A Wink and A Smile.

On an otherwise somber day under gray skies, my Mother winked at me yesterday. It was the second time in less than a month.

The first time it happened was during my first post-concert porch party of the 2014 Chautauqua season, but that's getting ahead of myself.

As it happened, early in September of last year, my Mom called leaving me a voicemail asking if I had received the birthday present she had sent. Having been out of town for a wedding on that Labor Day weekend, I had immediately done what I felt had been the smart thing by putting my annual aging day in the rearview mirror for yet another year (it's August 31 in case you have a calendar handy and wish to make note).  Obviously, she had called me because I hadn't yet called her.  

To be clear, it is the case in my family that if someone sends you something, you acknowledge it as soon as possible. We like to say it’s to make sure that whatever we've sent is not lost in the mail, but the real reason of course is to say “Thank You.” Well, you don’t have to tell me twice.  

I ran up to the post office (where all the folks who live in Chautauqua pick up their regular posted mail), and pulled the tattered yellow card out of the box. I went to the window so the post mistress could retrieve my package, and proceeded to open it right then and there. Mom had sent me a set of Govino wine glasses. Made of an eco-friendly polymer, the stemless unbreakable beauties are great for the boat, as well as for friends who have a tendency to drop things like glasses of wine. It was particularly thoughtful because I had commented on how much I liked them when she was here in June (due to a mea culpa of having yet to return the one I had accidentally absconded with from a friend’s boat the week before). 

I immediately called to tell her I loved them and couldn't wait to put them to good use, which was absolutely true. But the whole truth was: it was the end of the summer season; I was deep into the initial stages of packing mode and getting ready to head home for the winter. So, without opening the manufacturer’s packaging, I simply put them on a shelf to save their inaugural use for this year.

Enter the 2014 Chautauqua season.

Abba (or some resemblance of it) kicked off the season at the Amp, and immediately following its end, I headed to our little nook to officially celebrate the start of summer with some of my best friends on the planet.  I brought the box off the shelf to open it for the first time. I removed the first polymer gem from it's wrapping and found myself completely astonished to see that these weren't just your run of the mill awesome wine glasses; my Mom had had them monogrammed with my initials! I had totally missed the extra surprise of last summer! It was such a gleeful moment that my mind instantly leapt to wanting to tell her the story, and thank her all over again.

Here's to you, Mom.  Cheers!!

Then it hit me. Much like someone who has just bounced off of a solid brick wall. I couldn’t share it with her. In fact, I would never be able to share anything that happens in my lifetime ever again. In that moment, I realized I had failed to properly thank her nearly a year ago, and now I never could!  Unbeknownst at the time, this birthday gift was to become the last from my Mother. And true to form, having been enjoying a grand ole' time only moments before, I immediately burst into tears.

Then, Lydia, a dear friend since childhood, immediately wrapped me in her arms and offered a twist to my despair by cheerfully offering, “This is your Mom saying 'hello' along with her wishes for a happy summer in a place you love!” 

Now I will readily admit that it doesn’t take much to get my friends to share a cocktail or two on a summer porch, but this was far more than just that.  And I am thrilled to tell the tale of how on the very first night of the 2014 season with glasses raised high, my friends and I offered a toast to my Mom. And the official start to an another Chautauqua summer had begun … along with the new normal for me.

Two days later, the morning lectures would begin, and so too does the story of yesterday's wink.

Since the start of the season, I'd been plugging away on a cross-stitched bookmark project I had found among my Mother’s things shortly after she passed away in March. An expert seamstress and a truly gifted quilter, my Mom would have considered this mindless busywork for her skill with a needle. But there, tucked among the drawers stuffed with fabrics and patterns and various sewing/quilting tools I had no idea how to name let alone use, this bookmark fell squarely within my limited skill set. Assuming she had intended to eventually make it for Gerry, her husband who is rarely without a thick book in tow, I determined to do what my Mom no longer could; I would make it for him.

