"Adventures with aviaries" will continue, but first..."A Canadian Summer Forecast" Update...

Today's Quote:

"Tigger is all right really," said Piglet lazily.
"Of course he is," said Christopher Robin.
"Everybody is really," said Pooh. "That's what I think," said Pooh.
"But I don't suppose I'm right," he said.
"Of course you are," said Christopher Robin."
'The Tao of Pooh' by Benjamin Hoff,

This just in...

To bring you up-to-speed on the burning question of "Just what day does summer occur in Canada?", I have heard from a few sources who seem to be in possession of some credibility? Credibility in the sense that they have never lied to be previously. Of course, I have never corresponded with them before, but that's not really important now, is it?

Kim E. , a self described "knadn_eh" , who is presently residing in the more temperate climes of the US, and fancies herself a "cross-border Ambassador", reports that summer actually comes-a-callin' in Oh Canada! "somewhere around" 22 July which, coincidentally or not, happens to be her mother's birthday. Oh wait, upon further inspection of Kim E.'s post, she is back-peddling just a bit and saying that summer actually hits, slams, gently brushes up against, one could say tickles, the great country of Canada "around" June. Kim, always leaving herself an "out", quickly qualifies this with, "It's been known to snow 2 hours north of Toronto on May 24th weekend" which, according to Kim, is THE BIG weekend in Canada. Probably due to preparations and pre-party meetings for her Mum's birthday which is somewhere "around" July 22nd, is what I'm thinking.

Now, in terms of "Just how long does it last?" and who among us doesn't want to know the answer to that burning question - oh wait, it's Canada we're speaking of just now, Kim informs me that Summer takes up residence until "about" , the 3rd week of August which again, coincidentally (or not?) is the first day of the Ex - or the Royal Canadian Exhibition. I don't know much about Canadian history, but apparently they become exhibitionistic somewhere 'round the 3rd week of August...I'm not sure what the"ex" means that Kim so surreptitiously inserted there...a hint I'm thinking...some kind of clue, but that's HER story and apparently she's sticking to it because she hasn't removed or amended her post from my GUEST BOOK. If that doesn't scream "you can take it to the bank", then I don't know what does.

Canadians are a very reliable and far advanced bunch. I still shake my head in sheer wonder as I contemplate the multi-tasker that is Julianna Banana, and how at such a tender age she is able to maintain and update her website, do a lot of chores both inside and out of the house , fight a rather formidable disease, mingle with all manner of celebrities and still find the time, on those rare moments off, to be a kid. Am I to believe she's an average Canadian? I really must visit this country.

Kim E., was also generous enough to offer information as to the best places to visit "(besides Winnipeg, of course!). Apparently Ms. E has some connections, or maybe gets kickbacks or "referral fees", for providing an "in" with some folk on the Georgian Bay which she goes on to explain to those not in the know, such as yours truly, that this Georgian Bay she speaks of is "way-North for those at the border!)".

Kim, just so you know, I am writing this from south, south, south of the border, but not down Mexico way...though I did at one time in my life reside in four different cities in Texas (not at the same time, of course). I haven't really thought of North Carolina as the "deep south" on second thought - it's all relative, isn't it? To those folk on the Georgian Bay who send you checks for luring unsuspecting blond American citizens (Canada must have heard a few dumb blond jokes, eh?), check out this handy map for a quick American lesson in geography, and the distance I'm going to have to close to visit those folk you speak of; North Carolina - Georgian Bay.

That's a LOT of real estate. Though I actually live in Wilmington, NC, it was just easier to mark the distance from Raleigh to Ontario. Raleigh, as we all know, is a pretty famous place because it's the big city where Deputy Barney Fife (AKA Don Knotts), used to visit when taking some time off from the rigors and madness of keeping things in Mayberry in order. Barney would always stay in the same deluxe accommodation: corner room at the YMCA. You can't say the man didn't have class.

But back to my topic which was "WDDSOIC" or, if you're just joining us, What Day Does Summer Occur in Canada? To further elaborate on this inquiry, just this morning I received a note from, let's call s/he "anonymous which works out perfectly since that's exactly how s/he signed his/her comment submission. According to "anonymous", "generally it's Tuesday, often a Tuesday in July. However, it does tend to move around a little so you might wish to pack up your wool leggings, heavy parka, moon boots, mittens and cap and visit for a week in July hoping, just hoping beyond hope, to hit the day. Does this help?"

As a matter of fact, Ms./Mr. Anonymous, if that's your real name, it does help. It helped me come to the realization that I may never be able to visit the glory that is Oh Canada!, because I don't possess any of those articles of clothing that you mentioned and with the way my budget currently doesn't exist because there's not enough money to actually merit a budget, I will be quite retired and decrepit by the time I may...and I stress "MAY", have enough funds to buy the apparel required to visit any location North of Cleveland. This has been difficult for me to accept and, just to make sure, I again logged onto my bank statement and was met with an error code that said "blank statement". I didn't take this as a good sign. Clearly, I need to get the book I am currently writing published because there may be the off chance that I could possibly visit Oh Canada! on a book tour. Does anyone know how to contact Oprah? Feel free to write on my behalf.

So what does all this really mean? I have no idea, but I did find this site interesting and helpful! Apparently the Canadian summer is a fragile, mercurial and sometimes elusive animal. I do want to visit the great North someday, so perhaps that is what is behind my quest for discovering the days of summer, but now this whole wardrobe thing has me a bit disturbed (more so than my usual state of routine disturbance). I suppose I could start a "Send me to Canada Fund", but again, I'd like to get there while I'm still ambulatory and unaided by a walker. Plus, with folks like the lovely Julianna Banana, Kim E. and this mysterious "anonymous" comment poster, I'm all the more curious.

Back to work for me. I have a book to work on, an aviary update to write, and I'm about to be a grandmother at the tender age of 44, well, I guess by the time I'm a grandmother I will be 45 because Sunday, February 6th, I will be hitting the big 45. I remember not so long ago when I thought that anyone past the age of 40 was ancient. I stopped feeling that way a few days prior to turning 40. I'm slowly beginning to think that 50 is early middle age. I always laugh and feel the urge to punch people who say, "You're turning 45? Of course that's not old! Don't you know that age is just a number?". The people who always say that are usually a good ten to fifteen years younger than me and apparently see the fear in my eyes and the wrinkles that are no doubt forming around them. Oh bother...as Winnie-the-Pooh would say who, I do believe, is Canadian himself?

