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.

There Are Angels and Good Pirates Among Us...I Found THE STUD, Got a New (Pot) Rack, Welcome Home Justin & Get Well Soon, Katie!!!!

Updated 10:15 PM, EST, 28 October 2007...

On 19 August, I had an over due final lunch at Bluewater with what I not so affectionately refer to as a "bad pirate". Yesterday, I had lunch at the same restaurant, with someone I had corresponded with and would never have known unless I'd met that "bad pirate". Lunch with a "good pirate" is a wonderful thing and unquestionably the better choice. [Photo: Susie & Bobbi at Bluewater, Wrightville Beach, NC.]

Bobbi had visited my blog back in the summer and she'd sent me a note in my blog guest book. Her expression of good wishes was genuine at the time. She didn't quite understand how everything had come to pass in such a short span of time, something many others found difficult to digest as well, but she's a dreamer, a gifted artist, a sailor and she still maintains faith in miracles, so she accepted the rapidity of the relationship as perhaps being just that and, like so many others, she just hoped for the best.

There were miracles in progress - I survived several storms, not the least of which was T. S. Barry in the Abacos. Eventually, in the immortal words of Sting, "I was brought to my senses", but even in the madness and tumult of those almost four months, I collected a lot of precious gifts. I met one of them yesterday and she was just as I imagined - maybe even better.

Bobbi was right at home with my animals, immediately welcomed by my parents and I think we talked nonstop for hours. She arrived at 11:00 and left after six but only due to the fact that she had a long drive back to Raleigh, not because we ran out of things to talk about. If she'd stuck around, I'm sure we'd still be chatting!

It was uncanny how much we had in common and the many points our lives had intersected, even to the point of having met some of the same people. The similarities were astounding and if our visit yesterday would have had a soundtrack, it would have probably been the theme from "The Twilight Zone".

We sat outside at Bluewater and smiled as sailboats paraded forth following the opening of the drawbridge. We talked of sailing, books on sailing, and I listened in rapt attention as she described her own sailboat and her recent sailing adventures. I shared with her what I had come to love most about sailing - close-hauled. The quietness broken only by the sounds of slicing through the sea. We talked of the mystical nature, of how when one is sailing offshore, life changes and is distilled into only that which is happening at that moment on the water. We both agreed that whatever chaos is swirling onshore, the moment the anchor is weighed and the sails are unfurled, the detritus that can confound and annoy us on ordinary days, recedes right along with the sight of land as one heads for the open water. Sailing is, to me at least, better than an "E" ticket and so many things that she shared about her sailing experiences were instantly familiar and recognizable to me and I know she understood my feelings and affection for all that is sailing. [Photo: Susie & Bobbi, Wilmington, NC.]

Bobbi fixed me with a look as we drank our second cup of coffee and then in a most serious tone said, "You do know it's an addiction, right? And you do know that you are afflicted. It's probably terminal.". I suspected as much, but it's always good to have a reputable second opinion. I think of boats constantly - real boats, not leaky, listing ones. When my friend Rick and I were crossing the bridge on our way over to the beach the other evening, we stopped and gazed out at all the boats anchored in the sound. I wistfully imagined being on one of those boats, the cozy warmth of the golden light being emitted through the port lights, the soft sounds of the wavelets lapping the fiberglass and the gentle sway courtesy of the wind across the water. It's all so irresistibly elemental, quiet and very spiritual.

Thank God my love for those things weren't extinguished or even slightly diminished by a series of unfortunate events at the hands of what Barney Fife could only term, "A NUT!".

As we were taking leave of our table, Bobbi slipped her hand in her purse and pulled out something with a ribbon tied around it. She handed it to me and I broke into smile. It was a clamshell, hand-painted with a setting sun and a sailboat. She suggested I untie the ribbon and open the shell. Taking her suggestion, because she is a good pirate, I opened the shell and found a floating key chain with Parker on it. I was told that not if, but when I finally get a sailboat of my own, I would be prepared and have a key chain ready and waiting. I broke into a grin and carefully placed it in my purse, grateful for the beautiful artwork, the "hope" attached to an empty key chain and, best of all, thankful that out of my messy and, at times, dangerous summer, I'd made what already feels like a good friend under the most unlikely of circumstances.

Thank you, Bobbi! What a gift of a day.

