1.07.2009

a common thread

Christmas is over for another year, and as I type, I’m in the car en route from Chicago back home to Detroit. I’m always happy to return home after spending a few days with family, then a couple of nights in a hotel in the city.


This is the time, in the waning days of year, my husband and I hash through the happenings of the previous 12 months, usually marveling at the swift passage of time. It’s also the time we share our dreams, plans and resolutions for the coming year.


Sometimes when I think back over time, I find a common theme for the year, like a silver thread in a tapestry that stands out among the more mundane daily threads. This reminds me of the silver hairs I’m noticing more and more in my hair – yet another startling reminder of the passage of time. Notice how I say “silver” rather than gray – it’s a more regal word.


A few months ago, my dear friend Cindy shared with me some exciting news. She and her husband, who own a beautiful and unique home here in the Detroit area, bought another beautiful and unique home to which they plan to transition over the next few years as they move into the next chapter of their lives.


The new home is on the western side of Michigan, very near Lake Michigan and close to Chicago where their son now lives. My nickname for their new home is “Frank’s House” because this special home was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright, an architect whose work I have always admired, but, until now, had not known much about. Cindy has her own name for her new home, based on her experiences of becoming acquainted with the home – much to her surprise. Make sure you read what she has written about her path of discovery to her new home.


A few months later, my friend Gigi and I were sharing book recommendations and she suggested I read “Loving Frank,” a fictional account of Frank Lloyd Wright’s real-life affair with Mamah Borthwick Cheney, a very early American feminist who lived with her husband and children in one of his designs in Oak Park, Illinois. Told from Mamah’s perspective, the novel is wonderful and surprising – a must read. And the best part is the glimpse into the private life of a man touched by genius. If you plan to read the book, I encourage you to abstain from learning much about Wright’s life while you are reading. The end of the book is very dramatic and you’ll be happier if you remain ignorant of the real-life happenings.


My husband knew of my growing interest with Frank Lloyd Wright and took the chance to book tickets for a tour of the Frank Lloyd Wright home and studio during our Christmastime visit to Chicago. Since our children were with us, he chose a special “design detectives” tour especially for kids AND led by a couple of young teenagers.


A freak December rainstorm didn’t dampen our excitement for the tour and the guides didn’t disappoint. They had their own opinions about Wright’s work and actively encouraged questions and comments along the way.


We learned about Wright’s influences and how he incorporated them into his designs. We looked carefully for signs of nature, Froebel gifts and Japanese influences in Wright’s home. We counted fireplaces and marveled at the beauty of the windows – carefully obscured by Wright’s trademark leaded glass designs and positioned high on the walls to allow maximum exposure of surrounding nature, yet minimum views of neighboring homes Wright considered to be highly unattractive.


After our tour, as we walked down Forest Avenue, we counted several Wright homes, and on Lake Street, the famous Unity Temple in Oak Park, all beautiful in their own ways, and we felt a little closer to the genius mind that created them.


I love how Frank Lloyd Wright has offered me a welcome distraction from the difficult year 2008 has been. His enduring and widespread designs remind me that with time, most hard situations can be overcome. Since he built his home in 1890, our country has seen two World Wars, numerous other conflicts political and economic, and somehow we are still here. And we can still appreciate beauty.