The Life Aquatic...Colbert Announces His Long-Overdue Candidacy and Sherwin-Williams Covers My World

It's been a nice week. A calm week. A week of sending out submissions and resumes and the clarity that comes with considering options, wants, desires and fish. Yes, fish!

The aviary is no more. Fish are swimming in the space where birds formerly flew. It's a nice change, much quieter and I love being close to water, be it the ocean, a swimming pool or even an aquarium.

I'm still loving tending the "home fires" and enjoying every minute of it. With the walls finished in the lovely warm shade of "Radiance", the cabinets have now elicited my attention. I'll post some photos of them when they are finished - I have a lot of cabinets so it won't be today or tomorrow, but I'm making great progress. I'm reminded by my friends that it IS "progress, not perfection". Progress is easily attainable. Perfection is an impossibility and chasing it is an exercise in pointless futility. I know this, and still sometimes I get tripped up by the illusion of it.

Monday found me lunching with my friend Jimi. Artisan Cafe seems to be our new "hang out" and the great food and eclectic ambiance seems to fuel our creativity. Monday Night I attended a great meeting among good friends and, afterward, had a very delicious dinner with my friend David. He treated me to a fine meal at Laterna, a Mediterranean Restaurant with fantastic food. I enjoyed a beautiful salad and the spanikopita was not to be missed. Thanks, David, for the good company, interesting conversation and also for allowing me to vent just a little, and the Bruce Springsteen CD collection! I know you're working hard to convert me.

Tuesday, my son invited me to lunch. We found ourselves at Henry's (surprise!) and had a wonderful time.

After lunch, Justin and I decided to throw ourselves into setting up the aquarium, selecting plants and, finally, filling it with 55 gallons of water and hoping for the best! I hadn't used this aquarium in several years so I wasn't certain of it's sturdiness but, fortunately, as Justin and I held our collective breath when filling it the tank blessedly held water and all of that held great promise for the possibility of fish in our immediate future.

Wednesday, I met yet again with my partner-in-crime, Jimi, for another lunch but this time, we met up at "Flaming Amy's" and it was, as always, the best Mexican food in town. I had the taco platter and Jimi had, well, I'm not sure what Jimi had and I don't even think Jimi knew what he had, but he reports it was great. It was a quick lunch - he had lawyer stuff to attend to and I had to go fish for, well, fish! I came home with a few mollies and swordtails and I figured it would be a safe bet to go with cheap fish, not knowing the state of my water chemistry. As of this writing, late Thursday Afternoon, I'm happy to report we haven't lost a fish yet . These poor fish are consigned to being guinea pigs but they seem to be doing, well, swimmingly!

Earlier this afternoon, Justin, in considering matters of aquascape, went to Pets Plus and came home with a replica of a broken down ship - he christened it "The Andrea Gail", from "The Perfect Storm" and we're hoping "fish will gather again for the Andrea Gail" and remain healthy and lively. He also bought a cannon statue for the other side of the aquarium and it looks pretty cool. In addition, he added some kind of large gold fish and two crayfish.

It's actually been a lot of fun transforming an aviary into a space for an aquarium. Justin and I were musing about all of the animals that had, at one time or another, called that 55 gallon tank "home". We could readily recollect - a ball python, a pair of chinchillas, a Sulcata Tortoise, a marine tank (salt water fish - not a branch of the US Military), a pair of chameleons who's courtship culminated in the laying of eggs back in 2000 and I'm sure I'm forgetting a few creatures. We've had a wide and varied clutch of critters in our day. And now we have freshwater fish...the tradition continues.

Finally, we sat back and watched as the huge gold fish looking specimen found his way around the tank. The mollies and swordtails look very diminutive next to this new giant, but even with the addition of the cannon (A Civil War Motif?), there have been no reported skirmishes. Perhaps an atmosphere of detente has spread through the tank. Let us hope it remains this way.

In a nation that sits in rapt attention, poised on the edge of its seat and mesmerized by the latest antics of Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan and Paris Hilton and considers their rehab romps as "hard news", electing the "class clown" as "commander-in-chief" seems absurdly apropos, and why not? We allow pirates to practice law, record songs centering on nonexistent pies and self-publish books of purely made up self-righteous whimsy, sailing around the Neuse River clad in nothing more than a smug, self-serving smile, so who better to lead the lot of us into the next four years than a man who at least owns up to his own gags and admits it's all pure folly? I respect that he's honest about where he's coming from and that alone is a refreshing breath of air.

I was thrilled to learn that Stephen Colbert (The Colbert Nation), has tossed his funny hat into the crazy presidential ring. Now, this is a candidate I can whole-heartedly support. Why? Because at least he's letting the rest of us in on the gag. The other candidates pretend to be serious and honest, whereas Colbert doesn't make such a promise because he knows he can't possibly keep it - and there is a "truthiness" in that he's NOT serious and IS funny.

Running as a "favorite son" of South Carolina, on both a Republican and Democratic platform, (aren't they all?), it's nice to be "in on the joke" from the beginning whereas the other candidates don't afford us that decency. There is some kind of skewed integrity about the whole thing. I'm ashamed to say I've become so cynical about politics and candidates that I can't really see why Colbert wouldn't be at least as formidable than the line-up we currently have. We're almost guaranteed to laugh more, and that's healthy. He'd be far more entertaining and, again, at least we "know" where he's coming from.

I for darn sure would vote for Stephen Colbert over Hilary, Obama, Edwards, Fred Thompson and probably even Guiliani, because I really don't like his wife and none of those "also rans" make me laugh, smile. or believe the first word that comes out of their nonstop talking heads. No question about it - Colbert comes attached with a better team of comedic writers and the rest of them could take a few lessons, in my humble opinion. Lighten up, I say. I'd definitely attend a Colbert Rally. Not only can we laugh at Stephen Colbert, but we're afforded the opportunity to laugh with him. Maybe he's exactly what America needs.



One thing about it - voting for Stephen Colbert for president would make far more sense than being engaged to a pirate. Oh my gosh, I am becoming sensible!

"Asking Sherwin-Williams", is a Very Smart Move!

And a word about Sherwin-Williams. I LOVE that establishment. Those guys have been patient and inexhaustible stores of knowledge in my painting adventures of late. They're suggestions have been extremely creative and customized to my projects. I've never gotten that brand of attention and professional know-how at Lowe's or any other store, for that matter. These SW types know their stuff and they're not too busy to understand that while it might just be a small, typical DIY job to anyone else, it's MY kitchen and it means something to me. Rock on, SW!

When I was trying to determine which shade of yellow to ply my kitchen walls with, Chris suggested an even better tint and when I went back in for ideas about what to do with my cabinets, the professionals BEHIND the counter customized a shade to compliment my walls and floor. Thanks guys! I can't say enough positives about the College Road Sherwin-Williams and I can promise you that any paint I buy from this point forward, will be purchased from those gentlemen at that store.

A Brushstroke of "Radiance", ENOUGH With The AARP Commercials and Home By Another Way...

"So scared of getting older,
I'm only good at being young.
So I play the numbers game
To find way to say that life has just begun.

Had a talk with my old man,
Said 'help me understand'.
He said turn sixty-eight
You renegotiate

Don't stop this train,
Don't for a change the place you're in
And don't think I couldn't ever understand
I tried my hand
John, honestly
We'll never stop this train."
~ John Mayer, "Stop This Train"

(Click below - if you're going to suffer through this post, you might as well listen to this song...)

The old folks returned yesterday. They had a great time, absolutely wonderful. I was grateful for that and even more pleased to see them return to the mother ship.

It was a busy week and I stayed well-fed thanks to my wonderful friends. I certainly didn't go hungry and no, Katie, I didn't lose any weight. I did OK down here in the deep South, with a little help from my friends, of course.

Now, what do I do when I'm left to my own devices? I paint and I write. I did a lot of both. One project is finished (painting) and the other most likely never will be - it's a never-ending story and that's OK. (It's a tradition, right Katie?).

Oh, I am such a product and a direct result of a quirky upbringing and without a doubt, the quintessential embodiment of Aquarius...Blame it on the stars, I say. I have no defense - I was born right smack dab in the middle of the sign and it suits me. I make no apologies. :-)

This past week, I caught up with friends. I went to my home group meeting on Monday Evening and after that, I lassoed my friend Mitch and we went to see "The Heartbreak Kid", and we laughed. We shamelessly laughed and ate popcorn and drank really large cokes. Mitch was temporarily disconsolate when he discovered they didn't have some specific candy at the theatre, and I thought for a moment I might have a brewing tantrum on my hands, but he bucked up and pulled it together and didn't create "much" of a scene.

