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Well, it is full on summer here at the Lake and as of yesterday, all of my neighbors are in residence. I stopped myself from being resentful of the loss of my privacy when I walked the dogs last night around 9:00 and there was not a sound, except for a loon. Can't really complain about that. In a couple of hours, I'll hear the sounds of screen doors slamming, and boats buzzing up and down pulling water skiers and the kids will be swimming and splashing and laughing and screaming. But for now, this morning is quiet, just the lapping of the waves.

The woman who used to own my house was a spinster, never married, antisocial, alone here with her little dog. Her name was Elizabeth. (Cue spooky twilight zone music here)

Whereas, the Salt Shed, my former home, was owned by a divorced man, someone the neighbors did not like, and who by all accounts and our own observation, was a deceitful, arrogant person unable to finish anything and incapable of telling the truth. (Sound familiar?)

Destiny? You be the judge!  Weird, right?

So, when Gloria was here, I asked her to smudge my cottage and we did it together one night. I wanted the presence of my husband gone forever and politely asked Elizabeth to move out as well. Smudging is Native American medicine, a way of purifying a location by burning a sacred plant like Sage (I got mine from the Miccosukee Indian Village last winter and brought it back with me.) The cleansing, among other things, is said to be an aid to healing.
Sounds good to me.