As I settled into my usual seat in the packed Amphitheater that first Monday with Tom Brokow and Roger Rosenblatt about to provide a riveting conversation about the Greatest Generation, I counted the little squares to the center and began.

I will digress here to say that I am sometimes challenged by time, the management of which is not exactly my strong suit. Many who know me well will laugh at the understatement of that one! I have a habit of underestimating how long it will take me to do anything, but the multitasking of listening to a lecture while also counting a cross stitch pattern can sometimes be slow going. And with eyesight surely not what it used to be, I am also often counting twice! With the plan to finish before Mom’s July 19th interment when I could give it to Gerry in person, I was confident I would finish in time.

Until I wasn’t.

If I am truly honest, I will confess that I almost put it aside completely with less than a week to go to the due date. First of all, I realized that, for a bookmark especially, the end result was going to fall into the massive category in terms of size; more family bible than best-selling international intrigue (and something that my husband David noted with sarcasm almost immediately). I definitely wavered on whether or not I even wanted to finish it. But something inside myself insisted I keep going. I kicked into high gear.

I will quickly ease the growing suspense to say that I did eventually finish and was actually quite pleased with the evenness of each tidy square that contributed to the whole, right down to a single-threaded backstitched quote by Thomas Jefferson which read:

“I cannot live without books.” 

But without a doubt, the thing was definitely huge as far as bookmarks go. Additionally, the finishing instructions, limited as they were, added two inches of fringed edges to either side making it even bigger and required a seamed edge preferably sewn by machine or stitched by hand, the latter of which was my only option since I don't have the former here at the Nook. The instructions also failed to mention any kind of backing, without which left the reverse side exposed (and unsightly). Adjustments were surely required. The deadline loomed. The clock was ticking. And hand sewing anything but a button is surely not my forte. 

It is what it is - and only slightly better from a distance.

This is fact: The finished work could best be described as a proverbial elementary school art project that young children bring home to their parents hoping for praise, however false it may be. Imagine a clay ashtray made with love but absent any true skill and you’d be close. 

I swear, there has to be blood cells on the fabric from having never perfected the use of a thimble despite now having two that once belonged to Mom! The edges straight, but my skills in hand-turning a hem would have proven cringe-worthy to my Mother. In the effort to reduce the sheer size of the thing, it was suggested I nix the fringe at one end, which might also have offered a whisper of a shot to hide the similarly shoddy workmanship in adding a last minute backing created from a random swatch of upholstery fabric that was once in the running for a couch! Its true potential forever unrealized, my slaved-over bookmark was just this side of pitiful up close. The actual cross-stitching was the only thing saving it from being truly so. 

Heading to our old hometown with my sister at the wheel and David in the backseat, I could be heard muttering "it is what it is" before finally pronouncing the thing “as done as it's going to get” just before the split at highway 90 and 79 that would take us the final leg to Pittsburgh.

I remained completely unconvinced that it measured up to anything gift worthy to anyone, especially to Gerry who had loved my Mom with his whole heart and certainly deserved better.  However, I knew I had given it a loyal effort, short as it was. And that was pretty much all Mom had really ever asked of any of us.

So there we were, my family along with a few family friends coming together at the hillside cemetery for the burial of my Mom’s ashes in her final resting place. Nearby are both her parents, but she is next to her sister Marilyn who had died as a teenager, at far too young an age and a very long time ago. A best friend and oftentime rival, I can’t imagine having gone through my life without my sisters. Yet, my Mom had endured that loss just a week shy of her 15^th birthday. Today, July 20, would have been her 76^th.

The light rain that had been steadily falling stopped just long enough for us to walk up the short hill, but quickly encouraged us to immediately gather tightly under the canopy when it started up again. It was then that I looked up and noticed, for perhaps the first time, the man standing in the massive memorial nearly two stories high, squarely at the cemetery’s center and immediately behind the family plots.

Stock photo of Jefferson Memorial Cemetery Monument - Pittsburgh, PA

There he was. Thomas Jefferson himself! Standing tall as if looking over the hills towards downtown Pittsburgh. And there too, held in his colonial arm, was a very thick book. In fact, it was a massively thick book! So massive a book that it would very likely be in need of one massive bookmark! And to think - I just happened to have one! 

