The Cat's NOT Got My Tongue...

"When you forgive, you in no way change the past - but you sure do change the future." ~ Bernard Meltzer

"Ain't that the Gospel!", as my daughter would say.

I'm still working on that. I've been writing about it (privately) and it's been incredibly cathartic, but in addition to forgiving Captain H(ook) for the events of this past summer, I also have to forgive myself for being so completely naive and stupid! It's a process but one worth pursuing.

I'm keenly aware of the potential for my negative feelings toward the erstwhile captain to form into a resentment of mammoth proportions and, in the end, that will ultimately result in damage to me, more so than to anyone else so, one could say, it's a self-preservation pursuit, but one I am chipping my way through.

The difficulty comes not from missing the relationship. I mean, that would make as much sense as missing a tornado if you lived in Oklahoma or the people in Homestead, Florida pining for Andrew, days after he swept through town. It's not that kind of loss that challenges me. It's the fact that I steered into the path of that tornado in Oklahoma or hung out in South Florida, long after Hurricane Warnings had been broadcast. Not only should I have gotten out of town, but I should never have been in the vicinity of that "disaster waiting to happen" in the first place.

It was as if I was sailing a course for Bermuda and wound up rounding Cape Horn, which is a pretty treacherous parcel of ocean, and you really have to be "asleep at the helm" to veer that far off the chart, but that's almost exactly what happened. And, in the end, it truly was as if I stepped out of the companionway and walked to the fore deck expecting to see a beautiful beach in St. George's Harbour, only to discover I was sailing off the coast of "Cape Horn" and rather than seeing a swaying palm over turquoise water, I saw ice floes and "The March of the Penguins!" which was, in fact, a great movie, but not a place I would care to make landfall...er ice fall. (Check out the site, "March of the Penguins"...seriously it's a fantastic movie - I love Morgan Freeman's intro words, "In the harshest place on earth, love finds a way.") Sorry Morgan - love didn't find a way into this tale, but the conditions were harsh and growing worse with each passing day...

Perhaps in time, it will be revealed to me why my rational mind chose this summer to take an extended vacation, but until then, I grapple with it. If I come up with any reasonable answers, I'll be sure and enter that into the record but it may well be one of those weird phenomenon, courtesy of some ghastly and ill-fated alignment of the planets and maybe the moon was in some onerous state and possibly a brief but blustery El Nino crossed my horizon and, factor in a possible dip in caffeine consumption or dearth of chocolate and there you have it - a repeat performance of a mating ritual that was familiar and well-rehearsed, having been "tested" on other unsuspecting women on prior dates (with only limited, short-lived runs and/or success) - complete with the same soundtrack and "Saturday Night Fever" dance moves. (Yes, Glen, I know that alone would make a funny book!).

There is solid solace to be found however, even from the most grotesquely unadvised decisions and I have to remind myself of that as well. I think about how much I grew to love all that is sailing and then, as if on cue, Magellan will hop up on the back of my office chair and nuzzle me with his sweet kitten face. Or, I'll glance over and see the Bahamian flag that flew during my time in the Abacos and, if you discount that one day of sailing in a tiny, sail-shredding 60 knot wind for 12 hours through treacherous seas that you should never have been on in the FIRST FREAKING PLACE, the rest of the time the scenery was gorgeous and the water was simply beyond description, and those things remind me that even in some of the most insanity-ridden periods of our lives, good things still fly, pounce and sometimes the "sea"nery, even in the presence of the strangest among us, can take our breath away. I witnessed many a sunrise and sunset, alone in the cockpit, taking it all in as that little sailboat plied through the waters.

I even managed to meet new friends who remind me that "everything happens for a reason" and it may not all be due to a gross error in judgment. I take a lot of comfort in that fact, alone. It's the one thing that makes a modicum of sense out of a great wellspring of nonsense. So much nonsense. Geez...LOUISE! (Not to be confused with the Bonnie Raitt gosh-awful song, "Goodnight Louise" The Captain tried to cover it, but the results were not well-received.)

Onto happier topics and, save for a brief bout of food poisoning this past week, I have to say that things are looking blessedly up and a few events have been genuinely wonderful. In between the abdomen-crushing pain of eating questionable salad and/or dressing, the likes of which I haven't felt since Justin made his presence known after 36 hours of labor, life has been on the upswing.

Last Saturday Night, I was invited by a friend for a dinner cruise on the Cape Fear aboard the lovely "Henrietta". It was a three-hour tour, but fortunately the skipper knew what he was doing and we didn't land on a deserted island. It was a warm, late summer night. My friend and I dined on chicken and pork barbecue and, knowledgeable fellow that he was, he was pointing out all manner of wildlife hiding in the reeds along the river. For a few moments, I regretted having uncharacteristically leaving home without my camera.

"There's a kingfisher, see it?"

I did.

"Are those geese?", I asked.

"No, those are cormorants, I think.", he answered.

Gorgeous.

And then we both spotted something streaking by the beautiful riverboat that neither of us, and I'm willing to bet that many of our fellow cruisers, had never witnessed before and certainly didn't expect.

The "wildlife" announced themselves with the sound of a distant humming, similar to the noise a small "John boat" motor might emit, growing louder as it closed the distance: There before us, in the golden light of a setting sun, along the mysterious and winding, black water Cape Fear River, what turned out to sound similar to a "John Boat" was, in fact, said boat, carrying three, genuine, homegrown southern redneck males. Even though the phase of the moon, according to the "Current Moon Phase" widget on my blog , was reported to be at about 3% of full last Saturday Night, I can testify that the moon grew full as the middle redneck was situated in a pose familiar and natural to this particular species; his head deep into a beer cooler, trousers dropped, on full display to all of us on the East facing side of the river.

For a few moments, only the humming of the boat's small motor and the inane cackling of it's trio of troglodytes was apparent and then, as those of us in viewing range quickly collected our thoughts and determined what it was we were seeing, came a collective and audible "gasp".

My first thought was, "Thank God I forgot my camera."

Yes, nature was abundant on the seaward bound currents of the old river. My friend and I exchanged glances, as if needing to confirm that we weren't having an ill-timed and nasty hallucination and then we did the only thing that made sense at such an unexpected and distasteful sight: we just burst out laughing. I mean, what else could we do?? There was really nothing much to say other than, "I don't believe I just saw that...". I certainly wasn't drinking and I didn't think anyone had spiked the food and, other than trying to quickly erase the "vision" from my mental hard drive, I felt fine.

It only reconfirmed for me what I imagined when sailing in the rough waters of the Abacos Sea, with waves pitching in every direction...I must really have a cast-iron stomach.

I searched the sky, the shoreline of the river, my fellow passengers, my friend, my plate and even into the depths of my glass of iced tea - anything and everything, in a desperate and focused attempt to replace that image with something, anything else.

Other than that, it was a perfectly lovely evening, and certainly one I won't soon forget, rife with such wildlife sightings as it was. I wonder if that's what one self-published "writer" was talking about as he spoke of the "cloudless skies, moonlit nights and the rejuvenating power of the wilderness experience"?

Thanks, I think I'll pass.

That was more than enough wildlife for this city-slicker.

