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In college I audited the most magical class about women and domestic space.  The professor asked if any of us had ever sat in our house for the day and watched the light change.  I didn’t understand what, or why she was asking at the time.  Now that we are settled in our house, I get it.  The right light was that illusive something I searched for when we were house hunting.  I nearly drove Chris insane when after a year and a half of looking I couldn’t explain why a building just wasn’t quite right.  Now I realize it was the light all along.  It was the question that Professor Tarbox asked us to consider.  How will the light look in the space where you spend your days?  How does that light make you feel?  How does it change with the seasons?  Will your mornings be bright in your space and how will the shadows change with afternoon?

The light is why I fell in love with our house, despite its list of 1000 projects.  The light is beautiful here.  It thrills me every day to watch it change.  I chase it from floor to floor, searching for the perfect spot to photograph.  I wanted Ada to see it too, so we found this big prism from an old chandelier at the Brooklyn Flea.  (The Hot Wheels guy has a bunch if you happen to go).  Now Ada can watch the light bend and move around her room.

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