Hello November!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I was only about an hour late picking my OLD friend Billie up at the airport this morning. I didn't think his plane arrived until 10:55 AM. I was WRONG! He was a good sport about it, but I think the Wilmington police probably thought he was a vagrant or something.

Billie has come in to help me paint my living room, foyer and hallway. However, it's not all work and no play. We had lunch at Bluewater and then headed to the South end of Wrightsville Beach for a long walk. There were surfers about (Rick, you should have been among them!), and the waves were starting to become impressive courtesy of what is now Hurricane Noel, presently situated over the Bahamas. Take it from me - it's better to be on the shore and observe these things than sail through them - I've done both this year and let me tell you, I was happy to be on the shore!

We ran into this wonderful woman named Sandy who, as it turns out, is a professional photographer and as we were taking photos, she asked if we wanted her to take one of both of us. Sure, how nice, I thought. Well, she took the camera and cut loose! You can see all of them on Flickr, but this woman KNEW what she was doing!

Sandy has her own website - Artistry by Sandy - and it's worth checking out. I definitely want to meet up with her again. She looked like an angel on the beach in her white shirt and free-flowing skirt. If I ever get married again (don't hold your breath on that one) this woman is handling the photography.

I then had to explain to her that Billie was JUST A FRIEND. He really is like the brother I never had but a better and more faithful friend would be hard to find. He's good people. In fact, he's salt of the earth. We're blessed to count him as part of the family.

After our beach walk and impromptu photo session, I had to drop something off at my attorney's office and then head home to change my clothes because, of course, I kind of got in the water while I was at the beach. In my jeans and Doc Martens. Hey, it was warm outside and the ocean wasn't all that cold. There were lots of people surfing and surf fishing and of course, I checked out several of them and their catches. All in all, it was a lovely day.

After I changed into dry clothes, we headed for my AA meeting which I am chairing on Thursdays for the month of November. Of course, I dragged Billie along for the fun. It was pretty amusing - he's never in his life taken a drink - so I'm sure it was quite an experience for him. I think he had a good time. We had a great meeting and a large crowd! They must have had no idea I was chairing...

We came home and my Mom had prepared a wonderful dinner. Good thing - tomorrow will find us painting and remember, my living room ceilings are 20 feet high - I can't wait to see how Billie plans to tackle the walls. But of course, I still plan on trying to get some fishing in this weekend. There should be even MORE impressive waves tomorrow as the tropical system moves north up the coast. We might have to take a break about mid-afternoon and head back for the beach.

Halloween was fun. Justin and Stephanie did a great job with their pumpkins. Mine didn't turn out so great. Oh well, in another life - as a homeroom Mom - I was known to turn out some pretty impressive pumpkin carving but this was not the year for it. Mine didn't turn out anything like the pattern I used.

I had plans to make it over to Wrightsville Beach to see a "legendary scarecrow" who lives on Harbor Island, but my parents got misplaced and I had to stay around until they turned up. I never got to see the scarecrow and I was deeply disappointed. I wonder if I can talk this "legend" into doing a special performance for me? I think he's susceptible to chocolate.

And never let it be said that Halloween is only for the young! Yesterday morning, my Dad knocked on my office door and I turned around to find Alice Cooper instead. I was a little surprised! My Dad was getting ready to go mow the grass, but apparently he had been channeling Alice Cooper and voila! You don't tend to see an 82 year old guy looking like this first thing in the morning!!!!

For a brief few minutes, I realized that I was the most "normal" person in this house and let me tell you, that doesn't happen often. Fortunately, he didn't mow the entire time like this - it got too hot and, to be honest, I think his "new look" frightened Cassie. She wasn't quite herself the rest of the day. The cats just fixed him with a puzzled look and went on about their business. It takes a lot to ruffle cats.

I hope everyone had a great Halloween. It was one freak show after another around here! I love this crazy family of mine.

Friendships, the Quiet of a Kayak and Looking at the Same Moon...

"If you choose a time,
then I'll catch the moon,
I'll see you there.
From wherever I am,
Wherever you are,
We'll find somewhere.
I see the same stars in the same sky.
Shining down on you.
I'll be looking up from wherever I am
And it's you I'll see,
If you're looking, too.
Are you looking at the same moon?"

