Forty Nine Years, in a New York Minute

And that's exactly where I spent my 49th birthday - in New York City, visiting my beautiful daughter and her handsome and very tall boyfriend. We celebrated with a dinner at Les Halles, my favorite French Restaurant on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, along with John's fabulous Aunt Melanie, who treated us to this sumptuous feast. Les Halles is the same restaurant where Katie and I shared a meal with my favorite French writer and best buddy Michel a couple of years ago. We remembered that fun evening with great fondness, as we went about the business of making new memories.

Michel, being the charming man that he is, sent me the most beautiful daisies on my birthday so that when I arrived back home, they were waiting for me - he knows they're my favorite flower - and they were exquisite. Michel is family, after all these years, and he's working on a book that I can't wait to read. He's promised us a visit after he sends it to his publisher. We're going to hold him to it.

Turning 49 was a piece of delicous chocolate cheesecake, complete with a candle and singing.

It was 12 degrees when my plane landed at La Guardia. To my southern sensibilities and skin, it felt positively Arctic.

John and Katie's new apartment is on the Upper West Side, just a couple of blocks from the Time Warner Center and dangerously close to Border's Bookstore. Before my send-off to NYC, my office surprised me with a cake, candles, singing and two extremely generous gift cards with instructions to use them on my trip. I didn't disappoint them and Borders was the better for it, as was Barnes and Noble, and several other establishments.

Katie and I spent my actual birthday walking around Manhattan, seeing "He's Just Not That Into You", drinking hot coffee in very cold and wintry Central Park, and eating delicious food. And giggling - we giggled a lot. Made keen, obtuse observations, and in a way it was like hanging with a best friend, who just happens to be my daughter.

On the day after my birthday, we made our way to the Barnes and Noble near Lincoln Center where she hung out with the cookbooks and I drifted off to biographies and nonfiction. We lugged our loot to a sitting area just across from LC, and while Katie perused her baking book acquisitions, I sat back and took the opportunity to do what I love doing most in Manhattan - watching people. There was much to see, as there always is. NYC never disappoints and is always lively and over-stimulating.

It was a delightful way to spend a Saturday Afternoon and, thankfully, the temperature rose above freezing. Hardy NY'ers were positively basking in what they considered "mild" conditions. Me? I was gloved, wrapped in a scarf and ensconced in the faux fur coat my best friend Sharon lent me because living in Wilmington, I refuse to own outerwear that's more substantial than my leather jacket. I would have frozen solid without Sharon's generous contribution to my comfort. It's just one of the many reasons I adore Sharon.

We dropped back by K & J's apartment long enough to collect John and headed for a late lunch at the Olympic Torch Diner. But before venturing out, we ventured up - to the roof garden of their apartment building which happened to be on the 57th floor. It was breezy for certain, but what an incredible view! As sunset enveloped the city, the lights twinkled before us, like scattered stars - some static and others in a sort of Brownian motion. What a sight it was - the Hudson River to the left and Central Park to the right and everything imaginable in between.

However, at that haute height, the only noise to be heard was the wind whistling a very icy tune. I still can't imagine that my daughter lives up there and has made that town her own in the almost three years she's been a resident. Amazing. It constantly amazes me. She thoroughly thrives up there, as does John. It's like they've always been there, so comfortable and at ease in a town I always liken to semi-controlled chaos.

I'm so happy for them because they're so happy! I miss having her in town, no question about it, but taking queues from my parents, I choose to revel in their joy and right now, their joy is in the 18th floor apartment that is surrounded by glass buildings and busy streets and throngs of people; if that's where they find happiness, where they thrive and live and have carved out an inestimably interesting life with a view that won't stop, well, then that makes me happy, too! And very proud. So very proud of both of them.

Katie has grown into such a lovely, capable woman - the young girl who was always wise beyond her years has matured into an insightful, thoughtful, creative, accomplished adult. Watching the metamorphosis has been captivating, enchanting...a precious gift from a young lady who has generously given me ever so much along the way. As she has expanded her horizons, she's exponentially expanded my heart and my mind. Can you tell I'm proud? I make no apologies for this gushing - she can back up my accolades in a way that words can't come close to expressing in any sort of adequate form.

On Sunday Morning, 8 February, I packed up my suitcase and Katie rode the elevator with me downstairs and she gave me one final wonderful "Katie" gift of the weekend...she allowed me the comic thrill of watching her hail the cab that would start my journey back where I belong - in the land of iced tea and warm southern breezes. I love watching the NY side of her...so determined, full of chutzpah, certainty and with a confidence her very southern mother couldn't possibly manage.

Just before I got in the cab, headed back to La Guardia and the commuter plane that would deliver me back to my corner of the US, we snapped two photos. No tears, not even the hint of them did I feel. We had a spectacular visit, shared so much fun with Katie's seamlessly ascerbic and amusing turns, but it was time for me to head home to the much more decidedly genteel land of tea, Andy Griffith reruns, cats, a dog , so many cichlids and two parents I enjoy so very much, and it was time for her to return to her epic pace of ordering groceries from Fresh Direct (just a click of the keys and the cupboards are restored!), baking sinfully rich and mouth-watering desserts, and the quiet (it's all relative!) life she lives on the 18th floor of a very tall building in a very large city with a very tall boyfriend, two cats and a red kitchen-aid mixer. It's good we know our place, eh? :-)

I've been working like crazy since my return,. I've been slammed at work and I've enjoyed every minute of it. Every single minute. I am also typing this from a new Toshiba laptop that my parents bought me last week and I'm loving that, too. It's lightning fast, has a 17" screen and I can load my huge spreadsheets on it, have five applications running and never miss a beat. It's great fun and we're still getting to know each other, but I'm feeling a delicious synchronicity.

There is, however, excitement in the air! Upon my return from Yankee Town (NYC), I was informed by my beautiful daughter-in-law to be, that she and my son had set a wedding date! Yes! June 21st, on Wrightsville Beach, my son Justin and his lovely fiancee Stephanie will officially TIE THE KNOT! We're all very excited for them.

On April 3rd, I will be catching another plane and this time I will head North by Northwest to a town I haven't visited for over 12 years - Charleston, WV. I'm flying up to spend four days visiting my son because I haven't seen him since August and I need a Justin fix! I can't wait to see Justin and Stephanie. I'm looking forward to a tour of my old hometown courtesy of my 22 year old son and his soon-to-be-bride. I have talked with his boss, who happens to be his father, and he has agreed to let the fellow off for a few extra hours to entertain me. I'm looking forward to this trip and by the time I return on 6 April, before you know it, Katie will be coming down to visit and help prepare for the wedding - at which she will not only be the sister of the bridegroom, but will also be the official photographer!

We have much to celebrate, to be grateful for and sometimes when I think of my family, my friends, my town, my animals, my books, the ocean, and the list goes on, I am struck - literally - by just how blessed each of these days of our lives truly are - they are so inextricably intertwined, but in the best way possible, because somehow they are fashioned in a way that allows us to be close, even as we each chase our own dreams, realize our respective goals, struggle and learn and make our way on paths that feel bathed in dappled-sunlight and I know intrinsically that this light must absolutely originate from the center of heaven. It really does feel that way and I am in awe of every single second of it. It occurs to me that I wouldn't understand how precious all of this is, how illuminated these paths are, without having walked down a few dark wrong curves and you know, I'm grateful for those, too. For the lessons they impart, a determination they stoke, and a perspective that would be impossible to understand by any other means.

Spring is in the air, daylight lingers later into the evening now, and though I don't own a sailboat as of this writing, I appreciate these days of fair winds, and following seas.

Say What You Need to Say...

"Take out of your wasted honor.
Every little past frustration.
Take out all of your so-called problems.
Better put 'em in quotations
Say what you need to say
Say what you need to say
Say what you need to say
Say what you need to say..."

Here are a few things I really need to say.

I played a video this morning and then, well, I played it again. It struck me as powerful and maybe it will you too, if you click on it. I like the directive. Like almost everyone within reading and listening distance, many thoughts circulate through my mind at warp speed as the minutes of a day click off into the oblivion of history. Those moments seem to tick away so much faster with each passing year. Does it feel that way to you, too? Time becomes a runaway train on the express line and some days all you can do is just hang on, hope for the best and try your very best not to blink. You can hardly chance a blink.