And that’s when I felt it again, that wink falling from the heavens amid the mist of tears in my Mom's not being there with us.  

But then too, she was. 

Call it a snippet of serendipity or the familiar elbow of an inside joke, but in that moment, I felt her presence to the depths of my soul. I smiled in a tip of the hat kind of way  while thinking, “Ha! Good one, Mom!” And knew too that the risk to later give such a completely imperfect gift to Gerry had just been made a bit easier despite the lump-of-clay-turned-ashtray that it is.

And if there was ever a time when it was true, it was surely now that the thought was what counted most.

Yep.  My Mother winked at me yesterday. It was the second time in a month. I will hope there are many more to come. Who am I kidding. I am counting on it now… one square and one stitch at a time. Normal will come eventually. Just not today. 

Thank you Mom…for everything. And Happy Birthday to you! 

To Mom, With Love

Below is what I wrote for my Mom's Memorial in Louden TN on Saturday, April 5, 2014 along with a link to the video that inspired it (click on the post title). 

To Mom, With Love

April 5, 2014  Louden, TN

When I was here in February, my Mother sat my oldest sister and I down to discuss her wishes for today. A difficult conversation to be sure. And the thing she asked of me was to create a slideshow of her life to share. To be honest, the request was daunting. For one, I had just begun the massive task of packing up the home in which my husband and I had lived and raised our children for nearly 21 years. But that she wanted to see it first, a pre-approval viewing so to speak (?!) was far more panic-worthy from my point of view!

As we went through old pictures, Mom interjecting snippets of the who, when or where of the stories behind the frozen image, it was like old times, but I absolutely and instantly recognized that I had my work cut out for me.

Now I will interject here to say that when I was growing up, Mom wasn’t exactly Dr Phil’s “soft place” to land. If you fell, you had all of about 30 seconds to get back up, dust yourself off and figure out what you were going to do next, literally and figuratively. Then she would often say, “Let me tell you something…” and she would do just that! Mom was never shy in sharing her opinion.  So that this slideshow was all that she was asking of me? Well, let me tell YOU something… there was no way I wasn’t delivering!  

But just between you and me, I believed I had more time. Most importantly and with all of my heart, I believed she had more time.

When the winds changed all too quickly with her health just two weeks later and the closing on my home loomed large, my sisters pitched in with the full force that only two older sisters can provide. They gathered, scanned and restored old photos so I could continue to pack boxes and just focus on laying something together in time for Mom to see.

Into the shared drop box the pictures came pouring. Some all-time favorites and others I’d never seen before. There were a lot of them. And so…. I began. 

Now I’ve known for a very long time that my Mother was strong, but seeing the whole of her life, those blue eyes often looking back at me through the camera’s lens (and she had beautiful eyes), I was humbled beyond belief by what I can only describe as an unfailing strength of character. 

And I stand here today to fully confess that it was not until I was packing up the past 20 years of my own life while simultaneously rewinding through the 75 of hers that I found myself wholly appreciative for just how completely remarkable a woman my Mother truly was. 

She was tenacious and gifted and loyal and brave. Braver than anyone I’ve ever known. She was resilient and funny and witty and kind. And she instilled in all of us a fierce loyalty to our friends and most especially to our family, along with the determination to make your life whatever it is you wanted it to be.  

I was heartbroken to not be with her when she saw it. But I am so glad to know my sister Debbie was there as witness, and even more so that she liked it. She really liked it.  But mostly, I am so incredibly thankful that I was given the opportunity to show her just how proud she should be of the life and legacy she would all too soon leave behind. 

And the real truth is that what began as a last gift to my mother had ultimately become her greatest gift to me. And let me tell you something… I am really going to miss her.

