PC Magazine, Wilma! And A Canadian Miracle...It's Finally Time To Find A New Literary Agent!

Looking for a good literary agent is a lot like looking for a needle in a huge haystack, with your eyes closed.

It's a lot like searching for the right attorney, which takes the leap of assuming any attorney could be categorized as "right", but maybe a little more dicey and finding the right fit can be a story in itself. I met my last one at the annual "Southwest Writer's Conference" in Albuquerque, New Mexico and I was so thrilled when she wanted to sign me on the spot, that I didn't have the experience or wit to take the time to question if we could work together or even consider that I should have an actual "comfort level" with her representation and way of doing business. For whatever reason, I believe the right person for the job will reveal him/herself at the right time. I just hope it's soon - it's getting a bit daunting juggling assignments and projects and wondering if I'm being overextended and underpaid.

One of the most delicious things about being a freelance writer is that you just never know where the next assignment will take you! Lately, my phone has been ringing a lot and each project has gotten more interesting!

Single...With Children: A Public Journal Of A Not So Public Journey...

One Project that has been begging for attention, is archiving my five years worth of "Single...With Children" Columns onto my blog. Talk about tedious! However, I am happy to report that I have most of them loaded on my blog and if you are so inclined or simply curious about all of the topics I covered, mostly from personal experience, much to my kids' chagrin, you can click on this link - Single...With Children - and it will start you on your way, from the first column, to the last column, and everything in between.

It's the "in between" stuff where a lot of our personal history, milestones, gaffes, triumphs and downfalls, and just plain living life, took place. Sandwiched in between those five years, we moved from Texas to North Carolina - a fact that my Texas editors never wanted revealed so that I would still appear "regional".

That five year span of time saw the 9/11 terrorist attacks, learning to put my kids on an airplane to fly off to see their father, trips to France, England, and best of all The Outer Banks!

During those five years between July 2000 and July 2005, my beloved dog Freeway died, and so did Mister Rogers. My daughter graduated from high school, flew to Ireland and worked as an au pair for four months.

Justin was kind enough to provide some column fodder as well; During the course of those five years, he got his driver's license, wrecked his Mustang and had a skateboarding accident that landed both of us in the ER and shaved at least five, no make that ten, years off my life. He also did some wonderful things - we built an aviary together, and he became a blood donor. OK, so he donated his blood in order to skip a couple of classes - you have to admit it's creative use of his time and I'm betting the person that received his blood didn't give much thought to the motives of the person who's life-saving blood was dripping in his/her veins.

I finally realized that me and wine just didn't mix and finally did one of the smartest things I have ever done in my life - I joined Alcoholics Anonymous and became a good friend of Bill W's, which basically saved me and gave me a whole new sober life.

I tossed out, no, make that SHREDDED, my real estate broker's license with more joy than I can tell you, because I hated every minute of working in real estate and to this day, I have no idea what made me ever go there in the first place, though I did emerge with some very wonderful, dear friends, so that just goes to show that even the worst of experiences can offer unexpected gifts.

I grew closer to my family than I would ever have thought possible, and that is priceless. My son graduated from high school, worked through some difficult times and gave me a run for my money on occasion, but has returned to the person I always knew was still just beneath the surface of his apathetic facade. He just got a little lost - it can happen at 18 and I know for sure it can happen at 43. Thank God we both found our way. As James Taylor sang in "Boatman", "...we found level ground, and we put ourselves down. Amazing we all didn't die." Amazing indeed. And, being the humans that we are, we will no doubt find stumble into future messes, but maybe just a little bit wiser for having lived a little more life.

I shared a lot of the crazy things going on in our lives at the time, but a most of the crazier things were never revealed. That's for later and a column couldn't begin to contain it all. That's what books are for and I've got a whopper of a story that was never eluded to in the space of 900 words every other week. Sometimes I reread those columns and, because of the profond changes that have taken place in my life and, even more specifically me, I hardly recognize the "voice" of that columnist. That five year period probably saw more personal growth and evolution than all of my other years combined. I am so grateful but, at the time, I didn't always feel that way. Not by a long, or tequila, shot.

In one column, I discussed how the previous owner of my house would measure the growth of his children on the frame of the downstairs bathroom door. I can just imagine those kids I never met, standing still every month or so, eagerly anticipating how much higher that mark would need to be raised.

In some ways my column really was reminiscent of an episode of "The Brady Bunch", in that a conflict was presented, the lesson was gleaned and, in the magical span of 900 or so words, all of the loose ends were tied up and problem solved. Everyone knows real life doesn't work anything like that. So there you have it, I guess now and then I do flirt with fiction, a genre that has never held my interest. Maybe E. L. Doctorow had it right when he observed, "There is no fact, there is no fiction. There is only narrative". I suppose the "narrative" depends heavily on the perspective of the narrator - and of course, the person listening to the narration.

I smile when I read some of the stories and sometimes I smile when I remember the story behind the story, but there are a few of those memories, events that never saw print, that make me cringe and wonder how we ever survived ourselves or each other. It was never intended to be a "how-to" or even a "how NOT to" guide. Mostly, as I look back, it was about living life and doing the best we could with what we were dealing with at the moment. To be honest, I wouldn't change a thing because, cliche as it may sound, "it took what it took" and to be where we are, it was worth everything and then some.

What a strange, wild, unforgettable ride. Even the most difficult and darkest times that occurred in those five pivotal years of my personal history, I truly do believe that every single second of it was necessary for me to be in the place I find myself today - which sometimes feels like some kind of surreal dream. I can't help but state for the record that "The Promises" of AA delivered - I was, and continue to be, amazed and hopefully I'm not even halfway through. Through the love of a watchful, wise Higher Power, a devoted family who's faith in me never wavered, even when my own faith in myself was shaky at best, and the love and support of so many special friends who cheered me on from the sidelines and held my hand on especially trying days, I didn't do any of this alone, my path has been lit by so many angels. Thank you seems inadequate. Words can't begin to describe the gratitude that I feel for everyone that touched, and continues to influence, my life.

But I'll say it anyway. Thank you!

Raising Awareness

Last week I was invited to sit for a photo that will accompany a feature I have coming out in the May issue of "Wilma!" Magazine. I was given the honor of posing with two objects which are very precious to me: My "pink wish bracelet" and a photograph of the little girl who inspired, not simply "pink wish bracelets", but courage, humor and a rare brand of chutzpah, Canadian-style. Of course, I am referring to the inimitable Julianna Josephson! The feature I wrote is on Organ Donation and, one of the major points I wanted to bring to the forefront of the feature is that you don't have to be deceased to donate! What a caveat! Though Julianna has never been faced with the prospect of having to undergo a bone-marrow transplant, many children and adults who suffer from many forms of leukemia must have this life-saving procedure and bone-marrow may be donated by a family member or stranger who happens to be registered with the NMDP and proves to be a close match. I used my upcoming article as an opportunity to raise awareness and hopefully folks will give careful consideration to registering with the National Marrow Donor Program (NMDP). Speaking of Julianna, I am happy to report that she has completed the maintenance phase of her treatment protocol and has been officially declared in remission and is now off-treatment. So Julianna, you just found out you're in remission and you get to tell your IV Pole, which the family has dubbed "Mr. Baxter", to get lost - What are you going to do now? Why, she's going to Disney World, of course! What better way to celebrate a huge milestone of this proportion. To read more about Julianna and her adventures, you may visit her site at: Julianna Banana or, if the hyperlink doesn't work, type in: http://www2.caringbridge.org/canada/julianna/, and don't forget to sign her guest book!

"You Mean I Actually Get PAID To Do This??"

This past Wednesday, PC Magazine offered me the fun assignment of interviewing twins who have homes that are just about as "hi-tech" as you could ever imagine, but both gentlemen were very down-to-earth. After talking with one of them for a few minutes, before we got down to the business of touring his house, it would seem that he and his identical twin brother, grew up about an hour from where I did in West Virginia. Small world! His beautiful and gracious fiancee is also from the same area, so there we were, three Mountaineers, talking of our old home state and how interesting life is - they made good, and I get to write about them for one of my favorite magazines.

I also met with the man who's brain schematic must resemble Einstein's because he not only installed all of these sophisticated systems, but wrote the programs that enabled them to work as flawlessly as technology allows, was able to communicate how to operate them to the owners who's only request was that it be as user-friendly as possible. Not only is he a techno-genius, but he's brilliant, funny, charming, delightful and after spending eight hours (not counting breakfast!) giving me the tour of these two palatial homes, he still possessed the ability to be a comedian! Yes, and that's after spending the ENTIRE day working with me! Is he amazing or what? Thank you Darren! When I make my million(s), I might be able to invite you down to outfit my home. Darren, don't hold your breath on that one.

On top of all this, he's the new father of a baby that was born two weeks premature, but still weighed in at over 9 lbs. making this his FOURTH son! It should be noted that, in addition to all of that intricate audio/visual work, he loves to play paintball. He almost had me talked into it. It's definitely worth taking a look at Darren's official company website to check out just how talented and smart he really is! You can find out more about his expertise at Today's Audio/Video or simply type: www.todaysaudiovideo.com.

Yes, he's that good!