The movie was funny and silly and filled with sophomoric pranks as any good Farrelly Brothers film is. It wasn't a movie I'd ever go to with a date because I'm sure it wouldn't speak well of me given the scenes I laughed at most, but Mitch is like a brother and we certainly don't work to impress each other. We just hang out. In fact, as we were walking to our cars after the movie, he was telling me about this one woman he found attractive and extolling the virtues of her beauty and then he said something that stopped me dead in my tracks..."And she's got a rack on her!". I just looked at him and said, "Tell me you didn't just say that.". He just laughed even harder and said, "Well, she does!". I just shook my head and giggled some more. I felt like "one of the guys" there for a second.


"Radiance" in a Brushstroke

I visited Sherwin-Williams. I emerged a few minutes later with a gallon of paint, known as the shade of "Radiance", and a lot of work ahead of me. This would be the perfect week to do it. My mom would be out of my kitchen, I could leave a mess without hearing about it, and it would be fresh and spiffy in time for the senior citizens arrival. I wanted to surprise them and I thought this was just the ticket.

In typical style, I started immediately even if, by now, immediately was 6:30 PM. I painted through two episodes of "I Love Lucy", four episodes of "The Andy Griffith Show", two episodes of "M*A*S*H", and then two more episodes of "The Andy Griffith Show". I got a lot done that first session (Tuesday) of playing Picasso on my walls.

In addition to painting, I took everything down from atop the cabinets and loaded it in the dishwasher. It had gathered a lot of dust in the time since the last painting. Justin walked into the kitchen just as I was taking the lid off a crock pot and gazing at four biscuits that had been placed in there, probably years ago, and had grown quite an impressive covering of mold. They were like rocks. Justin and I just looked at each other and wondered, who had put them in there and why? We had no clue and no time to play Perry Mason. I soaked the crockpot in antibacterial soap overnight and stuck the lid in the dishwasher.

The walls took two coats and the effects were transforming, not only on the walls, but the ambiance of the room. It warmed up the heretofore pastel pearl walls and gave it personality. I hate pastels. They always strike me as indecisive. They hint of a color but don't have the fortitude to carry it off. I love bold, primary colors. If you're going to be a swatch on the color wheel then, BE ONE! Do it!

Believe me, I picked a color known as "radiance" and it doesn't whisper anything. It's warm, sunny and cozy. It doesn't "hint" at all. It most certainly made the white woodwork stick out and look defining. I was very pleased with my choice. It was heart and home affirming, and it had my imprint all over it which was only fair, I had "radiance" all over my hands, a few places on my arms and legs, and I didn't mind. Painting is a lot like life - it's messy. It's supposed to be. I've never been adverse to messy. I embrace it and it loves me right back.

Wednesday Night I took the evening off - all work and no play makes life dull and that's not a good thing for anyone - it's like pastel paint, and should be avoided at all cost. My friend who lives on Wrightsville Beach invited me over for dinner. He's a wonderful cook and even better company so who was I to say no? Sure, sometimes it annoys me at how fast he knows the answers to the crosswords and Sudoku, but no one's perfect, right? He even had iced tea this time and allowed me to partake of two glasses! It most certainly was a welcome break from all that painting.

He was even prepared for another late season swim, but this time we stayed in the surf and just walked along the beach for a bit. It's always a good thing to see, smell and listen to the ocean and it was soothing looking up at the blanket of stars overhead. It was still, technically, warm enough for the water, but I was tired and just didn't go in this time. Later, I wished I'd been more bold but maybe another time. He noted that I was exhibiting signs of being "sensible". I wasn't quite sure how to take that, but it was a little concerning. I so rarely hear that word ascribed to me. I can't be sure it was anything resembling a compliment.

Thursday found me returning to the ladder with my trusty paintbrush in hand. Justin was kind enough to observe the places that looked as if they needed another coat, which was easier to detect in the daylight. In fact, it was determined, that the entire room would require two coats and there was just no getting around it. I was far to much invested in it to stop by now. Two coats it would be! Sometimes, you just have to commit and I did, without any reservations or regrets - what a rarity.

Now, it should be noted, that if you called me last week and your call was sent to voice mail, this wasn't me screening calls, as I'm known to do now and then, it's just that I was most likely balancing between the ladder and the counter and after getting up and down so much, I finally just let the phone ring and stayed on task. Otherwise, I'd only be half finished and I had a deadline. Pops and Granny had moved their date of arrival up one day and could now be expected on Saturday Afternoon. Knowing my mother would be aghast at the disarray, I had to buckle down and stick to it.

AARPUHLEEZE...Like I Need to Be Reminded of This?

During the Thursday Afternoon painting session, I had "Little House on the Prairie" for company and I loved that show when the kids were growing up and we'd endlessly watch Laura Ingalls Wilder grow up. It was like mashed potatoes (comfort viewing!).

I painted my way across the kitchen, as Pa and Ma Ingalls crossed the prairie. However, the commercials really played with my head. In between segments of "Little House", were all of these dang "AARP" commercials. After the first ten, I started to feel really old, noticed my knees popped and wondered if I might be catching arthritis. I mean, I'm less than six months away from turning 48 and the last thing I wanted to be reminded that I was horribly unprepared for retirement, the high cost of healthcare and how "folks over 50 still enjoy an active lifestyle". My gosh, I'm a hair's breath away from 50! If I hadn't been slapping such a warm and revitalizing color on my walls, I could easily have sunk into a funk over the fact that I'm not that far away from joining the "gray coalition". In fact, I think I stopped at one point and ran into the downstairs bathroom to examine my roots for gray hair. I'm sure it's beneath the peroxide line, and I didn't dare look too closely. Those commercials should be banned. Talk about a morale buster. Yes I'm in denial and I plan to remain there for as long as possible!

I took a break Thursday Afternoon and decided I had earned a trip to Smithfield's because the only thing to get one's mind off aging has to be chicken wings, cole slaw, hush puppies and sweet iced tea. It may not make me any younger, but it certainly diverts my attention! I didn't bother brushing my hair or changing clothes. I looked like someone who had slept in their clothes and popped awake and started painting first thing, which is exactly what I had done. My hair was sticking out everywhere, typically messy and with a mind of its own, and my sunglasses hid the fact that there was yellow paint adorning my face and I had no make-up on. Hey, I was only hitting the drive thru.

As I pulled out of Smithfield's with my gastronomical treasure, one of the older employees walked in front of me (I know most everyone who works there given the frequency with which I hit that place last winter) and he said, "OH my gosh, it's Meg Ryan!". Given that I had spent most of the morning and afternoon hearing about all of the medical maladies awaiting my advanced age, left wondering how long it would be until I had to call "Tom Crews" with "The Scooter Store" and place an order, this was a most dearly welcome compliment and I thought, mister, you have got to be kidding me (I knew how I looked), but if you think so, thanks for sharing. It may have been a mercy compliment, but so be it - I took it and ran with it.

After my wing-fest, I got right back to work and knocked out most of it by the end of the night. There was a lot of paint to scrub off my person, but I had managed to get more on the walls and that made me feel marginally successful.

When the Birds Fly the Coop, Think Fish...

During one of my breaks, I eyed what used to be my aviary and I had been trying to figure out what to do with that open framework that used to house finches and is visible from the downstairs living room as well as the loft upstairs, just outside my office. Once again, I have my Wrightsville Beach buddy to blame for my inspiration. I have gotten into more projects since I met him. First it was the inspiration of the woodwork in his beautiful home that got me scraping my own stairway and railing. Then it was the bold color of his kitchen that tantalized my senses, not to mention the flip-flop lights he has strung around the ceiling of the eating area and kitchen. Whimsical. Now, it's about fish.

A couple of weeks ago I was over there and he showed me the new baby black mollies in his 55 gallon aquarium. They were beautiful and instantly brought up memories of the aquariums in my past and there have been many aquariums in my past. I remembered how much I enjoyed mollies in particular. Eureka! I could transform the former aviary into a place for my 55 gallon aquarium which was currently housed amid about a thousand spider webs in my pool house! Yes! Brilliant! Perfect! Crap that's going to be a lot of work.

Green, Green Grass...

I talked to Justin about it later that night and he agreed to help me get the aquarium out, but didn't offer to clean it up for me. He had "mowing" on his mind. We couldn't let Granny and Pops return to an overgrown, neglected lawn. So I was on my own when it came time to scrub the thing down, but scrub it I did, early Friday Morning as Justin was firing up the lawn mower. Later in the day he helped me carry it upstairs and we placed it in the framed area. I'd always thought of a 55 gallon aquarium as a pretty decent-sized tank, until I placed it in there. My suddenly decent sized tank looked pretty small in that 72" open space, but never mind, with a few plants on either side, some flitting fish, it would work. So that's my NEXT project. Later today I'm heading to Lowe's for a few plants, and later on this week after the water has recycled itself, a few good fish. I'll probably keep it contained to mollies and swordtails. I think it will look perfect and goodness knows aquariums are much less trouble to keep than birds, plus, fish don't escape and fly around, taunting you as you try and woo them back into the cage. The cats will be just as entertained. I'm sure Magellan will spend hours licking his chops and trying to figure out a way to "fish".

