We own a house in Tahoe, it was built by a builder out of Santa Cruz, the ceilings are cedar and the cabinets lovingly handmade of alder by his best friend, the counters are hand polished black local granite and the floors solid cherry wood and heated by copper coils.

We call it the cabin, but it is much more than that.  The windows are made by hand in the Sierra Mountains of pine. The craftsmanship alone is exquisite, and we hired a decorator and she made the home beautiful.

The house looks over the Martis Valley and Northstar ski resort. We can see the snow cats at night, but mostly it is silent here.  The walls are 12 inches wide by law in the Tahoe basin, and with the silent heating system and twelve inch walls and double pane windows a person could sleep through an intense snow storm and wake to six feet of snow. I’ve done this in Truckee and in life metaphorically, but that is another post…

Since the sudden death of my husband in July, I go there as much as I can. Tahoe can be healing and is known as a spiritual place. It is also the scene of our happiest memories making it a mixed blessing to be there.

Recently, I was there with friends and they cooked my daughter and I dinner.

We sat in the kitchen and drank Italian wine and they made us the most beautiful eggplant parmigiana, and I realized this is the new normal.

The sky was inky black and I walked Polly beneath the stars and could hear the music playing and my daughter Siena laughing…

I can see this is my future, and regardless of the past, I am blessed dear friends, my children, a warm fire, music, good food, and the star filled sky that never changes.

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