Trying really hard not to skip a beat...

I went to the doctor yesterday. My purpose was three-fold:

1) I wanted to know why it felt as if my heart was literally skipping beats.

2) I wanted to know why I couldn't hear very well out of my right ear and what was causing this fever I didn't even realize I had until his nurse told me?

3) The third item wasn't directly health-related and mostly I just wanted his opinion on something work-related. He actually made me laugh which, given that my appointment was at 11:15 AM, would prove to be the ONLY time yesterday that I would find anything funny. Absurd, sure, but nothing struck me as funny from that moment on. The day most definitely went downhill from that point on, though through it all, I really was glad that he felt sufficiently certain I would live.

The good news was that in his professional opinion (and yes, I asked point-blank and after I did, I would lay good money that he had to work to suppress a smile), he felt I would live to celebrate turning 47 years old. I tease quite often, but I don't think I was teasing so much when I asked him if I would live through my present challenges. Just the day before, I had actually felt like I was going to have a panic attack, right in the middle of having lunch with Vanessa at Roudabush. I started to feel as if I couldn't breathe, the room suddenly started spinning and I had to get up and go to the bathroom.

I was dining (a word that for some reason people insist on inserting two "n's" into or perhaps "dinning" is a different activity I'm simply not privy to) with Vanessa. Vanessa makes me laugh, listens to me, offers me all manner of advice and never does she hesitate to share her opinion and I love all of those things about her and more. Vanessa can cut through anyone's bullshit, but if she cares about you, and I know she cares about me, she does it with love. As I was sitting there detailing for her all of the things that were on my proverbial "plate", including and especially our mutual work-related "issues", I even became overwhelmed and said out loud after listening to the the litany of present irritants I'm dealing with, and I just panicked. Right there on "Southern Cuisine Day" at Roudabush. All of my favorite dishes (except the sushi) and I felt completely overwhelmed and undone. I was in such a state I couldn't even finish my collard greens and I barely picked at my fried chicken. Vanessa even suggested I go get a piece of chocolate from the dessert tray but even that couldn't shake me out of my shakes. For Vanessa to recommend dessert without having first eaten "real food", nearly unnerved me.

Dr. B., who I've been a proud patient of for more than six years, listened as I went on about MAJOR work concerns, the pressure of the past few weeks - the times I've wondered what might be next on my uncertain occupational horizon, not to mention the wringing my hands over the nature of the writing I'm involved with and the pressure attached with it - trying to meet a deadline without winding up dead, working to keep EVERYONE happy which is just so perfectly POINTLESS - even as I write that line, it strikes me as so completely absurd that I should assign myself such an impossible task. Of course I can't keep everyone happy. I don't have a magic wand, (although I do have one taped to my monitor at work - as it turns out, it possesses no magic) and I can't make great things appear nor am I able to make unpleasant things DISAPPEAR. My gosh, why do I sometimes get the completely stupid notion that I can? I don't have that kind of power. I don't want that kind of power. I don't even truly want a "magic wand" even if there was such a thing that did, actually, work.

I remember when I was a little girl and my parents and I would return home from a trip to Southern West Virginia and visiting family, where I knew my behavior would be scrutinized, as would my manners. On the way home from those trips, I would always ask my parents, "Was I good? Did I act OK?". I look back on that now and wonder what made me ask that question? I never misbehaved on those trips. I didn't particularly enjoy them, but I knew what was expected of me in terms of my actions.

There are days that I still find myself wondering, to no one in particular, "Am I good? Am I behaving OK? Have I disappointed anyone? Did I hit my marks?". Many times I feel hopelessly inadequate, that I'm always falling short and never quite making the grade. Who's approval am I searching for? Am I being graded on a curve? Maybe I should simply check-in with myself and worry about what I think. I realized recently that I never ask myself what I think. I'm usually so worried about everyone else's approval, that it doesn't occur to me to consider my very own appraisal and opinion.

I think I'm doing the best I'm capable of and, now that I mention it, I'm doing a pretty darn good job of holding it all together, thank you very much.

My doctor did the most wonderful thing yesterday. He listened. He simply listened to me for a long time before engaging his stethoscope. I didn't feel as if I had to prove anything, or impress him or justify my perceived inadequacies. To be given the chance to vent was more than worth the co-pay of the visit. I'm certain his antibiotic samples will clear up my fever and my ear infection and I'm sure the anti-anxiety prescription will assist in the deceleration of my heart, but probably the most valuable thing that took place was the chance to unload. Just let it go. Verbalize it. Purge. I suspect that nothing I pick up at the pharmacy could be of more benefit. After he patiently listened to my explaining that I couldn't possibly be "all things to all people", he agreed with me and then he told me I was going to be OK. Simple as that. He said it with such conviction, that I couldn't help but believe him.

"Too much adrenaline", he told me, was making my heart beat so fast. "You've got to calm down!", he suggested. I would love to know how much adrenaline I leaked later on that afternoon during an unexpected phone call at work. On second thought, I'm probably much better off not really knowing. I do know that had I been photographed in the middle of that phone call, it would have found my jaw laying in pieces on what used to be my desk at the salon, but I am proud to announce that I didn't cry. I went from being the "cheerleader" to feeling completely cheerless in a handful of minutes.

Thank God my doctor visit went well, because the rest of the day just got more bizarre. I went to work and intended only on spending a few minutes, but as is usually the case, a few minutes turned into a few hours.

Before I went home, I was so completely rattled that I knew the best thing for me to do would be to take a fast-paced walk. It was bitingly cold outside, the sky a slate gray in a most fragile February light. I didn't even know where I was taking me, but I followed. I was in no mood to argue with myself. I never win when I do that. I found myself walking, no make that stomping, into the Port City Java on Front Street. Immediately, I realized the person standing in front of me was my good friend Pat and her wonderful husband Jules. What warm faces on such a dispiriting February day. I was pleased to discover that I didn't forget how to smile and was instantly melted inside their warm embrace. Jules introduced me to a gentleman who, I was told, was his fraternity brother from New Jersey. He most graciously bought me a hot chocolate and I was invited to sit with them which is exactly what I needed to do. It was almost as if they were situated at that exact location, in that precise moment, to remind me that I have some incredibly fine friends. I do know that their warm company erased a great deal of tension. I truly do believe that our paths crossing was probably God's way of helping me forget the very event that sent me on my walk in the first place. Clearly, the whole world had not gone mad.