Alongside Darren, was his capable assistant and soon-to-be-married all around good guy, Michael. I think Michael's primary job is to keep Darren straight plus, he provides the service of giving Darren an accessible target to pull his practical jokes on when people like me aren't around.

We were also joined by the beautiful and knowledgeable Joyce, who represented CEDIA out of Indianapolis and flew in just to make sure things went smoothly in terms of showcasing the systems I toured. She was not only knowledgeable and full of energy, but a lot of fun to spend a long day with. Joyce, we need to get you back to North Carolina!

The last, but by no means least, member of our entourage, was the professional photographer assigned with capturing our day on film. Dan Ormsby was a consummate professional, quietly going about his work, but had one of the sweetest smiles and pleasantly calm dispositions. I'd love to work with him again and maybe, if he has an extra-sturdy camera, I can talk him into taking some professional portraits. I can't wait to see his photos in the magazine next month. I know they will be spectacular.

Dan was bolder than I was, because he took the owners up on their invitation for a helicopter ride over Lake Norman. I politely declined and took photos as they took off. I'm happy to report they landed safely and I bet Dan got some cool aerial shots of the homes.

Suffice it to say, it was a LONG day, but a fun one. I'll be working on writing my portion of the piece today and tomorrow and it will be interesting to see how it all comes together in it's final form.

"She Wants To Be A Part Of It, New York, New York..."

My daughter left for NYC this past Thursday morning to look for a place live. I was thinking Brooklyn or Queens but not my Katie. She called me up Friday Night and she and her wonderful boyfriend John had found a place in the East Village of Manhattan! Yes, it's a closet, but what a location! She and John return home tomorrow (Monday) and they promised me lots of pictures. I know that they are both floating on air. They went to a Knicks Game Friday Night (courtside seats courtesy of John's generous aunt who also lives in Manhattan), and Katie got some great shots of the players and several celebrities.

Look out New York City! Thankfully, John is a strapping 6'6" tall and, even though he's a gentle giant, he has a formidable presence. If your daughter has to move away from home to the big city, you want someone like John around looking out for her. At 6'6", he can easily see over the crowd!

Of course, they will be moving in mid-May and I already miss her like crazy. It's going to be so weird not having her around. She truly has become my best friend, in addition to my best (and only) daughter. But I am so very proud of how she ambitiously attacks her dreams, in typical "Katie" style, and I know that whatever she does in NY, she will do well. I may need to go ahead and get her autograph, before the line forms. :-)

Speaking of "gentle giant", those are the two best descriptors of John. He's bright, sweet, funny, house-trained and hates Microsoft. Can you really ask more of a guy than that? I've heard he's formidable in Scrabble, but I'll have to personally check that out and intend to very soon. No question - New York's a mighty big sandbox, but John is a mighty tall guy but even without the height - he stands tall in ways that have nothing to do with height. We're proud to know him. He's one of those people who, when they smile, everything else sort of glows in the warmth , including our daughter.

You have to understand, I don't just see a lot of Katie at home, but we work together. Crazy as it sounds, this creates no conflict whatsoever and it's brought us even closer. We spend many late nights in my office, filling up on high-octane coffee, discussing the craziness that went on in our days, and she's even got me hooked on "Sex and the City". We have lunch together several times a week, being treated like royalty by the wonderful staff at "The Copper Penny", the restaurant where Justin works, and she's done so many things with me, that there is no question that I am going to have a difficult time dealing with this.

I'm going to miss my little girl, but I guess that will mean that I had better get more writing assignments to fund the many flights I plan to make to NYC to check on her and let her show me her favorite bookstores, cafes and, of course, Central Park. I love Central Park. I'll love it even more with Katie.

Though I will miss her - we all will - I am in awe of her sense of adventure. She's definitely going places. I just wish she didn't have to go so far from home. Thank God for the Internet, cell phones and video-conferencing.

Katie, one of the many things I love so much about you is that you never allowed your fear of flying to keep you grounded. What an amazing spirit you have. You are my hero.

I'll post more details of her trip with some photos, as soon as she returns home tomorrow.

Sometimes Eleanor speaks to me...

...And she sounds a lot like Anne Lamott !

[Editor's Note: When I returned home from work this evening (March 23rd), it would seem that some jokester in my family, and all signs point toward my Daddy, placed a Mason Jar, complete with a lid, in front of my keyboard. Cute Daddy, but you were never one of the mice people I metaphorically lifted by the tail and tossed in the jar. You've just never been obnoxious - nor has anyone in my family been placed in there. Good try, though and I'll keep that Mason Jar on my desk as a reminder to shut out those "others" who've earned a rightful place and need to be shut up from time to time. Thanks!]"

No one can make you feel inferior without your permission" ~ Eleanor Roosevelt

Who can't relate to that? C'mon, how many of us have had what feels like a billion things to do and only a million minutes to accomplish it? May I see a show of hands? I thought so.

This past week has been a challenge. There have been moments when I felt as if a few of these challenges were getting the best of me, but I'm so stubborn that, while I might have felt a little dizzy by it all, I wasn't about to grant that permission. I couldn't control every situation that felt threatening, I was reminded time and again by dismissing those "stinking thinking" tapes that I did have control over what my reaction could and should be. Thank God for tapes that allow us to rewrite and rewrite and rewrite. I have had quite a few assignments lately and several editors to answer to, all of whom I enjoy working for, but there are instances when I can be my own editor, particularly when feeling a bit on the overwhelmed side, so I just called for a rewrite. And it worked. In fact, it worked very well.

Right now, I feel like I'm working several jobs and of all the "bosses" I have, I'm probably the most difficult and perfectionistic of the lot. I sometimes find that I'm harder on me than anyone else. When I am difficult with myself, I don't even have the decency to send myself flowers with a gracious note of apology, as one of my bosses did this past week when, following a tense moment, he sent me a vase of tulips with a note of congratulations and expressing, "sorry you have to work for a jerk". I had to admit that it took a pretty big person to do that and I appreciated the sentiment. Being the compliant, eager-to-please employee that I am, I didn't try and tell him that his assessment of himself was wrong. I called and thanked the man and, I even kindly pointed out that he's not a jerk...all the time. I mean, he spends a great deal of time out of the country and I've never found him to be a jerk when he's overseas.

This weekend, after completing my series of interviews for a feature story with a deadline that was fast approaching, I got up Sunday Morning to try and add all of the ingredients together and do what I was being paid to do which was, of course, something I passionately enjoy very much, especially when I get paid to do it. It was time to write.

That's when those annoying tapes started playing in my head. You know, the ones that tell you that you have no business sitting down before the keyboard and hammering out sentences that will no doubt be completely stupid and nonsensical and only provide final proof that you shouldn't be allowed to even write your name, much less a feature story on a very important topic.

My "pre-writing" exercises are wildly productive. I do every single little job that I would be loathe to tackle at any other time. I clean my keyboard with Q-tips and alcohol (Purell). I turn my CPU off and get all of the dust that's covering the pretty colored wires snaking through the guts of my Dell Computers. I take everything off my desk and actually dust it and then rearrange it all, usually placing everything in exactly the same place, but for some reason it feels more orderly. Probably for no other reason than at least the dust is cleared and I can't "finger dust" on the surface.

I clean my coffee maker, taking pains to make sure all of the stains are removed and restoring it to "almost new" condition.

I surf the web and visit all of those sites that I think to visit when I'm busy doing other stuff, you know, internet sites extolling the joy of jasmine tea, or maybe looking for great rates for weekend getaways that I'll never take and, were a deadline not looming, would probably never opt to go anyway. Sometimes I finger my passport, look longingly at the French Customs Stamps and that leads me to check on the current temperature in Paris and imagine French people sitting down to dinner as I sit down to a steaming platter of fresh fear before my flatscreen monitor.

I go back and read old E-mails - some that make me laugh and some that make me angry - anything to get my mind off the real task before me - the thing I'm trying to forget that I have to do. I work about 20 Sudoku puzzles, many times without even cheating or clicking the "hint" button - and then I wonder if I have an addiction to Sudoku and, if I do, is it healthy or unhealthy? Should I be worried?

I read passages from David Sedaris books that I could probably recite without even looking at the pages. It still elicits a giggle. And then I wonder if I should have exposed my children to quirky writers like David Sedaris, Jack Handy (Deep Thoughts) and I seriously become concerned that too much Al Franken might not have been in Katie and Justin's best interest, but then I quickly dismiss that concern because, let's face it, it's too damn late and even though he's way too liberal for my middle of the road tastes, he's just so "laugh out loud" funny.

I clean out my wallet and arrange everything in almost perfect order, with the full knowledge that I'll mess it all up within 36 hours after the deadline has passed and I've submitted my assignment. But that's OK - it's proof that the act of cleaning can sometimes unclutter my mind even more than it unclutters my desk.

I'll decide that we need a new comforter - one with daisies on a blue background, and I'll surf all of the websites that pop up when one enters the words, "daisy comforter with blue background" in the google search box. I never for one-second entertain the thought of actually buying one. I just like to surf-shop.

Then I'll get really irritated because I'll look at my walls and wish someone would have given me a framed copy of one of the most beautiful prints I've ever seen - "Daisy on Blue" by Jennifer O'Meara. I first saw it in the ladies restroom of "Howard's Pub" on Ocracoke Island last July. I love that poster and I have to believe that just gazing at that exquisite print for a few minutes might have inspired me to the point I wouldn't have to waste time surfing the 'net to see how much it would be if I just bit the bullet and ordered it.