And then, perhaps by some sort of delayed transmission, I ate a salad Tuesday Evening for dinner, and within 30 minutes, wondered if I might be in labor. I don't think it had anything directly to do with "the creature from the Cape Fear" on Saturday Night, but who knows? I might have been repressing it to such a degree that the pain that I attributed to a salad on Tuesday, may well have been a latent side-effect of "rednecks in the raw". I may never really know.

I am "OFFICIALLY" back on the road again and trying to rein in the power of this new (to me!) Lincoln LS. I'm not accustomed to 8 cylinders and God knows my mind isn't always operating on all it's cylinders, but I'm slowly getting adjusted and as grateful as I am to be driving this new ride, I never get in the car that I don't remember, even for a few precious seconds, how incredibly thankful I am that I got through my car wreck on the tenth of August with only a few bruises and scratches and I stop and give thanks for the PT Cruiser that protected me through that knock-down, spin around. That PT Cruiser was a sturdy little car and it may not look as "cool" as the Lincoln that replaced it, but I'll always have a special spot for it in my heart. However, to be honest, this Lincoln is fun to drive...it's insanely fun. I'm still trying to figure out what all the buttons do.

And then, before I place the key in the ignition, I stop and give thanks for one more thing: That I'm not facing yet another trip to Raleigh, North Carolina. Not that there's anything wrong with Raleigh and there are many fine people who call it home. I met several of them during my trips "up north", but I'm afraid until the Raleigh Chamber of Commerce (I'm sure they have one, right? :-) finds a way to install an ocean, complete with tides, wave action and miles of pristine sandy beaches, well, it's just no Wilmington, North Carolina. That's not to say I wouldn't drive up "there" to pick Katie and John up from the airport, cruise up to catch James Taylor in concert at Walnut Creek or visit my friend Nina in Cary, though I think she would have so much more fun at one of our waterfront restaurants which means I'll lobby her to take a walk on the "south side".

When I made my last trip home from the small townhouse in North Raleigh way back on August 8th (and this was in the PT Cruiser), I checked my rear view mirror and, lo and behold, Raleigh was in it. I even checked both side mirrors to confirm my sighting and yes, Raleigh was in those as well. Wilmington is home and I'm just so deliciously pleased about that. I adore this town and so much the more from having been away from it so much this summer. I feel its embrace like a dear, old friend.

Hey, that's a lot to be grateful for, in my book.

Speaking of wonderful, as I was walking up the stairs this morning with my thermos of coffee, headed for my office and ready to fire up the computer, I was greeted by a trio of friends waiting for me at the head of the stairs. I'd like to think they were there solely for the purpose of welcoming me to a new day but I have to be honest - I know what it was about. Kitten Food. Syl, Cassie, Princess and yes, Magellan, are all hooked on Nutro Max Natural Kitten food. Now, Syl and Princess are 15 plus years and can hardly be described as "kittens" and Cassie is a 60 lb. dog, so by all rights, this is Magellan's dish, but how can I say no to these faces? They stand in line very politely, waiting for their turn at the bowl. They look up at me with heart-melting, doe-like eyes. They feign adoration for me, but I know it's all about the "pink bag"

Speaking of Magellan, not only has he not blogged lately (I've heard complaints about this from as faraway as Iraq!), but there have been a couple of behaviors we've seen from him that we're watching closely with no small measure of concern. Even though he had scant exposure to his adoptive "father", he's been exhibiting mannerisms that are clearly the result of even limited exposure from his brief time in Raleigh. Now, we're not prepared to call in a therapist quite yet - we're "monitoring" the situation, but clearly, he's got some of his Dad in him and I've been told by an animal therapist to "document" him when I catch him, "in the act". It's disturbing, no question, but I just keep hoping it's similar to when Justin had asthma as a little boy and we were told he would "outgrow" it. Justin did, so that gives us something to hold onto where Magellan is concerned but, then again, there's the "Katie Chronicles".

Katie was always the "boss", always assumed the role of leader - in fact, at NASA Space Camp for two summers in a row, she assumed the role of Shuttle Commander for both missions. I asked the doctor about this and he said, "Oh Susie, she'll outgrow the need to boss people around...".

Well, guess what? She did not! She STILL takes charge. I have no doubt if she were recruited to work at Mission Control in Houston, she'd nudge whoever the Head of Mission Control happens to be, out of his/her chair and send him/her out for coffee (no sugar, only cream!).

So, no, obviously, kids don't always outgrow these worrisome behavior traits, but it's still early in the game for Magellan, and we're just hoping for the best. If he starts applying to law schools or begins writing fiction, we're going to have to formulate a game plan with a reputable feline therapist and, in the words of the immortal Barney Fife, "NIP IT IN THE BUD!".

In the meantime, the animals are getting along in perfect, blended-family style and everyone seems to be very accepting of each other...well, except for Princess. She hisses if Magellan walks within three feet of her, but she's all hiss and no bite. Magellan doesn't seem to pay any attention to it whatsoever. I don't see that changing and, most probably, they won't exchange gifts at Christmas, but there's always one in every family who just has to be difficult and I guess Princess assumes that role. Otherwise, these step-siblings are getting along famously - in a friendly, frisky co-existence. You'd never guess that (most of them) weren't litter-mates, if you were to observe them as they go about their days and nights. I love 'em all!

I am aware, from having had two African Grey Parrots, that some animals prefer to perch themselves higher than anyone else in the room - as it gives them a feeling of superiority. Again, this is a common behavior with Magellan (and many, but not all, attorneys). Typically when I'm on the computer, he is "perched" along the top of my chair. I'm not sure if he's trying to read what I'm writing or just waiting for his chance to surf the 'net when I leave the room and he wants to be the first in queue. But I get the distinct feeling that he's assumed the role of my "in-house" editor.

Admittedly, since the creation of his own blog, though he's loathe to update it, he's taken on the aspect of being a "tech-cat". How this plays out when I'm not here, I can't really say. Since no damage to my system has been observed, I'm not going to make a "big deal" of it, but I get the idea that he's under the impression that I'm using "his" chair and that this desk, affectionately known as "Central Command" is now his domain. True, he's a fiery red-head and that may well have something to do with this aspect of his personality, but if I start receiving a monthly statement for "Internet Usage", we're going to have to have a sit-down talk and, well, it's not lost on me - he has retractable claws and he knows how to use them. I hope it doesn't come down to a bloodletting, because I have an idea it will be my O-Positive blood that gets "spilled".

On the bedroom front, I finished painting the shutters, the drawers, and yes, I even installed a bookshelf! Photos to be posted soon! I also redid the loft and it looks warm, cozy and inviting. I've made my peace with the coming of cooler weather and if it has to be, at least I'll have a welcoming spot to read books and think not-so-deep thoughts. I'll post photos of that as well, but I felt with the animal pictures on this entry, readers would be on "cute-overload" and these animals are so saccharine to view that I can't be held responsible for any acute outbreaks of diabetes. You look - you take your chances.

Until next time...

Oh, and if you've read this far, please sign my guest book! It's really not that difficult.

Imagin(ation) and a New Smooth Ride...

I found the following quote very interesting - I "borrowed" it after reading it in my daily dose of "The Writer's Almanac". The words have revisited my mind many times since I met them a few days ago: "Alice Sebold said, 'It's very weird to succeed at 39 years old and realize that in the midst of your failure, you were slowly building the life that you wanted.'"