~ Phil Collins, "The Same Moon"

Wasn't it beautiful? This past week, that full moon was something to see. I saw it from my bedroom window. I saw it from the sand on Wrightsville Beach this past Tuesday Night and I watched it dance on the calm waves. I heard about it spreading it's glow on Manhattan when Katie called me Wednesday Night to share with me how beautiful it was in her town. My friend Mike called me from Baghdad Thursday afternoon (my time), and he was looking at it shining over the desert. Last night I saw it rise out of the Atlantic as a glorious orange orb and, again, it was positively breathtaking. Truly, it was just something not to be missed. (Photo: My new shades! I'm back in business! 27 September 2007).

I guess it just kind of occurred to me that for as vast as this planet can sometimes feel, it's entirely wonderful that even across tons of miles and several time zones, we can share the same view, albeit a few hours apart, perhaps. I'm willing to bet it looked pretty beautiful in France as well. What says you, Michel? Were you "looking at the same moon", along with the rest of us? What a cool sense of connectedness courtesy of an awe-inspiring "la bella luna".

Connectivity. Whether it's via the portal of the moon, the sun, the stars or the water, its such a caveat of our existence, isn't it? It's completely free, dependable - save for a few clouds sometimes, but even when clouds obscure the light and you're suddenly pitched into darkness, you still know the light is up there and that, after a few hours or days or maybe even a week sometimes, the wind clouds will push away and the light will shine through just as it always has. That's such a comforting thought and knowledge and belief of the return of light after darkness, gets us through squirrelly patches we run into from time to time. I guess the seeds of Faith are borne and nurtured when it's dark and cloudy, and I've found that if I listen close, I hear a clear and steady voice telling me the light is still really there and won't be obscured indefinitely. Sometimes, believe is all you can do.

Sometimes, it's enough.

A bigger sense of connectivity comes when I think of friends and family. What a dazzling connection - talk about powerful.

"I took a walk alone last night,
I looked up at the stars,
To try and find an answer to my life.
I chose a star for me.
I chose a star for him.
I chose two stars for my kids, and one star for my wife.
Something made me smile.
Something seemed to ease the pain.
Something about the universe and how it's all connected..." ~ Sting

Of course Sting gets it. I'm starting to get it too, but with nothing close to his eloquence. He is, after all, STING! But still, haven't you done that? Gone outside and looked up at the stars and sort of toss a question out to the deep void of space, "What is this? What should I do? What am I really about and whatever it is that I'm about, how can I do it better? Why am I here and, oh yes, could someone up there show me a clear purpose and light a torch so that I can find the path?"

Hey, I've done it a lot of times in my life. I hope I'm around to do it many more times in the future. Even though it may seem like a futile exercise or maybe just a good excuse to go outside and star-gaze, I really do sometimes feel closer to some answer and maybe I am just a tiny speck in the galaxy, but I love staking out a tiny claim. I love my fellow specks, too. Well, most of them. :-)

The moon is such a stunning source of planetary interconnectivity, but even more compelling, is the connectivity of relationships - all of them. Do you ever stop and think how many relationships you have? What those people mean to you and what you may mean to those people? Friends, family, and of course, the animals we're "owned" by. I can't imagine my life without my animals and certainly not without my friends and family. I have connections with people I'll probably only know through exchanging e-mails. I can tell instantly when I "connect" with the author of a book that comes to mean so much to me and touches me in a way nothing else could. What about a song that resonates and you find yourself playing it over and over and over again until other members of your household beg and plead with you to give it a rest? Happens all the time at my house - just ask Justin. Lately I've practically worn out, "I Was Brought to My Senses". No question about it, I'm strung out on Sting and his lovely British accent.

As humans, we appear to be in possession not only of Connective Tissue which set us all up perfectly for "Connective Issues". Doesn't anything come without "issues"???? Hey, it's not always simple and easy-to-understand, but it's generally worth further investigation, this connectivity predisposition that can sometimes feel like a curse, but is overwhelmingly a blessing.

Having said that, there are a few connections where it's just best to disconnect. Hang-up. Cut the line. And who hasn't had a few of those? I've had a handful I should have passed on, but I guess they served the purpose of those darn hard-won lessons. Hanging up is an option I should probably practice more than I do, but curiosity often gets the better of me. I eventually hang-up though not hanging up earlier is probably, well, one of my hang-ups. Did I mention I'm not perfect? I'm sure I didn't have to - I bet you picked up on that something close to instantly.

But for the love of God, Country and everything holy, hang up on pirates. Just do yourself a favor. Skip the cruise and pass on all "Jolly Roger" types, unless it's the sour apple flavor of the hard candy. Sooner or later that pirate is going down. Skip those types of connections. Paste a post-it note on your forehead if you must, but remember the mantra. [Geoff, I loved your word scramble - it really was garbage!]