I make a couple of phone calls, usually to people I wouldn't really think I had the time to call under normal circumstances, but suddenly feel compelled to ring up because it buys me more time to procrastinate.

FINALLY, after I have gone through my litany of time-wasters, I reach for my faithful, and most favorite, Anne Lamott book, "Bird By Bird", and I turn to the same pages I read everytime I hit a writer's cement block.

Maybe you can relate to this. I KNOW I can. It's aptly placed in the chapter entitled, "S***** First Drafts" :

"I know some very great writers, writers you love who write beautifully and have made a great deal of money, and not one of them sits down routinely feeling wildly enthusiastic and confident. Not one of them writes elegant first drafts. All right, one of them does, but we do not like her very much. We do not think that she has a rich inner life or that God likes her or can even stand her. (Although when I mentioned this to my priest friend Tom, he said you can safely assume you've created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all of the same people you do.)."

"Very few writers really know what they are doing until they've done it. Nor do they go about their business feeling dewy and thrilled. They do not type a few stiff warm-up sentences and then find themselves bounding along like huskies across the snow. One writer I know tells me that he sits down every morning and says to himself nicely, 'It's not like you dont' have a choice, because you do - you can either type or kill yourself.' We all often feel like we are pulling teeth, even those writers whose prose ends up being the most natural and fluid. The right words and sentences just do not come pouring out like ticker tape most of the time. Now, Muriel Spark is said to have felt that she was taking dictation from God every morning - sitting there, one supposes, plugged into a Dictaphone, typing away, humming. But this is a very hostile and aggressive position. One might hope for bad things to rain down on a person like this."

I especially like the suggestion she makes on page 27 of "Bird by Bird":

"Close your eyes and get quiet for a minute, until the chatter starts up. Then isolate one of the voices and imagine the person speaking as a mouse. Pick it up by the tail and drop it into a mason jar. Then isolate another voice, pick it up by the tail and drop it in the jar. And so on. Drop in any high-maintenance parental units, drop in any contractors, lawyers, colleagues, children, anyone who is whining in your head. Then put the lid on, and watch all these mouse people clawing at the glass, jabbering away, trying to make you feel like shit because you won't do what they want - won't give them more money, won't be more successful, won't see them more often. Then imagine that there is a volume-control button on the bottle. Turn it all the way up for a minute, and listen to the stream of angry, neglected, guilt-mongering voices. Then turn it all the way down and watch the frantic mice lunge at the glass, trying to get to you. Leave it down, and get back to your shitty first draft."

"A writer friend of mine suggests opening the jar and shooting them all in the head. But I think he's a little angry, and I'm sure nothing like this would ever occur to you."

Don't you just love that and in your most honest moments, don't you sometimes feel like doing just that? You don't have to be frustrated by a deadline to find some solace and completely inappropriate satisfaction by engaging in just such an exercise. I think it's brilliant. I'm happy to report that it works very well, because I've done it a time or twenty. For now, I won't reveal the names of the mouse people in my mason jar, but you know who you are. ;-) If you're not sure of your place on my list, E-mail me privately at: susiewrites@gmail.com and I'll let you know your ranking on that particular day. The queue changes just like the price of an airline ticket on any given day.

After reading what I need to read everytime I feel stuck, and I can get really stuck now and again, I realize that my feelings and fears are completely natural and familiar and somehow, simply acknowledging them seems to take the power out of them and, after looking around and realizing I've done all of the little tidying up things I'd never stoop to on a "non-deadline" day, I get down to business. I look over my notes, and somehow it really works and the stuff begins to take shape. Of course, it's usually five or six in the morning when I'm finished, but it works. It works very well.

And so it did again this past Sunday Night/Monday Morning. I met my deadline and then, last night, I met two more. And tonight, when I swore I would stay as far away from my computer as possible because I think we both needed the break from each other, what do I find myself doing? Writing. OK, I did play two games of Sudoku, but then I decided to blog and I have no idea why, because it's not like I have a "blog entry deadline". Probably if I did, my desk would look a lot more organized because, predictably, it got all messy again, just like I knew it would, although the keyboard is still shiny from the Q-tip/alcohol treatment, though I do notice some of my letters are starting to fade just the tiniest bit. I must have been rubbing too hard.

I finally get it...

I've always heard it said that when you have the opportunity to do what you love most, to delve into your passion, that it isn't work at all. I understand that today.

I'm working on a feature story for a local magazine, and the theme of the issue will be "Legacies". My feature story focuses on Organ Donation. I was excited when handed the assignment because I have always been a huge proponent of organ donation, both living and after death. Talk about leaving a legacy!

I had the privilege today to meet with an incredible woman who, unfortunately, lost her husband to complications following a kidney transplant. The kidney was donated by a friend of the couple and the procedure itself was successful. The patient passed away due to an opportunistic infection that struck his compromised immune system. Of course, his immune system was compromised due to the immune-suppressing medications essential in order to prevent his transplanted kidney from being attacked and rejected by his body's built-in defense system.

The interview I conducted today gave me the opportunity to meet a very strong, kind, empathetic woman who managed to rise above her fresh grief in order to publicly express her support for organ donation and to encourage others to recognize the need. She wasn't bitter that her experience didn't quite turn out as she hoped it would. This woman cared enough about raising public awareness and, perhaps, changing some attitudes by offering information on something she still believes in.

I know it couldn't have been easy for this gentle lady, having to revisit the entire experience with me as we talked about the etiology of her husband's disease, the point where it became clear that his body required a new kidney and how touched they were when friends stepped forward to offer up a very personal, physical piece of what makes their own body's function.

And then we discussed the post-transplant crisis that resulted in a return to Duke University Medical Center and the subsequent rollercoaster ride she and her husband endured has his condition flickered optimism from time to time, but ultimately dwindled into unfortunate demise.

I love to write and it has always been such a wonderful outlet for me and, from time to time, I've actually got paid to do the thing I love doing most and what I eventually hope to transition to full-time. One of the best caveats of writing is that many times it affords the opportunity to meet some amazing individuals who might not normally cross my path. Such was my experience today.

Writing also has the bonus feature of educating both the intended reading audience, as well as the person penning the piece. During the course of our two hour interview this afternoon, I learned a great deal about the "before, during and after" phase of an organ transplant. But even more importantly, I was granted the gracious gift of learning not only about the topic at hand, but of the quiet dignity and gentle spirit of a woman who has had a pretty challenging time of it. She probably had no idea how much I was gleaning by simply sharing time with her on this bright, almost spring day in Wilmington, North Carolina.

To be sure, the theme of our discussion was fascinating, but the physical and almost spiritual presence of this woman was what affected me even more than the facts of her experience. I am so grateful for that gift and that our paths intersected.

Later this evening, I had another wonderful opportunity of interviewing another subject for my feature story. This time, I had the pleasure of meeting and learning about the experience of a gentleman who donated one of his kidney's to his 33 year-old stepson. Once again, I listened to a quiet, unassuming hero share his experience with the transplant process - what it felt like to learn he would be the donor, and how he gathered the courage, though he would never term it as such, to donate a living piece of himself to a young man he has raised as his own. Unique circumstances. Ordinary folks facing extrordinary life and death situations with grace, generosity and immeasurable strength, touching countless lives - among them, the person taking down their story.

To write of such people and be privileged to hear very personal, private pieces of their life story is a most humbling experience. Rather than be given a paycheck to be in this position and learn exquisite facets of the human spirit, I almost feel as if I should pay for the opportunity. However, since I have bills to pay, I will accept that check, but researching this genre of story can't help but make an indelible impact on the messenger and, if I do my job well, the folks learning from my selected words expressing what I have learned from others.

And in between these two interesting interviews, my son popped into the salon and Vanessa got snippy again. The results were so great that, about an hour later, she got snippy with my husband. Both results were perfectly executed but, then again, she is a professional snipper.

To round out a nearly perfect day, I got a call from NY and an invitation to do a feature story for a national magazine. I'm beyond excited and looking forward to this most welcome challenge! I must thank my dear friend for recommending me to the editor and paving the way for me to play with my passion some more. Thank you so much Bruce! You rock!

Today was a good day. Tomorrow should be lots of fun because a surprise is in store for someone very dear to me. I bet I have new photos to post and I'll finish with...the rest of the story tomorrow...

Memoirs of a Vida Diva...

No matter how much I may not always be completely thrilled to walk into work - it's utterly impossible to go five minutes without smiling or laughing in the company of this Long Island lady who joined us at Vida last November. She has a ready smile, an infectious laugh and can completely disarm the most "high maintenance" client who might walk through our door.

Along with Vanessa and my wonderful, desperately brilliant and beautiful daughter Katie, makes up one of the best parts of my day. As long as there is peroxide and several shades of Wella color at the ready, these "Vida Divas" have got it going on - in spades.

I never fancied myself the "administrator" of a salon and I'm still learning mostly by trial and error, sometimes it strikes me as incredible that I get to share many hours of my days with women who shoot holes through the myth that blonds are of very little brain.

