OMG! Holy Sh*t! Good Lord! Is It Possible? Mon Dieu! Santa Barbara Magazine: The Fall Issue

Welcome to Fall! Summer is officially over and it’s all about Fall. As much as I do not want to close the chapter on summer, I will have to accept the fate of the seasons and welcome Fall with open arms. Paris in the Fall is actually wonderful. Our apartment in Paris is a stone’s throw from the Jardins de Palais Royal where the chestnut trees will start to drop their leaves (and chestnuts) changing from soft verdant green to a crispy ombre okre color. Restaurants will start to change their menus from Tomates coeur de boeuf et burrata to Soupe a L’Oignon Gratinée. Fashion will change from espradrilles to cashmere sweaters. Such is life in Paris in the Fall. I mean, it’s not Syria for God’s sake, so I have nothing to complain about.

 

This particular Fall happens to be rather exciting pour moi. Porquoi, you ask? Because, because, because I have actually done something that I am rather proud of. But first, as they say, “a little back story.”

 

Living in Santa Barbara, the locals rather much never toot their own horn. It is a very demure community. If you live in Santa Barbara/Montecito pat yourself on the back, you’re rich and you’ve made it. But trust me, no one would ever dare flaunt their riches, brag about their spoils, or boast about their successes. Save that for Los Angeles. People live in Santa Barbara to just be… Be amongst the avocado and eucalyptus trees, walk the quiet beaches, savor the weather and live in near anonymity. Oh yes, the neighbors are rich and most likely famous, but no one would ever dare notice. Oprah is at Montecito Market buying bacon, just like you. Rob Lowe is eating meatballs at Mollie's, just like you. Dennis Miller is coaching the children’s basketball team just like your dad did. Julia Child chose lettuces at Coast Village Road farmers market and ordered tacos at La Super-Rica, just like you. Warren Christopher is eating risotto at Pane e Vino, just like you. Bo Derek will be eating Thanksgiving dinner at your friend’s house, just like you. It’s just that no one will talk about it and it will not be any big whoop.

 

 

But don’t get me wrong, Santa Barbara locals want to know what’s up with the community. Who’s doing what, who’s living where, who’s selling what, who’s buying what, who ate where, who went where, and who married whom! One would never ask all of these questions out right, because that would just be rude. So, where do the locals go for all of their information? One place: Santa Barbara Magazine. It is the go to magazine for the who, what, and where of Santa Barbara. Only publishing five times a year according to the seasons and one blowout Best Of issue, Santa Barbara Magazine “celebrates Santa Barbara’s rich and colorful lifestyle with award-winning editorial on Santa Barbara people, homes and gardens, architecture, food and wine, history, arts, escapes and more.” Santa Barbara Magazine is basically Architectural Digest, Bon Appétit, Town & Country, Travel and Leisure, Vanity Fair and Vogue all together.

 

 

But don’t get me wrong, this ain’t no gossip rag. It’s real stories about real people who just happen to be fabulous people doing fabulous things. And by fabulous, I don’t necessarily mean famous. Santa Barbara is filled with unique characters who are under the radar (somewhat) making the most of their lives. Philanthropists saving the ocean waters, chefs opening new restaurants, public gardens hosting charity functions, shop owners opening new antique stores (yours truly), noted authors hosting book signings, musicians playing a gig at the Santa Barbara Bowl, directors producing documentaries, local farmers hosting luncheons to celebrate a new organic crop, weirdos doing weird stuff, and of course rich folk decorating their mansions (my personal favorite).

 

 

Every season Santa Barbara locals flock to the newsstand to pick up their much anticipated issue of Santa Barbara Magazine, grab a soy latte, and sit down and savor the issue cover to cover, word for word, picture by picture. Never ever are these issues thrown away after reading. No, no, no… Santa Barbara Magazine is always saved, treasured and archived. Every decent Santa Barbaran dedicates an entire bookshelf to back issues of Santa Barbara Magazine.

 

But here’s the thing, Santa Barbara Magazine is not just for the locals. Santa Barbara magazine is read worldwide because it is a global magazine. Want to know what the chic celebrities are up to? Read Santa Barbara magazine. Want to know what the fashionistas are wearing? Read Santa Barbara magazine. Want to know the coolest place to travel? Want to escape to a secret garden? Want to discover the most in demand wedding planner? Want to sulk over a fabulous fête you missed? Want to know a unique recipe for tamales? Want to discover the greatest rose farm on the planet? Want to know what a famous novelist’s retreat looks like? Want to get an inside look at some of the world’s most exclusive, elusive estates? Read Santa Barbara magazine!

 

A few months ago I received an email from my friend, Jennifer Hale Smith, the president of the magazine, asking me if I would like to write an article about Paris in the Fall for Santa Barbara Magazine.

 

Would I like to?

Hell, yes!

 

To consider this an honor is an understatement! I have always wanted to work at Santa Barbara Magazine. I think I even offered to work as an intern once. The 40-year-old intern. If I ever had to choose a job/career, it would be working for Santa Barbara Magazine (of course I would sell antiques on the side, silly.) Where else could I be immersed in everything that I love! Nowhere. Being a part of Santa Barbara Magazine is definitely a dream come true. Who knew that when I was diagnosed with ALS and I thought my life was over, I would achieve one of my dreams… Writing for Santa Barbara magazine. Take note my friends: It ain’t over till it’s over.