The Christmas Letter Season

My "Christmas" cards should arrive in local mailboxes today. And while I often find myself chasing the sleigh, this year I didn't so much as chase it as let it whiz right by me, on purpose.  In fact, I designed this year's card purposely omitting any reference specific to the holiday season.  Last year, I was overly ambitious with a large Merry Christmas knowing the risk I was taking (and if I am really honest, it was more push back against the PC "Happy Holidays").

It's not that I can't get to the mailbox or make the card.  What trips me up is writing the yearly missive that, as is true with most things, I will blame on my mother.  It's something that I feel is part of the whole card sending thing.  She did it, so I do it.  Call it tradition or call it fodder for stand up comedy and newspaper columns, but 99.9% of the time, if I don't write a letter, it's an "off year" where I will send nothing at all.

I am clearly not one of those folks who hates a holiday letter. In fact, over the course of nest emptying and spending less and less time at the schools for whatever program, performance, teacher's conference, meeting, presentation and committee work happening that week, I just don't run into people to catch up as I used to.  From this perspective, it's actually very nice to hear what other families are up to.  I knew some of their kids extremely well and a lot of them spent a great deal of time at my house!  I liked many of them a great deal and truly want life's best for them.  And let's face it, in the absence of their parental truth, you're mostly just dealing with hearsay or rumor and gossip, the latter of which is rarely ever good.  As a somewhat seasoned parent of missteps and sidesteps, I believe life is very much about the journey.

Maybe it's the case, I really don't get out enough or make enough effort to get together with great people who I used to get together with by happenstance. Whatever the case, the point remains: I like Christmas newsletters.

Personally, I try to keep to rules of one page.  In the past, my efforts there made for some pretty small fonts, which in aging I now feel apology is in order. There is something unsettling by wanting a large magnifying glass this time of year, something I currently don't own.  So now it's a one-page rule with readable font, but my margins are often really tight. And this is just the who, what, where and how!  There are no juicy stories of foibles and folly - which frankly, is a lot of the joy of having kids.  Plus, without some degree of funny, the nod to my hero of a humor writer, Erma Bombeck is completely missing.  Of course, all of this was much easier to get away with when the offspring were younger and didn't have any veto power over what was written in the annual letter!

But whether anyone else cares to read these letters I write, I've come to see them as tiny time capsules, which was proven further this past year as I organized the house for sale and went through boxes and boxes of pictures to help our youngest, Bailey, put together a slide show for the wedding. I would come across old letters and find myself reading.... and remembering.  Of course, I had the same idea I have every year about how I should make an album of all the letters and the card of the year.  While I've come closer this year more so than most because I did take the time to at least put the copies I stumbled upon (in the wrapping paper box, a shoebox filled with old Christmas cards from other people, a file folder or two) all in one place.  So there's hope.

Anyway, this year was likely the biggest we've had in quite some time, and as I began writing the letter, I found myself stumped at how to fit in Charlie's graduation weekend when he hadn't even considered he was actually leaving town at the end of it! Nor could I fit even a mention of Megapalooza - Meghan's weekend combination of Wedding Shower/College graduation, to say nothing of my impressions of the parent side of DI lacrosse, the refilling of the previously mentioned empty nest, selling a house, AND some very learned advice if you're ever planning a wedding.  There's also the story about how the new owners behind us cut down an entire stand of evergreens changing my view considerably!  I'm exercising my civic duty by taking it to the city since the trees were supposedly protected by ordinance!

Look, I know it's not like I think people need (or want) to read these things, but I like to write them, which my husband thinks is clearly an over-share in a Christmas letter, which I am pretty sure he's right about.  I'm not sure how he'll feel about blogging about it all, but this is also the same guy who insists his yearly mention be limited to "yes, he still has a job" and he likes to play golf, if he's mentioned at all.

I edited what I sent out with the Christmas card into one page of mostly just the facts, but I couldn't just toss the true gems of who my children were this year into the garbage can found in the corner of my screen.  So, I am taking the oldest advice I was ever given as a writer: Write what you know (or at least think you do) and write every day.  I think now is a very good place to start.

