Band of Parents...A Cookie Cutter Approach on How To Save A Life...

Last weekend when I was in Manhattan, after having a great lunch with my daughter at the "Moonstruck Cafe", near where she works on the Upper East Side, I found myself with a couple of hours waiting for her to get off work before heading over to her apartment. I decided to walk over and check out a place I've been aware of for years, and I know several people who know it much more intimately because their children have been treated there as they've battled neuroblastoma. Of course, I'm speaking of Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center.

I walked through the doors, checked in with the guard and took the escalator up to the lobby. I saw the waiting area, where people sit until they're name is called to be admitted. You could see the fear etched on so many faces. It was impossible not to feel it. I remember being struck by two simultaneous thoughts: "This is a place where no one in their worst imaginings would ever want to find themselves" and, at the very same time, "Thank God this institution exists!". It was such an odd, comingling of impressions.

3F8 Antibody Treatment
Targeted High-Tech Therapy Meets "Grass Roots", Parentally-Steered Fund-Raising

MSKCC is a huge place and a great deal of cutting-edge research takes place there. So many families with kids of all ages have battled a particularly ferocious and insidious variety of cancer with treatments that are horrendously painful, difficult and not always successful. However, in the world of Neuroblastoma, Sloan-Kettering is known as a beacon of hope. They are currently on the cusp of a new phase of monoclonal antibody treatment and many kids of all ages, and the famlies who love them, are looking at it as a talisman of hope. It's a new antibody treatment and the only place it will be available is at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center.

I know money is tight for many of us this year, but most of us aren't facing a possible last Christmas with the kids we love with every fiber of our being. There are some Moms and Dads, sisters and brothers however, who are facing this prospect and I can't imagine how they function, but they do and with a grace, style and steely determination that blows my mind and elicits my highest admiration and deepest respect.

You can meet some of these young adults and kids by clicking here: Heroes and, if you want to see a beautiful angel, check out Nathan's site. Nathan was also treated at MSKCC and, unfortunately, the hoped for biomedical breath-throughs will be too late for him and his sweet family, but Nathan and the kids who will be celebrating the holidays in heaven this season most certainly won't be forgotten. Through their endurance and desire to forward medical science they, too, have paved the way for research with inestimable and very personal contributions and sacrifice. You may read other online journals about kids like Erik, Nick, Sidney, Emily, Anna, Dylan and Toby, just to name a few, who's lives may still be changed by the money you spend to buy a dozen cookies.

These parents have banded together and, in fact, call themselves "Band of Parents" because they are raising money in order to enable head researcher, Dr. Cheung, and the Neuroblastoma Team at MSKCC, to move forward with this antibody trial that may mean that these families get to spend another holiday season with their children who suffer from this most nasty and evil cancer.

There is an online flyer that the "BoP's" have created explaining in more detail about who they are, the science behind the new antibody treatment, and what they need from the rest of us. I think it's the very epitome of a "grass roots" campaign and rather than allowing themselves to feel defeated and at the end of their road and ropes, they have literally forged ahead to raise the money necessary for this new trial to begin and possibly save the lives of their kids. Who among us wouldn't be right in there doing the same if we had kids fighting neuroblastoma? You bet we would. It's what parents do.

All they are asking from the rest of us is to buy cookies. It's a pretty simple request and it doesn't require very much of us. Not only are they in the midst of battling it out with this disease on the front lines by tending to and supporting their desperately ill children, but they also have to use that most precious resource of all, their time, to fund-raise for a possible therapy which may literally mean the difference between life and death.

If you get the chance, please check out their site and, if you can spare $30, know that every cent you pay for the cookies will go toward research in trying to eradicate Neuroblastoma. As I've mentioned, I've spoke with a few of these parents and I know this is not only a legitimate fund-raising effort, and I also know that if I had a child sitting in one of those seats in the waiting room at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center, I would appreciate it from the bottom of my heart if others could help me save my child and I'd knock down anything or anyone who stood in the way. I'm betting you would as well.

I was lucky last Friday evening as I waited for my daughter to get off work. We walked around town, ordered a hot drink at Starbucks and we hung out at her apartment that evening with no more pressing plans than deciding which movie we would see the next day and where we might choose to have dinner. Pretty carefree stuff. It's incumbant for those of us with healthy kids to remember that many families aren't afforded the luxuries the rest of us take for granted. Their days are filled with what amounts to, literally, life and death decisions when considering treatment options.

