I swore to myself: I’m not going crazy this year. Not again. It was mixed feelings of apartment longevity and stagnant energy. After three and a half years of pruning the same ol’ rented yard and two years cleaning up storm-damaged garden bed wastelands, I was through. Emotionally. The perennials, mulch and who knows what else had washed away, out to sea when the tides of both Hurricane Irene and Sandy respectively subsided out to sea  – or, forgive me, The Sound. Five feet of water in the basement was nothing to restore, but losing an entire garden you enjoy working so hard at, now that’s a real downer. To me anyway.

I tried to find excuses – we’re saving for a wedding or the “100-year storm” is coming back for a third year in a row – but no matter. I physically could not help myself (and I never can). Maybe it was the lilac tree. I’ve lovingly pruned her back to health and she managed to overcome the surge. She’s so delicious, her bursting blooms look like bunches of grapes, compelling me on a daily basis to drink Portuguese Vinho Tinto, at nine o’clock in the morning. It’s five o’clock somewhere! Maybe it was the vegetable garden. Chris has tackled the garden rows with gorgeous precision. Then the dreams of a luscious bounty come to mind.

In retrospect, I give all credit to seriously pursuing a feng shui lifestyle. A purpose already so innate, but just finding the words helped put the pieces together again. It was as simple as cleaning under the bed, dusting off old shelves and moving things in a way that is appealing to you. Out with the old, in with the new. This new energy swept over me with grace and the prettifying began. The possibility of future gatherings had me perfecting the entryway, bringing fresh flower pots back to life and awakening a life spirit to the humble ol’ Love Shack. Coming home feels uplifting and joyous, and there’s nothing like the feeling of home.

If my thumb were any more green, it’d be gangrenous.