Justin did a fantastic job on the lawn and really took his time, knowing that his labor would come under the close scrutiny of the perfectionistic and meticulous Barbe Cook. Justin paid attention to detail, no question, and I think he actually enjoyed it. It was funny listening to him sing to his iPod as he mowed row after row.

Surf's Up! Finding "The Perfect Wave" in an "Endless Summer...

By Friday Evening, I was ready for another break and my WB friend generously offered up his culinary skills once again. The only thing he requested was that I bring my copy of "Stranger Than Fiction" so we could watch it after dinner. Easy enough, right? Dinner was more impressive than anything I could order at a restaurant and the salad was almost too lovely to eat! After dinner, we headed for the den and I opened up to find that "Love, Actually", was in the "Stranger Than Fiction" DVD case. What the heck? I'm just coming to terms with Fall, and neither one of us were in the mood for a Christmas feature. What to do?

Fortunately, my friend offered up "The Endless Summer", a 1960's surfing movie that was more like a travelogue - so we settled down and watched these two surfing-addicted teenagers travel the world in search of "the perfect wave". We visited Hawaii, California, Africa, Australia, New Zealand, Tahiti and finally back to Hawaii. It was a great movie and I really enjoyed it. I couldn't believe how these guys balance on boards on giant waves, some of which looked as if they could swallow a person whole. The movie was shot before surfboards came attached with leashes which explained why these guys were always hyper-aware of where their boards landed after the ride.

Of course, all I could think of was how I'd love to sail to all of those places someday and what it might look like from the vantage point of the bow of a sailboat. Someday...someday. A durable dream doesn't go away if it transitions into a passion...it may get temporarily postponed, maybe placed on the back burner, but it doesn't have to disappear. Sailing will never disappear from my consciousness, even if my sailing has mostly been under the command of a freakish captain with pirate tendencies. I've an idea I would enjoy sailing even more with someone who actually knew what he was doing and didn't take reckless chances with his crew. I intend to find out.

Home is the Sailor and his First (and only) Mate!

And then, it was Saturday. Yesterday. I popped up early and put the finishing touches on the kitchen, cleaned up the debris and put away the ladder, paint tray and all manner of brushes. I mopped the kitchen, opened the windows and beautiful sunlight highlighted my interior handiwork. I couldn't wait for my parents to return and admire my hard work. There was no way they wouldn't notice the fresh, clean shiny "radiant" kitchen and breakfast area. Or so I thought...

I finally heard their van pull into the driveway and I closed the pocket door that opens to the kitchen from the laundry room. I bounded down the steps of the side entry and collected my "welcome home" hugs. They looked great - certainly not like two octogenarians who had been traipsing all over Southern West Virginia! They certainly looked much more well-rested than I felt!

My Dad entered first, looked at the closed door and asked if he was allowed to go into the kitchen. Sure, of course, I told him. He walked in, me eagerly following on his heels, set down his baggage and looked around. He realized something was different. Finally, he said with a smile, "You painted the woodwork!".

Huh? All that work and all you noticed was the freaking woodwork? Barbe Cook take off those shades and drink in the fruits of my labor. The woodwork? I hadn't even painted the woodwork he was admiring!

A few seconds later, my mother walked in and looked around and said, "Did you paint the kitchen orange?". NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It's NOT orange crazy woman! It's "radiance". It's lovely. It's warm. Bask in it for goodness sakes!

"I like it!", she says in earnest backpedal fashion. "I really like it!", she repeats with sheepish redundancy. By now, my dad had removed his sunglasses and could see more than the white woodwork. I thought it was more glaringly impressive - maybe they'd been in the car too long! Oh well, hey, I don't regret all that toil and trouble. It does look nice. More compliments were forthcoming as the evening wore on.

My mom more than made up for it by blessedly brewing some of her famously rich and wonderful coffee. FINALLY a decent cup of coffee. Kitchen walls be damned - it was time for coffee and talk, both things I'd missed immeasurably.

After I helped them bring in their luggage and bags of this and that, we convened around the kitchen table and I heard about the highlights of their trip. They'd had a wonderful time visiting old friends and relatives at my Uncle's birthday party, they shared with me who was doing what and how everyone was getting along, how Charleston didn't look like the capital of a depressing mining state - "it was bustling, growing, looked good!". My dad, however, summed it up best..."But I sure wouldn't want to live back there!", he said. My thoughts exactly. My mother can never quite bring herself to toss about negatives with regard to West Virginia - her loyalty is fierce and while I don't believe for one-second she'd ever want to live back there, she finds it impossible to say anything remotely unkind about the state. It's her home. She was born and raised there and spent a chunk of her history there until I came along with my gypsy ways.

It was wonderful catching up with them, watching my Dad walk outside and chasing Cassie around, who was unabashedly thrilled to see them. As I watched my Dad chase her in the side yard by the pool, I realized that someday I want to not grow up and be just like him. Any 82 year old who can still chase the ball of energy and fun that defines Cassie, is the equivalent of a good "thumbing of the nose" at every AARP commercial I had to suffer through this past week, and a keen reminder that you don't really have to grow old, regardless of the number of candles that might adorn your next birthday cake. Accumulating years may well be inevitable, but aging is definitely an option I hope never, ever to exercise.

What an amazingly rich, resilient template my parents have afforded me, worthy of my best possible emulation.

Home By Another Way
(A song about "the Epiphany" and one that speaks to my own personal "Epiphany".)

"Home is where they want you now.
You can more or less assume that you'll be welcome in the end.
Mustn't let King Herod haunt you so,
Or fantasize his features
When you're looking at a friend..." ~James Taylor

This morning, when I instinctively made my way downstairs, I smelled the welcome aroma of my Mom's coffee. Yes, things are as they should be, Fox News was blaring on the TV and cereal was being poured. I grabbed a few blackberries and looked around with a smile. Home.

This crazy house has grown in terms of my affection for it when I realize how, had plans stayed on that perilous course, I was scheduled to be living in Raleigh now. How profoundly grateful I am that I didn't sell this house on a whim, that I woke up in Wilmington this morning, that I have an aquarium to set up, a beach to walk on a few miles from here, and my own space is still, blessedly, my own space sprinkled with the people and things I love most, in a town I adore. Thank God I woke up when I did, held fast to my convictions, and realized the error of my ways.

I remember when Katie first learned of my impending relocation and ill-advised nuptials, no small measure of her concern was for this house. This house truly has been more of a home to us than any dwelling we've ever lived in. It's been home in seven years and a lot of living has gone down in seven years but one constant in it all has been this crazy, quirky, odd structure we affectionately refer to as home. When she first expressed her desire that I keep this house, I couldn't really understand it (remember, I was deep in delusion territory). It was just a house, I reasoned. So what? Why is it so important to you that I still own it at Christmas? Can't we have Christmas in Raleigh?

"It's best to go home, by another way.
Home by another way.
We got this far to a lucky star,
But tomorrow is another day.
We can make it another way
Safe Home, as they used to say.
Keep a weather eye to the chart on high,
And go home, another way..."

Word. NO. No, no, no, she told me in no uncertain terms. In fact, I think she said something more akin to "Hell no!", which was, looking back, entirely apropos. No, this is home. This is the place. This is where we live even when we're not here. We may leave it for a time, but the fact that it's still here and waiting for our return has come to mean something intrinsic to each of us. Wilmington, and more importantly, this place in Wilmington, has become our collective definition of home and I become more grateful for it with each passing day. I have slowly realized that maybe it is all of the ups and downs and everything in between that we have negotiated during these seven plus years that has somehow made this structure even more meaningful, and this residence has, in fact, taken up residence in each of our collective hearts in different and highly individualized ways, but with the same result.

Justin and I were riding down the street the other day and I mentioned that when we were house-hunting back in August 2000, I had been scheduled to look at the house around the corner - which looked far more conventional and stately than the one I ultimately settled on. "I'm glad it didn't work out that you were able to see it. You picked the best house.". Once again, I was reminded that in the minds of my kids, my parents, my animals and, belatedly, finally me, this place has truly become "home". It's never too late to find one's home, I guess.

Last night after everyone was settled back in, I walked out in the driveway and saw our old cat Sylvester trotting across the street heading for me, obviously after enjoying a visit with our neighbors cats across the street. It was dusk and there was a chill in the air. Sylvester had decided it was time to come home so he could meow plaintively until I forked over a dish filled with Magellan's ultra rich kitten food. Sylvester seems to always have known this was home, after his neighborhood visits, returning here every evening. Sylvester "got it" much sooner than I did. Sylvester is a very wise cat.

When I pull into my driveway these days, it is with a growing and profound sense that finally I "get it". Coming home, to this one in particular, is a gift and one I shouldn't ever take for granted. Home truly is where our hearts are and I'm just so grateful for the place our hearts have chosen to take up residence and remain. Home never looked, or felt, so good.