With a little nudging (and requests for forgotten passwords), I've awakened the blog I stopped writing two years ago.  So what comes before this entry is pretty old news, except for the part about having three siblings who live fabulous lives and mine being mostly about laundry.  We'll see where this goes.... 

It's a Date!

It’s hard to wrap my brain around the fact that it’s been 30 years since my initial fascination with the royal family began.  As one of the 750 million viewers who watched Diana marry Prince Charles on that July day in 1981, I surely wasn’t alone in my royal obsession. And now it’s going into overdrive all over again. Diana's son is getting married! 

I have to say I am pretty jazzed about watching the whole wedding of Wills and Kate.  Much like I felt about Diana, I really like this girl William has picked for himself – a pretty key qualifier in my book.  Unlike his father, William has truly picked his bride.  And I appreciate, far more now than I might have back then, that Kate and William have a very long relationship behind them.  I also like that she is a commoner.  In fact, I'm thrilled that she is not only inviting the postman, but also her local bartender to the party!  Seems like two good choices to me.  I think Diana would be tickled pink with William’s pick. 

It’s not that I’ve gotten in so deep that I’ve been reading all the blogs and second-guessing the details surrounding their big day. Mostly, I just can’t wait to see the dress.  And at the end of the day, it will be Kate’s dress that influences wedding wear for the next several years, just as Princess Diana’s did nearly 30 years ago! That was one BIG dress.

In full disclosure on this score, I’ve also recently become somewhat enamored with a little show called, “Say Yes to the Dress,” a TLC reality show which films at Kleinfeld Bridal in NYC.  Whatever Kate’s wedding confection ends up being on her big day, I have an inkling that the latest royal wedding will only amp up the volume on this kind of show going forward.  Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.

As it happens, and as I’ve mentioned, we also have a recently engaged girl in the family.  Therefore, it is with a twisted kind of reasoning (and playing a little fast and loose with definitions) that I’ve decided that all of this – the royal wedding watch and the dress obsession - is just good research.  However, I am also keenly aware that, if I am not careful, this could be one slippery slope evolving into a full blown obsession requiring eventual intervention. 

Kleinfeld's Randy

When my daughter announced that her boyfriend had proposed in Paris (something we knew he was going to do before she did, and I sincerely thank my future son-in-law for his adherence to a somewhat antiquated etiquette on this score), she assured me it was to be a long engagement.  With this in mind and long before we begin to entertain the idea of a visit to Kleinfeld’s for the quintessential buying trip - very high on my oldest sister's to-do list -  and dreaming of my daughter receiving the wardrobe wizardry of Randy, I decided that maybe I should write to the wedding coordinator in Chautuauqua about the protocol for planning a wedding at the Lake.  Nothing on a royal scale, mind you, but a wedding nonetheless.  Surely, there was plenty of time considering the length of their intended engagement.  Surely, it was too early to even ask. Nope! The truth is, I feel pretty lucky that I wrote at all!

Hall of Philosophy

When it comes to getting married at Chautauqua’s Hall of Philosophy, a long engagement is not only a good idea, it's apparently absolutely necessary!  Unless you're the type of chick who is merely dating a guy and likes to think ahead (no pressure, buddy), getting married on a Saturday in Chautauqua is not for the spur of the moment kind of bride!  It's barely an option for the regular kind of bride!! As of last week, the Greek-inspired outside venue was already booked for every time slot available for every Saturday from May 2011 all the way through October of 2012!  Granted, weddings held here are limited to May, early June, September and October due to the 9-week summer season, but even I was pretty surprised that what I thought was a completely premature inquiry into a wedding date late in 2012 or 2013 quickly evolved into our actually picking the date.  Now!

My daughter was also pretty surprised.  Her fiancé, even more so.  In all likelihood, “freaked” is probably a better word.  But if it's your daughter's dream to walk down the center aisle at the Hall of Philosophy on a Saturday in June, it is what it is.  And what it looks to be is a June 15, 2013 wedding at Chautauqua.  Slippery slope indeed!

