Over the Hills and Everywhere...

"Yes, I was a seeker,
I sought Him both night and day,
I asked the Lord to help me,
He showed me the way.
Down in the manger,
Humble Child was born.
God sent us salvation
On that Christmas Morn..."

I guess I took a break from blogging, but certainly not from living. I can't exactly put my finger on the exact cause of my blogus interruptus, but there have been a few legitimate contributing factors.

When last I tapped out an entry, we were days away from an election. November was closing in fast. I was pleased with the outcome, at least nationally, and as I've watched the transition begin, I am sincerely impressed with the manner in which the president-elect is assembling his team, reaching out across party lines and also his affect of graciousness. This morning, I watched Tom Brokaw's interview with Barack Obama on "Meet the Press" and, again, I am amazed at manner in which his brilliance is co-mingled with equal parts of common sense and compassion. I truly do feel as if our ship of state is in supremely capable hands with this man at the helm.

The day after the election, Katie and I found ourselves on the phone for our daily lunchtime chat and then suddenly, after dissecting the election results she asked me, in a rather bewildered tone, "what are we going to talk about now?". We both laughed, realizing that we had been completely immersed in primaries, debates, sound-bites and "Palin-tology". Fortunately, however, it didn't take us long to realize that we could easily move onto other topics and our conversations have remained as lively and stimulating as always. I never doubted that for a second. We've never been at a loss for words - I love listening to her extrapolations and considered points of view and perspectives.

Speaking of Katie, she's been quite busy herself up in madcap Manhattan. Since my last blog, she's managed to find a new position - she's now assistant director with a progressive preschool on the Upper West Side of Manhattan which was only five blocks from her apartment until...she and John regained their gypsy ways and MOVED! John and Katie now live in the West 60's, near Columbus Circle and Central Park, and not only have they moved on, but they've moved up - to the 18th floor! NO MORE STAIRS and more square footage including......a dishwasher (and I don't mean John.). I'm told the kitchen is all stainless steel, high-tech appliances, hardwood floors and a terrace.

It was from this terrace that Katie had the odd and interesting experience of looking DOWN on the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade floats as it passed by their street. She reported that she didn't realize the balloons weren't as tall as she had previously thought as they drifted past Thanksgiving Morning. I'm still waiting on interior photos...ahem.

However, in a display of nothing but pure, parental pride on my part, Katie had this photo published in "Gothamist". (Taken from the kitchen window of their new apartment...nice view!). It should be noted that everything she has learned of photography she did NOT inherit from me.

Additionally, Katie has shared with us that she has been stepping out on John, but she's been completely upfront about it. Ignoring the wise adage never to date anyone at work, she's crossed that line and can frequently be found in the cozy company of a younger man. She did send me a photo of him and, admittedly, he's a handsome fella, having just celebrated his one year birthday. John is taking it as well as can be expected, admirably so, hoping I'm sure that it's a fleeting fling, but some days it's all Katie can seem to talk about. John must be a very strong, devoted man to stand by her like this. :-)

Justin has been doing great, too! He and Stephanie moved into a new townhome in Milton, West Virginia (home of Blenko Glass!), and both of them have been working hard with his Dad in preparing for the opening of the shiny, new "Direct Buy" store in Cross Lanes, West Virginia. They had their grand opening last Saturday and by all accounts, things are going great.

Justin doesn't check in every day with chatty phone calls which means I call him at least every other day for updates and news. He was wildly excited by the first snowfall a few weeks ago and stayed up extra late just to watch the flakes fly. This is the first time my West Texas born son has lived among mountains and it's been quite a new experience for him and North Carolina born and bred Stephanie.

Stephanie's Mom and Grandmother visited in late October for a long weekend and took in "Bridge Day", marveled at the fall colors, visited Hawks Nest, Charleston and Huntington. I spoke with Steph's grandma the week after she returned and her first comment was, "I had no idea how beautiful West Virginia is! I want to go back soon!". Needless to say, I believe she was quite impressed. I know the kids enjoyed their North Carolina visitors immensely.

In the time since I last blogged, Stephanie and Justin have added another year to their age - born exactly two weeks apart, they are now the ripe old age of 22. Apparently Justin is carrying on the male Cook tradition of enjoying the companionship of older women, even if that older woman is only older by two weeks! My Dad frequently points out that he, himself, married an older woman - my mother being one year and one month older. He has never let her forget it and, fortunately for my Mom, she simply ignores it knowing she can outdo anyone in this house with both hands tied behind her back.

And then, of course, there has been work. Lots of it! This has been a busy time where I work and we're growing fast. For as dismal as this economy has been, and continues to be, it's been great for our business. We have been accelerating in production which means that I have been hovering over and tinkering with all manner of Excel spreadsheets. They are growing longer and longer and longer which means sales are climbing at a very nice pace.

Last Monday evening, I was invited to have dinner with our president, George, out of Greenville, SC, and my boss Rich, here in Wilmington, along with my friend David, who is a manager at the Greenville office. In fact, when I first interviewed for this position back in June, George and Rich were present at what I affectionately refer to as "the first interrogation". I told them this past Monday Evening, over escargot (they made me take a bite), duck, scallops and my own filet mignon, that if I had realized that the true nature of my work would be almost specifically accounting and so overwhelmingly statistical in nature, I would have thanked them for the opportunity to meet them, given each of them a warm handshake and gracefully pulled myself out of the competition. I knew the title of the job was "Operations Manager" and "Branch Office Administrator", but that struck me as rather vague and, quite candidly, I just assumed I would be pushing paper and typing a few letters and maybe, on rare occasions, filling out a check request. Ha! Was I ever wrong.

Who knew there were 22 column spreadsheets, complete with formulas and functions to figure out, just waiting for me to fill in and that I would find myself juggling New Business Reports, Issue Reports, Profit, Loss, Expense and Production Reports and that , the totals on each of these were tied into each other and must be reconciled weekly and monthly; that each columnar total had to be accurate in order to tie in to concurrent reporting and that monthly totals had to be broken down by product, type and agent! I had absolutely NO IDEA what I was heading into and thank God I didn't.

Fortunately, when we started, we were an office of three: Rich, Robert and me. The production was easy to track and the totals were more than manageable giving me the chance for some very real and serious "on the job" training. Another facet of all of this is that I was put in charge of recruiting and it's funny now, 8 agents later, but it took me a while to realize that each person I was interviewing could potentially result in longer spreadsheets, more tracking, more Excel spreadsheets! Oy! In fact, with each new hire, my work increased exponentially. The correlation between recruiting and the increased accounting load took a little while for me to understand - here I was, looking for people who would inevitably make my work more complex and numeric. How crazy is that? Well, duh, of course that was the point! I just didn't initially, back in what I now refer to as "the salad days", quite understand the machinations of it all.

So of course now, when I interview people at a first briefing, I size them up and, as I chat up the really sharp applicants, realize that a sterling criteria can be distilled into one simple question: Which one of these people possess the ability to make my work even MORE overwhelming and elongate my "new business report" to quadruple digit rows? Putting aside fear for my own private sanity, I realize it's my mission to facilitate in the hiring of the folks who have the potential to provide me with the greatest headaches and, every now and then I glance at the one hallowed spot among the agent mailboxes that houses the extra large size of Advil that Rich has placed within convenient reach of my desk. As Rich always says with a smirk..."I'm a giver...".

Now, what has been truly amazing and unfathomable for me, this person who has always preferred the currency of words, is how much I have grown to enjoy my work. I know, I'm stunned by it myself. I can't believe how much I have been fascinated by how this business has grown from day one. I have come to discover and covet the giddy, satisfying buzz one feels when all of my columns reconcile TO THE SECOND DECIMAL POINT. I have found myself playing with mathematical functions on the Vista Version of Excel and learning how to correspond those totals to other spreadsheets automatically and being astonished when they work just like they're supposed to. It's some crazy stuff I'm learning!

Now, I write this as the daughter of a man who has spent his entire career and retirement reveling and basking in the joy of numbers. My father was an accountant for several coal companies throughout his successful career. My dad adores numbers. He is an Excel spreadsheet genius. My Dad has one of the sunniest dispositions I have ever encountered and I don't recall ever finding him in a low mood. Ever. He can find sunshine in almost every situation. He's just a really happy guy and always has been and he smiles quite easily and often. I must tell you, however, that when he opened up a file I sent him, sharing with him the sort of work I do, this man's face lit up in mega wattage. He looked up at me and said, "Wow, this is what you do? My goodness, you have a GREAT job! If I were younger...".

He's been proud of my writing. He would always compliment my newspaper columns which he read faithfully for the five years it ran. He was always pleased to see me published in "Wilma", "Greater Wilmington Business Journal", and enjoyed reading my work in "PC Magazine" both online and in the printed magazine however, I have rarely seen him light up as he did when he truly discovered the scope of work I am doing. I think my conversion from Microsoft Word to Microsoft Excel has made this man ecstatic. I laugh at him as I send him updated versions of my new business report, so proud is he that back in October he actually printed one out and taped the entire thing together which took 13 sheets of paper and gave me to display in the office. I don't think he ever printed any of my articles and taped them anywhere. Who knew that a spreadsheet held such power? I do believe that, as far as my Dad is concerned, "I HAVE ARRIVED". I believe he probably imagines that my new-found fascination with this genre of work is probably due to a recessive accounting gene (from his contribution to my DNA), that has FINALLY, at LONG LAST, awakened xeroxed itself.