You gotta ask yourself, are you "Pink Bracelet Worthy" and A Burning Question With Regard to "Oh Canada!"

Being a writer, I guess you could say I'm a little on the curious side. Recently, I asked someone in the great far North a simple question and I got a threat in return! Perhaps, if I ask this simple question in a more public forum, I might get an actual, you know, answer. I have been advised that in the part of the world known as "Oh Canada!", this is "National Why Don't We Live In Florida" Month. I used to live in Ft. Lauderdale/Miami and it's true, I remember the influx of snow birds and I made some pretty cool friends because they were observing this important period of their calendar. OK, so I did see a few Canadians in undersized Speedos and thongs but never anything that resembled the WWII Normandy Beach Landing...not at all. Canadians rock and who among us south of the border, isn't a sucker for the accent, eh?

Well, I USED to think they were an ultra cool lot, until I asked a certain Canadian who lives in an area that I believe is somewhere between Winnipeg (what a cute name!) and the North Pole. This person even has a website and if you're extra curious, and you really should do yourself and check out this site;CaringBridge.org - julianna. Having said that, being the professional writer and adult that I am (I can hear the laughter - don't think I can't - I know who you are...), I will not name any names, I'll simply restate the question that has YET to be answered...

Exactly, WHAT DAY DOES SUMMER OCCUR IN CANADA?

I kind of need to know. Anyone having any information on this question, I would be profoundly grateful if s/he would E-mail and let me in on what I'm starting to wonder is a state secret.

If you do visit Miss Julianna's site, you might want to consider induction into the ultra-exclusive "SPWUBBA WUBBA" AKA Secret Society of Pink Wish Bracelet Wearers, pronounced "spwubba-wubba". There's even a secret handshake, but I can't go any further and I've probably said too much as it is...putting my precious membership in jeopardy.

I don't mean to brag, but I was inducted into this super cool club in August 2004 (it's on my resume). Of course, this includes a formal portrait to be taken, which will be posted on "The Banana Bracelet Pink Wall of Fame" which can be accessed here, Julianna Banana, and let me tell you, I'm not the ONLY celebrity on that wall of fame. A few lesser knowns include Hilary Duff, the "Trading Spaces Gang" including "Designer Doug", Paige, Ty (who I really WISH would redo my house - talk about a challenging project...The fact that he's not called only reconfirms for me that there are some things even the "Trading Spaces" folks are afraid to tackle - what a bunch of lightweights...(I'm not so subtly laying down the gauntlet), and oh yeah...oh, oh, yeah...I have to agree with Julianna Banana's Mom on the wonder that is "Carpenter Carter". If you check out the page, you will also see William, who is the voice of "Bob the Builder" sports his own pink wish bracelet, and those are only a FEW of the glitterati set up for your viewing pleasure.

And folks, there's absolutely no catch. All you have to do is send a SASE

Obviously the vetting process can't be too stringent - After all, they let me in.

I just keep hoping that someone will answer my question. I love to travel and I'd love to see Canada on the day they call summer...any information would be most appreciated.

Don't Make Me Beg...It's So Unattractive

"The Journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step..."

So I guess one could extrapolate from that very wise, Chinese proverb, that a 1000 word newspaper column begins with a single word. Anyone got a word they might be willing to share? Take your time, I've got a whopping four hours until my deadline. No pressure.

You would think with a topic as broad as "Single Parenting", I could come up with more than enough ideas to choose from and, to be honest, thirteen days of every two-week period, I can usually come up with at least five or six, but let it come down to that one day when I actually have to produce, and it's like someone has reformatted my brain and there is no memory.

When this happens, I usually stare out the window of my office for a really long time. Then I notice how dirty the window is. Anyone who knows me at all, can attest to the fact that I am about as domestic as the international terminal in Newark Airport. I've been called a lot of things in my time, but never have I been referred to, even in jest, as Susie Homemaker.

But the strangest thing happens on the day I find myself staring blankly out of the dirty window of my office. I start searching for Windex and I climb up on the window sill and I become a cleaning fool. When I run out of ways to use Windex, I start organizing and, again, this is not one of my strong suits. I clean out my pencil holder, make new file tabs, rearrange the reference books on my desk, sift through thirteen days of mail that has been sitting in the "I'll get to that later" basket and, if I am feeling particularly void of inspiration, I will actually listen to the 55 messages on my voice mail that usually expire before I get around to checking on them, which is always funny because most of them start out with, "Hi Susie, I know you probably won't get this message but...". I have very wonderful, compassionate and long-suffering friends who love me in spite of myself. They probably look upon me as some kind of community service project. I'm fine with that.

Deadlines have a very strange effect on me.

I thought that perhaps this blog would be a wonderful way to elicit (think beg) inspirational, creative, brilliant, thought-provoking, fresh ideas to build my column around. OK, so I couldn't exactly give the person who's idea I choose direct credit, but wouldn't the satisfaction of knowing you made my life just a little less stressful be appreciation enough? You could even call it a random act of kindness, charity, a gift, whatever you want. If I could, I would even make your contribution tax-deductible, but I'm pretty sure that's against some tax law, so for now let's not wake-up the IRS. Unless you are an employee of the IRS and if you are, I think you people are doing a fantastic job and it's amazing the volume of paperwork you must have to deal with and yet somehow you maintain that sunny, efficient and friendly disposition. Makes my little conundrum of column fodder look like a day at the beach...

But it's January and it's a little too chilly to be at the beach right now and this is, quite frankly, all about me. Let's stay on topic, shall we? Speaking of which, have you got one? You can shoot me an E-mail, leave it as a comment or make a guest book entry so other reader's can see how generous and intelligent you really are. The delivery system you choose is of no import to me, just please try and get it to me within the next, oh I don't know, fifteen minutes or so? Throw me a freaking bone, will you?

I just finished rereading for the third time because yes, it was that good, David Sedaris' latest collection of essays, "Dress Your Family In Corduroy and Denim". Thank God he had a slightly dysfunctional childhood because I can't imagine his work would be nearly as entertaining had he grown up with June Cleaver for a Mom. I grew up with June Cleaver for a Mom but my Dad was definitely more like Robert Young in "Father Knows Best". I would like to say he was like Andy Taylor, but he put in more hours and I can only recall one time he actually took me fishing.

It's because they were such wonderful parents that I don't have a lot of early dysfunction to draw upon and I don't mean to be casting stones here, but I can't even recall over-hearing a single argument between my Mom and Dad and, when you consider they had to somehow agree on raising and dealing with me, that's solid evidence of a miracle right there. They have always been obnoxiously well-adjusted and of even temperament. Just my rotten luck. I can't seem to catch a break.