As Bobbi and I were sitting in my office talking, an e-mail came in as if right on cue. It was from another newfound friend, also courtesy of this past summer of trials, tropics and errors. My Texan friend, Sheri, had been visiting friends in Greensboro this past week and I dearly wish we could have met in person, but it just didn't work out (this time). Sheri, thanks for writing and your comments on the attachment I sent you Friday Night were hilarious. I opened your e-mail up with Bobbi sitting right beside me and we both had a good laugh. Next time, we have to meet up!

And in other news, my son, Justin, left Friday for a trip to New York City where he met up with his Dad, who flew in from Texas, and they both joined Katie for a fun weekend in Manhattan. We've missed Justin around here, but were delighted the three of them had this special opportunity to hang out together. I can't wait to hear all about the trip and hopefully there will be some great photos - I reminded Justin about fifty times to take his camera. He will return home later this evening and I'm sure he will be tired but very happy after hanging out with Katie and their Dad. [Photo: Tim & Justin in NYC. Taken by Katie Parker.]

UPDATED: 9:44 PM 28 October 2007. Dateline: Wilmington, NC.

I Have A New Rack and Found a Stud! (How's that for a teaser?)

Justin returned safe and sound from his trip AND (this is for your benefit R.E.), I did it!!!!!! Yes I did! I'd been wanting a hanging pot rack for over the island in my kitchen. However, have you priced those things lately? Well, I had so this set me on a quest to find a DIY (Do It Yourself) version and I found a kicky one on, what else, someone's blog!

I followed the recipe (it was a kitchen accessory, after all), and removed the tire from the wheel of a bicycle, scrubbed it, spray painted it, went to Lowe's Home Improvement for the hardware, where I was assisted by a very sweet and dedicated young man, came home and then realized that I needed to hit pay dirt when it came to the installation...(i.e., I needed to hit a stud first time around. This summer, my stud-finding radar was way, way off - totally missed anything close to a target.).

I was talking to a friend and he offered me the use of his which I appreciated very much but, well, I was ready to hang the thing up and we all know how impatient I can be when I have it in my mind to do something - can I hear an "AMEN!" to that Rick? Even though I will be seeing this friend tomorrow night because he's consented to go see "Dan, In Real Life" (the movie, not that 'Ol Dan'), I knew for certain I wouldn't be able to wait until tomorrow night to see my pot rack hanging in all it's black, shiny glory. What to do?

Well, what I did was take a very fine, long hat pin and pierce the ceiling to see if a stud was where I suspected it to be. Guess what. It was! My Dad and I had quite a time removing the bolt from the wheel so we could insert the eye bolt, but with two pair of pipe wrenches, we did it, by golly. I then climbed up on the island and, holding my breath and saying a prayer that I had, in fact, found a stud, I bravely drilled a very large hole and, voila, I hit sawdust! Just what I wanted to find! I had, in fact, FOUND A STUD!!!!

I then screwed in the 8" eye-bolt, attached two large "S" hooks and then ceremoniously hung my project. Nothing fell! Before long, I had the cabinet emptied of pots and frying pans and about five minutes after it was complete, Justin arrived home from Raleigh Airport. He was rather impressed with my handiwork. I took a deep, long bow and gave him a big, hearty hug.

I know, I know, I could have saved the pot rack story for another day, but I had to write about it because it is DONE! I wonder if my "stud finder" is working now? This could be good news all the way around, the least of which has to do with pots and pans.

"Oopsie Daisy, Celia"

One more thing, you need to read Celia Rivenbark's latest column. I read it as I was waiting for my Dad to find the pipe wrenches and I laughed myself silly. Fortunately, I didn't have any trouble installing the @#$%&*& pot rack or I would have possibly gotten arrested like the lady in Scranton, Celia wrote about. If you want a good laugh, check it out. Another note about Celia - she was on "Good Morning America" yesterday. Celia - we need to do lunch soon so I can get your autograph and sell it on ebay.

Justin is downstairs in the middle of carving two very LARGE pumpkins he purchased before he left for NYC. It's chilly outside and supposed to dip down into the 40's tomorrow night. Can a fire in the wood stove be far behind? Rick, I hope you finish building that firewood rack soonish. I'm dying to say, "Wow, you've got a nice rack!". Hey, come to think of it, I guess I have a nice rack, now...get your mind out of the gutter...I'm talking about my new pot rack.