I hope you'll do a little investigating yourself and read their pamphlet and find it in your own heart to say a special prayer of thanksgiving for the children in your life who are healthy and living their lives, even if they make you want to pull your hair out form time to time, and send a few bucks to families with children who aren't afforded the ease with which the rest of us go about our day-to-day lives.

It's worth noting that any of us could, at any time, find ourselves members in a group like "Band of Parents". I'm sure there was a time when these families never thought something like Neuroblastoma could possibly touch their lives. Unfortunately one day they discovered that it could and they were thrust into a situation that is the epitome of a nightmare for the uninitiated among us.

I believe in my heart this new research at MSKCC merits our attention and whatever we can afford to give. And also, when considering what to give this person or that, this holiday season, realize that most of the time it's forgotten before January is torn off the calendar. Not only would you be buying those on your gift list a yummy present, but you'd also be an active participant in possibly funding a new therapy to eradicate this disease and nailing down Neuroblastoma. It's a present that "gives" twice. One size fits all, no worries that it won't "fit" and tax deductible! Does it get any easier than this? You place an order and it's DONE. So place several and really be DONE!

When I walked out of Sloan-Kettering last Friday evening into the brightly-lit evening with cabs honking their horns and clutches of passersby making their way toward the subway, it wasn't lost on me that many people walk through those doors with heavy hearts - stepping out for a bite to eat with loved ones still in treatment or, worse still, returning to the outside world without a precious family member who will never, ever step outside of 1275 York Avenue again. Once again, I reiterate, any one of us could easily find ourselves in a similar position someday.

I really hope you'll check it out and order some cookies. I know some of these families and it's worth your money and five minutes of your time.

Happy 21st Birthday Justin Ryan Parker...

"I love lilacs and avocados.
Ukeleles and fireworks,
Woody Allen and walking in the snow.
But you've got to know...

That you're the love of my life,
You are the love of my life
You are the love of my life
You are the love of my life!
From the moment I first saw you.
The second that you were born.
I knew that you were the love of my life,
Quite simply, the love of my life..."
~ Carly Simon


It started in Amarillo, Texas, on a Wednesday Night, 19 November 1986. I'd just eaten a piece of pumpkin pie and as soon as I put the fork down, my back started aching and it didn't stop until, two days later, Justin made his way into this world. This baby wasn't due for a week, but I guess he just couldn't wait and he was so bent on being a Scorpio that he got in right at the last minute, on the cusp. Justin did it his way. Justin's always done it his way. Justin is my son through and through.

There are about 1600 miles that separate Amarillo, Texas and Wilmington, North Carolina. Twenty-one years ago we celebrated his arrival at Northwest Texas Hospital in Amarillo. Last night we sat down to dinner at Henry's Restaurant, and celebrated his turning twenty-one. I adore this young man of mine. Many miles have been traveled and a great deal of history has been lived in those twenty-one years. What a crazy, wild ride.

Justin is the only authentic, genuine born and bred Texan in our family. His father, sister, grandparents and I were born in West Virginia and he's rather proud that he wasn't. Just like the state that produced him, I've always found him to be larger than life in so many ways.

He and I used to sing "You Are the Love of My Life" together in Florida. We would dance around the living room and hold hands and be silly and no lyrics ever rang truer, from where I twirled. We're hauntingly alike. We're both headstrong, obstinate and sometimes we hide behind a veil of shyness, but we always manage to get our point across and we seldom move from our most deeply-held positions, even when it's to our detriment.

He's twenty-one now. He's an adult. There will be joys ahead to celebrate and sometimes, hard, painful lessons to be learned. But on this night, the anniversary of my son's birth, I felt extreme, profound gratitude. This was a night to rejoice. And so we did.

I think about all that lies ahead at the tender age of twenty one. Remember how much you thought you knew and all that you've discovered since? As I consider my son, I honestly believe he's far better equipped with a brand of durable wisdom and savvy that I never knew at his age. There are times that it still takes me forever to pick up on things that should be blatantly obvious. I don't think that will quite be the case for him but, should it be so, I just hope he has angels circling who will pick him up when the need arises, as they have done for me so many times, and send him in a better direction. Good angels do that.

