March 2026

I love you!

Thank you for all your loving communications, kind words and open hearts. The whole month of February was a lovefest that made me feel light, open and vitally alive. I felt a sense of sacred connection, one with the universal energy. When you reach out to me and let me know how much you look forward to my newsletter, I’m so grateful. It feels so meaningful for me to have this sweet continuity and bond. I feel so fortunate to have you as such caring, kind, thoughtful friends.

Because of our mutual trust, we’re able to completely open up and express our innermost feelings. What a gift and a blessing you are to me! You lift me right up into the lightness of being. Thank you for your loving spirit!

I was delighted to receive so many letters, in lovely cursive handwriting, wishing me love on Valentine’s Day. Susan from Sandy Springs, Georgia, knows I collect “love” stamps and sent me a sheet of the new ones for my collection of “kisses.” Susan, from Rochester, Minnesota, also sent me the “love” stamps. Her Valentine greeting card is a photograph of bleeding-heart flowers from her beautiful garden. Susan included a copy of one of my McCall’s magazine’s “Living Beautifully” columns from February 1991 called “The Cozy Comforts of Winter.”

Reading my thoughts about the dark, cold winter days of February rang true to 2026’s weather. I wrote, “But cheer up. February is the shortest month, and right in the middle of it is Valentine’s Day! We can plan activities that will be antidotes to the tendency to feel blah.” Then I suggested we get more sleep. I’m a big believer in regular sleeping habits. My daughter Alexandra gave me a mask so I can have complete darkness to aid an uninterrupted sleep.

The last paragraph of the column begins, “Remember Valentine’s Day and let others know you love them. Think of the pleasure you bring by expressing a line or two of sentiment in a card you selected or made yourself.” Susan always encloses an inspirational quote that pops open in her cards. This letter’s “Happy Day” is from the lyric poet Horace: “Live life to the fullest, make the most of what you have.”

I received an old-fashioned card from Shirley, who lives in California in a town near San Francisco, where her letter was postmarked. Unfortunately, the leak in my study ceiling rained down on my 72-inch-long French Provincial desk, and the hot-pink ink Shirley had selected for her Valentine message ran, making her elegant cursive name and address illegible. She has a library of my books on her bookshelf, and this was the first time she’d written me. I want to write to thank you, Shirley. Please send me a postcard with your address or send a message and Elissa will print it for me. Until then, please know how appreciative I am and, yes, how much pleasure you gave me with your card and kind words. Thank you.

Oh, and Mark. I treasure hearing from you on the various holidays throughout the years. Your card wished me a happy Valentine’s Day, and the message touched me: “Wishing you a day full of happiness…the kind that fills your heart and brings a smile to your face. The kind that comes from doing the things you love with the ones who mean the most. And, most of all, the kind of happiness that comes from looking around you and realizing how much you’re loved.” It is always lovely (and loverly) to be reminded that we are loved.

Mark wrote, “In difficult times, love and joy are needed in abundance. May they be yours this Valentine’s Day — and always! Love, Mark”

The only time I felt “blah” this winter was when I had pneumonia at the end of December. I packed some DVDs of Cary Grant movies to bring to the hospital, to the laughter and delight of the nurses. The doctor was so young that he didn’t know who Cary Grant was!

Because of my crush on Cary Grant, a big thrill was going to see The Philadelphia Story at the United Theatre with a friend at noon the first week of February. Five or six years ago, I saw it with friends in the same theater, on the big screen. As a grace note to seniors, the United has a “United Rewind” series, where the movies are free for seniors on Mondays at noon and 7 p.m. In the winter months, this has become a fun outing. Cary Grant never fails to make me swoon in sheer joy. No matter how many times I’ve seen The Philadelphia Story, it’s refreshingly entertaining because of Katharine Hepburn and the great parts they performed so beautifully. When an actor plays their part so flawlessly, they are one with their character and we are invited to be in their immediate presence. Because of film, they and their art are alive.

We had two snowstorms earlier in the season, and because of the frigid weather, the snow didn’t melt except when in direct sunlight. There were snow days and black-ice school delays. This recent Winter Storm Hernando, coupled with Blizzard Calvin, was a whopper. We got clobbered.

Anticipating this severe storm with its possible power outages, returning to the Marriott Inn seemed like a responsible choice. However, I’ve experienced two strikes with two snowstorms, causing ice dams, and I felt I had to be here to watch over the study. The second time the ceiling leaked, I was completely caught off guard and unprepared. My friends Tony and Tim helped put everything back in order, and the next day flew to sunny California.

A few days after the storm, in a burst of inspiration, I sanded the desktop, removing all the ink stains, then applied a stain before rubbing in a wood polish and conditioner of beeswax and orange oil (Howard Feed-N-Wax). This desk in the downstairs study is operation central. This is where I work. The water damage on the surface of my desk made me notice how much it needed to be loved up. While I’m desk oriented, loving to sit at one of the seven desks in the cottage, having the study desk in commission is key to my organization as well as pleasure in the process of chosen and necessary work. My love of looking out on the harbor grows as I age. The water is always changing form and color, and gazing at the sunsets becomes an experience I ritualize as sacred meditation, in moments of awareness. I see this living, ever changing beauty on the water and sky from three windows in three rooms: the study, the bedroom and the living room.