While a few connections should be avoided at all cost, there's always the risk of swinging too far on the scale which, I think, would be tantamount to "no dialtone", i.e., being "out of order", and rendering one unable to connect at all. This would set one up for a period of isolation and I don't even like the sound of that word, much less the concept it represents. It's just not natural, unless you're a gene in a petri dish, sitting in agar awaiting some brilliant, skilled scientist to isolate you and cite you as a culprit responsible for some devastating disease process. Personally, isolation is one of the MANY things I'm happy to be hopelessly inept at doing well. I think it's a completely uninteresting and terribly boring. Connections are definitely the better choice, I suspect. Over-correcting a course is probably just as silly as steering in the wrong direction - either way, you're not headed in the right direction and it's finding the right direction that we're all supposed to be about, or so I'm told.

I love this one particular clip from "Feast of Love" and no, I haven't seen the movie yet, but I've worn out the clips on the website. (Click here to watch Morgan Freeman give Greg Kinnear some fine advice..."Jump, jump - next time with your eyes open!" Morgan Freeman says it's OK to jump. Morgan Freeman is a wise man. I remember him from the "The Electric Company" when I was a little girl. He taught me how to sound things out and put words together on PBS, way back when I was in elementary school. If he says it's OK to jump, just make sure your eyes are open, that's good enough for me. He also says, in another clip, "I'd proceed with caution...". That's pretty smart talk as well.

But still, I'm just so grateful for connectedness, interplanetary and otherwise.

I didn't go kayaking this past Sunday Night. I went to dinner, instead. Kayaking didn't get canceled, it simply got postponed. Friday night, according to one expert source, the waves weren't right for surfing but they were optimal for kayaking, so I had my first sunset kayak experience. I wasn't sure about the whole thing, having never been before, but of course, I fell in love with it. It was quiet, like sailing in a way, but the view was almost the same as being 'one with the water' and, in a way, that's how it felt. My first kayak adventure was in a two-person kayak and I was in "first class" which meant, I got to have beverage service (Jasmine tea), but I paddled as well - and it was a lot of fun.

When I told Katie of my plans, she once again advised that I check the weather forecast first because we all know how I love taking to the water in tropical storm conditions, but I assured her it wasn't going to be that ill-conceived and/or adventurous. We paddled due west, toward the setting sun, and for a few seconds I felt like that "Bugs Bunny" cartoon, one of my favorites when I was a little girl, where Bugs is paddling after evading, yet again, becoming trapped, and off he strokes in his canoe, toward the setting sun. The image made me giggle.

We soon reached the marsh and it was so awesome being lower than the reeds. We saw heron, egrets and lots of fish jumping about. No dolphins, of course - I seem to be a dolphin deterrent, something I wish I knew how to remedy - but even without the marine mammals, it was still a "don't miss" evening cruise. The tide coming in took us around twists and turns and in places the clear water was no more than a foot deep and I could see the oyster beds as we passed over them. Of course, when we got to the "cul-de-sac" at the end of the marsh and it was time to return home, paddling against the incoming tide and current required a little elbow grease, but it was such a cool ride on such a "picture postcard perfect" evening. A fantastic way in which to spend one of the last days of September.

Now, if that wasn't enough, about an hour or so later, I saw the moon emerge from the horizon and rise to the sky and take it's mobile position amongst the stars, already present and accounted for, and the soundtrack of the languorous waves was the perfect accompaniment. There were quite a few people also enjoying the beach, well, save one couple who were lying on the sand enjoying taking photos of themselves with their cell phone. They were totally missing the moon but I don't think they noticed or cared. Ahhhh...maybe youth really is wasted on the young, as the old man commented in "It's a Wonderful Life", when James Stewart was taking forever to get up the courage to kiss Donna Reed.

I don't really think youth is wasted on the young - maybe we should just stop thinking of ourselves as getting old? Aren't we perpetually growing up in some form or fashion? Is there some ill-conceived rule that states one's youth must occur between the ages of "X" and "Y"? If there is, I want no part of that and that's certainly not some attempt by me to take away one-second of my 47 years (plus) years on this planet...no, no, no - I claim every single one of them and, if anything, I'm kind of proud for having survived so far, but just because chronologically I'm 47 years old, doesn't mean that I have to abandon any of the fun those people between the ages of "X" & "Y" have. I don't buy into that and I happen to know better. So far, I'm having a great "youth" and I project it will last as long as I do. Sometimes I think people really do go much too willingly and far too gently "into that good night". I've got no plans for that and I suspect I'll be in real trouble should I consider the notion.