February was a powerful month, but aren't they all really, when it comes right down to it? If they're not, they really should be. I like it that most of them are.

So, let's see - on this sunny Sunday in early March, glorious March - the month that delivers Spring, - what do I want to say as I sit here reflecting on the recent passage of time? In no particular order, I think I'll go the route of free-associating because it just seems like the right format for this moment in time.

This past January, I was talking to one of my good friends and in the middle of our conversation, one of his sponsee's (AA speak), came up to him and gave him a gift. It was an unusual present and at the time I just thought how kind it was for this young man to give my friend a going away gift because this friend of mine was preparing to make an ill-advised and curious move to Greenville, South Carolina. (There's no ocean in Greenville, SC.)

The gift was one of carved wooden letters and those letters spelled out the word "GRATITUDE". It was something you could set on a bookcase or table and it was just unusual, but not terribly surprising. We speak a lot about gratitude in Alcoholics Anonymous. That's what a bunch of people who've experienced a miracle in their life feel quite often - gratitude.

My friend returned to Wilmington last weekend. I'd been working six days a week for the past three weeks and my brain felt fried. I just wanted to hole up in my office, watch reruns of the democratic debate and eat Smithfield's chicken wings and drink a gallon or two of jasmine iced tea. When he called and suggested lunch, I wanted to decline, but for some reason, I decided it would probably be better for my sensibility to get out of the house, even though it was cold and blustery and staying in was an almost irresistible option.

For some reason, as I was waiting for him to come over and pick me up, it crossed my mind to ask him where he had put his carved gift, the one that spelled out "GRATITUDE". As soon as that thought crossed my mind, it struck me like lightning - where do any of us put our gratitude? Where do I keep my gratitude, and I'm not talking about a handsome, carved depiction of the concept, but the real thing...where do I essentially keep my gratitude?

I thought about that all day. It's just a great question, for me at least. I never got around to asking my friend where he had situated his present because I became much more wrapped up in considering the placement of my own and what, in fact, is my gratitude comprised of?

What am I grateful for? What are just a few of the many things I need to say?

I am grateful to Sally, Amy and Jonathan for celebrating my birthday with me at Henry's. Sharing time with these friends was such a wonderful way to turn 48! The food was almost as delicious as the company and conversation and the warmth that ensconced us. Friends sharing good food, thoughts, ideas, opinions, insights, and kindness. It meant so much to me and I smile every single time I think back to that evening. I think of it a lot.


Never can I say I've run at of words, thanks to my friends and writers Amy and Jonathan. Oh no, they ruined that for an excuse. They presented me with a beautiful copy of Webster's Third New International Dictionary. It's FOUR INCHES THICK! It even has a CD! Can you imagine a better gift for a writer from two writers? I was so thrilled with it that I actually took it to bed that night and leafed through the pages of this powerful volume.

Gosh, just having this leather bound edition on my desk makes me feel I'm a lot more talented than we really know I am. It's great for building self-esteem! There is no end to the gold packed in these pages. I was so honored. It's so heavy! In fact, I think I had to ask Jonathan to carry it to my car after dinner. Maybe it will build my mind AND my biceps? However, it wasn't inscribed, so when they come over next time for a writer's meeting, I must ask them to remedy the situation and if they say they have "no words", (though I can't imagine these two ever running low on words), I shall simply flip the pages open and direct them to pluck some out. :)

I'm grateful to my handsome son, Justin, for making my birthday and every single day of my life special since he popped into this world. He gave me three beautiful angelfish for my 55 gallon aquarium and he wrote words in a card that made me smile and cry, all at the same time. I adore this fellow more than I can write and he has taught me so much. Sometimes I look at him and I'm sure my heart will burst.

One week after my birthday, on Valentine's Day, I came home long past dark from work. I was cold, tired and I nearly bypassed my office in order to just fall into bed, but I knew I had to feed the hungry mollies in my office aquarium and take a passing glance at my e-mail. When I walked into the room, I noticed a pink envelope on my keyboard and just beneath it, a heart-shaped box. I opened the card and realized that I'd received the best Valentine's Day present I'd ever received - a card in handwriting I'm intimately familiar with: "I love you, Mom! Justin". No longer did I remember that I was cold or I'd just spent ten hours in an office. I forgot that I was tired. Right about the time I read the card, he appeared in my office and delivered a long, warm hug which was sweeter than the chocolate contained in the box.

Three years ago such a scene would have felt impossible. We were barely communicating - he was 18 and I was irritated and scared by his behavior. How far we've come and how intensely proud I am of how much he's grown up. I admire his compassion, his dry sense of humor and his kindness and especially his stalwart sense of justice. He's taught me a great deal about standing by friends when they stumble and I don't really know why that should come as a surprise to me. Justin stood right beside me when I stumbled a few years ago. He is wise beyond his years. He is one my heroes, as is his grandpa.

Probably five nights out of seven, I swing by the drive-thru at Smithfield's and generally order a few chicken wings and a LARGE iced tea. I love their chicken wings and sweet iced tea but that's not really what keeps me coming back. When I place my order in the speaker, I know instantly if I hit "pay dirt" because I recognize the voice. The voice I'm speaking of is Mary. I don't know Mary's last name, but I have come to look forward to seeing her irascible smile. Seeing Mary at the drive-thru is like sunshine. She tells me of her latest lottery winnings (she wins a LOT!), what she's been up to, how she is doing and then she promises that when she "wins the big one", she will hire me as her assistant and allow me to take care of the stuff she's too busy to deal with, being a millionairess and all.

I realized the other day when I was pulling away after a "Merry Mary Encounter" that I always smile when I pull out. The chicken wings are delectable, but it's the moments spent with Mary that makes the detour worth everything. I really love that lady. She's a day-brightener and I would wager that she doesn't even realize it. I'm very grateful for Mary, even if she never wins the powerball. Her smile is worth a million, and then some.

As we know from past entries, there are good pirates and bad pirates among us. Last summer I l discovered that I love sailing, sailboats, and that few things compare with becoming one with the wind, water and sky. Sailing touched me in a way that can only be defined as spiritual and I plan to do more of it.

Life is good. If you're on a beam reach, it's charmed.

In addition to sailing, I gleaned something else. I made a very wonderful friend who is, without question, a "good pirate". She's tenderly tough, talented, artistic, wise and funny. Through the course of our e-mail exchanges we discovered we had so much in common. I haven't been the most faithful e-mail correspondent lately to anyone, but I always get excited and thrilled when I see that my friend Bobbi has written. We finally met in person last October and it was truly as if we had known each other for something like forever. Hopefully this year I will get to meet Sofi (her fur child) and her beautiful sailboat which she keeps in Oriental. Hey, we have big plans, and the Panama Canal is NOT out of the question! Two crazy women on the high seas - adventures in every port - I can see it happening and I could find no better company than Bobbi. I'm so grateful for her. I'd set sail with her in a heartbeat.

They say that politics makes strange bedfellows. I don't know if that's true or not, but I do know that this season of endless primaries have been a huge source of interest and entertainment, phone calls, text messages and e-mail links between my daughter Katie and me. We have daily briefings - generally when she's taking her lunch hour. She calls me from the streets of Manhattan and we dissect the latest debate performances of Obama and that woman that's trying to run against him (we're both Obamamaniacs), we speak of the poll numbers, sift through the latest breaking news and dish about what life must be like for the folks clinging tenuously to the slowly sinking Clinton ship who refuse to go gentle into that good night. During debates, coverage of notable speeches, we keep a running text-message commentary. Most of her remarks make me laugh out loud and trust me, Hillary wouldn't appreciate a single one of them.

I adore her sardonic delivery and acerbic observations and especially her passion. Katie is never, ever tepid about anything and doesn't mince words in stating her position. You should see the e-mail she sent to MSNBC's Chris Matthews last month. I was stunned and I was so proud of the way she expresses and articulates her thoughts and feelings.

Even more than our shared interest in this never-ending primary campaign season, I am grateful that I have such an open, easy-going relationship with this young lady. Just as I am with her brother, I am so proud of the independent and forthright young lady she has grown into and I marvel at her courage in making it in Manhattan and doing it with such eclectic style and grace. Katie is a constant source of amusement, pride and sometimes even bewilderment for me. I wouldn't trade her for all the jasmine tea in Sri Lanka.

