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“The home I grew up in was something you might expect to find in an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel. Domed ceilings with ornate moldings, inlaid marble floors, and more powder rooms than people. It was a small palace. Mom loved French architecture and décor and would take trips overseas to find unique antiques. There were two exterior swimming pools, a tennis court, a pavilion, plus a rose garden, Italian stepped stone fountains, and grounds galore. A branch of the Trinity River flowed near stone-covered walking paths, swaths of carefully tended grass in green spaces waving nearby.” — Mary Hollis Huddleston
The home I grew up in was something you might expect to find in an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel. Domed ceilings with ornate moldings, inlaid marble floors, and more powder rooms than people. It was a small palace. Mom loved French architecture and décor and would take trips overseas to find unique antiques. There were two exterior swimming pools, a tennis court, a pavilion, plus a rose garden, Italian stepped stone fountains, and grounds galore. A branch of the Trinity River flowed near stone-covered walking paths, swaths of carefully tended grass in green spaces waving nearby.