Countdown...

"So, help me if you can
I've got to get
back to the house at Pooh corner by one.
You'd be surprised there's so much to be done,
count all the bees in the hive,
chase all the clouds from the sky.
Back to the days of
Christopher Robin and Pooh."

And that is exactly where I am today. Wednesday. In two days, my son will move to West Virginia. Today I am thinking of him, remembering mental snapshots, and about every ten or fifteen minutes, I get this HUGE lump in my throat. You know, the kind that reminds you that tears are a breath away if you're not careful. I don't know how much longer I can go on being careful. I want to cry. I really do and I'm not a person given easily to tears at all. There have been times when I wish that I could cry, but today, tears are threatening at every turn.

I already miss Justin. I was on my way home from work this past Monday, to collect three cats and take them for their vet appointments and rabies vaccinations, and suddenly this car appeared beside me, honking, and there was Justin. At the intersection of College and Shipyard. Smiling. Laughing. Passing me by in the dust.

He beat me home with minutes to spare. We started corralling the cats and he drove Felix, Magellan, Princess and me to the vet and took each one in, separately, handling it all with great finesse. I laughed and only suffered three small puncture wounds on my arm because Magellan was a little nervous.

As I was waiting to pay the bill, one of the staff asked me how I was going to handle having Justin move away. I looked at her and smiled and said, "not well.". She laughed. I couldn't have been more serious.

This is going to be tough. I mean, I have a HISTORY with this kid! I knew him before anyone else, except for God. He used to swim inside of me, punch my ribs and do somersaults and it took 2 1/2 days of back labor to coax him out. We know each other well.

Sunday Night, at about 10:00 PM, he cajoled me into going to see "Stepbrothers" at the movies. He didn't have to twist my arm. We rode in his Cobra Mustang and I don't believe he went below 70 the entire way. He whipped that car around, changed gears effortlessly and I held on for dear life. He looked over at me and with an impish grin said, "Mom, we need one great last adventure before I move, right?".

We have had some seriously crazy adventures, Justin and me. The movie was silly and funny and perfect for people grappling with serious stuff like moves hundreds of miles away. On the way back home, he said, "Listen, you got the best deal. You had me for the first 21 years!".

It's true, I have been privileged to be close for 21 1/2 years. I am just so grateful for that. But at this particular moment, it's not soothing my separation anxiety.

I can't even fathom, this Wednesday before his big move, how much I am going to miss him. I am grateful for e-mail and cell phones and text messages, but that's not the same. It's just not the same at all. I want hugs. Justin has always been the affectionate one, the sensitive touchy feel guy, introspective, never arriving or leaving without a generous and heartfelt hug and kiss on the cheek. That's hard to do from West Virginia. What am I supposed to do?

I know what I'm supposed to do. I'm to be grateful that this is a very positive, happy opportunity. He will, after all, be under the bright tutelage of his father. He will learn so much and be among family and have the chance to explore a whole new world (Justin was born in Amarillo, Texas - the only one among us who is not a native WV'ian). He will also have Stephanie with him, who is now his fiancee. He will be in my old stomping ground, the area where I was raised and spent the first 25 years of my life.

It's not like he's going into the service. He's not bound for Afghanistan or Iraq. He's not headed to a medical center in a faraway town for a bone-marrow transplant or an experimental clinical trial. He is heading into a great future. I'm beyond thankful for all of that, truly I am. But I have to tell you, I am selfish. I am just so selfish because, left to my own devices, I would keep him close to me and I can't do that. I raised both he and Katie to grow up, spread their wings beyond their comfort zone, find passions and then have the tenacity and guts to take on the world. I didn't raise shrinking violets and neither of them are remotely timid.

We've lived all over the US. I've taken them on vacations to many unique places. A few years ago the three of us hopped a plane and visited France for a week. We've shared a cruise together. Poked around the Islands of the Bahamas. We've witnessed space shuttle launches, opened and closed Disneyland (California), Disney World (Orlando) and Euro Disney (Paris). We've ridden space mountain more times than I can count. We've jumped into pools, streams, fountains and oceans in our clothes. We've brought home strays of every species imaginable and raised mice for the snake collection he once proudly tended, until he discovered skateboarding which he ultimately gave up when he happened on Mustangs which coexisted nicely with his awareness of girls.

Together with Katie, we made up stories on dark stormy nights and read Edgar Allen Poe. We've walked the floor with ear infections, waited anxiously in emergency rooms for stitches and I've been called for school conferences more than once because he wasn't "doing his best work". We cried together when my marriage broke up. We've argued over both stupid and really serious things. We've slammed doors, screamed at each other and said things in anger we never came close to meaning.

I've been suckered into all kinds of schemes and scenarios and bought what he was peddling more times than I can count, even with a calculator. I've stayed up all night worrying when he didn't come home at the hour he promised and I've been filled with rage when he didn't tell me the truth. Justin has also personally, on even more times than I can count, exhibited a level of compassion both toward me and others, that has literally taken my breath away. Out of all those things, what I remember most keenly are the times when he's taken my breath away. Those times far outnumber everything else.

I am proud to say though, I really did stand my ground when he wanted to adopt a caiman and I was always firmly against adding a ferret to the family. You pick your battles, right?

You know, they never tell you this stuff when you are about to give birth and you lumber into Lamaze Class. They cover such inconsequential things - contractions, labor, transition, epidurals, what to take to the hospital, how to bathe the baby, when you can expect to light a fire and burn your maternity clothes and stuff like that.

From where I sit, with a daughter who will be turning 25 on the 26th of August and a son who will be hitting 22 on the 21st of November, that pre- and -post natal era feels like it lasted about as long as it takes to blink my eyes. Of course, at the time, it seemed urgent, serious and some of it was terrifying to consider.

What they don't tell you in Lamaze class and, to be fair, what is impossible to convey, is the heart investment of the entire experience. I never knew I could deeply love and cherish anything (and I've had some great dogs!) as much as I have adored every facet of being a Mom. I mean, part of me wishes I had known all this stuff back in the day, but in reality, it would probably have been far more of a hindrance and I'm sure God knows it and worked all the logistics of the process out, but I have to testify that no matter where I go, what I do, whatever I may achieve or own or brush up against, it will never, ever come close to what raising a little girl and a little boy has given me. It is, in fact, an entity all unto its own. It is so intermingled into my being, the sheer depth, the strength and resilient durability of the parental bond.

God surely knew what He was doing in THAT department because there have been a few times when I thought...what the heck are we doing here and does someone have a manual or is there a service that could finish raising these kids until they're the more reasonable and responsible age of, oh, say 30? God knows that love paves over the pot holes and rough patches, and God knows He is right.

But "those" moments breeze by and before you know it, the kids are back in your good graces and you find yourself ecstatically devoted and signing on for the next exciting and improbable chapter of the craziest book in the world. And the most unbelievable part of it all is when you're on the page where "Kids grow up and move to a new town", you tearfully, wistfully pine, you so seriously wish you could start that book over and write it all again. Even the hair-raising parts which are generously sprinkled throughout.

This...is going to be tough. Painful. Definitely hard to swallow.

This is...life. Wouldn't you just know those two would pick the times I said, "You've got to try! You can be ANYTHING and go ANYWHERE if you just set your head to it and if you want it bad enough!"

That's just so like them. Selective listening. You really can't trust them.

I feel as though I resemble my kids when I would take them to the pediatrician for vaccinations or flu shots. "Wait, I"m not ready! Wait, please, wait! Give me a minute...not yet!!!!!!". And of course, the needle had to break the flesh and deliver it's payload. It was always going to sting, sometimes a little and sometimes a lot, and no amount of preparation could change that.

No, no, no, no, no! I am not ready for Justin to move. But if he postponed it a few days, I wouldn't be any more prepared in a week, two weeks, six months or a year. It's going to sting, but we have to get on with it. His future is calling and it's time to answer the damn phone, load up the moving van and head for those ridiculous hills.

