September 28, 2014


Even though I was married very young, I still spent a lot of time by myself. My husband was either going to school while working nights and weekends or working jobs with odd hours or busting his butt in law school. Before kids, I loved wandering around by myself. Depending on where we were living, I could be found perusing the shops on Newbury Street, hiking in the hills of LA, wandering around small town America, or riding my bike on the Mohawk-Hudson bike path. After kids, I don't get a lot of time for me.

When I planned to take a weekend for me, my husband couldn't figure out why I didn't want to go with someone else. My best explanation was that I wanted to do what I wanted, when I wanted, without having to think about anyone else. And I've done just that.

I took a lovely hike, wandered the gardens at Edith Wharton's house, people watched at the local Apple Squeeze festival, saw a movie, walked around the trails behind the inn, drove around aimlessly enjoying the beauty of where I am and read a lot. My bucket is full.

No one can understand just how hard my buddy has been lately and how exhausting it is to be around him all day. You walk on egg shells never knowing if an outing would go smoothly. Every moment you assess his mood trying to avoid the melt downs. Until yesterday, I don't think even my husband quite got it.

So now I leave this sanctuary, feeling refreshed, and head home to give my husband a break for the afternoon.

I did learn one thing - while I enjoy taking pictures of lovely places, I'd much rather take pictures of lovely people.

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