And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt. ~Sylvia Plath
I grew up in an era when one shared her thoughts on pages of a diary, which was then locked and hidden. God protect the eyes that trespassed. That changed one afternoon while searching for methods on how to paint kitchen cabinets. I ended up in Kim’s beautiful Twice Remembered home and she “introduced” me to the Palmers and their lovely Lettered Cottage. If you are one of the few people who has not seen these blogs, I encourage you to treat yourself. Both of these talented women inspired and motivated me to publicly journal our efforts on and about the Fairfield House and the life and love that dwell within it. I hope you enjoy your time here and return often — like life, this blog is a process.
Four years ago today, a life long dream came true. We purchased and took residence in an 1880s Victorian farm house. It is located in the garden of the Garden State, surrounded by protected farmland. I spent the following three years coming and going, traveling two hours each way in commuter traffic to a place I didn’t want to be, doing what I no longer wanted to do (aka work.) On my ‘daze’ off, I played catch up with household duties and social obligations. I had become a spoke in the wheel of progress, passing present moments by while spinning to a future destination. Eventually, the wheel hit a bump in the road and the tire went flat. I ended up in the hospital and while recovering, the financial giant I worked for fell on it’s face as well. God works in ways we will never understand. Becoming one of the eleven million Americans currently unemployed has made my life so much richer. It’s afforded me the opportunity to be where I want to be, doing what I want to do – making this old house our home, caring for those around me and creating. It’s not work. It’s a labor of love.