Oh, and I got a new PC Magazine assignment...and a new deadline! YIPPEE!!!!!!!!!!!! I have seriously missed having deadlines...go figure!

Katie - keep using the Vick's and drink rivers of hot tea. Feel better soon, please. We love you.

More later...

The Cat's NOT Got My Tongue...

"When you forgive, you in no way change the past - but you sure do change the future." ~ Bernard Meltzer

"Ain't that the Gospel!", as my daughter would say.

I'm still working on that. I've been writing about it (privately) and it's been incredibly cathartic, but in addition to forgiving Captain H(ook) for the events of this past summer, I also have to forgive myself for being so completely naive and stupid! It's a process but one worth pursuing.

I'm keenly aware of the potential for my negative feelings toward the erstwhile captain to form into a resentment of mammoth proportions and, in the end, that will ultimately result in damage to me, more so than to anyone else so, one could say, it's a self-preservation pursuit, but one I am chipping my way through.

The difficulty comes not from missing the relationship. I mean, that would make as much sense as missing a tornado if you lived in Oklahoma or the people in Homestead, Florida pining for Andrew, days after he swept through town. It's not that kind of loss that challenges me. It's the fact that I steered into the path of that tornado in Oklahoma or hung out in South Florida, long after Hurricane Warnings had been broadcast. Not only should I have gotten out of town, but I should never have been in the vicinity of that "disaster waiting to happen" in the first place.

It was as if I was sailing a course for Bermuda and wound up rounding Cape Horn, which is a pretty treacherous parcel of ocean, and you really have to be "asleep at the helm" to veer that far off the chart, but that's almost exactly what happened. And, in the end, it truly was as if I stepped out of the companionway and walked to the fore deck expecting to see a beautiful beach in St. George's Harbour, only to discover I was sailing off the coast of "Cape Horn" and rather than seeing a swaying palm over turquoise water, I saw ice floes and "The March of the Penguins!" which was, in fact, a great movie, but not a place I would care to make landfall...er ice fall. (Check out the site, "March of the Penguins"...seriously it's a fantastic movie - I love Morgan Freeman's intro words, "In the harshest place on earth, love finds a way.") Sorry Morgan - love didn't find a way into this tale, but the conditions were harsh and growing worse with each passing day...

Perhaps in time, it will be revealed to me why my rational mind chose this summer to take an extended vacation, but until then, I grapple with it. If I come up with any reasonable answers, I'll be sure and enter that into the record but it may well be one of those weird phenomenon, courtesy of some ghastly and ill-fated alignment of the planets and maybe the moon was in some onerous state and possibly a brief but blustery El Nino crossed my horizon and, factor in a possible dip in caffeine consumption or dearth of chocolate and there you have it - a repeat performance of a mating ritual that was familiar and well-rehearsed, having been "tested" on other unsuspecting women on prior dates (with only limited, short-lived runs and/or success) - complete with the same soundtrack and "Saturday Night Fever" dance moves. (Yes, Glen, I know that alone would make a funny book!).

There is solid solace to be found however, even from the most grotesquely unadvised decisions and I have to remind myself of that as well. I think about how much I grew to love all that is sailing and then, as if on cue, Magellan will hop up on the back of my office chair and nuzzle me with his sweet kitten face. Or, I'll glance over and see the Bahamian flag that flew during my time in the Abacos and, if you discount that one day of sailing in a tiny, sail-shredding 60 knot wind for 12 hours through treacherous seas that you should never have been on in the FIRST FREAKING PLACE, the rest of the time the scenery was gorgeous and the water was simply beyond description, and those things remind me that even in some of the most insanity-ridden periods of our lives, good things still fly, pounce and sometimes the "sea"nery, even in the presence of the strangest among us, can take our breath away. I witnessed many a sunrise and sunset, alone in the cockpit, taking it all in as that little sailboat plied through the waters.

I even managed to meet new friends who remind me that "everything happens for a reason" and it may not all be due to a gross error in judgment. I take a lot of comfort in that fact, alone. It's the one thing that makes a modicum of sense out of a great wellspring of nonsense. So much nonsense. Geez...LOUISE! (Not to be confused with the Bonnie Raitt gosh-awful song, "Goodnight Louise" The Captain tried to cover it, but the results were not well-received.)