I never realized just how much artistry and creativity and sheer chemistry goes into practicing the fine art of hair taming, but let me tell you, these are highly trained professionals who know exactly what they are doing. Without fail they go way beyond what the job description demands and if they were paid what they were worth, the rest of us lesser mortals could not afford their time and attention. They don't come cheap, but as with everything else in life, you get what you pay for and these divas deliver! Some of the best looking heads in Wilmington are coiffed to perfection and no one is allowed out of their chair, until every hair has been scrutinized and passed their seasoned and well trained eye.

In a strange sort of way, this job kind of fell out of nowhere. I'm so glad I landed among people who were destined to become close friends. I am grateful to know each of them, though I have a special affection for Vanessa and, of course, Katie. The one thing I know for certain each morning, is that there will be lots of opportunities to learn and to laugh. To get a paycheck with those caveats is a beautiful thing indeed. Thanks ladies, for making my life so darn much fun.

"And the Lord said...let there be light!

...So many candles. OK, so I didn't have any candles on a cake, I think it's because the Wilmington Fire Department prohibits a dessert from containing more than 40 candles or some weird law like that. Something about spontaneous combustion or some such silliness.

My birthday didn't start out so great. I fell for Cassie. To be more accurate, I fell OVER Cassie. I was taking some towels to the washer and I didn't see her stretched out in the hall, on the nice HARDWOOD floor, and I tripped right over my big, blond dog and landed on both knees. Yes, it hurt. Yes, I am bruised. No, the dog suffered no injuries. Yes, the towels did eventually make it to the machine and are now clean and possibly even folded. I'm not sure about the folded part because I lost interest in the whole exercise after that.

It was a bit of a gray, chilly day, but that's what you get for being born in February, I suppose. Small price to pay in order to be assigned Aquarius. I'm not an avid or devoted follower of astrology, but I love all that is Aquarius - even the personality traits that aren't terribly flattering. Goodness knows I've got a lot of them.

I started reorganizing my filing cabinet - do I know how to celebrate my birthday or what? It got my mind off of my throbbing knees, sort of. And then I got a call from the florist that there was a delivery coming my way. A special thank you to my very dear friend Michel. The flowers were beautiful - white petals with yellow centers. You always remember, my faraway French friend.

Giving daisies must be a trait of classy males, because Justin popped in my office yesterday afternoon with another bouquet of white petaled, yellow centered daisies. Lovely! Now I have my favorite flowers on both wings of my desk, from two extremely classy males.

After Katie returned from class, everyone sort of congregated and we wound up at The Oceanic for dinner. It was dark so we didn't see the Atlantic, but we heard it so I'm sure it's still there. I was kind of disappointed that I didn't get the whole "birthday dessert/singing wait staff treatment, but what can you do? I always, ALWAYS tip off the staff when I'm with a birthday victim, but I guess my family doesn't like being spotlighted and stared at while people with usually very poor pitch feign exuberance and engage in one of the job descriptions that they all probably unanimously agree they like least. Call me crazy, and you wouldn't be the first, but I still like that. I also like blowing out candles and making wishes. I didn't have the opportunity to do that either, but maybe at some point I'll get to make a wish and extinguish some fire.

As we were waiting on our dinner, it was gift time. Katie opted for the sentimental, heart-touching prose in her selection of a card - something I'm sure she felt would reflect our relationship: On the front it said, "Happy Birthday to my Mom - a very wise woman" and on the inside it finished with, "From your kid - A very wise ass". So true, so true. I am wise and she's a smart ass. Perfect. I think Katie captured the moment. I laughed. And then my eyes filled up with tears...But that's Katie for you - she can having you laughing until you're crying and then crying because she can abruptly shift from silly to sentimental in .04 seconds. It's part of her charm.

Justin then pointed out that his gift to me was the bouquet of daisies and such a gift was sort of like a present and a card combined - so he let the daisies do the talking. They were lovely. He also gave me a sweet, long hug first thing yesterday morning.

And then came dinner, which was really yummy.

This morning, my knees were in really banged up shape and I was feeling the pain. I can't say I was looking forward to being at work, but staying home wasn't an option. It was drizzly and still colder than I care for, and I would have loved to have just stayed home and do nothing.

Around 12:30 today, one of the people I work with asked me to come to the back of the salon - that I had left something on and it was burning. Well duh, I wasn't born yesterday. I was, in fact, born 46 years ago, and I knew I hadn't left anything on because there wasn't anything to leave on. I told him to just take care of it because I didn't feel like walking to the back. A Baskin-Robbins Chocolate Mint Birthday pie. It would seem as if Katie had schemed and gone behind my back and done a little surprise party planning. I was surprised!

Along with the pie, was a card signed by everyone in the salon - and inside the card was another card - A GAP gift card. Everyone had chipped in and generously presented me with the best kind of present - one which will demand that I visit one of my most favorite stores. Thank you Vanessa and Katie. I collected hugs as well and I felt very grateful to be sharing the day after my birthday with all of these special people.

Vanessa went the extra mile and in her long-running campaign to try and introduce me to the concept of "organization", she gave me a beautiful ceramic cell phone holder - because I so easily lose everything. It was so sweet and so Vanessa. I love you, Vanessa!

After our little fete, Katie and I headed over to the Copper Penny for lunch. Justin works at the Copper Penny, but he wasn't due to be in the kitchen until later today, so we felt safe in ordering and the food was delicious, as it always is.

Following lunch, I was given clearance to leave by my sweet daughter and get out of there I did. It was almost like working just a half day and eventually, the sun did pop out and I saw it set from my upstairs office window which faces west. It was a very nice day.

I am a very blessed woman. I love my family and I love my friends - on both sides of the Atlantic. It is in part due to this fact, that I really love my life.

Thank you and yes, even YOU Michel...for the flowers, the critique, encouragement and your sage advice. I know you're right on just about every count.

Tales from the mother ship...

Susie Parker-Perry
Originally uploaded by susiewrites.

Oh My Gosh - Forty Freaking Six Years Old! It's 2:39 and I opened my first card that came in the mail - but I got home so late last night from work, I didn't open it until late this evening - just a few minutes after midnight. It was from my wonderful, special, mother-to-be friend Mary. Sweet, sweet, Mary. Thank you so much for remembering me and it really did look as lovely as a daisy!

I got my first wonderful birthday hug from my most favorite and wonderful daughter. And then I got hugs and an E-mail "Happy Birthday" from my parents.

More tomorrow...I mean, later today.

I LOVE birthdays, except for the part where you have to get older. I will let you know how it turns out.

OK, so I might get in trouble for posting this because I haven't requested permission, but I'm going to take my life in my hands and do it anyway. If you see no further posts from me, you will know that this was not a wise decision on my part, but hey, what is Katie going to do, kill me on my birthday?

A couple of weeks ago, Katie came home with an assignment from her English Class - to write about people who have influenced her life. I thought of a thousand different people she might choose for her subject matter, but honestly, that I would be in the line-up never crossed my mind. Katie knows and has been influenced by a plethora of people - many far more interesting and accomplished and talented than I could ever begin to hope to be.

When she casually mentioned that I was one of three women she chose as the subject of her essay, I was completely blown away. I was humbled. I felt unworthy, but so extremely thrilled and grateful. Katie and I have come a long way in 2 years - a tough two years. A lot of fence-mending took place. If you would have told me 2 years ago that I would be cast in a positive light and complimentary manner for ANYONE'S college English paper - I would have laughed and then cried, because I couldn't think of too many positive things that anyone could write about concerning me and still remain non-fiction.

This is probably the finest birthday present any mother, but particularly this one, could ever receive, and forgive me my dear Katie, but I just have to share it. I don't think the other two female subjects will mind, because I know they're pretty honored as well.

Here is what my incredible, precious daughter wrote, in her own words.

Katie Parker

English 111 – D23

January 30, 2006

Three Feisty Women: Life Lessons

Many people have called me a "difficult" woman, and this isn't entirely inaccurate. If stubbornness and confidence make me difficult, then I will take it as a compliment. My mother will say I was difficult from day one when I was born and refused to breathe, but I disagree. I am a product of nurturing, not nature. I come from a long line of feisty women and have crossed paths with many hard-headed females. This isn't to say that my father or grandfather weren’t tremendous forces in my upbringing, but they were not cut of the same cloth as the women in my family. The woman I am, is because of my relationship with three of the most "difficult" people one could ever meet: my mother, my grandmother, and my co-worker, Vanessa.
My mother is first and foremost responsible for my feistiness. It has taken years for me to be able to admit that I am almost exactly like my mother. My parents divorced when I was 11, and although my father has always been part of my life, my mother is the one who raised my brother and me. My mother worked at various jobs to support our family, spending her nights working on her dream of becoming a writer. She finally found success when she landed a job writing a column on single parenting. My mother fought for that column, despite a lack of professional writing experience and no formal training. That column was everything my mother had dreamed of, and she would not take no for an answer. Watching my mother attain her goal taught me that my dreams are worth fighting for. Without the influence of one of the most persevering women I have ever known, I wouldn't be so adamant about attaining my own goals in life.