People ask me if it was like this when Katie left home, when she made her way to Manhattan in May 2006. In a way it was and in another way it wasn't. You see, Katie was born with a plan. Spend anytime around Katie and you just realize that she has a list, steely determination and a fierce independence and no time for tears. I love my daughter with the same passion that I do my son and I have a great deal of respect for the way she tackles the streets of NYC, new jobs, her fear of flying and any obstacle silly enough to get in her way. She's amazing and it's not that she doesn't have a heart, she simply doesn't wear it on her sleeve.

Justin and I, however, aren't like that at all. Our entire shirts are covered in hearts. It's just the way we are. Sometimes, I am stunned by just how much like me he is, not simply in appearance, but in temperament, mannerisms, thought processes, behavior and quirks. That apple didn't far fall from this tree.

I want to walk outside and scream at the very top of my lungs, to no one in particular, "MY SON IS MOVING AWAY AND I AM REALLY GOING TO MISS HIM AND I AM HURTING BIG-TIME RIGHT NOW!!!!!", but I haven't been at this office all that long and people might talk. Besides, he just called and we're having lunch at his old work place in a few minutes. I can't be late. He's buying!

I'm sure I'll cry on the way back to my office, and I'll cry tomorrow at random times and don't even ask me about Friday. This weekend is going to be rough and I know that. My friend Sharon called me yesterday, "just to check on you. I know this isn't easy.", and she does know it because she's watched one of her sons move to San Diego and the other one to Lake Tahoe. She knows the landscape of where I am headed and she will be right there and cry right along with me and then she'll talk very sternly and tell me - "Enough - let's go to the beach and eat chocolate and drink tea.". Good friends do things like that. I love her. I love all of my friends. I'm crazy about my family. I adore my cats. I have the best dog in the entire world. My kids? They not only have my heart, they are my heart.

Sniff...

Beyond all this missing stuff, trust me, it's not lost on me how spectacularly blessed we all are. For as much as this is going to EXCRUCIATINGLY "sting", and you better know it will, I also know that these tears spring from good things. They spring from love, hope, golden opportunities, and at least a thousand or so blessings. I mean, if you have to cry, this is as happy of an event as you could hope for to sob over. There isn't any undue worry or fear. I know deep inside, that this sadness is of the happy variety and I must keep that in mind. No one is sick, estranged or at wits end or the thousand and one issues that can come up that truly can rob you of your sanity, serenity and sleep. I'll adjust and we'll slide into a new "normal", carve out a new groove - grateful for all that we have, always mindful of how well off we sincerely are, and hopeful for a bright future. We'll make new memories in different cities. <I practice sounding convincing when I say this. So far, I'm not really buying it.>

But in the meantime, I really do plan to cry a bit. I can sense Katie rolling her eyes and I expect a call at some point next week from her telling me to knock it off, grow up and get busy writing. She's not heartless, she will at least allow me the weekend to wallow. And then she'll say something really wise like, "How do you expect to meet a sailor with red eyes?"

Good point.

It's "Shark Week" on the Discovery Channel. I should be happy, right?

Headline News...

OK, this will be quick because I'm tired and ready to hit the bed but these have been some busy times in the Cook/Parker Home.

Here's the scoop! (Pssst...there are some new photos on the flickr site - click on the moving pictures on the right sidebar).

Someone became engaged in this family and for once, it wasn't me! Last Friday (18 July) Justin presented Stephanie with a ROCK and she said YES!

We welcomed and enjoyed company from West Virginia on Tuesday and Wednesday.

I just returned from The Pilot House in downtown Wilmington and a lovely engagement/farewell dinner hosted by Stephanie's lovely grandmother. She and I have made plans to get together after next weekend, following the kids' move, so we can cry and miss them together. They haven't even left yet and I already miss my son. I fought back tears a couple of times tonight.

My Mom is on the mend, but let me tell you, that fall left her with some serious bruises and after seeing the latent bruises I can only imagine she has bones made of steel. What a feisty lady she is. How blessed we are she bounced back.

I'll write more later, but for now, I am ready for sleep. These are busy, emotional, heart-tugging days. We're so excited for Justin and his new adventure working with his father in West Virginia, but we're all going to miss him tons.

I'll fill in the blanks this weekend.

The Things That Matter Most Really Aren't...

...Things At All. They aren't even Lincoln (POS's) LS, iPods, or swimming pools.

Last night or, rather, about 3:00 am this morning, I was asleep when I woke up to see my Dad's worried, searching eyes. Not a good sign at 3:00 am. I was awake instantly, bolted upright and said, "What's wrong?". I mean, nothing can be right when someone wakes you up at 3:00 am, right?

He told me in a quiet but anxious voice that my Mom had fallen going to the bathroom and could I please come downstairs. In a flash, I was down those stairs and walked into my parents room to see my Mom rather slouched in her chair, eyes closed and cradling an arm that was dripping blood from two angry looking lacerations; open, harsh wounds on her delicate tissue paper thin skin. I walked over and asked her what happened?

"I fell. I fell and hit my arm. I couldn't see and it was dark.", she whispered, mumbled really, in a weak voice without opening her eyes, head tilted to the side.

I asked her if she could move or if she thought she might have broke something, other than the painful looking skin on her arm.

"No, well, I don't think so. Need to lay back. Could I have a cold cloth on my head, please?".

I heard my Dad rifling around in the drawers of their bathroom, searching for bandages and antiseptic. I ran to the bathroom and found a wash cloth and ran cold water through it. My Dad brought a towel to lay beneath her bleeding arm.

Mom told me that the cloth wasn't cold enough and could I please put some ice in it? I raced to the kitchen and grabbed five ice cubes and wrapped them up in the wet cloth. My heart was beating fast and my mind was racing at a thousand possibilities always arriving at the same question..."What should I do next? Should I call 911?".

I walked back in, my dad was standing close to my Mom, gently stroking her arm and asking her if anything was hurting. It was at that moment that my heart made a giant leap into my throat at the sight of both of them. As scary as this whole scene was, it was just laden with a gentle sweetness that completely epitomizes their relationship.

Devotion is intangible but theirs is so sturdy, so strong and durable, that you can nearly reach out and touch the current that courses between them. It's effect was pervasive inside that room last night. It softened the rough, sharp, scary edges of an event that no one wants to confront at any hour, but is especially foreboding at 3:00 am.

Mom welcomed the icy cloth I delivered and we slowly eased the chair she was sitting in back so that her feet were propped up and her head could rest without slipping to the side.

Again, I asked her if she thought it might not be a good idea to get this checked out at the hospital.

"No, just let me lay here for a few minutes and we'll see. I don't want to talk...just let me lay here for a few minutes."

Dad had brought me a chair to sit beside her and he had settled into his desk chair. I looked over at him but his eyes were fixed on her.

I held her hand. I felt so privileged to sit beside her, even as my mind groped for something more that I could that might have offered her relief and comfort. She's not had much experience being the "patient". In truth, I have had scant experience being the caregiver. We were both assuming unfamiliar roles, but I believe we were doing the best we could at that moment.

Every few minutes, I would ask her if she was feeling better? She would tell me that she thought so, just give it a little while.

As I sat there, in the low light of their bedroom, I looked around at the trinkets, the photos, the books, word puzzles, momentos and then my mind would come back to, "Should I let her lay here or should we really be on our way to the hospital?". I just didn't know what to do but I hoped that what we were doing was enough. Of course, I prayed. Mostly my prayers were for guidance, comfort for my Mom and some kind of form of wisdom to know that what we were doing, at that moment, was the right thing.

Felix, our black, quirky cat walked in the room, followed by Cassie, who looked around as they were assessing the situation and knew something wasn't quite right. Felix looked up at my Mom and then walked over to my Dad and rubbed alongside his ankles. I think he was offering my Dad the only comfort he was capable of expressing. Both animals settled down in the floor, side by side, at the foot of my Mom's chair. Their eyes were inquisitive yet compassionate.