Onto happier topics and, save for a brief bout of food poisoning this past week, I have to say that things are looking blessedly up and a few events have been genuinely wonderful. In between the abdomen-crushing pain of eating questionable salad and/or dressing, the likes of which I haven't felt since Justin made his presence known after 36 hours of labor, life has been on the upswing.

Last Saturday Night, I was invited by a friend for a dinner cruise on the Cape Fear aboard the lovely "Henrietta". It was a three-hour tour, but fortunately the skipper knew what he was doing and we didn't land on a deserted island. It was a warm, late summer night. My friend and I dined on chicken and pork barbecue and, knowledgeable fellow that he was, he was pointing out all manner of wildlife hiding in the reeds along the river. For a few moments, I regretted having uncharacteristically leaving home without my camera.

"There's a kingfisher, see it?"

I did.

"Are those geese?", I asked.

"No, those are cormorants, I think.", he answered.

Gorgeous.

And then we both spotted something streaking by the beautiful riverboat that neither of us, and I'm willing to bet that many of our fellow cruisers, had never witnessed before and certainly didn't expect.

The "wildlife" announced themselves with the sound of a distant humming, similar to the noise a small "John boat" motor might emit, growing louder as it closed the distance: There before us, in the golden light of a setting sun, along the mysterious and winding, black water Cape Fear River, what turned out to sound similar to a "John Boat" was, in fact, said boat, carrying three, genuine, homegrown southern redneck males. Even though the phase of the moon, according to the "Current Moon Phase" widget on my blog , was reported to be at about 3% of full last Saturday Night, I can testify that the moon grew full as the middle redneck was situated in a pose familiar and natural to this particular species; his head deep into a beer cooler, trousers dropped, on full display to all of us on the East facing side of the river.

For a few moments, only the humming of the boat's small motor and the inane cackling of it's trio of troglodytes was apparent and then, as those of us in viewing range quickly collected our thoughts and determined what it was we were seeing, came a collective and audible "gasp".

My first thought was, "Thank God I forgot my camera."

Yes, nature was abundant on the seaward bound currents of the old river. My friend and I exchanged glances, as if needing to confirm that we weren't having an ill-timed and nasty hallucination and then we did the only thing that made sense at such an unexpected and distasteful sight: we just burst out laughing. I mean, what else could we do?? There was really nothing much to say other than, "I don't believe I just saw that...". I certainly wasn't drinking and I didn't think anyone had spiked the food and, other than trying to quickly erase the "vision" from my mental hard drive, I felt fine.

It only reconfirmed for me what I imagined when sailing in the rough waters of the Abacos Sea, with waves pitching in every direction...I must really have a cast-iron stomach.

I searched the sky, the shoreline of the river, my fellow passengers, my friend, my plate and even into the depths of my glass of iced tea - anything and everything, in a desperate and focused attempt to replace that image with something, anything else.

Other than that, it was a perfectly lovely evening, and certainly one I won't soon forget, rife with such wildlife sightings as it was. I wonder if that's what one self-published "writer" was talking about as he spoke of the "cloudless skies, moonlit nights and the rejuvenating power of the wilderness experience"?

Thanks, I think I'll pass.

That was more than enough wildlife for this city-slicker.

And then, perhaps by some sort of delayed transmission, I ate a salad Tuesday Evening for dinner, and within 30 minutes, wondered if I might be in labor. I don't think it had anything directly to do with "the creature from the Cape Fear" on Saturday Night, but who knows? I might have been repressing it to such a degree that the pain that I attributed to a salad on Tuesday, may well have been a latent side-effect of "rednecks in the raw". I may never really know.

I am "OFFICIALLY" back on the road again and trying to rein in the power of this new (to me!) Lincoln LS. I'm not accustomed to 8 cylinders and God knows my mind isn't always operating on all it's cylinders, but I'm slowly getting adjusted and as grateful as I am to be driving this new ride, I never get in the car that I don't remember, even for a few precious seconds, how incredibly thankful I am that I got through my car wreck on the tenth of August with only a few bruises and scratches and I stop and give thanks for the PT Cruiser that protected me through that knock-down, spin around. That PT Cruiser was a sturdy little car and it may not look as "cool" as the Lincoln that replaced it, but I'll always have a special spot for it in my heart. However, to be honest, this Lincoln is fun to drive...it's insanely fun. I'm still trying to figure out what all the buttons do.