And My Heart Goes On

With tax season just around the corner, I don’t feel one bit guilty about getting my money's worth out of my community’s infrastructure this past weekend.  While my memory is still fuzzy when it comes to recalling the exact siren count between the numerous police, firemen and paramedics, we had quite a few civil servants show up at our house on Saturday night.  But that’s what happens when a husband calls 911 reporting that his wife thinks she’s having a heart attack.  They tend to show up pretty quickly for stuff like that.  On the other hand, reporting that your mechanical Rudolph was stolen from your front yard on Christmas morning?  Not so much.  (But that's another story.) 

Making this particular event even more memorable was the fact that we had just finished hosting a herd of well-behaved high schoolers, the last of whom had just left about 20 minutes prior.  While I am pretty sure my neighbors spent at least a little while speculating on the drinking and drug use at our home that evening, I couldn’t really care about that; I honestly thought I was dying. 

Now, I could further describe the pain that was in my chest or the pain that was my spouse, who initially encouraged me to wait out the interminable squeezing of my heart until I pointed out the possible downside to his waking up with a corpse, but those are just details. He relented eventually.  The pain also relented - eventually - but not before I landed my first (and hopefully, last) ride in an ambulance.  This, too, might have been OK had I not been strapped down to a gurney while riding over potholes the size of moon craters while an otherwise nice EMT guy tried to insert an IV in my hand (which, sadly, was later mocked by the hospital staff while they put one in my other hand). It does bear mentioning, however, that despite mediocre IV placement, if you have heart pain and think you’re dying, calling an ambulance almost always puts you at the head of the line once you arrive at the ER – especially with a family history like mine!  Good to know.

Ironically, what lay at the heart of the matter had absolutely nothing at all to do with my heart!  And while I am still left wondering why I never took an anatomy class in high school or college, the various scans, x-rays and tests galore, along with a very astute and seasoned ER doc, deduced that my gallbladder was the culprit and had to go.  Of course, my questions were simple.  “What’s a gallbladder?” and “Why does it feel like a heart attack when it’s pissed off?”  Apparently, English majors don’t usually know these things.

Despite my love of a good Google or two, I still don’t really have all those answers, but due to a lengthy family history of bad tickers, most of my Sunday was spent giving enough blood to infuse a small country, undergoing the all-important Echo Stress Test and getting my only sustenance through multiple cups of ice chips.  I did move up to a little broth later in the day, but considering the extensive ala carte menu that is now the rage at our local hospital, I felt a little let down by my lack of culinary enjoyment.

After the offending gallbladder was removed bright and early Monday morning via laparoscopy, the surgeon told David it went “beautifully,” although apparently they don’t seem to offer up your organs preserved in a glass jar they way they did with tonsils back in the 60’s.  Bummer.  Still, three little band-aids and a couple of steri-strips later, I found myself safely tucked into my own bed at home by 3pm that afternoon.  I will also add that I passed all heart related tests and inquiries with flying colors.

As an aside, I did take note that my husband does not like hospitals.  And this would be a gross understatement.  He actually found a place to park that would allow him a mere 20 minutes of free parking, where he could quickly visit and get the heck out of there, all within the prescribed time.  I surmise that as we further age, either he has to go first or I will have to be hit by a bus!  Don’t get me wrong, he’s very good once at home, but there is just something about a hospital that turns him slightly green around the gills.  His discomfort is palatable to everyone.  I’d understand this far better if he were the patient, but as a visitor, not so much.  I will also say that this was one incredibly nice hospital and, except for that little thing called major abdominal surgery, everything and everyone was very nice, almost like a hotel.  And with the added benefit of having a nurse show up at your beck and call upon pushing a conveniently located button, it was far better service than I ever get at home!  So at least I had that going for me.

As weekends go, it was indeed interesting.  But it wasn’t Paris.  And once again, I’ve buried the lead. While I was feeling death coming for me on Saturday night, my oldest daughter was flying home from Paris. After a wonderful week of perusing famous museums, eating at French cafes and taking romantic strolls along the Seine, the end result was a proposal of marriage on bended knee on a bridge with a view of Notre Dame in the distance.

