even tell you how many times she had to say, "Mmmm, Apple Cinnamon!" for this Glade candles commercial, and each time was better and more refreshing than the last. 

Totes profesh, this one.

This is the Dining Room set of the Glade Wax Melts shoot, featuring a rustic
table setting of succulents, mercury glass, burlap,
raw birch placemats and green giraffe print curtains.
Look closely and you'll see the dhurrie rug
that I used as a  table runner! Scandalous.

If I had asked for that photo op, it would have been a major run-on sentence that would have sounded something like this:

"Hi Genevieve! Remember back when Trading Spaces was the only design show on tv? Well, it was my cryptonite, along with This Old House. TS was the fresh, fun, spastic, do-anything, crazy aunt to old uncle craftsman over on PBS. It made DIY and design accessible to a kid like me who grew up in a DIY kinda house. It was the reason I painted stripes on every wall in every apartment I ever lived in, twice." 

"And Genevieve! It was the reason I built a queen size bed from old lumber in the smelly trash bin area at the bottom of our building and then carried it on my back up four flights of stairs to our apartment."

"It's the reason you will see me, to this day, pick up old furniture off the street. "

Sometimes my friends help me. And sometimes they make fun of me.

"Oh Genevieve! It's the reason I thought that I should do this all the time, like as my job. So can I take a picture with you, and can you put your arm around me like you know me?"

And then I would have been fired. And I wouldn't have been able to style a shoot for Christmas in June!

This is from my friend Elizabeth's instagram. She was my styling assistant on the shoot.
She brought a ton of vintage ornaments that sent Genevieve bonkers.

The living room set. Those pillows got changed to graphic black & white, per GG.
Didn't hurt my feelings one bit!

My New Obsession: Etsy Treasury Lists

Porcelain & Leather Hanger by FarrahSit

I go on binges.

Oreos.
Sewing.
Blogging.
Chairs.
The interwebs.

You name it, I've probably sat laser-focused for hours on end gorging on whatever you might imagine, stopping only occasionally for oreos. And when I've steeped my brain to the point of saturation, I simply walk away. Like a cat who's had enough of your petting, I traipse off, casually leaving whatever you might imagine alone with their own thoughts, taking my attention with me.

It's a character flaw.

My latest obsession - well the one I was obsessed with around Christmas and have since betrayed with my silence - is creating Etsy Treasury Lists. It's really fun. The constant searching, the tireless favoriting,  gorging my ego with power by passing over one pillow for another. I have standards after all. There are only 16 spots to fill.

Retro Wooden Ampersand by Edie's Lab

Unlike Pinterest (another obsession on its own) where I can add as much as I want to any number of boards (Oh the power!), where I fantasize that my life is much prettier, DIY-ier and more organized than it might be, Etsy Treasury Lists force you to be picky. To be a curator of things that fall under the well-crafted headline you've given it.



Maybe it's the structure that suits me during these binges. I need boundaries.

Here are a few things from my treasury lists. You can see the rest in all of their glory here. Maybe I'll get back around to obsessing with it again sometime.

From "Gifts For Your Femme"

Gifts For Your Femme Treasury List

From "For The Home"

For The Home Treasury List

See more here...

Brass lamps make my heart weep.

$9 each from the thrift store

Kind of in that same way old oak cabinets do when I'm about to paint over them.

I know I should feel bad.

   

Look at them. They're practically being brought to you by baby Jesus himself, all cloaked in soap opera light.

But my house isn't the brassy kind, so something had to be done.

I couldn't help myself.

Around spray paint, I cannot be trusted.

Rustoleum Ultra Cover in Lagoon

Even the finials look sad over there by themselves, just as blue as blue can be.

Is that a teardrop or is it just my super high gloss turquoise spray paint?

$25 shades from Lamps Plus

Turquoise makes me happy.

Hey folks, I got a new gig!

what?!

And by new gig, I mean quite possibly the best new gig in town. I'm the new design assistant (behind the scenes) on HGTV's show "Curb Appeal!" I design and implement the mini neighbor makeovers and contribute to the main house re-design for things like house colors, lighting, staging and other final touches. I just gave myself a giant pat on the back. And a gin & tonic.