And then, before I place the key in the ignition, I stop and give thanks for one more thing: That I'm not facing yet another trip to Raleigh, North Carolina. Not that there's anything wrong with Raleigh and there are many fine people who call it home. I met several of them during my trips "up north", but I'm afraid until the Raleigh Chamber of Commerce (I'm sure they have one, right? :-) finds a way to install an ocean, complete with tides, wave action and miles of pristine sandy beaches, well, it's just no Wilmington, North Carolina. That's not to say I wouldn't drive up "there" to pick Katie and John up from the airport, cruise up to catch James Taylor in concert at Walnut Creek or visit my friend Nina in Cary, though I think she would have so much more fun at one of our waterfront restaurants which means I'll lobby her to take a walk on the "south side".

When I made my last trip home from the small townhouse in North Raleigh way back on August 8th (and this was in the PT Cruiser), I checked my rear view mirror and, lo and behold, Raleigh was in it. I even checked both side mirrors to confirm my sighting and yes, Raleigh was in those as well. Wilmington is home and I'm just so deliciously pleased about that. I adore this town and so much the more from having been away from it so much this summer. I feel its embrace like a dear, old friend.

Hey, that's a lot to be grateful for, in my book.

Speaking of wonderful, as I was walking up the stairs this morning with my thermos of coffee, headed for my office and ready to fire up the computer, I was greeted by a trio of friends waiting for me at the head of the stairs. I'd like to think they were there solely for the purpose of welcoming me to a new day but I have to be honest - I know what it was about. Kitten Food. Syl, Cassie, Princess and yes, Magellan, are all hooked on Nutro Max Natural Kitten food. Now, Syl and Princess are 15 plus years and can hardly be described as "kittens" and Cassie is a 60 lb. dog, so by all rights, this is Magellan's dish, but how can I say no to these faces? They stand in line very politely, waiting for their turn at the bowl. They look up at me with heart-melting, doe-like eyes. They feign adoration for me, but I know it's all about the "pink bag"

Speaking of Magellan, not only has he not blogged lately (I've heard complaints about this from as faraway as Iraq!), but there have been a couple of behaviors we've seen from him that we're watching closely with no small measure of concern. Even though he had scant exposure to his adoptive "father", he's been exhibiting mannerisms that are clearly the result of even limited exposure from his brief time in Raleigh. Now, we're not prepared to call in a therapist quite yet - we're "monitoring" the situation, but clearly, he's got some of his Dad in him and I've been told by an animal therapist to "document" him when I catch him, "in the act". It's disturbing, no question, but I just keep hoping it's similar to when Justin had asthma as a little boy and we were told he would "outgrow" it. Justin did, so that gives us something to hold onto where Magellan is concerned but, then again, there's the "Katie Chronicles".

Katie was always the "boss", always assumed the role of leader - in fact, at NASA Space Camp for two summers in a row, she assumed the role of Shuttle Commander for both missions. I asked the doctor about this and he said, "Oh Susie, she'll outgrow the need to boss people around...".

Well, guess what? She did not! She STILL takes charge. I have no doubt if she were recruited to work at Mission Control in Houston, she'd nudge whoever the Head of Mission Control happens to be, out of his/her chair and send him/her out for coffee (no sugar, only cream!).

So, no, obviously, kids don't always outgrow these worrisome behavior traits, but it's still early in the game for Magellan, and we're just hoping for the best. If he starts applying to law schools or begins writing fiction, we're going to have to formulate a game plan with a reputable feline therapist and, in the words of the immortal Barney Fife, "NIP IT IN THE BUD!".

In the meantime, the animals are getting along in perfect, blended-family style and everyone seems to be very accepting of each other...well, except for Princess. She hisses if Magellan walks within three feet of her, but she's all hiss and no bite. Magellan doesn't seem to pay any attention to it whatsoever. I don't see that changing and, most probably, they won't exchange gifts at Christmas, but there's always one in every family who just has to be difficult and I guess Princess assumes that role. Otherwise, these step-siblings are getting along famously - in a friendly, frisky co-existence. You'd never guess that (most of them) weren't litter-mates, if you were to observe them as they go about their days and nights. I love 'em all!