Clearly, I had the unsolicited burden of bringing in a little dysfunction to mix things up a bit and, if I do say so myself, I have made things a bit more colorful for my family. I've had easy assists from my son and daughter who have provided ample opportunities for me to send them into years of therapy and probably at least two guest appearances when Oprah spotlights adult children who share horror stories of "How My Mother Ruined My Life - Let Me Count The Ways". Good thing I stay away from TV.

But for now, I have no time to discuss dysfunction and my part in it. Let's save that for another time, another post, shall we? I need to talk about gratitude, which is what I will be filled with when someone out there gives me a topic for my next column, allowing me, once again, to defy the clock and hit the "Send" button a good five minutes before my work is due.

Please hurry. I'm starting to see spots on my window and the windex is in my desk and I'm not afraid to use it. Don't make me go there.

More to come...

Up to speed with the Aviary...

No, I am NOT related to David Sedaris. I just have a "colorful" family. And we'll just leave it at that.

It's been a very David Sedaris kind of day with a sprinkling of Fred Rogers - interesting combination, don't you think? Everything I've started has gotten interrupted, tossed by the wayside, kicked to the recycling bin or erased from the hard drive I jokingly refer to as my "mind". I think I need more RAM and apparently my mind is of a brand that just isn't compatible with anything on the shelf of Best Buy or Circuit City. Maybe I'm generic? Oh gosh, I hope not.

Of course, there is a bit of history surrounding the aviary and our propensity for keeping all manner of animals, domestic, exotic or otherwise. Nothing is ever completely simple in my world. Sometimes I wonder if that's by design or dumb luck.

In August 2000, we relocated from Amarillo, Texas to Wilmington, NC. In addition to our two dogs including Cassie, Freeway, four cats (Sylvester, Princess, Felix and Tabitha, we also moved a few additional creatures. In my best Dave Barry voice, I am not making this up. I was there, it happened, here's what I saw at the revolution: We successfully managed to move a pair of veiled chameleons, a 12 inch bearded dragon, a juvenile sulcata tortoise, one ball python, one corn snake, one king (not to be confused with coral) snake, one utterly disgusting gopher snake, one dumpy tree frog, and the requisite crickets and a few feeder mice (but no partridges in any pear trees), because with this motorized noah's ark, we were looking at a 3 day road trip from Amarillo to Wilmington.

Now I don't mean to take exception with the folks at "Mapquest", but I think it was a tad bit further than 1,526 miles and I know for certain that their estimated driving time of 24 hours and 38 minutes did NOT take into consideration a few things; We got lost - several times in many major cities and it almost always involved I-40 and beltways. Also, one Mom and two kids can consume a LOT of iced tea on a cross-country trip in August and when you take in that much liquid well, you know the rest of THAT story. We had to make a few stops along the way. We were either heading for drive-throughs to buy more iced tea or heading for establishments with public rest rooms to get rid of it.

Large dogs also have to stop now and again and stretch their limbs, so we tried to incorporate that into our other non-scheduled stops. As for the cats, my vet was kind enough to supply tranquilizers and I only got bit twice dispensing them. No, to answer the question you must be wondering, I did NOT take the animal tranquilizers...and I only considered it a half-dozen times at most.

Imagine this scene: At the end of everyday, having put in an average of 500 miles, we would choose a hotel along the interstate. We aren't talking four-star Four Seasons, but something decent with a minimum of cockroaches although, come to think of it, we could have just used those for reptile food. Many exotic reptiles love to eat things that are interactive and fresh. It's the same for snakes, and I'm ashamed to admit that I love watching it.

I would park the car in the lot of a potential source of lodging, way out of sight of the desk clerk, walk into the lobby and with my best smile I would ask if they had any rooms available? If I got past that question, I would crank up my smile a little wider and casually inquire if they accepted pets? Sometimes there was a moment or two of hesitation on the part of the innkeeper, but more times than not, I got a "Yes, sure. What is it, a little dog?". Not wanting to outright lie, I would just passively nod my head and smile and sign on the dotted line and get out of the lobby before said innkeeper would wonder why I looked so shell-shocked and change his/her mind.

They had no idea. If they had only known...

Under the cover of darkness, Katie, Justin and I would make several trips to the car, which was by now parked as close to trees and obscured as much as possible, and commence unloading just about everything. The finicky, but beautiful, Veiled Chameleons required a heat source at night for digestion, as did the bearded dragon and a few other things. Of course, the crickets had to come in because the reps were hungry! The dogs happily, exuberantly jumped out of the car and the cats, well, the cats were always last because as soon as we released them in the room, things got a little crazy. Cats get a little high-strung after being cooped up in a kennel for any period longer than, oh, say ten minutes. The feline mood after 10 plus hours in a car? Exponentially worse. If looks could kill, the three of us would have never made it out of Amarillo alive.

In the mornings, usually between 8 and 9 o'clock, the same scene was repeated, only in reverse but with the cats going in first because they are lightning fast and I am sure they spent each night trying to plot a collective escape. Cats are very clever. They also tend to hold a grudge.

One incident that lingers in my mind when I think back to the insanity of moving so many animals so many miles, happened around 8:30 AM in rush hour traffic on the part of I-40 that goes straight through downtown Memphis. We had spent the night in West Memphis, Arkansas, and within minutes we were crossing the Mississippi River. Things were going well and happily my daughter was driving because the combination of traffic, big cities, long bridges and 18 wheelers buzzing by at an incredible rate of speed, usually inspires a panic attack and I just didn't have the time to schedule one. My daughter, however, has no fear when it comes to stressful driving situations and she handles it like a pro.

In fact, there are very few things Katie is afraid of, but that morning, as she (wo)manned the wheel of our Chrysler through downtown Memphis, Tennessee, I remembered one thing she was deathly afraid of and it was a fear that we shared, though my case was of a much milder variety, and it had nothing to do with some ghost of Elvis floating around Graceland.

Gopher Snakes.

Gopher snakes have the uncanny ability to do a "dead-on" impression of a rattle snake. They shake their tales in rapid motion, hiss, and even but their heads against the tank in a coiled up position as if affecting a strike. Couple that with their all-around rather nasty disposition and it's hard to have warm feelings about these cold-blooded critters. I never cared for them, but my son was bent on buying one a few months previously and, as often is the case, against my better judgment, I relented. It wasn't a good move.

