The view from my childhood backyard in Common Fence Point, Rhode Island.

Chapter One

Where It All Began

I grew up in Common Fence Point, Rhode Island, on a point surrounded by Narragansett Bay.

Our backyard was the water.

I learned to water ski there on a ski board my dad made out of plexiglass. I still remember how fascinating it was to look down and actually see the water rushing underneath me. We caught minnows and mussels in that same water, and we’d ride our bikes all over the point until we heard my dad’s whistle telling us it was time to come home.

We climbed the big tree in our side yard. We played duckpin bowling in the church basement and roller skated at the local rink. We’d walk to the neighborhood mom-and-pop candy store with five cents in our pockets and come home with candy cigarettes that appeared to smoke when you blew into them or those little wax bottles filled with brightly colored mystery liquid.

I’m fairly certain we were better off not knowing what was actually in them. And somehow, we survived.

We also painted shells and set up little stands to sell our creations to the occasional passing car.

As ashtrays.

If the candy cigarettes didn’t date me, the hand-painted shell ashtrays probably just did.

Of course, “passing traffic” in Common Fence Point might have meant one or two cars all day, so my first retail venture wasn’t exactly a financial empire.

This was long before the internet. We spent our time outside. We explored. We roamed. We got bored—and boredom had a funny way of making us creative.

The world felt small, safe and full of possibility.

Looking back now, I think there was something important in all that freedom to wander, imagine and make things simply because an idea occurred to us. Apparently, the instinct to create something and hope someone else might enjoy it was already there.

Chapter Two

Life Had Other Plans

Eventually, our family moved to Northern Virginia, which would become home for many years.

And then, at the ripe old age of 18, I decided I was old enough to get married.

I wasn’t.

That decision took me first to the West Coast and eventually all the way to Germany. I came back to the United States alone, a little older and considerably wiser, having learned at least one lesson very well:

Don’t get married at 18.

Fortunately, life wasn’t finished surprising me.

I met my second husband, and Northern Virginia became home again. Together we raised two sons, and the years that followed were full—the wonderfully exhausting kind of full that comes with raising a family.

There were countless soccer games, baseball games and basketball games. Practices. Schedules. Work. Family. And all the ordinary things that somehow fill every available hour when you’re raising two active boys.

At the same time, I was working full time and building a career in the real estate industry.

Life was busy. Very busy. And then, almost before we knew it, those two boys were grown.

My boys during those wonderfully busy sports years.

Chapter Three

A New Chapter

Northern Virginia had changed too. It had become increasingly crowded and increasingly expensive, and my husband and I began thinking seriously about what we wanted the next chapter of our lives to look like.

We wanted a little more room to breathe.

But leaving wasn’t an easy decision.

We had recently become grandparents for the first time, and one of our sons and his wife were still in Northern Virginia. The thought of moving away from our new grandchild made the decision especially difficult, so I knew I didn’t want to go so far away that seeing family became an expedition.

Our other son was stationed at Fort Bragg, which helped point us toward North Carolina.

It was south. It offered the change of pace we were looking for. And it kept us within a reasonable distance of both of our sons.

So we packed up another chapter of our lives and headed for North Carolina.

Family Keeps Growing

And Then There Were Five

North Carolina became home, retirement began—and our family continued to grow.

That one grandchild eventually became five, adding a whole new chapter to our lives and another generation to the family story.

Chapter Four

Retirement, Apparently

After decades of family schedules, sporting events, work and the pace of Northern Virginia, you might think I arrived in North Carolina ready to sit quietly and do absolutely nothing.

That was never going to happen.

I knew I had no desire to return to the corporate world, but I’ve always had some kind of side interest—something I was learning, making, researching or thinking about trying next.

In 2019, I opened an Etsy shop.

It never really took off.

But I was hooked.

I became more interested in designing. Then in learning how things were made. Then in figuring out how to sell them. One question led to another, one project led to the next, and before long I was learning things I never imagined I’d be learning in retirement.

At Home with Roxie became a place to share some of the things I loved, originally centered largely around food, recipes and life at home.

But apparently I had more to say—and considerably more I wanted to make.

Still creating, still learning and apparently still finding new things to get into.

Chapter Five

One Idea Has a Habit of Becoming Another

Over time, my interests in design, history, nature, old things and collected homes began coming together in a new way.

That eventually became Lace & Grit.

What began as another creative idea grew into collections inspired by botanical studies, woodland creatures, coastal life, curious objects, natural history and the kinds of things that make a home feel collected rather than decorated.

And somewhere in the middle of all that designing, I discovered how much I enjoyed the stories behind the things that inspired me.

So naturally, I decided I needed a magazine too.

The Lace & Grit Magazine grew from that curiosity—a place where decorating, history, nature, recipes, objects and stories could live together without needing to fit neatly into one category.

Then there was writing.

Because apparently running out of things to do in retirement was no longer a serious concern.

I’m now working on an upcoming series of books for pre-teens, another completely different creative road that I’m exploring through The Writers Haven.

And At Home with Roxie has changed right along with me. What began primarily as a food blog has become something much closer to what my life actually looks like now—a little cooking, a lot of creating, rooms in progress, things I’m restoring, stories I’m writing, ideas I’m chasing and the occasional project that seemed much simpler before I started it.

At Home

I Still Like Things With a Story

Maybe growing up surrounded by water had more influence on me than I realized.

I’ve always been drawn to things that feel as though they’ve had a life before they reached me—old furniture, family pieces, natural objects, books, botanical illustrations and the odd little find that makes you wonder where it’s been.

I don’t believe a home has to be perfect to be beautiful.

I’d much rather it be personal.

Give me something inherited, something found, something made by hand or something with a story over a room where everything arrived together and perfectly matched.

Our own home is very much a work in progress, and I suspect it always will be.
That’s part of the fun.

Photo Placeholder

Roxie with the grandchildren or another
meaningful family photograph

What Matters Most

What I Hope I Leave Behind

There is something incredibly satisfying about knowing that something I created is sitting in someone else’s home.

Maybe it’s a journal someone writes in every morning. A pillow on a favorite chair. A blanket someone curls up beneath. A story that makes a reader stop and remember something from her own life.

I made something.

Someone else chose it.

And now it has become a tiny part of their story too.

When I think about what I really hope to leave behind, though, it isn’t a shop, a website, a magazine or even a book.

It’s something much more personal.

I hope they remember that their grandmother kept learning.

That she kept creating.

That she wasn’t afraid to try something she didn’t already know how to do.

That getting older never meant becoming less curious about what might come next.

And perhaps, by watching me follow those interests wherever they lead, they’ll know they have permission to do the same.

Apparently, Some Things Never Change

Looking back, maybe the path from Common Fence Point to where I am today isn’t as unlikely as it seems.

There was once a little girl beside the water painting shells and trying to sell them to the one or two cars that happened to pass by.

She liked making things.

She thought perhaps someone else might like what she’d made.

And she wasn’t particularly discouraged when business was slow.

All these years later, I still get a ridiculous amount of joy from creating something and discovering that someone else wants to take it home.

The merchandise has improved considerably since the ashtray years.

But apparently, I’m still that girl.

Where to Find Me Next

Come See What I’m Working On

Depending on the day, you may find me designing, writing, rearranging a room or following another idea to see where it leads.