I have been busy this week - rearranging, refinishing, replacing and rebuilding. When you think about it, that's a lot of "re-'s", and reasons, to feel optimistic.

Confession: I've hated my bedroom and the contents contained therein for the longest time. In fact, I hated it so much, I went out of my way not to walk in there until I was sure I would fall fast asleep because I just didn't like the ambiance. I disliked the furniture, the arrangement and so deep was my loathing that I never even bothered to hang anything on the walls.

Soon after my erstwhile "engagement" with Capt. H(ook), I just figured I'd let it go - after all, I would be moving to Raleigh, and inheriting someone else's taste, even though I didn't care too much for his stuff either - it reminded me of a law library and was extremely heavy and staid and way too muted in a dismal, dark sort of way - almost like Martha Stewart decorated the tiny space while trying to recover from a hangover or from a very dark emotional place, like maybe in the gloomy days after she lost her appeal and found out she was, in fact, going to prison in West Virginia. But I digress...

My bedroom - the one I'm keeping in Wilmington needed some serious help. I like bright, primary colors and, while I was fond of the "yellow just like the center of a classic daisy" shade of my bedroom walls, I didn't care for too much else. It was just so...blah and in need of an urgent intervention.

After recovering my senses and coming to terms with the fact that I couldn't sign on to be a pirate's wife and admitting that a move to Raleigh was not a smart (understatement!) idea I was, once again, confronted with the question of what to do with my bedroom? I looked around my house and found a dresser that was, structurally, in fine shape but had about 7 layers of paint on it. It looked terrible and the drawer handles were abysmal, but it had potential.

Given that I had recent, extensive experience in stripping teak, courtesy of my time spent in Oriental this past summer, I decided to ply my newfound skills and set about stripping the dresser. I started with my scraper but, soon enough, it became apparent that the job required more than a sharp blade. My friend Jimi (yes, that Jimi) suggested I get some paint stripper, open the windows and wait a few minutes and all the layers would come off without much resistance.

As usual, he was right, and before long, I was scraping, gooey globs of years old paint and within a day, I had it all removed, lightly sanded and ready for something fresh. I chose glossy white (daisy petal white) and I dug around in my backyard shed and found some cool ivy-shaped brass handles. After three carefully applied coats of enamel paint, I drilled my holes and attached the new handles and, voila, it is LOVELY, if I do say so myself!

But of course, home improvements are like rabbits and they seem to inspire additional work because the one "new" addition makes everything else look worn and needy, and so it was in my bedroom. Next up was the built in drawers beneath my television that I had someone build-in a couple of years ago, but never got around to painting. They're great, spacious drawers, but they really looked unimpressive next to the new and improved dresser. Justin went and fetched another can of white enamel, some more brushes, and I was back in business and covered in more white paint. Again, the results have been tremendous. But of course, there was more work to be done.

My wooden window shutters. Again, I had them built a couple of years ago, but never got around to finishing the paint job. No time like the present, right? This time I found the can of "center of the daisy" yellow paint that was used for my walls and I've been painting the frame of the shutters and the interior section is in the final stages of their 3rd white coat.

Add to this a set of navy blue sheets, a Ralph Lauren navy blue patchwork quilt and shams that I bought a few years ago but forgot about, and the whole room was coming together in amazing fashion.

It was my friend Sharon who stepped in to "shed a little light" on me and my room. Last Friday morning, I was awakened by this nutty, tall, blond woman who was jostling me awake. She had walked in my house, charged up my stairs and burst into my room and decided we were going to spend the day together and she knew just how the day was going to go down.

She had sold a house that was closing last Friday at 2:00 PM, and she said there were a few things that needed to be taken out. I protested - "I have plans!", I lied. "I'm going to do 'stuff' today and I can't go...", I retorted.

"I haven't even had any coffee!!!!!", I desperately pointed out.

"I'll get your freaking coffee. Get dressed, brush your teeth and I'll meet you outside. NOW!", she bellowed and I do mean, bellowed! (Sorry Sharon, but you really did bellow...be glad I don't have photographic evidence of it!)

Well, what can you do with a woman like that? I could tell she meant business and short of sudden death, I had nothing to stand on. I brushed my teeth, grabbed my bag and away we went. Even as we backed out of the driveway, I was still arguing with this woman, but it fell on stone-deaf ears. Thank God for her.

Before I could finish my coffee, we were pulling into the driveway of a beautiful house in a subdivision not far from my home. Sharon spied a well-built wicker etagere for her beach house. Also left behind were two handsome brass lamps, an overstuffed chair in perfect shape that would look elegant in my loft/library, an old-fashioned red Coleman oil lantern, vintage in style and color, and a few other odds and ends. We made several trips back and forth between my house and the soon to be closed "other" dwelling, and by the end of the day, I had a spiffy looking chair that looked perfectly suited to being surrounded by a collection of books and ready to ensconce someone bound for a "long-read", two impressive brass lamps to light up my "new and improved" bedroom, and that sweet Coleman oil lamp to set on my window sill.

All because a head-strong, obstinate, blond woman jerked me out of bed on an early Friday Morning, refused to listen or pay the least bit of attention to my limp protestations to the contrary, and literally pushed me into her SUV and, along with it, into a brand new day. What an angel. What an amazing Friday angel she proved to be, as she has been my angel for oh-so-many years, swooping down to lend me a hand when I needed a little help getting up. I love her.

Sharon is not completely heartless. The woman even tucked into Smithfield's around 1:00 PM and we sat in her car ravenously eating chicken wings (my favorite!) and slurping down large iced teas. She may well have the "drill sergeant" routine down cold, but she's got a heart of pure, solid gold. We had a blast, of course, because we always do when we get together. I talked, she listened and then she talked and I listened. Even though we mostly know what the other was about to say, we do it anyway because we can. Everyone should have a "Sharon" in their life. I am most grateful for my Sharon.

So now I have this (almost) completed spiffy bedroom that I find myself drawn to much earlier in the evenings than I'm accustomed to, because it's cozy, it's inviting and it feels warm. It feels like home. I look around and I can't believe I did all the work it took to get it to the place that it is. The surprise isn't that it took any great talent on my part. Anyone could do the labor required to paint a dresser, window shutters or a built-in bureau - it hardly required a Picasso. What was lacking before but somehow finally found to find its way into my atmosphere, was the desire to make the change. And I can't even take credit for the "wherewithal" that sprung me into action.

"Do something about it.", my daughter most unsympathetically offered when I was busy complaining how I didn't like the way my bedroom looked, or how I need to get an outline into a publishing house that has exhibited a steadfast and saint-like degree of patience toward me and my writing (and you KNOW who you are...). Or how I wistfully belabored that fact that I want to visit Nantucket, Maine and the whole of the New England Coast.

"Do something about it. If you want it bad enough, make it happen.", she challenged me. How dare her! Who does she think she is?

She's Katie Parker, that's who she is. The kid I raised who feels no reluctance whatsoever to "give it to me straight". Also one of the trio who saw Captain Kook for the "disaster in waiting" that he proved himself to be and never waivered from her first impression, much as I tried (at the time) to change her obstinate opinion. Gosh, she can be so...so...so...annoyingly right. And she does it with an irritating regularity.