"You can drive me crazy.
You can drive me anywhere.
Here are the keys,
Just do as you please.
It may not always be easy..."

We've butted heads more than a few times. We've sparred, retreated to our corners, slammed a few doors and sneered now and again. Typical mother/son stuff. But deep inside, I believe there's always been a deep affection and there are still times that I look in his eyes and he can reduce me to a puddle, even when I'm absolutely irritated with him beyond belief. He'll flash a smile, fix me with those deep, cerulean blue eyes of his and, every now and then, I will completely forget why I'm so upset with him. Smart kid that he is, he uses this to his best advantage. Of course he does. Sometimes, I still fall for it.

The one thing I do know is that he is so very loved. He is adored. He is cherished, as is his sister, Katie. There are times I look at them and I can't believe how offbeat and eccentric they have turned out to be. These are not "cookie-cutter, Gap Kids", the kind I figured I'd wind up with. No, no, no, my son and daughter can both usually be found connected to an iPod, but they listen to a different tune. They've both become the ultimate in non-conformists. I couldn't be more pleased. I'd be so horribly bored if they'd turned into typical suburban kids and I don't think for one-second they ever really wanted June Cleaver for a Mom.

A couple of years ago, I was sitting in my home group AA meeting. The meeting had just started and "The Promises" had just been read. It was a very special day for me - the second anniversary of my sobriety - and on that day, at that meeting, I would pick up my two-year blue chip. Five minutes into the meeting, the door opened and, quietly, in walked Katie and Justin. I will never, ever forget that moment. I couldn't have been more surprised. They took seats beside me. They took time out of their hectic young lives to see their Mom pick up her two-year AA chip. Tears rolled down my eyes for the remainder of that meeting and I didn't even try to hide it. My heart was overflowing.

Nothing quite says, "I love you", like supporting your Mom on the anniversary of her second year in a twelve-step program that basically saved her life. It meant the absolute world to me. After my sponsor presented me with my precious blue chip and medallion, both kids rose up and hugged me tightly. It was a miracle in so many more ways than one. It was that brand of support that has made my life far richer than I could have ever imagined on the night of 11 January 2004. I can't envision a purer, more vivid display of love from these two. Pretty special, if you ask me. Uncommon. Love beyond measure.

I've been so privileged to watch Justin grow up and, in many ways, he's watched me grow up as well. We've both seen each other make hideously, ill-advised errors in judgment. We've seen each other stumble. I've bandaged knee-abrasions, nursed him through fevers and sat in many steam-filled bathrooms to loosen more bouts of croup and bronchitis than I can count. I've paced the floor through torturous ear-aching, scream-filled nights and when he was 3 years old and fell off his play horse, I talked him through lidocaine injections and tried to make him smile as his eyebrow was stitched up, the result of being bucked off a misbehaving, unruly, plastic horse. He took it like a champ, didn't shed a tear. I cried for half an hour after it was over.

For his part, he's offered me hugs when I was at the lowest possible point in my life, fresh from hitting a painful bottom that was inevitable and essential to my own recovery. He drove me to pick up the personal items out of my car following a DUI a few years ago.

When it came time to check into the treatment center a few weeks later, I asked Justin to drop me off. I was so scared, but I knew he would make me laugh and I needed that so desperately. He never once took a cheap shot at me during the low, difficult times. He sensed when I was struggling and he promised me I was still a mother he was proud to have and hearing those things gave me the courage and inestimable strength to move forward on especially dark days.

Justin has a well-spring of compassion which is deep and wide. Beneath a quiet, sometimes stoic facade, lies one of the most incredibly sensitive hearts I've ever known. He dips from it frequently, with gentle hugs and steady embraces. He loves his family and we love him right back.

We've had our moments and it's my dearest hope that we have lots more of them. We both know they won't all be easy, and a few will be contentious and difficult, probably even gut-wrenching, but that's OK, too. We've been through things like that and we know instinctively, courtesy of our shared experiences, that the bad times really do pass. As my parents have so beautifully taught us time and again by their stellar example, within a solid framework of love, consideration and understanding, we can work through whatever comes our way.