Perhaps the real "radiance" in this house never came from a Sherwin-Williams paint can. I have a hunch it was always here. Maybe the events of this past summer and the dismal prospect of selling my little house on Nottingham Lane, offered me the opportunity to see it for what it truly is and always was. As Sting sings, "I was brought to my senses", before it was too late.

"Once in a while,
when it's good
It will feel like it should
And they're all still around
And you're still safe and sound
And you don't miss a thing
Till you cry when you're driving away in the dark
Singing...

Stop this train
I wanna get off
And go home again
I can't take the speed it's moving in
I know I can't
'Cause now I see
I will never stop this train."

It's Official - I'm An Orphan

The old folks have left the "home". Call it what you want, dress it up if you must, but the cold, hard facts remain the same: I have been ditched in my own house. (Photo: Maxine, Susie & Barbe, July 3rd, 2007.)

My parents left yesterday for a week-long trip to West Virginia. I had my last thermos of decent coffee yesterday morning, a parting gift from my mother. They left at around 9:45 and by 10:30, I realized I should never have approved their vacation. What was I thinking?

It's been a busy week and I must thank Celia Rivenbark for her lovely comment in my guest book - my bottom has been the subject of no small number of comments left in my guestbook - marked "private". Thanks for the props Celia but I don't think my "bottom" can live up to THAT kind of press. I still maintain the hope that you finally get a "good bingo" and dazzle your new peeps!

Forget About "Jaws", Go Ahead and Flirt With the Phytoplankton!

Where to start? Well, let's start this recap alphabetically AND chronologically and I can think of no better place to begin than the Atlantic Ocean. Yes, I know, it's fall. It's Autumn. It sucks, but still, it is what it is.

This past Monday after my 6:00 meeting, I headed over to Wrightsville Beach to take a friend up on his offer of a walk on the beach and a home-cooked dinner. He's a very good cook and, well, the Atlantic Ocean pretty much speaks for itself, so it didn't take a great deal of arm-twisting to get me over there.

We walked over to the beach from his house and it was one of those wonderful balmy, early fall evenings, about 8:30, and the waves were pretty impressive but my recommendation may be suspect because I'm not a surfer. We were walking along and at some point, I think I said, "Wow, I wish we could go in the water...". I just kind of said it in passing. I was wearing long white pants and a gray long-sleeved t-shirt and my friend was in jeans and a t-shirt and he was pretty busy trying to avoid getting his pants wet up to that point. I was already wet up to the knees of my pants which is pretty typical. I always get wet.

But something must have snapped - as soon as those words were out of my mouth, he was taking my cell phone and sunglasses which were perched precariously on my head, rather than my nose (it was dark, after all). Then he lead me not to the edge of the water but INTO the water. I mean, we marched INTO the water. I got pummeled by a few waves and then, the coolest thing happened. I wasn't just seeing stars - I was wearing them.

Thanks to the phytoplankton my friend pointed out, my shirt was adorned with flying, yellow stars. Beautiful! Just absolutely cool. I'm sure that anyone who spotted us out there, standing in the water, probably snickered and thought..."Tourists!", but not so! It's the closest I'll ever come to being resplendent in diamonds, but it's the closest I need to come. The effect was fleeting, but much cooler than hard rocks. How did I NOT know about this? I've lived here for over seven years and this is the first time I've seen this?

Now it's true, this past June as I was sailing across the Gulf Stream from the Abacos to West Palm, I saw the same stars in the wake of the sailboat, but I didn't know you could "wear" them! I remember sitting on the stern of the boat and watching the glowing wake as we sailed due West, and I thought it was the most enchanting spectacle imaginable. But apparently you can enjoy a more personal communion with phytoplankton by simply situating yourself in the breaking waves.

The water was warm, more comfortable than the air, but it wasn't really chilly. I started to remember the opening scene of "Jaws" where that poor intoxicated girl goes for an ill-advised evening swim and her remains wash in the next day in a few uneasy pieces, but I shut that off because sometimes, well, you just have to go for it. I deleted that scene and the accompanying soundtrack and enjoyed myself immensely.

We made our way back to the beach a little further down than where we went in, thanks to a strong current, and it took us a few minutes to find my cell phone and glasses. The moon wasn't helping much but my stuff eventually turned up. After that, we were quite a watery and sandy sight making our way back across the bridge. If I'd seen us, I would have guessed we'd had a little too much to drink but hey, I'd just arrived from an AA meeting and I'd only had a tea and hadn't touched a drop in almost four years! I was glad to be stone cold sober because I wouldn't have had the great memory of that moment if I'd been loopy. I wouldn't have wanted to miss wearing those "flitting, fleeting stars". It's such a caveat to remember what I've done and where I've been! Sobriety rocks! What a gift from the sea. What an even greater gift from God.

Fortunately, I had a change of clothes in my car because I'd brought some in case I got wet on my first kayaking expedition a few days earlier but didn't need them. After we rinsed the sand and salt water off, we were good to go and dinner was wonderful - chicken fried rice! There wasn't any tea to be found on the premises but, well, no one is perfect and you have to cut old surfers a break now and then, particularly if they cook well. I settled for lemonade.

The rest of the week was full of other surprises. On Thursday, I caught up with my friend Mitch who I hadn't seen in AGES! Great to see you again, buddy! We made plans to get together soon and catch up - we've both had a summer of surprises and a few war stories to share. I'm looking forward to it.

What Does a "Feast of Love" Taste Like to You?

Thursday Night, I finally saw "Feast of Love". Thank goodness my friend, the good pirate Bobbi from Raleigh, had written me of her experience seeing the movie and foretold of a slow beginning and it was. She also promised that it would be worth the tedium and confusion if I could get past the first third of it and, she was right.

Morgan Freeman was wonderful. Greg Kinnear was likable and his usual engaging self. I loved Jane Alexander and most of the rest of the cast. The film was fairly easy to relate to - that being the fact that love and relationships are complicated and unpredictable entities.

The movie was set around a coffee shop in Portland, Oregon, and I must say it put the city in a nice light. It felt familiar, the chats we have with friends at our places of caffeination watering-holes. The things we talk about with those in our "inner circle", the conversations and contemplating we all do from time to time was believable and easy to relate to, for the most part. My conversations generally start out with either me saying, "What was I thinking?" or whoever I'm with inquiring, "What were you thinking??", in justifiable disbelief, but that's just me. I'm sure it's different for you.

I wasn't quite prepared for the way "Feast of Love" ended and I'll leave that out because it's worth the price of a ticket and a bag of popcorn to see the movie. I can't say it's one of those movies I "want to own" like "Stranger Than Fiction" or "French Kiss", but it was certainly a nice way to spend a couple of hours.

The Unremarkable State of Your Colon is Impressive!

Friday Morning dawned early. My Dad, Mom and I had a date. My Dad spent most of Thursday in "preparation" for his early Friday Appointment. Yes, the calendar reported that it was time for his five year colonoscopy. And who doesn't look forward to that? I mean, don't we all live for these times in our lives?

Well, Barbe Cook certainly seemed perky and ready to go! If he was dreading it, he didn't reveal an ounce of apprehension. After I dropped my parents off at Wilmington Health Associates on Medical Center Drive, I headed over to Dunkin' Donuts for a cup of coffee and a USA Today and returned to take my place in the waiting room on the third floor, where people sit and dread the announcement that it's their turn. They had taken my Dad straight back so my Mom was sitting there leafing through a copy of "Southern Living".

I took out my newspaper and turned to the challenge of the Friday Five-Star Sudoku and crossword. After I answered the few "easy" questions and found the initial glaringly obvious numbers (and I agree RE, it was not a five-star Sudoku on Friday) - I felt it was more of a four-star effort and not quite as difficult as the usual Friday fare.), my attention wandered and I looked over my paper at those waiting around me. The population of the waiting room was generally older in terms of demographics and though the reception area was staffed by preternaturally friendly and upbeat faces, let's be real - we were in the waiting room where people generally dread the proceedings and what's behind door #2.

I saw many older couples, a few patients who were alone and they just appeared so vulnerable looking. Many of them looked like they would rather be anywhere else, maybe even awaiting a root canal, and seeing the people there alone made me feel sad. I glanced over at my Mom several times and we chatted quietly, and I could imagine her thoughts as I know she was thinking of my Dad back there, under sedation and of course I'm sure she was hoping for a proclamation of good results, as was I.

But I couldn't help thinking to myself, this is where we're all headed. I mean, if we're LUCKY to live long enough, those of us not yet Gastroenterology Patients will someday find ourselves sitting in, if not this waiting room, one very similar, and it will be scary and intimidating. Most everyone pretty much kept to themselves. The couples' around us spoke quietly amongst themselves. Those alone just mindlessly turned the pages of books they'd brought along or paid scant attention to the magazines they'd picked up, but I bet they couldn't tell you what they'd read. I wouldn't have been able to. I was there just waiting on my father, and I know my mind was entangled in all sorts of thoughts.