 

So, without further ado, let’s talk about “the article.” The lovely Jennifer asked me to write an article on my take of Paris during the Fall season. Even though I will never be considered (according to my French husband) a true Parisian, I beg to differ. I like to think that I am a Parisian… Without the attitude or pessimism. I have been coming to Paris for years and years, living here off and on and now full-time, and have always reminded myself to delve into the French culture and avoid being a stupid American tourist. I know where to shop, I know where to eat, I know how to behave, I know what to wear, I know what to avoid, I know the “locals only” spots and if I do say so myself, I know Paris. I have learned from my French husband, my French friends and through my never-ending quest to explore. I haven't mastered the French language however because uhhh... It's hard... but I get by just fine. I also like to think that I know what y’all would like to know when you visit Paris. Restaurants, gardens, farmers markets, antique shops, florists, chocolate shops, clothing shops, perfume shops, museums, cafés… You know, the important stuff!

 

 

So, get yourself a copy of the Fall issue of Santa Barbara Magazine to be in the know of all things chic and to read my article about Paris in the Fall!

Thank you Jennifer Hale, Gina Tolleson, Gina Terlinden, Alisa Baur, Charlotte Bryant and everyone at Santa Barbara Magazine for making this girl’s dream come true. Merci beaucoup!

Santa Barbara magazine is available at newsstands and by subscription.

Subscribe to Santa Barbara Magazine HERE! Follow on Instagram HERE!

The Greatest House In the Whole Wide World… Besides Her Other House.

 

Sometimes people ask moi, where I get my style, my taste. It’s from three people: my grandmother, my mother and my friend, Diandra Douglas. My grandmother was so chic she didn’t even know how chic she was. That’s how chic she was. My mother was born with great taste. Sometimes I would come home from grammar school and she would have repainted and redecorated an entire room by the time I got out of gymnastics. Diandra got her exquisite taste from her grandmother and mother as well. So, when Diandra and I met so many years ago, it was kismet. It was fate. That day started an ongoing 12 year conversation about furniture, houses, accessories, fabric, chandeliers, sconces, antiquities, chinoiserie, Bugatti chairs, and on and on and on and on. We have never stopped.

La Quinta. Diandra’s house in Montecito, California. Okay, look, I’ve seen a lot of great houses. I’ve been around the block a few times and hands down, this is one of the best. Make a cup of tea and let me take you on a little journey…

I don’t know how it happened but one day Diandra invited me to her house for tea. We didn’t even know each other yet. We had mutual friends, but we were strangers. I accepted the invitation with excitement. Not because she was Michael Douglas ex-wife. Who cares. All I knew was that I was about to meet this style icon. We lived on the same street. I, at the bottom at the beach and she, at the top of the hills. We were on the same axis point. Good start. As I drove through the pale salmon colored walls of her estate, I was greeted by a horse like Great Dane. The dog guided me slowly up the long pea gravel driveway, so I had enough time to notice the hundreds of Chanel–esque Camellia flower bushes on my left. To my right was a colonnade with Wisteria dripping from it, and a green rolling lawn.

 

 

 

When I got to the top of the driveway, I was all in. She literally had me at the front door. I think I’m going to let the pictures speak for themselves. What maybe cannot be conveyed through the pictures is the absolute warmth that the house exuded. I grew to know this house and love this house over the years. After Diandra moved to New York, sadly, she decided to sell La Quinta. I was fortunate enough to live in the house for a year with my daughter to watch over the house, update a few things and prepare it for showings. I know it like the back of my hand. I love it as much as a girl could love an inanimate object. Big love.

Years ago, there was a big fat fire in Santa Barbara looming over Diandra’s house. No one was living at the house at the time. I remember her calling me and saying, “Save My House! Save My House!” I raced up the hill, lied my way through the police barricade, stood in the middle of the living room with my arms out and thought, “Oh My God, where do I start? What do I grab first?" It was like Sophie's Choice! I remember standing on top of the white sofa in the living room and ripping the tapestry down and dragging it outside. What next? How do I prioritize? Oh my God, I’m going to have a nervous breakdown. Luckily, reinforcement arrived. Our other friends brought over polo pony trucks and we started filling them with all of the antiquities. By the grace of God, the house was not touched by the fire. Slightly stressful day. It’s probably why I have ALS. Just kidding.

 

We also decided to put in a vegetable/fruit/herb garden. Funny, it’s one of the most rewarding things I’ve ever done. We had three different types of lettuces, heirloom tomatoes, peppers, Rosemary, thyme and loads of Moroccan mint for tea. Francisca, the housekeeper of 1 million years, helped me with everything. Diandra supervised from New York.

This house has seen a lot of love, a lot of happiness, a lot of joy, a lot of dogs and children and friends. It is also seen sadness, heartbreak and tears. Such is life, oui?

 A few years ago we hosted the Santa Barbara Magazine Christmas party. We decorated the whole house using most everything from nature. Take a look…

 

Sadly, La Quinta is gone now. Sold to one lucky person who hopefully isn’t destroying its magic… Before you feel too bad for Diandra… Tomorrow let’s take a look at her other faaabuloous house in Mallorca, Spain. You’re going to die.