I have a friend in Amarillo who writes me now and again and whenever I see that I have an e-mail waiting to be opened that is written by Jim, well, I know that before I finish reading the words he writes, my heart will be touched. He never fails to deliver.

Sometimes he shares with me the goings on in my favorite West Texas town, or how wacky the weather has been, but somewhere in there, will be a line or two that I am better off for having read as he talks about what's been on his mind, memories he's been reliving and the observations they provoke, and his crystal insight will prompt memories inside of me that in some way parallel his experiences. Sometimes, he attaches beautiful photographs of things like ice clinging to the fragile branch of a tree as the sun hits it from only the perfect angle.

Last year, Jim sent me a hand-carved flute for my birthday and carved on that flute was a Kokopelli. Now, initially I didn't know the name for the symbol but in a strange twist of synchronocity, when my friend Bobbi was visiting with me in my office this past October, she admired the flute and then noted that Kokopelli was the name of her sailboat. Synchronicity indeed! Coincidental? Hardly. There are no coincidences in my world. There probably aren't any in yours either. I prefer to think of it as celestial design. It's totally a God thing.

I am reminded of the words spoken by Fred Rogers in a commencement speech he delivered to Dartmouth College a year before he went to heaven:

Our world hangs like a magnificent jewel in the vastness of space. Every one of us is a part of that jewel. A facet of that jewel. And in the perspective of infinity, our differences are infinitesimal. We are intimately related. May we never even pretend that we are not.

I think of those words when I consider that a fine man in Amarillo, Texas sent me a beautifully hand-crafted flute with a curious looking symbol carved into it and how, eight months later, a woman I didn't even know existed when I received that precious flute, immediately noticed it hanging on the wall in my office and with delight told me that her sailboat was named in honor of that symbol. Fred Rogers was right, of course, we are all intimately related and we seem to lose our way if we pretend that we are not. I try very hard to remember that but I'm human and I forget it far too often.

I work with a woman who has taught me a great deal about strength though she'd deny it. Sherry works even more hours than I do, and her life is complicated beyond measure, but no matter how exhausted, tired or whatever events may be swirling uncontrollably in her realm, I watch as she treats each one of our bruised clients with kindness and care. In spite of dealing with several serious health issues, she somehow manages to push every personal challenge she deals with off the table and when she is doing an assessment, her focus narrows to that person as she determines what level of treatment will serve him or her best. Most of her workdays stretch into nine or ten hours and her lunch breaks are generally filled with errands or attending to details rather than any form of a relaxing break. I marvel at her strength and I am touched by her heart. Sherry inspires me every single day and I know I'm not the only one who feels this way. I see it every time a client leaves her office, walking a little lighter and filled with the seeds of that most precious commodity...hope.

On February 6th, I walked into my office and found the most gorgeous bouquet of flowers with the sweetest card. Even in the endless tasks that she tackles on every given day, she somehow managed to remember my birthday. If I had her schedule, I wouldn't remember my birthday or anyone else's! She is truly a giving, caring and loving woman and it is an honor to work and learn from her. We laugh and talk quite a lot and I feel so grateful for the time I spend in her office.

The amazing thing about Sherry is that she doesn't quite grasp how talented and strong she truly is, but it's certainly not lost on me or the clients she attends to on a daily basis. She makes a positive difference in so many lives and I hope that someday she is able to grasp how pivotal her role is in making a difference to those who sit in her office for an assessment. No one ever looks forward to a drug and alcohol assessment and many of the people who visit us are scared, pretty beaten up emotionally or living in a deep and scary state of denial about the alcohol use that threatens their existence. As I watch Sherry take care of these folks, it much more resembles a ministry, a calling of a higher order, rather than a process of social work. I'm pretty certain she's an angel. I'm very grateful to be in her orbit.

Another angel in my life sent me a bouquet of beautiful daisies and they were waiting for me in my home office when I arrived home the day I turned 48. Michel has been my angel for nearly ten years. He is family, he is dear and how much I adore and respect this wise and talented gentleman. I'm convinced his installment in my life was celestial in origin and I am grateful for him in more ways than I can say. His is the little voice I always hear whispering to me at the end of each assignment...in a decidedly (and sometimes stern!) French accent..."Susie, are you sure this is the best you can do? Don't you think that sentence is poorly constructed? Bouf!". I swear, it's true. Michel is always challenging me to be better than I ever believe I am capable of and though many, many miles separate us physically, I never leave this house that I'm not aware he's in my head and heart, always near the surface of my thoughts.

I think of Tim Parker when I consider "say what you need to say...". He was my husband for almost seventeen years, he's the father of my kids and he's an amazingly resilient and indefatigable fellow. Yes, it's true, the marriage faltered and a divorce resulted, but there was this one night I remember, around the time it became obvious that we were splitting up and some of the dust had settled. Tim had already moved out of the house and had dropped by one evening to see the kids. We were standing outside talking and he said that he imagined we'd eventually wind up being friends someday. At the time, I thought he was out of his mind to consider such an possibility, but in fact, his words came to pass. I'm just so grateful that they did.

Through the years, my former husband has been a sounding board, my tax consultant, a co-parent I could phone for advice when I wasn't sure of a decision dealing with the kids, and he didn't run and hide and pretend he didn't know me when I joined AA. A lesser person would have taken the opportunity to blast me with a litany of my shortcomings. Tim did none of that. Truly, he's helped me sort things out from time to time and how blessed I am that he has. Compared to many couples, we had a startlingly civil divorce and in the early years skirmishes were few and far between, but along the way, I have grown to respect him so much and his ability to rebound, career-wise, may well be the stuff of legends.

I can appreciate how weird and odd it may be to say this but, as former husband's go, Tim is tops. In the most absurd twist of fate, though I never truly imagined myself divorced, I managed to have been blessed with an ex-husband who is exemplary and very much a stand-up guy.

Every now and then the kids and I will say, "Boy, am I enthusiastic!", mimicking one of his most frequent pronouncements he cheerfully blasted us with, generally very early in the morning, when neither Justin, Katie or I were terribly enthusiastic about much at all except the prospect of finding more sleep. In the time that has passed since our divorce became final in 1997, I've come to realize that it's absolutely OK to remember with warmth and a smile, the good stuff and happy memories and in reality, quite a few come to mind from time to time. I am grateful for each one.

Looking back on it, I can't help but remember his optimistic intonations with no small measure of admiration. I respect Tim and not simply because he IS the father of Katie and Justin, but because I truly to believe he is an honorable man with impressively high ideals. I am grateful to know him, to have produced two kids with him and as I watch his relationship evolve with the grown-up version of our children, I see many qualities in them that could only have come from his donation to the gene pool. I wish him well on his new adventure and expect he will meet with a success that will be hard-earned and well-deserved. Thank you, Tim - looking at Katie and Justin - I think we did pretty well!

"Say what you need to say...", John Mayer appeals in this song from the movie, "The Bucket List". I haven't seen the film yet, though Justin, Stephanie and I made plans today that we would see it together in the next week when we each have the same two hours free.

What I need to say is that there are days that I forget where I placed my own personal "GRATITUDE". Friday Morning was one of them. I woke up and my bed was wet. I immediately thought of two possibilities: Either I had sprung a leak or one of my cats had. After realizing that it wasn't me and didn't seem to be the cats, I realized my water bed was the one with a problem. Oh no! My bed was sinking! I love my waterbed. How could it turn on me like that? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm very grateful that my bladder was fine and the cats should be thrilled they weren't responsible but I LOVE MY BED!!!!!! It reminds me of sleeping on a sailboat. I love sleeping on a sailboat.

I was miffed. Irritated. At extremely tangled loose ends. Cold and very, very wet! It must have been obvious by my facade because my son quickly walked over to me as I stood in my room wondering what in the world I was going to do. Basically, I wanted to both cry and scream in no particular order. He put his hands on my shoulder and quickly reminded me that this is no huge catastrophe. So the bed leaked. "Mom, we're a glass half full kind of people! C'mon, it's not the end of the world! We'll fix it!". And he set about doing just that. He quickly acquired a hose to drain the remaining water and then went over the mattress with a fine tooth comb. He somehow managed to find a small tear and set about patching it but, unfortunately, there were many small pinpoint holes springing up all over the place and it was finally decided that I would have to order a new mattress bladder. He sent me on my way to work with a fresh large iced tea which I managed to spill down my front before even making it out of the house. What was it with me and spills and leaks?