And I sat there, for well over an hour, stroking my Mom's hand, readjusting the rag on her head, asking her if she was feeling better, if she needed anything - maybe a sip of water? Tea? My dad sat quietly at his desk, facing us, drawing on his pipe, fingers interlocked on his lap.

After about half an hour, Mom asked me to wring the cloth out. It was getting drippy. My father got back up and started looking again for bandages but seemed only to find the 1 inch square band-aids which wouldn't begin to cover the angry gashes on her arm.

"Barbe, they're in the wicker basket at the top of the cabinet. You can't find anything...", she said in a rather bemused fashion. It was at this point that I finally decided we had made the right decision not to call 911 right away. She was coming back to us and taking charge. If she was able to direct our fumblings, Miss Maxine was assuming her position. I welcomed those words and my Dad, without missing a beat, smiled and said, "Well why don't you just walk in here and get the band-aid yourself!". Again, these were good signs at what was now 4:40 AM. I finally breathed a sigh of blessed relief.

I walked in the bathroom and found the shelf, the bandages and the peroxide and went about the business of attending to Mom's arm. She had finally opened her eyes and was watching as I poured small dollops of disinfectant and we both studied the scrapes as they bubbled and fizzed. I asked her if it was stinging? "No, not a bit!", she chided, as if I was somehow implying she was a wimp or whiny old lady. Again, this was a good sign.

After I bandaged her arm, she finally decided she was ready to make a try for the bathroom which had been the original target of her nocturnal wandering about. Daddy fetched her cane and I took her arm and together we made our way slowly to the bathroom. As I stood in there waiting for her, I quickly flashed back to when I was a little girl, and how many times she had taken such impeccable care of me, in so many situations, nursing me through tonsillitis, bronchitis, many bouts of the flu, pneumonia, a car wreck just last summer, and how capable she always seemed to be; how secure she always made me feel, by virtue of her sheer, stable, loving presence. What a gift she's always been. What a gift she continues to be.

Those midnight moments bring life into perspective with blazing speed. As stressful and scary as they can be, such times deliver clarity into what matters most in this life, as nothing else can. When I finally returned to my own bedroom last night, I thought about what had just happened, and the thoughts that had been razzing my brain prior to my middle of the night wake-up summons.

I had been irritated with machines, prior to my 3:00 am wake-up call. The front end bumper of my car was loose and making contact with the pavement. Not to mention the fact that in the last few weeks, in addition to the rear driver's side window which refuses to go up or down, the door handle to driver's side no longer works which means I have to roll my window down and open my car from the outside. Add to this the "check traction control" light that announces itself in the "status window" of the dashboard, the broken drink holder in the console and the fact that the sun roof window didn't close all the way last week leaking water onto my iPod, thereby completely rendering it inoperable, has made me feel a complete and utter distaste for my car and daily I find myself pining for my old PT Cruiser which got great gas mileage and even though it was lacking in many of the bells and whistles that come with my Lincoln (POS) LS, I honestly enjoyed driving it so much more.

So last evening, as I was sitting here surfing the net, I was filled with contempt for the Lincoln, the iPod (which I REALLY miss!!!!), and wondering how so many things could go wrong on a car in such a short amount of time. I wasn't exactly in the best of moods. I would have gone outside for a late-night swim, but my pool isn't completely cleared (however it is definitely on the mend after Friday's latest round of work by Pool Specialists!), so last night rather than swim, I stewed. Completely pissed off by the breakdown of the gadgets and machines I rely on every day. I felt like I was drowning in a sea of mechanical glitches.

But early this morning, there were no thoughts of a broken iPod, the dragging front bumper of a Lincoln LS, or a murky pool. My focus was instantly narrowed to what is precious in my life and what is precious is family, close, dear, dependable friends, and even the concerned countenance of a loyal dog and cat. That silly car in the driveway, the cloudy 33,000 gallon pond in my backyard, and even the busted iPod don't even register on the "matters most" meter. Those things can be repaired and replaced and will never cross my mind at the end of my days. What will transcend that threshold are the mainstays who bear the monikers of Justin, Katie, Mom, Dad, Stephanie and so many close buddies who make my life feel golden more times than I possibly deserve.

No one would ever volunteer for the 3:00 AM wake up call that I experienced last night, but attached along with the attendant angst, is the reminder of the volume of love that situates itself in my life, and as the vital signs return to normal and the world is illuminated courtesy of the dawn of yet another gift of a day, gratitude remains long after the tide of terror washes back out to sea and the storm moves out.

After a few more hours of sleep this morning, I walked downstairs to find my parents happily chatting over cereal and coffee, reading the newspaper, sun streaming in through the large windows.

"Good Morning!", my Mom almost too cheerily announced! Ah yes, she was back in the saddle - a little bruised and bandaged, perhaps, but "not nearly as sore as I thought I'd be!", she almost smugly added.

I guess the lingering result of last night is that it gave me even more reasons to be grateful, to be reminded of the fragility, and in awe of resilience and durability, that is life.

Life is, in fact, so much more than good, even if your car is crumbling and your iPod is a thing of history.

Life is absolutely amazing.

Unrealized Nightmares...Unmerited Blessings

I went to Greenville, South Carolina last week. I left on Monday Evening, after I had studied the myriad of interstates that would carry, and possibly confuse me, between Wilmington, North Carolina and my forecast destination. It's 312 miles between here and there and my major stumbling block, the area where my eyes kept returning to, was the Interstate bypass that would (hopefully) take me around Columbia, South Carolina. That was my least favorite part of the route, at least visually on the map, because I don't do well at all when I'm on multiple lane freeways in heavy traffic. Such driving is terrorizing for me. I know that because I've had all of my most impressively horrific panic attacks while trying to bypass large metropolitan cities in both light and heavy traffic. It can be distilled in one fourletter word. Fear. Pure, unadulterated fear.

But I had a plan because we're nothing without them, right? I would leave around 6:00 PM from Wilmington the night before I would need to arrive in Greenville. Given that there were 312 miles separating me from my target, I surmised that if I left at 6ish in the evening, it would place me and my car and my terror well past rush hour and hopefully in the lightest, most manageable traffic possible.

In the hours leading up to my dreaded departure, if you had seen me that day, you might have thought I was being remanded to the gallows. That I was facing incarceration and, in a sense, I was - I was becoming imprisoned by my own over-inflated, but nevertheless paralyzing, fear.

I walked about the house slowly. I would pace from my suitcase to the dryer, with a deliberate and defeated gait, robotically depositing the clothes I had mindlessly selected to wear on the off chance I survived my journey. Just in case some blazing eighteen wheeler didn't overstep his lane and crush my car and take me out with it in a fiery ball of cataclysmic devastation. If there was even the slightest possibility I would make it unscathed to Greenville, at least I would have clothes to wear as I trained for the job that would be waiting for me should I twice defy the unfathomable odds and arrive back safely on Wednesday Night to Wilmington.

Frankly, at the time, I would have told you that my odds of winning the powerball were much more favorable than my surviving the roundtrip tour I was preparing to embark upon. My mind was playing some very Un-empowering tapes and someone (me) had tripped the switch on my mental tape player to "repeat".

I finally bid my parents what I secretly felt could possibly be a final farewell and trudged to my waiting car. I would imagine that people being taken to death row probably had a more sunny countenance than the one I secretly wore. Death row inmates face capital punishment. I, however, was staring toward the capital of South Carolina and its eight possibly lethal lanes looming in my immediate future.

I walked out of here with the weight of the world and every agonizing mile punishing my psyche, deeply entrenched in the dangerous and dark recesses of my overactive and often times inaccurate imagination.

