Home is where the heart is....and the heart is the greatest vessel for our visions, our dreams, our memories and feelings, and the life force which drives our physical existence.

Old tiles, wooden floors, lace curtains, baskets overflowing with brightly-colored yarns, kitchen cupboards built out of an old sideboard, japanese watercolors with irises and bugs and cabbages, old mirrors, sheets of music spilling out of shelves, patchwork quilts, a glorious herb garden on a tiny balcony, golden leafy candelabra, glass paperweights.....this is the living space I share with my son and two feline companions, on the top floor of a four-unit walk-up. The kitchen shelves are lined with brown glass apothecary jars, filled with spices and grains, because I love to cook and bake. Skeins of yarn and swatches of fabric can usually be seen lying about, getting accustomed to being here before they tell me what they'd like to be transformed into. Stacks of books: books on music and hermetic philosophy, Victorian gothic literature, books on vibrational medicine and energy healing, historical knitting and creative knitting technique. Boxes of broken treasure rescued from flea markets along with piles of lace and linen, all waiting to be given a new life after finally having found a new home. Grandparents and great-grandparents watch over us out of their framed photographs on the wall, and friends and extended family scattered across the planet share our hopes and disappointments, our joys and sorrows.