I got in my car and was in quite a state for a mile or two and then I thought about how my son had dealt with my over-exaggerated over-reactive angst. "We're a glass half-full kind of people!", he enthusiastically reminded me. How brilliant of him. My water bed springs a leak and Justin springs into action to calm me down (and honestly, I'm generally pretty even-keeled in a crisis and a tropical storm!). But for some reason, when faced with a completely benign occurrence, I wanted to crawl under the covers but I couldn't because my bed was going down alarmingly fast! How silly, I thought as I drove further down the road. What an over-reaction. That's when I realized that I had misplaced my "GRATITUDE". Thank you Justin, for helping me remember to find it. It may have been the end of the mattress, but it was hardly the end of the world.

I can't possibly write a blog entry on GRATITUDE without mentioning two people who are at the top of a very long list and who are the very reason that we are, as Justin suggested, a "glass half full kind of people!". My parents are the human embodiment of the word "GRATITUDE" and they aren't even members of AA! I don't think anyone has ever told them to practice being grateful because it's just so intuitive to both of them. They live and breathe it. They passed it onto me and when it sometimes slips out of my hands, my kids are right there to catch it with a wry aside from Katie or a warm hug from Justin.

I must also add that John Goulah, Katie's boyfriend, is an equally welcome addition to the clan. But, then again, I might be biased - how could I not care about a guy who bought me Stephen Colbert's book, "I Am America (and So Can You!)" for Christmas? I mean, such lofty, thoughtful, literary taste, not to mention that he's the tallest person I know who kindly allowed me to stay at their apartment this past November when I visited NYC. I have to say that both of my kids have managed to find wonderful people to fall in love and share their lives with and that's no small accomplishment. Maybe I should study them and learn a thing or three.

To my friend David C., who's "GRATITUDE" inspired this post, well, let me just say that I still think you're one of the strangest and craziest people I have ever met, but there is no doubt in my mind that you have a heart of gold and an intellect that is downright scary. Thank you for making me have lunch at The Oceanic last Sunday and walking on the pier with me to breathe in the Atlantic Ocean. I could go on, but your head would only burst and I know how much you like to maintain a state of humility so I won't embarrass you but I want you to know that I appreciate your insights, observations and generosity. I am very grateful for your friendship and crazy sense of humor.

"Have no fear for giving in
Have no fear for giving over
You better know that in the end
Its better to say too much
Than to never to say what you need to say again."

This didn't turn into the short post I intended. It was even interrupted for a few hours because Justin and Stephanie invited me to meet them downtown for lunch at the Copper Penny. As I was walking into the restaurant, my cell phone rang and Katie was on her way to Brooklyn to spend the day with her friend. We're both looking forward to the primary results in Texas, Ohio, Vermont and Rhode Island and hopefully the results will be to our collective liking. But more than that, I am grateful on so many levels for this family of mine, thankful that my daughter rings my phone often, thrilled that my son treats me to lunch, always honored to share coffee and everything else with my Mom and Dad.

"Even if your hands are shaking
And your faith is broken
Even as the eyes are closing
Do it with a heart wide open
Why?
Say what you need to say..."
~ John Mayer

I want to remember to keep updating my GRATITUDE list and refer to it often. It's what "glass half full kind of people" need to do in order to stay that way. Thanks for reminding me of that, Justin.

Katie, this photo is for you. Looks like the whole house is coming down with Obamamania. Justin wears his allegiance on his shirt. Pretty cool, huh?

I'll have more to "say" soon. Feel free to "say" something right back to me. In the meantime, I'm going to try my very best not to "lose" or "misplace" my GRATITUDE.

College P2P: A Hard Lesson (and a complicated issue!)

My latest published article to the March 1, 2008 issue of PC Magazine. This one was complicated to sort through and is the result of no less than six hours of interviews and poring over statistics. It was challenging and, at times, frustrating, but most of all, it was a fantastic opportunity to illustrate the difficulties higher institutions are grappling with and attempting to address.

My editor in Manhattan sent me a couple of advance copies of the magazine and I was pleased with the layout. It should be on the newsstand tomorrow. To my friend Ed B., thank you for your encouragement, coffee and the gentle reminder to "just breathe", when I was frustrated with the proposition of compiling so much information into such a limited amount of words. A couple of hours at Port City Java with good company can do wonders to clear one's head.

College P2P: A Hard Lesson

02.25.08

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A new bill threatens to crack down on P2P downloading at colleges, but administrators say that Congress is misguided.

by Susie Parker

There is a small section in the College Opportunity and Affordability Act that is creating a wave of anxiety for administrators at American colleges. Along with measures to make college more affordable and loan agencies more transparent, the bill includes provisions to crack down on students downloading music and movies over the school's network. If the bill passes (the House is currently debating it), penalties for noncompliance could include taking away federal funding, such as Stafford Loans and work-study programs. Although most school administrators agree that illegal downloading is wrong and that offenders should be penalized, they say it is nearly impossible to control—and not for lack of trying.

You can read the rest of it here, if you're interested... "the rest of the story".

Yes, I still have a "real" update almost finished. My life isn't as technical as P2P file sharing, I just need to find a couple of seconds to finish a blog entry. More later...

You Want Me to Do What?? It's Due When????

I may live in temperate Southeastern North Carolina, where winters are mild and fleeting, but I've literally been SNOWED under lately with work, stories and the itinerant deadlines.

The topics have been fascinating and nothing if not diverse. The stories are complete and publication starts next month and quite frankly, I'm rather proud of them given the fact that they are far outside the bounds of my comfort zone and niche.

First up: Bridge sensor technology. My super cool editor at PC Magazine has kept me busy and I'm completely grateful for it. He invited me to interview the creator of a new technology that is looming on the horizon and almost ready for its close-up. I had the pleasure of chatting several times with a brilliant and kind professor from Clarkson University, who is the force behind a new brand of technology that not only monitors the structural health of our nations bridges and overpasses, but uses the vibrations (i.e., energy) created by cars crossing the spans and harnesses those waves to create the energy to fuel the sensor itself. This story should be published in the February issue of PC Magazine in the "Front Side" section of the magazine.

In mid-December, Erik gave me something even more complex than bridge sensors to figure out and, at the time, I didn't think there could really be anything MORE complex than bridge sensors. Of course, I was famously wrong. Currently there's a bill winding it's way through Congress and it's "powered" by well-funded lobbyists working for the MPAA and RIAA. In effect, should this bill pass, our nation's 2200 colleges and universities would be forced to assume responsibility for any student within wireless "tapping" distance who might purposefully or unwittingly download a movie or audio file. In other words, it would force institutions of higher learning to take on the role of "police" rather than education and could possibly jeopardize financial aid and grants, because more money will have to be expended to install IT monitoring applications that are not only are ineffective and ridiculously expensive, but some bright student will figure out how to hack into the program the nanosecond it's installed. For this story, I had the privilege of interviewing a top official with Indiana University, as well as the VP for EDUCAUSE, which represents most of the colleges and universities in the US. It was a fascinating story and in the middle of my discussions, my editor was so pleased with my due diligence that he doubled the word count of the story, affording me more room to report the "other side" of the story. It was easily one of the most challenging assignments I've been handed to date, but I learned a great deal and I was honored to write this piece. It's scheduled for publication in late February/early March and I'm eager to see it in print.

Always one to keep me on my toes, Erik tossed me yet another interesting assignment. He must have been paying attention over lunch one day when I mentioned that I loved the water and boats. Last night I completed a piece on a fascinating prototype powerboat, aptly named "Earthrace", which will set off on 1 March 2008 in a quest to circumnavigate the globe and fueled by a "bio diesel" fuel. Pete Bethune, the New Zealand Skipper in charge of this boat not only mortgaged his home and most of his assets to pay for the venture, but in keeping with the theme of using renewable energy sources for fuel, he and two of his crew mates DONATED some of their human body fat via liposuction. When I mentioned this story to a few of my friends, they were most eager to inform me that they would be happy to donate some fat to the cause. This story will appear in PC Magazine's "Green Issue" which is set for publication in April. If you want to learn more about the boat, the captain and plot the course of the voyage of "Earthrace", you can visit www.earthrace.net and learn more about this fascinating adventure. Special thanks to Beverley in the UK for the high resolution photos, technical information and specifics which allowed me to write my story.

