Upsides and down of the country

I don't know if it's because I was born in July or that I have lived near beaches for most of my life but I'm never more relaxed than when I'm around (or in) water. Today, instead of swimming across the lake once, I did it two-and-a-half times, surveying Randy's zip line progress from the soft ripples. At one point, we took the canoe and ferried the cable across the water, to get to the perfect tree (in Randy's mind). This day has been about being outside, living in a bathing suit and wet hair, feeling the sun on my face and appreciating that I get to be in the country for the summer. A perk of living a new freelance life and being in nature.

Scary spider in the gazebo

A downside of the nature thing: BIG BUGS!

But I also feel as if I'm doing more relaxing--and exercising--in a natural way, throughout the course of the day. I'm getting into a more intuitive rhythm with my body (sounds New Agey, I know), something that can be tough to do when you work in an office from 9 to 5. Sitting all day is something I am not missing.
Though I'm still putting my feet up plenty--especially in the gazebo. I have a special seat where I can prop my feet on the rails and look out on the stream.

Randy, on the other hand, has been feverishly developing the zip line. He is a man with a mission. Luckily, neighbors have been over to help. Which is a good thing, since I'm not lifting 20 foot ladders. Sorry, Randy. Ah, the limits of love.
But I'm proud of his perseverence and grit. You can see the progress, below.

Fifteen days and counting!

On the Verge of Fifty

Hello, all--it's laggardly me, scheduled (if all goes well) to turn 50 in 16 days. I have neglected this blog pretty much since I made the transition from full-time at SELF to a freelance writer/editor, and it's kind of taken me this long to get comfortable with it. (I'm resilient, but at a slow pace.)

Well, I finally think I'm adjusting. Because I'm not just liking, but loving life here in the rural Quiet Corner of CT. It's kind of a life-changing thing for me to be living out of the city, a place I have always loved and have never wanted to leave. But I am being seduced by nature. Every morning, my husband and I get up and dive into our little pond and swim across, about 800 strokes RT, sometimes twice a day. I have a nice amount of work and often I do it in the gazebo, overlooking the stream and pond, my feet propped on one of the knotty cedar railings, the burbling of the water my soundtrack. (I know, it sounds almost melodramatically bucolic.)

I've been writing, editing, and getting into a new life rhythm, one that definitely feels healthier than eating out every night after sitting at my computer all day, albeit with the occasional 30 minute run tossed in a few times a week. I'm feeling stronger now than I have in a while--lots of trekking from barn to gazebo to beach to house and back again--and, the fact that we've had a broken refrigerator for nearly 3 weeks now means we've pretty much been eating raw foods. Plus, I launched my first successful Gazebo Workshop, a weekend retreat for the personal essay. (Next sessions are September 7-8th and 19-20th.


I was worried about being lonely here, but it turns out I don't mind being alone with my work during the day--in fact, it's nice to know there will only be quiet, no interruptions, and the option to jump in the lake or go for a run whenever I feel like it. I've always needed quiet to work well--now I have it in spades, other than the sounds of water and birds and, occasionally, outdoor equipment. It's been interesting, too, living with my husband 100 percent of the time. A big adjustment to the marriage, as we shift from the ideal to the real, a sometimes- bumpy transition, I'll admit, but a necessary one. When you're married, your partner really does see your worst (and best) sides, and yet they have to love you anyway. I think that's character building. :-)

Below, a few highlights of summer, so far, including a video of Randy's latest project--the raising of an 800-foot zip line that will stretch from a maple by our deck across a meadow and over the water to a little island, some beaching in Maine and other fun stuff. I will try to keep on this in these last two weeks of my 40s--I think it's going to be an interesting, different and soul-expanding decade.