I am aware, from having had two African Grey Parrots, that some animals prefer to perch themselves higher than anyone else in the room - as it gives them a feeling of superiority. Again, this is a common behavior with Magellan (and many, but not all, attorneys). Typically when I'm on the computer, he is "perched" along the top of my chair. I'm not sure if he's trying to read what I'm writing or just waiting for his chance to surf the 'net when I leave the room and he wants to be the first in queue. But I get the distinct feeling that he's assumed the role of my "in-house" editor.

Admittedly, since the creation of his own blog, though he's loathe to update it, he's taken on the aspect of being a "tech-cat". How this plays out when I'm not here, I can't really say. Since no damage to my system has been observed, I'm not going to make a "big deal" of it, but I get the idea that he's under the impression that I'm using "his" chair and that this desk, affectionately known as "Central Command" is now his domain. True, he's a fiery red-head and that may well have something to do with this aspect of his personality, but if I start receiving a monthly statement for "Internet Usage", we're going to have to have a sit-down talk and, well, it's not lost on me - he has retractable claws and he knows how to use them. I hope it doesn't come down to a bloodletting, because I have an idea it will be my O-Positive blood that gets "spilled".

On the bedroom front, I finished painting the shutters, the drawers, and yes, I even installed a bookshelf! Photos to be posted soon! I also redid the loft and it looks warm, cozy and inviting. I've made my peace with the coming of cooler weather and if it has to be, at least I'll have a welcoming spot to read books and think not-so-deep thoughts. I'll post photos of that as well, but I felt with the animal pictures on this entry, readers would be on "cute-overload" and these animals are so saccharine to view that I can't be held responsible for any acute outbreaks of diabetes. You look - you take your chances.

Until next time...

Oh, and if you've read this far, please sign my guest book! It's really not that difficult.

Imagin(ation) and a New Smooth Ride...

I found the following quote very interesting - I "borrowed" it after reading it in my daily dose of "The Writer's Almanac". The words have revisited my mind many times since I met them a few days ago: "Alice Sebold said, 'It's very weird to succeed at 39 years old and realize that in the midst of your failure, you were slowly building the life that you wanted.'"

I have been busy this week - rearranging, refinishing, replacing and rebuilding. When you think about it, that's a lot of "re-'s", and reasons, to feel optimistic.

Confession: I've hated my bedroom and the contents contained therein for the longest time. In fact, I hated it so much, I went out of my way not to walk in there until I was sure I would fall fast asleep because I just didn't like the ambiance. I disliked the furniture, the arrangement and so deep was my loathing that I never even bothered to hang anything on the walls.

Soon after my erstwhile "engagement" with Capt. H(ook), I just figured I'd let it go - after all, I would be moving to Raleigh, and inheriting someone else's taste, even though I didn't care too much for his stuff either - it reminded me of a law library and was extremely heavy and staid and way too muted in a dismal, dark sort of way - almost like Martha Stewart decorated the tiny space while trying to recover from a hangover or from a very dark emotional place, like maybe in the gloomy days after she lost her appeal and found out she was, in fact, going to prison in West Virginia. But I digress...

My bedroom - the one I'm keeping in Wilmington needed some serious help. I like bright, primary colors and, while I was fond of the "yellow just like the center of a classic daisy" shade of my bedroom walls, I didn't care for too much else. It was just so...blah and in need of an urgent intervention.

After recovering my senses and coming to terms with the fact that I couldn't sign on to be a pirate's wife and admitting that a move to Raleigh was not a smart (understatement!) idea I was, once again, confronted with the question of what to do with my bedroom? I looked around my house and found a dresser that was, structurally, in fine shape but had about 7 layers of paint on it. It looked terrible and the drawer handles were abysmal, but it had potential.

Given that I had recent, extensive experience in stripping teak, courtesy of my time spent in Oriental this past summer, I decided to ply my newfound skills and set about stripping the dresser. I started with my scraper but, soon enough, it became apparent that the job required more than a sharp blade. My friend Jimi (yes, that Jimi) suggested I get some paint stripper, open the windows and wait a few minutes and all the layers would come off without much resistance.

As usual, he was right, and before long, I was scraping, gooey globs of years old paint and within a day, I had it all removed, lightly sanded and ready for something fresh. I chose glossy white (daisy petal white) and I dug around in my backyard shed and found some cool ivy-shaped brass handles. After three carefully applied coats of enamel paint, I drilled my holes and attached the new handles and, voila, it is LOVELY, if I do say so myself!