In between all of this, I have been working 37 - 42 hours a week at a Drug and Alcohol Assessment Company, processing clients who have received DWI's and are required, by North Carolina law, to complete an assessment following any DWI arrest. I've enjoyed this immensely and have learned a great deal. Not only has working with my new friend Sherry been educational, but she's been a peach in teaching me the ropes, the forms, the process of pulling driving records, Department of Corrections Offender histories and participating in both the ADETS (Alcohol Drug Education Traffic School), short-term and long-term therapy classes. I have gleaned so much in these days at the office and it's almost like being paid to learn even more about the disease of substance abuse and alcoholism and, if the number of times our phone rings is any indication, the problem is wide-spread and growing at an obscene rate.

I've met every age group, socio-economic and educational background, race, gender and varying levels of understanding and I've been exposed to the formidable power of denial. It's astonishing and some days, it's nothing short of heart-breaking. I'm so grateful to be given this opportunity to grow and learn and share and every evening, I become more grateful for my recovery and realize that in terms of "hitting bottom" a little over four years ago, I had a very soft landing.

Tomorrow night, I've been asked to speak at one of the treatment groups we conduct. Sherry has asked me to share a little of my own experiences - in other words, explain what it was like when I was drinking, what happened that inspired me to stop and what life is like now. Keep in mind, I'll be speaking to people in a treatment program who are pretty sure they've landed there by mistake or some wicked twist of fate, so it should be interesting to watch how my words are received. Another different facet to this form of communication is that, while I have written extensively on my alcoholism and recovery, I very rarely speak publicly about it to groups. In fact, it's rare when I share in a meeting, so this is a rather huge stepping stone for me and I won't have my trusty monitor or keyboard to help in the telling of my story. I'll be looking eye to "eyes", and I'll even admit to being a little nervous about the prospect, but the overriding thing I need to keep in mind, is that if I do nothing more than plant a few seeds, share a few past experiences that may ring true and sound familiar to someone in my audience, it may possibly make a difference and in the end, that's the prize. The brass ring. If I keep my purpose and focus on the reality that alcoholism is quite literally a life and death issue, I know inside that God will steady my knocking knees and distill my delivery into what I hope are the right words. He's gotten me THIS far, and I see no reason to doubt my Higher Power's direction. But don't let that stop you for praying that I don't make a complete shambles out of my presentation. Prayers for intercession are encouraged and welcome! You might want to pray for my audience as well.

Which brings me to the end of February and even though February is yet to commence, I have promised myself and my friend at Random House, that I will be flying up on 28 February to deliver more words, in a form I'm much more comfortable and familiar with - written words. Additionally, it will give me the chance to have lunch with my friend Erik at PC Mag, and Glen of RH fame, has promised me a "no holds barred" tour of his stomping grounds which happen to be on the same island that my daughter now calls home: Manhattan...here I come.

I must also let you know that my wonderful, lovable Daddy celebrated his 83rd (or was it 38th???) birthday on 24 January. This spry young man made out like a bandit in cards, good wishes, phone calls and I was most pleased to run out and buy him a new pipe, some special tobacco and yes, some very spiffy pipe cleaners! From where I stood, he looked as if he had a fantastic day and it's nothing less than he richly deserves. He's a pretty wonderful guy and so is his wife. They're both so blessed to have each other and I'm even more blessed to have them both. Happy Birthday DADDY!!!!!!

On 6 February, I'll celebrate 48 crazy, unpredictable, adventure-filled years on this planet. I love birthdays. I love everything about them. I can be heard now and then to complain about turning another year older but, in the grand scheme of things and taking a quick glance at where I've been and, more importantly, where I am, I feel nothing short of blessed to still be around to splash in the waters, dig my toes in the sand and offer up a huge "THANK YOU" to all that is God. Turning 48 doesn't really rattle me because I know, deep inside, I'm still as dazzled and amazed at life as I was when I was 8 or 12 or even twenty.

One more request: There is a certain young man in Cincinnati who is presently undergoing a bone-marrow transplant after two relapses of Acute Lymphoctic Leukemia. If you would be so kind, visit his site at: Matthew Fackler's Website, sign his guestbook and leave a nice message, it would cheer him on immensely. I know that tomorrow night, should I feel my knees start to knock or my voice begin to tremble, I'm going to think of Matthew and remember what he's in the middle of and the courage and style he is exhibiting through his present challenge. He's a true hero. I'm just a hacker. 'Nuff said.

Four Years of Living Life One Day at a Time...

"Wake up Susie,
Put your shoes on,
Walk with me into this life...
Finally this morning,
I'm feeling whole again.
It was a helluva night...
Just to be with you, by my side.
Just to have you near, in my sight.
Just to walk a while, in this light.
Just to know that life goes on."

James Taylor wrote and performed that song, but I imagine it was exactly what God was inviting me to do on 11 January 2004. Thank God I finally heard this life-saving invitation and at the lowest point in my life, feeling completely beat to a pulp and completely out of options, something inside of me whispered that perhaps there was another way and maybe even "another day".

February 6, 1960 remains the date of my birth, the day I was given life. January 12th, 2004 is the day I was graciously afforded the amazing and precious chance to reclaim it. Not everyone gets a second chance. I never want to take that for granted. In many ways, January 12th is much more dear to me than February 6th.

It was a helluva night.

By all accounts, I should not even be alive to write this entry. I drove in a black out and somehow landed in the parking lot of a grocery store about a mile from my home. I have no recollection of the drive, but in the process, I somehow managed not to kill myself or anyone else who might have innocently been in my path. That fact alone is proof positive that God had taken over the steering of my car because I can't imagine how I made the drive from Wrightsville Beach to that parking lot and every single day of my life, I am so grateful that the only casualty was my neighbor's mailbox (it didn't survive). I have no memory of that either, but my friend Kathleen and I connected the dots and somehow it came to light that before landing in the parking lot of a nearby store, I must have made it home, turned around, and by some miracle made it to the parking lot of the closed store.

A few of the events of that night remain murky but one impossible to ignore fact is that I was in a very bad place and seriously sick. I have no idea how long I had been in that parking space, I was passed out over the steering wheel and though the car was in "park", it was still running. It was then that one of Wilmington's finest must have spotted the lone car parked with an idling engine and found me, knocking on the glass of my window, rousing me from my horrendously inebriated state.

My memories of what transpired after that are sketchy at best, but I wound up downtown at the police department and I was charged with a DUI and even though the policeman didn't catch me driving, the fact that the car was engaged was enough to earn a ticket I so richly deserved. As that long night progressed, I took advantage of my "one phone call" and for some reason, I called my neighbor across the street from my home, asking if he could come and pick me up. I have no idea how I came to choose him as my one designated call, but in my toxic reasoning, I felt it would be better than calling my parents because I didn't want to worry them. That's how twisted and irrational my reasoning was that night. As if they weren't going out of their minds wondering where in the world I was and how desperately frantic they must have been imagining only the worst possible scenarios. They had lost one daughter in May 1973 and I imagine that they were steeling themselves for the possibility that they may have just lost the other one. When I think of the anguish that my family went through that long night four years ago, I shudder and, as a parent, I can't imagine a worse way to spend a night.

My dad is a logical man and while I was busy downtown being booked with a DUI, he was calling the local hospitals, friends and finally, the police department to see if they knew anything about his missing and unaccounted for daughter. Fortunately, his call was answered by my arresting officer who told my Dad that he had strongly suggested I call my family, but he couldn't talk me into it. He relayed the information to my father that I was confused, disoriented, but still very much alive and that I would be free to leave in a couple of hours.

As dawn began to break on the cold Monday Morning of 12 January 2004, my father and the neighbor I had called earlier, arrived downtown at the police department at about the same time. I went home with my Dad who, upon seeing me, embraced me with a warm hug and was so completely thrilled and relieved that I was alive...maybe not in great shape, but alive. He told me that he loved me and I told him that I thought maybe I just might have a drinking problem. (You think???). My Dad told me that I would be OK and that he and my Mom and my son and daughter would help me any way that they could. There were no lectures on the trip back home. There were only expressions of relief and a well-spring of love, kindness and support. I didn't know much that foggy morning, but I knew that I wasn't alone and that no matter what the coming days might bring, the legal repercussions of my misguided behavior or the status of my impounded Buick, I did have the good sense to know that I was loved, unconditionally.