I finally came home, locked the door to my office, drank some jasmine tea and stared at my monitor for a really long time. I just sat and stared. I don't even think I engaged my mouse. Eventually my gaze was broken when my friend Glen instant messaged me on google and made me giggle. This faithful NYC friend drew me out of my mood and, along with it, away from myself. He made me laugh, even though I really wanted to stay pissed off. He reminded me that I needed to make some changes, make some progress, and make some fun. I need some fun. He reiterated that I wasn't responsible for everyone's bliss and that just maybe I needed to focus on finding some of my own. A change would only do me good. I'm not powerless.

I've always enjoyed Emerson's advice to "Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in. Forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; Begin it well and serenely with too high a spirit to be cumbered with your old nonsense.". What a great proposal, but I doubt Emerson had to deal with Friday's "blunders and absurdities". Emerson didn't answer the phone call I unwittingly fielded. Or maybe he answered a call similar to the one I did, which is how he came to write such an eloquent directive. I don't know what inspired Emerson to make that observation. Come to think of it, even if he'd had a phone at his disposal, he would probably have been much too bright to answer it. I know I have a "high spirit", but it still finds itself encumbered by old nonsense - even if the nonsense doesn't belong to me. What should I do about that, Mr. Emerson? Any ideas?

What I need to do is stop feeling so guilty about everything, especially the things I'm not responsible for. I'm certainly not perfect (there's a newsflash!) which is fortunate since I have no interest in being perfect. Someone once said that imperfections add interest and character. If that be the case, I must be completely fascinating and absolutely teeming with character.

So these last few days of being 46 aren't all that much fun, but it could always be worse and these days will pass. They just will! I have determined that they most certainly will.

I just finished taking my own inventory and here is what I've come up with:

1) It's true that I still don't have new bedroom furniture. I told Katie the other day that I may very well have to get remarried in order to get new bedroom furniture, at least the kind I have in mind - I just hope that if I do, that the future Mr. (fill in the blank) has his own furniture and doesn't have to "borrow" it from his Mom and, as a not-so-side note, for the love of everything holy, I am NOT sleeping in some pansy wicker. One must draw the line somewhere.

2) I also desperately need to look into biting the bullet and acquiring a new laptop computer. I have been saying this for quite some time and obviously I didn't behave myself to meet Santa's standards which means I've simply got to take matters into my own hands. This isn't such an easy decision. New York and UK sources have just one word for me and, wouldn't you just know it's fruity? "Apple!" they vociferously vote with an almost Stepfordian devotion. I've never owned an Apple so it's not simply forking over the cash for something I have great need for, but to convert myself to a completely different operating system demands deep thought. This isn't an easy decision, but it's an urgent one. I have work to do and I can't always be in the same space as my dual Dell desktops. Feel free to vote and tell me your reasoning behind it.

3) Additionally, while there is absolutely nothing in this world wrong with minivans (or the people who drive them!), but I really do want a small car. I'm just not a minivan sort of person and please don't get me wrong, I'm grateful to have what I have! What if I were to be confused for (gasp) a soccer Mom? Do you know how that could ruin a person's reputation? I just can't risk that - it's enough having to face forty-seven. Seriously, I just want something small and zippy. Things don't look promising - C'mon Joe - I need you and your auto-expertise. HELP!

Finally, I still need to head up to New York City in the worst possible way for both personal and professional reasons. I need my buddy Glen to take me on a "random" walk in Central Park and I really want to spend some time in the company of my acerbic, sarcastically sardonic daughter - the young lady who can poke fun at anything and make me laugh when no one else can, the inimitable Katie Jane. She has some ideas on "Elf Elimination" and I may need her expertise sooner rather than later.

Hey, it's good to have some goals, right? :-)

And before long, we will be in an Outer Banks state of mind. The light will grow less fragile, the sky will take on a sunny countenance and kites will dance in the sky raising our spirits right along with them, courtesy of favorable winds and at the generous invitation of a most wonderful Scotsman by way of England. We will taste salty air and if I can talk my friend Alistair into it, we may even go surf fishing. We will play serious games of Scrabble and watch the DVD "Tombstone" at least more than five times. Katie, with any luck at all, we might even catch Uncle Kracker on the OBX radio.

"Follow me,
everything is all right.
I'll be the one to tuck you in at night.
And if you want to leave,
I can guarantee.
You won't find nobody else like me..."

Good times, good times. Katie, we must devise a curriculum for making Mr. Norwood a silly American for at least a week, and abandoning his English manners and the curious way he introduces milk into his tea. We have our work cut out for us, my dear, but we will persevere. I know Emerson himself would sign off on it.

And of course, it goes without saying,
"you're a daisy if you do".

However, being presented with daisies is another thing entirely. Alistair, those beautiful, perky flowers you sent are still just mind-bogglingly gorgeous. I'll never beat you up again. I promise. There have been moments that those simple flowers have literally sustained me. You must have known I would need them right there, on the corner of my soon-to-be former desk. Don't worry, I'm taking them with me to where, I'm not exactly sure, but I am taking them. Well, I probably won't take the daisies because they will have been wilted by next week, but I will for certain take the vase, and definitely the ribbon. I'm not certain where I'm about to be relocated to, but you can count on the fact that the vase will stick with me.

And as to Mr. Emerson, I will try to begin the day serenely, infused with new hope and lofty ideals. But make no mistake, there is a blog entry in my future that will fill in the holes I'm not quite prepared to fill in at this time. Everything comes in due time. So will the rest of this ubiquitous story.

Happy Birthday Daddy!

"It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; that which is essential is invisible to the eye." ~ Antoine de Saint-Exupery

I think Saint-Exupery must have known my father, though Dad has never been to France. Of course, my family is especially fond of the French and we have some "adopted" family members who call that beautiful country home. (Thanks for the call Michel! You must visit us to celebrate our ten year anniversary!).

My beautiful cousin, Shane, wrote a lovely post in honor of my Dad's birthday. I can think of very little to add and I was touched by her eloquence. She most definitely captured this man I've been blessed to call my Dad for almost 47 years. He truly is as sharp as she described. Even more precious, his heart is that beautiful.

When I signed the card that Justin and Stephanie were kind enough to select, I didn't have to search my mind for what to write. I wrote to him that any redeeming qualities that may be apparent in Katie, Justin and me, were due largely to the fine example he has set, in his values, his ethics, his kindness and compassion. We were exposed to a "double dose" because those same traits are quietly on display in the form of my Mom as well.