I pulled out of the driveway, waving at my parents, who were smiling contentedly, never once realizing the deep danger that the interstate bypass of Columbia was holding in wait for their only remaining and ridiculously panic-stricken daughter. I dug deep within myself and managed a smile, almost feeling sorry for them because I didn't think they stood a chance of seeing me alive again. How sad, because two days later, on July 3rd, they would celebrate their 62nd wedding anniversary and what a bleak stain my impending doom would lend to their very special day. They were just so clueless and didn't understand the monumental obstacles that my mind had managed to manufacture.

The first few miles I had to literally fight with myself not to make a U-turn and turn my car around and run back home to my perceived safety zone. Honestly, I absolutely had to beat back the impulse as I made my way toward the Cape Fear Memorial Bridge and crossed the great divide that would separate the men from the boys, and me from New Hanover County.

I hate bridges. I abhor them. I have always had a fear of steel spans. Normally, just the prospect of crossing the Cape Fear Bridge would have been enough to reduce me to a hyperventilating, sweaty-palmed, heart-palpitating and trembling mess, but given that Columbia was on the dusky horizon, I reasoned that I had bigger fish to fry and so I had to put my fear of bridges on the back burner of the stove I use to create mountains out of anthills. No one can reasonably nurture more than a couple of unreasonable phobias at a time, so my fear of bridges had to rescind it's top stop in favor of rapid-fire freeway traffic.

But before I made it over the bridge, I took a side street on my way downtown to Market Street and found myself parking where that major thoroughfare (by Wilmington standards) terminates and I parallel-parked in a spot that faced the Cape Fear River and the USS North Carolina which is moored on the Brunswick County side of the river and is one of our major tourist attractions in this town I love so much.

I sat in my car, window rolled down, watching the tourists smiling on their way to or from dinner, small historic maps in hand, pointing at this structure or that sight, completely oblivious to the terror lurking inside of the white Lincoln LS which was, I must say, expertly tucked into a tight parking spot. I saw the horse-drawn carriage amble to the right of my car, as the horses dutifully trudged their course while the tour guide recited all manner of interesting and historical facts about Wilmington.

It was just another sultry summer evening in a sleepy, southern town teeming with tourists who had probably spent most of their Monday at our area beaches and had driven downtown for a nice meal and a little southern ambiance courtesy of our moss strewn, tree-lined streets and sweeter than iced tea charm. Stupid, clueless tourists. They had no idea the fear contained in the innocuous looking automobile, lurking just beneath the surface of the tousled, wind whipped blond hair of a 48 year old woman who wished for all the world someone would tap on her window and tell her that she didn't have to cross that bridge or merge into the lanes of the freeway that was supposed to take her AROUND Columbia, South Carolina.

I sat in that car, almost frozen in fear, mapquest print-out in my lap, staring absently out the window and wishing, dreaming, that the governor would call and say it was all a mistake - I could still have the job, the salary, the medical, dental and vision benefits without having to drive those looming, doomed 312 miles to Greenville; that someone as clearly bright as me didn't require training or need to make an appearance in a town so far away and INLAND, and that I could just learn everything on the fly and forget this whole silly Greenville madness.

I waited. I sat there for at least 20 minutes knowing that no one was really going to knock on my car window and tell me that it was fine, that I didn't have to go, and that I could simply turn around and return to the safe harbor of my home, my family, my dog and my two cats and my 50 or so fish contained in five aquariums who really needed me to look after them, but oh how I wished someone would have. At the time, I would have given anything for a reprieve, a stay of interstate transit, or a simple change in plans that would allow me to stay home and not venture outside my comfort zone which extends to about ten miles in every direction from the epicenter here at 326 Nottingham Lane.

It never happened. That call never came.

I took a deep breath and knew it was time to face my fears and plow through the list of turns, merges and highways and snap out of it. I wanted to call my Dad and ask him what I always ask when I'm feeling especially shaky and scared..."Dad, do you think I can do this? Do you think I'll be OK?".

I know it sounds completely ridiculous and I always know exactly what he's going to say, but I swear I can't tell you how comforting it is to here his response when I ask him that question. He chuckles in a manner that makes me believe that's the silliest question he's ever heard before in all of his 83 years been asked. His voice is tinged with a durable confidence I hardly ever feel, as he exudes the utmost belief in me and whatever it is I'm afraid to do, whether it's boarding a flight for NYC or Manchester or Paris or sailing or about to give a talk to a recovery group or go in for a root canal or sit for a test or drive to the center of downtown Raleigh or embark on a very long drive all alone. His words always empower me. They make me believe I can do things that my mind tries to trick me into thinking that I can't possibly deal with or handle. It's amazing really, the power of hearing him say that I'll be fine, just fine, and that it won't be any trouble at all and that I will just fly through whatever is looming on my horizon without the slightest hint of a glitch.

It's so comical in one sense. How many times did I hear him express his confidence in me when I was growing up and filled with all kinds of angst over just about everything and what a difference his belief in me meant on more occasions than I can count? I guess it's because as I was growing up and navigating childhood and adolesence and dealing with so much uncertainty and fear after my sister died when I was 13, my dad and my Mom were accruing a track record of being right about 99.9% of the time and guiding me with so much love, so much devotion, wisdom, kindness and compassion.

Late Spring of 1973. That's when most of my biggest fears were born - in the days, weeks and months following the completely unexpected death of my 23 year old sister. I was thirteen at the time, which is a hard age when everything is going perfectly, but my gosh, the day following May 25, 1973, it seems as if I caught every fear and phobia imaginable. And somehow, even in the deep and horrific pain of losing their first daughter, my Mom and Dad managed to guide their second one through the scariest period of my life and to this day I have no idea how they did it.

After having two kids of my own, and understanding the depth and magnitude of love one feels for their children, it's even more inconceivable to me that they had the wisdom and capacity to steer me through what felt like hell. But they did it. They did exactly that. They never gave up on me and they never allowed me to give up on myself, through every bump, stumble and fall I've ever dealt with in life. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't find my parents' strength and the power of their love and understanding, to be a force even unto its own. They have always been my rudder, the artificial horizon by which to fix my position, to navigate when life feels so disorienting and foggy that I have to rely and depend on my instruments because the weather is such that visual flight rules do not apply.

It is, in a word, uncanny. I am, in another word, blessed.

And they were also, a few days ago, as they celebrated their 62nd wedding anniversary. Justin and Stephanie joined us and my handsome, sturdy son "manned" the grill and graciously feted us with sumptuous, done to perfection steaks, baked potatoes and, for dessert, Stephanie and I snagged two big hits - Strawberry and Rhubarb pie and Dutch apple pie. It was such a great evening and a very special, intimate celebration for two exceptional folks.

Oh, and in case you're wondering, even though I didn't call my Dad on the way to Greenville for a pep talk, I just replayed one of his many encouraging "talks" in my head and, with a sturdy predictability, I could hear my father's voice in my head telling me it was really going to be JUST FINE! "Nothing to it!", I'd hear him say with a wry smile in his voice, exuding the confidence I often find myself running so short of, forgetting more often than I should, that I do come from sturdy stock and that I am stronger and more capable than I believe myself to be most days. I wish I could get those good tapes to kick in automatically without the fear taking hold, and some days I do better than others, but I guess that each time I face what I perceive as an obstacle or challenge, well, maybe something is strengthened that I'm not yet aware of and perhaps it serves a larger purpose. I don't really know why I let myself get into such a state from time to time and allow myself to become flooded with torrents of self-doubt but I guess the good news is that most times I don't allow it to paralyze me or render me immobile. There were times in the past that it used to have that power and in the past few years, I have at least managed to walk through most fears even if I was shaking just a bit so, well, that's progress, right? Yeah, it's OK to say that.

