A minor interruption...

We had a small interruption today. Around noon, a very handsome, buff fireman popped his head into the salon and told us we would have to leave. Apparently there was a gas main break on Princess Street and we were encouraged to leave immediately, if not sooner.

Hey, it was sunny, a little brisk, but the streets were teeming with all manner of incredibly nice looking law enforcement and public safety types. Not only was it sunny, but the scenery was very easy on the eyes. :-) They didn't need to ask me twice!

As luck would have it, my good friend, next-door neighbor and former drinking buddy, Kathleen (who sent me over the DELICIOUS chocolate birthday cake earlier this week - I think she's trying to make me gain weight), was due in for a noon appointment. Soon, my cell phone began ringing and it was Kathleen wanting to know what was going on downtown! A lesser and more boring friend, would probably have said, "Well, I'll just go back home and get out of this chaos. Let me know when you can reschedule my appointment.", but Kathleen is neither lesser OR boring. She parked her car in the middle of a potentially dangerous situation, walked across the street, and joined us by rating the passersby - shamelessly flirting. Time spent with Kathleen most always means some sort of fun will take place. It's pretty much guaranteed.

All too soon, we were given the official "OK" to return to our businesses. I guess it all got fixed, but as soon as we returned to Vida, yet another buff fireman walked in to make sure that all was well. We tried to convince him otherwise, but I think he was on to our little game.

Anyway, it broke up the routine and I'm all for that. Routines are so over-rated and I tend to get bored so easy. I had a great time!

We finished up the disruption in our routine by heading over to the Chinese restaurant on Front Street and the place was packed, though we did manage to score a table. Vanessa astutely pointed out that the gentleman dining next to us was none other than Wilmington Mayor, Bill Saffo. Vanessa also observed that he either didn't care for the food or he wasn't much of an eater as she noted that he didn't touch his plate for most of the time we were there. Oddly enough, I thought the food was unusually tasty today. I'm not really big on Chinese buffets, but today's was actually enticing. I've had better, but I've definitely sat down to worse.

In an unusual move, I didn't request one of the obscene fortune cookies. I took the high road and grabbed two of the regular ones. I still have the fortune from a meal I had there last fall. I keep it on my keyboard because I loved the prediction: "When winter comes heaven will rain success on you.".

There's about a month and a half of winter left. It's time to get busy. :-)

I'll keep you posted.

Almost heaven...

...I bet you thought I was going to say "West Virginia" given that's where I got my start. You should know better than THAT. Forty seven, that's what I'm talking about!

I have to say that if today is any indication of what this year might hold, I'm wildly optimistic.

Even with a voice that threatened to go AWOL off and on during the day, it was still a great birthday. Actually, my birthday eve brought surprises. It started yesterday - the postman only rang once, but he came bearing gifts: One from the western high plains of Texas and an Adobe software application and computer propaganda (Apple Computers) Mac OS System manual from the Northern region of the UK.

Now, I have to tell you, I got an e-mail this morning hinting that if there was a report of a nuclear mishap in Cumbria, well, I had to bear some responsibility for it. I guess it depended on how strong the coffee was across the pond. At the close of business today, I'm happy to say that the only "big news" involved a very strange story involving an astronaut love triangle and, I can promise you I had NOTHING to do with that. I was in Wilmington all weekend and I've never been an employee of NASA although, I will admit, that Katie and Justin did attend Space Camp. But that was a LONG time ago and I never dated an astronaut, although I did love riding the zero-gravity simulator, I can't see how one can be tied with the other. My conscience is clear and my hands are clean.

Vanessa arrived at work bearing gifts and a cake - a yummy whipped cream cake. Vanessa also got me some fun, blue pajamas. I think she believes they will make me write more efficiently. I think Vanessa was on a sugar high. I think Vanessa's cute when she's loopy.

Katie told me the "birthday fairy" might be paying me a visit. I didn't know what this "fairy" might look like, but she never showed herself in downtown Wilmington, but she certainly found Lansdowne Estates.

And what a busy birthday fairy she was!



Daisy Points of Origin included (in order of appearance):

New York, New York --------------------->
Thank you Katie & John!

<------------ Paris, France
Merci, Michel!

Tampa, Florida----------------------------->
Thank you Billie!

Everywhere I look, I smile because everywhere I look, I see friendly daisies. And then I smile some more...

But wait, there was yet another cake awaiting me when I arrived home. My next door neighbor and wonderful friend, Kathleen, my former partner-in-crime, sent me a beautiful chocolate cake from Apple Annie's and a sweet fig scented candle which is supposed to make me write with an eloquence not seen in these parts. :-) Oh Kathleen, you are too good to me! She may not realize it, but I will force her to share this cake with me.

We've tossed back a few things together in the shared history of our friendship and I see no reason why we can't toss this back, too! It's almost too beautiful to eat, but I'm willing to try and get past that. My side door is unlocked Kathleen - I have a plate with your name on it. This wonderful neighbor also sent me chocolate dipped pretzels and chicken soup this past weekend when I was not feeling so hot. I had no idea when I bought this house six and one half years ago, that it came equipped with such amazing neighbors who would soon segue straight into precious friends.

A few weeks ago, I mentioned a special man in Amarillo who, along with being one of the nicest people I've ever traded an e-mail with, is an artist on top of it. He sent me a photo of some snow scenes to make me appreciate living in a more temperate climate. He also included a picture of a flute he actually made.

Yesterday, the flute in that photo arrived at my house. The photo he sent doesn't do it justice. It is exquisite and although I haven't yet had the privilege of playing it, I am so proud of it that when I'm not trying to figure out how to play it, this gorgeous instrument will be displayed on the wall over my desk. A keen reminder of some of the many blessings I've accrued through writing because, Jim and I "met" when he started reading my newspaper column YEARS ago in Amarillo, Texas.

And it's right here that I have to send a special thank you to Michel LeSeac'h in Nantes, France, who cajoled me into making the proposal of a single-parenting column to the editors at The Amarillo Globe News and who made me believe I could actually get paid to write something. So I guess I became friends with Jim because an extremely obstinate and very dear Frenchman challenged me into taking a chance. You just never know where your next blessing may come from. It is a very small world, indeed.

Of course, the fact that today was as wonderful as it turned out to be, should have been of no surprise. When the first phone call you receive on the morning of your 47th birthday is a native New Yorker serenading you with "Happy Birthday to you...", well, you just sort of know it's going to be a pretty fine day. Thank you, Glen. I was honored. Have you thought about a career in....ummm...publishing? You might have a future. Don't get me wrong, the singing was great, but you are still obligated to giving me a tour of your favorite parts of Manhattan which, from hearing you go on about the place, is every square inch of it. I can't even believe you don't know what a hush puppy is! You need to get out more often. (The card made me cry...).

I have to admit that my heart has skipped a lot of beats today, but stress wasn't the culprit. Sometimes, particularly on days like this, my breath is taken away when I consider how many angels have strolled into my life and carressed my heart. Turning another year older is painless, when you are lifted up by friends such as these. I "heart" every last one of you, with every single beat of my own, even the extra ones.

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.