It was a messy business, the stripping solvent, the scraping, the gummy mess of old paint being chemically melted and it occurred to me that the process isn't unlike what happens inside when we have to face unpleasant hurdles, change course and adjust those darn emotional mainsails. Sometimes, horses will buck when the reins are abuptly pulled and sailboats are known to lurch and affect an unappealing, nausea-inducing motion in protest. Human beings, at least this one, has been known to duck her head in the sand knowing full well that eventually a well-timed wave will wash the sand away but, irritatingly enough, not the problem. Sometimes it dawns on me that more of my energy is expended running from a problem than looking for a durable solution and yet, I still drag my feet sometimes, slowing my life down looking for a quick-fix that is generally more time-consuming and far more trouble than facing whatever it is that's looming "in the distance" head-on. Must be the metal composition of my skull or maybe I'm just slow to catch on?

So the whole "bedroom transformation" was about so much more than a mere cosmetic improvement. I had a lot of time to think as I scraped, broke a few blades and removed the goop. Perhaps the Alice Sebold quote cited in the beginning of this diatribe may fit me well, except that I'm not 39 anymore - I'm 47. But I think an adjustment in the age is of little consequence. Maybe the final outcome is the same and it could well be that I'm just a long-running work in progress well on my way to a "life I wanted". Determination and optimism demand that I believe that I am, that we all are, for that matter.

I'm sure that there will be more times in my life that I'll be tempted to seek the "easy way out" and I'll have to re-learn the principle that there is seldom an easy way out - that life and relationships and even well-advised adventures require no small measure of hard work, persistence and sweat and sometimes, even a goopy mess, and that's OK. Sometimes the finished product turns out flawless and stands as a testament that all the hard work that went into making it happen was justified and worth the expenditure, long after the plastic drop-cloths are removed and tossed away.

Now, in the evening, I tuck into a bed situated in a room that I find comfortable and easy on the eyes. I reach for a book on my newly restored bedside table, where a lamp I didn't own a week ago now casts a golden glow on the pages of a book I'm reading about a woman who sailed around the globe - single-handed - and I am joined by an orange tabby kitten named Magellan who leans over and swats his clawed paw toward the nose of a beautiful, blond dog who lays on the floor by my bed every single night. I listen to James Taylor's "southern by way of Boston" accented voice, soothingly creating an audio ambiance to match the warm glow of my walls and new (to me!) lamps. I look around and remember the mess of a week ago when everything was in various stages of removal and application and knowing I affected the change surrounding me makes me feel right down accomplished. I look over at the new photos and art hanging on my wall and as my eyes fall on Justin and Katie's face smiling through one of the frames. I smile right back, right from my heart.

I did something about it, Katie and, you know what? You were right. I did the work, and it turned out better than I ever expected. It may be that other things will turn out fine, as well. I expect nothing less and, well, that's more than half the battle, right? You and your formidable brand of "tough love". It's all just so New York of you but, of course, we knew you were like that before you ever stepped into Manhattan.

In OTHER news - I replaced the PT Cruiser which served me well through a car wreck but is no more. I now have a Lincoln LS V8 - which is far more car (and power!) than I was looking for and sports a dashboard that reminds me of an airplane cockpit, but my next door neighbor and partner-in-crime made me an offer I couldn't refuse. We sealed the deal this afternoon and that means next week I will be MOBILE again! Thanks Kathleen!

Oh, and my new mantra (well, ONE of my new mantras), "just say no to pirates, especially the ones disguised as attorneys." :-) With all due respect to the legal profession (Jimi is permanently exempt), sailor/attorney types are a prescription for disaster.

(Any resemblance to any person, real or unimaginable, is purely coincidental.)

With Gratitude and Warm Happy Birthday Greetings!

First of all, thank you to everyone for all the notes, good wishes, e-mails of encouragement and kindness. It's meant so much to me. I can't thank you enough and it's been nice to meet some unexpected, but most welcome, "new friends" courtesy of these unpredictable late summer days. I find myself going back and reading your words, and I smile, laugh, and shake my head at how I could never have imagined the places and circumstances this summer has taken me, but still and all, the underlying and strongest emotion is that of gratitude. (Photo: Katie, Billie & Susie getting ready to board the ferry at Cedar Island, May 2007.)

I have been touched beyond measure and merit by the e-mails, guest book entries and "comments" that have arrived via computer - and I just can't seem to feel too sad when I consider the overall genuine goodness of friends, and my amazing, resilient and ever-supportive family. I have smiled a great deal as I've read and reread letters, notes and laughed and smiled through many phone conversations. And of course, Kathleen's running dialogue and "play-by-play", not to mention her suggestion of hilarious, but never to be published, "book titles", have kept me giggling until I've seriously had tears running down my face. Thank you friends, for helping me find more reasons to celebrate and see the humor and, well, humor has been infused into so much of what I've read. To my special friend, Jim in Amarillo, your note truly touched my heart and I know it came from yours. (Photo: Kathleen and her good friend, Chris Meloni.)

I'm happy to say that bruises and cuts from the car wreck are nearly all healed. Now all I have to do is get a check from the other driver's insurance company and settle on my next car. I hate making decisions like that! I have no clue what I want - well, I do know what I want - a navy blue jaguar convertible! But that's going to be way out of my budget so, short of that, I want something that gets good gas mileage and has every safety feature possible. I have to say that little PT Cruiser performed well given the hard knock it took. Even though it was totaled, no glass was broken in the collision and though the airbags were responsible for most of my injuries, I also have no doubt that they, along with my seatbelt, saved my life. (Photo: Catch of the Day! Oriental, NC.)

I'm getting ready to head out right now to commune with water and sails, but I will be back late tomorrow night. However, tomorrow is a very special day. My sweet, sardonic and brilliant daughter will celebrate 24 amazing years! I feel like I'm the one who's really celebrating because I've had 24 fantastic years enjoying the pleasure of watching her grow up and I am just so proud of her, as I am of Justin, who will soon celebrate 21 years! They keep getting older, but I personally refuse to age, regardless of what year the calendar suggests I acknowledge.

Katie and John are spending a wonderful and much deserved four day weekend in Rockport, Mass. She's called and text-messaged me with updates, funny anecdotes and I'm completely jealous. She visited Gloucester, Mass., yesterday, and took a photo of the fisherman statue (see her blog!) and I'm green with envy, but so happy for her. She went swimming in the ocean today and tomorrow, she and John will go on a "Whale-Watching" tour. I hope they see lots of them. She promised me a lot of photos. You can visit her blog at: Sweet Tea in NYC and if you do, please leave her a "Happy Birthday" note! I'm sure she would appreciate it and I wish I could give her a "happy birthday" hug in person, but maybe this fall, I can deliver a belated one. (Glen - we have to see about meeting up in October - one year - and I want a tour of the House that Random Built!). (Photo: Katie & John.)