As we were motoring down the highway, Katie keenly concentrating on traffic flow and lane changes, I heard something pop and looked back to see that the cage containing the gopher snake had moved a few inches and the lid had been knocked off just enough to allow the evil thing to slither around the car. Realizing the snake was fearless, and taking into consideration that my daughter and I were not, my most primary fear was that Katie would become hysterical and we would wind up with the dubious distinction of becoming the most exotic mix of road kill that Tennessee had ever witnessed. I don't mind being a trailblazer, but even I have limits.

What to do? I wasn't exactly at ease with the situation and in addition to fearing Katie's reaction should the snake come crawling up front toward the driver, I worried that it might decide to pay a visit to one of the cat kennels and, somehow, I just didn't think this would be a very good thing. Even a doped up cat would probably get a little crazy should a snake decide to strike. Cats are just funny that way.

"Katie, do you mind if we take the next exit? I think I need to go...go...get some decent coffee. This stuff is sludge!".

My request was met with a lot of eye rolling.

"Mom, we just got in the car. You can wait. Let's just through Memphis and I'm sure there will be a place to get you a fresh cup of coffee."

"Katie, I really need the coffee bad and I need it now. Please? Could you just take the next exit? I'm not asking for a lot here.", I said, pleading and hoping I wouldn't have to give her more information than she could safely process and still drive a car.

"Fine! Fine. We are NEVER going to get to Wilmington at this rate. WhatEVER!", spoken as only a 17 year old female can.

For a few seconds, I wondered if she and I were extras in some out-take of "Freaky Friday" and had done a role reversal. Was SHE now the Mom and I was the annoying daughter? I was asking my daughter for permission to pull off and get a decent cup of coffee? Hello? Did she NOT know who I was? I'm the MOM! For a couple of minutes I was suddenly annoyed that I had to beg one of my kids for coffee. How many times had I stopped when THEY needed something to drink or eat or they just couldn't hold it one more tenth of a mile? Talk about selective amnesia. Had I denied one of THEIR requests, those kids would have been on THEIR cell phones to DSS so fast I wouldn't have seen them taken away.

But wait, we had a "situation" on our hands with the potential for loss of life and it was my mission to see to it that it wasn't human (Katie: heart attack) OR feline (who knows but it would have been ugly). Reluctantly, she took the next exit and mumbled a little more about how I needed to cut back on the fluids, as she pulled into the parking lot of a McDonald's.

As soon as she put the car in "park", I told her to exit the vehicle NOW and, in retrospect, I really wasn't very calm about it. As soon as I made sure we were out and the snake was still in, I told her that the gopher snake was on the loose and was probably in a very bad mood. Shrieks! Screams! More shrieks! A little mild profanity. She sometimes has a bit of a potty mouth. Probably her upbringing.

I then pulled out my cell phone and called my son, who was riding in my parents van a few miles behind us, and told him to tell Pops which exit to take and to get where we were - STAT. I was informed that I had interrupted his Gameboy session, but after filling him in on the emergency, he "got it".

"Is it OK? You didn't kill it did you??"

What about me? What about his sister. What about his cats?

By the time my parents van pulled up, Katie was still pacing around the car saying, "Why didn't you tell me??!! I can't believe you didn't tell me.". Duh. She was shaking. Why did she for one-second think she could handle a moving vehicle with the full knowledge that a very mean reptile was playing hide and seek in the car?

Within minutes, Justin had the snake back in it's cage and securely fastened and no cats were harmed in the process. He just shook his head at Katie's histrionics and my irritation. What was the big deal, he wondered? It's just a non-poisonous snake. It's not like we'd die or anything, even if it had mistaken us for a R.O.U.S. (rodent of unusual size).

Inconceivable!!

Actually, it really did happen that way. I could only shake my head and for a few weeks after we safely arrived at our new home, as my wonderful, new neighbors would ask me how the trip back East was, I thought better of telling them exactly how things went down. I wondered if these new potential friends would think I was eccentric, quirky or just plain, garden variety insane. Realizing that sometimes first impressions do matter, I would simply smile and say, "Oh, it was fine. Great. You know, kind of long, but no problems. " Who would believe it? I lived it and I didn't believe it.

Right about now, you might be asking yourself, "So what does any of that have to do with an aviary?".

It's a legitimate question, but I have a logical answer. It would take a person far more daring than me to try and move about 25 finches 1600 (or 1526 if you choose to believe Mapquest), miles. Every now and then, even I know my limits. We had the whole food chain thing going on as it was. Can you imagine how much chaos a loose finch could unleash (pun intended) in a car loaded down with dogs, cats, reptiles, amphibians, mice and crickets and 3 humans? I just couldn't go there.

Before leaving Amarillo, I gave our finch inventory and all of the accompanying equipment to Texotic Pets.

Aviary Abberations and Finch Fantasies...

But I missed it. I always missed it. There's something fascinating about watching the whole life cycle of a species of bird, from introduction, coupling up, territorial disputes, nest building, egg sitting, more territorial disputes, cooperative, tag-team parenting, flying lessons and watching it start all over again. Finches are amazing parents, both genders, and you can learn a lot about life watching a Finch Family. There are lessons involving so many things that trip many of my species up, such as companionship, devotion, loyalty, shared responsibilities, nurturing, tending the home fires and, perhaps the most challenging issue for me at the present time, the manner in which they prepare their young fledglings to leave home. I have probably struggled with the "letting go" part, the most. I find it's way far more tricky than the being born phase. Of course, that's the big secret they don't share with you in Lamaze Class. They don't even begin to scratch the surface.

Of course, if any of us knew, would we really sign on for this angst?

Probably.

I knew I needed more finch lessons.

Enter Christmas 2004, dateline: Wilmington, NC.

I have a very sweet and wonderful friend named Dan. A few days before Christmas, he and I were hanging out in the open loft area outside the door of my home office. One of the features of this room is a large cut-out area that overlooks the downstairs living room. The opening, measuring approximately 96 inches wide and 40 inches tall, featured wooden bars spaced at 3 inch intervals. It gave the loft a very airy feeling but, otherwise, it wasn't all that much to look at. The downstairs living room didn't look all that different from the second floor and the view would hardly qualify as a kodak photo spot.

