“The wiser effort would have been to diffuse thought and imagination through the opaque substance of today, and thus to make it a bright transparency…” — Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter
When did I become an adult? I honestly can’t remember but I’m pretty sure night terrors and panic-stricken sweats were involved when I finally realized I had this affliction. As I recall, it actually happened gradually – one new bill at a time, year after year, until one day, I looked up and I was no longer occasionally “adulting." I was in the throes of full-blown maturity. I had responsibilities – a baby, a husband, and an ever-growing to-do list. Yet, I found myself adamant about buying “this old house,” planting a garden, putting flowers in my vintage bicycle basket, journaling in leather-bound notebooks, dining al fresco whenever possible (with wine, plenty of wine), and otherwise trying to infuse my life with…well, life.