The snowstorm was to begin Sunday the 22^nd. On Saturday, I had brunch with my dear friend Charlotte, who’d just returned from a vacation in Portugal. Lunch took up the better part of a most leisurely afternoon. We stopped at a Stop & Shop to let me pick up some spinach and clementines. The place was bedlam. People were stocking up for days because we’d been warned by the electric company that power outages could last for up to six days, and maybe more.

On Sunday I went to brunch with a friend who had just sold her mother’s house that morning. Anne was on a high. There was a strange calm before the storm. Restaurants closed early. Our waitress Ashley served us our meal and told us that the restaurant would be closing “shortly.” We were practically the only customers left. Kicked out, but we didn’t want to go home! We decided to go to the spiritual retreat Ender’s Island to see the beauty and drama of the water. (This is where I want Alexandra and Brooke to spread my ashes, along with some I saved of Peter’s.)

We ended up at a favorite restaurant in Mystic and sat at the bar, celebrating the fun day. The forecast kept changing, with snow falling later and later. When they said 6 p.m., we looked out the window and saw the first large snowflakes. We left immediately, finally ready to go home and hunker down. 

There had been so many severe emergency notices; snow accumulations could be as much as two feet on the coast of Southeast Connecticut. This would be a Blizzard, with a capital B! Because it could be my last makes it even more mysterious and full of wonder.

Watching the 8 p.m. news on CNN, I saw a meteorologist in Mystic discussing the storm! In two hours, we saw significant snow accumulation, and the wind had picked up. The blizzard was on her way. I heard plows several times throughout the night. When dawn came, I saw a winter wonderland of such exquisite beauty, awe enveloped my being. The high, gusty winds swirled the falling snow up in the air. There were moments of whiteouts. For several hours I couldn’t see clearly out of any windows in the cottage. But because of the powerful winds, it was intoxicatingly beautiful to be present to watch the storm.

Around 4 p.m. on Monday, the 23^rd, the snow ended. I heard people shoveling from the front door to the street. Neighbors helping neighbors. The service Charlie and I use came on Tuesday to shovel our sidewalks. The snow was effulgent in its brilliance. Icicles dazzled as they hung from the gutters. The pure holy white snow completely covered the window boxes. As they iced up, prisms of color and brilliant light were resplendent.

Stonington got 26½ to 31½ inches of snow. I had no need to be out in the elements. Tuesday was my second snow day. It was such a peaceful, quiet day, living in the soulful moment. Because of an ordinance, there were no cars on Water Street, only mountains of white, frozen water. The cottage never lost power. Blessedly, no one lost power in Stonington Village.

Fingers crossed, so far, I have not heard, felt or seen any water coming down from the ceiling in the study! When I’m in another room, I completely protect the desk and floor with a tarp and a bucket, cotton rags and towels. I sit at my refurbished, restored desk, looking out at the harbor. This is where I use my lung smart vest, peddling the elliptical foot machine, and where I work and meditate. I feel profoundly grateful to live where I do, in such a beautiful part of the world in the cottage that is a private retreat, my sanctuary and my joy.

This is an amazing biography of an utterly fascinating personality who has made a lasting difference in the world. She was definitely a contrarian, always wanting to take down any person or organization that took advantage of innocent people.

Jessica (Decca) got in “good trouble” early on and was disenchanted with her family’s prejudices and rebelled against her upbringing. As a teenager she ran away from home, came to America, eloped and had a baby. Her parents were British aristocrats. Decca was the second to youngest of six Mitford daughters. Her mother and father were fascists. Her father never forgave Decca for running away; as a result, Decca didn’t go to his funeral.

Decca’s mother didn’t believe in her daughters’ being educated in schools or universities. This deprivation, not being able to have the intellectual stimulation or the rigors of academia, gave her a burning desire to become educated by hard work. By being around interesting people who shared her empathy for justice, Decca became a lifelong learner. She was a self-taught British-born American Communist in the thick of the civil rights movement, a cause she was passionate about.

The jacket copy explains how “Decca broke the Mitford mold. Instead of settling for life as a professional Beauty, she fought fascism in the Spanish Civil War, became an American Communist and pioneered witty, hugely popular journalism. … From famed baby doctor Benjamin Spock to best friend Maya Angelou, her anti-authoritarian irreverence had a profound impact on American culture.”

Carla Kaplan’s deeply researched, beautifully written true story about all six legendary Mitford sisters captivated my attention from beginning to end. Anyone who is interested in becoming a writer, or who is a writer, will find Decca’s story endlessly inspiring. Not only was she extremely hardworking, but once she found her cause, nothing could stop her. She investigated the depths of horror that those in power inflicted on the most vulnerable.