Now, here's the part that kind of has me a little concerned. Most people claim that they "leave their jobs at the office", as well they should, right? Historically, without someone pointing a gun or a paycheck at me, I would never voluntarily open an Excel Spreadsheet up at home. It's like I could find 10,000 other things to do on a computer without ever considering opening a blank spreadsheet on one of my home computers. I haven't confessed this in print before and maybe it's the reason I haven't blogged because I know I have a tendency to turn this blog into a bit of a confessional but hey, it's good for the soul, right? Here's the issue and it's not easy to write about but, well, I have been keeping track of my finances, receipts, expenditures, the whole ball of wax. I now save ATM receipts and I log them, along with gasoline purchases, even freaking small Dunkin' Donut receipts aren't safe from my control and reportage. Frankly, I'm a little scared. A mere year ago I would throw those things away and never think twice and now, almost every evening I find myself fishing out receipts in my purse from purchases made that day and it's kind of freaking me out. I mean, I try and play it cool and still maintain the facade of the crazy blond, spreadsheet unencumbered ditz, but it's getting harder and harder to hide my new hobby.

I think I'm turning into my Dad. I look in the mirror and I look the same, but I can't deny the fact that I update my personal finance spreadsheet on a daily basis. I know, I know, admitting you have a problem is the first step, right? But the thing is, work, my family, they're all enabling me! Should I add another "AA" to my repertoire? Is there, in fact, an "Accounting Anonymous"? I don't think I have time to add another 12-Step group to my schedule. This may well prove to be an addiction I may have to make peace with.

Speaking of AA, I was elected the Intergroup Rep from my home group a few weeks ago which means that I attend a meeting at headquarters every other month to report back to my home group the goings on at our local main office. It didn't sound like that big of a deal so of course, I accepted the role and figured it would basically involve keeping up with information such as new meetings in the area, methods of reaching out to the community, etc., Sounded harmless enough, right?

On the third Thursday of October, I arrived at my first meeting at Intergroup, and took my place among the other home group reps and, upon being warmly greeted by the head of Intergroup here in Wilmington, was handed an agenda and some accompanying papers that were to be discussed. I sat down in my chair, opened up the papers to see that it contained, what else, a spreadsheet with budget information and Intergroup assets, expenses and all manner of pertinent financial information and a proposed budget for next year. I just sat there, after leaving four minimized spreadsheets on my work computer amid my cluttered desk, thinking I was in a "safe place" at local AA headquarters, to be hit with budgets and expenditure forecasts? Egads, I thought. I can't get away from this stuff! Even AA isn't a safe haven for a burgeoning numbers addict. I had to laugh. There I was trying to be a "normal" recovering alcoholic and they hand me paperwork to facilitate my newest addiction. I shared this experience with a couple of trusted AA friends who wisely offered, "Susie, this is probably God doing for you what you couldn't do for yourself...". Figures.

On January 12, 2009, I will celebrate (God-willing) five years of no longer taking a drink. Now...I take a number. What a crazy world, isn't it? Sobriety remains full of surprises and I continue to be grateful for each one of them. One day at a time, of course.

Between work and work, I have turned my attention to rearranging the upstairs of my home. Since Justin moved in July, I have gained incredible amounts of square-footage. There is so much space up here now. My kind and generous boss, Rich, graciously gave me a beautiful and very heavy desk and I love it. After he and his lovely wife (and Bobby) delivered it one Sunday Afternoon, my Mom and Dad came up to see it (it's a really nice desk), and as I was contemplating how to get it into what used to be my old office, my Mom brilliantly suggested, "Why don't you use it in the loft - leave it right where it is?". I thought about it for two-seconds and realized it was pure genius. It offered me plenty of room, quick access to my beloved books in the built in shelves, and freed up another room because I wasn't really using the loft for anything. My Dad helped me set it up and it fits perfectly and I don't know what to do with all this space!

Of course, change begets change, right? And so I soon decided that I would turn what used to be my office into my bedroom so that necessitated more moving (and sore muscles) and that, of course, meant that I became a fan of Craig's List. In fact, I tell people that my house is now decorated in "Early Craig's List". Let's see - in the past few weeks, I have snagged a stained glass window which overlooks the open space that used to house that dreadful bird aviary, an almost new barely used Sharp flat screen TV, a 3 year old Kirby G-6 Vacuum that originally cost $1200 that I got for $100 and has ALL the attachments and sucks out dirt you had no idea was lurking in places you can't imagine! And yesterday, my Craig's List surfing resulted in an antique pie safe that my Dad and I secretly picked up and surprised my Mom with for her birthday which is December 13th - when she'll celebrate being a spry 85 years young. She loved it and it looks GREAT! Craig's List is like sports shopping and I enjoy it immensely except for one thing - the spelling drives me nuts on there and one word in particular makes me scream - people advertise tables that one eats at as "dinning room tables" and my gosh, do you have any idea how prevalent the misspelling of that word is? I want to shout - there aren't THREE N'S in there people! I know it's a crazy pet peeve, but what about spell check? Spell check is our friend and I'm hardly flawless but how can you look at "dinning" and NOT see something amiss? Sometimes I have to take a walk after seeing so many ads for "beautiful dinning room table - it will look great in your dinning room!". What in the world is a dinning room? Moments like that, I just have to get up and take a walk or clean an aquarium or I can be found muttering...DROP the DOUBLE N!

Speaking of aquariums, the fish are thriving and multiplying and every week I have a pair of pink convict cichlids that multiply some more. If anyone reading this in the Wilmington, North Carolina area would like about 100 baby pink convict cichlids and knows how to spell the word "DINING (as in DINING ROOM TABLE), I would be glad to set you up. These pink convicts are proliferate and they're such GREAT parents. Really, it's fascinating to watch them - they will fight off intruders (including my hand which has been bitten many times when placing fry food in the tank) with a remarkable, primitive ferocity. The parental instinct in these fish is incredible. They will scoop the babies in their mouths, dig sand caves in the corner and spit them out. Of course, even pink convict babies don't listen and within about ten seconds, they sneak out of the safe place and will wander back out into the open tank but, ever vigilant Mom and Dad race in and corral them right back home. It's fascinating and a lot of fun to observe.

And here we are in December. How in the world did that happen? Where did this year go and I know it's redundant and I say it every single year but my gosh, in the words of John Mayer, "STOP THIS TRAIN". Time is flying by so very fast. We were at our neighbors yesterday morning for their annual neighborhood Christmas Brunch where all manner of soups, sweets and neighbors catching up with neighbors was bountiful as it always is. It's always so much fun to see these wonderful people in our neighborhood (even if most of them were McCain supporters) who we see walking around during the rest of the year, gardening, mowing, raking or watching their kids move away because we all have kids who have grown up, but never really having the chance to truly catch up with what's been going on. The Freshwaters afford us this opportunity every December and we all look forward to it. This year, it was BYOB (bring your own bowl). We had a fantastic time and my Dad enjoyed hugging all of our female neighbors and ignoring their respective husbands. He's such a flirt and always in his glory.

This is our ninth Christmas in this town and I moved here with adolescent kids who have grown up and moved North (and who still delight in calling me at odd hours to report that "MOM, it's SNOWING RIGHT NOW!", always to get the response from me, "I'm so happy it's you...and not me!". But still, I revel in the enthusiasm with which they greet it and then I wonder to myself, how in the world did I raise kids who like cold weather and frozen precipitation? Was it something I ate during my pregnancy? Did I watch Rudolph too many times? Was it the ice cream I scarfed down? How did these Southern bred kids become Yankees???? (I know, Justin lives in WV, but as far as I'm concerned, that qualifies him for a Yankee if, for no other reason than climatological data).

Unfortunately, Justin will not be able to make it in because his boss told me that he has to work the day after Christmas. Of course, his boss is his father and from what I can tell in talking to both of them, they're having a great time working together in this mammoth business venture! It's fun to hear them speak of each other in a way that implies they are truly working closely and well - father and son. Pretty cool. Quite a blessing, indeed. From what I can tell, there's a lot of mutual respect going back and forth between them. I love that.

Katie, however, will be arriving on December 23rd and we can't wait! We'll certainly miss Justin and Stephanie, but we'll enjoy having Katie and John visit. I haven't seen her since her visit in May which feels like years ago! She may be all grown up, but she's still my little girl. I definitely need a Katie fix!

Sometimes, especially now that I don't see either one of these kids everyday, when I do see them, I just find myself studying them, fascinated at who they've grown into being, amazed and even more grateful that God configured so perfectly to place them in my life. I can't begin to adequately articulate how much I've grown to admire and respect both of them and who knew that the tsunami of love that one feels for their child at birth, can grow to such expansive, infinite proportions? And it keeps growing in ways no one can probably explain because it's just massive. Isn't it? I mean, you know how you don't think you can love someone any more than you do at certain times, but the great thing about love, is that it reaches so far beyond what you were sure was the limit - the bar constantly continues to be raised and it intrisically exceeds itself. For me, it's such a keen reminder of God, the largess of something intangible, so overwhelming as to render itself impossible to quantify. There is no scale to it and, apparently, absolutely no limit at all. Then again, that's what this season is all about isn't it? It's where the light first became lit, the source of everything that is good and valuable and most precious to each of us with the advent of that birth. Because of that humble beginning, I have all of this incalculable love. I need to remind myself to remember that source of this season more often. I would have nothing without it. I wouldn't even "be" at all.

I'm grateful. I'm just so grateful. I'm even grateful for people who sometimes insert extra "N's" in "dining". I'm just that grateful.

If you're reading this, I'm grateful for you, too.

A few weeks ago, I received a call from my dear, sweet friend Michel in Nantes, France. We had such a great talk and it feels like I've known him forever. We were talking about our respective kids, the two Thanksgivings he'd shared with our family in the past ten years, and what was going on in our lives. His work sounded most decidedly much more intriguing than mine - he had just finished translating Zbigniew Brezinzki's latest book from into French, along with even more stimulating projects. He has always been one of my most valued and trusted writing supporters and my respect for his opinion and talent is boundless, along with being such a trusted, special friend. Michel asked me why I hadn't been writing much (at all) lately. It was a legitimate question and I shared some things with him that had evolving inside of me in these past few months.