Happy on the beach (Ocean Park, ME)

Better than fireworks

Lobster roll with a view

The wisdom of teenagers

For the past 48 hours, I've spent more time than usual with folks between the ages of 14 and 17. And learned a few things. Last night, I took my nephew and his friend to see a 60s-era group at the Blue Note, called the Jazz Crusaders. Both boys go to LaGuardia, a performing arts high school (aka the "Fame" school), and both are wild about music. They spent the half hour before the show started talking about jazz riffs and minor scales and improv wars in 8th period. When I asked them if there were cliques in their school, and what they were, they answered, "The drama kids. And the art kids. And the dancers. And the instrumentalists." Sigh. In my high school, it was the nerds (my group, though we liked to call ourselves the smart kids), the jocks and cheerleaders (also known as the cool kids, aka the mean kids) and burn outs. Wish I'd gone to LaGuardia.

After the concert, my nephew, who plays the trombone, decided he wanted to try and ask the leader of the group, also a trombonist, some questions. So he waited outside the little room where the musicians were eating, struck up a conversation with one when he happened to come into the hall, and soon after, got invited back into the room with them, where he spent 15 minutes getting a lesson on technique and advice from the masters. As for myself, I was lurking shyly outside the door, realizing that my nephew was braver than I am in this regard. (I get tongue tied around people of note, whether musicians or any other celebrities, however minor.) I admire my nephew's confidence. I need to borrow some of it.

Then, today, I volunteered to help out a former SELF colleague who is now student teaching at the Lab School, another NYC public high school. She is doing a project on kids and writing, and she asked me to come in and talk to the kids about personal essays and the writing process.  I spent the day there, starting at 9:30, taking questions from four 11th grade English classes.

It was quite the experience to be plunged back into high school, with the lockers and kids sprawled on the floor between classes, most looking, as my nephew does,  caught between innocent childhood and impending adulthood,  with child-like faces on hulking or voluptuous bodies. People truly in a physical limbo state. (Mental and emotional, too)

I was nervous about whether these kids would care about what I had to say, but they'd read a few of my essays and blew me away with their thoughtful questions on writing, writer's block, my process (wish I had one!), the pros and cons about writing about people you know, etc., etc. As the day passed, I started feeling like: These kids see me as a writer. I need to write, damnit. I need to have a process. They wanted to know if I sat down and wrote every day. (Nope.) And other things along those lines. I told them that sometimes adults needed to work on their discipline, too, and gave advice on how to soldier on, even when you don't feel like it, advice I need to take myself.

One girl said to me, and I'm paraphrasing, because English wasn't her first language, "How come you choose to write about not  having confidence when so many other people glorify themselves? I like that you don't pretend to be so great. Thank you."

I need to spend more time around teenagers.

A taste of Italy

Maybe it's because I have una amica from Italy staying with me for two weeks, or perhaps it's because I've finally put some of the finishing touches on my upcoming trip to Rome and Venice with my nephew, Caleb, but my head and heart (and stomach) have been in my favorite boot-shaped country, lately.

Today, I had lunch at a voce with a former colleague at SELF. Below, the amazing brussel sprouts and foccacia, along with a window-side view of Columbus Circle. Which looks much nicer from above than when you are in it (as is the case with many things).

 

And the other night, I dragged my friend to my favorite neighborhood Italian spot. I know better than to try and suggest that visiting Italians eat pasta, but I did manage to get her to sit at the bar and talk with Maurizio, the charming Sicilian bartender, who proceeded to pour us several glasses of (free!) wine. (What can I say? I'm a good customer.) Around us sat visiting Italians, talking in that mellifluous tongue I love. (But still can't speak.) It was like a little bit of Rome in New York City. What could be better?

What it's like working at home...

...after 27 years of the corporate life.

1) Some days I stay in my pajamas.
2) Most days I exercise.
3) Often I get to focus for four hours at a time without interruption, a luxury. (No meetings! No incessant email! )
4) A 9 AM cup of coffee followed by granola and fruit or toast and peanut butter or eggs (when cooked by my husband).
5) A mix of taking care of business (insurance, the occasional errand, a doctor's appointment with prolonged bursts of productivity)
6) A real sense of what my time is worth--and what I aim for it to be worth
7) The freedom to close my laptop when I please
8) A six hour work day. Which equals a nine hour work day sans meetings and emails
9) Greeting my husband with a martini at the door when he got home from the office. How Mad Men!

The view from my NYC home office...

...and my country office...