It has, quite obviously, been a very nice week. I met up with Jimi for lunch at "our place" (i.e., Elijah's) this past Thursday. Speaking of not growing up, I picked him up from his office, crutches in tow. He had been walking his new puppy and from what I could gather, the puppy (a bulldog variety), went one way while Jimi was still going the other and he wound up with a sprained ankle. He took it in stride, as he does almost everything, except for that fact that his "stride" now came attached with crutches. It really didn't slow him down too much and he was even more amusing on his Tylenol with codeine, not that he needs it to be funny! He's generally larger than life.

We had a spirited conversation over salads and he even shared some of his tuna with me as he picked at my shrimp. We downed a lot of tea and I topped it off with coffee. We noticed to the left of us was what looked to be a gathering of the "Red Hat Society" but not a fun-loving chapter. They looked rather dour and Jimi pointed to one that seemed to annoy him by virtue of her facial expressions. We vowed never to appear that way in about thirty or so years when it comes to be "our turn", but who knows...nah, I don't see it and I can't imagine animated Jimi ever affecting a dour visage. He's just too infused with so much spirit. I imagine him to be an irascible old man someday, still pondering which tattoo to get next.

I received a package this past week. It came from Little River, SC, but it was actually by way of Baghdad. My friend Sgt. Mike sent me an incredible gift and, along with it, a "push" for me to get down to business. I can no longer spend my time in my newly redecorated bedroom relaxing and reading...oh no, no, no...he's served up the means for me to write wherever I am and is determined that I become more "mobile". He sent me a spiffy IBM Think Pad with a wireless card so there's no running and there's no hiding. I have strict instructions and he's a radar specialist so I have a feeling I may well be under surveillance.

It was a phenomenal gesture and kind beyond all measure. Thank you, Mike. I'll keep playing those Power Ball numbers so that you have a multi-million dollar check waiting for you when you return to the states. You're one of a kind and, as you remind me, another "gift" of having dealt with a few of the obstacles I ran into this summer. Good things happen to us even when it looks like we're in the middle of a mess and stumbling into you has been such a gift.

Mike and I "connected" this past summer when he signed my guest book with an aside about sailing. At the time of his signing, I was "forbidden" by Capt'. H(ook) to respond but, of course, I did send a thank you to the man who signed my blog, but at the time, that was all I did. It wasn't worth the fight. A couple of months later, Sgt. Mike read about my car accident and e-mailed me good wishes and a gift card for some tea. This was about a week after the car crash and a couple of days after I became "disengaged". At last, it was safe to write. He's proven himself to be a great cheerleader and has a kind spirit. I know his family must be so proud of him and I'm sure they can't wait for him to return home. We're all praying for that, Mike!

But I still think you have a coffee problem and, coming from me, that's saying something!

There is one important thing that I want to touch on that happened back in May. My Dad, as I've written many times, is a diarist. He's one of the finest writers I've ever been privileged to read. For my 47 plus years as his daughter, he's kept a daily diary. That's a lot of diary entries! I'm sure he could tell me exactly how many because he's got a calculator for a brain and he's driven by statistics but his motivation and power come from his heart and his heart, as anyone will attest, must have been one that God used as a proto-type in terms of function and design and the power to love. (Photo: Harry Burke & Barbe Cook, May 16, 2007.)

Both of my parents are very special and not just to me - but to many people. In fact, many of my friends have "adopted" these two fine people and when I was drearily considering the insensibility of moving to Raleigh this past summer, I got a keen sense that many of my friends were more concerned that my parents stay in Wilmington, regardless of where I went off to. I heard a lot of "Whew's", when I'd share that they had no plans to relocate North - they were much too bright to even consider the ridiculousness of such a notion.

A few days before Katie, Justin, Billie and I took off for the Outer Banks, as I drove to Fayetteville to pick Katie up from the Amtrack Station, my parents were privileged and oh-so-pleased to welcome unexpected company to our home. Excitement was at a high-pitch level! A gentleman who was CFO with the parent company that owned the coal company my father worked for before he retired, had retired 18 months before my Dad. Mr. Harry Burke worked in Chicago and was known, around our house, as the "big brass", but more importantly, the relationship that developed between my Dad and Mr. Burke segued into a friendship and has carried on long past retirement.