Quite a few years ago, the ever astute Michel made the remark that I was "becoming the person you were raised to be", after what was really just a lull in a tumultuous time. His remark struck me at the time because I knew that whatever I might look like on the outside, on the inside I still wasn't close to being who I was raised to be. I guess his remark lingered in my head because I knew innately there was such a disparity between the truth of that statement and my own reality at the time he made it.

In fact, I was spiraling - I remember wishing that I was even close to becoming who I was raised to be, but I was at least honest enough with myself to know that, in fact, I wasn't even in the same neighborhood of any of that. I still had quite a few years to fall before I could begin to get up and assess the situation. I had much more damage to do (mostly to myself) but even given the point where I was at that time, Michel's statement sounded an alarm in the very deepest part of my (then) fragile being. I wanted to be able to say with clarity and honesty that yes, indeed, I am very much close to being the person I was raised to be...

At the time, it felt like a hopeless dream of a goal.

During these past few months, my parents and I have keenly missed Justin, as we did Katie when she first flew the coop. The absence created by his relocation was nothing less than a very real adjustment. He'd never really lived away from home and you'd be surprised how seeing the same guy for almost 22 years can become a habit. It was so quiet after he moved and I think, in some way, that we each stayed "up" for each other almost as much for ourselves. Of course, it required that indispensible but impossible to rush commodity of time. Time takes time and it never allows itself to be rushed.

So many changes have taken place since January 12, 2004 - the day after I took my last drink. Relationships have changed in a variety of positive ways but perhaps the relationship that changed most profoundly was the relationship with myself. In those first days, weeks and months of sobriety, you run the gamut of feelings toward yourself - and a lot of it is of the "self-loathing" variety which you have to walk through and then out of and you have to accept the fact that you have been sick, very very ill, because of the disease that's been chipping away at your whole being. And then, as time moves on, you learn acceptance and at some point, perhaps when you're not even paying attention, some threshold is crossed and lo and behold, you start to truly believe that you're actually an OK person - and then you learn that you truly can depend not only on others, but most of all, on yourself. You discover that you can be trusted probably long after many others close to you have granted you another chance. It's often said that we can be our own worst critics and I believe that's often the case, at least it has been with me many times.

Plunged into the quietness of this house after Justin moved, I've spent more time around my Mom and Dad. I've often said that I want to be just like them when I grow up and I really do because they've managed to grow up without losing their youth, their playfulness and impishness, their sense of wonder with just about everything - and even though they've been around on this planet over 80 years, they still retain that wonder. My Mom can point out a flower in the yard or the first tomatoes or cucumbers on a plant every year and she does so as if it's the very first time she's ever seen such a thing - with a genuine expression of pure awe at something she's witnessed many times before.

My Dad is exactly the same way - he can be genuinely dazzled by a meticulously cut yard, a sudden growth spurt of a plant, or even the way Cassie comes inside after it's started raining and voluntarily holds each paw up to be dried off and how she likes her face wiped in a very specific fashion. These are the kinds of things that positively capture their attention and how wise they are not to overlook them, to take notice of these seemingly small things that maybe aren't so small at all.

I have observed in these past few months how both of them find deep joy in their routines, how this couple who lived through losing their oldest daughter back in 1973, managed to rediscover joy in the details of everyday life - how these routines, putting one foot in front of the other, sustained them until the magic and wonder of life resumed its proper place allowing for things like tomatoes blooming and leaves turning to captivate them once again. They haven't simply spent all these years living - they have lived well and from what I can see - there's a huge difference in those two things. It is their continued joy in each day that has made such a huge impression on me these past few months. "Living well" is such an art and it has absolutely nothing to do with money at all but has everything to do with Grace. Grace has so many excellent definitions but the one I'm probably thinking of just now is this: "a virtue or excellence of divine origin."

When I spoke with Michel a couple of weeks ago, I tried to explain that what I was experiencing, didn't lend itself well to writing just yet, but that I knew in time it would. And I believe it will, but lately, I have felt like a sponge of sorts, enjoying the new routines I've established, finding joy in things I never would have imagined containing anything fascinating or remarkable. In a way, the things I've previously thought to be unremarkable, have proven to be the most remarkable. The point of it all that has eluded me for so very many years, is the simple lesson that joy and wonder can be found everywhere if I'm willing and determined to see it. It really is just that easy.

Back to Michel's long ago observation, that I was "becoming the person my parents raised me to be", well, it occured to me that in fact, it appears as if I had found that path and was, at the very least, heading in the right direction with as sturdy a compass as I've ever felt in my pocket. Not only does my compass feel reliable, but I have learned to depend on it and trust both my compass and me. There's a lot to be said for heading in the right direction...

The other night I was having dinner with my parents and my Dad always begins dinner with an elegant "grace". After he blessed dinner, they were discussing how much they missed Justin and Katie but then, my Dad looked across the table at me and said, "But you know what? I sure have enjoyed the three of us being able to spend time together." And then my Mom suddenly remarked that she was "so proud of me". I have to tell you, that no matter where I have been published and regardless of where I might be published in the future, I can think of few remarks that could make me feel as grateful as I did in that moment. It was a deep sense of gratitude and what a keen reminder of a Higher Power, who made the culmination of that moment and that remark remotely possible.

If you think about it, that really is "Go tell it on the mountain" stuff. For now though, given the absence of mountains, I'll just blog about it.

Merry Christmas!

Gravitas, Sophistry and Presidential Timber vs. Kindling

Gravitas...

In a campaign steeped with so much surreal sophistry, I have been searching for gravitas. I was eager to watch "Meet the Press" this morning. Distinguished former JCS and Secretary of State Colin Powell was the featured guest. I was anxious to hear what he had to say because technically he's a registered republican like me and also, I have the highest respect for this man. I've always thought him to be a reasonable, brilliant and sensible gentleman who would, in my opinion, have made a fine president in his own right.

As Tom Brokaw lead him up to the $64,000 question, Powell offered a studied assessment of both Sen. McCain as well as Sen. Obama. His points were concise, topical, thorough and I personally agreed with just about everything he said.

I've always personally put a lot of stock in Powell's opinions because he's seen things from within the inner circle of government and the military. Like a lot of Americans, I feel as if I can trust this man's view because of the positions he's held and, frankly, I always thought Bush threw him under the bus.


These are some of the most challenging times America has ever faced. No matter where you find yourself on the political spectrum, most of us can agree that our plate isn't simply full, stuff is spilling off of it in huge dollops. Our plate can barely contain its contents at the moment.

I've had serious and deep conversations with people I highly respect in these past few weeks, people I have known for years and put a lot of stock into what they believe., their opinions and views. Anyone who reads this blog or knows me personally understands that my own parents top that list. I can't think of two humans I respect and have more faith in than Barbe & Maxine Cook and I say this because in my 48 year history with these folks, they have been right something like 99.99999% of the time with a negligible margin of error. It is, in fact, uncanny how often they are correct on a myriad of subjects. These aren't knee-jerk, radical or prejudice people. In my estimation they have managed to be progressive without ever abandoning their beliefs or ideals. I would trust them with my life and have on several occasions. On a few important occasions they have, in fact, taught me to be more open and thoughtful in my approach to pivotal situations in raising my kids and they've gently guided me from being too rigid or judgmental. They have lead me not by preachy sermonizing, but by their impeccable example and graceful guidance. My parents may not be perfect, but they're just about as close to it as I've ever known.

I've also had talks with others that I respect including close friends and even my exhusband, Tim. I have a long history of observing his compass and I have known him for twenty-nine years. I respect him, too, even if I don't agree with him on everything.

I've searched for answers, read volumes of text and listened intently to interviews, all three presidential debates and one vice-presidential debate. I have practiced as much objectivity as I possibly can and in doing so, I can't help but continue to feel strongly that Barack Obama is the better choice. It's tough for me, coming from a predominantly conservative background.

I must say, however, that McCain's selection of Sarah Palin did make it easier and she continues to validate my initial feelings about her as being someone about as qualified to be vice-president or president as my dog or three cats. I continue to look at her biography and recent campaign performance as comic book in nature with even less substance. I can't for the life of me figure out what John McCain was thinking in choosing her. I read one headline out of the UK this morning that asked the question, "Is Sarah Palin Presidential Timber" to which I immediately thought, my gosh, she's not even presidential kindling.

Honestly, I believe that at his core, John McCain is a good man, a decent, respectable man who is inarguably an American hero in every sense of the word. He has served his country far more brilliantly than his own campaign staff and advisers have served him. Having said that, I just don't think McCain was well-qualified to be the next president because Bush's "legacy" has been too painful and the thought, there mere idea of four more years of a continuation of his policies is more than many of us can stomach.

Like I said, I was deeply torn before McCain chose his running mate but with his choice of Palin, I pretty much realized not voting for McCain wouldn't be as difficult as it might have been had he chose a more appropriate and well-qualified running mate. A pistol-packing hockey mom might make a colorful friend to grab a cup of "Joe" (and not Joe the unlicensed plumber who owes back taxes) with, but to consider this woman who uses phrases like "palling around with terrorists" or sometimes reverts to a syntax only Yoda could understand and appreciate, is beyond horrifying. I'm not in the slightest bit elitist, but I would prefer our national leaders to be articulate and knowledgeable and yes, even have more than a page or two of stamps in their passport. I don't necessarily fault Sarah Palin as much as I do the McCain Camp for inserting her in a position she is completely ill-prepared or qualified to assume. It kind of strikes me as the type of non-forward thinking that landed us in Iraq: Yes, doing so made a huge splash and bold statement, but once we situated ourselves there and whoops, didn't find any WMD's, what do we do now? In a sense, Palin's selection was big on "splash 'max" factor'" but after the ripples receded, what does she bring to the table? It turns out that her "international vision" is restricted to the horizon looking West across the Bering Sea where, on a clear day, you can see maybe not forever, but sometimes catch a glimpse of Russia.

