The Laughs, Love and Tears of Letting Go...

I was in labor with my daughter Katie, something like 23 hours before she decided to pop out. I remember begging for ice chips; pleading for demerol; cajoling the doc to speed things up to the point where I could either have the pleasure of an epidural, or a swift lick on the head with a hammer. Either way, I figured I'd find some relief from the unrelenting pain triggered by the impromptu game of kick ball this baby was playing on my spine.

There are two things about the whole experience of bringing Katie into this world that I remember vividly: I didn't think the labor would ever end, and for some reason the physical pain, oddly enough, never elicited a tear. The tears started after she was finally placed in my arms. I vividly remember that I didn't want to let go and she nearly had to be pried from my arms for silly stuff like photos and something about counting her fingers and toes.

I remember looking at this tiny creature weighing slightly over 6 lbs. and wondering how in the world I was lucky enough to get in on this gig?

Late this morning (Monday - May 15), following a crazy weekend assisting my daughter and her wonderful boyfriend John in their move to the East Village of Manhattan, it was time for her to catch the subway that would whisk her back to her new, albeit tiny (350 square feet) digs and it was time for me to catch a cab from my hotel to LaGuardia and head back to the land of free refills of sweet iced tea and gentile drivers.

No question, we were all exhausted on every level that one can feel exhaustion; mentally, emotionally and definitely physically. Sleep was not on the agenda, but construction and unpacking was and, given the miniscule space available to work, Katie and John had to get creative with space and they truly did.

But the time that I had dreaded since the evening she and John arrived back home, so giddy about their new apartment, the fact that they were REALLY doing this, had finally come. Six weeks ago all of this "moving to Manhattan" talk felt distant, something so far into the future that I didn't understand that the days were flying by and the future was fast approaching...as futures are wont to do.

I'm not generally one to cry. In fact, I can do stoic with the best of them, but there was nothing stoic about the scene outside the Marriott, with cabs and buses and cars and hundreds of people milling about and getting on with their afternoon business. I didn't cry so much as I actually sobbed - you know, the kind of sobbing that happens when one truly feels something so deep, so impossible to explain or express in any other form or fashion. It just happened and I have the red-rimmed, swollen eyes to prove it - either that, or I've gotten into some serious pollen.

To be honest, my separation anxiety had been building for the past 24 hours. Katie came by the hotel yesterday and we spent some time looking at photos from the weekend, chatting about this and that and everything in between - everything, that is, but the upcoming separation.

I dropped a few tears yesterday which seemed appropriate since it was Mother's Day. But yesterday was nothing close to the torrential tearfall and soaking that occurred as I hugged my daughter for longer than I can recall hugging anyone in recent memory.

I didn't want to let go. I was holding my baby, my co-worker, my partner-in-a-few crimes (nothing major), my almost 23 year companion and my very best friend, and all of those roles were filled by this one amazing 5'0" sprite who is creative, brilliant, quick-tempered, at times impulsive, obstinate, mercurial, whimsical, fickle, passionate and a procrastinator par excellence. I would love to be able to blame her father for the less admirable traits, but she's my clone up one side and down the other. That apple most certainly didn't fall far from this tree.

I know I held her this afternoon in an embrace that had to have lasted close to five minutes. And then I hugged her again. I finally stepped back and then I stood and I watched her walk down that busy street until she turned the corner toward her subway station. I can't remember feeling my heart beat so hard in my chest and the desire to sprint after her and grab her hand and whisk her away with me back to North Carolina. It was so primal. I felt so small and alone and nothing made any sense at all. The anguish I felt was something I had to deal with on my own and for a few minutes I honestly didn't think I could handle any of it.

The bellman hailed a cab and I cried as I climbed in that big yellow taxi and I cried every mile along the way to LaGuardia Airport and that damn American Airlines commuter jet that took me away from my Katie. I cried as the flight attendant went over the take-off spiel as we took off and in her much too perky flight attendant voice, she announced over the PA system, "And, if you look toward the left side of the plane, you can see Shea Stadium, the George Washington Bridge, the Empire State Building - and now you can see the Jersey Shore!". I wanted so much to scream, "Stop this plane - I have to go back! I left something - MY DAUGHTER!!!!!", but that would only have made me look more insane than I probably already appeared.

