When I think of my idea living space, it's a white-washed cell in a beautiful house shared with others--a Victorian house, with a polished wooden staircase, wooden floors, a sitting-room with old furniture and a Turkish carpet, a dining-room and a cheerfully tiled kitchen.
In short, it's a small non-cloistered convent in Toronto, only with family and friends in it instead of women religious. Apologies to the women religious and to women religious in general!
Before my husband got so sick, I thought--should I be widowed relatively young--I might have a late vocation to a cloistered convent. But while B.A. was in serious danger of death, I knew that I did not. But it does seem like such a beautifully spare way to live!