that everyone and everything are old friends to them.
They wanted to focus our efforts on the study and the living room. Standing in the study I admired and touched a beautiful old bookshelf. Cathy shifted her weight and her eyes glowed as she told me the story of how Sam had carried it on his back thru the busy streets of New York up to their little newly wed apartment.
It was as if a scrapbook had been pulled down and we began to pour over it’s pages. But this scrapbook was not in photos but in furniture and art. Each had a story and a time and a memory and each belonged.
Sam and Cathy live in a home snuggled in by warm memories that surrounds them in things not photos.
So what is my job? To be sure that their home has as great a design as the old scrapbooks telling tales of far away places and treasured memories. I call it the Scrapbook House.