That is literally and figuratively short-sighted and very scary. We're in a high-tension situation that doesn't allow us to affect short-sightedness. We need the ability to see as far and wide as we possibly can - even further than the tip of Russia from across the Bering Sea. As Secretary of State Powell said this morning, we need someone "transformational". In this race, for me at least, that translates Barack Obama and Joseph (Joe the Senator) Biden. Someone who doesn't look as if he's going to blow a blood vessel from sheer, barely controllable rage, but who is deliberate, studied and forward thinking, who doesn't spout off in anger or legislate based on emotion.

So I was grateful for Powell's thoughtful assessment of both McCain and Obama this morning. It was well-presented and elaborative and while his endorement may not be the clincher for a lot of folks, it did comfort me and validate my feelings. No matter where you are in your thinking on this election, it's worth listening to Brokaw's interview with Powell.

This has been such an internal struggle for me - this crossing party lines on a presidential level, grappling with my hopes and dreams for the future of my now grown up kids and, someday, their own children and what I hope and pray their future looks like. It's interesting how our vision changes with our station in life. I now find myself thinking of grandchildren that might appear at some point in the next five or seven years. I want it to be as safe and dream-laden as I feel it's been for me.

It's never been perfect and of course it won't ever be, but it's been such a stellar country to call home and there is such a profound pride in being an American. We're such a diverse country and independence courses through all of our collective veins. As Americans, we're not simply encouraged to dream, but it's tacitly expected of us to be dreamers, to reach for our own stars and we're told from birth that because we're Americans, ANYTHING is possible and, as evidenced by our myriad achievements, many of those dreams evolve into a personal reality. We're Americans. We do great things a lot of the time. What a history we have and yes, we're in a tough spot right now, but we've been in tough spots before. I don't know if I fall into one of those geographical areas that Sarah Palin has determined to be "real America", but I think "real America" isn't just in a few pre-determined locations but everywhere there are Americans. We take it with us. How arrogant of Palin.

I was talking to my manager Friday and noticed he had a "YES WE CAN - NC FOR OBAMA" yard sign. I remarked on it and he said I could have it - he has one in his yard. Me, with a sign like that here on McCain Street. Even my pro-McCain parents have remarked on the other signs on our street touting the republican nominee, saying they don't think much of placing yard signs regardless of their choice. At first I found that odd and then, after a little reflection, it was quintessential "Barbe & Maxine". It's how they are about everything - not showy or "in your face" and certainly not pushy at all. They don't need to post signs just as they never force-fed anyone their beliefs, religious or otherwise. They live what I have come to refer to as a "quiet calm". It's why they have a plethora of friends far and wide. It's also why their family, both immediate and extended, respect and adore them. I grew up watching them "walk the walk" and rarely heard them talk much about it. Truly, my parents embrace "to be rather than to seem". Never offensive or obtrusive and never, ever in your face. Rare are the people who can effectively comingle idealism with common sense. For my parents, it is like breathing. Seamless. Remarkable.

When I told my Dad about the sign in my car, he looked at me and I quickly said, "Of course, I'm not going to put it in the yard...it's going in my office upstairs.". That was a close one! And that's where it will go - on the wall of my office as a memento of this election. A reminder of this moment in our history as we prepare to make even more of it. I want to remember this time when my political beliefs, feelings and thoughts have felt so challenged. Someday, I want to tell my grandkids of this election and they will be bored with it I'm sure, but maybe they'll look at that sign someday and say, "What's up with that old campaign sign, Grandma?". I will smile and launch into a story of the time way back in 2008 when I wasn't exactly sure what was what and who was who. By then, the Obama-Biden presidency (if they win as expected) will be one for the history books and I hope, I dearly pray, that my hunches and feelings and hopes and dreams will maybe even be exceeded.

On this Sunday in late October, days from this historical election, it is leap of faith. Regardless of how it all goes, let's hope for a safe landing on the other side and because we're Americans, on 5 November, we'll rally behind our next president and get to work with him, whoever he is. That's what we do.

That is who we are.

Warm Reminders of Roberta, Thoughts on Cause and Effect and a Happy Birthday Shout-Out!

Of Palin...and an Exceptional Parrot

One year for Christmas, I believe it was 1993, Tim bought me an African Grey Parrot. She was a mere eight weeks old and was still being hand-fed which is really the perfect age to establish a close bond with an African Grey. In terms of sheer intelligence, African Greys are the "Einsteins" of the parrot world. They're vocabulary and gift for mimicry is simply astounding. Not only can they repeat complete sentences, they can do so in a voice that will make you swear it's the person they are imitating.

I remember many times in Florida, hearing Roberta scream in a voice that sounded more like Justin than Justin, "Mom! Come here Mom! Quick!". I would race down the stairs more times than I care to admit, knowing full well Justin was in school, thinking..."Oh no! Is Justin OK?". I mean, her mimicry was dead on! Roberta would also take great delight in calling the family dog, a big lumbering yellow lab named Blossom, who would fall for Roberta's tricks, same as me. Blossom would scamper from wherever she was, thinking one of us was calling her, only to find a room devoid of any human family members, and a parrot perched on top of her cage, looking innocent, though I always figured Roberta must be thinking..."what a stupid dog! fell for it again, did you?". Roberta probably thought the same of me.

I must confess something; Roberta had a Republican handler, though she didn't have index cards.

Did you watch the vice-presidential debate Thursday Night? Were you one of the lucky ones to catch a wink or a shout-out? I have to give credit where credit is due. I can't imagine how Sarah Palin pulled herself together amid such low expectations and managed to stand up there before a huge television audience and, at the very least, form complete sentences in a quasi-coherent fashion. I have to give her credit for showing up, no question about that. She didn't look terribly addled and certainly seemed to warm up to the bright lights, even though she dodged or simply refused to answer most of the questions. Ms. Palin was poised, showed some style and even some down home "Joe Six-Pack" humor, but I don't think you win debate points for that.

Aren't we just finishing up with a "regular, Joe Six-Pack" kind of guy? Hey, I voted for Bush and I have to tell you, that didn't work out so well, did it? It feels to me like "Joe Six-Pack" turned out to be "Bud Extra Light". I dunno, I think we've had enough of that. It hasn't worked out so well, has it?

And one more thing, watching the VP debate brought back fond and affectionate memories of Roberta, my smart, feisty little maverick of an African Grey. Most of the time, I'm sure Roberta had no clue as to what she was saying, but we, "her handlers", used to coach her and feed her lines and, let's give a parrot credit where credit is due, she would pick up a great deal of her repertoire by passive listening to rote phrases. When we moved from Florida, we gave Roberta to our vet tech who loved that bird. It was sad saying goodbye to her. We never got around to teaching her how to wink or send "shout-outs", but I'm betting she could have mastered that as well. What an awesome parrot. Darn right you betcha she was!

One of the things that make me so unnerved to consider the very real possibility that Sarah Palin might wind up as commander-in-chief, are index cards. What will happen if, when she's conferring with world leaders, she looks down and doesn't have the right note card? If our collective well-being lies in our leaders being experienced, educated and have an solid understanding of foreign and domestic affairs, I would like to think they have more to lean on than an index card. A "house of cards" is a flimsy defense. It doesn't convey a level of comfort for this writer. Frankly, it's something that's scared me for, how long has she been at this, five weeks? Like, yeah.

Another point that struck me in the VP Debate, is Ms. Palin's dismissal of the importance of determining the causes of global warming. She wasn't as much noncommittal as she was totally incurious in discovering the key practices that have imperiled our environment. Gov. Palin was reluctantly agreeable that we needed to discover ways to protect the earth and try and reverse some of the damage that's already been done, but to completely find no valid reason or desire in discovering the exact causes of environmental devastation made me happy that she's not in charge of something like cancer research.

Can you imagine if the world of oncology was interested only in treating the symptoms of a disease without discovering the etiology? What if there was no cancer research? We would have made absolutely no significant gains in lowering mortality rates, survival statistics or improving quality of life. It is from research and cellular detective work that new weapons of cancer destruction are created - learning how to use monoclonal antibodies, harnessing the body's own biological immune system which allows us to move away from bombarding fragile systems with toxic chemicals and radiation. The face of cancer treatment has changed significantly because of research and ongoing discovery. Many treatments are now tumor-specific because researchers have studied the disease process and it is only in adding to this knowledge that gains will continue to be made. Specifics matter. Points of origin teach us essential information so that we don't repeat past mistakes. Knowledge is power.

The same principle is true for just about everything. We can't repair this economy unless we look deep into what has created the recession; sloppy lending practices, a Wall Street that fed corporate CEO's scurrilous salaries and bonuses; teaching our kids to live on a "credit and carry" basis, rather than pay for it as you go and if you don't have the cash on hand, you don't really "need" it. The line between our "needs" and "wants" has become unforgivably fuzzy.

When I was a little girl, and even after I wasn't such a little girl and had my own family, I would watch as my Mom would be putting away the leftovers, and I would laugh almost in a punkish, glib manner, as she would save even 3 or 4 tablespoons of leftover corn, beans or even spaghetti sauce. I'd think, "how silly she is. saving a few bites of something when all she has to do is just open a new package next time.". I could never understand (and certainly didn't bother to try), why my parents saved EVERYTHING (and I do mean EVERYTHING). Things in our home weren't replaced until they were completely and totally inoperable and even then, they would be deconstructed to their essential parts with the thought that "this piece or part might come in handy someday...". I remember being chastised not too long ago for idly tossing away the empty inner plastic wrapper that had contained cereal, only to find that my Mom had fished it out of the trash and washed and rinsed it because "it makes a great wrap for vegetables or cake. you can do all kinds of things with these great wrappers! Better than those expensive Ziploc bags!". I'd shake my head again and again, never quite getting it.