Following retirement, Mr. Burke left Chicago and relocated to Scottsdale, Arizona while my parents retired EVERYWHERE we moved (and it's been a lot of moves!). All during this time, Dad and Mr. Burke would stay connected via phone and e-mail and keep up with the goings-on in their respective lives. Even though my Dad retired in October 1986, 21 years ago, they've shared many phone calls, traded news, followed each other's family happenings and, in the case of poor Mr. Burke, tried to keep up with us geographically. (Photo: Janet, Maxine, Harry, Barbe & Marsha, May 16, 2007)

While Mr. Burke has been happily installed in Scottsdale, AZ, my parents have lived in Amarillo, San Antonio, San Angelo, Stow, OH, El Paso, Pembroke Pines, FL, Charleston, SC, Amarillo (again), and finally Wilmington. That's a lot of push-pins on the map!

Though they have corresponded and visited via telephone, they had not seen each other in over 22 years. On 16 May of this year, as I was driving to pick up my lovely daughter, my Dad and Mom enthusiastically welcomed Mr. Burke, his companion Marsha and his sister Janet, who lives in the area. These two "old" friends had quite a wonderful reunion. My parents were so happy to see all of them and have the chance to visit in person. Oh how I wish I could have been here for it, but I am told it was a wonderful thing. I know it will go down as one of the highlights of this year in the best way possible.

I haven't checked, but I can imagine it made for "red ink" in my Dad's diary. The way it works, if something particularly noteworthy occurs in the course of a day, such a birthday, raise, or some other milestone like a car wreck, tropical storm sailing, breaking up with a pirate (sorry, I couldn't resist), these things get what I call the "red ink" treatment. Now, I'm sure I've made for a few pens' worth of red ink in my references in these volumes - some of it even good! But I have no doubt that May 16th and the visit with Harry Burke made for a "red ink" notation and probably in capital letters. I know my parents still talk about that day and renewing their friendship with this special company. Of course, my Mom made a cake and I know coffee was probably served.

As they got things ready for their visitors, it reminded me of when I was a little girl on Sunday Mornings, getting the house polished and shined for either relatives or sometimes even the pastor (I was always particularly instructed to watch my mouth on those days!). There was always an extra "hum" and verve. It was very much like that as I left to go retrieve my daughter and I so enjoyed hearing about it after I returned home with her. That was an extra special day - a visit from a long-time friend and former co-worker AND a visit from a granddaughter all in the same day. My dad may well have had to get a new red pen for that one!

As I've mused about the way my friends have swooped in and taken such fine care of me these past few weeks, sometimes I think of my parents and all of the friends they've collected through the years - how they've kept up with them, rejoiced right along with them through good news, and prayed at the dinner table for them and through long, heartfelt phone conversations through difficult times. My folks have taught me so many lessons through the years, but the presence of friendships in their lives has been a paramount component to their quality of life and thank God I managed to pick up on this. Friends, as they've shown me by example, and the love of family, have been what's counted most in their lives. They've been both the recipient and the giver at various times in their lives and it's been patently obvious how they've managed to live such a rich, love-saturated life with a great deal of affection and kindness.

I've observed in my life, so many times, how this is inarguably true. Much more so than possessions or money, it is these intrinsic relationships that I think count for a life well-lived. I am grateful for my parents example, just as I'm grateful for, and to, the people who claim positions within my inner circle. In the words of Robert Frost, "it has made all the difference...". (Photo: I "heart" these people...Daddy, Justin, Katie & Mom, May 2007).

It seems to me that no matter what life might fling at us, or what mess we may find ourselves mired in, if we have a hand or two to hold, we're going to be OK. Maybe a little bruised and scratched and roughed up a bit, but it's going to be fine. I'm pretty sure it's one of those things that "matter most".

As with my Dad and Mr. Burke, even after not seeing each other for over 21 years, the "connectedness", that bond remained intact, viable and strong. It was nurtured through the years with notes and phone calls, well-wishes, warm thoughts and no small measure of prayer. Distance never compromised it. Time seemed only to make it even more precious. Is that not just the most incredible gift? Thank God for these relationships and ties that bind. Then again, thank God for a lot of things!

And thank God for the gift of the full moon this past week. If you missed it, you really missed quite a site, but don't beat yourself up too much - the calendar reports there will be another one in less than 30 days. Maybe you'd better circle 26 October on your calendar. I'd suggest using red ink.

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.)