Windsor Cottage Chronicles

This blog is starting to look suspiciously like a love letter to New Hampshire—with a few passive-aggressive footnotes about the weather. It’s a far cry from other places I’ve lived: Houston, Phoenix, Santa Monica, San Francisco, London, Boston… and Anchorage (which, to be fair, is the closest match—minus the volcanic ash, wandering moose, salmon runs, and the deeply questionable concept of a midnight-sun tee time at 2:00 a.m.). March in New Hampshire means one thing: Town Meeting . For the uninitiated, this is a centuries-old New England tradition where residents gather to govern themselves directly. Yes, really. No filters, no middlemen—just your neighbors, a microphone, and a strong opinion. I used to think Texas politics had a flair for the dramatic. Then I attended Town Meeting. Picture a room full of people, with seriously opposing viewpoints, debating municipal budgets and whether the town should build much-needed infrastructure (tax funding required). Now add just enough unpr...

Between decorating decisions, connecting with family, doom-scrolling eye-popping headlines, and temperatures that make you seriously question past life choices, this month’s update qualifies as a modest triumph: I’m here, the house still exists, and progress—while slow—is real. A major shout-out to Dan the Man , who has once again earned the nickname Dad. At this point it feels less like a nickname and more like an inherited title. Just for fun:   What do you call a dad with three children? (drum roll please .....)  Outnumbered    (Ka-boom!) I haven’t posted much because it’s been that kind of quiet—the kind caused by weather so cold it shuts down both construction and conversation. We’ve had a brutal cold snap, ridiculous snow, and evening temperatures hovering below 0°F for much of the last two weeks. Very cold indeed. ICE'd out, too.  Or, as a 17th-century Yorkshire expression puts it: colder than a witch’s teat . A phrase best left unexplored in poli...

Zoom ba-dee-zoom—we fled! After weeks of house-project intensity (All work and no play make Jack a dull boy), our youngest daughter wisely booked us a Thanksgiving escape. Not to the Overlook Hotel—no ghost twins inviting us to “come play”—but to the Mountain View Grand Resort & Spa in Whitefield, NH , a Norman Rockwell sort of place that still had quaint dial up phones on each floor. The Thanksgiving feast was superb, at least one busy bartender tried hard to adopt us, and our bedroom window framed  Mt. Washington like a very expensive screensaver. We even saw a Christmas play, visited the  longest candy counter in the world,  and I vigilantly watched hubbie take up double-blade axe throwing with suspicious enthusiasm. But the prize moment? Driving past the Old Man of the Mountain —or more accurately, where he used to be. For thousands of years he perched on that cliff, becoming a legend of Native People's folklore, and unofficial mascot of New Hampshire, seen...

Right now, the world feels a bit surreal. Just a week ago, I was in leafy-green England celebrating life — playing Rat-A-Tat-Cat with the grandsons (a game that reveals far too much about one’s poker face), helping build electrical kits that miraculously didn’t electrocute anyone, and cheering at swim practice and soccer under bright floodlights. The nine-year-old’s moves had me seeing Beckham-in-training, while the seven-year-old’s piano practice had me seeing… patience-in-training.     Now I’m back at Lake Sunapee, where the wind howls under both sun and moon, the temperature dips below freezing, and the lake is as moody as I am before coffee. But oh, the progress! You may not think this is sexy but I do! The hole is dug, the footings are in, and we’re waiting on the elusive concrete truck. Once it arrives and the curing time is done, we’ll have a foundation — both literally and spiritually.  Getting to this point wasn’t easy. Rain and runoff turned our exc...

      Windsor Cottage in 1893   Windsor Cottage 1985   Windsor Cottage 2004 and as it appears today Welcome! Not sure how much we’ll learn along the way, but I thought it might be nice to chronicle this ten-month remodel adventure. We love our little lake cottage in Blodgett Landing—the tiniest census area in New Hampshire, which makes us feel very fancy, like we live in a three-road hamlet. Pine needles dust the streets, sunsets are gorgeous, our dock doubles as a Michelin-star restaurant (if you bring your own food and vino), and our old boat still chugs along each summer like it’s stuck in a 1980s family movie. The neighbors? A fabulous mix—diverse for New England (though let’s be real, this isn’t Miami or Berkeley). Still, it’s a patchwork of personalities, values, and quirks. Mostly they’re kind, warm, and helpful—which is lucky, because the climate here is not. Winters bite, summers bake, spring is basically a swamp, and autumn turns our quiet ...