I was at work until after 7:00 tonight, so after classes today, Justin and Stephanie set out to choose a new pipe, a jar of salt-roasted peanuts and a box of chocolates, in addition to some flints for the pipe lighter Justin bought his Pops for Christmas. But it was more than obvious what my Dad treasured most; He carefully read the card that Justin gave him, and then he read it a few more times. Justin wrote from his heart and it touched my Dad's heart. Those kind of connections are of the sort one cherishes and they're way more priceless than anything that could be found in the finest NY boutique.

"Justin, this is going in my diary. This is the best thing you could give me.", my Dad replied after reading his grandson's birthday card. And I know he meant it. He has 47 years of diaries stuffed with cards, notes, drawings and letters from me, my sister and Katie and Justin. No question he'll enjoy his pipe, as he will the peanuts and chocolates, but it is the cards, handwritten offerings that mean the most to my Daddy.

My mother cooked a wonderful meal; fried chicken, green beans, fried potatoes and two coconut cream pies and it was beyond delicious! The only thing missing from our table was Katie, but she had called her grandpa from NYC, on her way home from work. Not to be outdone in a family of bloggers, Katie put her two cents in and composed her own "Ode to Pops", on her Vox Blog. Can you tell we like to write?

So Happy Birthday, Daddy! How grateful we are to have you and Justin is right - should we all live to be 1/10th the person you are - we'll be doing pretty well. There can be no question by the number of calls and cards - you are loved. And we are blessed.

Just what makes that little ole ant...

...want to work so relentlessly hard moving space-age gel and tunneling all over the place in an effort to get....where?

I bet you guessed it! Last week I received a very innocuous small brown envelope postmarked from Utah. Hmmmm...a message from a Morman? I doubted it. I couldn't imagine what anyone from Utah might be sending me. I'd never professed any interest in "The Bee Hive State" and the Osmonds were never a particular favorite, so what could Utah have to show me? [It should be noted that I truly don't have anything against people from Utah and, in fact, I'm sure there are some perfectly lovely sites in that state - I just don't have any personal connections and both me and Utah are probably all the better for it.]

I opened the envelope to find two vials teeming with black, frenetic bodies reminding me of the Brownian Movement I'd observed on slides in microbiology class at Angelo State University, oh so very many years ago. These weren't, however, cells. They were ants. Two vials containing 25 ants in each one. Surely you must know by this point that I was thrilled! (I really was).

My son, Justin, had bought me an ant farm for Christmas, a really cool one from Brookstone - with a habitat made from some exotic sounding "space age gel". It was blue and very pretty. According to the box it came packed in, this gel not only nourished the ants, but was the perfect medium for the tunnels just waiting to be dug by these rather formidable looking ants with easily recognizable mandibles. In fact, on the vial was a label that came with a sticker and a warning: "CAUTION: Ants can sting! Adult supervision required!".

What to do? There weren't any adults available when I opened my package and then I remembered that I am highly allergic to bees. Bee stings have sent me to the doctor many times. Were these ants going to do me in? Should I wait for an adult to drop by the house so I could transfer them from the vials to my ant farm? As you can see, I had quite a lot of questions and huge decisions to make. Should I risk it on my own and throw this "CAUTION" to the wind?

Not knowing when an "adult" might appear, I decided that given that I'm a mere three weeks away from turning 47, I might as well go for it and try transferring those ants on my own. I mean, surely age must be gaining on me - just a few weeks ago a very old looking man I used to know sent me his photo and took the time to point out that age was having an "effect" on me and I guess he wanted to make me feel better by including his own photo which scared the hell out of me (I didn't ask the guy for his photo because he's one of those people I don't respect much...well, at all for that matter - you know, one of the people who I'll have to "rename" when it comes to discussing his aberrant behavior in that book.). I forget exactly what his e-mail said and I would quote it at this point, but I immediately deleted it and then, just to be sure never to again have to see another photo like that, I included his e-mail address in my SPAM FILTER (Google Mail has GREAT filters!), because Halloween had long since passed and, well, he was scary and not in a fun way! Personally, I think he clearly must have been old, cranky and bitter. But I digress...

I'm happy to report that the transfer of the ants from the vial to the habitat was completely successful and the ants have just gone crazy. And truly, they are fascinating. There's no question this was one of my favorite Christmas presents - thank God my son was creative enough to "think outside the box" and realize that I was serious when I "hinted" that I had seen this "Antworks Habitat" at Brookstone. He's a good boy and he knows I'm not normal, which partially explains why he's not normal and, well, it works for us. He has come in frequently in the past week to admire my Christmas present. Truly, it is stunning how hard and diligently ants work and stay on task. I admire their tenacity.

When I first saw this "gift" at Brookstone, I remarked to Stephanie (his girlfriend), "How inspirational something like this could be! If I had an ant farm, I would put it on my desk and draw strength and energy from those hard-working ants.". Well, in fact, I have written several pages since they arrived and already those "Western Harvest Ants" have earned a line of thanks if I ever get this book proposal finished.

In other news, things are coming along nicely, which is amazing if you considered how many hours I worked my "day" job last week. My "day" job turned into a "night" job and it's been sort of a bit crazy downtown, even more so than usual. Most of it not in a fun way. Saturday we had a meltdown. Well, Vanessa almost had a meltdown. But in true Vanessa style, she pulled it together and congealed and went on to win the day and two clients in the process. Vanessa, you are my hero. Stephanie T., you are also impressive. Both of you ladies made last week bearable. I love you both.

It's been tough lately though, and every now and then, even a little scary. It's no secret that I am a caffeine-aholic. There's no 12-step program for this and if there were, I honestly wouldn't be looking to join. I will admit, however, that I have been cutting back a bit lately and most of my caffeine is now delivered via jasmine tea, exclusively.

For the first time in I can't remember when, I almost had a full-blown, wide-open panic attack Friday Afternoon. Stephanie and I were downtown at a restaurant picking up lunch and suddenly I felt as if I couldn't breathe and my heart was doing flip flops. The more I thought about it, the more my chest tightened and I kept feeling as if I were skipping heartbeats which, I know, is pure stress. I can't remember ever feeling as stressed as I do right now and I'm grateful that I have a lot on my plate, it's so much better than having nothing to do. I love my writing and I'm learning something new and picking through tons of old memories - many of them good, a few of them painful, and some just plain puzzling and questionable. But even stress borne of positive activity is still, well, stress and stress, in unhealthy doses, can have negative physical effects. Just because I "know" this, doesn't make any of it more pleasant. In fact, I have a call into my buddy Dr. Bob, because I need some professional advice on how to disengage or, at the very least, lessen the intensity.