And, as you might imagine, Columbia proved to be "much ado about nothing". By the time I arrive there, it was nearly 10:30 PM, so the rush hour was long finished and put to rest. Only a nutty blond with exhorbitant fears could be found on the highway at that absurd hour and very little traffic was to be found. From Columbia to Greenville, I pretty much had the highway to myself and arrived in Greenville at around 1:30 AM. I know, I know - most rational people would be afraid to be out driving alone at such an hour - I mean - it would be reasonable to fear that the car might break down, that one might suffer a flat tire or engine trouble alongside an empty interstate in a mostly rural part of a southern state. To be afraid of those things would be prudent, rational and completely logical. For me? Those fears never really cross my mind at all. No, I'm more afraid of all of the things least likely to happen, bypassing the events that have a far better chance of causing me trouble. Go figure. If you do, let me know. I sure can't figure it out but, then again, maybe it's because I'm an Aquarian, and just a little crazy. The only physical pain to report from the trip was contained in the fingers of both of my hands, not unusual given the strength of the grip with which I held onto the steering wheel.

Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad and thank you so very much for being exactly who you are, and still taking the time to gently teach me so many things I should have figured out decades ago. Katie, Justin and I love you both so much. As Fred Rogers would say, "just for being you...".

Happy Summer!! Goodbye to a Faithful Feline and Hello to a New Job!

This will be a very fast update, with details to follow later in the week. Things have been hopping since my last update. Some events have been wonderful, but one in particular was very sad.

We had to say goodbye to our beloved cat Sylvester. He was nearly 17 years old and was in a great deal of pain. On 7 June, Justin bravely took him to the vet and he was put to rest. We all said good bye and I know, I know, it's a cat we're talking about, but Sylvester wasn't just any cat. To know Sylvester was to love him. We knew him and we adored everything about him.

It still seems so odd not seeing him around here, but he's not suffering now. Sylvester was our first cat, and joined us when he "chose" Katie as she and I visited a pet shop in El Paso, Texas. He was a gentle, smart, social and very kind feline. He convinced me that I wasn't simply a "dog" person, as I had erroneously and originally thought prior to meeting him. I was so sure I didn't like cats at all, but Sylvester enlightened me and gently taught me otherwise. Sylvester, in his own characteristically understated manner, changed my life. I loved him. We all did. With every soft purr, kneading motion of his paws and slow caresses on our ankles as he'd make contact with us, we knew he loved us right back. Gosh, I miss him that cat.

I need to send out a special thank you to three people with regard to Sylvester. Katie, thank you so much for talking me into adopting him back in Texas. You and Sylvester were so right - I was a cat person and he was destined to become part of our family. I know you loved him and he enjoyed watching you grow up, as the rest of us have. You were such a kind and faithful companion to him. I know you maintained such a special place in his heart.

I also must mention Stephanie. Steph, thank you so very much for tending to him in his final months. You were kind, compassionate and so sensitive to his physical and emotional needs and pain. You went far beyond the call of duty and I know he loved you for it. I know it was especially hard for you and I understand you had a very strong bond with him. Your care allowed him some extra pain-free months and you should be proud of that. We're very grateful to you and pleased that you are part of our family. You know, Steph, we miss you, too. You can come around and visit even when your boyfriend is at work or busy. This is still your home, too, kiddo.

And finally but by no means last, a special thanks to my Dad, who is the keeper of the litterbox. What a thankless job, but you sure are dependable! Thank you for all of your housekeeping duties. Also, thanks for taking extra care with Felix during this transition. I know he's become quite attached to you. Princess may have lost her husband, but Felix lost his best friend, and he's trying to deal with that so I know he loves every extra minute he spends on your lap while you work on the computer. I think you have a new best friend! Felix has great taste, obviously.

After the passing of Sylvester, Justin returned to the house and took Princess to live with him at his place. He felt that she should be with him, now that her husband was gone. Sylvester and Princess were adopted six weeks apart, so their bond was deep and intertwined. I'm sure Princess is enjoying living with her "father", and I know Justin and Stephanie are taking great care of her. And yes, Princess will be moving to Charleston, WV late next month when Justin joins his Dad in his new business venture.

Two weeks ago I received a call to interview for a new position in a completely different industry. I went to the first interview and met three very nice men who took turns asking me a lot of questions as they perused my resume. Later that evening, they invited me to a second interview the next morning. Fortunately, that went pretty well, too, and within two hours, my new employer rang my cell phone and offered me the position. I officially start on 1 July and I'm looking forward to it. I will be heading to Greenville, South Carolina on 30 June for three days of training, as this is where the company is headquartered. I'll return to Wilmington on 3 July, which will be a very special day because it will be my parents 62nd wedding anniversary. There is just so very much to celebrate and I'm grateful for all of it!

Of course, as excited and thrilled as I am with my new position in a few days, it will be difficult leaving my present one. I have enjoyed working with Sherry so very much. We have had so much fun most days that it hardly qualified as work. Sherry has taught me a great deal and spending my days with her has been a very special time for me. We can nearly finish each others sentences and not a day goes by that doesn't find us laughing about all manner of occurrences in our work days. Though I will no longer be working with her, we have made a serious pact to stay in touch on a daily basis and she has promised to keep me informed as to the more curious things that happen at work. Besides, she won't be completely rid of me. I have agreed to continue to install the SCRAM (Secure Continuous Remote Alcohol Monitor) ankle bracelets and will see clients and do installations on Saturdays. I find it hard to make a complete break because I enjoy working with our clients. Anyway, working with Sherry one day a week will make it easier for us to keep a weekly lunch date and really catch up with each other.

Finally, I am happy to report that the swimming pool repairs have been made and it is holding water well! It's being chemically shocked right now, but the major repair has been completed and I can't wait to take my first dip in it which will hopefully be later this week. It's SUMMER - and that means flips in the pool! I will be so excited to literally be "back in the swim" of things. Hey, it's skinny-dipping season!

By the way, I was given a brand-spanking new copy of the "hot off the presses" latest edition of "Insider's Guide - North Carolina's Southern Coast and Wilmington" by its esteemed publisher (and all around nice person), Jay Tervo. If you haven't acquired one yet, treat yourself to a copy. It's beautifully turned out and brimming with information, tips and facts for both tourists and even locals will learn a thing or three about the town we are privileged to call "home".

It's so strange to be writing these days. I've had scant time to really pen much of anything though my mind has been swirling with a million details, observances, thoughts and feelings. Lately, it seems like with so much going on, I find I'm keeping more and more things to myself. So many huge changes are taking place in my life right now - in all of our lives, in fact. My son is preparing to move to West Virginia at the end of July. My daughter has been happily ensconced in Manhattan for over two years. We're now two cats short and this house seems to be growing in size and echoing in silence. Not too many years ago, there was always noise, music, chatter, comings and goings of my son and daughter and their posse of friends. I remember summers filled with the sounds of my son and his buddies on their skateboards in the driveway. I'd peer out the window every ten minutes or so, wondering if I might need to make a quick run to the emergency room because someone didn't land properly as they surfed on the concrete. It's just so quiet now.

It's almost too quiet. The air is stilled as we slowly grope our way through new transitions, the ones where teenagers are now twenty-somethings who grow up and move into new adventures which predictably take them far from this house, but never, ever far from our thoughts, prayers and hearts. I guess on an intellectual level, you always know the time will come when they grow up and become admirably independent, and I am absolutely proud that they have. I'm also grateful for so many lively memories from raising these two offspring of mine, but lurking just beneath my pride and awe, is a lingering whisper of a wish that I could do it all again and again and again. These transitions take some acclimatization, I suppose, and the key feature to any acclimatization is the passage of time. I'm sure we'll get our sea legs soon, but some evenings, I miss Katie and Justin so much that it literally defies description and words are rendered useless; literally inadequate. Maybe that's why I find it so hard to write lately. The translation of the depth and sheer force of these feelings into mere words is difficult.

I guess growing up gets tougher with age. Separation anxiety can strike without warning. Thank goodness for e-mail and cell phones and particularly unlimited mobile-to-mobile minutes.