In fact, my parents are children of the last "great depression" and obviously, it wasn't all that much fun and anything but "great". My mom and dad recycled long before it became fashionable and not because they were scratching for money. It made good sense to them and, as is often the case they were, and are, right. I remember years ago when my Mom got a new dining room table but rather than get rid of the smaller one, she simply had my dad saw off the legs of the older, smaller one, sanded and painted it and was proud as punch of her newly appointed coffee table. And it is still our coffee table. I would never have thought of doing that and to my parents, such DIY money-saving tricks are like breathing. They learned from the school of "how many uses can we think of for this?", employing creativity, cost efficiency and style, not to mention the satisfaction of knowing they are being prudent stewards of their money and the earth.

For far too long, we've become a nation that thrives on consumerism and now our consumerism is beginning to consume us, but to those who have lived through tough times before, this new economic downturn was never a matter of "if", but more a function of "when".

Guess what? It's "when".

I never fully understood that growing up under the tutelage of Barbe & Maxine Cook would teach me such incredible life lessons, but I am profoundly grateful. I remember last year when my Mother beamed as I created a pot rack from an old bicycle wheel. In some small way, I imagine she must have been thinking..."there may be hope for her after all.". I believe I got a gold star that day.

Now, the upshot of tough times is that it causes us to change and, generally speaking, this is usually for the better. While we may be a country of rampant consumers, we're also an inventive lot, and that will no doubt serve us well in the coming months and years. Human beings generally don't change their ways unless they're in pain or, at the very least, feeling a modicum of discomfort - this is true of alcoholics, addicts and yes, even out of control spenders with an addiction to credit. We learn things when we face tough situations and some of the greatest gifts spring up from those times. America is in the middle of a redirection which is probably long overdue. If we can get out of our own way, work hard and think before we act, we'll probably be just fine.

However, I will submit to you, that if Maxine Cook were to find herself the winner of the North Carolina Lottery tomorrow (which would never happen because she's never bought a lottery ticket in her life) and presented with a check for 29 million dollars, I would bet the farm that it wouldn't change her habits one bit. She'd still save the cereal bags, those last few bites of vegetables and though she might buy a new piece or two of furniture, you can be certain she would find a useful purpose for the one retired. That's as basic to my parents nature as their goodness - it is who they are. Living around these two is a daily eduction and I'm a pretty blessed daughter.

Take Me Home...Road Trip!

We held a formal family council this weekend and came up with the idea of visiting Justin and Stephanie for Thanksgiving and yes, that means we will be spending the holiday in West (by God) Virginia. I can't wait! Well, mostly, I can't wait to see my son, but also, I can't wait to walk around downtown Charleston with him, revisiting my old haunts, seeing the streets I used to know so well, walking on the grounds of the capitol, looking at all that has changed and what has remained the same, in the company of my favorite (and only) son who will turn 22 six days before Thanksgiving. We're all looking forward to it. Now all I have to do is figure out who I can get to come in my house and take care of my six aquariums and 3 cats. Cassie may be going with us, though she doesn't know it yet. I have to check with Justin on that but I can't bear the idea of leaving her behind and besides, she's never visited WV. Cassie, like Justin, is from Amarillo, Texas so I'd like to show her that part of the country. We shall see.

On the automotive front, the car is still in the sick bay of Aamco and release isn't slated until at least Tuesday or Wednesday. I'm over the initial shock, I guess, but that doesn't mean I'm happy about it. What can you do? You grit your teeth and what I do is think of all the things that could be worse and, as it turns out, there are many things that could be far more distressing. My family is healthy, we're all fine and still very blessed in the things that count most. I keep reminding myself of this. I know it's true.

Not to belabor the point but there was one moment in the debate, however, which I didn't find "adorable" or cute. Remember when Senator Biden was talking about his family, and understanding what it was like to sit by the bedside of a child, not knowing if he would live? Biden became emotional when he described this, clearly overcome from the recollection of that painful memory. When it was Gov. Palin's turn to respond, she launched right into lauding the maverick ways of John McCain. There was absolutely no reverence or even one kind word of empathy regarding what her opponent had just shared.

The next day, I wondered what the press would have had to say if the roles had been reversed and it was Gov. Palin who had opened up in the debate with a similarly personal and painful moment from her own past and what if Biden had ignored it and launched into peppering Sen. Obama with a flurry of accolades. You can bet it would have made a ripple in the MSM (mainstream media). He would have been labeled cold, uncaring or worse.

I guess those mavericks don't have time for much compassion. It's kind of a shame, really, because it seems that in a time when the economy is tanking and we're in the middle of a dangerous war, with so many Americans forced to live without health insurance from their employers, that we could use all of the compassion we can muster. Times are hard and it doesn't cost one penny to care about each other. That's the kind of "bail-out" that has to come from within. Congress can't fork that over and it shouldn't be in short supply, but apparently it is.

Republican, Democrat, Independent or undeclared, no matter where any of us fall on the political spectrum, we're in for some interesting days as election day nears. What we learn in the next 30 days, in terms of plans, campaign tactics and tone, will be paramount in making an intelligent, wise choice as each of us head into the voting booth. It's a real soul-searching time for Americans on so many fronts. No matter who's side we eventually land, let's pray that whoever inhabits the White House has the wisdom, Faith and spiritual guidance to lead us back to where we need to be, and can coalesce us into a united front on the right path.

And one last thing - today is the birthday of one Tim Parker! Happy Birthday to you and best wishes for an exciting new year!

Countdown...

"So, help me if you can
I've got to get
back to the house at Pooh corner by one.
You'd be surprised there's so much to be done,
count all the bees in the hive,
chase all the clouds from the sky.
Back to the days of
Christopher Robin and Pooh."

And that is exactly where I am today. Wednesday. In two days, my son will move to West Virginia. Today I am thinking of him, remembering mental snapshots, and about every ten or fifteen minutes, I get this HUGE lump in my throat. You know, the kind that reminds you that tears are a breath away if you're not careful. I don't know how much longer I can go on being careful. I want to cry. I really do and I'm not a person given easily to tears at all. There have been times when I wish that I could cry, but today, tears are threatening at every turn.

I already miss Justin. I was on my way home from work this past Monday, to collect three cats and take them for their vet appointments and rabies vaccinations, and suddenly this car appeared beside me, honking, and there was Justin. At the intersection of College and Shipyard. Smiling. Laughing. Passing me by in the dust.

He beat me home with minutes to spare. We started corralling the cats and he drove Felix, Magellan, Princess and me to the vet and took each one in, separately, handling it all with great finesse. I laughed and only suffered three small puncture wounds on my arm because Magellan was a little nervous.

As I was waiting to pay the bill, one of the staff asked me how I was going to handle having Justin move away. I looked at her and smiled and said, "not well.". She laughed. I couldn't have been more serious.

This is going to be tough. I mean, I have a HISTORY with this kid! I knew him before anyone else, except for God. He used to swim inside of me, punch my ribs and do somersaults and it took 2 1/2 days of back labor to coax him out. We know each other well.

Sunday Night, at about 10:00 PM, he cajoled me into going to see "Stepbrothers" at the movies. He didn't have to twist my arm. We rode in his Cobra Mustang and I don't believe he went below 70 the entire way. He whipped that car around, changed gears effortlessly and I held on for dear life. He looked over at me and with an impish grin said, "Mom, we need one great last adventure before I move, right?".

We have had some seriously crazy adventures, Justin and me. The movie was silly and funny and perfect for people grappling with serious stuff like moves hundreds of miles away. On the way back home, he said, "Listen, you got the best deal. You had me for the first 21 years!".

It's true, I have been privileged to be close for 21 1/2 years. I am just so grateful for that. But at this particular moment, it's not soothing my separation anxiety.

I can't even fathom, this Wednesday before his big move, how much I am going to miss him. I am grateful for e-mail and cell phones and text messages, but that's not the same. It's just not the same at all. I want hugs. Justin has always been the affectionate one, the sensitive touchy feel guy, introspective, never arriving or leaving without a generous and heartfelt hug and kiss on the cheek. That's hard to do from West Virginia. What am I supposed to do?

I know what I'm supposed to do. I'm to be grateful that this is a very positive, happy opportunity. He will, after all, be under the bright tutelage of his father. He will learn so much and be among family and have the chance to explore a whole new world (Justin was born in Amarillo, Texas - the only one among us who is not a native WV'ian). He will also have Stephanie with him, who is now his fiancee. He will be in my old stomping ground, the area where I was raised and spent the first 25 years of my life.

It's not like he's going into the service. He's not bound for Afghanistan or Iraq. He's not headed to a medical center in a faraway town for a bone-marrow transplant or an experimental clinical trial. He is heading into a great future. I'm beyond thankful for all of that, truly I am. But I have to tell you, I am selfish. I am just so selfish because, left to my own devices, I would keep him close to me and I can't do that. I raised both he and Katie to grow up, spread their wings beyond their comfort zone, find passions and then have the tenacity and guts to take on the world. I didn't raise shrinking violets and neither of them are remotely timid.

We've lived all over the US. I've taken them on vacations to many unique places. A few years ago the three of us hopped a plane and visited France for a week. We've shared a cruise together. Poked around the Islands of the Bahamas. We've witnessed space shuttle launches, opened and closed Disneyland (California), Disney World (Orlando) and Euro Disney (Paris). We've ridden space mountain more times than I can count. We've jumped into pools, streams, fountains and oceans in our clothes. We've brought home strays of every species imaginable and raised mice for the snake collection he once proudly tended, until he discovered skateboarding which he ultimately gave up when he happened on Mustangs which coexisted nicely with his awareness of girls.