I have probably 70 e-mails that I haven't even had the time or energy to look at from this past week. After a 12 hour day downtown, I come home, I toss back 1 or 3 glasses of iced tea, read a few posts and start getting ready for the next day. One reason I'm avoiding my e-mail lately is because some of what I've read has come from friends who have chastised me for not returning their e-mails or their calls. The bottom line is that for the next few weeks, I need every available moment to finish what I've started. In no way do I mean to ignore ANYONE, but I've come to a point where I am literally running out of minutes in the day. I so very much appreciate the e-mails filled with positive thoughts and well-wishes, offers of prayers and the lighting of candles are always wonderful to read and you can't imagine how much I need them right now - believe me, such gifts can make a HUGE difference in my day. But to get an e-mail that chides me for not replying in what the "sender" may consider a prompt manner, does me no real good and I don't have the time, extra energy or remote desire to get angry right now.

I guess what I'm asking for most of all, in the next few weeks, is patience. I can't afford to waste this opportunity and this opportunity requires focus and time and attention and patience, from those I care about (and you know who you are) and those who care about me (and I know who you are).

And of course, I'm three weeks away from turning 47. FORTY-FREAKING-SEVEN!!!!! I wonder, is that what is making my heart skip beats? Is it tired? Bored? Playing tricks on me? I really do want my life and my heart to settle down just a bit. I love getting excited and being wired, but too much of a good thing makes me wonder if I'm having heart attack! I think I would prefer to skip that experience and, if I truly am skipping beats, I'd rather skip knowing it.

So...I should like to be like the ants that are working so hard, tunneling away and making anthills out of space gel, illuminated in the NASA blue tinted habitat just next to my monitor. I need to stay on task, focus, remain productive and please know that when I have this proposal finished, I will post a blog inviting everyone I care about (and you know who you are) to write me incessantly with all manner of silliness. We shall drink tea, turn flips, walk on the beach, dance and spin. Until then, please know that even if you don't hear from me in the next few days, I'll be back online soon to drive everyone up the wall and be my usual annoying and unpredictable self. Enjoy the respite! It won't last, so go have an adventure and give me a full report.

If my tax refund is remotely decent, and given that February is my birthday month, I should like to do one or all of the following:

1) Pick out a new bedroom suite. Mine is beyond pitiful, uninspiring and I'm sick of it. I really should have a paypal account set up so you can contribute - it is not, I'm sorry to say, a tax-deductible charity but it should be and you would agree if you saw the dismal state of my bedroom.

2) Fly to NYC for a few days in February (hand-delivering a proposal - purely all business, of course) and force Glen to give me the "Native NY'er" tour, the places that are "off the beaten path". Glen, I know I'm not allowed on the Isle of Manhattan until RH receives a package from me...Oh sure, I know how it goes. :-)

3) Find a decently priced laptop that will be easy to lug around and allow me to write when I'm not home and lately, I'm hardly ever home. Any recommendations with "Affordable laptop suggestion" in the subject line and not "Why have you not replied to my e-mail in six minutes???" would be most welcome.

4) Pilates...more pilates. I know Vanessa...discipline...I'm so overrun with things that require discipline, I can't wait to kick back and have some fun that doesn't require discipline. It's all so highly overrated.

5) And finally - CELEBRATE. Sure, I'm turning one year older but that's OK. I love birthdays. If you're a friend (and I know who you are), please know that we will do lunch, dinner, tea, all of the above, at some point during the month of February and look good doing it! Yes! I have no problem being serenaded by the wait staff of any downtown Wilmington or Wrightsville Beach restaurant. Doesn't bother me in the least. Light those candles! February is for fun! I am, after all, Aquarius and we demand fun and good times. In all actuality, though I don't subscribe to the whole "astrology" mindset, I am unapologetically Aquarius - up one side and down the other. If you read this link and you are a person who knows me well, you'd really have to agree with me. Besides, I was born right in the middle of the sign and share the same birthday with Ronald Reagan, Natalie Cole and Tom Brokaw.

A special thanks, also, to my good friend in Amarillo who is under several inches of snow right now. Jim, even though I know you must be extra cold, I appreciate your warm words and oh my gosh - a hand-crafted, work-of-art flute? This amazing gentleman who I "met" during the course of my "Single...With Children" newspaper column run (2000 - 2005), became one of my favorite readers and we've kept in touch through the years. I had no idea he was also a talented artist. Amazingly, he manages to be a wonderful West Texas cheerleader who e-mails just the right words at just the right time and, when you consider this guy lives in a city that is being hit every weekend by wild, wintry, West Texas blizzards, even after digging his way out, he's still a kind and gentle soul. I hope you have a glorious, tornado-free spring out there, Jim. You certainly deserve it. (Winter image above courtesy of Jim in Amarillo and used without his permission. :-)

Now, one more thing about Jim, he makes these amazing "Native American Indian Flutes". He carves them - out of real wood and everything. Isn't that wildly talented? He reports they have a haunting sound and I have been informed that I will have the great fortune to discover this for myself. In fact, he sent me a link to the "Legend of the flute", so you can read about it for yourself if you're so inclined and I suggest you do.

I'd also like to send my Amarillo friend a special congratulations for his upcoming recognition as a 30 year employee at BSA (Baptist St. Anthony's Hospital). My first acquaintance with Amarillo was courtesy of St. Anthony's Hospital because that's the revered institution that brought my little family to Amarillo way back in 1985. Tim, Katie and I moved to Amarillo in August 1985 when Tim (Katie and Justin's Dad), accepted a position with the hospital as Accounting Supervisor. It is also where we lived when Justin joined our family in November 1986. Those were happy years and filled with lots of fine memories that I enjoyed sharing some of them with Jim earlier today after I teased him about the winter weather he's currently dealing with. This morning as I was retrieving my first cup of coffee, I was shocked to see a Fox News Report on all the snow Amarillo has received this past weekend. Poor Jim! Last weekend it was an ice storm. Hopefully the sky will clear for his hospital award banquet this Thursday. Jim - good on ya!

On the other side of the pond, a warm thank you to another friend who is braving relentless rain and gales - Alistair, we'll try and deliver some warm weather when you visit the Outer Banks in a few weeks. You deserve some southern hospitality and sunshine. Plus, you really need to get over the whole problem you have with iced tea. You could start a whole new trend in the UK. Remember, keep an open-mind. It's ok to have "clouds in your coffee" but NOT in your hot tea. No, no, no...it just can't be right to put milk in hot tea. I'm sure there are several laws against it. Maybe Carolina can straighten you out. (Photo of beach scene near Whitehaven, UK, courtesy of Alistair, used without his permission :-)

If you've read this far, thanks for allowing me to vent. My heart feels better. It's hardly skipped a beat in an hour or two. Must be time for more coffee, huh?