Through Decca’s sheer determination, confidence and hard work, she landed the most legendary, finest editors at the top publishing firms, who took her seriously and promoted her bestselling books, winning the approval and respect of the literary inner circle. When you have a hunger and thirst for knowledge, you put in extraordinary effort — focus and work that always pays off.

For several years, I’ve had this quote by Marcus Aurelius on a small, sweet 18^th century desk Peter and I bought in Grasse, in the south of France. Originally, we had this desk at the foot of our four-poster bed in our New York apartment. When we left the city to live full time in Stonington, we placed it at the foot of our four-poster bed here. We always had a vase of fresh flowers on top of the desk to enjoy whenever we were in the bedroom.

Over time, the brown, marbleized surface paint cracked and chipped, making it quite apparent that it needed to be refinished by an artist. I hired a faux finish artist to marbleize the top of the desk, painting it the same pretty pistachio color of the base and eliminating the brown, lightening the palette to unify and simplify the look and feel. 

When the desk was delivered, it looked like a charming gem I wanted to have near me, where I could sit and admire her quiet beauty and grace. I’ve enjoyed having this treasure in the back living room. It’s finally found its home. This is where I’m constantly appreciating this sweet desk as I sit at her reading, having tea or writing a letter. This desk could have been sat at by a French lady who had it in her living room where she wrote letters 200 years ago. I love the feeling of being present at a pretty object, created by hand in a quieter, gentler age.

Ever since my first memory in my mother’s flower garden, I’ve been seduced by beauty. I wrote about this awakening in my Book of Color. Beauty has always been central to my life and work. My teacher and boss Eleanor McMillen Brown taught her designers that if we created beauty for ourselves, if we created beauty for our clients, we’d live a long, healthy, happy life. Beauty delights and pleases our senses and spirit. In my interior design practice, I had the privilege of being in a position to influence and help my clients create their personal aesthetic. I was inspired to write a book about personal expression, Style for Living: How to Make Where You Live You. I dedicated it to Mrs. Archibald McMillen Brown, who had exceptionally fine taste and expressed herself beautifully in every area of her life. What a privilege and a blessing to have been her “special assistant” (the only one!). I bow to her in reverence.

As we all know, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. All of us have different tastes and lifestyles. And yet, not everyone feels comfortable expressing their own unique aesthetic because they are afraid of being judged. The pleasure and satisfaction I had as an international designer was in being able to help clients incorporate all their beautiful objects and cultural traditions into their homes in harmonious ways that enhanced their own way of being happy. Keep in mind what the French writer Stendhal understood: “Beauty is the promise of happiness.”

I continue to adhere to my triangle of simplicity, appropriateness and beauty, with beauty at the apex of the triangle. Nothing can be added or taken away when we find the sweet spot that feels just right. We create beauty by adjusting all the elements, all the different parts, until there is a harmonious whole. Because we live in chapters, we adapt, embrace and make appropriate adjustments to our lifestyle as our circumstances change.

Also, when we become keener observers, we open our eyes to all the simple beauty everywhere. Friends have an alley of birch trees a few blocks away, and their white bark is sloughing off in large patches. It is so beautiful to see these tree trunks reaching toward the sky, growing deep in the earth below several feet of snow. When we meander in order to see greater natural beauty, we take the road less traveled, and this makes all the difference.

We have to train our eye to see quiet beauty. Just as Mrs. Brown understood that living takes time, we have to slow down to see and appreciate quiet beauty in the moments we are in our breath. As we take in slower, deeper breaths that are refreshing as well as calming, we can deliberately choose to slow down and move at a more leisurely pace. When we go about our daily rituals and celebrations, we can stay in our breath, in the present, in awe at the unity and oneness.

The more I dwell on beauty, the richer, calmer, fuller and more complete my life becomes. We observe and create beauty because this is the gift of being human. We possess the power of our will to make wise, good choices. We’re able to choose to live a beautiful, fulfilled, flourishing life. We’re able to create a beautiful home. We’re able to contemplate and reflect on beauty. We’re able to choose to live beautifully together. Because I’m a firm believer that beauty will save us, the more intensely we pay attention to the fleeting, unrepeatable beauty of nature, the deeper our gratitude, humility and grace will be.

The inner beauty in our soul is the eternal light in our spacious, open heart. Let your light shine as the universe supports your beautiful aura, your invisible, enlightened energy. Have limitless beautiful moments of pure truth, pure joy. Shakespeare wrote about “a daily beauty” in Othello. Aristotle taught his students that everything has its own beauty.

In the month of March, dwell on the beauty of our human life. Seek out opportunities to share your bounty of beauty near and far. Emerson understood, “Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it within us or we find it not.” Life in March weather is “savage and serene in one hour,” he mused. Look for the good, see the beauty, live in this precious, present, fleeting, beautiful moment. This is IT!

Love & Live Happy,