You can't help but sit among those in a waiting room like that and not feel some of what they must be experiencing. At least, I can't. I envisioned myself in a few years and I wondered, would I be sitting in such a room all alone? Would I have a friend with me? Would I have a hand to hold? I wonder if they'd let me bring my dog?

Then, of course, in "Stinkin' Thinkin' fashion, my thoughts scanned the possibilities. What if they found something wrong in my father? Would my mother handle it well? Yes, she would. She's one of the strongest people I will ever hope to know. What about me? How will I handle it? I have to be brave and strong and I can't even entertain the thought of falling to pieces if it's really bad news. No, I reminded myself, you won't do that. Look who you're seated beside and remember her life and what she's handled with such gentle grace and steely strength. Surely some of that had to wear off, right? Oh gosh, I sure hoped so - whether by nature or nurture, whatever method incorporated, I dearly hope with the S&@t hits the fan (pardon the pun), I hope some kind of strength I'm not always aware of, kicks in, and I behave in a way that will comfort and cheer my family or, at the very least, not embarrass them traumatically.

After almost 2 1/2 hours, a nurse mercifully appeared and said, "Barbe Cook's family?"; In unison, we both rose up and followed the lady in the cranberry colored scrubs. We were lead back to find my Dad sitting in a chair, and smiling that familiar impish grin. He was already dressed and the IV had been removed and all vestiges of medical monitoring equipment had already been unhooked. He looked as if he was having a grand time! The sweet nurse offered my mother a blanket because they do these things in the confines of what feels like a HUGE refrigerator. I mean, you could nearly see your breath it was so freaking cold. She offered me something to drink and I couldn't possibly turn down the cute little 8 ounce can of coke she was wielding.

Daddy smiled and introduced me around to "the gang". "This is my daughter, Susan!". They all grinned and he was enjoying the doting attention of the staff, like the woman magnet he is. My Mom slipped into the chair beside him, visibly relieved and immediately they were holding hands, she with her blanket draped around her and him trading remarks with the medical types. He was a little loopy - courtesy of versed and demerol, but otherwise, he seemed in fine shape to me! Hey, anyone who can have fun at a colonoscopy overwhelmingly earns my admiration for the sheer imagination and moxie such a feat must require and my Dad has it in spades.

After a few minutes, the doctor walked over and handed Daddy a two-page full report (complete with three full-color photographs to accompany the text!) on the state of his colon and the state of his colon, the doctor observed, was remarkable. Dr. Payne mentioned that "Mr. Cook is much younger than his 'stated age'", and this pleased all of us to no end.

"You're in great shape, Mr. Cook. We found nothing remotely suspicious. Everything looked good."

"When do I need to do this again?", my Dad inquired.

"Well, you're 82 and the usual schedule would be when you're 87, but we don't see any reason to put people that age through this, particularly the 'prep work', so unless you're having a problem or something unexpected happens, you're good to go.".

I looked at my Dad and for a second, he looked a little disappointed. Seriously. I was still basking in the warmth of the words, "Everything looked great!", but he seemed a bit perplexed that he shouldn't have to re-up for it in five years because, as he offered, "I fully expect to be around in five years!". I swear I think he was trying to cajole the doctor to agree to another one.

I then informed the good doctor that my parents were planning to leave for a trip to West Virginia the next morning and wondered if he thought that was advisable. Clearly not my ally, Dr. Payne said he could see no reason why Daddy couldn't drive the 400 miles to the Mountain State if he was feeling well-rested. "Sure, why not? Have a great trip! Just don't do any heavy lifting today and you should be good to go.".

Thanks a lot Dr. Payne. :-) (Seriously, can you imagine what med school must have been like for a man with that name? No wonder he went into Gastroenterology. Super nice fellow, though.)

All in all, it was a convivial, cheery post-colonoscopy conference. Everyone was smiling. You'll be relieved to know I let him take off the rest of the day and no, I didn't force him to mow. I'm just way too generous, I know. Give those old people and inch and, well, you know how THAT goes. He'll be wanting the day after Thanksgiving off next.

The nurse released me to go fetch my car and drive it to the patient pick-up/drop-off and told me my Dad would be waiting for me in a wheel chair and I knew my Mom would be right beside him, probably still holding his hand in that precious way she does.

I took my marching orders and headed for the elevator and as I was waiting for it to arrive, I looked back around that cheerless waiting room and even though we had been the grateful recipient of wonderful news, I knew very well that not everyone in that room would probably receive the same glowing report and I couldn't help but scan those faces and I dearly hoped they wouldn't be alone, should it be that they received less stellar test results. Oh, how I felt for the ones who were all alone. I still see those faces and I can't help it. We will all have our chance to sit in those chairs, if we haven't already, and not all of us will have a warm hand to hold like my Daddy did, or as my Mom will when it comes her turn.

Unless you're equipped with a robotic heart, you can't miss the "humanity" in a waiting room like that. Wondering about those other patients, and many of those faces, those thoughts have clung around my mind long after I vacated the building, collected my parents and drove home. It's not maudlin, really, it's just this super-awareness that I should remember that if I'm feeling great or even just "OK" today, I need to be extra grateful for it. Hanging around the endoscopy/colonoscopy floor seems to drive home the point that life is really pretty fragile and precious.

When I got to my car before picking my parents up, I did something the nurse didn't advise me to do, but I knew it would be well-received by my Dad and he did raise me well. I spotted his pipe and can of tobacco in the floor of the passenger side and before driving over, I took his pipe and filled it up just the way he likes it (you learn a few things being Barbe Cook's daughter). As soon as he was seated and belted in, I handed him his pipe and he broke out into a huge grin and happily accepted it. Hey, who's to say that pipe hasn't added to his incredible quality of life? As my Dad is fond of reminding us, his docs tell him to keep doing what he's doing and part of what he's doing is sucking on that pipe so who am I to argue with that?

After I pulled into the driveway with my parents, my Dad was still a little unsteady on his feet and yet that didn't stop him from trying to help my Mom as she was trying to help him right back. Not only is the 61 plus years they've spent married a precious and much too rare gift to each other, but it's also a gift to those of us who are on the sidelines and see it. It is one of the most life-affirming experiences to be around that marriage of theirs. I vacillate between admiration and envy; usually both at the same time.

As soon as we hit the door, my Dad hit the kitchen and declared his previous 36 hour fast at an end and my Mother was serving up his cereal and pouring coffee in record time as he sat at the dining room table puffing on his ever-present pipe. They were home and life was good. That scene - Mom fussing over breakfast cereal piling on fruit and flakes, the aroma of fresh coffee, the smell of my Dad's pipe as he pores over the newspaper - that's home to me. That's one of the warmest images in my memory bank and it is renewed on such a regular, dependable basis and it's also what is going to make for a very LONG, quiet week!

The "heart(s)" of this home are in Southern West Virginia today, celebrating the 85th birthday of my Dad's brother, as my parents slip into his "home church" and surprise him with a visit he will only find out about when he walks in and sees them. My Dad was so excited to get the "green light" from the doctor and both of them excitedly packed and got things ready Friday Night in sweet anticipation of this visit. Good for them and God bless them both which, honestly, God truly has blessed them and the rest of us a great deal.

"Legal-Ease" and a Rogue, Unrequited Ransom

After I got back home from the clinic, I checked my e-mail and was immediately IM'd by my buddy Jimi who thought it would be a good day for me to pick him up from his law office and head out for lunch. I couldn't think of a good reason not to, so I tossed aside my plans and headed out for Mayfair, Jimi and after a nice tour of his new offices, we planted ourselves at Artisan Cafe for a wonderful lunch. Thanks Jimi! (Photo: Jimi at lunch on Friday, hatching a literary scheme to spend more time at the beach!)

During the course of lunch, we bandied about some writing ideas, as we often do, but this time, Jimi was filled with acerbic inspiration and I laughed through just about all of it, but couldn't help but confirm his brilliance. We hatched a plan and I'm rather excited by the possibilities. Bottom line - he needs more beach time and I just need some money to take me to NYC and visit with Katie - and this seemed to be a very credible portal to get both of us where we want to be! I can't speak further on it because Jimi will kill me and he knows where I live and reads this blog so I have to stop...right...now.

During the course of lunch, my phone rang and it was Katie checking in from Manhattan with her daily "only in New York" update. Jimi answered my cell phone and said, "Katie, this is Jimi - I have your Mom held hostage and the price is $100,000 if you ever want to see her again.". Katie, not missing a beat, advised Jimi just to keep me and good luck with that. She didn't feel it was a good time to try and raise that kind of cash and rather than haggle over large sums of money that she isn't in possession of, she felt it best to just turn me over. No fight, no negotiating, no muss and no fuss. "You keep her, Jimi! Are you sure you've thought this through?". (Photo: Susie & Jimi enjoying lunch at "Artisan Cafe".)