One more thing...Daddy - happy almost birthday (24 January). You may be coming up on 82, but you don't act a day over 28, transposed numbers aside. WE love you and look forward to another year of your being the smart ass you are. I mean that in the best way possible. I want to be just like you when I [don't] grow up.

If you want to send my Daddy "Happy Birthday!" wishes, you may e-mail him at: barbecook@aol.com. He's a very special person. If you know him, you know that - if you don't know him, for gosh sakes, don't judge him based on how I turned out! Really, he did the best he could! :-) I'm certain it all goes back to the "nature vs. nurture" debate. He loves to receive e-mail. And I love him.

An unexpected gift...

Today, work was a really bad rollercoaster ride. No question, this was a frustrating day and it only got more daunting as the day wore on but somewhere around 3:00 PM, a delivery man came through the door armed with a beautiful bouquet of daisies and a box of chocolates. I was sure that I knew when everyone's birthday was and wondered who was getting a treat and why. I was quite surprised to discover these flowers and chocolates were for me. I was even more stunned to discover they were a stunning gift from someone in the UK. (Thank you Mr. N!)

Three years ago tonight, I took my last drink and, like the crazy blond I am, I did it with style or, so I'm told. I don't really remember that much about the evening. I'm kind of grateful that I don't. Tomorrow will mark three years of sobriety but, more than anything, it's three years of a "new and improved" life. It can't be overstated that the events of three years ago tonight, without one doubt in my mind, literally saved my life.

Life since 12 January 2004 hasn't been without mistakes, goofs and a few unbelievably stupid moves - I've made a few really questionable choices and I've definitely done some very silly things. But if you took every stupid thing I've done in the past three years and lumped them together, as long as what I've done has NOT included a glass of wine, I'm still be ahead of the game compared with where I was three years ago at this moment.

I'm sure there are a ton of mistakes in my future, and there will be things I do in the short term that, a few years from now, will probably cause me to shake my head and wonder, "What was I thinking?", but as long as those mistakes don't go by the name of "Merlot", "Shiraz" and "Pinot Grigio", I'll be fine, as will the mailboxes in my neighborhood.

Even after a really exasperating day, I honestly feel pretty good about life in general. The fact that a friend across the pond took the time to send good wishes in such a beautiful way, well, it would simply be wrong to complain. I have to say that overall, it's been a fascinating three years and, I'm happy to report that it turns out I never required alcohol to be silly and laugh at inappropriate moments. I guess some things just come naturally to me.

A huge word of thanks to the old friends who have stood by me these 36 months, and the new pals I've made along the way - people who have most definitely made my life much more interesting and crazy (Yes Vanessa, this means you! You too, Stephanie!).

I must say a heartfelt thanks for the steadfast love of my precious "not so little" kids, Katie and Justin, and my fantastic parents. I wouldn't be here without their love and unwavering belief in me - their conviction that I would be fine. When things got too serious and scary, they somehow made me laugh - even when I didn't think I could. My family, all four of them, literally loved me back to health. They really have loved me through all of the moments that have made up these past three years. I want them to know that I love them right back.

And of course, most of all, I really do have to thank God. God truly is the only reason that I am sitting here tonight, hands flying across the keyboard with a million thoughts coursing through my mind and a smile on my face. I'm not at all sure why I was given the chance to stick around, but I am so far beyond ecstatic that I was and trust me, I mean to make the most of it!

Blessings...in the past three years that word has taken on a very serious meaning for me. I find that I no longer cast that word about lightly. I really don't. In the past 3 years, I've been granted countless manifestations of that word. If you're reading this blog entry, there's a very good chance you may be one of them. (Unless, of course, you're one of the very few people I just can't stand and, fortunately, I can count those people on one hand. I'm sure they know who they are and surely they wouldn't be reading this in the first place. :-)

So as I lift my glass of unsweetened iced ginger lemon tea, I can only say a hearty, happy CHEERS!...from the bottom of my heart.

Here's to another dizzy year of unpredictable and zany sobriety. One day at a time, of course.

PC Magazine/Princeton Review Top 20 Most Wired Campuses in the US

Top 10 Wired Colleges
12.20.06

PC Mag teams up with The Princeton Review to find the most connected, plugged-in, and high-tech campuses in the country.

I had the pleasure of interviewing the deans of both Oklahoma University (#10) and US Military Academy aka West Point (#11) for the PC Magazine/Princeton Review spread of the Top 20 Most Wired Campuses. Special thanks to Loretta Early, Associate VP of IT at OU, Col Curtis Carver, Vice-Dean for Resources, OU student Neda Nikpoor and West Point Cadet Aaron Stark for taking the time to answer my questions and offering me everything I needed to write my respective profiles of two impressive institutions.

I couldn't help but note that it was the story that appeared in "The Wilmington Star" discussing my recovery that literally made it possible for me to be in the position to write the stories I have been privileged to pen for PC Magazine in 2006.

Let me reiterate that it was not the result of luck, coincidence or serendipity - it's just another example of grace or, as I find myself saying more each day, "It's a God thing". There is absolutely no other reasonable explanation for it.

Happy 2007!!

2006: The year in milestones & miracles...

Katie got her Christmas wish. Jet Blue came through, both coming and going and both ways in one piece. Katie, there may be something to this whole "flying thing", don't you think?

It was great to see her. She looked absolutely wonderful and I was so happy to discover that her dark, sardonic humor had remained untouched by milling about in Manhattan. I think NY agrees with her.

Christmas Eve was fantastic. Katie's "other mother", Vanessa, and our buddy Joe joined us for Christmas Eve dinner and it was so great having everyone I loved in my living room - chatting, smiling, laughing, remembering stupid stuff and more laughing. Lots of laughter.

Special thanks to my Mom, Dad, Justin, Katie, Sue, Vanessa, Stephanie, Joe, Cassie, Sylvester, Felix and Princess for adding color to our holidays.

2006 has been a pivotal year in so many respects. Someone asked me how I would categorize the year's events and, as I thought about it, only good adjectives pop into my mind. Let's see...