The sound of ice cracking

Tonight, my husband beckoned me out onto our deck at 9:30 pm to look at the stars and listen to...something. He wouldn't tell me what it was; just cautioned me to keep still and listen. Very soon, I heard a timpany-like wave of sound that reminded me of a doppler or ultra sound machine--a kind of whoosh, whoosh that was other-worldly. "That's the sound of cracks in the ice propagating," explained my engineer-spouse. (We were overlooking our pond, which, for the first time all year, had frozen solid enough for ice fisherman to patiently wait for a bass to trigger their tip-ups. I must have heard it at various points in my life, but I never heard it like that, in my own backyard with the stars blazing overhead. (To hear what it sounds like, click here.

I feel very  lucky.

A lone ice fisherman on our frozen pond

The swapping life

No, I'm not talking about couples swapping. I'm talking about apartment swapping. I spent a good part of the evening prepping my place for a swapper who will occupy my pad starting tomorrow through part of next week, in exchange for letting me and my husband stay in his 300 year old stone house in the Basque country. Oh, and their apartment in Biaritz. Beyond the fact that this is an insanely affordable way to travel well (my site of choice is http://www.homeforexchange.com), I'm prompted to streamline, polish up and put away at home, to make my apartment guest-ready. Very motivating, when you think about the kind of cleanliness you hope for when you're residing in someone else's home.

Of course, I'm willing to splurge for the occasional resort, too. There aren't too many swap options like Jakes, a funky little resort in a fishing community called Treasure Beach, in Jamaica. My honey and I spent the holidays there and we loved learning a smattering of patois, eating jerk everything, and meeting lots of cool people. Below, a local rasta fisherman cleaning a kingfish on the beach. I had a piece for dinner later that night. Can't get more local than that.

Lata, mon! (Pronounced lay-tah, mahn, patois for "see you later!")

Our alterna-eco evolving-as-it-goes along Christmas

Growing up, I never had a Christmas tree. Or colored lights. (The electric menorahs seemed like a joke next to houses lit up with Santa and a full set of reindeer.) I imagine I felt a tiny bit deprived, but mostly, I was excited to light the candles and spin the dreidel and get my share of presents. I liked to perpetuate the myth that Jewish kids got eight gifts, one for each night, to make myself feel like Chanukah was indeed a superior holiday.

Now I'm married to a man who isn't Jewish (he's Unitarian, which is kind of as close as Christian gets to Jewish) and he feels strongly that decorating for the holidays is a ritual worth pursuing. And I've discovered that hanging ornaments is a little like looking through old photo albums; you get glimpses of the child you used to be in the homemade painted macaroni ornaments. We  don't get a tree, but my husband cuts boughs from the yard, and we adorn them with lights and sparkly spheres. And then I wrapped our forlorn-looking pile of presents in glossy magazine photos. It gave the pile a pop! Have I started a new family Christmas tradition?

The perfect gifts for me--a rarity

I had dinner with a former colleague from SELF tonight and it made me a little teary. For one thing, she has been traveling (both of us are globe-trotting fiends) and she brought me back gifts from Italy.
But not just any gifts from Italy. She managed to find me just the type of things I would pick out for myself if I  happened to be wandering the streets of Roma. Delicate Italianate stationary, good Italian chocolate and a beautiful rustic wooden cheese board from the outdoor market in Florence, with rough-hewn sides and a smooth-yet-textured finish. It made me sad about the lack of a decade-long "work family" for the moment, though the wonderful thing about Good Housekeeping is that it has put me back in touch with colleagues I worked alongside in my 20s. But I am in the midst of a major life transition and I am trying to take all these comings and goings with a measure of slightly wary but optimistic adventure.

Ciao, belli!

