Welcome! Creating a home that revolves around you, your family and your lifestyle is our priority and passion. For many, creating a comfortable and aesthetically pleasing home is a mystery, but for me, it came naturally after watching my mother and grandmother arrange, re-arrange and decorate the seven different homes we lived in. Little did I know that they were laying the foundation for my love of interior design!
Named in honor of my family home passed from generation to generation since 1909, 341 was the house number and later the name we would give to “gram and gramps house”. Growing up overseas, no matter where we lived, I always knew I could give out my grandparents address and friends would find me. Beyond the rose garden my great-grandfather Pa Brown pruned, at times, 341 would burst with family and friends gathered on soft fabric sofas in the front living room while the tiny kitchen, no bigger than a pantry, would be filled with cooks and aromas to feed the hungry.
I hope to make your home as special as I remember my “family” home. Though the years it was remodeled, redecorated and re-tooled with the latest finishes and furnishings to meet the demands of our evolving families. I look forward to working with you to create a home that is uniquely yours.
When I think of 341, these thoughts come to my mind:
Where I come from there are two houses, one bigger than the other but both small, one behind the other. The morning is broken by the sound of windows being thrown open and the scent of coffee rising from the kitchen up to my second story window and the trill of my grandmother’s whistle as she calls through the open window to her mother in the little house out back. It rouses me and I tumble out of bed along with my many siblings and take my place in the line that has formed outside the not quite closed, warped bathroom door. Our line stretches to the table where my grandfather shares his last moments of solitude with his beans and eggs on toast.
Where I come from the living room is known as the front room and set up just like the stage we’ve seen on The Ed Sullivan Show. Day after day, long before Karaoke was even a notion, we’d spin our records on the record player and sing Beatles songs into makeshift microphones while taking turns tapping out rhythms on cardboard boxes and playing tennis racquets as guitars all the while vying for lead singer status. Our neighborhood chums would join the ranks until noon when the cribbage board took center stage. Fried Hot dogs, pickle relish, fluffernutter sandwiches with potato chips and chocolate milk satisfy and the only conversation heard over the din of the Red Sox game is “15-2, 15-4” as my grandparents advance their pegs in their daily dual.
Where I come from, afternoons begin on lawn chairs under the sprawling branches of the Red Oak tree reading to my great-grandmother. As she shuts her eyes to rest, we move to the street for hopscotch and jump rope and as the afternoon turns to early evening, the group gets larger and we form teams for kickball. Running, cheering, swearing, sweating leads to a water fight with the garden hose until everyone is sufficiently soaked and we break back into our teams to play baseball. Our grandmother’s trill signals that supper is ready and firefly’s sparks’ light our way one more time around the bases.
Eleven heads bent over eleven pairs of hands, eleven plates, eleven forks; eleven voices give thanks for another day at 341. Where I come from there are two houses woven together by caring hands with humble, sturdy stays and reeds of laughter, love and sharing.