Together with Katie, we made up stories on dark stormy nights and read Edgar Allen Poe. We've walked the floor with ear infections, waited anxiously in emergency rooms for stitches and I've been called for school conferences more than once because he wasn't "doing his best work". We cried together when my marriage broke up. We've argued over both stupid and really serious things. We've slammed doors, screamed at each other and said things in anger we never came close to meaning.

I've been suckered into all kinds of schemes and scenarios and bought what he was peddling more times than I can count, even with a calculator. I've stayed up all night worrying when he didn't come home at the hour he promised and I've been filled with rage when he didn't tell me the truth. Justin has also personally, on even more times than I can count, exhibited a level of compassion both toward me and others, that has literally taken my breath away. Out of all those things, what I remember most keenly are the times when he's taken my breath away. Those times far outnumber everything else.

I am proud to say though, I really did stand my ground when he wanted to adopt a caiman and I was always firmly against adding a ferret to the family. You pick your battles, right?

You know, they never tell you this stuff when you are about to give birth and you lumber into Lamaze Class. They cover such inconsequential things - contractions, labor, transition, epidurals, what to take to the hospital, how to bathe the baby, when you can expect to light a fire and burn your maternity clothes and stuff like that.

From where I sit, with a daughter who will be turning 25 on the 26th of August and a son who will be hitting 22 on the 21st of November, that pre- and -post natal era feels like it lasted about as long as it takes to blink my eyes. Of course, at the time, it seemed urgent, serious and some of it was terrifying to consider.

What they don't tell you in Lamaze class and, to be fair, what is impossible to convey, is the heart investment of the entire experience. I never knew I could deeply love and cherish anything (and I've had some great dogs!) as much as I have adored every facet of being a Mom. I mean, part of me wishes I had known all this stuff back in the day, but in reality, it would probably have been far more of a hindrance and I'm sure God knows it and worked all the logistics of the process out, but I have to testify that no matter where I go, what I do, whatever I may achieve or own or brush up against, it will never, ever come close to what raising a little girl and a little boy has given me. It is, in fact, an entity all unto its own. It is so intermingled into my being, the sheer depth, the strength and resilient durability of the parental bond.

God surely knew what He was doing in THAT department because there have been a few times when I thought...what the heck are we doing here and does someone have a manual or is there a service that could finish raising these kids until they're the more reasonable and responsible age of, oh, say 30? God knows that love paves over the pot holes and rough patches, and God knows He is right.

But "those" moments breeze by and before you know it, the kids are back in your good graces and you find yourself ecstatically devoted and signing on for the next exciting and improbable chapter of the craziest book in the world. And the most unbelievable part of it all is when you're on the page where "Kids grow up and move to a new town", you tearfully, wistfully pine, you so seriously wish you could start that book over and write it all again. Even the hair-raising parts which are generously sprinkled throughout.

This...is going to be tough. Painful. Definitely hard to swallow.

This is...life. Wouldn't you just know those two would pick the times I said, "You've got to try! You can be ANYTHING and go ANYWHERE if you just set your head to it and if you want it bad enough!"

That's just so like them. Selective listening. You really can't trust them.

I feel as though I resemble my kids when I would take them to the pediatrician for vaccinations or flu shots. "Wait, I"m not ready! Wait, please, wait! Give me a minute...not yet!!!!!!". And of course, the needle had to break the flesh and deliver it's payload. It was always going to sting, sometimes a little and sometimes a lot, and no amount of preparation could change that.

No, no, no, no, no! I am not ready for Justin to move. But if he postponed it a few days, I wouldn't be any more prepared in a week, two weeks, six months or a year. It's going to sting, but we have to get on with it. His future is calling and it's time to answer the damn phone, load up the moving van and head for those ridiculous hills.

People ask me if it was like this when Katie left home, when she made her way to Manhattan in May 2006. In a way it was and in another way it wasn't. You see, Katie was born with a plan. Spend anytime around Katie and you just realize that she has a list, steely determination and a fierce independence and no time for tears. I love my daughter with the same passion that I do my son and I have a great deal of respect for the way she tackles the streets of NYC, new jobs, her fear of flying and any obstacle silly enough to get in her way. She's amazing and it's not that she doesn't have a heart, she simply doesn't wear it on her sleeve.

Justin and I, however, aren't like that at all. Our entire shirts are covered in hearts. It's just the way we are. Sometimes, I am stunned by just how much like me he is, not simply in appearance, but in temperament, mannerisms, thought processes, behavior and quirks. That apple didn't far fall from this tree.

I want to walk outside and scream at the very top of my lungs, to no one in particular, "MY SON IS MOVING AWAY AND I AM REALLY GOING TO MISS HIM AND I AM HURTING BIG-TIME RIGHT NOW!!!!!", but I haven't been at this office all that long and people might talk. Besides, he just called and we're having lunch at his old work place in a few minutes. I can't be late. He's buying!

I'm sure I'll cry on the way back to my office, and I'll cry tomorrow at random times and don't even ask me about Friday. This weekend is going to be rough and I know that. My friend Sharon called me yesterday, "just to check on you. I know this isn't easy.", and she does know it because she's watched one of her sons move to San Diego and the other one to Lake Tahoe. She knows the landscape of where I am headed and she will be right there and cry right along with me and then she'll talk very sternly and tell me - "Enough - let's go to the beach and eat chocolate and drink tea.". Good friends do things like that. I love her. I love all of my friends. I'm crazy about my family. I adore my cats. I have the best dog in the entire world. My kids? They not only have my heart, they are my heart.

Sniff...

Beyond all this missing stuff, trust me, it's not lost on me how spectacularly blessed we all are. For as much as this is going to EXCRUCIATINGLY "sting", and you better know it will, I also know that these tears spring from good things. They spring from love, hope, golden opportunities, and at least a thousand or so blessings. I mean, if you have to cry, this is as happy of an event as you could hope for to sob over. There isn't any undue worry or fear. I know deep inside, that this sadness is of the happy variety and I must keep that in mind. No one is sick, estranged or at wits end or the thousand and one issues that can come up that truly can rob you of your sanity, serenity and sleep. I'll adjust and we'll slide into a new "normal", carve out a new groove - grateful for all that we have, always mindful of how well off we sincerely are, and hopeful for a bright future. We'll make new memories in different cities. <I practice sounding convincing when I say this. So far, I'm not really buying it.>

But in the meantime, I really do plan to cry a bit. I can sense Katie rolling her eyes and I expect a call at some point next week from her telling me to knock it off, grow up and get busy writing. She's not heartless, she will at least allow me the weekend to wallow. And then she'll say something really wise like, "How do you expect to meet a sailor with red eyes?"

Good point.

It's "Shark Week" on the Discovery Channel. I should be happy, right?

It finally happened!

Today was a very special day. I FINALLY met someone who's name has been a household staple since I was about ten years old. This afternoon, I had the great pleasure of meeting the man (THE MAN!) my father worked for (the BOSS!) when my father was a treasurer for Hawk's Nest Mining Company in Montgomery, WV. (Photo right: Harry Burke, Susie and Barbe.)
Mr. Harry Burke in the flesh. What a guy! He'd heard my name in conjunction with my Dad no doubt sharing some of my antics as I was growing up, back in Charleston, West Virginia, when Mr. Burke would visit the office from "headquarters" in Chicago, Ill., where he held the position of Chief Financial Officer with F. H. Prince. I'd heard his name when my Dad would share at dinner that "the boss", would be visiting the mine. We "knew" of each other, Mr. Burke and me, but we had never shared the same space.

Mr. Burke and his companion, the lovely Marsha, were in Hampstead this week visiting his sister, Janet, and so my parents were invited to drive up and have coffee. Last year when they were in town, I missed out on their visit to our home because I was on my way to Fayetteville to meet Katie's train, however, my son had recorded the event with photos and I did blog about it. (Click here to read about last year's visit).

This year, however, I was in town and ducked away from work early in order to finally have a face-to-face with this iconic figure. I felt instantly that I knew him so rather than a polite, stiff handshake, we dispensed with all that and went straight for the hug. What a precious moment for me.

As I sat this afternoon in Janet's lovely Hampstead home, and enjoyed the company of these friends, so many childhood memories flooded my consciousness. Mr. Burke and my Dad have always had a special bond and, separated in age by only a couple of weeks (my Dad will insist that I state for the record that he is the younger of the two), they have maintained their friendship through over 22 years into retirement, even though most of that time Mr. Burke and my dad have lived on opposite sides of the country. However, throughout those years, they have kept the lines of communication open and humming in frequent, lengthy phone conversations and through the magic of e-mail.

My Dad was sharing a story of when he first met Mr. Burke and casually mentioned that he was just 47 years old when he met this man for the first time and it occurred to me that he was a year younger than my present age of 48. It's amazing to me that I was no more than ten years old when I first heard of this Mr. Burke fella.

Today was indeed a sweet gift and extreme blessing. I'm so glad these friends could enjoy a visit and have the chance to relive their interesting history, in person, over a delicious dessert and fine coffee. I'm also thankful that I had the opportunity to share some time with these two special men. It was a warm afternoon, and it wasn't simply because of the weather. This afternoon was a very special honor for me.

Let's do it again next year, Mr. Burke!

A Brushstroke of "Radiance", ENOUGH With The AARP Commercials and Home By Another Way...

"So scared of getting older,
I'm only good at being young.
So I play the numbers game
To find way to say that life has just begun.

Had a talk with my old man,
Said 'help me understand'.
He said turn sixty-eight
You renegotiate

Don't stop this train,
Don't for a change the place you're in
And don't think I couldn't ever understand
I tried my hand
John, honestly
We'll never stop this train."
~ John Mayer, "Stop This Train"

(Click below - if you're going to suffer through this post, you might as well listen to this song...)

The old folks returned yesterday. They had a great time, absolutely wonderful. I was grateful for that and even more pleased to see them return to the mother ship.