Fame, fortune and fun

One thing that's wonderful about a big life change (such as, um, getting laid off from a job you've been at for 11 years) is that everything is upended, you're vulnerable and you put yourself out there in the world in a new way. I've been seeing people I haven't seen in years, asking advice of  friends and former colleagues, getting different perspectives and basically gathering lots of information as I figure out how to shape this new phase of my working life. The best advice I've received in the last two months--or, at least, the advice that has resonated with me most--tells me a lot about what I need to do over the next year or so. Instead of giving in to my tendency to panic and fill up my time, I must make space for writing--for the time it takes to formulate good ideas, to sit quietly, to put words to proverbial paper, to pitch  ideas and stories. I have to turn down projects that, as one friend so wisely said tonight, don't fulfill at least two of the following three criteria: fame, fortune or fun. "By fame," she explained, "I mean writing for a venue that I'm excited to work at. Fortune is obvious. And fun is something I'm excited about."

Another friend put it this way: "I don't take on any project that doesn't meet my 80 percent rule: I have to be at least 80 percent excited about it. That seems like a reasonable bar to me. I have severance. I should use that cushion to give myself the luxury of reflecting on and choosing mindfully rather than reflexively saying yes to stuff because it will pay the bills.

I am grateful for smart women friends who speak frankly to me about life in the freelance world.

I miss the drama of an office

That is what I've just realized after Day 2 of my fill-in stint at Hearst's Good Housekeeping. (Soon to unveil a very chic redesign!) I feel more alive when I'm in an office full of people--efficient, like a real professional versus how I feel when I'm typing away in my bedroom dressed in not-so-clean yoga pants. I'm a people person, that annoying monicker, and I derive mental sustenance from watching the interplay of other human beings, figuring out the dynamics, the heirarchy, the systems. I like the mix of familiarity (I know how to edit in my bones; it's automatic) with the unfamiliarity (so I'm supposed to attach a purple sheet to the manuscript to indicate what? I also like the feeling of being the new girl yet also having to dive right in and just learn it. (After all, I'm getting paid by the day.) All of this is burnished by the amazing-ness of the Hearst Towers, the most beautiful office I've ever worked in (Worldwide Plaza was a close second, especially from the 37th floor), but the 28th floor isn't bad either. Today, I pulled my desk chair into a spot of sunlight in my office and read while stealing glimpses at the tips of skyscrapers below and the blue, blue sky. (And have I mentioned the sunsets?) I feel lucky right now.

Yes. I see this outside my office window. See the river at the upper righthand corner?

Dipping back into the office life

Tomorrow I start a brand new gig at Good Housekeeping magazine, 3 days a week, until the beginning of January. With my dailyworth.com gig, that means I'm fully employed past the holidays. The work is flowing in. My anxiety is abating. I am grateful for friends and colleagues who keep steering opportunities my way, and am working on having faith that they will keep on coming.

Very, very excited to have a light filled office and to be working with many people that I have crossed paths with over the years (magazine publishing is a very, very small world). After the dislocation of the past few months, a dose of familiarity will be comforting. The trick will be to figure out how to juggle the day jobs with the other work I've taken on (not to mention doing my own writing). But I am definitely not complaining. Busy is good. Juggling is good. The busier I am, the more I get done. And now, time to wrap up the day, shut down the computer and share a glass of wine with my honey, who is working in the next room. Another perk of the freelance life. No commuting to be close to the one I love.

Schedule, shmedule

 A few things I've discovered about the structure of my day in my new, freelance phase of life:

1. I am not a morning person. (Okay, that's not a discovery. I've always known that) But now that I work for myself, I can get up at an hour that feels most comfortable for me, which is to say 9 am or so.
2. It takes me a while to get going, between doing a few chores (emptying the dishwasher, laundry), checking Facebook, sipping coffee and going for a run
3. I agonize in those morning hours before I actually start being productive, and seriously question whether the freelance life is for me.
4. I eventually start getting productive at around 2 or 2:30 and hit a real groove between 3 and 7, after which I close my computer and marvel at how what started out seeming like a potentially wasted day turned out okay after all. Metaphor for my life?