I'm still keeping a keen eye out for a sailor - if you see one with a nice boat who's in the market for a crazy, wild-haired, adventurous first mate, send him my way. But only if he's nearly perfect, great looking, sane, financially secure, interesting, brilliant, youthful and skilled. I don't think I'm really asking for too much...just something reasonably close to almost perfect.

Karen...Bobbi...I hate to put pressure on you both, but we're in late June now. What's the hold up, ladies? Shouldn't you both have "e-maled" me some prospective resumes by now? No rush...just hurry!

It finally happened!

Today was a very special day. I FINALLY met someone who's name has been a household staple since I was about ten years old. This afternoon, I had the great pleasure of meeting the man (THE MAN!) my father worked for (the BOSS!) when my father was a treasurer for Hawk's Nest Mining Company in Montgomery, WV. (Photo right: Harry Burke, Susie and Barbe.)
Mr. Harry Burke in the flesh. What a guy! He'd heard my name in conjunction with my Dad no doubt sharing some of my antics as I was growing up, back in Charleston, West Virginia, when Mr. Burke would visit the office from "headquarters" in Chicago, Ill., where he held the position of Chief Financial Officer with F. H. Prince. I'd heard his name when my Dad would share at dinner that "the boss", would be visiting the mine. We "knew" of each other, Mr. Burke and me, but we had never shared the same space.

Mr. Burke and his companion, the lovely Marsha, were in Hampstead this week visiting his sister, Janet, and so my parents were invited to drive up and have coffee. Last year when they were in town, I missed out on their visit to our home because I was on my way to Fayetteville to meet Katie's train, however, my son had recorded the event with photos and I did blog about it. (Click here to read about last year's visit).

This year, however, I was in town and ducked away from work early in order to finally have a face-to-face with this iconic figure. I felt instantly that I knew him so rather than a polite, stiff handshake, we dispensed with all that and went straight for the hug. What a precious moment for me.

As I sat this afternoon in Janet's lovely Hampstead home, and enjoyed the company of these friends, so many childhood memories flooded my consciousness. Mr. Burke and my Dad have always had a special bond and, separated in age by only a couple of weeks (my Dad will insist that I state for the record that he is the younger of the two), they have maintained their friendship through over 22 years into retirement, even though most of that time Mr. Burke and my dad have lived on opposite sides of the country. However, throughout those years, they have kept the lines of communication open and humming in frequent, lengthy phone conversations and through the magic of e-mail.

My Dad was sharing a story of when he first met Mr. Burke and casually mentioned that he was just 47 years old when he met this man for the first time and it occurred to me that he was a year younger than my present age of 48. It's amazing to me that I was no more than ten years old when I first heard of this Mr. Burke fella.

Today was indeed a sweet gift and extreme blessing. I'm so glad these friends could enjoy a visit and have the chance to relive their interesting history, in person, over a delicious dessert and fine coffee. I'm also thankful that I had the opportunity to share some time with these two special men. It was a warm afternoon, and it wasn't simply because of the weather. This afternoon was a very special honor for me.

Let's do it again next year, Mr. Burke!

Getting Better Every Day!

"Sick as a dog, but having the time of my life!" Gomer Pyle - "The Andy Griffith Show".

I guess going out on a date with two younger, crazy men was too much for me. The morning after I had dinner with David and Chris, I woke up feeling like I had a tennis ball stuck in my throat. Fortunately, that didn't preclude me from having breakfast with my wonderful friend Sally, or going to work for a few hours, but by Saturday Night last week, I was clearly, without question, in the throes of bronchitis.

So how did I spend my Memorial Day Weekend, the unofficial start of summer? In bed, feverish, drinking tea, coughing and sneezing my head off. Not how I imagined, that's for sure.

Sunday Afternoon, feeling extremely sorry for myself, alone and having only my trusty dog Cassie by my side, I was laying in bed when in dropped my friend David with all manner of meds, a gallon of tea from Smithfield's, and the time to keep my mind off how horrible I felt. He even inducted me into the Blackberry Pearl fellowship by programming my phone and teaching me all of the fun things it can do. He was great company and made a very nice nurse even though I think he told me to quit complaining and "check this out!", as he would enlighten me to cool features of the Blackberry.


When he got bored with my sneezing and coughing, he would go back downstairs and visit with my parents, who made him a banana-split and were probably relieved that they didn't have to deal with me. Every now and then one of them would venture upstairs to see if I needed anything, not that I think any of them had any designs on bringing me more coffee or soup, but it did make me feel less alone and fortunately the movie line-up on TCM (Turner Classic Movies), was to my liking.

Also on Sunday Afternoon, my friend Wayne dropped by bearing a pot of daisies, soup, a beautiful wicker basket, a card and, best of all, the latest "hot off the presses!" issue of "Cruising World" magazine so I could salivate over sailboats I'll never be able to buy. Hey, it's good to hold onto your dreams, right?

Monday Afternoon, it was more of the same. David dropped by to check on me but was mostly interested in visiting with my parents, but when he did hang out with me, he fired up the laptop and as I was struggling to breathe, he was looking for property in Oriental. He saved about eight possibilities and now and then he would get excited and say, "Look at this one! It has a dock!", and then he'd go right on creating an organized spreadsheet of his real estate possibilities while I watched Claudette Colbert and Joseph Cotton in "Since You Went Away".


Other friends called and checked on me, thinking I would be seaside, but the only water I got close to was the shower which I would run as hot as the water would go, because that was the only thing that allowed me to breathe easy for a few minutes. David wound up his visit by driving to Smithfield's on a chicken wing run (for me), but he chose to dine with my parents downstairs at the table because my Mom was serving spaghetti. From the sounds of it, they all had a very nice dinner. I ate alone upstairs in bed but Cassie was kind enough to stay with me. A good dog is hard to find and loyalty, particularly in times of need, is a precious gift, indeed.

I stayed in bed most of Tuesday and didn't go to work, but work came to me in the form of a visit from Sherry Tuesday Evening. She brought dinner over and hung out with me upstairs and we watched a couple of episodes of "The Andy Griffith Show" and caught up with each other. As she was getting ready to leave, Justin appeared with a homemade casserole and I was so happy to see him! He took her place on my bed and we chatted, well, he chatted and mostly coughed. This house still feels so empty without him and yet it struck me just how grown up he is. My son made something for me to eat at his place, and brought it to me. What a sweet guy he is. His company helped me immeasurably.

Wednesday I did make it into work in the late morning, but before starting work, Sherry and I met at La Costa for lunch before going to the office. She wanted to "ease" me back into "pre-audit work mode". She's nice like that. I wish I could have tasted the guacamole and refried beans and rice, but I could smell the cilantro, so that was definitely an improvement.

My health almost took a nose-dive on Thursday, as I read about Karen's weekend in Canada and turned an unattractive shade of "envy green", but she wrote me a nice note which took the edge off and returned me to my normal color. It was a good save and I was happy she had such a nice time during HER holiday weekend. She is still on the look-out for a seaworthy boat (and a guy to go along with it), for me, but progress is slow and I understand these things take time. I'm trying to be patient KAREN!!!!

Friday Morning, I had the experience of installing my first SCRAM ankle bracelet. I was trained and certified to do this back in March, and March was a long time ago, so I was a bit nervous but fortunately I had the kindest, sweetest, most patient client for my first experience and really, it went quite well. He had a great attitude about the whole thing and was eager to take this next step in illustrating to the NC DMV his commitment to staying sober, so his positive attitude and cooperation made him an ideal candidate to allow me to test my technical skills and fortunately, we were successful!

Sherry and I are both working like maniacs getting ready for our 12 June audit and we are so ready for this to be over! We're going to celebrate in some form or fashion after it's finished, we just haven't figured out how yet.



