As a young couple in our early thirties, we had just bought our first condo in Boston. Feeling very adult and proud of ourselves, we had recently gotten ourselves a puppy basset hound and had our first child.
One afternoon, sleep deprived and generally stressed from new parental responsibilities, we were walking to the nearby pond one bright sunny afternoon. On the way we stumbled upon a small, lovingly cared for house with a well manicured yard. In the middle of the grass was the most vibrantly painted blue farm house table either of us had ever seen, set for a large outdoor dinner party. It was still early afternoon, and nobody was there yet, but we could almost hear the casual laughter, the smell of the food, and the clink of wine not served in plastic sippy cups.