I looked away and two months slipped by me. Hello there, how have you been? Has the spirit of Fall wrapped around you as well, all gold and red and scented by wood smoke? Isn't it just the most perfect time of year?

I'm sitting in the pink room today, soft lamp light and candles, the sounds of light rain and hungry finches at the feeders coming through an open window. I'm half tempted to lie down at the foot of the bed, close my eyes and just drift off. I was lucky enough to have three days away from the dreaded job and I'm savoring every last second of it, no naps allowed!

So this is what I know today, abbreviated as it may be...

A puppy named Inu, Japanese for 'dog', is growing big and strong after a scary start that included emergency surgery to fix a rare intestinal condition. He's my daughter's dog, a beautiful Golden Retriever that we drove late into an autumn night, far into the country in North Carolina to pick up. He's thoughtful, smart, and yes, he does have my heart.

There's a new roof on the house. And most of the privacy fence is in place. New windows have been installed, double glass, shutting out lots of noise and dust. Regrettably several trees had to be removed, the giant magnolia that loomed over the second floor being one. And two volunteer catawbas that came up many years ago and went unchecked until their demise a month ago. I do feel guilt over the loss of these, even if they were a threat to the house and power lines. To a sensitive this is what is meant by "the cost of progress." Onward, I suppose. Don't look back.

A small wage increase was granted after a coworker spoke to the chef about things I'd confided to him. My pay rate wasn't the issue. Being passed over for advancements without presenting me with a reason, or a plan for improvement was the issue. The history is too great to know where to start, so perhaps I won't even bother. This place on the internet is mine, I'll do what suits me best from moment to moment, even if it means the view of my life ends up a bit skewed by the random bits of information I surrender here.

There is a part of me that thinks it would be healthy to give away my secrets: all the regrets, the heartbreaking moments of the past that so very cleverly dictate all of my tomorrows. To obliterate all my yesterdays with their hard won battles and often revisited tragedies and just start all over again. A clean slate, a blank canvas. What would it be like to whitewash these walls? Ah, but that's just not me. I'm in love with nostalgia, even the kind that hurts just a bit. And yet...

My name is Suzanne, I'm married and am mother to a lovely nineteen year old daughter. My husband and I are new empty-nesters and have recently begun to renovate the 150+ year old mill house we call home. The mill village we live in is near the center of a mid-sized, southern city in the United States of America.

Sadly, I am the kind of woman who would probably infuriate those of the 1960's and 70's who fought so hard to displace me from my rightful place in the home, cooking, cleaning, and decorating to my heart's contentment. You see, by day I'm unhappily employed as a baker in a health food store that specializes in vegan and macrobiotic baked goods, soups, salads and entrees. But by night I strive to regain my true identity as a housewife, best-friend-sort-of-mother, gardener, and culinary dare devil. Now and again I claim a day, sometimes two, for my very own, escaping to nearby loved cities and towns such as Savannah and Charleston.

I am also, I confess, the kind of woman who enjoys her days off spent mostly in well-worn cotton pajamas, sipping a nice cup of tea and browsing the internet for vintage treasures. I like my rituals. They give my days some sense of order, where quite frankly there would otherwise only be chaos. If you ask my husband he'll likely tell you there is still only chaos, but he isn't privy to the exact depth of my lows, or the invisible peek of my highs.

Which brings up a topic I will discuss only at minimal length. I live with severe clinical depression, and struggle daily with Semantic Pragmatic disorder. The depression is greatly improved by medication (if I take it, and often I don't), but the SPD is a tiny sliver on the autism spectrum and no treatment exists. I act my way through most days, smiling and nodding at the appropriate times, pretending all is well. But inside I feel like an alien in a foreign world. And so the rituals: favorite movies, music, books, the proper daily requirement of solitude. Comfort items, all of these, bringing my world back to center. Or as near as possible.

The purpose of this blog is multi fold. I hope to chronicle transformations taking place in my life; the home that's being renovated, the gardens through all seasons, my body as it sheds fifty unnecessary pounds. And I hope to share a little bit of loveliness along the way through my admittedly amateur photos and words.

This is enough of a start for now. There's so much more to tell you about, these 44 years are filled to overflowing with travels, births, deaths, letters hidden under stairwells. So, tomorrow then.