Dancing in the gazebo on a glass floor...

to Kanye West's "Good Life." After a somewhat hasty post thanksgiving breakfast with family this morning at my sister and bro-in-law's house in Hudson (and a lovely, leisurely run that was decidedly easier than yesterday's, despite scarfing down my bro-in-law's amazing cooking), hubby and I drove back to Connecticut and did a major shop for our thanksgiving-esque meal with more friends and family tomorrow. We are serving his famous "Mexican veggie lasagna," garlic bread and green salad (kind of a turkey antidote), and it is so nice to be able to do all the prep the day before. But first we high tailed it out to the gazebo to catch the last of the sunset, sit by the fire and have a glass of wine. (Gotta mix up  work and play.) Snuggling turned to singing, singing turned to dancing, dancing turned to swing dancing on the glass floor above the stream. (I was a little hesitant to dance on it, but Randy, physicist that he is, assured me that they'd calculated the weight it could hold and a truck could safely drive across it.) I think all married couples need to dance in the moonlight at least once a month. It should be part of the wedding vows--much more fun than honor and obey.

Don't forget. I am going to put something grateful in every post. This one is full of gratefulness.

A gazebo video and the building blocks of Mexican veggie lasagna: fresh cilantro, lots of veggies, sour cream, ricotta and cheddar cheese filling plus a game sous chef!

Some things to be grateful for two months in...

1. Wonderful friends, family and a hubby who are supporting me during this newest phase of my working life.
2. The ability to go for a run smack in the middle of the work day, when I'm most in need of a break.
3. Enough savings to allow me to turn down work I am not excited about.
4. Ideas percolating.
5. A haven in the country and a nest in the city.

It's about two months from my layoff at SELF, and while things are up and down, overall, I'd have to say I'm on a slightly upward trend. I think I could come to like the ability to work really hard for four hours, without the interruption of endless email or a flurry of meetings, then take a break to exercise or throw in some laundry, or run out for an errand. Then come back, work for another hour, then wrap up my day and wake up the next with no alarm. I'm consulting,  learning a lot about digital media and life at a start-up, which is exactly my aim: Take advantage of this time to do things unlike what I've done in the past, and maybe even do things I'm a little scared to do, like... write a book.

After years at SELF covering positive psychology, one thing I walked away with is the notion that the greatest contributor to mental health and well being is the ability to be grateful, and to note it. Studies have shown that people who keep gratitude journals for a month--essentially, writing down 5 things they are grateful for every day--have sustained feelings of satisfaction and better health for months afterward. So on this day before thanksgiving, consider this blog my gratitude journal. I'm going to try to slip in one thing that I'm grateful for in every entry from now on. See if you can find it. Happy turkey day!

I'm thankful that I get to spend time with family tomorrow, among them my parents and handsome nephews.

Timing is everything

Today, for the first time, I wrote in the gazebo, the thoughts flowing, the stream providing soothing white noise, while my honey worked to build a hutch to store our gazebo supplies. (He's so handy! Gotta love that in a guy.) It's  rare and wonderful--at least for me--to be in a total flow state, writing-wise, where the words just come out ahead of my brain. Sometimes, it almost feels like auto-writing, but it's actually the opposite, because I spend weeks, sometimes months playing with various ideas and first lines in my head before I sit down at the computer. Needless to say, when I do sit down and all that mulling and brooding and procrastinating produces the start to a viable essay, well, it's satisfying.

Of course, it wasn't until after I'd wiled away too many hours on my computer (though I did design my first-ever personal business cards, below) that, refreshed by the third run of the weekend, I was ready to write. I brought my lap top out to the gazebo, where my honey had been laboring all day. I built my first-ever fire (don't be shocked; I was raised a sheltered suburban girl). Then I settled onto one of the paprika-colored sofas with a blanket over me and wrote. I guess it's just like finding love--sometimes it's all about the timing.

A pause amidst hutch-building

Lexi! She wants to be wherever we are. She'll even try to get between me and my computer screen.

I can't wait to get the actual physical versions!

