In my old age I have become something of a fresh air fanatic. My bedroom has a screen door that allows the sea breeze to sweep in overnight. Admittedly for much of the year I have to snuggle under what my grandmother Pearl would have called a ‘down comforter’, my one extravagance being a duvet and pillow stuffed only with the softest white goose down.
There are still a few places in the world where one can live with fresh air. And after happily spending the first half of my life in some of the world’s large cities (Boston, Montreal, New York, Mexico City, Dallas, Melbourne) and the second half in a small coastal village, may I share a secret? The ‘good life’ is composed entirely of small blessings.
Burning the Books
Beginning or End?
Small blessings #4: Just a touch of rose.