I had fantastic writing opportunities - invitations to write for publications that I would never have been bold enough to even hope for or contemplate. NYC has been so good to me, as it has been Katie, this year. Hard to believe I used to swear I hated that place. I can think of only good things when my mind meanders toward Manhattan. I wait eagerly for my next visit.

I took on my first PC Magazine assignment in March for the 6 June 2006 cover story, "Smarter Homes". I was scared out of my wits until I got down to it, and then it was just pure fun. The only thing I needed to be afraid of was the anxiety borne from my fears and when I chased them away, it was pure pleasure. Well, except for the part where I casually asked Katie if she thought I was equal to the task of writing for PC Magazine and she looked at me and said, "I fear for you, Mom.". I admit that rattled me just the tiniest bit.

My daughter and her boyfriend, John, moved to the East Village in May and I was afraid I'd never be able to laugh again, given that Katie is the source of so much of my humor, but that was a pivotal trip for both of us. I had a productive lunch meeting with my features editor that culminated in more invitations to write, and I met John's two amazing aunts, Daria and Melanie and his Uncle Bill, in addition to his mother Nina, and it was absolute confection.

I returned home from that trip, crying on the plane from saying goodbye to Katie and, even more so, from the mess I finally realized that was sitting beside me and I think it was that trip that finally opened my eyes and informed me that I had the power and wherewithal to make the changes essential for me to move forward. I decided to clean house (metaphorically - I try never to "literally" clean house) and took charge of my life at home. I can sometimes be very acquiescent, but after way too many months with an entirely melodramatic, spoiled, lazy leech, I decided that my life and my home needed to be "streamlined", so I arranged for the removal of things that never belonged in the first place, and got down to business. My home became my home again, and I think my family collectively breathed a huge sigh of relief.

The summer proved to be exceptionally busy with work and writing. I did stories for regional publications, two features for "Wilma" Magazine and then, NY called again and offered an impossible-to-ignore opportunity that not only gave me the chance to write again for a great magazine, but serendipitously allowed me to write about something very close to my heart. The story was entitled, "The 12-Click Program" and was part of PC Magazine's "Technology for Life" spread in the 17 October 2006 issue - it gave me the chance to see if I really meant what I said when I remarked that alcoholism and recovery aren't anything to be ashamed of and that they needed removed from the shadows and whispers usually assigned to deep, dark, down and dirty secrets.

I'll admit that deciding to "come out" in a magazine with a paid subscription of 5 million readers did give me a few moments of pause and serious contemplation and then someone pointed out that I'd always professed that it shouldn't be a big deal and, if I really believed what I paid lip service to, there should be no hesitation. When my own words came back to haunt me, I knew it was time to step up to the keyboard and that's exactly what I did. I was pleased with the final product and figured I that I must have meant what I said, that this whole "coming out" business was not a huge deal...

And then Amy Hotz, reporter with "The Wilmington Star", called to request an interview with me on my decision to write openly about my own adventures in recovery - yikes! Apparently someone at "The Wilmington Star News" reads PC Magazine. I also discovered that a LOT of people in Wilmington read "The Wilmington Star News" and don't use it simply to line the bottom of their bird cage as has often been my own experience.

OK, I admit that it slightly took my breath away to realize that I could wind up on the front page of my hometown newspaper, a self-confessed alcoholic by my own admission, and that people might possibly cast a critical eye if they knew my not-so-secret secret! I batted this back and forth for at least 24 hours - I consulted a couple of friends including Bruce, my sponsor, my family, Celia Rivenbark and then out of nowhere I was struck with the memory of what it was like for me in those dark, early days of January 2004, when I felt more lost and hopeless than I'd ever experienced in my previous 44 years. Nothing came close to the fear, disappointment, confusion and disorientation of my first week between my last drink and my first AA meeting. Terror!!!!!! Sheer terror.

When I thought about what it might be like for someone else in the position and situation I found myself in almost three years ago, it was a no-brainer. I certainly would have given anything to read that story back then. Given the wide-spread prevalence of alcoholism and substance abuse, I couldn't help but think there might be other people who would benefit from it. It needed to be told. And so, I did. My "virtual recovery" became public record. One month after publication, I have absolutely no regrets.

Recalling that period of time not so long ago, brought back some pushed-aside memories. I remembered looking for anything I could get my hands on to read, ANYTHING that might offer me hope, that I could carry around when my courage was MIA and my doubts were threatening to overtake me. There were a couple of books by celebrity alcoholics, but my life bore no resemblance to those stories.

I decided early on that someone should write about an alcoholic of non-celebrity status, someone that was far more representative of the kind of people most of us know and many of us are! The problem is that most of us aren't all that comfortable writing about the missteps, embarrassing stumbles, the really bad decisions and wrong turns that deliver us to the unique place we eventually refer to as "bottom"; The painful realization that we have reached the point where we find ourselves in too much pain and destruction that it's finally apparent that it would be more painful NOT to change; that we are powerless to repair any of it on our own. That's such a horrible, excruciating place to land, much worse than labor and childbirth and kidney stones, but it's essential and the best motivation possible. I'd basically be dead if I hadn't landed there and, most of the successful people in recovery that I personally know, seem to agree.

So, long story short, I met with Ms. Amy Hotz and I purged. I really purged. I divulged pertinent details to her that I'd shared with only a small circle of friends and close family. Amy and I spent a little over an hour together in the post-lunch coziness of "The Courthouse Cafe", we traded business cards, shook hands and then parted ways - she to enjoy the beginning of her weekend and me to wonder, "What in the heck did I just do?".

The story ran on the front page of the Today Section of The Wilmington Star and I have to say that Ms. Hotz got it right. I was impressed with her reporting and she accurately represented the facts as I shared them.

Of course, I woke up at 5:00 AM on the morning of Tuesday, 14 December, ran to my computer and pulled up the story and right after I recovered from reading about my recovery, I opened the only negative e-mail, from a very raunchy, wrinkled, arrogant, harley-riding, thirteenth-stepping asshole who wrote one negative sentence which basically made no sense whatsoever, much as every diatribe he delivers in any meeting I've ever been to where he's been present. I laughed and then I decided it had to be a good story if he didn't agree with it. And of course, I wrote him back - took issue with his statement but left him with the suggestion that he consider writing a book on a subject he knows a great deal about; hitting on women in the first few months of recovery. I mean, write about what you know best, right Paul?