I was a little puzzled as I caught my friend measuring and remeasuring the opening. When I asked him what he was doing, he just shrugged and said he wondered how a shade or glass would look in place of the bars. He mentioned that it would cut down on the noise drifting upstairs from the living room and kitchen, where the TV always seems to be turned on, even if no one is in there watching it. I have no idea why that is. I never watch TV. Somehow though, that kitchen TV broadcasts annoying dribble at any given hour of the day. I wonder if it has an "off" switch. Were it up to me, this house wouldn't have a TV and, save for the occasional DVD or hurricane season updates from The Weather Channel, and the daily dose of "The Andy Griffith Show", I'd never miss it. Plus, if anyone is in the kitchen or living room and chatting, forget about anything resembling privacy. With the tile on the floor and the high ceilings, there are scant areas for a private conversation in this house. It echoes. Maybe other people keep the TV on to cover up their super-private talks about things I am probably better off not hearing about in the first place. I have no idea. I only live here.

I didn't really give Dan's (stranger than usual) behavior with regard to his measurement taking any further thought. He's really tall (6'2"), very handsome and extremely patient (he is my friend, after all), and I just figured everyone (yes, even me!) has idiosyncrasies and perhaps taking rogue measurements is one of Dan's. He's got so many nice traits going for him that I have decided to allow him to have a few odd habits. The rest of his strange tics and mannerisms? That's a whole OTHER post.

Christmas Morning, my family, animals and some wonderful friends shared the day with me. My friend, Mitch, dropped by late morning with a very decadent, calorie-laden dessert and, as always, it was wonderful to see him...especially seeing him carrying a really rich confection. I'd still think he's special even if he didn't bake, but it just doesn't hurt anything that he does.

Soon enough it was time for dinner and we were blessed and most pleased to have Dan and his Mom, Peggy, join my family for Christmas Dinner. As usual, my Mom out did herself. She's a great cook but you just do NOT go near any kitchen she happens to be working in because you will be in the way. It doesn't matter where you are standing, what you are holding or the direction you may be looking, even if it's out the window, you will be in her way. Period.

After dinner, it was time for more gift unwrapping and though this wasn't an extravagant Christmas in terms of tangible presents, it was very rich in feeling and I adored every person sitting in my living room and was happy to be sharing this special day with each of them. In fact, this Christmas was so frugal that it provided, as so many things in my life do, fine "Single...With Children" column fodder and I wrote about it, of course. That's what I do.

Everyone seemed pleased and the presents, though sparse, were very well received. And normal. That is, until I opened the gift bag I received from Dan. It was a shiny black gift bag, very UN-Christmasy and the component of an inside joke having to do with me possessing a few Scrooge-like tendencies, which I think is completely overblown but, you know, people will think what they will. However, it got even more weird when I examined the contents of this suspect black bag, but first -

TRUE CONFESSIONS ALERT! I have to admit to something I don't normally reveal. I love all things dental. I'm not sure where this comes from, maybe from spending years of my childhood situated in a dental chair because my teeth were a veritable mess. I had extractions, fillings, crowns, braces, more extractions, 2 retainers because my dog chewed up one of them, and I got to know my family's dentist very well. For years, I was pretty sure he must be a not-so-distant relative that we simply had to pay to spend time with. I never really minded the procedures and I developed this fondness for things like gritty toothpaste, all manner of tooth-whitening solutions, pastes, gels, white strips, and instruments! Oh my gosh, one of the happiest days of my life was when I finally decided to go a little crazy and make the calculated and much anticipated purchase of an ELITE Sonicare. Who could possibly forget a day like that? I've even had a friend give me a portable and electric flosser as a gift, and I couldn't have been more excited. OK, so it's probably not in the middle of the normal spectrum, but what is normal anyway and do we really want to go there? It's normal for me and that's enough.

Back to they mysterious black bag. In it were such items as my favorite, most grittiest toothpaste - very similar to the kind I fell in love with in France, - my favorite color of Listerine, TWO Elite Sonicare heads, Purell (because I love the way it's cold, the scent and the way it evaporates almost instantly), a really unattractive pin that I would never wear in a million years, Benadryl (4 cats, 2 dogs - I have at least six allergies), and last, but not least, GUMMI BEARS. The really good kind made with real fruit juice. Dan went all out and clearly put a lot of thought and consideration into my Christmas present. It was definitely a Walgreens Christmas.

I guess it was kind of weird, at that.

As I was pilfering through my gift bag of eccentric presents, I felt everyone's eyes upon me. I think they were waiting for some kind of negative reaction, but if they were looking to me for a sign of unhappiness, they were completely out of luck. I was the proud owner of two brand new Sonicare heads. Merry Christmas to me!

My Dad suddenly popped up and asked me if I would go look at something with him in another room. How odd. In the middle of company my Dad decides I need to go look at something on a computer with him. I am followed by Peggy and Katie. What exactly were we going to see? The three of them seemed a bit nervous and I wondered why my Dad's usually impeccable manners had taken flight. Turns out he wanted to show me an old photo of the aviary that my son and I had built in Amarillo. OK. And????

About five minutes later my son walked in and said Dan needed to see me out on the patio by the pool. What is up with everyone requiring my attention for basically no sensible reason? I just shook my head and walked toward the back and then...I stopped. When I glanced toward the living room, there it was. I had told Dan about the aviary that Justin and I had built and that it had been the subject of the second newspaper column I had ever written way back in July 2000. I might have mentioned that I missed it, because I did. I missed the life. The soft melodic sounds that finches make. The rustling of feathers. The frenzied preparation when eggs are ready to be laid and the urgent, albeit hushed, tones of babies demanding to be fed.

You can't watch a Finch Family and not be impressed with the focus and single-mindedness they bring to all aspects of taking care of a clutch of fledglings. It makes you smile and if you are the tiniest bit human with a shred of a functioning, metaphorical heart, you feel warmth. You feel a sense of awe. Sometimes, you feel jealous because finches don't file for divorce, as far as I know. They stick it out and it stays. There's no visible bickering and if they disagree, they are admirably discreet. I'm fairly sure the kids are protected and for some reason, I feel safe as well. Watching a Finch Family makes me feel two things; first of all, I feel envy because I always thought my kids would be raised in the familial atmosphere those baby birds enjoy. Secondly, for whatever reason, I feel hope. Somewhere in my heart I can't help but think if these birds have it worked out, maybe, just maybe, there's hope for the rest of us. I can't be sure, but that's what I feel and hope, regardless of the source, is never a thing to be discounted. Come to think of it, wasn't it Emily Dickinson who wrote, so many years ago,

"Hope is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me."

I guess for me, it can be said that an aviary gives me hope. Not the false kind (what an oxymoron is that?). I just wish I understood "finch" so I could figure this whole relationship/family thing out. I understand most of the components, and I can identify the players and I'm familiar with most of the dynamics, I just wish I could see what makes the whole thing function. I have heard it said that we (humans - not me personally) are "too smart" to grasp simple concepts. If that's the case, maybe we all need to collectively "dumb down" just a bit and see what happens.

