In March, my middle son returned from college with the entire contents of his college room. Besides duffles stuffed with clothes, he brought a four-foot tall brown plastic dresser, a television, a PlayStation console, 20 of 24 cans of Coors Light and a bottle of whiskey that he placed on his bedside table.

I quietly closed the door.

Two days later as the youngest played games on the television downstairs with his brother who was upstairs, I said, “Let’s move the TV from the third floor to your room.”

I’ve never allowed TVs in the bedrooms and have never had one. But in the midst of the pandemic shutdown I began to reevaluate how we used – and defined – home. Individual comfort became a much higher priority than any sort of life lesson I deluded myself into thinking I was imparting.

After giving my youngest the free pass for a bedroom television I went upstairs to talk to his brother.

“Darling, let’s put the beer in the refrigerator and you can keep the whiskey in the kitchen.”

His blue eyes were wary under the ever-growing stock of strawberry blond curls that he tossed out of his eyes.

“Really?”

I nodded.

“Things are challenging enough. There’s no reason to drink warm beer.”

He blinked.

“I’ll keep the whiskey up here.”

I took a deep breath, nodded and went back to my office to download Zoom or some such thing in order to keep my work moving.

The oldest was back a few weeks later, which put us at full occupancy. While there were times that the house rang out with the familiar, “Mom! He’s…. [fill in the blank with any annoying thing someone would do who’ve you’ve shared limited space with for six weeks], the summer went better than I anticipated. Mostly, they like each other and no one drank his brother’s hooch. That went a long way.

The boys’ father and I have done our best to wrangle our crew into thoughtful civility while acknowledging that human interaction is a reasonable expectation. Of my “pod,” we’ve had a handful of COVID-19 tests, all but one negative, though we are wary of all the results. We are doing the best we can.

As extraverted as I am, there are worse things for me than being confined to home. We have used every inch, inside and out, and she’s continued to offer the same sort of solace that she did when I walked through the door for the first time over six years ago. Being at home has also made me realize that life is far too short and too precious to tolerate the kitchen any longer. Stay tuned.

The remarkable images from this post are from the new book The Lives of Others: Sublime Interiors of Extraordinary People by Simon Watson. Not only are Watson’s images and subjects stunning, his insights into his projects are engaging. If you haven’t been able to get away, this book would be a delightful escape.

I do hope that you and yours and doing well.

It’s thirty-six degrees here and I am looking out my office windows at something dreadful called “wintery mix.” In Seussian fashion I don’t want to go out and I don’t want to stay in, have loads to do but don’t care to begin.  I keep jumping from one thing to the next, though nothing engages me.  The only solace is, as I walk back and forth to the kitchen (I convince myself that the twenty-five steps there and back negate the small square of dark chocolate with orange that I am going to fetch) is the new screens flanking the sofa.  I may need to take just one more pass.

My plate was full-to-overflowing last week, though with all good things.  Even so, I had a horrible case of monkey mind which led to a very tight spine during the day and nearly no sleep at night.  I was working on an event held last Saturday and, a few weeks ago, in the midst of planning and picking up, I decided I needed new bracelets.  I had dodged the bullet of buying a dress and with this financial windfall (that was how I saw it at least) I thought I would treat myself to a pair of the Kenneth Jay Lane cuffs that I’d coveted for so long.  A pair.  Yes.  Two. More is more.

A quick internet search yielded, remarkably, a site with a pair in-stock with free two-day shipping.  Click, click, click.  Distracted, I realized Tuesday that they had not arrived.  Emails and increasingly frantic messages provided no satisfaction, though threats of internet retaliation finally did.  The seller did not, in fact, have the bracelets, nor did he know if he could get them. He was sorry.  It could take a while. Curious.

Curious and maddening, actually.  And, in a moment of brief outfit despair, I almost gave up, resigned myself to some other not yet found something that would “do.”  Almost.  Instead, I navigated ebay on my phone (a less user-friendly site cannot be found) and located two sellers who graciously accommodated my a) obsession and b) time frame.

The first arrived on Friday and I told myself all day that if the other did not make it one would be enough.  I was lying, of course.  One would not be enough.  The second appeared on my doorstep the next morning just as I was heading out to set up.

So, I wore them Saturday night and I’ve yet to put them away.  If someone tells you that she saw some crazy woman at the coffee shop wearing jeans and a t-shirt and two enameled and jeweled cuffs, I’m sure you’ll understand.

All this in an effort to thank the sellers, hotfindsnyc and msharley.  So grateful for your great service.