I know a few men like Paul, including one who was so proud of his achievement in successfully 13th stepping that he once started a blog on it, regaling his experiences. The blog never really went anywhere and, like most things in his life, he didn't finish it. I kind of doubt he'll be writing about his current situation - he now lives with his doting 71 year old mother in a duplex near Raleigh. I'm sure this is just a temporary situation until he can snag another "early in recovery" female he decides to "help", who owns her own home and can pay the bills. God bless her.

Detritus aside, the newspaper article went well and the feedback was heart-warming, touching and reaffirmed that I made the right decision to allow the story. In fact, it was a necessary experience because, if I'm working on a book proposal about my "virtual recovery", I certainly needed to get over any trepidation in discussing my story with a local newspaper. Like most things in life, the only scary thing about it was the scenarios that played out in my mind in the hours leading up to publication. Much ado about nothing, really.

And then, there was Christmas. I had a great holiday this year - much more fun than in recent memory - in fact, my Daddy remarked last night it was the happiest Christmas he could remember in years. And it was. It absolutely was. On every single level.

The presents were well-received and graciously accepted. The people I shared my time with were purposefully chosen and there was no downtime suffering the company of uninvited guests. It was joyful. Katie was radiant and Justin was beaming and my parents were, well, my parents, and so it was close to perfect. The added gift of friends made it even more memorable for all the right reasons. I can only say thank you.

So I finish this last day of 2006 filled with a lot of gratitude, funny memories, and more blessings than I have any right to count.

I was never all that big on noting blessings, and I've always been reluctant to subscribe to the "everything happens for a reason" theory, but I just have to say that so much of this year, particularly the past six months has generously consisted of one thing leading to another, and another; people criss-crossing my path; opportunities which have lead to other opportunities; one thing building on another; angels dropping in my life. There is no reasonable explanation for ANY of it and so I have say that 2006 leaves me not simply subscribing to the "everything happens for a reason" mode of thinking, but believing it with my heart and my soul. I know it's true. The evidence is too compelling and unquestionable. There's not one doubt in my mind that it's all "A God thing".

I truly believe that whatever happens in 2007, with enough prayer and celestial guidance, and a sincere desire to do what I do best and just let go of the results, will all turn out just the way it's supposed to. Never have I been a person of such conviction. I don't even question the things that are happening now because I know that much of it is being guided by a more powerful, brilliant hand. On my own, my power and influence is limited at best. With the proper direction and divine guidance, I've found myself steaming in directions I didn't even know existed.

Believe me, I'm not bright or powerful enough to have affected the blessings that have visited me this past year. I really suck at creating a shopping list, much less a string of miracles.

It's my nature to be skeptical, and so many of my closely-held beliefs have required logic and concrete facts. Part of why I've never read fiction is because I like facts; I love knowing that life (as I thought I knew it) was built on reality and not whimsy, that events can be traced to truth and knowledge and irrefutable, predictable, solid, unquestionable evidence.

You know...point A leads to point B and if you make it to point B it will undoubtedly lead you to point C and, before you know it, you realize, a lot of it is rote and pointLESS.... At least, that's how it used to look from where I formerly sat. And then, well, I changed seats. I upgraded.

I didn't find faith. In fact, faith found me.

I like puzzles that can be solved with no left over or missing pieces. I love Sudoku because it makes sense and, though at times frustrating, offers a predictable outcome. I never truly thought there was anything more powerful than one's mind, that intelligence is the ultimate answer to everything, that life can be distilled into a handful of universal realities. For me, Sir Isaac Newton's Third Law was my blueprint for living and covered just about everything - that his postulate stating that for every action there is an opposite and equal reaction, was basic to every point of life.

As the curtains close on 2006 and 2007 is poised to make its debut, I can only conclude that such black and white thinking, all of that logic and predictability and all of that fact based stuff is just brimming with...crap.

All of the logic in the world can't explain away many moments of my own 2006. In so many respects, it has undoubtedly been my very best year. Somewhere along the way I slipped and was unwittingly swept away by unexpected miracles. So many miracles. I don't think one of them could have been predicted and I'm sure they fly in the face of Newton's Third Law. Faith has replaced fact in "the world according to me". I couldn't have designed 2006 to turn out as it did and, well, I couldn't have dreamed it either. But I did live it and, I am compelled to report that "things" do happen and these "things" don't always come attached with easy-to-understand explanations and logic, as it turns out, is frequently missing and highly overrated.

I know this to be true. I would stake my life on it.

In fact, I have staked my life on it.

Happy New Year and here's to more "things" that happen for a reason.

It's beginning to look and feel a lot like...

...sheer insanity, that is if you've been bold enough to brave the mall. Shopping has never been my passion or forte - which has worked out well for my bank account.

I'm happy to say that Wilmington and I both survived the Star-News article that appeared last Tuesday. We both managed quite well I do believe and, my wonderful friend in NYC came up with the best title imaginable for the submission I have to finish in three weeks. Working on that layout only consumes every other waking moment. The rest of my non-existent free time has been spent getting in gear for Christmas. It feels as if the days are flying faster than the speed of sound or light or maybe Jet Blue, huh Katie? :-)

I have to say that my daughter just wrote a blog entry that made me laugh and I can't help it, I am so proud of her talent - she's perfectly sardonic and what a style she has! Her latest blog entry is entitled and, do yourself a favor and read this one, "All I want for Christmas is not to die in a fiery plane crash". If I didn't know better, I would swear she's adopted, but I do know better and she's 110% mine and how happy I am that she is. I feel the same about her brother, who's writing style is also off-center, keeping with the family of writers he is connected to, and with although, in all fairness, he is perhaps a little more sentimental - a trait that Katie and I just don't quite grasp or show much interest in adopting. Of course, I'm proud of them and not simply because I am their mother. If you do visit Katie's blog (vox), please be sure to leave her some good advice and hopeful words and the more acerbic, the better!

Let's see, what all has gone down in the past week. Aside from my coming out in my hometown newspaper as a recovering alcoholic (just another day at the office, right?), I have received some wonderful e-mail - amazing really, the kind words of people I know and people I would like to know. Not to mention the fellow Wilmingtonians who've stopped and commented on the story and said such kind and supportive words to me.

I am most relieved to say that the only surprises I've encountered have been positive and each one has reaffirmed for me that I did the right thing. I'm glad I consented to that interview and I truly do love hearing how people have related their experiences because they read about mine. Hearing similar accounts paved the way for me three years ago. I think if we're about anything at all, it should be directed toward making things easier for those who follow. I don't feel uncomfortably exposed or that some dark and treacherous secret has escaped. I put it out there, I stand behind it and I'd do it again.