It happened really quickly in comparison to how long I've been looking for a new gig. Ever since The Start-up Who Shall Remain Nameless kicked the tech bubble bucket and took my newly minted Vice President job with it, I've been on a roller coaster of reexamining what my next step would be. Of course there's always the fall-back of re-starting my little design consulting business, of which I am so lucky to have the option.

But working alone is a lonely business, and it's hard to teach yourself new tricks. It's hard to be your own challenger in a one-woman workplace, no matter how many design magazines you subscribe to or how many hours you spend sitting alone in the Design Center cafe, hoping someone will notice your awesomeness and invite you to sit at their table. 

I crave learning new things. I need collaboration and water cooler chat and gripe sessions about that lady from Pottery Barn who thought she knew everything but was so far off the mark. I miss happy hours with my co-workers and constructive criticism from my boss. I need to work with actual human beings so that when my sweetie gets home from work, I don't meet her at the front door spewing word parts about how the new Anderson Cooper daytime show is surprisingly two parts boring and one part Maury Povich.

This is what working from home *alone* will do to you. 

You forget how to work. You get job search ADD and start applying for jobs you've never done but think it would be cool to try out. You get rejected on a weekly basis for jobs you're over qualified for, and you take yourself to the brink of excitement that the next interview will be the one. You bury your head in a good book and forget that you need a job. You start to think that you could actually live on unemployment for a while.

John Gidding = Handsome Personified.

And then POOF! You get a text that says your name is being considered for an opening on a design show! And then you go in the next day to interview with some producers and (name drop alert) John Gidding! And the first thing you say to him is, "Hi! I'm Shannon! I want to run my fingers through your hair."

So inappropriate.

And then they go through your portfolio, ask you a few questions and say, "Yeah, I think this is going to work out. Do you want the job?"

YEEEESSSSS!! 

Thank you very much.

Ok, I might be a little too excited...
Photo by Peter Campbell

But this is what you've been waiting for, get excited! The right job in the right environment with people who will challenge the way you think about design, teach you new ways to communicate your ideas and take full advantage of what you bring to the table.

Will Work For A Windex Endorsement.

Filming in the rain...

Rudy, Kwasi and Suz
modeling the aprons I made during my unfortunate unemployment stint...

Kimberly and Rudy
(Rudy is the Dir. of Photog., not the painter, by the way.)

Bill, Charlie, John & I!

For this opportunity, I give thanks.

-s

Speaking Of Loyalty, Love & Loss . . .

My sewing machine broke yesterday.

After 10+ years and a bazillion yards of fabric for curtains, pillows, duvets, halloween costumes, seat cushions, upholstery jobs, aprons, bibs, cribs, and flubs, she simply gave out. I listened closely as she clanged to a grinding halt, letting me know that she was done, a last dramatic breath that said, "I just. Can't. Go on. Like this. Any. More." Puh.

She had such dramatic lighting.
That's what I loved most about her.

I'm not surprised though. I did take her apart, down to the screws, about seven years ago in order to get rid of that g.d. squeaking noise. After putting her back together (simply eliminating the squeaking culprit), I had nine screws and a small belt leftover. But she kept on stitching like the machine that she was, devoid of emotions of loss or ravage.

I admit, I didn't take proper care of her. I didn't dust the bobbin enclosure. Ever. I fiddled with her tension every five stitches, never really understanding the concept. I pushed the pedal to the metal too often, causing her to shake like a plane skidding on the runway. She's been banged around, driven cross country, locked in dark closets and cursed at into the wee hours of the night. Yet she just kept on button-holing and back-locking like a pro.

More than like a pro, like a friend who says, "It's ok that you keep hitting me in the face, I still believe in what you're doing."

So what did I do to honor the passing of my dear, sweet, devoted sidekick? I went on Amazon and replaced her with a younger, faster, newer model with 72 stitch functions, quilting features, a free arm for larger projects who hums like a baby in the night.

Go ahead, say what you're thinking. I'm a fair-weather friend.

Trashy Makeover #1

I'm a sucker for trash.

Call it my trailer park roots or my projected affection for wounded animals, whatever. I saw a chair on the street the other day and forced myself to walk past it. As a bargain, I promised that if it was still there when I came back after body pump class an hour and a half later, then it was a sign.

Guess what. It was still there.

When I see an old rotting piece of furniture on the street, I think about all those times I laid in the grass under the late summer sun and promised our cat Whiskers that I'd always take care of her, no matter how independent she grew or how many times she ran off and got herself knocked up.