Anyway, that's all for now. I'm ready to leave and I've been told we will be crabbing AND I might get to see some dolphins tomorrow. Of course, I have my camera and will post photos of Flicker if I see him. Thanks again for warm wishes, and I send them right back to everyone who's been kind enough to write. The moon looks beautiful outside, and I'm ready to be back on the water and grab some summer rays. What an incredible two weeks it has been - not what I would have planned, but as several friends have said over and over, "everything happens for a reason.". I have to believe it is so.

And to Vanessa - I got your card in the mail today - it nearly made me cry. Your voice DOES ring in my head all the time. You are psychic! I have to say that you are more than entitled to say, "I told you so!". I wish you hadn't been "right all along", and I know you wish it, too. I'm glad I still have you in my corner. (Photo: Vanessa, Kathleen & Susie "doing lunch".)

Blowing Through The Jasmine In My Mind...

[Editor's Note: After posting the following blog entry, it came as no surprise to me when I received an e-mail from one of my "loyal readers". I am taking the liberty of posting the e-mail I received which arrived in my e-mail box within minutes of my posting about the sub-par jasmine tea I purchased recently at a Harris-Teeter in North Raleigh. The blog entry which elicited this response follows the letter from one of my concerned, but loyal, readers.]

Dear Susan - Since you would have expected me to advise you how much one bag of that sub-par jasmine tea cost, including TAX, it comes to $0.68 per bag. That is based on fifteen almost weightless little bags of that "stuff" at a cost of $9.99 plus twenty cents state sales tax. I don't understand why you would "waste" money for sub-par tea when you can purchase in bulk, at least 200, Lipton's tea bags at Sam's for half of that price. If you are going to SPLURGE with purchases such as this, why not spend another few cents for a $0.75 cent Dr. Pepper or a Coke? .....Of course I'm kidding, otherwise you would be suggesting I slip into Walmart and pick corn silk off of that fresh corn in the produce department and smoke it in my pipe......Sure glad your Mom enjoys that Liptons Instant tea. Please don't offer her a sample of that tea which came by FedEx today. I'd go "broke" in a hurry if she developed a taste for that jasmine tea.

Love, Dad.

[What follows is the original post, the one that triggered the response (see above) from one of my loyal readers - the man widely believed to be my father - though we don't have DNA tests to confirm this as yet. :-) My mother will kill me for that last statement, but it won't be the first time. ]

I must confess, I am a tea snob. I'm not proud, but it's the truth. I am a huge tea snob. My daughter Katie has, to some extent, been adversely and probably irrevocably affected by my vice. Her own blog is entitled, "Sweet Tea in NYC" and I can't help but feel some responsibility for that - though I am no aficionado of the sugary, syrupy sweet tea so prevalent and widely distributed in the South. I prefer unsweetened but, it's clear that from her years growing up under my influence, she has her own "tea monkey" to deal with.

I have an addiction to jasmine tea and it's not pretty...well, jasmine tea is quite lovely, but my affection for it is over the top and my love for all things jasmine, particularly tea, is fierce.

And not just "any" jasmine tea. I have developed a taste for Adiago Teas Jasmine #12 - and I can't help it. I didn't "Just Say No" when the first delivery arrived on my doorstep, courtesy of a Fed Ex Agent working on behalf of a friend in Whitehaven, UK - who spends his days as a British Nuclear Engineer and his "free time" as a councilman in local government and is no slouch in the tea department, having vacationed in Sri Lanka a few years ago, (it all sounds very James Bond-esque, don't you think?). He's a blatant and repetitive "enabler" and I find myself powerless to turn it down. I feed my addiction and quench my thirst far more often than I should but, to be fair, even though it's expensive, it's very healthy and let's not forget the whole anti-oxidant thing it's got going on. Don't knock it until you've tried it. I happen to believe there's some sort of anti-carcinogenic, anti-aging component to the stuff which only heightens my already deep desire to consume more and more...it's a vicious, but delicious cycle and one I see no point in eradicating.

The other day when I was poking around the Harris-Teeter in North Raleigh and, having run out of "the good stuff", I found myself putting back real groceries and saw myself placing a box of 15 tea bags which came with the unpleasant price of $9.99. Even though I half-heartedly attempted to talk myself out of it, I didn't remove it from my basket and yes, I actually paid $9.99 for 15 tea bags of what turned out to be sub-par, unimpressive jasmine tea.

It should be noted I did NOT stop by Dunkin Donuts and score a bag of their incredibly rich and robust house blend coffee. It's not like I didn't make some concessions. Though I wasn't proud of what I paid for the tea, I didn't go hugely overboard and make the over-the-top purchase of my other favorite caffeinated concoction

My guilt was further expanded when I realized that if my father knew that I had spent that much money for 15 tea bags, regardless of how delectable and exquisite the taste may be, he would, first of all, calculate how much each tea bag cost, including tax, and then he would probably tell me I had lost my mind. I'm my Daddy would have probably fainted, after he handed me his calculations of price per tea bag, quickly followed with an agonizing shaking of his head, muttering to no one in particular, "Where did we go wrong?". It's no secret, I lose all rationality when it comes to fine tea.

But today, courtesy of my car wreck, my friend and supplier in the UK, who has been guilty of feeding my addiction many times before, sent me 16 glorious ounces of this prized, irresistible, seductive tea, as a get-well gesture and I have to tell you, that receiving this tea nearly made the bruises and lacerations worth the trouble. I am in tea heaven and I find myself handling it as if it were an sac of gold or platinum. This is the good stuff, the real deal, the best of the best the tea world has to offer. I'm so glad my British friend didn't let that whole miserable period of history when our countries were a bit "at odds" come between kindness and friendship. The Brits are a fine people and a generous lot, at that.

Thank you Mr. Norwood. I know it will result in a more speedy recovery and I will toast you from across the pond and please know that this most delightful "get well" gift, will be savored drop by precious drop - over ice, because I like it like that!

I feel better already! Bless you!

Post Crash Update and Shout-Outs...

[To read about the actual car crash - click here: Crash Test, Dummy]

The ER Experts got it wrong. They said the really "painful" day would be the third one (Sunday), but I didn't find that to be the case. Yesterday was when the pain came a-knocking! I guess my neck and back got knocked around when that airbag slammed me in the face! Yesterday I found myself moving around like a really old woman! My own mother is 83 and she was whizzing around this place with far more ease than I felt! Hopefully today I'll start to see some much anticipated improvement and my body will begin to feel "more normal" and my "normal" feels much better than 47, but right now, I'd settle for feeling my age!

I did catch up on my sleep yesterday. Maybe it was the flexeril or perhaps I was just finally exhausted enough, but I slept through several June Allyson movies, who was the featured actress on TCM. Even perky June Allyson flicks couldn't keep me from catching a lot of Zzzzzzz's, and three of them featured Jimmy Stewart so, there you go, you KNOW I had to be feeling poorly to miss the chance to see him.

But what I need, is to say how much it meant to me to hear from my friends and readers. I want to thank everyone who checked in via phone, e-mail and text messages!! (When you're lying in bed reliving a head-on collision - you get excited when something diverts your attention and you get messages from the outside world!) A special thank you to my daughter Katie, who called from NYC and even surreptitiously called my parents to make sure I really was telling her the truth, and that I wasn't seriously injured. And to Amy, Jim (in Amarillo), David, Bobby, Kathleen, Glen, Sharon, Ali, Verd (on the edge of corn), Nic, David C., Shane, Billie, Michel, Bruce, Jimi and I'm sure I'm forgetting a few, thank you so much for your good wishes and concern and sweet notes and voice mails and funny texts! I really needed some cheering up yesterday because I think it all just sort of took that long to sink in and hit me! My son Justin even brought me another large iced tea and chicken wings!