Three days later with as much fear as I've ever felt, my son drove me to my first AA meeting. I was beyond terrified. I knew nothing about the organization or what any of it was about. I come from a long line of teetotalers so this was foreign territory for all of us. I didn't know if AA could truly help me turn things around, but I was desperate enough to entertain the slightest possibility that there may be hope for me there. And thank God I was desperate and so frightened. I would never have sought assistance if I hadn't been. I needed to be knocked to my knees, it's the perfect position to begin a prayer. For me, it was also the best position from which to begin a life, as well.

Nearly on the brink of tears and feeling as shaky as I ever have, I walked into that meeting and I found a room full of smiling faces and hearty welcomes. I walked out one hour later with phone numbers and warm embraces from people who would play a pivotal role in my recovery. After just one hour, I emerged feeling as if I had finally found something that made sense. I walked in hopeless and I walked out with the priceless commodity of hope. At that point, I dearly needed hope.

In the past four years, I have made all manner of silly mistakes, stupid errors in judgment, some dreadfully bad decisions and I have faced some difficult situations. I've sailed through twelve hours in a roiling tropical storm and I've experienced a car wreck that completely totaled my car. It's been a busy four years! But the one thing I haven't done is felt the need or had the desire to take a drink. That's amazing and that's all God. That's a miracle.

This matter of "living life on life's terms" is challenging stuff! Recovery is a serious business because the disease of alcoholism is progressive and terminal, if left untreated. It's a deadly disease and we never arrive at a plateau where we who suffer from it are considered "well", but if we do a few simple things and follow the suggestions of the what I consider to be a divinely-inspired program, we can and do get better. Much, much better.

In my mind, "recovery" is a verb, a term of action, ongoing and, if I do the "next right thing", it's never-ending and that's one of the great things about it. At every meeting I attend, I see and hear from people who have relapsed, who have went "back out" and tried living in their old ways, and those are sobering moments for me because the point is driven home that I am only one drink away from the end of my life.

When I first joined AA, I couldn't imagine what kind of life lay before me that didn't include a glass of wine to get through a date, an evening alone, or a social gathering of any sort. What fun could there be in dining out? How would I make painful chit chat or appear "cool" without a glass of merlot in my hand? What joy was there left in this world? I imagined a life akin to that of being a nun and my transforming into the female equivalent of a monk. Surely people who didn't imbibe had to lead completely boring and colorless lives because there was nothing to break the ice, ease the tension and I wondered would I ever be able to laugh again? I knew I could never drink again, but I had it in my mind that my future looked bleak, colorless and without any joy and happiness and that I was evolving into a sad and boring existence, maybe something a librarian could deal with, but I didn't know how in the world I would find much excitement in the rest of the days of my life.

Fortunately for me, I was fabulously wrong. The idea of never drinking again for the next 30 or 40 years, if I happened to live that long, struck me as the most dismal prospect imaginable and I would become sad to consider the string of sober days ahead of me, with no buzz or mind-numbing elixir. As the haze of wine slowly lifted and I took in my new reality, it wasn't too long before I began to sense that rather than enhancing what I mistook for "a life", I had been making my way with a dulled sensibility. I couldn't see the forest. My vision was so obscured that I couldn't even make out the trees.

As I attended more and more meetings, found a wonderful sponsor and finally began getting serious about "working the steps", things began to happen. Life hadn't changed, because life didn't need to change. The change that took place came from the only place that it could and that was within me. As they often say, "it's an inside job" and my interior needed some serious revamping and major reconstruction. My life didn't transform overnight, and I learned to adopt a different method of measuring the mystical nature that is "time". "One Day at a Time" became my metronome, reliably ticking off the measure of my days and it's stood me well. This is a good thing - I needed recalibrating.

In my early days of attending meetings, I would often hear folks with many years in AA joyfully share how happy they were to be alcoholics and how their bottom became the springboard to a life worth living. I would look at these fine people and listen to them and wonder, "how could anyone possibly feel they were blessed to be an alcoholic?". Was it brain damage that sparked such nonsensical declarations? Mental disintegration? They looked sane and happy and completely normal but I couldn't help but wonder if they were out of their minds. I was sure I would never ever live long enough to feel happy about my status of being an alcoholic. Don't get me wrong, I was grateful to be alive and afforded a second chance, but I wasn't happy that I had landed myself in a 12-step group and while I was grateful for many things, alcoholism would never be one of them.

After four years of sobriety, I can unequivocally state without the slightest bit of hesitation or reservation that I am, completely and profoundly, happy to be a recovering alcoholic. My gosh, the blessings of these past four years, the connection with my Higher Power who, for me, is God, the ability to live my life with a measure of sanity I didn't know previously, and to know that, on good days and especially bad days, I am still a child of God and I am loved and cared for, watched over and protected, was worth every stumble I made to earn my seat at the table. I can't imagine how I ever lived "pre-AA" because that doesn't remotely resemble what is now my conception of living. Admitting my powerlessness, that my life had become unmanageable and willing it over to a power much greater than myself, is the kindest act I have ever taken for myself and I renew that admission of powerlessness on a daily basis.

Of the 47 years and eleven months I have been allowed the gift of this life, the past four years have been a period of intense growth, learning, understanding and offered more hope and inspiration on a very personal basis than I could have ever guessed was possible. In the days and weeks following 11 January 2004, I was sure that would forever be a date I would consider to mark the darkest and most painful day in my life and certainly nothing to celebrate but now I know it was the day that I was truly saved from myself and lead away from the wreckage that made up my life. This is a day of gratitude, thanksgiving and an occasion to reiterate my thanks to my family, my friends and most of all God for taking another chance on me. It is a day to celebrate the most precious gift I was ever allowed. It is a day of hope and joy and a study in unmerited grace; a reason to look forward to a future with the hope of lots of days to be spent at the doable rate of, one day at a time.

I am so very glad I woke up, walked into the LIGHT, and eternally grateful that I finally found my way. To my precious family (Barbe, Maxine, Katie and Justin), my cadre of crazy friends, Officer Locklear (for being the catalyst of change), Hearing Officer J. Stewart (for having faith in me and allowing me to get back behind the wheel), Peter at Monitech (for making me laugh every time I visit), Amy Hotz, (for the nice profile in the Wilmington Star), Erik Rhey (for feeding me so many interesting assignments for "PC Magazine" - this latest one takes the cake!), Glen Edelstein of Random House (for reminding me of the work that needs to be completed and delivered), and all of the angels who light my way on a daily basis and most of all, to God, I offer my deepest and most heartfelt appreciation for another year of magnificent miracles.

In case you missed my message, there IS life after putting down the bottle. That's the best part.

"Wake up Susie,
Put your shoes on,
Walk with me into this light.

Another night has gone.
Life goes on.
Another dawn is breaking.
Turn and face the sun.
One by one,
The world outside is waking.
Morning light is driven away
All the shadows that hide your way.
And night has given away, to the promise of another day...
Another day,
Another chance that we may finally find our way,
Another day,
The sun has begun to melt all my fears away...
Another day, another day.

Oh, wake up Susie,
Put your shoes on,
Walk with me into this light." ~ James Taylor, "Another Day"

A Jury Summons Invites Introspection and Gratitude, "Sunny Came Home" and Happy Birthday to "Our Queen"!

It's been a busy couple of weeks since my last update. When I start receiving E-mail asking me if I've sailed away with a rogue, pirate captain (again), I realize it's time to update and quell such nonsense. I promise I've learned my lesson and I'll thoroughly check and recheck the next sailboat captain I take off with - you have my word! I'm silly but I wouldn't make that same mistake twice...well, certainly not within the span of the same year, anyway! And honest, I've sworn off ALL ENGAGEMENTS for the remainder of 2007. I'm firm about that. I'm practicing..."just say no"!

However, there's always the slimmest and impossible chance that the right person will drop from the sky, but UNTIL then, there's Hugh Jackman and, of course, Sting and his guitar...enjoy the music as you read up on this, that and the other thing. I love this video...it's just so irresistibly lovely. Besides, it's the season of hope, right? I just finished a story for PC Magazine on the technology of "bridge sensors" and I swear the entire time I was working on it, I thought of this song for some odd reason.