I can't walk away.

Everybody hurts.

Let me ask you a couple of hypotheticals:

1. If you saw a scruffy, three-legged puppy wandering aimlessly through the crosswalk, would you drop your ice cream cone, run to it, arms wailing in the air, screaming, "Mama, I'll save you!!"
2. If you walked into a guitar shop and saw a teeny faced mullet in a Black Crowes t-shirt playing "Everybody Hurts" into the empty corner, would you walk over quietly, so as not to spook, and say, "Oh honey. Can you not do that?"

If you hypothetically answered yes to either of these, then you know what I'm talking about. It's our lot.

Before Glamour Shots:

After Glamour Shots:

Who's hurting now?

How To Make Pesto, Family Style

{ Scroll down for the recipe. }

Me & Bunny

I learned how to make pesto from a woman named Bunny. She's a cool ol' broad who built a log cabin with her own two hands and makes biscuits by putting her hips into it. She's tough as nails and warm like butter, and she's left a mark on my kitchen that goes deeper than the kitchen sink.

She tasted my mid-made pesto, and from over her shoulder gruffed simply, "More garlic," in her leftover east coast accent. Ok, I thought. Right. More garlic. But first I quietly tasted it myself to see if I could get what she got, if I could taste what she did and be able to name what was missing without missing a beat.


We were having about 25 people over to our little apartment for a big family dinner, including Gary Danko (yes, that Gary Danko) to celebrate the life of Bunny's son Chris, who after two weeks of lying in a deep sleep, and 35 years before that of giving this world his funny, unique and wholly honest breath, passed away, leaving us to ourselves and our food. We had held vigil in his hospital room for those weeks laughing, crying and hoping, and coming home each night to my kitchen, something that will never be less than amazing to me.

Chris worked with Gary at his restaurant in San Francisco, and over the years Gary got sucked into this wonderful family, just like me. He slid into my kitchen and quietly stood hip-to-hip with Bunny, each of them getting to work on getting through this. Even then the 24-yr old me knew that Gary. Danko. Is. Making. A. Rue. In. My. Kitchen., but looking back on it, what's seared into my memory is how we were all the same level of human in that moment, brought together by a very special guy named Chris and the food that would nourish our bodies to keep us going.

Although my Beginner's Bunny Pesto certainly wasn't the focus at the table that night, I've made it a million times since then. Each and every time, it's never lost on me where and when I learned how to taste the food I'm making and know instinctively when it needs more garlic.

Read more about the legacy that our friend Chris has left, changing the lives of thousands living with cancer. 

Bunny's Pesto

When baking Bunny measures like a scientist, but when cooking at the stove, eyeballing it is the only way to go. It's an art form that applies to this recipe. Maybe the lack of exact measurements will encourage you to "just go with it," and not want to crack under the anxiety like I did the first few times. When in doubt, always start with less and add more to taste.

Ingredients:

A couple of bunches of fresh basil

1-2 lemons, zest & juice (start with one and add more if needed.)

1-2 Garlic cloves chopped, you be the judge

About 1/2 cup toasted nuts - walnuts & pine nuts are my favorites

About 1/2 cup grated Parmesan, Asiago or Romano cheese

E.V. Olive Oil - use the good stuff for this since it's not cooked.

Kosher salt & fresh cracked pepper

1. Start by toasting the nuts. I use a small cast iron skillet and hover smotheringly, otherwise I WILL burn them.
2. In a food processor (or blender) add the basil, lemon zest and juice of one lemon, garlic, nuts, cheese, salt and pepper. 

It will look kinda like this:

      

      3. Start blending, and drizzle in the olive oil through the lid until it comes together like this.

      4. Taste it. It should have a fragrant basil aroma, a subtle garlic spice and a bold acidity from the lemons. If all you taste is lemon, then you need more salt. Add a touch more and blend. If it's bland, then add more lemon juice. Dance around with the salt, lemon juice, garlic and parmesan until you get to the good stuff: A zesty, aromatic, tangy pesto.

And then do this:

Cheese Tortellini with Sauteed Chicken, Kale and Heirloom Tomatoes

And this:

And then with the leftover pesto sauce, do this:

Take it to your friend's house, and they'll send you this:

Photo by my buddy Peter Campbell

What are your most vivid memories of learning to cook?