I've also discovered that chocolate seems to have curative powers or maybe I just feel unapologetically entitled to eat more of it than usual. No, I'm sure that there's a therapeutic effect to eating deep, dark, dangerously decadent chocolate and if there's not, it must have some kind of mood elevator because I always feel happier after a few hits of it! I wonder if I could get a doctor to write a script for more chocolate? And ice cream - or does that only work for tonsils? No wait, ice cream has to be good for you, it's loaded with calcium and I think we can all agree you need that for strong bones, right? Well, my bones need a nice pat on the marrow for not breaking, so I'm going to treat them today. But I'm only eating the ice cream as a calcium-delivery system. I'm sure I won't enjoy it. :-) I'll just have to force myself to "take my medicine". It's not easy being in my "condition".

I hated spending most of the day in bed yesterday, but I honestly couldn't move enough to do anything about it! Of course, my parents were their usual attentive selves and at the ready if I needed anything. Mostly what I needed was just plain sleep, I think, and from the feel of it, I might catch a few more hours of it today. I HATE sleeping away a day in hot, summery August, but maybe my body's got a point and I need to finish reading a couple of books I'm knee deep in anyway. I spoke with a friend last night, during one of my more lucid intervals, and he worked hard to erase any guilt I might be feeling for spending the day in bed and suggested I do the same today. I love it when people give me advice that I want to hear!

It was interesting to note that some of you shared with me that I popped in your mind on Friday - kind of out of the blue - I wonder if there is some telepathic connection? People have popped in my mind before on days when something out of the ordinary happened to them. I wonder what the source of such thoughts is? Is there a connection? Can we feel when someone we know is in the middle of a strange and/or dangerous experience or they are facing a challenge?

Thanks again, my friends, and feel free to send up a few prayers - they are much appreciated and I don't think you can ever have too many of them. Stay in touch because it's boring being homebound like this! Hopefully I'll be out and about sooner rather than later and it will be nice to get out of pajamas!

I hope everyone has a wonderful Tuesday and I'm looking forward to feeling my normal (whatever that is), abnormal self! Be careful out there if you're driving...and watch those traffic lights - some people just don't see them! I wouldn't wish these past few days, particularly yesterday, even on an oral surgeon!

Stay in touch - it means the world to me. Send me some news from the outside world! Make it up if you have to - I really won't know the difference!

Crash Test, Dummy

If it was, in fact, a "crash test", I think I may have passed. The fact that I'm alive and kicking and able to write about my unexpected "exam", at the very least, testifies to the fact that I was spared to tell the tale. That's got to count for something, right?

Friday Morning, I headed out at around 10:10 for a 10:40 AM appointment to have my car serviced. I ran back in the house three times - looking for my shoes, my iced tea and something else which I can't even remember.

Somewhere in another part of Wilmington, a 34 year old woman and her daughter were in their car, having driven in from Lumberton, and she was lost and looking for I-40.

I stopped within about an eighth of a mile from my destination and moved into the lane that would allow me to turn left after the light changed from red to green. When the light changed, I began making my left hand turn and right in the middle of that turn, the woman from Lumberton who was looking for I-40, forgot to notice she was about to run a red light and, instead of the interstate, she found me and smacked right into my car, sending me into a spin.

When my car finally came to an unexpected screeching halt, I sat there with an airbag in my face, a crumpled left arm, a few cuts and bruises and feeling dizzy and completely disoriented. She landed about 200 yards from where I sat and I remember sitting in my car, pushing the now deflated airbag out of my face, and shaking. I remember shaking a lot. My heart was pounding and I wondered if I was seriously hurt and I remember thinking that I needed to breathe.

Within seconds, a very kind man in a pickup truck rushed over to me, leaving his vehicle in the middle of the intersection, and he asked me if I was OK? He was very sweet and appeared genuinely concerned. I remember thinking, I have to get up out of this car and walk. I need to walk. I need to move. I could literally feel my heart beating like a snare drum, but I needed to make certain my other parts were working. I skittishly looked down to see if there was any blood. My arm began blowing up like a balloon and I could almost see the bruises forming, collected pools of blood just beneath the surface of my skin. I was very aware of my breathing and I was afraid I would start hyperventilating which would signal a loss of control on my part and I was very keen on staying in control. "Slow down. Breathe slowly. You're OK.", became my mantra and I was determined to keep repeating it until I actually bought into the idea that I was, in fact, OK.

I kept glancing at the vehicle that hit me and it was several minutes before anyone emerged from it. I didn't see any visible damage to the other car from the vantage point of my car, but my PT Cruiser looked as if it had hit a brick wall. In the floor of my car, coins lay scattered about and my phone charger cord was tangled around my iPod and fine dust was suspended in the air, from the sudden explosive deployment of the airbags which prevented me from being thrown through the windshield. I was still seatbelted in, but I had a desperate urge to move in order to prove, if only to myself, that I could.

Within minutes, a female paramedic was hunched down beside me, asking me if I was OK? Good question! As it turned out I was curious about that myself. I could hear my heart beating in my ears and I had the strong desire to walk and walk and walk and shake myself out of the fog that had settled around my brain. I had a strong suspicion that a hospital visit was looming in my immediate future and this added to my stress, which no doubt added to my heart rate.

Many times during these recent late spring and summer months, I have felt that I wouldn't want to exchange places with anyone, thoroughly enjoying my life to the extent that I wouldn't want to miss a single one of the magical moments I have experienced. Friday Morning, however, I would have given anything NOT to be me. I knew instinctively that even the shuddering thought of being prepped for a root canal would be a step up from my present location at the intersection of "car" and "wreck".

The sweet, perky paramedic took my blood pressure which, interestingly enough, reported systolic and diastolic numbers within normal range. My pulse, however, was an entirely different story and she grimaced as she tried to count the beats. "Your heart rate is 170 right now - you're in shock, ma'am.".

Yikes! Not good! I could have done without that information. The mention of that figure, and her obvious alarm at the number of beats per minute, probably cranked things even higher.

She told me we needed to get in the ambulance and get a monitor on me. She asked me if I could walk with her. My answer was two-fold: Yes, I could walk but no, I'd rather pass on the whole monitoring plan.

"Yes, but I don't want to lay on the stretcher and I don't want a monitor because if I do that, I will become convinced that I'm not OK and so if it's all the same to you, I'll just sit in your ambulance."

She smiled and hesitantly agreed to the terms of my condition.

I asked her for a drink of water and she said she couldn't do that until I was checked out at the hospital. I kept asking anyway. The answer was always the same, but I desperately wanted some water.

As I followed her to the ambulance, we passed by the woman who had been driving the other vehicle and in a trembling, tearful utterance, she spoke, "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I hit your car.". I remember telling her that I was sure she hadn't done it intentionally and I kept walking. I don't think I was still too sure of what had just happened to me. The feeling of unreality was disconcerting, to say the least. It's sort of like I cognitively knew that I had just been in a wreck, but there was this other "feeling" that I was not completely aware of what had just transpired. It was very much an "out of body" experience - like when you get a sense of watching yourself rather than being yourself.