If someone reading this has written me in the past week and you haven't heard back from me as of yet, please know I'm working on it! I LOVE the e-mail, but as of 1:11 AM, I have over 80 still left to read and I'm getting there. I think my e-mail must have rabbit-like features because it seems to be multiplying! I'm certainly not complaining and truth to tell, I love receiving messages so much that I like to take my time and read through each one - it's just that in these fleeting days before Christmas, I'm not quite as efficient as I might normally be, but I'll get there!

Stephanie and I braved the mall on Sunday. It was sheer madness. I think we spent about two hours in Brookstone and played with all kinds of cool gadgets. It was, in fact, gadget heaven! I know I was int here perusing items for gifts but my gosh, I wanted everything in that store and if the mall hadn't closed we would probably still be there pushing buttons, wondering how everything works and oh my gosh, I saw the coolest things! One item that had my name written all over it was this sort of self-contained eco-sphere. It came complete with salt water, algae, and yes, a brine shrimp and it was all encapsulated in this elliptical glass vessel with no opening. It didn't need one! I would LOVE to have that whatever it is and if I did, I'd place it on my desk right beside my monitor. It would provide hours of entertainment between pages. I could literally watch that tiny creature grow and do whatever tiny creatures in ecospheres do. See? I really need one because it's a mystery to me what occurs in that thing after days and weeks and months. I kind of doubt I'll find one under my tree because I don't think my family would even notice it, but my gosh, it's beyond cool.

And what Christmas shopping trip would be complete without Wal-mart? We couldn't escape a visit to the South's version of Saks Fifth Avenue. More wall-to-wall people and, of course, the added challenge of navigating a shopping cart. I cajoled Stephanie into pushing it most of the time. I tried to keep diverting her attention so that she wouldn't realize that she was pushing the stupid thing. I hate pushing carts and clogged aisles make me crazy.

While Stephanie and I were banging around "seasonal" in search of cookie-cutters, Katie text-messaged me. Katie's text read as follows, "We're eating sushi and Julia Stiles is two tables over from us.". I read it aloud to Stephanie and we looked around us and I think we both came up with the same reply which read, as follows: "We're in Wal-mart and within ten feet of two Nascar, confederate-flag waving rednecks. One is even dressed in camo."

I hated one-upping her, given that she's in Manhattan and eating ill-prepared food among the glitterati, but she asked for it. It wasn't like I text-messaged her first simply to brag about the colorful comings and goings at Monkey Junction Wal-mart, but I never shy away from touting the advantages of living large below the Mason-Dixon Line. I didn't divulge that I was drinking iced tea - that might have pushed her over the edge and she's nearly there already - and please, don't forget to read her Vox blog and read that one of a kind melodramatic post - such a heart-warming blog entry, no question. It ranks as some of the best literature it has been my pleasure to read this year. David Sedaris couldn't touch the quality of her latest offering. You'll laugh. You'll cry. You'll get the picture.

We FINALLY made it home from hell (Wal-mart) and had all of 40 minutes to wrap Justin's presents before he pulled in from work. Justin has a gift for snooping and discovering every single gift and stealing the thunder of the gift-giver, eradicating any thrill of watching his face "light up" as he unwraps one "un-surprise" after another because he can't seem to keep himself from prying. He's good at it, I'll give him that, but my gosh, it's so anti-climatic for everyone concerned. There have been years when I've thought, why bother wrapping it? But I've generally gone through the motions mostly for the sake of other family members knowing deep inside that to keep something under wraps from Justin is a feat not often accomplished. It's not like he's clairvoyant - he's a blatant snoop! I don't even think he can help himself and I rather doubt that he makes much of an attempt. After all these years, I've accepted it, but I had to school Stephanie on his antics - this is her first Christmas among us and she has no idea what she's in for. Bless her.

The good news is I chipped away impressively at my list and the bad news is I chipped away depressingly at my bank account. December is always a financial juggling act - but somehow, it all works out. I have to say I have really enjoyed these last few days and though I miss Katie to pieces, she sends me text messages, e-mails, indulges me with phone calls as she pushes her way through the stores and subways like the New Yorker she is - a role she was destined to play.

I also want to say something about my Mom, who turned an impressive 83 on 13 December 2006. Two words: She's amazing. The woman is unbelievable in what she still manages to take on and the thousands of things she does for all of us, who are blessed enough to be related to this dynamo. She is the ultimate Mother and makes June Cleaver look like such a slacker.

Vanessa sat my mother in her magic chair and gave her a lot of attention and pampering this past Thursday and a very lovely haircut. It was great having my parents visit at work and they brighten up any room they walk into. They infuse calm and humor into so many lives simply by being themselves plus, how often is it that anyone runs into a couple who've been married for over 60 years and who openly adore each other? Talk about icons. You bet I'm proud of them both. Thank you to my dear Mom for everything you have done and continue to do in order to make our lives run so smoothly. In every sense, Maxine Cook is a beautiful person. We are better people because of her love and care. As long as we can keep her away from a computer, we will be fine because if she ever fell prey to the same computer/online addiction that everyone else in this house suffers from, we would not be long for this world. Fortunately, she's too antsy to sit still for any length of time which is, no question, our saving grace.

Good stuff is breaking out all over the place - in fact, I'm nearly afraid to discuss it or write about it just yet. While I am grateful, I want to deal with it in just the right way and assign the proper attention and focus the work I'm doing merits. I'm sure I'll overcome my hesitancy to discuss events in the next few weeks, but for now, I think it might be best to keep things under cover.

For now, just color me grateful.

Wilmington-Star News...

The article came out and, I have to say with no small measure of relief, Ms. Amy Hotz got it right. She most certainly respected the guidelines I requested and, in the process, earned a huge measure of respect (and relief!) from me.

a virtual recovery

By Amy Hotz
By Amy Hotz,
amy.hotz@starnewsonline.com

Susie Parker didn't think she showed any of the stereotypical symptoms of an alcoholic.

There was no alcohol in her house. There was no history of alcoholism in her family. She grew up a "good Baptist girl." She didn't take her first drink until she was 23, and when she did finally drink, it was almost always good wine, not cheap beer or hard liquors.

All that didn't matter, though, on the night she woke up to the sound of a policeman tapping on her car window. The officer found her passed out over the steering wheel in a grocery store parking lot. She didn't remember driving there or how she got a white streak running down the side of her car.

Later she would discover the streak came from hitting a mailbox.

"I was scared, but I was relieved," she said. "Every day I thank God it was a mailbox."

You can read the rest of it here: Virtual Recovery