Although my grandmother can be a very challenging woman, she instilled in me that a good heart is vital. Growing up, we always had lots of pets. My grandmother is not an animal lover. When she thinks nobody is looking, however, she talks to our animals and makes sure they are happy and healthy. To this day she will not admit this fact. My grandmother always had high expectations of me, and although she devoted her life to being a housewife, she wanted me to be more. When I dropped out of college after a year, she began her quest of making sure I returned to school. Everyday she told me how important it was to graduate from school, not to please my family, but to please myself. Had she not pushed me every day, I probably would have avoided going back to school a lot longer than I did. My grandmother taught me that it's okay to be difficult on the outside, but not to allow it to affect your kindness; and that with an education my dreams will be that much closer to reaching.

One of the most influential people in my life is a co-worker named Vanessa. She is incredibly intelligent and assertive. In November of 2004, a fire started in my apartment, through no fault of my own, causing extensive damage. My landlord was livid and expected me to pay for the damages. I came into work despondent; I had lost my home, and now I was going to have to pay for it. When I told Vanessa of my plight, she had her husband look into my legal rights to find out what I had to do in order to avoid paying for the damages. Their advice was what I needed, and I managed to get out of paying for the fire. Without Vanessa in my life, I would never have learned to stick up for myself when I know that I'm right about something.

Society sometimes has a tendency to look down upon assertive women, often labeling these women as “bitches.” When I think about the strong women in my life and myself, I realize we are much more than a simple label. Hopefully our society will one day realize that strength is not a negative quality in a woman.

Katie and I live together, laugh together, and even work together! She is still my daughter, it's just that now she has evolved into being, in addition to more than I could ever have hoped for in a daughter, one of my very best friends. My partner-in-crime. And still the person who can make me laugh most in this world.

I don't know what exactly I might have done right to deserve this kid, but I'm just grateful that God decided to allow her to come into my life and allow me to grow up right along with her.

I love you, Katie.

Mom

P.S. That whole thing about my mother, Katie's Grandmother, being a closet animal lover is absolutely true. Tonight, Katie told me that she had dinner with her grandparents on Saturday Night and that she was a bit puzzled by the whole experience. She sat down to a pizza my Mom had popped in the oven. However, she saw my Mom doing something at the stove and figured there might be more to dinner than just a frozen pizza. Well, there was, but not for any of the humans in attendance.

When Katie asked her grandmother who was going to get the chicken she was obviously preparing - my mother nonchalantly answered, "Cassie, of course.". Katie found that a bit odd. Was it a special occasion? "No, but Cassie likes to have good food mixed in with her dog food - she won't eat her dry food otherwise, so I always fix her something special for dinner.". Katie said this was told to her as if it was a silly question to even ask. Well of course it's for Cassie - God forbid Cassie would have to eat a frozen pizza when she could have fresh off the stove chicken!

I think that means my mother just came out of the closet. Officially. I guess after 82 years, she is finally embracing her animal-loving side. I think it also means that Cassie has eclipsed the humans in this house in terms of "pecking" order and I guess that literally makes her "Top Dog". Well, when you're 82 years old, you really shouldn't have to defend your actions, even if it means you cook dinner for the dog every night while the humans try and get by on cardboard pizza.

What a crazy house we live in. It really is a zoo and the animals are running the show.

It was just one of those days...

...when you just have to laugh and reconfirm your conviction that "truth IS stranger than fiction".

Today consisted of sheer madness, but we laughed a lot in between the waves of wackiness. We always find SOMETHING or SOMEONE to laugh about. For instance, two different, unrelated clients brought two different, unrelated very small dogs. One of these dogs was placed on an empty, expensive, leather stylist chair and the dog seemed to behave as if she was expecting some kind of special conditioning treatment or trim. This tiny dog had this small, pink stuffed pig toy that she proceeded to drop every few minutes - it was fascinating to watch as its "Mom", who was sitting under a dryer as her color processed, would pop out of that chair and run to retrieve the toy and place it back on the seat beside the dog. I watched this for about 20 minutes and every time it happened, I could only roll my eyes. The dog looked rather indignant when the client was having her hair rinsed and unable to see that the dog had, yet again, tossed its toy to the floor. The poor thing had to go a good ten minutes without it's pink pig toy. It never uttered a sound - not even the hint of a growl, but that dog still managed to express her displeasure with our lack of subservience - when we noticed it had peed on the pillow right before "Mommy" picked it up. Now wasn't that too cute? NOT!!!!!!

Let's see, what else. We had one client bring her Mom along for a hair extension consultation - she would require a full head PLUS a pre-coloring so that her natural hair would match her newly bonded hair making the total cost around $1650. And of course, there was a sense of urgency. The young lady, who I would guesstimate was around 21, was set to go on a cruise to Grand Cayman and Cancun in four weeks. Was this for a study program? Oh no, Spring Break! Parteee!!!!! They discussed. The stylist laid out all of the maintenance requirements and restrictions required to keep the extensions looking like new and they read over all of the paperwork and after about ten minutes, they bellied up to the desk and laid over $750 as a down-payment. It turns out that Mom just couldn't say no. C'mon now, how can a self-respecting young lady honestly sail to Grand Cayman without 9 inches of straight blond hair? NOTE TO Katie: Thank you so much for being practical and quite reasonable.

Believe me - I see some things that could curl your hair - which is what a lot of our clients pay good money for; to have their hair curled if it's straight or to have an expensive technique known as "Japanese Hair Straightening", i.e. thermal ionic reconditioning, which permanently straightens hair and takes a minimum of five hours and runs around $100/hour. And then, there are those who feel they simply can't live another day without an extra 4 - 6 inches of hair and, in this instant gratification society we enjoy in the US, for $1500, our stylists (all SoCap Certified), can expertly apply keratin bonded hair SoCap extensions that come in every hue of every color, every texture, and I swear if you were to see someone walk out with our expertly applied extensions, you would NEVER in a million years guess that the person who's head they are attached to didn't grow them.

While the prices at our salon are competitive, it never fails to amaze me that people just walk in and plunk down $1500 to have long hair or $750 to have the hair they already have straightened. Hey, don't get me wrong, I'm glad they do and so is the man who signs the checks! But I guess if you have your heart set on something, you can find the money to get what you want.

Now, I have to be honest, I'm way too noncommittal to ever fork over that kind of money for straight or longer hair because I know that as soon as I'd do it, I would immediately decide that I wanted shorter hair with waves. Having said that, if I truly wanted longer hair, I'd find a way to get it. Gee, I remember back in the day when people who wanted long hair had to actually grow it and wait however long that might take.

Which made me wonder, what would I be willing to pay a fairly large sum of money for that might make someone else say in wild amazement, "Why would anyone pay THAT much money for (fill in the blank)?

Hmmmm...with me, it would probably involve Brite Smile, because I have an unhealthy obsession with preternaturally bright, white teeth. Who cares that my teeth ache after peroxide-based whitening treatments - I pop two advil and sign on for more. I have no idea where this fixation with really white teeth comes from, but I do know that whenever I quiz my friend Vanessa about how she came to possess such amazingly perfect, gleaning teeth, I'm pretty sure she's holding back on me, "I don't do anything out of the ordinary!", swearing that her million dollar smile is simply the result of genetics and clean living. Oh sure Vanessa, like I really believe that!

Or maybe I'd be inclined to spend a hefty amount of money on a new computer and finally break free of Microsoft and take a bite out of an Apple, more specifically, a Macintosh. Yeah, that's the ticket. My daughter LOVES the ibook we bought her for Christmas and is thrilled with her ipod and pretty much rates Bill Gates right down there with all things evil. I do know that Mac's have far superior publishing-based software programs and I must admit that I have been toying with the idea, especially since one of my two Dell Dimension 2350 towers has been in the computer hospital since this past Monday. So far, I have been informed that my registry is screwed up and a lot of my files are positively corrupt! Ouch! I didn't realize I had done anything untoward, but I guess you just never know. I enjoyed reading the Time Magazine profile on Bill and Melinda Gates and I was impressed with a lot of what I read, but when my desktop icons failed to load when I fired up my left Dell tower last Sunday Night, I became rapidly disenchanted with all things emanating out of Redmond, Washington. Microsoft is quickly becoming a four letter word or, at the very least, it inspires me to break out with quite a few choice ones.

But I guess if I just had $1500 lying around, simply BEGGING to be spent, it would eventually wind up belonging to a bookstore, in exchange for as many books as that money could buy. I admit it - I am almost powerless when I walk into Barnes and Noble or surf Amazon.com. I grow weak and one field of interest and all of the books attending it, bleed over into another interest and another and before long, I am mentally calculating the shelf space left in my office and how many books I could reasonably buy without squeezing them in so tight that they are in danger of becoming fused together. Yes, it would probably be books, with a little put aside for lumber so that my husband could erect more book shelves in my office. Or his office. Or our bedroom. Or maybe replacing our exotic finch collection with volumes on "Exotic Finches And The Eclectic People Who Clean-Up After Them And, More Importantly, Why Do They Do It?". Or maybe, "The Dummies Guide To Meal Worm Farming - It's Not As Much Fun As It Looks - What You Need To Know Before Buying That Ranch". Hey, I'd probably buy those books. Wait a minute - I could write those books!

On a positive note, I was more than thrilled to see the first piece I have written since my "Single...With Children" column, published! I had the great privilege of interviewing the regional director of the "Self-Help Credit Union" and I learned so much and thoroughly enjoyed the time I spent discovering who he is and what he does, that I would have (almost) done it for nothing. He was a joy to meet and a pleasure to describe.