He sadly handed the phone back to me and said, "No dice and no deal.". He was disappointed and I was bereft. She didn't even try and talk him out of it! Best of luck she told him! Geez, thanks a lot Katie!

Oh well, we still came up with a good plan and when we hit it big, there will be no "check is in the mail" for you missy! Your loyalty or lack thereof speaks VOLUMES!

Later in the day when she called me back, she tried to back-pedal and suggest that she was just taking a hard-line and didn't feel like it would benefit me if she "negotiated with terrorists" or some such silliness. Obviously she had reconsidered that such inaction on her part might find her missing in the will which, of course, it would, but I'd had kind of an emotionally-charged day so I bought what she was selling, even though I knew there was nothing substantial about any of it. I surmised it would probably help me sleep better at night to imagine she cared! Ha!

The rest of the evening was spent watching my parents in a flurry of "pre-trip activity" (which was much more fun than the pre-colonoscopy activity), as they were sorting through clothes, medication, and all that goes with two pack-rats preparing to leave for a week and hang out in the wilderness of "Wild, Wonderful West Virginia".

Saturday Morning, they were off. But not before reminding me that Cassie would need extra attention. Check the water dish every day. Don't forget to feed the cats and yes, someone will have to take care of the litter box. Oh, and let Sylvester in at night. Wipe Cassie's paws off if it rains. Give her some "extra" attention because she'll be missing us... (Photo: Cassie trying to cope with the fact that her Granny & Grandpa are on "holiday".)

I finally realized, these are technically MY animals. I thought to myself, "Mom doesn't even like cats and she's advising me on them?". My gosh, what a weird galaxy I live in! Really, I think the animals will fare better than Justin and me.

Breakfast, Lunch or Dinner?

Remember that episode of "The Andy Griffith Show" where Aunt Bea goes out of town for three days and Opie goes on a Boy Scout camping trip and Andy is left alone? He goes out to the grocery store and stocks up on all the things he doesn't normally eat when Aunt Bea is there to cook sensibly and tells Howard Sprague, with glee, that he's going to eat junk, watch TV and live crazy for a couple of days? Of course, everyone knows that Andy can't cook so Howard and his Mom invite Andy for dinner, and on the same night, so does Helen who is also entertaining her uncle from out of town. Goober forgets to tell Andy of the dinner invitations in advance and Andy winds up eating spaghetti two or three times in the course of the same evening...

I get the feeling I'm living THAT episode of "The Andy Griffith Show" and the town is conspiring to make sure I'm well-fed and taken care of and I'm completely grateful, but it's pretty funny. It's just so "Mayberry", so "North Carolina". I love this state. I swear I do.

I got several e-mail invitations for lunch and dinner which is well-appreciated and sweet. Last night, my friend invited me over for dinner - my favorite - spaghetti and salad, but no tea...lemonade.

I was invited by another friend for dinner tonight, but I've had a sinus headache for going on two days now...(a gift from autumn, perhaps?), and I'm going to take two benadryl sinus pills and call myself in the morning. I hated missing out on steak, but I'm also sick of this stupid headache. It's probably "separation anxiety". :-)

I wouldn't be a bit surprised if there's a basket left on my front porch with pre-cooked offerings before the week is out. All I really need is a decent cup of coffee. I can handle it, really. I "do" soup incredibly well and I've always been so gifted at "take-out". I have a few talents, no question about that.

I talked with Katie yesterday after the senior citizens left on their adventure and she listened as I told her how glaringly quiet this house was...."You know, you're going to lose weight this week. You know that, right?". This from the girl who won't pay my ransom.

Yesterday afternoon, I remarked to Justin how quiet it was here. He said, "If you ask me, it's still a little crowded. Can't you go somewhere? You love Europe - I hear it's beautiful this time of year." He did everything but offer to pack my bag and take me to the airport and I know he would probably have done that if he thought it would work. (Photo: Justin standing in Central Park last Labor Day Weekend.)

Such love! Speaking of "going somewhere", Justin is New York City bound at the end of the month. His Dad (Tim) is flying him up to NYC and meeting him there and they're going to hang out with Katie for the weekend. I bet they'll have a blast. I know Katie's looking forward to it! Also a "HAPPY BIRTHDAY" to Tim - I hope you had a great one! PLEASE remind the kids to take PICTURES when you guys are in NYC!!!!!

Click below for a preview of "Stranger Than Fiction"...even though it was released last fall, it's one of my favorite movies. Note to RE...let me know if you like what you see and if you do, you can see more. I have the DVD.

And a special note to my friend, the "good pirate" Bobbi in Raleigh, she wrote me Friday Night and her angst was apparent. I must copy and paste..., "What is wrong? We all stayed on the edge of our computer seats for months (yes, make that four months instead of "for") reading updates of the "Hook or Crook" saga...we need another screenplay to whet our appetites.". I had to break it to her gently that I didn't have any good story lines to toss her way, real or imagined. I mean, other than imminent starvation and possible caffeine deprivation, there's not that much going on 'round here. I had to diplomatically ease her into the cold, hard facts that there are no sailing adventures on the horizon, no tropical storms are forecast and hurricane season will be winding down by the end of November. I may very well close out 2007 un-engaged and unattached. I hang-out with sensible types these days. I do "coffee", "tea' and sometimes I even get "cut-off" from those. I did charge into the surf earlier in the week and the phytoplankton was lovely, but it washed away with the waves.

Celia Rivenbark on B-I-N-G-O and Meg Ryan

Now, before you get offended, understand that I LOVE it when visitors sign my guest book and it means a lot to me, even if you aren't a humor writer...so that doesn't work as an excuse.

I have been visited by greatness. Well, my guest book has, in the form of irascible, southern charm. It started, as many things do, at a friend's house.

While I was sitting at his kitchen table, struggling to solve his crossword puzzle - not that he needed my assistance, he's way too smart- he asked me if I'd read Celia Rivenbark's latest column. I was embarrassed to admit that I hadn't read it yet.

Of course, he still had it and as the kitchen was filling up with the warm aroma of chicken fried rice, I happily put the puzzle aside and began reading it and laughing immediately. You really need to check it out. This week's column!

Then you need to go back to her website, and order her books. Not just one of them but get all of them. They are more than worth the price and will deliver hours of giggles as you relate to her stories and marvel at how she writes things you've thought and wished you'd written. Happens to me every time I read her stuff. Dang she's sharp and such a smart ass - I just love that in a writer.

I had the pleasure of having lunch with her last year, along with Bruce and Marge Brown, in the genteel, formal dining room of The City Club in Wilmington and was delighted to find she was just as entertaining and completely irreverent in person as she is in her writing; southern through and through, but blessedly she doesn't let that hold her back one whit. Ms. Rivenbark doesn't forget where she came from - and she richly mines it for all it's worth. It was one of the most entertaining lunches I've ever had (Celia - let's do it again soon - but let's ditch the amenities and healthy fare and meet downtown at Roudabush on "Southern fried food" day!) Pencil me in! And please, no talk of cholesterol or calories...

My daughter was very impressed I'd dined with Celia. I can't think of another writer she would be more impressed to know I'd shared a meal with and of course, Katie has read her books and highly recommends them as well. In fact, I gave Katie, "Stop Dressing Your Six-Year Old Like a Skank" for Christmas last year and it was one of her favorite gifts. "We're Just Like You, Only Prettier", is equally entertaining. How can you go wrong with titles like that? The titles are merely a teaser, the books deliver and expand on her uniquely southern brand of "charm" and southern eloquence. This is a woman you could sit down with and literally "dish with" and she'd get it. She's got it. She's the real deal.

It's just a shame she didn't have "a good bingo, not good at all", but you can't hold that against her. She's not quite old enough for the senior citizen set. However, when she gets there in about 30 years, she will be the queen of the AARP ball. Personally, I think she's prettier than that "Meg" person - especially since Meg went on a Botox binge and grew fish lips. Besides, I bet that man who made the remark probably wasn't even legally blind (did you see any documentation?). Obviously, his companion was jealous.

Oh, and a special thanks to my friend for reminding me to read Celia's column and, in case you're interested, the chicken fried rice was wonderful. You have to appreciate a man who can kayak, cook and do crosswords.

Friendships, the Quiet of a Kayak and Looking at the Same Moon...

"If you choose a time,
then I'll catch the moon,
I'll see you there.
From wherever I am,
Wherever you are,
We'll find somewhere.
I see the same stars in the same sky.
Shining down on you.
I'll be looking up from wherever I am
And it's you I'll see,
If you're looking, too.
Are you looking at the same moon?"