Cross-post - Where's smitche: The Cardio Kickboxing Edition

{Cross-posted from my other blog}

Not only does this class make me feel terrible about myself, 

it also dashes all fantasies that I could ever be on Dancing With The Stars. 

New Rule: Four-Mile Loops From Now On Or I'll Break Your Face

What. Are. You. Looking. At.

We went on a great hike this weekend on Mt. Tam. And by great, I mean I only broke out into an Amazing Race style breakdown once. But it lasted for two miles. 

Sweetums was coming off a week-long conference, and me, well I've just been trying to keep my grip on reality.

Side Note: Sometimes I get a little melodramatic, and I just want y'all to know that I use words like "losing my grip on reality" and "breakdown" loosely these days. I'm totally ok.

So we needed an escape from the fog and a little Vitamin D boost to make the holiday weekend feel like a holiday weekend. Some friends told us about this hike, which looked awesome to me because I love hikes that make me feel like I'm actually in the woods, as opposed to those open, dusty, pollen infested meadow hikes. I'm not a meadow girl, never have been. I love dense overhead canopies, babbling brooks and little wooden bridges. (Which is why the Dipsea is one of my favorite Bay Area hikes of all time. If you're visiting the Bay Area, I beg you, go on a hike instead of Fisherman's Wharf. You'll thank me.)

When you talk about hikes, most people talk about things like loops and difficulty and exposure and hiking time. When Sweetums showed me our hike, I thought, "Oh, 6.5 mile loop... That sounds great!" And the additional description of:

"This loop is a tour de force of the mountain's magic: you'll experience dense forests, aromatic chaparral, rushing creeks, waterfalls, and flower-dotted meadows."

I was completely sold. And y'all, 6.5 miles is not that bad. My friends run circles around 6.5 miles for breakfast. I was a college athlete. I can walk 6.5 miles.

But when you factor in the climb, which they sheepishly called "a pleasant ascent" or "now the trail will begin a short climb," (and the fact that I was in college 10 years ago) 6.5 miles is a nice little workout. Thank goodness I got my hot pink and orange running shoes on.

The Start.

By the way, this is not a real hiking outfit. I just don't have it in me to wear cargo pants anymore. But I did see a woman wearing a hiking skirt, which I thought was a great idea. Is that ridiculous? By the way, if you google hiking skirt, you'll get stuff like this, which is ok I guess.

For the first three miles of the hike, everything was coming up roses. I was taking pictures every three steps, breathing in the beauty arms stretched and yelping, "Look at this, look at it! This is where we live!"

This is fog. And underneath it is San Francisco. Which is why we weren't in San Francisco.

We were a happy little family of hikers.

Did you know that chihuahuas can't really hike 6.5 mile loops?

We didn't think to bring her little carrier backpack, so we had to fashion a sling out of my sweatshirt to carry her the last three miles.



And then we argued over who was going to carry me the last three miles.

This is about the time that I started my own pleasant ascent.

I ran out of water and began panicking about dehydration. We still had two miles left, and my hips were starting to ache. At every little trickle of stream, I paused and debated scooping some up into my water bottle. I started thinking about the fact that we didn't have a pocket knife to cut off any arms that get caught under boulders when we fall. We didn't have cell reception or pocket flares, and all of the sudden every other hiker that passed us looked like Creepy Hiker Guy Who Wants To Kill Us. I was searching every inch of ground looking for bodies, either left behind by Creepy Hiker Guy or victims of dehydration. We were stuck in the vast wilderness COMPLETELY UNPREPARED!

We had no way of reaching the outside world, civilization. 

And the bugs. The bugs came around mile 5 and hung out until mile 6.3. They were everywhere. Buzzing and being all gnatty, they were going to choke me to death and set up camp in my ears and nostrils. I was losing it, losing my grip. Get these f'ing BUGS OFF ME!! I can't TAKE IT! I'M OUT OF WATER!! We're never getting OUT OF HERE! This trail leads to NOWHERE!

Honestly, I didn't know how much more of this I could take.

But of course it's called a loop for a reason. Luckily, we made it back around to the beginning in one piece, but it was touch and go there for a while.

Ginger was very happy to be back in the comforts of the car. She still hasn't forgiven us.

And me, well I made it out ok, too. 

But I stand firm that we will only be doing four-mile loops from now on. 

The payoff? The ride home. 

Gaaa. I still pinch myself that I live here.