Nesting

Getting ready to dive into the belly of the book

Over the past month, I’ve added four plants to my shower enclosure, hung a lamp over my dining area for softer, warmer light, and replaced the ugly ceiling fans. I finally found a big, counter-height table to replace the rickety craft tables.

I’ve also seen the dentist and arranged for cortisone shots in my irritable thumbs before they start screaming a month from now. My freezer is full of soup and shredded chicken, the cabinets stocked with rice and beans.

Some of this is a reaction to the chaos of the world. I’m a home builder to my marrow, and external madness makes me want to create a fortress of safety and calm. I bring in bits of fluff to the art room, tuck twigs and branches into the soft arrangements, wash the surfaces, scrub the floors. I have a new vacuum cleaner. I seem to be baking every weekend—hearty cookies, muffins. I’m thrilled with the new art table, which will make it easier to collage and paint, both for me and for the young artists who visit.

Two things have given me great pleasure—the light over the dining room table and the plants in my shower.

Some backstory—as many of you know, we remodeled our home in Colorado just after the pandemic. One of the things I loved most was a capiz shell chandelier. I hated leaving it behind, but it would have been too hard to move such a delicate thing.

The capiz shell chandelier in the old house. I realize I really loved those floors, too. hmmm

It finally occurred to me that I could simply order a new one. Hang it here, and it would be even more perfect than it had been at the old house. The day I ordered it, the electrician for the generator said he’d throw in the installation for free, so—done.

It’s magical!

The plants are the culmination of a tucked-away dream. Somewhere long ago, I saw a magazine photo showing a large shower with natural light and thriving plants.

When we moved into this house, there was a very large, spa-like shower enclosure (it had been remodeled with an eye toward becoming a vacation rental), which was great—except for the floor. It was epoxy, slicker than snot with even a single drop of water. An examination revealed mold growing behind the shower walls, so it all had to be ripped out and redone. That gave me a chance to echo the mermaid tiles from my other kitchen, and I added sun tubes for natural light. Then, at last, plants.

Voilà! It’s not exactly the shower from that long-ago magazine photo, but it’s so close, and so lovely. Everyone who visits loves to shower in this room, and so do I.

As I look around at all these small comforts I’ve woven into our home, I realize they aren’t random—they are preparation.

This morning, it occurred to me that I’m about to enter the belly of the book. It’s a big undertaking, and it will require more of me than I’ve had to give a book in a while. Up till now, I’ve been in the happy, easy stages of pregnancy, with a little tummy and a beatific smile. But I’ve been pregnant before, and I know what’s coming. It takes everything—all my attention and nutrition, the energy I would normally spend on other things.

In honor of that, some part of me has been making our nest very sound and reliable, and giving me some beauty to indulge in on the hard days.

How do you prepare for times your energy will go into a big project? Not necessarily a book (although a lot of us are writers here, and I’d love to hear how you do prepare), but anything. I love hearing your ideas.