~ Phil Collins, "The Same Moon"

Wasn't it beautiful? This past week, that full moon was something to see. I saw it from my bedroom window. I saw it from the sand on Wrightsville Beach this past Tuesday Night and I watched it dance on the calm waves. I heard about it spreading it's glow on Manhattan when Katie called me Wednesday Night to share with me how beautiful it was in her town. My friend Mike called me from Baghdad Thursday afternoon (my time), and he was looking at it shining over the desert. Last night I saw it rise out of the Atlantic as a glorious orange orb and, again, it was positively breathtaking. Truly, it was just something not to be missed. (Photo: My new shades! I'm back in business! 27 September 2007).

I guess it just kind of occurred to me that for as vast as this planet can sometimes feel, it's entirely wonderful that even across tons of miles and several time zones, we can share the same view, albeit a few hours apart, perhaps. I'm willing to bet it looked pretty beautiful in France as well. What says you, Michel? Were you "looking at the same moon", along with the rest of us? What a cool sense of connectedness courtesy of an awe-inspiring "la bella luna".

Connectivity. Whether it's via the portal of the moon, the sun, the stars or the water, its such a caveat of our existence, isn't it? It's completely free, dependable - save for a few clouds sometimes, but even when clouds obscure the light and you're suddenly pitched into darkness, you still know the light is up there and that, after a few hours or days or maybe even a week sometimes, the wind clouds will push away and the light will shine through just as it always has. That's such a comforting thought and knowledge and belief of the return of light after darkness, gets us through squirrelly patches we run into from time to time. I guess the seeds of Faith are borne and nurtured when it's dark and cloudy, and I've found that if I listen close, I hear a clear and steady voice telling me the light is still really there and won't be obscured indefinitely. Sometimes, believe is all you can do.

Sometimes, it's enough.

A bigger sense of connectivity comes when I think of friends and family. What a dazzling connection - talk about powerful.

"I took a walk alone last night,
I looked up at the stars,
To try and find an answer to my life.
I chose a star for me.
I chose a star for him.
I chose two stars for my kids, and one star for my wife.
Something made me smile.
Something seemed to ease the pain.
Something about the universe and how it's all connected..." ~ Sting

Of course Sting gets it. I'm starting to get it too, but with nothing close to his eloquence. He is, after all, STING! But still, haven't you done that? Gone outside and looked up at the stars and sort of toss a question out to the deep void of space, "What is this? What should I do? What am I really about and whatever it is that I'm about, how can I do it better? Why am I here and, oh yes, could someone up there show me a clear purpose and light a torch so that I can find the path?"

Hey, I've done it a lot of times in my life. I hope I'm around to do it many more times in the future. Even though it may seem like a futile exercise or maybe just a good excuse to go outside and star-gaze, I really do sometimes feel closer to some answer and maybe I am just a tiny speck in the galaxy, but I love staking out a tiny claim. I love my fellow specks, too. Well, most of them. :-)

The moon is such a stunning source of planetary interconnectivity, but even more compelling, is the connectivity of relationships - all of them. Do you ever stop and think how many relationships you have? What those people mean to you and what you may mean to those people? Friends, family, and of course, the animals we're "owned" by. I can't imagine my life without my animals and certainly not without my friends and family. I have connections with people I'll probably only know through exchanging e-mails. I can tell instantly when I "connect" with the author of a book that comes to mean so much to me and touches me in a way nothing else could. What about a song that resonates and you find yourself playing it over and over and over again until other members of your household beg and plead with you to give it a rest? Happens all the time at my house - just ask Justin. Lately I've practically worn out, "I Was Brought to My Senses". No question about it, I'm strung out on Sting and his lovely British accent.

As humans, we appear to be in possession not only of Connective Tissue which set us all up perfectly for "Connective Issues". Doesn't anything come without "issues"???? Hey, it's not always simple and easy-to-understand, but it's generally worth further investigation, this connectivity predisposition that can sometimes feel like a curse, but is overwhelmingly a blessing.

Having said that, there are a few connections where it's just best to disconnect. Hang-up. Cut the line. And who hasn't had a few of those? I've had a handful I should have passed on, but I guess they served the purpose of those darn hard-won lessons. Hanging up is an option I should probably practice more than I do, but curiosity often gets the better of me. I eventually hang-up though not hanging up earlier is probably, well, one of my hang-ups. Did I mention I'm not perfect? I'm sure I didn't have to - I bet you picked up on that something close to instantly.

But for the love of God, Country and everything holy, hang up on pirates. Just do yourself a favor. Skip the cruise and pass on all "Jolly Roger" types, unless it's the sour apple flavor of the hard candy. Sooner or later that pirate is going down. Skip those types of connections. Paste a post-it note on your forehead if you must, but remember the mantra. [Geoff, I loved your word scramble - it really was garbage!]

While a few connections should be avoided at all cost, there's always the risk of swinging too far on the scale which, I think, would be tantamount to "no dialtone", i.e., being "out of order", and rendering one unable to connect at all. This would set one up for a period of isolation and I don't even like the sound of that word, much less the concept it represents. It's just not natural, unless you're a gene in a petri dish, sitting in agar awaiting some brilliant, skilled scientist to isolate you and cite you as a culprit responsible for some devastating disease process. Personally, isolation is one of the MANY things I'm happy to be hopelessly inept at doing well. I think it's a completely uninteresting and terribly boring. Connections are definitely the better choice, I suspect. Over-correcting a course is probably just as silly as steering in the wrong direction - either way, you're not headed in the right direction and it's finding the right direction that we're all supposed to be about, or so I'm told.

I love this one particular clip from "Feast of Love" and no, I haven't seen the movie yet, but I've worn out the clips on the website. (Click here to watch Morgan Freeman give Greg Kinnear some fine advice..."Jump, jump - next time with your eyes open!" Morgan Freeman says it's OK to jump. Morgan Freeman is a wise man. I remember him from the "The Electric Company" when I was a little girl. He taught me how to sound things out and put words together on PBS, way back when I was in elementary school. If he says it's OK to jump, just make sure your eyes are open, that's good enough for me. He also says, in another clip, "I'd proceed with caution...". That's pretty smart talk as well.

But still, I'm just so grateful for connectedness, interplanetary and otherwise.

I didn't go kayaking this past Sunday Night. I went to dinner, instead. Kayaking didn't get canceled, it simply got postponed. Friday night, according to one expert source, the waves weren't right for surfing but they were optimal for kayaking, so I had my first sunset kayak experience. I wasn't sure about the whole thing, having never been before, but of course, I fell in love with it. It was quiet, like sailing in a way, but the view was almost the same as being 'one with the water' and, in a way, that's how it felt. My first kayak adventure was in a two-person kayak and I was in "first class" which meant, I got to have beverage service (Jasmine tea), but I paddled as well - and it was a lot of fun.

When I told Katie of my plans, she once again advised that I check the weather forecast first because we all know how I love taking to the water in tropical storm conditions, but I assured her it wasn't going to be that ill-conceived and/or adventurous. We paddled due west, toward the setting sun, and for a few seconds I felt like that "Bugs Bunny" cartoon, one of my favorites when I was a little girl, where Bugs is paddling after evading, yet again, becoming trapped, and off he strokes in his canoe, toward the setting sun. The image made me giggle.

We soon reached the marsh and it was so awesome being lower than the reeds. We saw heron, egrets and lots of fish jumping about. No dolphins, of course - I seem to be a dolphin deterrent, something I wish I knew how to remedy - but even without the marine mammals, it was still a "don't miss" evening cruise. The tide coming in took us around twists and turns and in places the clear water was no more than a foot deep and I could see the oyster beds as we passed over them. Of course, when we got to the "cul-de-sac" at the end of the marsh and it was time to return home, paddling against the incoming tide and current required a little elbow grease, but it was such a cool ride on such a "picture postcard perfect" evening. A fantastic way in which to spend one of the last days of September.

Now, if that wasn't enough, about an hour or so later, I saw the moon emerge from the horizon and rise to the sky and take it's mobile position amongst the stars, already present and accounted for, and the soundtrack of the languorous waves was the perfect accompaniment. There were quite a few people also enjoying the beach, well, save one couple who were lying on the sand enjoying taking photos of themselves with their cell phone. They were totally missing the moon but I don't think they noticed or cared. Ahhhh...maybe youth really is wasted on the young, as the old man commented in "It's a Wonderful Life", when James Stewart was taking forever to get up the courage to kiss Donna Reed.

I don't really think youth is wasted on the young - maybe we should just stop thinking of ourselves as getting old? Aren't we perpetually growing up in some form or fashion? Is there some ill-conceived rule that states one's youth must occur between the ages of "X" and "Y"? If there is, I want no part of that and that's certainly not some attempt by me to take away one-second of my 47 years (plus) years on this planet...no, no, no - I claim every single one of them and, if anything, I'm kind of proud for having survived so far, but just because chronologically I'm 47 years old, doesn't mean that I have to abandon any of the fun those people between the ages of "X" & "Y" have. I don't buy into that and I happen to know better. So far, I'm having a great "youth" and I project it will last as long as I do. Sometimes I think people really do go much too willingly and far too gently "into that good night". I've got no plans for that and I suspect I'll be in real trouble should I consider the notion.