An Attitude of Gratitude...For A Day I Thought Was The End Of The World

"When I think of Robert Frost's poem's, like "The Road Not Taken," I feel the support of someone who is on my side, who understands what life's choices are like, someone who says, "I've been there, and it's okay to go on."

Taken from, "The World According to Mr. Roger's - Important Things To Remember"

Last week I celebrated a very special, albeit personal, anniversary. One year ago, January 12th, 2004, things looked about as bleak as they possibly could. I generally maintain a sunny disposition, but I couldn't see anything resembling light in the mess I found myself in the middle of and I didn't know which direction to turn. I didn't even know if a direction existed. Fortunately, a very good direction was available.

I'll elaborate more on this in a later post or, as the saying goes, always with a delicious hint of mystery, "more will be revealed", but I do have the need to send out some very special thank yous to some very special people. Of course, I will keep the names anonymous, but you know who you are and I know who you are and who you are is so much more than a name.

The one thing I can testify to is that miracles still happen, because the fact that I am sitting here, alive and well and offering thanks, is nothing short of a major miracle and kudos to what must be a team of guardian angels both in heaven and, fortunately for me, here on earth.

Wednesday, January 12th, 2005, marked one year of a journey that I pray will last the rest of my life. I know that if I remain willing to take a few suggestions and focus on doing the "next right thing", there will be many more such anniversaries to celebrate.

The token I received to mark this milestone doesn't really look all that impressive. It's a simple, plastic, blue disc that resembles a poker chip, but I've had my eye on that blue disc for months and last Wednesday, in a room filled with a collection of extra-special friends I've come to know and love along the way, someone very special and precious presented me with, not only that coveted blue plastic disc, but an amazing piece of stained glass featuring my most favorite flower, a daisy, a wonderful cake congratulating me on "one whole damn year!", and a very warm and heartfelt hug.

I would be remiss not to extend my gratitude to all of the special friends I have made this past year and, particularly, to this one anonymous person who has made my life so much easier, enjoyable, crazy, fun, and chaotic. ALTHOUGH sometimes he can be extremely annoying, it's all about progress...not perfection, right? As I said, you know who you are and I want you to know that everything you did meant the world to me. I know I don't express it adequately or often enough, but please know that I am grateful, not simply for the tangible presents, but for the intangible gift of your care and friendship. OK, so I could do with a little less of the annoying aspect but...that's a whole other blog entry. Please don't worry, I won't even mention your curious affection for John Mayer. Really, it will be our little secret.

I am humbled. I am grateful. I am touched by God's unmerited grace.

Now, not wanting to keep anyone in suspense, here is a photo of the cake but don't worry, the calories didn't download with the image so it's safe to take a look:

What is a blog????

This feels rather like "open mic" at some coffee house. The blankness is a bit on the intimidating side, and since I'm not fond of blank pages or those pesky, awkward silences so common on first, and/or really bad dates, I just have to fill this up.

I have a column due in a couple of days and, true to form, I'm sure I'll get it in about five minutes before deadline. What is it about working under pressure that ignites creativity? The closer it gets to submission time, the more brilliant I become.

Today has been cold. Frigid. The kind of cold that hurts down to the marrow. It felt very reminiscent of winter days growing up in West Virginia and basically I hate it, but fortunately the Southeast Coast of North Carolina experiences only brief periods of this stuff. Right now it's an obscene 17 degrees.

Cabin fever. I've got a horrible case of it and I can only pray it's not terminal. Sometimes at night I look up at the sky and see the lights of an airplane floating by among the stars and it's very rare that I don't wonder where it's going and just what is going on inside. Is everyone groaning over an airplane dinner? If the flight is of any real duration, and most adventures require at least a 3 hour flight, what's the inflight movie? Are people sleeping? Anyone white knuckling it?

Most of the time, I just wish it was me on whatever airplane I happen to spot in any given night sky. I'm so hungry for an adventure.

Since we live so close to the ocean, I always wonder if the airplane I spot might possibly be Transatlantic and it's when I consider this possibility, my skin takes on a green hue because that could only mean Europe. I start thinking L'tour Eiffel, baguettes and really strong coffee, and about two hours set aside at the small round table of a Parisian cafe for some serious people watching. If only I could find some way to get paid to fly everywhere and hang out with the locals. Curses!

But alas, no European vacation is in the pipeline for me, at least not anytime soon. I have my sights set on August to attend the wedding of a young man who is the son of a very dear friend. I'm sure I'll be more than ready for an escape by then.

I went to a meeting tonight and heard new things and recycled things. I sat with two friends and I believe it was an interesting discussion, but I'm afraid my mind wandered now and again. I'm running a little low on attention span these days and I could use some focus fuel. Changes are looming in my future well, in fact, I suppose it could be said that change is looming in everyone's future because of the constant nature of change, but these past few days I have been keenly aware of some shifts in awareness, purpose and an overwhelming desire to prayerfully seek out the best possible direction. Some days I look at my intangible compass, and I do hope it's calibrated correctly. I hope it knows where true North is, even as I live in the South. To look too far into the future is to invite unnecessary fear and pointless anxiety. I don't need those things right now but change, by it's very nature, usually requires some stretching and it is the stretching that is both painful and essential. I think I'm stretching right now because I am feeling a little taut.

Tonight I had company and I'm afraid I was no real company at all. I was present and yet I wasn't. Unfortunately, as I feel preoccupied with all this stretching and growing business, the people closest to me are placed at an even greater distance. The perkiness disappears and a few raw nerves are exposed. Let's face it, one can only do perky for so long and sometimes I get the distinct feeling, real or imagined, that I am supposed to be terminally perky and sweet to the point of causing a diabetic coma in those around me. Most of the time I can pull it off, but then there are days when I just have to walk through a difficult patch and that is where I am right now. Perhaps I should offer apologies to those poor souls in my inner circle who have to interact with me during this time. If you're one of those people and you're reading this, it might get a little bit bumpy, but eventually it will level off. Thank you for your patience (if you are offering it) and if you're not well, you have my best wishes. :-)

I always loved the quote by Emerson about tomorrow being a new day and his advice on letting go of the absurdities and blunders that have no doubt crept in. Tomorrow is a new day and I do hope to begin it well and serenely and maybe find a way to make peace with some of my challenges.

Here's hoping...