My friend David (in Michigan) tells me he's going to put together a sailing program for us and I can't wait to hear the details on that. I'm ready to be on the water, in spite of the fact that one year ago today, I was spent twelve nerve-racking hours sailing in Tropical Storm Barry with a lunatic captain and a boat that felt like it was going to break apart with the next wave. I look back on that now and I can't believe we were able to crawl into shore in one piece, but thanks be to God we did and it was nothing short of a miracle. I'm also grateful that it didn't diminish my passion for sailing, even though I emerged bruised and more than a little battered. I can't wait to get back on the water on a viable boat with a knowledgeable captain who doesn't have a death wish and understands the importance of safety and weather forecasts.

I have relived the memories of one year ago today, but not in a dark way. I realized that tropical storm notwithstanding, I discovered a passion on that erstwhile sail. In hindsight, it probably wasn't the wisest thing to take off sailing in international waters with someone I knew so little about, but for me, that trip was less about the person and more about the water. The water, from the second I was invited on that trip, was the magnet for me. I wanted to finally know about sailing and though I wasn't really bargaining on a sail in such dangerous and dire conditions, I learned a great deal in those ten days. It has fueled a thousand dreams and if I'm lucky, it will be the catalyst of a few thousand more.

One of the interesting things about feeling unwell, even if it's just being laid up in bed for a few days with a bout of bronchitis, is that it reminded me of how much I missed feeling fine. Most of the time I feel great and like most of us, I take that for granted. The string of days, weeks and months when my health doesn't dip below the barometer, I just whiz through my days taking so much for granted. Only when I became congested, had a little difficulty breathing or smelling the coffee I enjoy every morning, did I think about how exceptional it is that most days I can do just about anything. Great health should never be taken for granted. You can't buy, barter or trade it. It is, in fact, a blessing and one I want to try really hard not to forget about or allow to go unnoticed. I need to thank God even before I pop out of bed each morning, that I appreciate the fact that I am waking up pain free and clear-headed.

A few weeks ago I bought a book - "The Last Lecture" by Randy Pausch, a former Carnegie-Mellon professor who was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer over a year ago. Groping around for something to read, I remember that book and in less than two days, I finished it. I highly recommend it. It's an amazing book and it's filled with lessons, reminders of what is important in this life.

This afternoon, as I perused Dr. Pausch's website for an update, I saw that he had participated in the commencement address this weekend at Carnegie-Mellon. If you have a couple of minutes, I highly recommend watching this. If you find yourself in or near a bookstore, do yourself a favor and read "The Last Lecture". It isn't at all sad or maudlin. It's inspiring, funny and laced with a gentle, exquisite poignancy. It is also a challenge. Perhaps it is true that we need to recapture those childhood dreams of ours, dust them off and look into using them as a foundation for new adventures, regardless of our present age.




All in all, it has been a pretty good week, bronchitis notwithstanding. I am grateful to God, my family, my ever-present and crazy friends and yes, I am also grateful for my faithful dog Cassie and her kind company when I took to my bed. It is practically summer, my favorite time of year, and there are all manner of reasons to celebrate. Life is exceptionally sweet and I am uncompromisingly grateful.

And yes, I really am becoming quite addicted to my Blackberry. If you're in the market for a way cool phone that can do practically everything but make tea, you should absolutely check it out. Before long, you'll wonder how you ever got along without it.

Oh, and a loyal dog. You really need a loyal dog - maybe more than you need a Blackberry Pearl. Cassie is over ten years old, but she still retains her sense of mischief, silliness and fun. Those qualities are incredibly attractive whether you're a dog, a cat and I know I'm drawn to people who have a natural exuberance, a feisty, fun and adventurous nature. The world seems populated with grown-ups who act way too grown-up. Maybe we all just need to kick back and get in touch with our inner puppy more often. Cassie reminds me of that often. Here's to jumping into the ocean, regardless of what you're wearing.

Happy Summer!!

Friday Night Fun...

It's not every Friday Night that I get to have dinner with two nice guys. I must be doing something right...or perhaps it was just my usual dumb luck?

We were surrounded by some rather strange diners, but we had a really interesting (and delicious!) meal - It's a wonderful thing to be outnumbered by males! I rather like the lopsided nature of that sort of mix.

Not only was I in fine company, but while David configured my new Blackberry and set up my e-mail account on my phone, Chris extolled me with tales of sailing on the northeast coast. Pretty cool stuff, indeed.

There are caveats to being single - it's hard to double date like this when you're "attached".

However, Karen G., in the Great State of Washington, you are still in charge of due diligence and finding me a sailor. With a boat. Who is single, fascinating, energetic, fit and seaworthy. My nautical future may well lie in your capable hands. No pressure. :-)

And a post script to David Rowe in Michigan/Toronto - you really need to head south but I have to tell you - I think we definitely need to look into sailing that great loop you were speaking of on the phone today. I hope you don't mind if I bring Cassie and Magellan (Libby will love her!). I'll definitely have to talk you into that. It's on my growing list of things to do.

My Wires Got Crossed But I'm Reconnected...

While enjoying a perfectly lovely lunch at Bluewater this past Thursday with Katie, Sherry and my friend Wayne, I placed my Motorola Razr Phone on the table. It was warm out and the scenery was beautiful as it always is on Wrightsville Beach, however, while we were dining, something happened: Condensation was the culprit. The sad truth is that my Razr got soaked from the drops of water that slipped off our iced tea glasses and onto the table, pooling around my cell phone. Corrosion occurred and that's never a good thing. My phone was rendered dysfunctional. Don't you just hate it when that happens?

What I hated even more is that this necessitated a trip to Alltel which can take longer than time spent in a dentist's chair leisurely enduring a root canal.

My recent visit on Friday took three hours. Not fun. That said, it was cheaper than a root canal.

Naturally, I had to decide on a new phone and I am now the proud owner of a Blackberry Pearl. I'll pause at this point for you to be suitably impressed.

You should be finished by now. I'm trying not to let it change me too much, but it's pretty heady. At some point, I even plan on understanding the applications and what this phone can and cannot do. Any phone that comes with software and it's own USB cable definitely has my attention and maybe even a modicum of my respect. I am not intimidated though - I'd never give it the pleasure of seeing me sweat - I cooly eye it in a kind of "you think you're so smart?" sort of way. With a little applied logic and a few mumbled obscenities, I generally figure things out. It's good to have a system.

Unfortunately, Alltel couldn't transfer my stored contacts to my spiffy new ultra cool blackberry. The next best option was that the young man who took care of me, I'll call him "Larry", as that is what his name tag suggested, would e-mail my contacts to me. True to his word, Larry did e-mail me, however I am sad to report that my contacts were not attached. Where my plethora of contacts are is anybody's guess. My alltel rep took my broken former cell phone and I left without it believing I would see my contacts in an e-mail. I am not happy about this, as you might imagine. Larry, if you're reading this, I'm still waiting. I'm becoming impatient.

I am not, admittedly, a person who enjoys spending a great amount of time on the phone, but I do have a circle of friends that I enjoy keeping up with and I have no idea what their cell phone numbers are. I assign names to my contacts and never took the time to remember their numbers. DUH!

So here is my request. If you are someone that I enjoy a friendship with and we have talked in the past year, I would appreciate it if you would e-mail me your phone number so that I can store it in my new phone. I had a rather large cell phone contact list and I have cordial relations with 99% of my formerly stored contacts. You know who you are.

The other 1% (and you know who you are) were stored in there as well so that I could avoid taking calls from the handful of people I don't really have any interest in talking with and it makes it easier to ignore the call if I know who it is that's calling me. I lost those numbers and "warnings" as well, but if you're reading this and feel you are probably in that 1% portion of stored contacts that I avoid answering - no need to send me your phone number. By the way, if you are in that 1% selection, why in the world are you even reading this anyway? It might be something for you to think about.