It was a busy week and I stayed well-fed thanks to my wonderful friends. I certainly didn't go hungry and no, Katie, I didn't lose any weight. I did OK down here in the deep South, with a little help from my friends, of course.

Now, what do I do when I'm left to my own devices? I paint and I write. I did a lot of both. One project is finished (painting) and the other most likely never will be - it's a never-ending story and that's OK. (It's a tradition, right Katie?).

Oh, I am such a product and a direct result of a quirky upbringing and without a doubt, the quintessential embodiment of Aquarius...Blame it on the stars, I say. I have no defense - I was born right smack dab in the middle of the sign and it suits me. I make no apologies. :-)

This past week, I caught up with friends. I went to my home group meeting on Monday Evening and after that, I lassoed my friend Mitch and we went to see "The Heartbreak Kid", and we laughed. We shamelessly laughed and ate popcorn and drank really large cokes. Mitch was temporarily disconsolate when he discovered they didn't have some specific candy at the theatre, and I thought for a moment I might have a brewing tantrum on my hands, but he bucked up and pulled it together and didn't create "much" of a scene.

The movie was funny and silly and filled with sophomoric pranks as any good Farrelly Brothers film is. It wasn't a movie I'd ever go to with a date because I'm sure it wouldn't speak well of me given the scenes I laughed at most, but Mitch is like a brother and we certainly don't work to impress each other. We just hang out. In fact, as we were walking to our cars after the movie, he was telling me about this one woman he found attractive and extolling the virtues of her beauty and then he said something that stopped me dead in my tracks..."And she's got a rack on her!". I just looked at him and said, "Tell me you didn't just say that.". He just laughed even harder and said, "Well, she does!". I just shook my head and giggled some more. I felt like "one of the guys" there for a second.


"Radiance" in a Brushstroke

I visited Sherwin-Williams. I emerged a few minutes later with a gallon of paint, known as the shade of "Radiance", and a lot of work ahead of me. This would be the perfect week to do it. My mom would be out of my kitchen, I could leave a mess without hearing about it, and it would be fresh and spiffy in time for the senior citizens arrival. I wanted to surprise them and I thought this was just the ticket.

In typical style, I started immediately even if, by now, immediately was 6:30 PM. I painted through two episodes of "I Love Lucy", four episodes of "The Andy Griffith Show", two episodes of "M*A*S*H", and then two more episodes of "The Andy Griffith Show". I got a lot done that first session (Tuesday) of playing Picasso on my walls.

In addition to painting, I took everything down from atop the cabinets and loaded it in the dishwasher. It had gathered a lot of dust in the time since the last painting. Justin walked into the kitchen just as I was taking the lid off a crock pot and gazing at four biscuits that had been placed in there, probably years ago, and had grown quite an impressive covering of mold. They were like rocks. Justin and I just looked at each other and wondered, who had put them in there and why? We had no clue and no time to play Perry Mason. I soaked the crockpot in antibacterial soap overnight and stuck the lid in the dishwasher.

The walls took two coats and the effects were transforming, not only on the walls, but the ambiance of the room. It warmed up the heretofore pastel pearl walls and gave it personality. I hate pastels. They always strike me as indecisive. They hint of a color but don't have the fortitude to carry it off. I love bold, primary colors. If you're going to be a swatch on the color wheel then, BE ONE! Do it!

Believe me, I picked a color known as "radiance" and it doesn't whisper anything. It's warm, sunny and cozy. It doesn't "hint" at all. It most certainly made the white woodwork stick out and look defining. I was very pleased with my choice. It was heart and home affirming, and it had my imprint all over it which was only fair, I had "radiance" all over my hands, a few places on my arms and legs, and I didn't mind. Painting is a lot like life - it's messy. It's supposed to be. I've never been adverse to messy. I embrace it and it loves me right back.

Wednesday Night I took the evening off - all work and no play makes life dull and that's not a good thing for anyone - it's like pastel paint, and should be avoided at all cost. My friend who lives on Wrightsville Beach invited me over for dinner. He's a wonderful cook and even better company so who was I to say no? Sure, sometimes it annoys me at how fast he knows the answers to the crosswords and Sudoku, but no one's perfect, right? He even had iced tea this time and allowed me to partake of two glasses! It most certainly was a welcome break from all that painting.

He was even prepared for another late season swim, but this time we stayed in the surf and just walked along the beach for a bit. It's always a good thing to see, smell and listen to the ocean and it was soothing looking up at the blanket of stars overhead. It was still, technically, warm enough for the water, but I was tired and just didn't go in this time. Later, I wished I'd been more bold but maybe another time. He noted that I was exhibiting signs of being "sensible". I wasn't quite sure how to take that, but it was a little concerning. I so rarely hear that word ascribed to me. I can't be sure it was anything resembling a compliment.

Thursday found me returning to the ladder with my trusty paintbrush in hand. Justin was kind enough to observe the places that looked as if they needed another coat, which was easier to detect in the daylight. In fact, it was determined, that the entire room would require two coats and there was just no getting around it. I was far to much invested in it to stop by now. Two coats it would be! Sometimes, you just have to commit and I did, without any reservations or regrets - what a rarity.

Now, it should be noted, that if you called me last week and your call was sent to voice mail, this wasn't me screening calls, as I'm known to do now and then, it's just that I was most likely balancing between the ladder and the counter and after getting up and down so much, I finally just let the phone ring and stayed on task. Otherwise, I'd only be half finished and I had a deadline. Pops and Granny had moved their date of arrival up one day and could now be expected on Saturday Afternoon. Knowing my mother would be aghast at the disarray, I had to buckle down and stick to it.

AARPUHLEEZE...Like I Need to Be Reminded of This?

During the Thursday Afternoon painting session, I had "Little House on the Prairie" for company and I loved that show when the kids were growing up and we'd endlessly watch Laura Ingalls Wilder grow up. It was like mashed potatoes (comfort viewing!).

I painted my way across the kitchen, as Pa and Ma Ingalls crossed the prairie. However, the commercials really played with my head. In between segments of "Little House", were all of these dang "AARP" commercials. After the first ten, I started to feel really old, noticed my knees popped and wondered if I might be catching arthritis. I mean, I'm less than six months away from turning 48 and the last thing I wanted to be reminded that I was horribly unprepared for retirement, the high cost of healthcare and how "folks over 50 still enjoy an active lifestyle". My gosh, I'm a hair's breath away from 50! If I hadn't been slapping such a warm and revitalizing color on my walls, I could easily have sunk into a funk over the fact that I'm not that far away from joining the "gray coalition". In fact, I think I stopped at one point and ran into the downstairs bathroom to examine my roots for gray hair. I'm sure it's beneath the peroxide line, and I didn't dare look too closely. Those commercials should be banned. Talk about a morale buster. Yes I'm in denial and I plan to remain there for as long as possible!

I took a break Thursday Afternoon and decided I had earned a trip to Smithfield's because the only thing to get one's mind off aging has to be chicken wings, cole slaw, hush puppies and sweet iced tea. It may not make me any younger, but it certainly diverts my attention! I didn't bother brushing my hair or changing clothes. I looked like someone who had slept in their clothes and popped awake and started painting first thing, which is exactly what I had done. My hair was sticking out everywhere, typically messy and with a mind of its own, and my sunglasses hid the fact that there was yellow paint adorning my face and I had no make-up on. Hey, I was only hitting the drive thru.

As I pulled out of Smithfield's with my gastronomical treasure, one of the older employees walked in front of me (I know most everyone who works there given the frequency with which I hit that place last winter) and he said, "OH my gosh, it's Meg Ryan!". Given that I had spent most of the morning and afternoon hearing about all of the medical maladies awaiting my advanced age, left wondering how long it would be until I had to call "Tom Crews" with "The Scooter Store" and place an order, this was a most dearly welcome compliment and I thought, mister, you have got to be kidding me (I knew how I looked), but if you think so, thanks for sharing. It may have been a mercy compliment, but so be it - I took it and ran with it.

After my wing-fest, I got right back to work and knocked out most of it by the end of the night. There was a lot of paint to scrub off my person, but I had managed to get more on the walls and that made me feel marginally successful.

When the Birds Fly the Coop, Think Fish...

During one of my breaks, I eyed what used to be my aviary and I had been trying to figure out what to do with that open framework that used to house finches and is visible from the downstairs living room as well as the loft upstairs, just outside my office. Once again, I have my Wrightsville Beach buddy to blame for my inspiration. I have gotten into more projects since I met him. First it was the inspiration of the woodwork in his beautiful home that got me scraping my own stairway and railing. Then it was the bold color of his kitchen that tantalized my senses, not to mention the flip-flop lights he has strung around the ceiling of the eating area and kitchen. Whimsical. Now, it's about fish.

A couple of weeks ago I was over there and he showed me the new baby black mollies in his 55 gallon aquarium. They were beautiful and instantly brought up memories of the aquariums in my past and there have been many aquariums in my past. I remembered how much I enjoyed mollies in particular. Eureka! I could transform the former aviary into a place for my 55 gallon aquarium which was currently housed amid about a thousand spider webs in my pool house! Yes! Brilliant! Perfect! Crap that's going to be a lot of work.

Green, Green Grass...

I talked to Justin about it later that night and he agreed to help me get the aquarium out, but didn't offer to clean it up for me. He had "mowing" on his mind. We couldn't let Granny and Pops return to an overgrown, neglected lawn. So I was on my own when it came time to scrub the thing down, but scrub it I did, early Friday Morning as Justin was firing up the lawn mower. Later in the day he helped me carry it upstairs and we placed it in the framed area. I'd always thought of a 55 gallon aquarium as a pretty decent-sized tank, until I placed it in there. My suddenly decent sized tank looked pretty small in that 72" open space, but never mind, with a few plants on either side, some flitting fish, it would work. So that's my NEXT project. Later today I'm heading to Lowe's for a few plants, and later on this week after the water has recycled itself, a few good fish. I'll probably keep it contained to mollies and swordtails. I think it will look perfect and goodness knows aquariums are much less trouble to keep than birds, plus, fish don't escape and fly around, taunting you as you try and woo them back into the cage. The cats will be just as entertained. I'm sure Magellan will spend hours licking his chops and trying to figure out a way to "fish".