I was invited to do two more interviews in the next week and, as you might imagine, I said "yes" before I was completely sure what I was saying "yes" to! I guess maybe I should play it cool and be a little more aloof, but I swear I can't do it. I love writing and meeting new people and describing their lives. I'm actually enjoying the fact that I have a deadline looming! How crazy is that?

OK, OK, OK, so I'm not making enough to "quit my day job" YET, it's a beginning and I am completely beyond grateful.

Now, if you have a little space left on your prayer list, I would ask that you visit the site of a very special little girl: Christi Thomas. I have followed her site for a couple of years, and things have been extra difficult for Christi and her family in the past few weeks. Now, don't visit her site thinking you are going to be sent into a horrible spiral of depression because that won't happen. If you read the journal or a bit of her history, you will risk exposure to inspiration - discovering a family embracing life, living one day at a time - which is all any of us really have, and still finding things to be grateful for and never failing to give thanks to God, for another day, another hour and even another minute. You will smile, you will laugh and you may immediately feel your priorities being reorganized and whispering thanks for all that is good and precious in your life and the lives of those you love the most. It's definitely worth the read.

After reading a few of the recent entries from Christi's blog, and trying to imagine the stress and difficult decisions that have been made, and the decisions that are waiting in the wings, it seems so silly to covet things like hair extensions, straightening systems, hi lites, low lites, spray tans, glycolic peels (and I LOVE glycolic peels and hydra microderm abrasion treatments!), spending time wondering what is the most effective mode for producing teeth so white that you literally need sunglasses just to look in their direction, or even giving too much thought to the pros and cons of changing computer operating systems (Should I stay with Microsoft or walk on the wild side and take a bite out of an Apple?). As fun as any of those things might be or, more pointedly, "seem" to be, I can't imagine a single one of them would be items that would stand out as stellar moments when my end comes near and it's almost time to go. You know, the stuff that dreams, and maybe even last thoughts, are made of.

It is in considering what might "make the cut" and fall into the precious memory file when the sand in my hourglass has nearly slipped away, and wondering how my time might be better spent in making more deposits into my precious memory bank account. Should I be presented with a small window of time to reflect before that final crossing, what components of my life would be worth recollection? Having never been in that situation, and hoping I don't have the chance to find out any time soon, I still think it's worth some consideration and a couple of questions; Is what I'm doing today something I can look back on with pride and satisfaction and feel really good about or, are my present actions something I would never want to revisit and have the potential at some point in the future to make me cringe?

Right now, as long as I'm upright and breathing, I have some choice in the matter and it is within my power to go for the gold or the frivolous. Since I don't know how many more grains of sand remain to pass through, I can't help but think it might be prudent to give the remainder of my time more forethought and maybe even toss in some purpose.

I wonder if this has anything to do with the fact that on February 6th, I will turn a whopping FORTY-SIX YEARS OLD!!!!!!! Kind of freaks me out to think that in four years I will be eligible for membership in AARP. I remember when I used to think 35 was old and 40 was really old. My most overwhelming feeling though, as sorry as I might feel for whatever birthday cake I may be presented with and the number of candles it will be enlisted to support, is that I'm just so thankful to be around to celebrate another wonderful year of life.

Money can buy longer hair, colorful hair, straight, wavy or curly hair, all manner of skin treatments, trips to Paris, dinners on the Eiffel Tower, the best champagne that can lead you to the worst places, newer, faster, futuristic looking computers with a mouse that can click on just about anything your mind can dream up, and then some. But money can't buy extra days for a sick child, or one more year and the chance to load down a birthday cake with even more candles. I want the chance to add a lot more candles.

I love many of the things that money can buy, without apology. But I love the things that money can't buy, even more.

Happy Birthday, Daddy -

"To become a father is not difficult, but to be a father is." ~ Unknown

I always teased my friends, that my Dad was the clone of one Mister Fred Rogers, except, of course, that he smoked a pipe which I don't think Mister Rogers ever did. Other than that, there were always such wonderful similarities between the two men. Both were gentle, loved children and always had time to listen to whatever problem might be weighing on their offspring, or whatever other young people might come to visit for advice. Even if it was during a period of the year when my father was busy closing out his "end of the year" accounting, if someone needed his counsel, or maybe just an ear or even a place to vent their frustration, it was common knowledge that my Dad's room was always open. Even if the angst that needed to be discussed happened at 3:30 AM.

If I had to pick just a few adjectives to describe this amazing, humble, wise and witty guy that I refer to, more often than not, as my Daddy, I could never truly capture his essence with mere words. You'd have to know him to appreciate how special he is, and many, many of my friends, co-workers and even the mailman have had the pleasure of meeting this guy and it never fails, when anyone leaves after having spent time in his company, they come out with a smile and are better versed in computer technology and probably know more about our family tree and my Dad's vast store of genealogical facts on so many families that belong to people who have sought his guidance in trying to track down a stray branch or two.

In my almost 46 years on this planet (February 6th - yikes!), I can honestly say that, though I have seen him on very rare occasions, quietly annoyed or disappointed, I have never seen him express anything resembling anger. That's a rare thing indeed, when you consider that he was half of the team that parented me! Oh, I'm sure I gave his gentle spirit a run for it's money from time to time, but something always told me that, in the end, to disappoint my Dad, to live with the knowledge that I had let him down, was usually enough to keep me from taking things too far. There are a few special people in this world who you just never want to see unhappy or sad, because seeing them content and at one with the world, seems to bolster the rest of us, challenging us lesser mortals to see if we can take a peek through the lens through which they view life, hoping to catch whatever it is they have that makes being in their company, one of the finest gifts life has to offer. Growing up, the worst punishment, the thing I feared most when I knew I'd done something that wouldn't please my parents, was dealing with the fact that I might have let my Dad or Mom down.

My father's nature isn't the result of some pain-free life where things always went smooth as silk. He lost his Mother to breast cancer when he was just 18 years old and faraway on a ship in the South Pacific. Because he was in the process of changing ships and hadn't read any mail for about six weeks, when he finally got onboard the ship he was assigned to and his mail caught up with him, the first letter he read was from a sister who wrote of the family having just returned from his mother's funeral. There he was, alone on a new ship, bobbing on a vast ocean, knowing absolutely no one on board. My Dad didn't even have a bunk to sleep on because the man he was replacing hadn't taken off. I asked him how he handled such news under such lonely circumstances? He told me he found the ship's chaplain and talked with him for a bit, and then he found a corner, alone with his duffle bag and letters, where he read them again and he cried. Every time I imagine my Dad as that young sailor, I get a lump in my throat and I feel tears threaten.

But he moved forward. His sunny disposition stood him well and he went on to meet my mother and on their third date, he proposed. She accepted and they married a few months later after he was discharged from the Navy. Whatever magic was exchanged between the two of them must have been some powerful stuff because, after over 59 years of being married, they still light up when the other one walks in a room. They dote on each other. They still joke and trade good-natured barbs and sometimes as I'm sitting upstairs working on something, I can hear their voices emanating from their bedroom downstairs and I hear the conversations about people they used to know, or maybe some interesting find my father has dug up on his on-going genealogical search.

Sometimes I wonder, after over 59 years, haven't they said everything that can be said? How do they find new things to talk about and laugh? Ahhhh, perhaps therein lies the secret to their marital success - they still treat one another as if the other one is the most important person on the planet. Their affection isn't merely for show because it happens even when the only people in the house are our four cats and dog. They share each meal together. They hold hands when they bless their food. They have somehow mastered the challenging concept of give and take and resolving any looming conflict before it is tucked away only to fester and become an issue later. Festering isn't just bad for splinters.

I grew up thinking everyones parents behaved this way. My childhood was right out of an episode of "Leave It To Beaver" and my parents could have easily passed for Ward and June Cleaver. It wasn't until after I stepped outside the cozy confines of my own home that I realized that many people don't behave this way. There was never any shouting or yelling or slammed doors in our home. The only time I ever heard a voice raised was when my Mom would call my Dad in from the yard to let him know supper was ready and that he had worked long enough. Of course, this meant that I had to learn all by myself how to fight and scrap and be completely disagreeable at times. They sure never bothered to teach me any of that - but somehow I got a pretty good outside education, because I can be fairly difficult and maybe even a little high maintenance from time to time, attributes that can be assigned to neither of my parents. In all fairness, the negative aspects of my persona were not as a result of their parenting. I should come with a disclaimer stamped on my forehead. I can get a little scrappy sometimes, as Katie, Justin or those in my inner circle will readily attest. It's something I work on and though I don't tease myself into believing I will ever be as pleasant and agreeable as those two old-timers downstairs, it's certainly someting to strive for. Progress...not perfection.

Throughout the 59 plus years of my parents union, they have made many moves. I am sure they were born with just a bit of gypsy blood coursing through their veins, because we moved so many times during my childhood - Dad would get settled in a job and then the phone would ring and a better offer would be put on the table, more money, a company car, from a competing coal company and before you could say "But I like it here!", the moving van would be pulling up out front and away we would go. I did seem to inherit that facet of their personality and have taken the tradition to new heights and several different states.