Single...With Children: Son's Car Wreck Reminder Of Priorities

Single with Children: Car wreck is reminder of what's important By Susie Parker Opinion Publication Date: 07/09/03 On a recent Friday, I had a couple of business appointments, but I ridiculously imagined I might actually get home before 6 o'clock. It was a very sunny, steamy late June afternoon, and the streets in the city where I live were clogged with more tourists than locals. Of course I had my cell phone with me. It's an integral business tool, and it routinely rings upwards of 20-30 times a day. Most of the calls are of the five-minute variety, and none of them have ever made me stop in my tracks. At least none ever had until 5 p.m. June 27. That's when I got the "track stopping" call. "Mom, I've been in an accident. I'm OK, but I think my car is totaled. Can you get here fast?" Every parent's worst nightmare. My 16-year-old was about three miles up the same road I was on. I changed lanes in fast forward and realized I could hear my heart beating in my ears. Amazingly, I encountered only green lights and was at the scene of the accident within about five minutes. There he was. Justin was pacing around what used to be his "dream car," having received it as a generous surprise gift from my parents May 6. It had carried him to school during those last few weeks; to the bowling alley countless times; to his first real job that he started just last week; and finally into the back of a truck with a bumper now locked underneath his. This automotive object of his affection was a crumpled wreck. I quickly ascertained that everyone involved was fine. This was my primary concern, and I whispered a quick "thank you" to God as I tried to calm my son's nerves. What started as an accident could have ended in a tragedy in the blink of an eye. Mangled Mustang notwithstanding, I reminded my son that he had just experienced a miracle. Metal can be reshaped and replaced. Human life cannot. My son also had the fortune of running into one of the nicest men in our town. Though he is in his mid-30's, it was clear he remembered what it was like to be my son's age and was much more concerned with Justin's emotional state than his own misshapen bumper. He couldn't have been kinder. Another blessing. After the police arrived and the obligatory reports handled along with the exchange of insurance information, the tow truck arrived, and Justin emptied the car of his personal possessions. After shaking hands and thanking the man who also was involved in this incident, Justin and I drove toward home. We learned that just 10 minutes after his accident, another one had occurred within two miles of where we were. Unfortunately one person involved lost so much more than a mere vehicle. She lost her life. This had a sobering effect on Justin and made both of us realize how truly blessed we had been on this 27th day of June. I could tell that as much as he missed his car, Justin also understood how incredibly obscene it was to mourn the loss of a machine. That night we gave prayers of thanksgiving for the fact that no injuries occurred in his close call. We also sent up prayers for a family who now would have to grapple with the loss of a loved one that no insurance company can ever compensate for or replace. Even though I wish this car accident had never happened, I see changes in Justin. A little bit of that 16-year-old invincibility has been eroded. He has talked about how he might feel a little fear when he gets behind the wheel of a car again. Perhaps the most valuable lesson of all is the realization that life is a very fragile thing. We were both reminded of how important it is to see the blessings and miracles hidden in the most unlikely of places and situations. Readers can e-mail Susie Parker at susiewrites@gmail.com or write to her c/o Amarillo Globe-News, Features Dept., P.O. Box 2091, Amarillo, TX 79166. Click here to return to story: http://amarillo.com/stories/070903/fri_singlechildren.shtml © The Amarillo Globe-News Online

Single...With Chidlren: You Know More Than You May Think

Single with Children: Parenting doesn't get easier, just less scary By Susie Parker Opinion Publication Date: 10/22/03 A few days ago, my daughter, Katie, found some "mystery" rolls of film. In other words, we had no idea what was on them. She dropped them off at the drugstore and about an hour later brought them home. We were surprised to find two sets of prints taken about five years ago. As each of us looked at the photos, we studied the images and laughed at how much had changed in a few short years. Justin was now nearly a foot taller than when those pictures were snapped. Katie had blossomed from a small, serious-looking freshman into a confidant young woman who lives in her own apartment. My mind went back to that time in our lives. I remembered tiny details that could never be captured on a roll of film. Back then, my son was in the middle of middle school, not an easy age for anyone. I vividly recalled wondering if I was doing OK as a fairly "green" single parent. The task before me felt huge. It's a good thing I hadn't looked ahead and wondered how I'd handle his driving. Sometimes it's a good thing to stay in the present and not project. What stood out most for me was how young and innocent my son looked. I remembered worrying that I might let him down at some pivotal developmental point that could quite possibly send him into years of therapy. I also remembered how much I regretted buying him, at a particularly weak moment, that pair of pet chinchillas. Last night, after everyone had turned in, I sat down with a huge mug of tea and looked at those prints again. I contrasted where we had been back then with where we are today. All the feelings and emotions intertwined with the corresponding memories came flooding back. The fun, the fear of giving consent when it should be declined (and vice versa), and juggling the responsibilities that confront us at every single turn on any given day. I found myself wishing that Justin could still be completely amused by a pair of soft, fuzzy rodents instead of the car he is either driving or washing. Five years ago, my biggest decisions involved things like whether to allow my son to buy a BB gun, give the OK for him to invite five of his favorite friends for a sleepover or upgrading his game system. These days, even though he's infinitely more independent, the stakes feel much higher. Yesterday I received an e-mail from a friend who had just reached her one-year mark of being the parent-in-charge. Though her kids aren't yet teenagers, the challenges she wrote about were instantly recognizable. She spoke of how some of the initial terror had eased but confessed to feeling more confused than not most of the time. "Does it ever get easier?" she asked. When I sat down to reply, I thought about those precious photographs that surfaced yesterday. Of course, I told her it sounded as if she was doing a great job, because it really did. As for feeling confused, well, if anyone has the answer to that one, let me know. The question of "Does it ever get any easier?" is one I mulled over and probably wrote six replies to before being brave enough to hit the "send" button. I still firmly believe that parenting is best done as a pair. I'm pretty sure it was designed to work that way. In reality, however, statistics show 52 percent of all American households are headed by single parents. Several years into being a single parent, I can't honestly say that it necessarily gets "easier," but I have noticed that it's not quite as terrifying as it used to feel. I've discovered it's OK to celebrate the times I've been blessed enough to "get it right," to learn lessons from the times I didn't and to move forward without beating myself up as much as I used to. Since we're going to make mistakes from time to time, it only makes sense to use them to our advantage and turn them into stepping stones. In almost all of the photos I looked at from five years ago, both of my kids appeared happy. As I looked at Katie and Justin, sitting at the table yesterday, so much more grown up and mature, they were still grinning and laughing. There are many yardsticks to measure growth and success, but for me, last night, those smiles were the finest measurement I could imagine. Readers can e-mail Susie Parker at Susiewrites@gmail.com or write to her c/o Amarillo Globe-News, Features Dept., P.O. Box 2091, Amarillo, TX 79166. Click here to return to story: http://amarillo.com/stories/102203/fri_fn102203-3.shtml © The Amarillo Globe-News Online