But of course, home improvements are like rabbits and they seem to inspire additional work because the one "new" addition makes everything else look worn and needy, and so it was in my bedroom. Next up was the built in drawers beneath my television that I had someone build-in a couple of years ago, but never got around to painting. They're great, spacious drawers, but they really looked unimpressive next to the new and improved dresser. Justin went and fetched another can of white enamel, some more brushes, and I was back in business and covered in more white paint. Again, the results have been tremendous. But of course, there was more work to be done.

My wooden window shutters. Again, I had them built a couple of years ago, but never got around to finishing the paint job. No time like the present, right? This time I found the can of "center of the daisy" yellow paint that was used for my walls and I've been painting the frame of the shutters and the interior section is in the final stages of their 3rd white coat.

Add to this a set of navy blue sheets, a Ralph Lauren navy blue patchwork quilt and shams that I bought a few years ago but forgot about, and the whole room was coming together in amazing fashion.

It was my friend Sharon who stepped in to "shed a little light" on me and my room. Last Friday morning, I was awakened by this nutty, tall, blond woman who was jostling me awake. She had walked in my house, charged up my stairs and burst into my room and decided we were going to spend the day together and she knew just how the day was going to go down.

She had sold a house that was closing last Friday at 2:00 PM, and she said there were a few things that needed to be taken out. I protested - "I have plans!", I lied. "I'm going to do 'stuff' today and I can't go...", I retorted.

"I haven't even had any coffee!!!!!", I desperately pointed out.

"I'll get your freaking coffee. Get dressed, brush your teeth and I'll meet you outside. NOW!", she bellowed and I do mean, bellowed! (Sorry Sharon, but you really did bellow...be glad I don't have photographic evidence of it!)

Well, what can you do with a woman like that? I could tell she meant business and short of sudden death, I had nothing to stand on. I brushed my teeth, grabbed my bag and away we went. Even as we backed out of the driveway, I was still arguing with this woman, but it fell on stone-deaf ears. Thank God for her.

Before I could finish my coffee, we were pulling into the driveway of a beautiful house in a subdivision not far from my home. Sharon spied a well-built wicker etagere for her beach house. Also left behind were two handsome brass lamps, an overstuffed chair in perfect shape that would look elegant in my loft/library, an old-fashioned red Coleman oil lantern, vintage in style and color, and a few other odds and ends. We made several trips back and forth between my house and the soon to be closed "other" dwelling, and by the end of the day, I had a spiffy looking chair that looked perfectly suited to being surrounded by a collection of books and ready to ensconce someone bound for a "long-read", two impressive brass lamps to light up my "new and improved" bedroom, and that sweet Coleman oil lamp to set on my window sill.

All because a head-strong, obstinate, blond woman jerked me out of bed on an early Friday Morning, refused to listen or pay the least bit of attention to my limp protestations to the contrary, and literally pushed me into her SUV and, along with it, into a brand new day. What an angel. What an amazing Friday angel she proved to be, as she has been my angel for oh-so-many years, swooping down to lend me a hand when I needed a little help getting up. I love her.

Sharon is not completely heartless. The woman even tucked into Smithfield's around 1:00 PM and we sat in her car ravenously eating chicken wings (my favorite!) and slurping down large iced teas. She may well have the "drill sergeant" routine down cold, but she's got a heart of pure, solid gold. We had a blast, of course, because we always do when we get together. I talked, she listened and then she talked and I listened. Even though we mostly know what the other was about to say, we do it anyway because we can. Everyone should have a "Sharon" in their life. I am most grateful for my Sharon.

So now I have this (almost) completed spiffy bedroom that I find myself drawn to much earlier in the evenings than I'm accustomed to, because it's cozy, it's inviting and it feels warm. It feels like home. I look around and I can't believe I did all the work it took to get it to the place that it is. The surprise isn't that it took any great talent on my part. Anyone could do the labor required to paint a dresser, window shutters or a built-in bureau - it hardly required a Picasso. What was lacking before but somehow finally found to find its way into my atmosphere, was the desire to make the change. And I can't even take credit for the "wherewithal" that sprung me into action.

"Do something about it.", my daughter most unsympathetically offered when I was busy complaining how I didn't like the way my bedroom looked, or how I need to get an outline into a publishing house that has exhibited a steadfast and saint-like degree of patience toward me and my writing (and you KNOW who you are...). Or how I wistfully belabored that fact that I want to visit Nantucket, Maine and the whole of the New England Coast.