Now, on a more positive note, my 'preferred contact list' includes good friends such as Sally, Amy, Rick E., Tim, Steve K., Michel, Mike F., Sharon, Billie, Tom F., Kathleen C., Tom and Myra, Susan and Don B., Alistair N., Ruth J., Jimi Z., Jason M., Mary Ann M., Erik R., Bruce B., Nina G., David C., Cheyenne W., Bobbi L., Glen E., David R., Fast Eddie B., Jules L., Mitch N., and a few more that aren't springing to mind at the moment. If you are on this list, PLEASE e-mail me your cell phone number so I can get you back in your proper "stored" position. I would say call me, but I have a real aversion to answering my phone when I'm unsure who is calling me, but I am finding it necessary at this time and frankly I do it with great trepidation because there are some people who I don't really want to get stuck on the phone with for an hour or so and I don't say that to be unkind, it's just the truth. Of course, I have the essentials - my parents, Katie, Justin, Pizza Hut Delivery, Papa John's, CVS, Dr. B., and Salon Beyond Basics.

Note to Michel in France - when you called Thursday, (in addition to driving, drinking tea and being newly reblonded but you have ridden enough with me to understand that), I was completely unable to answer the call because, while I could hear that someone was ringing in, I couldn't push my own answer button. It was frustrating because I could see it was you calling, but I just couldn't answer the call! Call me back this week so I can store your number and catch up!

I am happy to report that my air conditioning is a cool running machine and I am so grateful to Tom for dropping in last Saturday Night and making some logical suggestions and also to Jason for spending most of last Sunday charging it with freon and working so hard to repair it. It is a great thing to have fine friends and I am richly blessed in that department.

Now, as to the swimming pool, it is still a work in progress, but I believe progress is being made. Pool Specialists came out and are trying to affect a repair of a leak in one of my returns. We're waiting to see if their remedy worked. It's swimming season and I'm in need of some aqua therapy!

We enjoyed a wonderful week with Katie in town. Right after I arrived home from work on Monday, Katie and Justin's dad, Tim, pulled in the driveway and, soon after, Justin walked in. It was great having everyone in my kitchen and catching up.

Monday Evening, Justin prepared dinner for his Dad and Katie in his new apartment and they had a wonderful time being together. When these kids grow up, it's a special treat to get everyone in the same town at the same time and this was a golden opportunity. Tim looked great - I hadn't seen him in something like four years.

After the kids and Tim headed for Justin's apartment, I was able to make my home group Monday Evening and I had a warm and wonderful time reconnecting with my homies and finding out what everyone has been up to. I enjoyed sitting next to my buddy Steve even if he did poke me to introduce myself as a visitor, given how long it had been since I'd visited Rule 62. It was a very special meeting. But then again, I've never been to one that wasn't.

Tuesday Evening, Tim graciously invited me to join him and the kids for dinner at The Oceanic. Katie and I met them at the restaurant around 7:00 (I had already scheduled a trim and re-blonding and it's hard to get appointments!) and we had a really nice evening. It was most generous and kind of Tim to include me as the last time we'd all had dinner was quite a few years ago and under completely different circumstances. The meal was great but the company was even more fun and of course, we took photos before we left the restaurant. It's so strange to imagine these kids are all grown up. Though we have parented from two distant cities as Katie and Justin were growing up, Tim and I both affirmed that we had been blessed and were quite pleased with who Katie and Justin have grown into being. We relived some sweet memories, laughed a great deal and I couldn't have been more proud and even more grateful that we are all close and care about each other as we do. That is a priceless blessing for sure. Such a "GOD" thing. Powerful!

On Wednesday, Tim returned to West Virginia, where he is working hard in preparation of opening up a Direct Buy Store in Cross Lanes. It's a HUGE project and an exciting time for him and, as it turns out, it's going to be an exciting time for Katie and Justin. I was shocked to find out that Tim had extended an invitation to Justin to join him in this new venture. It looks as if Justin will not be lingering long in his new apartment because his father is going to buy him out of his lease and move both he and Stephanie to Charleston to work with him. Not to be left out, it would seem as if Katie is going to work remotely from NYC for her Dad as well. So I guess you could deduce that I was out with one seasoned entrepreneur and two budding aspirants on Tuesday at dinner.

I'm telling you, it was a big news week!

Naturally, this is going to be a big adjustment for everyone, but it's a crazy fantastic opportunity for Justin and Katie. It is going to be the first time that my son has moved away on his own big time. Gulp! My gosh, I'm going to miss him like crazy, as are his grandparents, but there is no way he could or should turn down a chance like this. I guess I might have to actually make a trip north to Charleston at some point in the future and, to be honest, I've never missed West Virginia for two-seconds, but now I'll have family there and I guess I'll be buying some Dramamine at some point for those twisty roads in order to visit my son. He's worth it.

Thursday was hectic. Sherry very kindly gave me the day off so that Katie and I could cram as much time as possible on her last day here. We had lunch at Bluewater with Sherry and our new friend Wayne (a native of "that" state), and then we went shopping and hung out until it was time to drive to Fayetteville late Thursday Night for Katie to make her 1:00 AM train that would deliver her back to Manhattan and John. As you can imagine, I was dreading the goodbyes.

Fortunately, Wayne kindly offered to drive us to the train station and, because of the late hour of departure, I was happy to accept his invitation. Wayne made a great chauffeur but unfortunately, he didn't get lost and we did arrive at the Amtrack Station in Fayetteville in plenty of time for Katie to make her connection. It was hard to say goodbye. It always is, but Wayne was great at keeping the mood light so it wasn't a tear fest by any stretch of the imagination. I behaved but I hugged her quite a few times. Hey, we had a delightful week together and she's happy, healthy and doing so well and her life is now in Manhattan with John and their two cats. I am just so proud of her even if she did have to grow up and move away from home and get all independent on me. It happens.

Except for a small detour around Clinton on the way home, Wayne expertly navigated us back home and I arrived back in Wilmington a little before 4:00 AM. With Justin now moved out, this house has expanded and grown obscenely quiet. Cassie welcomed me back inside and I made my way to bed. Katie sent me some funny text messages on her trip north (my phone could receive text messages even in its altered state). I smiled with every one she sent. And after a couple of minutes, I just wanted to cry again because I missed her so terribly. I still do. Indeed I do.

Friday Morning Katie arrived back in NYC and I sat at my desk and relived the week and wondered how it is that time flies so fast when she's home yet seems to crawl between visits with this sprite of mine. I don't know how that works, but it's painfully true and unfortunately reliable. Oh well, they come, they grow and then they go. It's life. It's good stuff (yeah, right). Life goes on for all of us and the sun still shines.

I went into work for a while yesterday and then hit Barnes and Noble because a book or two are the recommended treatment for the post-Katie blues. After that, my friend kindly treated me to dinner at The Bridge Tender and it was scrumptious. After dinner we went outside and sat by the ICW and traded West Virginia stories. In fact, we closed the restaurant! I got home about 2:00 AM - still stuffed but otherwise in good shape.

So that's all the news that's fit to print! I miss Katie and I'm already in preparation to miss Justin in a couple of months. I like to get ahead of schedule on a few things and realizing my baby is going to be way way out of town will be a challenge for me. However, what a comfort it is to know he's going to be working alongside his father, learning so much and getting to know Tim even better. He'll be well taken care of and in very good hands and of this I have no doubt.

Transitions are happening everywhere and I feel like I'm caught up in this wild vortex, but these are positive changes although I reserve the right for a little maternal sadness now and then. I'm sure we'll survive these relocations and have new stories to share when we do get together about life, adventures and living our collective lives in different cities, yet inextricably intertwined by the love that binds us all.

Note to self: I need a sailboat...this house is really too quiet. My kids have either flown the coop or are in the process of filing flight plans. It's time to take to the sea.

I've just got to find a boat with a ship-shape guy.

(Karen - yes, you Karen G. - I'm assigning this project to you. I'll expect full and detailed reports on your much anticipated and expected progress :-)