If you're reading this, I wonder, are you ready for Christmas? I'm certainly not but I never am. I would be deeply concerned if I was prepared because I'm sure something would be critically wrong. I've just accepted I'm not wired that way and my close friends and relatives know this and they seem to have accepted it which makes all concerned happy, joyous and free!

Let's see, since last I penned this blog, life's been spinning along, just as it's supposed to - in unpredictable directions, tossing in just enough surprises and challenges to make these days interesting, but I'm still smiling, writing this from my FRESHLY PAINTED office, surrounded by Felix, Magellan, Princess and Sylvester. Cassie darts in and out just to check on things and see if we're all behaving. Most of the time we aren't. She loves us anyway.

Yes, I painted my office. I consulted my artistic buddy Bobbi and she suggested a scheme that sounded great to me so I got on with it. My office was the last holdout and if ever there was a colorful room in this house, souvenir and memory wise, it is this office which my kids affectionately refer to as "Central Command". I have no real power, but it makes me think I do and I'm sure it's only been assigned such a nickname simply to assuage my ego and make me believe I have the tiniest measure of control. What a laugh.

But the painting project turned out lovely. I also redid the photo collage that now hangs over the love seat situated in this room and it makes me smile every time I pause to peruse it. It's reflective of my family which is another way of saying it's the center of my universe. The heart of life.

It's also the room that Katie and I hang out in when she visits, where we drink copious amounts of coffee and iced tea and we watch old, vintage movies and we laugh as we walk through the memories we've collected together, and share a few we've made apart. There are always animals hanging around and someone generally has a cat in his or her lap, and laughter wafts throughout the loft, permeating the walls and filling this quirky home with warmth, comfort and joy. I can't wait to share more of those times with her and it won't be long now! She flies in (IF she gets on the plane) next Sunday, 23 December. She did remind me that the mere fact that she has a ticket for a seat on that flight doesn't necessarily mean she'll be ON that flight, so she always reminds me not to count on my daughter before she deplanes. Good advice, but I'm betting she'll pull it together, squeeze John's impressive biceps, dig her nails painfully into his skin - possibly drawing blood - and make the flight.

Now, I love to fly but I hate to drive and I particularly hate to drive to Raleigh...ugh! I experience many of the same physical symptoms that Katie endures when she's inflight, only I do it from the confines of my car. However, this trip to Raleigh will have the added bonus of a visit with my buddy and artistic adviser, "The good pirate, Bobbi", captain of the s/v Kokopelli and I have accepted her gracious invitation to overnight at her home in Raleigh so that I can recoup my sanity that will no doubt be lost on the drive up to Raleigh and be on time to pick up Katie and John at the airport. Plus, I'm sure that Bobbi and I will have a fine time - two crazy women on the prowl in the bustling capital city of North Carolina. No single man will be safe, is what I'm thinking. I can't wait to meet Sofi, her beautiful dog child, and view some of Bobbi's eclectic artwork.

This past week, I was thrilled to receive the annual Christmas newsletter that Sofi dictates to Bobbi, and even more amazed to discover it included a photo of Bobbi and me taken at Bluewater when we were having lunch on Wrightsville Beach this past October. I made the newsletter! I was honored!

I also loved the card that Bobbi artfully designed and it is pinned to the corner cabinet that sits above my desk - a beautiful sailboat on bluewater, beneath a blanket of golden stars and a lazy crescent moon. One of my favorite places to be and, when I simply excise the image of the moldy man from the memory of my sailing adventures of this past summer, it becomes a very nice recollection. To be honest, excision isn't that difficult - he never braved the nightwatch and I spent many hours in the cockpit alone beneath a canopy of stars and the moon in various phases, slicing along with the sound of the waves lapping the hull, the whoosh of the wind in the sails and the overwhelming knowledge that there is nothing like being on the water to feel truly connected to the universe. I will never forget that sensation, the sense of awe comingled with the rarest brand of peace and I want to revisit sailing often in 2008. Again and again and again...Every single chance I get...

The County of New Hanover sent me an invitation in late November - they requested my services for jury duty. Now, I have to tell you, even though I know most people look upon jury duty as a huge pain in the derrière, I was kind of thrilled. I mean, I've been in a New Hanover County Courthouse in a past life for very unhappy reasons and to be invited because they actually "needed" me was a bit of a giddy honor. My family and friends asked me if I was going to "try and get out of it"... Nosiree! Not a chance! How cool it would feel to walk in there and not be scared out of my wits at the outcome, not to be on the "hot seat"! Ahhhhh, the joys and gifts of sobriety are wondrous and many. I sent up two prayers, in fact, well, make that three:

1. God help the person who may be on a trial I could potentially serve on a jury and help me to do the right thing.
2. Thank you God for allowing my life to turn around to the point that I get to appear at New Hanover County Courthouse for reasons having nothing to do with me.
3. God, could you please make sure that I don't have to run into one particular defense attorney from Raleigh because that would be cruel and unusual punishment and hey, I'm not the one in trouble here.

I am happy to report that my services were not required for too long because out of the 100 or so of us upstanding, potential jurors available to step into our role and serve, they only needed twelve plus a few alternates and I was released from my duty a short-time later and told that I wouldn't have to worry about being called again for two years, having fulfilled my requirements as an available juror. Whew! I'm even happier to report that I didn't run into any Raleigh-based attorneys so God must surely have decided I had also fulfilled my time served in the company of maniacal morons for at least two years, maybe more. What a Christmas present from a benevolent and loving Creator!

After the rest of us "citizens in good standing" were free to leave the courthouse, I almost skipped out of the building and I know there was a smile on my face. I'm pretty sure that's the first time I've ever left New Hanover County Courthouse with a wide grin. There I was, on Princess Street, milling about all manner of law enforcement types, thinking to myself at how profoundly life can change and just how much I have to be grateful for in this life I've been granted. I honestly felt reborn and, in a sense, I have been.

It was at least 75 degrees on the 10th of December under a cloudless Carolina blue sky and I opened my sunroof to let the deliciously warm beams shine down on me in the heart of the port city of Wilmington, North Carolina and you know that feeling that sometimes settles over you that communicates with your soul and reminds you that life is just so darn good, and how incredible it is that you are around to be right in the middle of it? I had that feeling and it has lingered with me throughout this week. Yes, life is good. I'm grateful and I am right in the smack dab middle of it and some days are hard and challenging and the coffee isn't quite right (not yours, Mom - 'outside' coffee). My checkbook is positively anemic with only small and unpredictable cash infusions from freelance work and working part-time for my friends, Danny and Sherry, and I have no idea how in the world I'm going to buy very many Christmas presents, but then I remembered other times in my life when my checkbook has been much more impressive, but my life sure wasn't.

There have been Christmas seasons where I have had ample supplies of cash to fulfill and exceed the list of gifts for my family and friends, but other than a nice, positive bank balance, there was little that could remotely be defined as positive about my life. I guess I could have best been described as making my way through life "hit and run" style - no direction, no spiritual connection to speak of, nothing resembling anything close to the definition I now understand to be "joy" and as for "serenity", I wasn't even sure how to spell it, much less become acquianted with it. I was aimless, and even though I was capable of putting on a good face, most days, my life felt dark and cold and pretty hopeless.

I was under the mistaken idea that a good life started with a positive cash flow and worked it's way up from there. I didn't understand that regardless of what First Union National Bank said, I was on the brink of bankruptcy and the worst possible kind - spiritual bankruptcy. As James Taylor sang in "Shed a Little Light", "you can't get no light from a dollar bill". Nothing made sense to me because my life wasn't making any sense but, of course, I couldn't see that or even know it until things got much, much worse. Thank God they did!

I was talking with a friend the other day and we were discussing personal transformations and I was trying to explain to him what had changed, but the fact is that nothing had to change except for me. Actually, what it all came down to was nothing more than a case of mistaken identity. I got my Spirits mixed up. The spirits in a smooth merlot were never going to offer me any long-lasting relief, no matter how many times I kept trying. However, thanks to a series of very fortunate unfortunate events, I finally met up with the RIGHT Spirit and, in the words of Robert Frost, "it has made all the difference."

