The Beauty of Living Well

The Rust Stoneware Pasta Bowl — the piece this whole post is built around.
People ask me sometimes what puck and abby is really about — beyond the bowls, the linens, and the baskets.
The honest answer is that it was never really about the products. It’s about an idea I’ve been chasing for most of my life: living well.
Not living extravagantly. Not living perfectly. Just living with intention — noticing what actually adds something to your days, and letting go of the rest.
I came to that idea through two very different places.
New England, with its stone walls and worn wood floors — homes that have been deeply lived in for generations. And California, where I learned a different rhythm: sun-bleached linen, doors left open, gatherings that come together on a Tuesday instead of three weeks out.
“A good life isn’t measured by how much you have or how polished it looks. It’s measured by texture, by warmth, by how it feels to actually be in it.”
That’s the question we ask before anything goes on our shelves at puck and abby: does this help someone live well?
Not does it look good in a photo. Does it actually earn a place in someone’s home, and stay there. In practice, that means a few things.
We choose artisans over factories.

The Handwoven Natural Scallop Basket, made by artisans in the Philippines.
A handwoven basket. A hand-thrown bowl in an unglazed, sandy stoneware. Linen woven the slow way and left to soften with every wash.
These carry a little bit of the person who made them. The slight unevenness in the weave or the glaze isn’t a flaw — it’s exactly what makes a house feel like a home instead of a showroom.
We choose fewer things, layered with care.
It’s tempting, in retail, to fill every shelf with something new every season. We’d rather sell you the bowl that holds peaches in July and pinecones in December for the next twenty years than five things you’ll replace by spring.
Living well, to us, looks like a room built slowly — a good rug, a worn leather chair, linens in warm, sun-washed neutrals — rather than one bought all at once.
We choose function and warmth over polish.

The Philo Linen Napkin Set, made to be reached for daily — not saved for guests.
The linen napkins that make a Tuesday dinner feel special. The throw that actually gets pulled over your lap instead of staying folded for show.
Almost every day, someone walks through our door in Concord and says the same thing: “It feels so peaceful in here.” That’s not styling — it’s what happens when a space is built around comfort instead of performance.
I think about the homes I remember most, and none of them looked flawless.
They were the ones with a candle already burning before guests arrived, fresh flowers picked up because it happened to be Saturday, a throw tossed over a chair because someone had actually been sitting there. Nothing staged — just a home that had clearly been lived in, and loved.
That’s the beauty of living well. It isn’t a look you can buy all at once. It’s a hundred small, ordinary choices, made with a little more care than they strictly need.
puck and abby exists to help with those choices, one at a time.
“A beautiful home isn’t measured by what it contains. It’s measured by how it makes you feel.”
That’s what we’re after here — a place to just be.
Shop the Story
The pieces from this post, ready to bring into your own table.
Rust Stoneware Pasta Bowl — $62.00
Handmade in Ukraine — the bowl this whole post is built around.
Handwoven Natural Scallop Basket — $68.00
Handwoven from Manila hemp by artisans in the Philippines.
Philo Linen Napkin Set — $98.00
Standard Affair linen, made to be reached for daily.
Continue the feeling this fall
This is the same idea behind everything we’re bringing in for the season — pieces meant to be used, not just displayed. Warmer glassware, soft linens, candles that make a room feel finished, and stems that hold their color through the transition into fall.
“Gathered, not curated — chosen because it earns its place.”
Explore what’s new this season: shop the Early Fall collection.