Single...With Children: Divorced Parents Need To Maintain Contact

Single With Children: Divorced spouses should know how to contact each other By Susie Parker Opinion Publication Date: 10/08/03 One might think that by the time kids reach their teens, we parents pretty much have it all figured out. As a single parent several years past the pain and confusion of divorce, I some times mistakenly believe that there's very little left to stump and elude me. After all, most parents have been through ear infections, strep throat, primary grades, middle school and then (gulp) driving lessons and learner's permits. So there I was last week, in the office of our primary care physician, with a son who's taller than I am and outweighs me by quite a bit, and just like any parent, all I want to do is make it better. Upon checking in at the front desk, I suddenly realized I had no clue as to what insurance company to use. My former husband had recently changed jobs. I rang up the one number I had so I could get the new information. But finding Dad started to feel like looking for a needle in a haystack. When I remembered the name of his new company, his assistant told me he was off-site making a presentation. For the first time in a long time, I felt helpless and alone and just plain stupid. I was afraid we might have to set up camp in the waiting room until Dad could be reached. I finally got the new insurance information, and Justin got the medical attention that he needed. But it felt like it took forever and I won't deny I was a little more than annoyed, which should prove to anyone reading this that I'm hardly a saint of an ex-wife. To be fair, I came to realize that Justin's Dad never imagined the new insurance information might be needed as quickly as it was, but we probably should have. I definitely learned a few things from the experience. First, parents - custodial or noncustodial - should always know how to find each other on any given day. You don't want to play Perry Mason in a physician's crowded waiting room when information is needed. Secondly, keep insurance changes as current as possible. Many things, like sharing report-card grades or discussing the need for a tutor, can wait. However, a medical issue usually can't, and things will go a lot more smoothly for everyone - especially the patient - if the information is available. Last, practice patience and kindness, even in extremely stressful situations. No loving parents purposefully make things difficult for their children. Let negative thoughts remain unspoken. A child already not feeling well shouldn't have to hear World War III break out between his parents. Act like adults and focus on the matter at hand. Along with the right prescription, this too can make everyone feel better fast. Readers can e-mail Susie Parker at Susiewrites@gmail.com or write to her c/o Amarillo Globe-News, Features Dept., P.O. Box 2091, Amarillo, TX 79166. Click here to return to story: http://amarillo.com/stories/100803/fri_singlewith.shtml © The Amarillo Globe-News Online

Single...With Children: Never Too Old To Be A Kid

Single with Children: Teens not as grown up as they think By Susie Parker Opinion Publication Date: 08/13/03 As I write this column, I'm in a hotel room a couple of miles from Disney World. When I asked my son where he might like to go for a few days vacation before the school year started, I offered a couple of suggestions such as the Cayman Islands, maybe a Six Flags park or perhaps a three- or four-day cruise. It never entered my mind that his choice would be Disney World. Disney World? We lived in Florida a few years when he was in elementary school and made quite a few trips to the land of Mickey Mouse. Clearly, he had forgotten how impossibly hot it is in Orlando in August! Or that a 90-minute wait was not uncommon for a ride like "Space Mountain" or "Splash Mountain." I mentioned these things, but he was determined in his choice. So here I sit after a full day at the Magic Kingdom. Naturally, he didn't want to hang with his mother the entire time, so I let him pick one of his good buddies to go with us. Fortunately for both of us, he picked one with impeccable manners, a quiet, kind demeanor and who had never been to Orlando. We kept in contact via cell phone. He and his friend took the first shuttle to the park and were there when the gates opened at 9 a.m. After the long drive, there was no way I was going to face the heat, humidity and huge crowds visiting the house that Mickey built. I slept until around 10 a.m., when Justin called me for something like the fourth time wondering, "when are you going to get here?" The park was much as I remembered from my last trip with Katie and Justin back in August 1997. But somehow, many things had changed. Perhaps not so much the park. I think the real differences involved the changes we had experienced in the years since our last visit. We have both grown up quite a lot. Justin in age, maturity and height. The changes in me are a little more subtle. During the times he was off waiting in lines, I watched people. I saw people pushing strollers with exhausted and overstimulated youngsters more than a little ready for a nap in a cool place. I heard shrieks when a child was denied "just one more time" on some of the rides. As the day wore on, I watched families wear out. I couldn't help but remember I'd been in all of those situations many times. Strangest of all is that I missed those times. When you're going through many parenting situations - the ones that make you swear you're within minutes of losing your sanity - you can't help but look forward to the time when those screaming, demanding kids are more independent and don't require every second of your attention. Today, as I watched folks deal with the stuff that inevitably involves supervising young children through a huge theme park, I felt so very nostalgic that at times I felt my eyes filling with tears. A few years ago, that was my former husband and me chasing our two kids around. Today, Justin and I were tethered not by a stroller or a small hand inside my own, but by the magic of a cellular phone. We hooked up for a real sit-down dinner at one of the park's restaurants that also includes a visit with the characters. It was nice to hear about my son and his friend's experiences today, and it was refreshing to be out of the Florida heat for an hour. But the best part for me was when Minnie, Pluto and various other characters made their rounds at our table and, miraculously, Justin and Drew didn't feel themselves too grown-up to have their photographs made. It was then that I realized why Justin had chosen Mickey Mouse over snorkeling with the stingrays in Grand Cayman. Maybe he realized, just as I came to understand, that these special moments are becoming so rare and precious that we both needed to revisit them just a few more times. I feel blessed that we were able to create some new ones today. I also learned that no matter how much your teenager may protest that he or she is "all grown up," such words are not to be taken at face value. One need not visit a theme park to realize that whether one is 16 or (gulp) 43, it's absolutely OK to let the child inside of each of us step out for some time to play. You don't have to be any where close to Orlando or an overgrown mouse to make a lasting memory with your child. Readers can e-mail Susie Parker at Susiewrites@gmail.com or write to her c/o Amarillo Globe-News, Features Dept., P.O. Box 2091, Amarillo, TX 79166. Click here to return to story: http://amarillo.com/stories/081303/fri_fn081303-3.shtml © The Amarillo Globe-News Online