"Do something about it. If you want it bad enough, make it happen.", she challenged me. How dare her! Who does she think she is?

She's Katie Parker, that's who she is. The kid I raised who feels no reluctance whatsoever to "give it to me straight". Also one of the trio who saw Captain Kook for the "disaster in waiting" that he proved himself to be and never waivered from her first impression, much as I tried (at the time) to change her obstinate opinion. Gosh, she can be so...so...so...annoyingly right. And she does it with an irritating regularity.

It was a messy business, the stripping solvent, the scraping, the gummy mess of old paint being chemically melted and it occurred to me that the process isn't unlike what happens inside when we have to face unpleasant hurdles, change course and adjust those darn emotional mainsails. Sometimes, horses will buck when the reins are abuptly pulled and sailboats are known to lurch and affect an unappealing, nausea-inducing motion in protest. Human beings, at least this one, has been known to duck her head in the sand knowing full well that eventually a well-timed wave will wash the sand away but, irritatingly enough, not the problem. Sometimes it dawns on me that more of my energy is expended running from a problem than looking for a durable solution and yet, I still drag my feet sometimes, slowing my life down looking for a quick-fix that is generally more time-consuming and far more trouble than facing whatever it is that's looming "in the distance" head-on. Must be the metal composition of my skull or maybe I'm just slow to catch on?

So the whole "bedroom transformation" was about so much more than a mere cosmetic improvement. I had a lot of time to think as I scraped, broke a few blades and removed the goop. Perhaps the Alice Sebold quote cited in the beginning of this diatribe may fit me well, except that I'm not 39 anymore - I'm 47. But I think an adjustment in the age is of little consequence. Maybe the final outcome is the same and it could well be that I'm just a long-running work in progress well on my way to a "life I wanted". Determination and optimism demand that I believe that I am, that we all are, for that matter.

I'm sure that there will be more times in my life that I'll be tempted to seek the "easy way out" and I'll have to re-learn the principle that there is seldom an easy way out - that life and relationships and even well-advised adventures require no small measure of hard work, persistence and sweat and sometimes, even a goopy mess, and that's OK. Sometimes the finished product turns out flawless and stands as a testament that all the hard work that went into making it happen was justified and worth the expenditure, long after the plastic drop-cloths are removed and tossed away.

Now, in the evening, I tuck into a bed situated in a room that I find comfortable and easy on the eyes. I reach for a book on my newly restored bedside table, where a lamp I didn't own a week ago now casts a golden glow on the pages of a book I'm reading about a woman who sailed around the globe - single-handed - and I am joined by an orange tabby kitten named Magellan who leans over and swats his clawed paw toward the nose of a beautiful, blond dog who lays on the floor by my bed every single night. I listen to James Taylor's "southern by way of Boston" accented voice, soothingly creating an audio ambiance to match the warm glow of my walls and new (to me!) lamps. I look around and remember the mess of a week ago when everything was in various stages of removal and application and knowing I affected the change surrounding me makes me feel right down accomplished. I look over at the new photos and art hanging on my wall and as my eyes fall on Justin and Katie's face smiling through one of the frames. I smile right back, right from my heart.

I did something about it, Katie and, you know what? You were right. I did the work, and it turned out better than I ever expected. It may be that other things will turn out fine, as well. I expect nothing less and, well, that's more than half the battle, right? You and your formidable brand of "tough love". It's all just so New York of you but, of course, we knew you were like that before you ever stepped into Manhattan.

In OTHER news - I replaced the PT Cruiser which served me well through a car wreck but is no more. I now have a Lincoln LS V8 - which is far more car (and power!) than I was looking for and sports a dashboard that reminds me of an airplane cockpit, but my next door neighbor and partner-in-crime made me an offer I couldn't refuse. We sealed the deal this afternoon and that means next week I will be MOBILE again! Thanks Kathleen!

Oh, and my new mantra (well, ONE of my new mantras), "just say no to pirates, especially the ones disguised as attorneys." :-) With all due respect to the legal profession (Jimi is permanently exempt), sailor/attorney types are a prescription for disaster.

(Any resemblance to any person, real or unimaginable, is purely coincidental.)