I’m a huge fan of Rachel Castle’s aesthetic –– her graphic bed linens, hand-sewn wall hangings, colourful prints and playful cushions. Her fantastic embroidered art works, with charming phrases like, “Sound the trumpets” and “Do the Cha Cha” remind me of a farewell quilt that my friends Stephanie and Polly made me when I moved to Toronto. “We love you Athena,” they hand stitched with felt and love on to huge piece of heavy, cream fabric. It was such a wonderful gift. Take a look at Castle’s website. Even if you don’t buy something, her work is guaranteed to put you in a good mood.

To live in a house that looks like a cake, well, wouldn’t that be grand? Many years ago, we stayed at L’Hôtel du Palais in Biarritz and that really was grand. Our room was enormous, and decorated in the softest shades of yellow and peach and terracotta. We were there just one night, but what a treat it was. I could happily, like Coco, live in a hotel. Fresh linens and fluffy robes, concierge and room service –– oui, merci.

In the category of landmark houses, the home of Charles and Ray Eames tops my list. Built in 1949 as a live/work space for the designers, Bridge House (or Case Study House no. #8) is stunning in its sheer simplicity and functionality. “They wanted a home that would make no demands for itself,” says the Eames official site, “and would serve as a background for, as Charles said, “life in work,” with nature as a “shock absorber.”’ Today the house is run by the couple’s daughter Lucia Eames as a not-for-profit organization that preserves and celebrates her parent’s legacy. The House can be visited by appointment, and if I’m ever in L.A., it’s the first place I’d go. Well, maybe after I pop in on Rihanna.

On a small island a few hours north of the city stands an old pine cabin that was built by a family from Iowa in the 1930s. My sister-in-law and her husband bought the cabin a couple of years ago and it’s where they spend as much of the summer as they can. There’s a composting toilet, no electricity and the few appliances –– a fridge and a stove –– are from the 50s. Old recipes for corn bread and such are pinned to the walls, and the cupboards are stocked with decades-old household tools and necessities. Antique skis and a “Gone Fishing” sign hang above the tiny hallway to the bedrooms. Beyond updating the dock, they’ve kept the cabin as it always was. And It’s charming. Hanging out in a little log cabin among the stars and the lakes and the loons is a pretty lovely way to spend your summer. Lucky for us, we get to visit from time to time.

As much as I enjoy a good clash of colour and print, I also appreciate a space with deliberate links between a fabric, flower and wall colour. This bedroom, in a vibrantly decorated cottage in Tulsa, is pure joy. I love the leafy wallpaper and corresponding cushion, and I love the pop of pink against the bright green. The clean white sheet highlights the white space in the leafy textile. The bed looks narrow, so I can only assume that these colourful people are also very small.

If I ever walked into this room, I’d quite possible stay forever. I might need to change the chandelier to something like this or this and I’d want to see a vase stuffed full of watermelon pink peonies on that little end table, but what a beautiful room this is. The question is what would I wear to sit in such a room?

Chic, chic, chic is what I have to say about the Stockholm home fashion star Giovanna Battaglia shares with her real estate heavyweight husband, Oscar Engelbert. I expected more of Battaglia’s signature whimsy and playfulness, but to see her in the space, it all makes sense. The apartment is sophisticated, sleek and serious –– Battaglia brings the whimsy. Playing a great supporting role, is a George Condo painting that adds massive colour to the otherwise neutral tones of their living room. A Lars Holmström chandelier provides an audacious pop to an understated dining room. Take a look. You’ll want to be her BFF.

I was reading about Kettle’s Yard this morning –– the museum in Cambridge that was once home to art collector, Jim Ede. He converted the space with his wife Helen in the 50s in order to house their ever-growing collection of Brancusis, Picassos and Mondrians. In 1966, Ede gave the house and collection to the University, but insisted that everything remain as he left it. I imagine it’s terribly cool to see a Hepworth or a Miró among books and houseplants. I love these Valenti paintings hanging above this Lucy Rie bowl. The room –– and house in general –– is spartan, but lived-in, and totally un-curated. In fact, it looks nothing like a museum, which was exactly Ede’s point.