This Christmas, there's no doubt about it, we'll be able to see the tree because it's not going to be hidden beneath a plethora of presents that used to obscure it as many of our Christmases did a few years ago, but that's OK. Of course, there will be presents, but the most precious ones can't be wrapped and many of them are completely intangible. In this, my fourth Christmas sober and shared with the RIGHT spirit, I've learned along the way what truly matters most and those things emanate from the people and creatures I love most and hold dear. Family, friends, cats, my dog and all of those colorful fish brilliantly swimming about in our aquarium.

Life. Life is the ticket! This house is just spilling over and sloshing around with it. You can't walk too far in this place without crossing the path of something filled with life and the love that fuels it - sometimes it's a grandmother or a grandfather, or a 21 year old young man and other times, life comes attached to a striped tail, a 50 pound bundle of canine goodness or even a pair of fins. Wrapped around it all, is THE Spirit that eluded me for so many years. The one that came from a "Higher Power" and not a glass bottle with a spent cork. Thank God I've spent my last cork and, to my friend up north, nothing is hard if you take it one day at a time.

I am reminded of that quote from E. L. Doctorow as he was alluding to the sometimes overwhelming and daunting proposition of writing..."It's like driving a car at night. You never see further than your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way." It will take you far, even all the way to where you need to be.

Now, not only did I receive some deep introspective reckonings courtesy of my invitation from New Hanover County, but yesterday I opened my mail to find a check for the heady amount of TWELVE DOLLARS! Of course, I'm going to scan it and frame it before I cash it. To be perfectly honest, I feel as if maybe I should have paid them. Who would have imagined such gifts from something as simple and mundane as the prospect of jury duty? With an infusion of funds like that, who says there's not going to be a Christmas on Nottingham Lane? I know, I know, I am NOT going to spend it all in one place. So many people make that mistake. Not me! :-)

In OTHER news of the less philosophical variety, my son FINALLY got his new rotors installed on his birthday present, and his Cobra Mustang is back in business. If you live within 3 miles of my house, you probably know that by now. This Wednesday after I came home, he bounded in my office and leveled an invitation at me...."Mom, let's go somewhere. Let's take a ride.". I didn't really need to go anywhere so I asked him where he wanted to go? "It doesn't matter! Let's just go! C'mon!". Well, who can turn down an invitation like that? Certainly not me! We hopped in the car and we went! We even wound up having a nice dinner together at McAlister's - just my son and me. Talk about precious and I don't mean that warm and fuzzy smarmy precious, but it is a gift for a 21 year old son to have the desire to take his Mom for a spin in his pony car. I looked over at him as he shifted gears, completely unable to disguise his delight in all of the glorious horsepower that revs that pony of a car. I was so happy for him.

I don't really understand that brand of affection toward a car, probably because I don't love to drive, but I know that feeling as I've experienced it whilst engaged in other pursuits. I guess it must be what it feels like when a sailboat is on a beam reach and the sky is dotted with white puffy clouds and the wind couldn't be more perfect if it tried. Or maybe it's the same sensation I felt sitting on the stern of a sailboat crossing the Gulf Stream, watching the phosphorescent wake sparkle in the fragile light of dusk, miles from even the hint of land and wondering if this must be what heaven looks and feels like?

Waves, water and wind inspire that same grin on my face and it all distills into a special sort of joy that makes being alive the best gig going. I was just thrilled to share it with him and I even pretended to understand the machinations of the engine and all that is a Mustang. Mostly, I enjoyed all that it entails to be his mother and for me, that is easily one of the best gigs going. Thank you, Justin!

"Sunny Came Home"

I have a very special friend in New York City who cajoles, prods, cheers, threatens and text-messages me often to remind me that I have an important project to take care of and a story to tell. I'm referring to, of course, my friend Glen who's an Art Director with Random House and one of my most dearly loved and most enthusiastic cheerleaders. In fact, I think he's the head cheerleader. When I was in a NYC a few weeks ago, it was so wonderful to see him again.

Glen and I have had quite a year - while I was busy sailing around the Abacos, dancing on various beaches and becoming increasingly disenchanted with an attorney who's mental seams were rapidly unraveling and coming unglued, Glen, for the first time in his life, moved off the island of Manhattan, bought a home in the suburbs north of the City, went to Disney World for the first time in his life on a fantastic family vacation and three weeks ago when I was visiting NYC, he and his family completed their Norman Rockwell existence by adopting a miniature poodle named, quite appropriately, "Sunny".

Through it all, however, he has been a constant in my life this past year. Glen has believed in my writing project since we had our first meeting in the coffee shop of the hotel I was staying in while visiting Manhattan in October 2006. We became instant friends and he's been an endless stream of encouragement for me in more ways than I can adequately express here. I wear a silver necklace around my neck that on one side has a cross and on the flip side, has the word "LOVE". It was a present from my dear buddy last year and a tangible reminder that I have yet another guardian angel who is willing to work with me and stubbornly determined that I bring my work to fruition.

Even though Glen was busy adding to his family the weekend I was in NYC, he made time to meet up with Katie, John and me and treated us to a great brunch at Arte Cafe and how excited I was to introduce Katie to Glen because they're both just so hopelessly twisted (in a good way!). In fact, as we sat down to a scrumptious meal, it was as if Glen was family. He fit right in perfectly and he and Katie got along famously. It was a special treat for me to be in the company of two of my favorite people however, the thought of them double-teaming me and beating me up sometimes causes me some stress but, well, what can you do?

Glen seems to have a special knack for knowing when I need to be gently nudged, pushed, and sometimes even SHOVED as only a seasoned, born and raised NY'er can, but he does it with love and I know always that he cares. He's like family and I expect it always to be just like that. As I've mentioned before, my life is sprinkled with angels, and some of them just happen to have Yankee accents and frequently call me on my bullshit. Such is the case with Glen. I want to take a second to send a special thank you to my brilliant, talented northern friend who plies me with giggles, sends me iTunes gifts to inspire me, and never loses his faith in me. Glen, you're the best. We have a date for the last week of January in New York - please order some of that fabulous snow that you and Katie love so much and let's go ice-skating in Central Park. Oh, and yes, I'll be delivering my submission because I know that if I don't, there will be heck to pay and I know you well enough to understand that you will never let me forget it. You rock, buddy.

The Heart of Love...

One of the most important events of this past week occurred on 13 December, because on another 13 December back in the year of 1923, a very special person was born: My Mom. We joyfully celebrated my Mom's 84th birthday and what a blessing of a milestone that is! She had a check up with her doctor the day before and she checked out pretty darn well! We're grateful because we love having her around.

She's something else, this Mom of mine. She cooks like a woman half her age, maybe even younger, and she turns out culinary masterpieces that can inspire people to fly from far-flung locations and a few have even been known to paint for their supper (right Billie?). She's easily the coolest 84 year old I've ever met.When Justin and I were out running around town to no place in particular, we ascertained a book, chocolates, jelly beans and cards and of course we couldn't wait until the actual date of the anniversary of her birth, so on the night of December 12th, we surprised her with her gifts and she was pleased.

The phone rang quite often on the 13th, with friends and family calling from all over the place to wish the birthday girl congratulations for putting up with us for yet another year. We easily have the best end of that deal. Whatever steely determination that is sometimes attributed to me, is the result of her donation to my gene pool. Maxine Cook is a force to be reckoned with - sometimes obstinate, fiercely independent and she could easily teach Martha Stewart a thing or two, but thankfully for Ms. Stewart, we keep her so busy that she doesn't have time to mess with such domestic divas.

The center of my mother's world has always been, at least from my front row seat of 47 years, her family. She tends us well and always with a glad heart. I've made her shake her head more than a few times, but I think deep down she's fond of my unconventional characteristics and I know any skill I have in terms of home repair and painting come from watching her through the years. I don't think there's much she can't fix whether it's a bruised knee, misbehaving kitchen appliance or a broken heart. If only I could get her to put faith in the power of Vick's Ointment and The Farmer's Almanac and maybe, just once, entice her to confess that she truly does love cats, she'd be nearly perfect but that might be boring and, given her obstinance, a probably futile pursuit, so we smile when she rages on about cat hair and the way Cassie sometimes drips water from her water bowl, secure in the knowledge that she loves all of the creatures in this house, both great and small. Even the ones that shed. Happy, happy birthday Mom - we love you more than you can possibly imagine. We're just so glad you are ours.