My parents have lived through the loss of my sister, who died unexpectedly in 1973 at the very young age of 23. They mourned, along with her husband, when they lost their oldest daughter. They celebrated a couple of years later, as their son-in-law took a new wife and they graciously welcomed Mary Jane into the fold and let me know in no uncertain terms that she was to be treated with kindness and as a member of our family, because that's how my sister would have wanted it. What an amazing example they were to me - as they have been so many times and they taught me the most important lessons by example, rather than lecture. They lived what they believed and that's pretty powerful.

My parents were there for me when I got married, gave birth to my daughter, Katie and my son, Justin, and when my father retired in 1986 from Hawk's Nest Mining Company, they pulled up stakes and moved to Amarillo, Texas. Why Amarillo? Because that's where their grandchildren were growing up and they weren't about to miss any of that. They followed along to San Antonio, San Angelo, Cleveland, El Paso, Fort Lauderdale, Charleston, SC, back to Amarillo and finally here, to Wilmington. That's a lot of moves in retirement, but they never missed a birthday, a special school function or just the day-to-day stuff that go with raising kids and being doting grandparents.

They saw me through a marriage that started unraveling, and they were right there for me when the final thread was pulled and the divorce was final. They didn't allow me to take time off to feel sorry for myself - they convinced me that my life was anything but over and that I had kids who needed me and I'd better suit up and show up because kids don't take time off from growing up until their parents decide they have it all together. My parents loaned me some of their strength and grit, until I could recover my own.

And just like everything else, they were right there for me when my alcoholism reared its nasty head. As with every other bump and challenge, they loved me right through that and they told me they knew I would be successful with a conviction and sincerity that it helped me believe that I really would be OK. I can't imagine how I could have gotten through those scary first few weeks without their love and support and encouragement. My Dad even attended a few AA meetings with me in those early months and we had to laugh - but then I got a little worried. Most AA meetings are held in churches and my father has a long-running history of falling asleep in church. I could just see him nodding off and maybe even falling forward and then trying to convince the group that he really wasn't the one that needed to be there!

My parents seem to hold to the belief that things will eventually resolve if you just let the person going through the tough spots know that you care and will be there for them, no matter what. Before joining AA, I thought that was a bit too simplistic and their methods never appeared in any of my advanced psychology classes or textbooks. After dealing with my own challenges of divorce, recovery, periods of fear and always second-guessing myself, I have come to realize that their ideas and belief systems work better than the most expensive psychotherapy or latest psychological modalities for treating high anxiety and stress. My parents seem to intrinsically know that generous amounts of love, can see almost anyone through almost anything. Everything is possible if there is love.

I'm almost 46 and still to this day, the thought of disappointing or doing anything to hurt my Mom and Dad is something I want to avoid at all cost. I've seen their track record and I know their advice is 99.9% on target. They've just proven themselves right way too many times for me to question their judgment or advice. They are always my first and second opinion and what they offer always makes the most sense and, of course, it works.

I am such a blessed woman. I still have these two amazing people in my life and I can't imagine landing with better parents. God most certainly was looking out for me when he placed me with them - though he must have had a sense of humor to make such a selection for them in the form of me.

Happy Birthday Daddy. Thank you for sharing so much with us over the years. Thank you for always being there for your family in every way possible. You are one of the coolest 81 year olds on the planet and it's no wonder that women are still trying to take you from my Mom. You can't really blame them, but thank God you are wise enough to know that no one could take care of you, as she does all of us, as well as Mom. Every person in this house is better off because you are always ready with a smile, a joke, a laugh and every now and then, a smart-ass remark or two.

We love you both.

Susie, Katie & Justin

Two Years And Too Many Blessings To Count...

"Well, what is essential about you? And who are those who helped you to become the person that you are? We just don't get to be competent human beings without a lot of different investments from others..." ~ Fred Rogers, Dartmouth College Commencement Speech, May 2003.

On January 12, 2004, I was what is typically referred to as a "bottom". At the time, I was so sure it was the worst place I could ever imagine finding myself. No question, I was at a place that was miserable and unhappy and the landscape looked pretty damn desolate. The good news is that the only place I felt my life could go was up because I couldn't see how things could go much deeper.

I didn't want to be where I found myself. Alcohol had slapped me around and I was at that point where you hoist the white flag and admit you've been licked. As bad as it was, I couldn't have been in a better spot. Normally, admitting defeat isn't something any of us strive for, but there are those rare occasions when admitting you just simply weren't going to win over an opponent isn't a bad thing at all. It can save time and, in my case, it can save live(s).

There's no shame in such an admission of defeat. The shame would be to continue trying to fight something that is bigger, more powerful and deadly than anything you have in your arsenal. The wise thing is to recognize that your ass has been kicked, but good. I made that admission, and I gave up...which shouldn't necessarily be confused with giving in. I didn't give in to alcohol, I gave in to finding a way to get better - The answer, for me, was at the beginning of the alphabet and it began and ended with an "A". While I'm sure there are other routes to sobriety, I'd stake my life on Alcoholics Anonymous, because it saved my life and it continues to make things better.

On January 12, 2004 I had to admit to my parents, my daughter, Katie, my son, Justin and hardest of all, myself, that I was an alcoholic. It was such a painful, embarrassing thing to have to do, but it was also essential. I can't speak for what any of them were thinking at the time, because I was too overwhelmed trying to deal with what was in my head, much less what was running through their minds. I think we were all sort of shell-shocked. At least, I know I was.

My then 17 year old son, Justin, took me to my first AA meeting and I was beyond scared to death. I didn't want to go but something told me I couldn't afford not to and I was compelled to give it a try. I had no idea what to expect. The conversation between us on the drive to the meeting was very stilted. I mean, how awkward can it be to have to take your Mom to an AA meeting? How awkward it was to have to ask your son for a ride! I felt so heavy on the way to the church where I attended my first meeting - like everything was weighing so heavy on my shoulders and I just couldn't see a silver lining in anything. I was doing well to deal with the moment I was in and I wasn't dealing all that well with just one minute. I know that inside I was trembling as I got out of his car.

One hour later, I felt like the weight of everything I had been carrying while, not quite taken off my shoulders, was certainly much more manageable and I had something I hadn't felt in the longest time - I felt hope, and it didn't come from a bottle of expensive wine.

I can look back on that first meeting and smile because I know where it lead me and continues to take me and I know it's safe to believe in what the twelve steps can do if we follow a few small suggestions. The results can be nothing less than miraculous and I do feel like a living, breathing, smiling, laughing, blessed miracle.

The first few meetings were a little foreign to me, but my gosh I was astonished at the many people I was meeting with 1, 2, 5, 10, 20, 30 years PLUS of sobriety under their belts. In AA, they say, "Stick with the winners!", and I saw lots of winners.

Over the course of the next two years, I have been through more changes than there is room to write in this small space. I've had to explore how I got to that low point that brought me into the rooms of AA, and I had to go back and revisit some very painful things in order to make peace with my past. Such a process is known as a "Fourth Step" and it's one of the most talked about, dreaded and delayed steps of the twelve. I know I put my fourth step off for a time - but eventually, with the gentle encouragement of a good sponsor and the right direction, you find your way there and you do the work that will take you to the other side and the other side is worth the work necessary to take you there.

I did my Fifth Step, which is deeply connected to a Fourth Step, at a restaurant downtown (Yes, it really was named "Hell's Kitchen!"). On a warm, summer evening in July, my sponsor listened as I went through my past and owned my part of all the things that I could remember that were instrumental in my evolution as an alcoholic. This involved a lot of writing, a lot of honesty and the rose-colored glasses had to be tossed out. I'd dreaded this step for the longest time, but my very wise sponsor knew it was essential that I get this out of the way sooner rather than later. She was so very right.

Like so many other people who spoke of fretting and dreading their fourth and fifth step, and then spoke of the peace in finally going through the process, once again, I realized first-hand that it was true. Good things come from hard work and honest introspection and apparently it's true that "Confession is good for the soul", because, as stated in the Fifth Step, "Admitted to God, to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs".

Each step seamlessly paves the way for the next one and some how, some way, it all works if you work it. I don't believe in magic. I do believe in divine inspiration and I am one of those who do believe that AA is a divinely inspired program - for me, there's no other plausible explanation for it. I continue to believe in it, to work the steps and the steps continue to work.

Huge changes followed my joining the club. It was, by no means, easy street because most of it has been hard work, but the rewards have been mighty and numerous.

As I mentioned, January 12, 2004, I had to sit before my son and daughter and admit to them that I was an alcoholic. My son was initially compassionate. My daughter couldn't make eye-contact with me for several weeks and then there was a level of anger and resentment that both she and I had to work through on our own and, at times, collectively. I felt like a failure - as a daughter, a mother and a former wife. Katie felt that I deserved to feel like that and I know, though she never verbalized it, she couldn't have been proud to have me for a Mom in those early months of 2004.

It took a while for things to work out - there was no instant fix and all of the credibility, respect and trust I once enjoyed, didn't automatically return simply because I was suddenly attending AA meetings and falling asleep with a Big Book in my hands every night. It took work. It took time. It took love. It took God. But eventually, it really did start to return. I had to give my family something to believe in and that meant staying the course and apparently changes were happening inside of me that even I didn't notice but, after a while, my family started noticing them. I changed from the inside out and that takes longer to process than peroxide.

