My friend Joan's house always fulls me with wonder. Pulling up the driveway, whether it be summer or winter, is like entering a magical land -- the snow-covered enchantment of Narnia, the lush greenery of a secret garden, the mad fall foliage of a manic wonderland. Regardless of the season, the place seems enchanted to me. I can't put my finger on why exactly. It is in many ways a place of chaos, but always of hope and perseverance. There is a lilt to the land, the same energy Joan carries in her fingers as they dance across the piano keyboard. It is easy to get lost in time here. There are many clocks, but none tell the time -- some by accident and some by design. The hours pass and you wonder if you are under a spell: have you been here five minutes or five years. Pugs gather around you and you feel as if you are a visitor in their world, where they hold court and host teas. And, Joan is the wizard, the good witch, bringing life to it all.