My home is my sanctuary, a nesting place. It is where my heart lives. It's my place of routine and rituals. Where I wake each morning to my cup of coffee, and sit in my favorite spot to write. Saturday morning farmer's market, Sunday morning NY Times and cooking for my week. A place for friends and family to visit, share stories and laughter.
My current home is a transitional one. But a place I call my own. The walls are adorned with my photography, artwork and needlepoint. The shelves are lined with my favorite cookbooks and spices, novels and pottery. A collection of my favorite pieces of furniture that have moved with me from place to place, including my decrepit dining room table, where many a meal has been shared amongst family and friends. And always a space where my creative endeavors happen.
I don't have room for my perennial gardens in this place, so I look for creative ways to create color and have places to get my hands in the dirt. In the meantime, I treat myself to a weekly fresh bouquet of flowers from the farmer's market.
My love of life begins at home, no matter where that might be at any given time. It's not about the "things" I own or the geography I am surrounded by, but rather, a feeling I create in the space around me. It's a place of comfort, a place where love resides in all its many forms. So welcome, my friend, to my home. Pull up a chair, relax, and enjoy a cup of coffee, a fine meal and some good conversation.