This past January 12, 2006, I attended my Thursday Night meeting at what is now my "home group". The first time I walked into that meeting two years ago, I felt like a stranger in a strange land and I was both. Now when I walk in that room, and many others, I see friends and smiles are exchanged, jokes are shared, laughter is easy and it is like walking into the living room of a warm and inviting home where I feel loved and I know that I am welcome. I am among my AA family who are, in many ways, as much a part of my life as my biological family is.

As I sat there this past Thursday, I couldn't help but remember the events that had taken place two years ago to the hour and how, at just about the same time as this meeting was about to begin, I was facing my son and daughter and telling them that basically their mother was an alcoholic. I could barely say the word back then. I was ashamed of it and I hated making that admission. I have absolutely no problem whatsoever saying it now - and I'm not in the least bit ashamed of saying I'm an alcoholic.

A few minutes after the meeting began, I looked up to see none other than Katie and Justin. My heart absolutely soared and I felt so happy. You have to understand that an AA meeting might feel like home to me, and while I now enjoy an enormous measure of support and kindness from both of my kids, sitting through an hour long AA meeting just isn't their "normal" scene. But there they were - my ducks, my ducks were all in a row; Justin sitting beside Katie sitting just one seat away from me. I felt goosebumps - only this time, the really good, happy kind.

After the discussion part of the meeting was over, it was time to hand out chips and my very special, wonderful sponsor took over. "Is anyone celebrating 30 days of sobriety? 60 days? 3 months? six months? One year? How about 3 - 7 years? 7 - 20 years? 20 - 70 years?" She purposefully skipped over 2 years - she said some very lovely things and I got up and accepted my 2 year medallion to warm claps, clasps and a big hug from my sponsor. As she was hugging me, I looked over her shoulder and I caught the eye of both Katie and Justin, who were smiling and clapping and I was so grateful to share this golden moment with these two precious kids of mine. I had tears in my eyes - the joyful kind - the grateful tears of someone who was given a second chance, a lot of love, tons of support and the Grace of a very loving, generous God.

Before I left for my meeting that same night, my parents called me into their room. I joked and asked them if I were grounded because they looked very serious! My Daddy, who has kept a diary of every single day of the past almost 46 years, opened his 2004 diary up to January 12, and he read from his diary about what a difficult day it had been on me and our family - and how worried both he and my mother were about me.

He looked at me and said, "You know, two years ago, you thought it was the end of the world, didn't you?". Indeed I did. That's exactly what I felt like. Bleak, dark and pretty much hopeless. He told me of how hard it was for he and my mom to see me at such a low place and, being a parent, I can only imagine how they felt because I know how I feel if something, anything, makes Katie or Justin sad and scared. I felt both of those things that day. I wasn't simply Katie and Justin's mother - I was Barbe & Maxine's daughter. They were so very worried and concerned. Alcoholism truly is a "family" disease and yes, sadly, the family can sometimes suffer as much, if not more, than the patient.

"But it wasn't the end of the world, was it? Your Mom and I want you to know how very proud we are of you and how far you have come. You have done so well and we love you very much.". And with that, he handed me the keys to his 2005 minivan which had less than 8,000 miles on it and told me not to even think about arguing the point. He had been to the dealership and bought a white 2006 Chrysler Town & Country moonbeam - an almost identical replica of the one they just gave me. "Don't argue with us! We both want you to have it - you're all we've got, we love you and we are going to do this. Period. End of discussion. Now get out of here, you'll be late for your meeting.".

I was stunned. I was beyond stunned. And yes indeed, I am blessed.

Thank you Katie, Justin, Mom, and Dad I love each and every one of you with all of my sober heart.

And a special thanks to Bill Wilson and Dr. Bob, for giving people like me, a place and a way to grow and get better. Most of all thanks to God, for making them both such hopeless drunks that they had no place else to turn except toward a Higher Power.

The Big Book said that things would get better. The Big Book was right, and so was Fred Rogers when he observed that we don't get to be competent human beings without a lot of different investments from others". My kids, my parents, and yes, even my former husband Tim, my sponsor, and so many wonderful friends present and past who, through the years, took a chance and "invested" in me. I'm going to try very hard and work diligently to give each of them more things to be proud of and less reasons to cringe. I want them to have a high return on their investments in me. I want to make them proud and serve as well as I am capable.

Katie, thank you so much for this card and this challenge - to "do one thing every day that scares you.". I've had a few experiences of doing just that. Remember when Christopher Robin said to Winnie The Pooh, "Promise me you'll always remember: You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem and smarter than you think." That is so brilliantly simple and stunningly true. Most of the time, the hardest, most frightening part of all, is believing it..fortunately, that doesn't make it any less true.

We Interrupt This Blog For The All-Important WORD OF THE DAY!

What's life without a lot of interesting words and isn't it convenient that the English Language has so many fantastic choices?

Though English can't be categorized as one of the "romantic languages", I love it all the same. While it may not be as provocative as French, or as sensuous as Portuguese, I'd still stack our American Brand of English against just about every other contender save the French and those crazy Brazilians.

Maybe I'm just prejudice, but I love all of our choices, our regional accents and eccentricities and how lucky we are to share the same core of language within our vast country, yet still have the ability to infuse a bit of regional touches and tags. I'm not terribly fond of what I hear coming out of New Joisey, but the rest of New England, including the zany, loopy properties of a proper LooongIsland . It always makes me smile as do many natives of that tiny strip of island bearing the same name.

So I have decided to start 2006 with one of my most favorite websites - and it delivers...literally! Everyday in my E-mail box, I get an E-mail from "Dictionary.com" with, what else, The Word Of The Day! It's like a gift to start off my day with and even though I have seen or heard most of the offerings, I always learn new applications and derivations that I was completely unaware of. I make it a point to use it a few times, either in conversation or writing, and before you know it, I have a new word in my growing collection of words that I love to use and mostly understand.

Check it out - WORD OF THE DAY. By the end of the year, your vocabulary could be 365 words more powerful than it is right now. You can use all of these new words in proper context to impress your friends, dazzle your dogs, confuse your cats!

Oh, I have much to write, but I have to write for a while and it doesn't involve a blog. I have so much to share and I miss my blog - but I intend to uncover some discipline in the next few days and write of all of the events of the past few days - a complete overhaul and reorganization at work, my son's new pool table and how it may be impeding his search for a new job, trying to understand how one of my coworkers, in reading his bio, seems unable to write or spell past a third grade level and wondering how he's made it through life without knowing how to type or understanding the magic of spell check. I also need to write about our New Year's Eve in Charleston, South Carolina and why the Rutledge House Bed and Breakfast somehow lost a bit of its charm since the last time we stayed there...personally, I think it's Norm. Norm is about as people friendly and interesting as a very sour, dour, piece of cheese that even the French wouldn't find appealing. I want to write of the recent WV Mine Disaster and the rollercoaster ride those families rode as they waited to greet their family members following unexpected news of a rescue of survivors, only to have their hopes completely dashed, save for one. I want to write about what a classy gentleman Homer Hickam truly is and how proud he makes me feel to be a fellow West Virginian, even though most of the time I generally outright lie and pretend that I'm really from West Texas. Listening to Homer Hickam's wise commentary and observations throughout this horrible mine explosion debacle, has made me feel a sense of pride in being a mountaineer that I wouldn't have believed possible.

I want to write about what it feels like to be a mere week away from collecting my two year sobriety chip. I want to express how much it will mean to have my kids in attendance as I collect that blue plastic chip that looks so inconsequential but marks a two-year sea change in my sober, albeit small, life. I want to make my kids finally feel maybe a little proud to have me for their Mom - I'd settle for one-eighth of the pride I feel to have them as my children - my very grown-up children.

Mostly, I want to write. I simply want to write. My day job is impeding my inspiration and sometimes I feel as if my desire to focus on what I love doing best, waning and, along with it, any talent I might have once thought I possessed. I come home from work and I feel so completely spent and depleted that the last thing I want to do is spend time in front of my computer wondering exactly when my mind started evolving into mush. Years ago I used to believe it was continuous episodes of watching "Sesame Street" when I noticed one day that I turned the program on and my pre-school kids were out of the house. It never bothered me to find myself tuning into "Mister Rogers Neighborhood" on days the kids were involved in other activities because I always felt better for being in the presence of Fred Rogers. It was true when I was 12 and it's still true at the age of 45.

No, it wasn't "Sesame Street" that turned my mind to mush. Personally, I think it's either the CFC's that fly out with the hair spray, or maybe it's that smelly perm solution. I haven't truly pinned it down just yet. Maybe, I'm just tired. Maybe I need some hope. Maybe I am nursing some regrets - wistfully looking back on all the time I wasted when I could stay home and hone my craft and wishing I had the chance to do it all again.

I wonder if regret honestly serves any purpose with positive results? Should I be regretting that I sometimes have regrets?

Maybe I need to find something to hang onto that will allow me to believe that my present situation won't evolve into my "forever". I don't think it will, but there are days when I get a little scared. I'm human. It happens.

I could use some inspiration and, for as much as one can find on the Internet, I think inspiration is borne from other sources and most of them probably spring from within.

And yes, I want to write about spring. I need some spring.

Right now, I probably need some rest.

More later. There's so much more.