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■ V 1
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We live on a hill where the clouds drift, but our home has roots — like our love.
■ "'"Let's go on a picnic." Paul said and, because he was my brand-new husband, he kissed me on the tip of my nose.
"Not me." I retorted. "You go on the picnic. I may be a bride, but / have to be at the studio tomorrow for a test. I don't want to show up all sunburned and ant-bitten."
Paul snorted. "My dear Mrs. Brinkman." he scolded, "what's more important to you — one little test or our dream house?"
"Well," I said, '"the dream house, naturally. But what's that got to do with a picnic?"
Paul smiled secretively. "You'll see." he assured me. And I did.
I'd forgotten all about the ants and the sunburn by the time we sat down to our picnic luncheon of fried chicken amid the brush and wild flowers of the Hollywood hills. We looked out across the panorama of those hills and Paul said, "Darling, see those six knolls overlooking the city? They're ours — I own them. Seven acres of heaven's rim. Now. I want you to tell me — where shall we put our house?"
It was a difficult decision. There were five more picnics before we agreed on the exact knoll on which to build. We knew one thing — our dream house was to be a streamlined structure of redwood, fieldstone and lots of sparkling glass. No old-fashioned castles for us. None of that weddingcake stuff in vivid pink stucco. All we wanted was a simple, solid, low-lying structure, something beautifully permanent.
So we had picnics with a purpose on those golden sunny days, those high windy days, those misty davs when clouds drift (Continued on next page)
The living room, with the dining alcove and the foyer set off by a vine-covered glass partition, is given a cool, rustic effect by the natural-wood walls and the green-stained ceiling.
Paul and Jeanne have lunch in the dining alcove, with the swimming pool in view outside. Below: The living-room bookshelve: feature an assortment of art books, ceramics and old magazines.