A major breakthrough in my new, freelance life

It's been about a month since I left my former office at SELF in this state:

I

During that time, I've stressed, run numbers in my head, had inspiring lunches, traveled to Europe, run more numbers in my head, nabbed a digital consulting gig that will take me through Christmas, done some private editing, taught workshops at CUNY J-School and MediaBistro, laid awake running yet more numbers in my head and did I mention worry? You'd think that with steady work, severance, a decent emergency fund stashed away and a husband who won't let me be homeless, I'd be able to relax and get into a groove. Far from it, and I was beginning to think that maybe I wasn't cut out, constitutionally, for the freelance way of life. After more decades than I care to name working in offices and getting my two paychecks a month deposited like clock work, the notion that I have to earn in dribs and drabs is a hard one to absorb. But today I had a definite moment of "Hey--I could learn to like this way of life!" The details: I was working on brainstorming ideas for my consulting job and basically spent five or six hours staring at my computer and cranking out relatively uninspired thoughts. I had a nice lunch with my hubby in the middle of that (he's working from here today, and I've turned my small bedroom desk into a nice workspace rather than risking working in the living room where he is and get distracted).

Those are my spiffy maternal grandparents on a beach in Maine, probably in the 20s or 30s.

But back to the story:
After hours of coming up with lackluster ideas, I took a break to go for a midday run (definite benefit of freelance life) then came back and came up with 15 of my best ideas in as many minutes. And when I sent them to the friend I'm working with, she was thrilled, and so was I. For one thing, after feeling stymied, I felt that I'd gotten  a handle on what she needed, had absorbed the info I needed to absorb, and had come up with something very usable--I felt worth the money, as a matter of fact! Gotta rock that feeling, because it doesn't come often enough.

I closed down my computer and felt: if I can spend all my days working on projects that are challenging but satisfying, with no one bothering me with meetings--and work with friends to boot, this could be a very happy way of life. Plus, I get to sometimes have lunch with my honey midday (we went to Dive Bar around the corner, sat outside in the sun, and shared mussels and shakshuka, a dish we discovered in Israel). Not to mention take a midday run. Really reenergized me. I am feeling optimistic, hopeful and more cheerful. Maybe this is just my adjustment process--pain followed by the "Oh, I get it now" enlightenment. One of these days, I'll realize that this is my pattern and get less freaked out when I get freaked out.

A riot of color...in November? Central Park's Conservatory Gardens, where my honey and I walked yesterday.

Politics and friendships

They don't always mix. Though given that I've spent most of my adult life on the upper west side of manhattan (a politically liberal enclave if there ever was one) it isn't very often that I encounter people with political views that differ from my own. So last night, it was a shock when, at dinner with our CT friends, a very cool couple with enough earthy-crunchiness and regard for the less fortunate to lead me to assume that they would vote Obama, my hubby and I discovered that not only were they voting for Romney but despised Obama. Gee. That brought the conversation to a grinding halt, at least momentarily. Civil discourse is easy when everyone agrees but it's another thing when common ground falls away and a chasm is revealed. After a few stabs on all of our parts to get at the whys and wherefores, we smiled and let the matter drop. But as I sit on a bus on my way back to the city to pull that lever and look forward with some trepidation to watching the returns come in with friends and family who are all voting exactly like I am, I have to say I don't know which way the dice will roll. We are one divided country, that's for sure, but I'm glad I have my little politically liberal enclave to come home to.

Rewiring the marital connection

There are wonderful things about not living with my husband full time and a few not-so-wonderful things. The wonderful:
1) We (rarely) get tired of each other
2) Which means the chemistry keeps on humming along
3) We get to focus on work and friends when we're not together
4) And each other when we are together
5) We get the benefits of being single (e.g., independence, the freedom to wander around your apartment in sweatpants--or worse)
6) With the benefits of being married (e.g., love, companionship, security, deep intimacy and regular sex!) Forgive me if I've left anything out!

But there are some negatives, and I've discovered those particularly since being laid off a few weeks ago.
First of all, it's easier, I think, for two people living separately to go off on their own emotional paths. For instance, over the last few weeks, I've been very absorbed in adjusting to my new work status (freelance!), and all that comes with it: Worrying/wondering how the money will come in, adjusting to the ego blow of being laid off after so many years of service, and did I mention worrying about how the money will come in? The bottom line: Reeling from all the uncertainty. I'm not used to this kind of uncertainty after 11 years of two regular paychecks a month.