Engaged and Elated!

I can hardly believe she’s that grown up.  But of course she is.  And now, wistfully recalling the day she was born, I feel a whole new kind of pain in my heart.  And with or without my gallbladder, I couldn’t be happier for them both!!

The View from Here

Our 900 sq ft "Castle"

The odd thing about closing on real estate from a thousand miles away is that there is no culminating moment when someone rises from their seat to shake your hand and pass off the keys to your new castle.  Phone calls of Congratulations from both my attorney and realtor were surely appreciated, but it’s not really the same thing.  This said, and despite its somewhat anti-climatic finish, I am completely over the moon to be a bona fide Chautauqua Property Owner! (Pause for thunderous applause.)

Mama and Papa Chairs

Of course, as is the case with most properties at the Lake, our little abode came completely furnished and then some, right down to having tin foil in the kitchen drawers!  All in all, in terms of style and taste, we're dealing with kind of a mixed bag.  And while I am convinced that the previous owners were undoubtedly lovely people, I can’t help but wonder if they weren't also somehow distantly related to the Three Bears or at the very least, often had Goldilocks over as a guest for some porridge made atop the tiny stove!

Baby has it just about right!

Antique Dresser is Staying!

Yes, there is some truth to the lore that once furniture comes through the gates of Chautauqua it rarely leaves, and every year the Women's Club holds a massive flea market as a philanthropic endeavor proving the rule that one person's trash is another's treasure.  Admittedly, I look forward to doing a bit of my own treasure-hunting this year.  And if you’re in the market for a few items in which to re-create an iconic fairy tale or two, have I got a chair (and more) for you!

"Master" Bedroom's brick of a bed

Moving along, and in keeping with the Three Bears theme, the master bedroom’s mattress is as hard as a rock and the second bedroom’s two mattresses are as soft as slighly melted marshmallows.  While replacing them will have to wait, there will definitely be some purchases made of pads and toppers to make it “just right” or at the very least, all right for now.  Princesses requiring peas, please take note.

Second Bedroom with words to live by.

Galley Kitchen w/ Dishwasher (Yeah!)

Admittedly, the kitchen needs updating (as does one of the two bathrooms), but it's perfectly fine for now, especially since what I do cannot really be considered "cooking" by any real definition of the word.  And with a budget that amounts to a whole lot of nothing at the moment, my diamond in the rough is going to be staying slightly rough for the time being.  However, in addition to a little color in the way of paint, the paring down of a few things and some rearranging of a few others, I’m going for some immediate gratification via two chairs I have which are being re-upholstered in a fabric more in line with my own sensibilities.

To be re-upholstered in this

Albeit small, it’s a start. And a comfortable one at that!

But the pièce de résistance, and what ultimately sold us on the place, is the porch. Life at the Lake is all about a porch, and this one is a keeper!

Our Porch

With a mahogany floor and double ceiling fans to encourage the lake breeze, it adds a considerable amount of living space to our little nook of a place, especially during the summer season.  It’s just an ideal spot with a bird’s eye view of the lake in which to welcome family, entertain friends or simply curl up with a good book. I love it!!  Yes, there’s some need here as well (the couch is part of the Three Bears Collection), but as I’ve said, it's practically porch perfection!

It's all about a rocker.. and now I've got two!

Granted, patience has never been one of my strong suites, and it still applies today.  But back in 1995, I returned to the Lake with my three young children in tow after a seven-year absence.  I was never quite sure what had kept me away (beyond those small stumbling blocks of time, distance and money), but it was during this visit that I came to realize just how much I had missed being there.  I have rarely missed a summer since.  Chautauqua rejuvenates my spirit and fills my heart in ways I cannot articulate, although I have tried many, many times.  But with 16 years of wishing and waiting behind me, patience is mine!  There is time.  So for now (or as soon as the snow melts), I am going to take a deep breath, sit back, maybe rock away an hour or two, and simply enjoy my new view.

Our Bird's Eye View!

Late Summer Street View to the Lake