Life, like painting, is all about composition—balancing light and shadow, knowing when to take bold strokes, and trusting when to stop. It’s a rhythm I’ve followed for as long as I can remember, both on canvas and in life. And sometimes, if you’re lucky, a second chance presents itself—one that allows you to paint something even more beautiful than before.

That’s exactly what Donnie and I found here, on the eastern side of Lake Hampton. This house is a sanctuary of creativity, love, and peaceful adventure. It’s where art meets the water, where the past blends seamlessly with the present, and where every sunrise over the lake feels like a gift.

Our story began in an unexpected way—with a single “wink” in the digital world. Both widowed, both searching for companionship, neither of us imagined a simple online gesture would change everything. I was in California, Donnie in Florida, and that tiny interaction sparked something profound. After months of long-distance conversations, we met for coffee in Houston. I knew instantly. “When you get to be our age,” I often say, “you don’t date. You just know.” We married that March, stepping into this new chapter with faith, knowing life had granted us a rare second chance.

For Donnie, moving to Hampton Cove was something of a homecoming. He had spent years here, first stationed at Redstone Arsenal during his Army days. But it was my son, Nathan, a master chef, who set the move in motion. When he told me of his dream to open a restaurant, I knew it was time to sell my California home and start fresh.

We searched across the Carolinas and considered Guntersville, but as fate would have it, Donnie’s lifelong friend and his wife, who live in Hampton Cove, stumbled upon an open house just down the street. John sent Donnie a text describing the house and added, “This would be a great place for Marilyn’s studio.” That message changed everything.

I looked up the house, and before the day was out, I called the realtor. By sunset, it was off the market, held for us until we could fly out. A week later, we stepped inside, walked upstairs, and I knew. “This is it,” I told Donnie. Sunlight poured through the windows, the perfect illumination for an artist’s space. We had found home.

Painting has always been as natural as breathing for me. My work, found in galleries across the country, isn’t about perfection—it’s about movement, emotion, and knowing when to stop. “Perfection is the enemy of great art,” I always say. It’s something I learned from my mother, a musician and a painter. Though I didn’t inherit her perfectionism, I did inherit her discipline—the understanding that art, like music, requires both inspiration and practice.

Though I spent years teaching, exhibiting, and publishing books on art, I now paint for the love of it, not obligation. My galleries in California still sell my work, but many of my Hampton Cove neighbors own my paintings as well. There’s something special about seeing my art in the homes of people I now call friends.

While I find my peace in the studio, Donnie finds his on the water. His love affair with sailing began in 1974 when he first stepped aboard a 22-foot Ensign at Guntersville Lake. Decades later, he fulfilled that dream, purchasing his own beautifully maintained 1964 Ensign—a classic boat with polished wood and timeless elegance. He sails from Browns Creek, gliding across the water with quiet precision. I admire the artistry of boats, but sailing? That’s Donnie’s thing. I tease that I like looking at boats, not being on them.

We’ve found a natural rhythm here in Hampton Cove. Every day, we walk 10,000 steps, often crossing paths with neighbors who have become friends. There’s something wonderful about the way this place invites connection—the morning light over the lake, a friendly chat along the path, the comfort of knowing you belong.

And, of course, no home is complete without its most regal resident—Tobias. Our Maine Coon cat has firmly established himself as the king of the house, a striking 23-pound marvel of fur and personality. I’ve been a cat person my whole life, but Donnie? Not so much. Until Toby, that is. Now, Donnie is completely smitten, though he still refuses to pick him up. “He’s huge,” he says. I simply laugh.

In the end, life is a collection of moments—some grand, some simple, all forming a larger, richer masterpiece. Donnie and I have been given the rare gift of a second chance—to love, to create, to explore. And here, in this house by the lake, with my paints, his sailboat, and our charmingly opinionated cat, we are painting this chapter exactly as we want it.

And it is beautiful.