Justin did a fantastic job on the lawn and really took his time, knowing that his labor would come under the close scrutiny of the perfectionistic and meticulous Barbe Cook. Justin paid attention to detail, no question, and I think he actually enjoyed it. It was funny listening to him sing to his iPod as he mowed row after row.

Surf's Up! Finding "The Perfect Wave" in an "Endless Summer...

By Friday Evening, I was ready for another break and my WB friend generously offered up his culinary skills once again. The only thing he requested was that I bring my copy of "Stranger Than Fiction" so we could watch it after dinner. Easy enough, right? Dinner was more impressive than anything I could order at a restaurant and the salad was almost too lovely to eat! After dinner, we headed for the den and I opened up to find that "Love, Actually", was in the "Stranger Than Fiction" DVD case. What the heck? I'm just coming to terms with Fall, and neither one of us were in the mood for a Christmas feature. What to do?

Fortunately, my friend offered up "The Endless Summer", a 1960's surfing movie that was more like a travelogue - so we settled down and watched these two surfing-addicted teenagers travel the world in search of "the perfect wave". We visited Hawaii, California, Africa, Australia, New Zealand, Tahiti and finally back to Hawaii. It was a great movie and I really enjoyed it. I couldn't believe how these guys balance on boards on giant waves, some of which looked as if they could swallow a person whole. The movie was shot before surfboards came attached with leashes which explained why these guys were always hyper-aware of where their boards landed after the ride.

Of course, all I could think of was how I'd love to sail to all of those places someday and what it might look like from the vantage point of the bow of a sailboat. Someday...someday. A durable dream doesn't go away if it transitions into a passion...it may get temporarily postponed, maybe placed on the back burner, but it doesn't have to disappear. Sailing will never disappear from my consciousness, even if my sailing has mostly been under the command of a freakish captain with pirate tendencies. I've an idea I would enjoy sailing even more with someone who actually knew what he was doing and didn't take reckless chances with his crew. I intend to find out.

Home is the Sailor and his First (and only) Mate!

And then, it was Saturday. Yesterday. I popped up early and put the finishing touches on the kitchen, cleaned up the debris and put away the ladder, paint tray and all manner of brushes. I mopped the kitchen, opened the windows and beautiful sunlight highlighted my interior handiwork. I couldn't wait for my parents to return and admire my hard work. There was no way they wouldn't notice the fresh, clean shiny "radiant" kitchen and breakfast area. Or so I thought...

I finally heard their van pull into the driveway and I closed the pocket door that opens to the kitchen from the laundry room. I bounded down the steps of the side entry and collected my "welcome home" hugs. They looked great - certainly not like two octogenarians who had been traipsing all over Southern West Virginia! They certainly looked much more well-rested than I felt!

My Dad entered first, looked at the closed door and asked if he was allowed to go into the kitchen. Sure, of course, I told him. He walked in, me eagerly following on his heels, set down his baggage and looked around. He realized something was different. Finally, he said with a smile, "You painted the woodwork!".

Huh? All that work and all you noticed was the freaking woodwork? Barbe Cook take off those shades and drink in the fruits of my labor. The woodwork? I hadn't even painted the woodwork he was admiring!

A few seconds later, my mother walked in and looked around and said, "Did you paint the kitchen orange?". NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It's NOT orange crazy woman! It's "radiance". It's lovely. It's warm. Bask in it for goodness sakes!

"I like it!", she says in earnest backpedal fashion. "I really like it!", she repeats with sheepish redundancy. By now, my dad had removed his sunglasses and could see more than the white woodwork. I thought it was more glaringly impressive - maybe they'd been in the car too long! Oh well, hey, I don't regret all that toil and trouble. It does look nice. More compliments were forthcoming as the evening wore on.

My mom more than made up for it by blessedly brewing some of her famously rich and wonderful coffee. FINALLY a decent cup of coffee. Kitchen walls be damned - it was time for coffee and talk, both things I'd missed immeasurably.

After I helped them bring in their luggage and bags of this and that, we convened around the kitchen table and I heard about the highlights of their trip. They'd had a wonderful time visiting old friends and relatives at my Uncle's birthday party, they shared with me who was doing what and how everyone was getting along, how Charleston didn't look like the capital of a depressing mining state - "it was bustling, growing, looked good!". My dad, however, summed it up best..."But I sure wouldn't want to live back there!", he said. My thoughts exactly. My mother can never quite bring herself to toss about negatives with regard to West Virginia - her loyalty is fierce and while I don't believe for one-second she'd ever want to live back there, she finds it impossible to say anything remotely unkind about the state. It's her home. She was born and raised there and spent a chunk of her history there until I came along with my gypsy ways.

It was wonderful catching up with them, watching my Dad walk outside and chasing Cassie around, who was unabashedly thrilled to see them. As I watched my Dad chase her in the side yard by the pool, I realized that someday I want to not grow up and be just like him. Any 82 year old who can still chase the ball of energy and fun that defines Cassie, is the equivalent of a good "thumbing of the nose" at every AARP commercial I had to suffer through this past week, and a keen reminder that you don't really have to grow old, regardless of the number of candles that might adorn your next birthday cake. Accumulating years may well be inevitable, but aging is definitely an option I hope never, ever to exercise.

What an amazingly rich, resilient template my parents have afforded me, worthy of my best possible emulation.

Home By Another Way
(A song about "the Epiphany" and one that speaks to my own personal "Epiphany".)

"Home is where they want you now.
You can more or less assume that you'll be welcome in the end.
Mustn't let King Herod haunt you so,
Or fantasize his features
When you're looking at a friend..." ~James Taylor

This morning, when I instinctively made my way downstairs, I smelled the welcome aroma of my Mom's coffee. Yes, things are as they should be, Fox News was blaring on the TV and cereal was being poured. I grabbed a few blackberries and looked around with a smile. Home.

This crazy house has grown in terms of my affection for it when I realize how, had plans stayed on that perilous course, I was scheduled to be living in Raleigh now. How profoundly grateful I am that I didn't sell this house on a whim, that I woke up in Wilmington this morning, that I have an aquarium to set up, a beach to walk on a few miles from here, and my own space is still, blessedly, my own space sprinkled with the people and things I love most, in a town I adore. Thank God I woke up when I did, held fast to my convictions, and realized the error of my ways.

I remember when Katie first learned of my impending relocation and ill-advised nuptials, no small measure of her concern was for this house. This house truly has been more of a home to us than any dwelling we've ever lived in. It's been home in seven years and a lot of living has gone down in seven years but one constant in it all has been this crazy, quirky, odd structure we affectionately refer to as home. When she first expressed her desire that I keep this house, I couldn't really understand it (remember, I was deep in delusion territory). It was just a house, I reasoned. So what? Why is it so important to you that I still own it at Christmas? Can't we have Christmas in Raleigh?

"It's best to go home, by another way.
Home by another way.
We got this far to a lucky star,
But tomorrow is another day.
We can make it another way
Safe Home, as they used to say.
Keep a weather eye to the chart on high,
And go home, another way..."

Word. NO. No, no, no, she told me in no uncertain terms. In fact, I think she said something more akin to "Hell no!", which was, looking back, entirely apropos. No, this is home. This is the place. This is where we live even when we're not here. We may leave it for a time, but the fact that it's still here and waiting for our return has come to mean something intrinsic to each of us. Wilmington, and more importantly, this place in Wilmington, has become our collective definition of home and I become more grateful for it with each passing day. I have slowly realized that maybe it is all of the ups and downs and everything in between that we have negotiated during these seven plus years that has somehow made this structure even more meaningful, and this residence has, in fact, taken up residence in each of our collective hearts in different and highly individualized ways, but with the same result.

Justin and I were riding down the street the other day and I mentioned that when we were house-hunting back in August 2000, I had been scheduled to look at the house around the corner - which looked far more conventional and stately than the one I ultimately settled on. "I'm glad it didn't work out that you were able to see it. You picked the best house.". Once again, I was reminded that in the minds of my kids, my parents, my animals and, belatedly, finally me, this place has truly become "home". It's never too late to find one's home, I guess.

Last night after everyone was settled back in, I walked out in the driveway and saw our old cat Sylvester trotting across the street heading for me, obviously after enjoying a visit with our neighbors cats across the street. It was dusk and there was a chill in the air. Sylvester had decided it was time to come home so he could meow plaintively until I forked over a dish filled with Magellan's ultra rich kitten food. Sylvester seems to always have known this was home, after his neighborhood visits, returning here every evening. Sylvester "got it" much sooner than I did. Sylvester is a very wise cat.

When I pull into my driveway these days, it is with a growing and profound sense that finally I "get it". Coming home, to this one in particular, is a gift and one I shouldn't ever take for granted. Home truly is where our hearts are and I'm just so grateful for the place our hearts have chosen to take up residence and remain. Home never looked, or felt, so good.

Perhaps the real "radiance" in this house never came from a Sherwin-Williams paint can. I have a hunch it was always here. Maybe the events of this past summer and the dismal prospect of selling my little house on Nottingham Lane, offered me the opportunity to see it for what it truly is and always was. As Sting sings, "I was brought to my senses", before it was too late.

"Once in a while,
when it's good
It will feel like it should
And they're all still around
And you're still safe and sound
And you don't miss a thing
Till you cry when you're driving away in the dark
Singing...

Stop this train
I wanna get off
And go home again
I can't take the speed it's moving in
I know I can't
'Cause now I see
I will never stop this train."