Urns, Architecture & Sex

David W. Dunlap, in the New York Times last week, wrote about these urns, below.

 Heavy & fearing liability the building owner, Atria, decided to remove them.  (If I wasn't a Landscape Designer I would be selling roof finials.  We must have our arcane passions.)

 In a rare twist, Atria, after requests, replicated the urns in a lighter material (not cheap), above, to replace the old urns.

When she saw the old urns coming down, Kennedy Fraser, above, said, "It was one of the most traumatic days of my life."   A woman I understand.
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Garden & Be Well,   XO Tara
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Puppet Barbuda enthralled by Fraser, and wanting to know, "Where the h**l did the old urns go?", Googled for answers.  One must have priorities with their time when the to-do list is 4 centuries long.
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Delightfully, Puppet Barbuda was swept up in the sexual peccadilloes of Vita Sackville-West, Virginia Woolf, Violet Trefusis, a king & etc.  From a review of,  Mrs. Keppel And Her Daughter, in the New York Times, by Kennedy Fraser,
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" The English have always believed they can do anything they want as long as they do it in a foreign country. For the rest of her life, Violet lived in France or in the palace Mrs. Keppel bought for herself near Florence. Once the die was cast, Violet reached a truce with Denys. It was he who introduced her to the Princesse de Polignac, the former Winnaretta Singer. She was immensely rich and had had many lovers before Violet, including Romaine Brooks and Olga de Meyer, who was reputed to be one of Bertie's illegitimate children. The Princess's intimates were all gay and lesbian artists. She was a great art collector and patron of composers. Her salons were famous. Cocteau, Poulenc, Valery and Proust were frequent visitors. Like Kingy, she entertained opulently and with great ceremony; like him she was stout, middle-aged and far too grand for scandal to stick to. When she took her new favorite on a trip up the Nile, Mrs. Keppel, Pawpaw and Denys accepted the Princess's civil invitation to join them."
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Puppet Barbuda doesn't know where the old urns are.  In fantasy her guy with a truck, stuffed with heavy urns, are tootling back from NYC to a little garden in Stone Mountain, GA.
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Pics, by David w. Dunlap, from the NYTimes article.