Taking the proffered hand of a male EMT, I climbed up into the paramedic's truck and sat down on the bench facing the stretcher that they were trying their best to entice me to lie down on. I quietly, but firmly, protested and told them that it would be better for all of us if I just sat on the bench. My EMT Trio kept trying to convince me that to take them up on their offer didn't mean I was more injured, but that they really would love to monitor my heart. I thought about it, but again, it just didn't strike me as the thing to do. I will have to admit, however, that I respected their tenacity.

During the course of our negotiations, we compromised and I allowed them to place a clip on my finger which would report my heart rate, but no monitors, please. I mean, you have to draw the line somewhere, right? Give them an index finger and they want to place leads on your chest. Isn't that just typical? :-)

The paramedics exchanged amused glances with each other and decided that perhaps it might be the best course not to push their point, God Bless them. I told them I wasn't trying to be difficult, but explained that for me to lie on a stretcher would make me think I was dying and I'd prefer to stay away from such ideas and that if I allowed myself to believe that I was seriously injured, they'd have to deal with a massive panic attack and I wanted to save all of us from that if possible.

Within a few more minutes, the other driver and her 15 year old daughter joined our merry little group in the ambulance and the 15 year old had no issues with laying on a stretcher and happily allowed herself to be tended to. Her mother started complaining of chest pains and, while I was sorry that she wasn't feeling on top of her game, I remember thinking, "There you go people, now you have someone to play the part of a patient and you can leave me quietly to my anxiety." Every few minutes, the male EMT would pull out the finger monitor and place it on the index finger of my right hand and as he did so, I would search his face as he calibrated my pulse rate. He kept frowning..."Your pulse is very high - it's 165. You really should be lying down...".

Being well-trained in the "the glass is half-full" school of thought, I came back with a more positive spin; "165? That's great! It's coming down! It was 170 bpm a few minutes ago - it's a good trend! Let's celebrate!".

He just looked at me like I was a nut but he always grinned, even if he did shake his head as if to wonder what kind of a freak I was.

"Do I look OK?", I queried several times, not out of vanity but as a means to assess my "condition". I wondered if my pupils were equal and not dialated because I was seriously afraid of a head injury for some reason. He swore I didn't exhibit any signs of a person with a concussion - I can't help but wonder, however, if he didn't indeed think I was a "head case". I didn't bother to press the issue.

"You look a lot better than I would if I had a pulse of 165!", he cheerfully said in an effort to make me feel better, I'm sure. "If my pulse was that high, I wouldn't be sitting up arguing about laying on a stretcher!".

Gee, thanks. I think.

On the way to the hospital, I pulled out my cell phone because there were two calls I needed to make but I wanted to be careful of the tone I used, so as not to create unnecessary panic. We didn't need any additional panic - I had enough panic going on for several people, and I dearly didn't want to scare my parents to death - so my next challenge was how to inform them without causing them to require the assistance of their own set of paramedics! I decided I would try and be "light" with the news and get off the phone as fast as I could.

I dialed my parents number and my dad answered, "Daddy, I had a wreck - it wasn't my fault, but my car got smashed and they're taking me to the hospital."

"Are you OK? Are you hurt?".

"I'm OK - my arm is a little bruised, but I think I'm just fine otherwise."

"I'm leaving right now. I'll see you in a few minutes.", he said, no doubt fighting to sound as casual as I was trying to sound, but I'm sure he was scared to death.

When we pulled into the hospital ER, the paramedic who had been sneaking in pulse readings from my finger, informed me that I would have to sit in a wheelchair because if they found out what my heart rate was and saw that I had "walked in", he would lose his job. I thought about that and decided I could handle the wheelchair issue. I promised him I would not be the source of his firing and agreed to be wheeled into the ER - as long as I was sitting in an upright position. Detente is a good thing and I understood his position.

A few minutes after being wheeled into the ER, I saw my Dad at the information desk and I said, "Hey Daddy!", in a voice loud enough for him to find me. He walked over and gave me a big, heartfelt, relieved hug. I showed him my arm and told him I thought I was really OK. Just kind of shook up. I think seeing me ambulatory offered him instant relief - that and the fact that my next words to him were, "Daddy, could you see if you can find a cafeteria and get me an iced tea?" He smiled, and set about on his mission. I guess he figured if I was thinking of iced tea, I couldn't be too bad off.

He asked me to call my Mom on the cell phone and let her know I was OK and I happily made that call. By now, I felt more in control of myself and I wanted to ease her angst. "I'm OK, Mom. Just a little banged up.". She asked me if she could tell Justin and I said, "Sure - but tell him I'm OK.".

Within about fifteen minutes, I saw my son and his girlfriend walking toward me and he enveloped me in a big hug. He had stopped at Smithfield's on the way to the hospital and brought me a very large sweet iced tea. I was so appreciative and realized that this kid knows me pretty well. I started gulping it down with no thought to the directive not to take anything by mouth until I was seen by a doctor.

Justin asked me if I needed for him to call Katie or anyone else. I told him he could call Katie. Justin went outside and rang up Katie who, in a moment of deductive reasoning, told her co-worker, Eric, that she knew something had happened because her brother never called her before noon and that whatever it was, must be serious.

I was seen by a triage nurse and she, too, frowned at my pulse rate which was now a much more reasonable 156, and after I told her it had been 170, she didn't think 156 was so bad after all. I was directed to the waiting area and told that I would be called when it was my turn. I breathed a huge sigh of relief because I figured if they were willing to let me wait among the masses, I couldn't be too seriously hurt. I was happy to be told to wait and didn't bother giving any grief to the clerk who came over and clasped a hospital bracelet around my wrist. Even I know you have to pick your battles.

A few minutes went by and a serious looking State Trooper came over and handed me my driver's license, which I had given to him at the scene of the crash. I started to tell him that it wasn't my fault - I had waited until the light changed to green before making my turn, but he immediately told me that the other driver had been cited and that she had been lost and "wasn't from around here". He gave me a slip of paper with her insurance information, driver's license number and name and address, so we could turn it into our insurance rep. He went on to tell me that my car was considered totaled and that my medical bills would be covered by her insurance company. He gave us a card with the name of the towing company and that I could call and make arrangements to go and retrieve my belongings out of my car. He wound up our talk by saying he hoped I felt better and that everything would be OK.

Whew! It was nice to get the official notice that I was in the clear. I'm sure my pulse was probably reduced by 20 beats following that short conversation. It's nice to be on the good side of "the law".

Justin and Stephanie sat and waited with my Dad and me for about an hour, and then Justin left to take Stephanie to work, secure in the knowledge that I really was OK. As I sat there between my Dad and Justin, I felt so much better and safe and protected. Two of my favorite guys were propping me up with their care and concern and I began to realize just how fortunate I was to be loved by my family.

Soon enough, my name was called.