Meanwhile, my husband has been working hard on his long standing business and feeling excited about finally completing (almost) his gazebo project. We had a weekend long gazebo gathering less than 24 hours after my last day at SELF. Not ideal timing, but while I was emotionally spent, he was exuberant. And while he can't always understand my angst, and wishes that I would enjoy my freedom and my severance, I feel like I'm due a few weeks of angsting. Or even more than that.

The result has been an emotional disconnect on my part--my feeling that I am going through a crisis and that my husband is having a completely different experience (because he doesn't consider it a crisis). In black and white terms, I know that it's NOT really a crisis, but the way I work is that my first reaction is to launch into crisis mode, then I begin to adjust. I need the crisis button pushed because that propels me into ACTION.

But after a weekend of unfettered togetherness with a little spontaneous socializing with the neighbors mixed in, I am feeling much, MUCH more connected. A week in London kind of stablized my emotions and helped me feel more like myself again.  Lots of sleep and exercise helped me feel less tired. And then there's the fact that it's pretty damn nice not to have to get up and go to an office every morning. I'm just starting to appreciate the freedom of not being beholden to a magazine's shipping schedule (for two weeks of the month, it was difficult for me to make social plans), and even beginning to imagine swapping my apartment and going on spontaneous trips for cheap--I can do my work from anywhere, after all--I even held a media bistro chat from London, and wrote a freelance piece. Easy. So I think I am being less of a head case, and he is starting to understand what I need (concrete reassurance, as in, "I'm not worried and I know you can handle this and I am here for you" as opposed to a rote "Don't worry! Stop stressing out!"). And we finally had time to just talk, cook together, do chores around the house (clean up the gazebo after the storm), spend time in the hot tub, kayak, etc., etc., all of which helped me remember why I married the wonderful guy I married. Below, ending the weekend with some wine and a fire in the gazebo. I am blessed, and I need to remind myself of that every single day.

My happy hubby

Stoking the fire

Just after sunset from the gazebo

Cat andirons--not just for Halloween!

What makes a house a home?

To some people, "home" means a big, well-functioning kitchen. (Um, not to me. I have one of those closet kitchens with a folding door where two people can't cook comfortably side by side.) To others, it means family heirlooms. This past week, it's probably meant heat, running water and electricity, but that's another story.

To me, home has meant shelves filled with well-loved books (or books I'm anticipating loving) and walls filled with colorful art and photos of people I love. My New York City apartment fills the bill...

Art from travels abroad and my hubby's mother, Jan Chinnock, a talented Westport-based painter...

My Connecticut  house, though, has never quite felt like my home. For one thing, my husband purchased it, and spends more time here. And as he (rightly) has said, my NYC apartment completely reflects my taste and personality; he felt he needed a place to reflect HIS personality. But now that I have this new freer work life, I am going to be spending more time here on the lake, and I need to feel that my husband's home is also my home. (Isn't that what marriage means?) So this weekend, unexpectedly free since friends from NYC who were scheduled to visit had to cancel because of the apocalyptic gas shortage, I got all domestic. First task: Unpacking the boxes from my office at SELF, where I also filled the walls with photos and art in an attempt to disguise the space's drab windowless-ness.  Then I proceeded to hang all those photos in our guest room and bedroom, fill our bedroom book shelves with more of my books, and basically set about feminizing the place. (I still haven't succeeded in transforming the all-brown man-cave living room with the giant TV, even more gargantuan speakers and rows and rows of CDs but give me time. Just give me time.)

When I woke up this morning, I opened my eyes to the sunlight sparkling on the lake and streaming in the bedroom window, and photos of my nephews and friends on the walls. I think I'm feeling a little more at home. Finally. Maybe this getting laid off thing will teach me what being married really means...relying on someone and sinking into their care and going from "I" to "We" a bit. We'll see....

The bedroom with some wedding pics

A bookshelf with room to grow....

A guestroom that no longer looks like an after thought

Even the tiny coral bathroom gets framed, matted photos, courtesy of my office stash

More wedding images and a painting of our pond from a local artist, Janet Zeh

Fall grasses and the gazebo...