There I was deep into despair and wouldn't you just know I'd wind up on an airplane with a flight attendant who felt it her duty to point out all of those famous Manhattan landmarks, so chirpy that I wondered if I might have to use one of those air sickness bags. She was definitely thorough and on top of her travelogue game, but my thoughts were riding the subway toward the funky, offbeat streets that define the East Village - and their newest resident.

But somewhere over Maryland, Delaware or maybe it was Virginia, probably between the two tomato juices I sucked down in an effort to replenish some of the fluids I lost through my tear ducts, the crying subsided and some common sense and even some gratitude took its rightful place.

What did I really have to cry about? My daughter is healthy, she is happy, she is excited about this new adventure; she's with a young man who is 26 going on 40 - stable, mature, compassionate and so attentive and kind to her. No small blessing is that because, as Katie and I candidly admit, it takes a special (or cursed) man to handle the likes of us. We're just smug enough to believe we're worth the effort.

John also brings something beautiful to the table in the form of his two aunts, an uncle and a lot of friends in the area who we were privileged to share dinner with Sunday night. There were fifteen of us sharing a delectable dinner at "El Charro", in Greenwich Village, and the food and impeccable service was only surpassed by the warm and wonderful group who welcomed us and made us feel as if we were one of their own. Never have I felt so completely at home among people I had only moments earlier met in person.

John's wonderful Aunt Daria and Aunt Melanie, obviously picking up on my not-so-well disguised growing separation anxiety, sweetly reassured me that Katie and John would be well taken care of and looked after. What a wonderful family John has and how blessed Katie is to be welcomed by them all. They truly are the best kind of fairy godmothers and knowing they are minutes away with watchful eyes affords us an inestimable peace of mind.

I was selfishly crying much more for me and the pain I will feel from not seeing her everyday. I have no doubt that she and John will not only be fine but excel and learn lessons that can only be gleaned from getting out there and living their lives - something we parents spend many years preparing our kids for - watching them take flight and soaring on capable wings, with their feet planted firmly on the ground, of course.

I was almost wistfully wishing that Katie would catch on to this supposed "Twixter" Phenomenon and stay with me for at least another 10 or so years, but that's the selfish part of me talking. In truth, I am proud of her and I admire the way she charges ahead toward her ideals and dreams, even if her dreams take her 800 miles north of me to the foreign shores of Yankees. Fortunately, my West Virginia roots serve me well in this department because neither the South nor the North had much interest in us during the Civil War, so we can adapt to either side of the Mason-Dixon Line. Of course, we do it better with sweet iced tea, but it's like I told Katie...you can't have everything. It may be a small world, but it's not a perfect one. :-)


As for the next few days, I know there are going to be tears and adjustments and in time I know I will make those necessary adjustments and I will be OK, too. But just this second, I wish Katie was sprawled out on my office floor demanding I turn off the computer, cajoling someone to put on a pot of coffee, and kicking back and watching one of her favorite shows (probably involving circus freaks, "Little People, Small World" or the adventures of Carrie on "Sex And The City". And I would turn the computer off, kick back and wonder why in the world she watches those stupid shows...but I would smile - because Katie can elicit a smile from me with such ease and she can pretty much talk me into doing whatever it is that pops into her mind. Did I mention she's incredibly persuasive?

Your family loves you Katie. We want lots of calls, E-mails, chats, photos and stories. Lots of stories. I want details filled with absurdities and sarcasm and your peculiar, David Sedaris-like take on just about everything. And one more thing, I want you to know how very proud I am of you, and just how much you are loved. As you walk through Tompkins Square Park, think of me.

Katie, you really are my hero.

Mom

P.S. Aunt Daria and Aunt Melanie and Uncle Bill - keep a keen eye on these two. I know they really are in good company - what a fine family you are and thank you for making this transition easier for all of us. And to John's beautiful mother, Nina, thank you and Marshall for a wonderful dinner last weekend and for raising such an incredible son, along with three equally impressive children. John truly does feel like he's part of our family and we're proud of him as well.

P.P.S. Oh, and Katie, your "Vida" family loves you and misses you almost as much as I do...almost. :-) You do realize you have twoWilmington Moms.

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.