We were directed to an examination room and a nurse walked in and asked me the same questions that the triage nurse had posed. Did they imagine I might answer differently or use an "alias"? Were these trick questions? Again, I dutifully answered

The PA came in and gave me a thorough going over. He performed basic neurological tests that at least confirmed the presence of a brain, surveyed my body for bruises and bumps, checked my reflexes and studied the open wound on my arm. He told me that he didn't think my arm was broken, but that he wanted an x-ray to confirm that, and he also told me I would be getting a tetanus shot, given that I couldn't remember the last time I had one. Overall, though he told me I would be sore for the next few days from the impact of the crash, I had much to be thankful for and had sustained very little damage.

Sure enough, the x-rays confirmed that no bones were broken and before long, a very sweet nurse walked in bearing syringes and a sling. "Hi there, here we just met me and I have to start off giving you an injection. I'm sorry we have to start off this way." I agreed that it probably wasn't the best way for us to begin a relationship but, given the setting and the circumstance, I totally understood the position she was in. She proceeded to inoculate me against tetanus.

A bit later, she came in and started demonstrating the finer points of wearing a sling. She shared how her three year old had been required to wear one a couple of years ago and how she basically didn't comply with doctor's orders. I asked her if she honestly expected me to behave any differently and she laughed and said that she didn't figure I'd spend much time in it but pleaded and said, "Work with me. At least wear it out of the ER so it will look like I did my job.". I liked her immediately and promised her I'd look obedient at least until I got safely off hospital property.

In addition to the sling, she handed me two prescriptions for the expected aches and pain. The soreness was already setting in and I was more than ready to head home.

When we arrived, my Mom met me the door and she gave me a very long, warm hug and told me how happy she was to see that I was OK. I know she was relieved to see for herself what she had been told over the phone. I felt so blessed to be able to walk into her warm embrace - it doesn't matter how old you may be, there are some days when nothing feels as wonderful as being taken care of by your Mom. This was one of those days and I felt so happy to be around to cause her further exasperation - something I've done for over 47 years.

My dad returned with my medication and by now, I was really feeling some pain and no longer had to be cajoled into laying down. I settled into bed with a bowl of chicken soup and I was ready for it - having not eaten all day. As I ate this wonderful creation, I returned to reading "Maiden Voyage", by Tania Abei.

Katie called me and was relieved to hear that I truly was OK. She'd been very uneasy since hearing I'd been in a car wreck, and I was so touched by her concern. She wanted to hear the whole story and she agreed she would have had to skip on the whole stretcher/heart monitor part, and totally understood how acquiescing would have made her feel more vulnerable. We're cut from the same cloth, Katie and me.

My family took great care of me and I will never, ever forget how kind and understanding each of them were and what a blessed, crazy blond I truly am.

Yesterday, in the heat of the day, my parents found the place where my car had been towed and cleaned out my possessions. Everything was present, undamaged and accounted for - my camera, iPod, clothes, books and phone charger. I have to say I was pretty impressed with how safe the PT Cruiser was and the built-in safety features worked perfectly, considering how severe the impact was. I'm going to miss that little car, and goodness knows I've spent a great deal of time in it this summer, trekking between Wilmington, Oriental and Raleigh. It served me very well in the short time I've had it.

While my parents were cleaning out my car on Saturday Afternoon, Justin took me to the bank and graciously drove to Smithfield's so that I could order a large iced tea and chicken wings which I felt I'd kind of "earned". It may not be terribly healthy, but it's southern comfort food and I knew it would make me feel better.

So that's how my post-accident weekend went down.

What I noticed from having had this unexpected experience on Friday, in the moments after the crash, was how immediately my true priorities came into focus. The things that count and matter most, almost instantly come to the fore of one's thoughts when facing a situation that feels intensely threatening.

My first thoughts were of my family and all I wanted was to see each of them, to have these amazing people present with me and tell me it was all going to be OK. And there they were - right there, right when I needed them. The minutiae and small irritations of life evaporate when you come to the realization that life can change on a dime - in an instant - and the preciousness of the people closest to me flooded my thoughts. When life becomes shaken and stirred, "things" don't seem to factor into one's consciousness. Thoughts are definitely distilled and when hit out of the blue, it seems to all come down to, "who you know" - the people you hold closest to your heart - the special ones who "loved you into being", as Fred Rogers used to say.

The minor annoyances, the silliness of simple, everyday static, and silly self-centered irritations fall completely and wholly by the way side when life is reduced to its most basic and essential elements. Cars, houses, boats and money don't compete for attention when we find ourselves confronted by the fragility of our existence. The intrinsic magic of loving and being loved - that seems to be where it's at. Pretty powerful stuff!

What does all this mean? Good question! Wouldn't it be cool to have the epiphany of a potentially life-altering crisis without actually, you know, having to go through the whole experience? Wouldn't it be brilliant if you could just separate the lessons of such challenges from the nerve-fraying prospect of actually being required to live through the moment? I'm just sitting here imaging the ad campaign a company like Pfizer might launch if they could create a pill or serum - it would be heavy on the violins, and Yo-Yo Ma would probably play his cello - the scenery would resemble a travelogue and at the end of the commercial, there would be this beautiful, Gap-clad family, holding hands, exchanging spotless smiles with each other, secure in the knowledge of what matters most in life. We'd all have to pop a Dramamine just to get the taste out of our mouth and it would no doubt be the "designer drug of the century". Just think of it - a "get your priorities straight" pill. Divorce rates would tank, lawsuits would suffer a sharp decline and those of us taking it would walk down the streets exchanging "knowing" glances because we all "get it". Who knows, insurance companies might even cover it because something as powerful as that would probably be shown to boost one's immune system in a way that Vitamin C can't touch.

The reality is, that at least for the time being, you have to glean those insights the "hard way", and you can expect to get bruised, scratched and occasionally even knocked out in the process (if your luck doesn't hold as mine did and you suffer that minor concussion). And the really unfortunate thing about the whole "life-altering" experience is that its lessons have an unfortunately brief shelf-life. It's not unreasonable to imagine that one or more of my "inner circle", the loved ones who's face shone in my hour of reckoning, will probably get on my nerves in the very near future and they'll probably find that I'm just as annoying after the car wreck as I was before. It's really too bad we can't sustain the effects for longer than a few days. It seems as if by the time the soreness goes away, and we're feeling back to normal - our behavior is also back to normal and thus our trusty, reliable "built-in forgetter" works as well as it always did, except when it comes to cutting people a break and forgetting their past sins and mistakes. I'm great and letting go of my garbage, but I find I hold onto the sins of others far longer than I'd ever hold onto mine.

And I guess that's why every now and then, we stumble into circumstances that offer us instant reality checks and this past Friday, I suppose it was my turn. I'm going to try and hold onto what I discovered and felt, but I also know the fact that I'm a card-carrying, full-fledged human being will dictate that, with time, I'll lose the lessons until something else occurs in my life and brings me back to my knees. Don't you just know we must be extremely frustrating for God? Well, I'm sure He finds me exasperating.

And so...it goes.

I have to say it's been a busy summer so far - a tropical storm and a car wreck. No shortage of excitement this year! It reminded me of what Antoine St.-Exupery eloquently expressed so many years ago, "It is only with the heart that one can see rightly. That which is essential, is invisible to the eye..."

A heartfelt thank you to my Mom, Dad, Katie and Justin for being my family and loving me.