It has, quite obviously, been a very nice week. I met up with Jimi for lunch at "our place" (i.e., Elijah's) this past Thursday. Speaking of not growing up, I picked him up from his office, crutches in tow. He had been walking his new puppy and from what I could gather, the puppy (a bulldog variety), went one way while Jimi was still going the other and he wound up with a sprained ankle. He took it in stride, as he does almost everything, except for that fact that his "stride" now came attached with crutches. It really didn't slow him down too much and he was even more amusing on his Tylenol with codeine, not that he needs it to be funny! He's generally larger than life.

We had a spirited conversation over salads and he even shared some of his tuna with me as he picked at my shrimp. We downed a lot of tea and I topped it off with coffee. We noticed to the left of us was what looked to be a gathering of the "Red Hat Society" but not a fun-loving chapter. They looked rather dour and Jimi pointed to one that seemed to annoy him by virtue of her facial expressions. We vowed never to appear that way in about thirty or so years when it comes to be "our turn", but who knows...nah, I don't see it and I can't imagine animated Jimi ever affecting a dour visage. He's just too infused with so much spirit. I imagine him to be an irascible old man someday, still pondering which tattoo to get next.

I received a package this past week. It came from Little River, SC, but it was actually by way of Baghdad. My friend Sgt. Mike sent me an incredible gift and, along with it, a "push" for me to get down to business. I can no longer spend my time in my newly redecorated bedroom relaxing and reading...oh no, no, no...he's served up the means for me to write wherever I am and is determined that I become more "mobile". He sent me a spiffy IBM Think Pad with a wireless card so there's no running and there's no hiding. I have strict instructions and he's a radar specialist so I have a feeling I may well be under surveillance.

It was a phenomenal gesture and kind beyond all measure. Thank you, Mike. I'll keep playing those Power Ball numbers so that you have a multi-million dollar check waiting for you when you return to the states. You're one of a kind and, as you remind me, another "gift" of having dealt with a few of the obstacles I ran into this summer. Good things happen to us even when it looks like we're in the middle of a mess and stumbling into you has been such a gift.

Mike and I "connected" this past summer when he signed my guest book with an aside about sailing. At the time of his signing, I was "forbidden" by Capt'. H(ook) to respond but, of course, I did send a thank you to the man who signed my blog, but at the time, that was all I did. It wasn't worth the fight. A couple of months later, Sgt. Mike read about my car accident and e-mailed me good wishes and a gift card for some tea. This was about a week after the car crash and a couple of days after I became "disengaged". At last, it was safe to write. He's proven himself to be a great cheerleader and has a kind spirit. I know his family must be so proud of him and I'm sure they can't wait for him to return home. We're all praying for that, Mike!

But I still think you have a coffee problem and, coming from me, that's saying something!

There is one important thing that I want to touch on that happened back in May. My Dad, as I've written many times, is a diarist. He's one of the finest writers I've ever been privileged to read. For my 47 plus years as his daughter, he's kept a daily diary. That's a lot of diary entries! I'm sure he could tell me exactly how many because he's got a calculator for a brain and he's driven by statistics but his motivation and power come from his heart and his heart, as anyone will attest, must have been one that God used as a proto-type in terms of function and design and the power to love. (Photo: Harry Burke & Barbe Cook, May 16, 2007.)

Both of my parents are very special and not just to me - but to many people. In fact, many of my friends have "adopted" these two fine people and when I was drearily considering the insensibility of moving to Raleigh this past summer, I got a keen sense that many of my friends were more concerned that my parents stay in Wilmington, regardless of where I went off to. I heard a lot of "Whew's", when I'd share that they had no plans to relocate North - they were much too bright to even consider the ridiculousness of such a notion.

A few days before Katie, Justin, Billie and I took off for the Outer Banks, as I drove to Fayetteville to pick Katie up from the Amtrack Station, my parents were privileged and oh-so-pleased to welcome unexpected company to our home. Excitement was at a high-pitch level! A gentleman who was CFO with the parent company that owned the coal company my father worked for before he retired, had retired 18 months before my Dad. Mr. Harry Burke worked in Chicago and was known, around our house, as the "big brass", but more importantly, the relationship that developed between my Dad and Mr. Burke segued into a friendship and has carried on long past retirement.

Following retirement, Mr. Burke left Chicago and relocated to Scottsdale, Arizona while my parents retired EVERYWHERE we moved (and it's been a lot of moves!). All during this time, Dad and Mr. Burke would stay connected via phone and e-mail and keep up with the goings-on in their respective lives. Even though my Dad retired in October 1986, 21 years ago, they've shared many phone calls, traded news, followed each other's family happenings and, in the case of poor Mr. Burke, tried to keep up with us geographically. (Photo: Janet, Maxine, Harry, Barbe & Marsha, May 16, 2007)

While Mr. Burke has been happily installed in Scottsdale, AZ, my parents have lived in Amarillo, San Antonio, San Angelo, Stow, OH, El Paso, Pembroke Pines, FL, Charleston, SC, Amarillo (again), and finally Wilmington. That's a lot of push-pins on the map!

Though they have corresponded and visited via telephone, they had not seen each other in over 22 years. On 16 May of this year, as I was driving to pick up my lovely daughter, my Dad and Mom enthusiastically welcomed Mr. Burke, his companion Marsha and his sister Janet, who lives in the area. These two "old" friends had quite a wonderful reunion. My parents were so happy to see all of them and have the chance to visit in person. Oh how I wish I could have been here for it, but I am told it was a wonderful thing. I know it will go down as one of the highlights of this year in the best way possible.

I haven't checked, but I can imagine it made for "red ink" in my Dad's diary. The way it works, if something particularly noteworthy occurs in the course of a day, such a birthday, raise, or some other milestone like a car wreck, tropical storm sailing, breaking up with a pirate (sorry, I couldn't resist), these things get what I call the "red ink" treatment. Now, I'm sure I've made for a few pens' worth of red ink in my references in these volumes - some of it even good! But I have no doubt that May 16th and the visit with Harry Burke made for a "red ink" notation and probably in capital letters. I know my parents still talk about that day and renewing their friendship with this special company. Of course, my Mom made a cake and I know coffee was probably served.

As they got things ready for their visitors, it reminded me of when I was a little girl on Sunday Mornings, getting the house polished and shined for either relatives or sometimes even the pastor (I was always particularly instructed to watch my mouth on those days!). There was always an extra "hum" and verve. It was very much like that as I left to go retrieve my daughter and I so enjoyed hearing about it after I returned home with her. That was an extra special day - a visit from a long-time friend and former co-worker AND a visit from a granddaughter all in the same day. My dad may well have had to get a new red pen for that one!

As I've mused about the way my friends have swooped in and taken such fine care of me these past few weeks, sometimes I think of my parents and all of the friends they've collected through the years - how they've kept up with them, rejoiced right along with them through good news, and prayed at the dinner table for them and through long, heartfelt phone conversations through difficult times. My folks have taught me so many lessons through the years, but the presence of friendships in their lives has been a paramount component to their quality of life and thank God I managed to pick up on this. Friends, as they've shown me by example, and the love of family, have been what's counted most in their lives. They've been both the recipient and the giver at various times in their lives and it's been patently obvious how they've managed to live such a rich, love-saturated life with a great deal of affection and kindness.

I've observed in my life, so many times, how this is inarguably true. Much more so than possessions or money, it is these intrinsic relationships that I think count for a life well-lived. I am grateful for my parents example, just as I'm grateful for, and to, the people who claim positions within my inner circle. In the words of Robert Frost, "it has made all the difference...". (Photo: I "heart" these people...Daddy, Justin, Katie & Mom, May 2007).

It seems to me that no matter what life might fling at us, or what mess we may find ourselves mired in, if we have a hand or two to hold, we're going to be OK. Maybe a little bruised and scratched and roughed up a bit, but it's going to be fine. I'm pretty sure it's one of those things that "matter most".

As with my Dad and Mr. Burke, even after not seeing each other for over 21 years, the "connectedness", that bond remained intact, viable and strong. It was nurtured through the years with notes and phone calls, well-wishes, warm thoughts and no small measure of prayer. Distance never compromised it. Time seemed only to make it even more precious. Is that not just the most incredible gift? Thank God for these relationships and ties that bind. Then again, thank God for a lot of things!

And thank God for the gift of the full moon this past week. If you missed it, you really missed quite a site, but don't beat yourself up too much - the calendar reports there will be another one in less than 30 days. Maybe you'd better circle 26 October on your calendar. I'd suggest using red ink.