When I was involved in a car wreck this past August, I was sitting in the waiting room of the hospital beside my sweet Daddy, waiting to be called back, and within minutes after my Dad's arrival, I looked up to see Justin walking towards me with a large iced tea in one hand and an arm extended to embrace me with the other. I didn't even realize that he knew what had happened yet - I was still trying to wrap my mind around it - but he'd found out from my Mom and he and Stephanie took off in a flash to join me and sit with me in that waiting room. Being my son, he knew I needed a large iced tea, a smile and one of his hugs. He delivered brilliantly. Sitting there between my father and my son, I felt very blessed and dearly loved.

I've always found parenting to be more of an exchange than a unilateral transmission. Giving birth may place a baby in your hands, but it hardly confers instant knowledge and wisdom. I remember feeling so clueless and inept and blatantly confused on many occasions. I still do, sometimes. I've enjoyed raising my son and daughter so very much, but it's certainly not been a one-way street. They've been beside me through so many things and though I know I've made mistakes along the way, as all parents do, I can't help but believe I must have gotten a few things right because when I look at both Justin and Katie, I am blown away by the adults they have grown into.

I admire the way they handle life, rather than allowing life to handle them. They're both fiercely independent, opinionated, intelligent and funny individuals. I love how easily they find the humor in the most difficult and challenging of situations. They seem to have indomitable spirits and a keen sense of right and wrong. They are champions of those less fortunate - of the human, feline and canine variety and I adore that, too. Goodness knows, there was never any shortage of animals in our house as they've grown up and along with the ever-present influence of their doting grandparents, Pops and Granny, I know the seeds of love and kindness were borne from a strong, sturdy sense of family and love for all creatures great and small, even the ones that shed from time to time and have accidents on the carpet. Life is messy. It's really supposed to be.



















"But you are the love of my life,
My heart is riding on a runaway train.
You are the love of my life,
Through all the pleasure and pain.
From the moment I first saw you, I knew.
I knew it right away,
I knew that you were the love of my life,
Simply the love of my life.
You are the love,
The great love
Of my life..."


So Justin, on this, the first day of your twenty-second year, I just want you to know that I am so ecstatically proud to be your mother, so thrilled to have you in my life and I'm solidly optimistic about your future, because I have been a close witness to your past. I know parents always say, "You can do whatever you set your mind to" and we all mean it when we utter those words, but honestly, I'd stake my life on it.

Ultimately, the choices will be yours to make, but knowing what I do of who you are, I have every faith that you will be a force to be reckoned with wherever your dreams beckon you to follow. Some will work out and a few won't, but you'll learn a lot more from the ones that don't than those times in your life when things flow flawlessly. Thank you, my dear son, for allowing me to know the essential you, and for continuing to allow us, your family, to share in your life.

You and Katie truly are, and always will be, the love of my life. Happy, happy birthday, my love.

New York City - Fast and on the FLY!

You can click on all this link: Flickr

and see all of the photos from this weekend.






The 411: New York City by Way of Iraq...

This is how it went down:

This past Thursday Night, at around 8:30 PM, I logged onto Yahoo Chat to see how my friend Mike was doing in Iraq. I hadn't "talked" to him for a few days and I was wondering what he was up to, how much coffee he'd been consuming and, most of all, when he might be arriving in the US. He's due to come home in about three weeks. I had worked all day, chaired my AA meeting and came home exhausted. I felt cold, a little down and a whole lot tired.

Once Upon a Gypsy JERK...

After chatting a few minutes and catching up with each other, Mike suggested I take a trip to NYC to visit with Katie. After all, I hadn't seen my daughter since the first part of July when she was in Raleigh and then, only for a few hours. It wasn't really a "visit" because Captain Maniacal Mike hovered over us the entire time. We didn't have any time to just be alone. It was more of a tease than anything else. We couldn't seem to find anywhere to visit without Hurley horning his way in and it was frustrating beyond belief. I found it odd at how intrusive he was during the visit. Katie just plain found it, and him, repulsive and she wasn't terribly shy about her feelings. I got the distinct feeling he intruded on our conversations because he suspected we might be discussing him and, of course, he would have been correct. The conversation would have probably played out something like this, I imagine:

Me: "So, Katie, honestly, what do you think of him?"
Katie: "Have you lost your mind?"
Me: "Just give him a chance - he's really not as weird as he appears.." (spoken in a tone that was unconvincing at best...).
Katie: "Mom, he's a fruit cake. A freak. Wake-up. Are you getting enough caffeine?"
Me: long, audible sigh...(knowing somewhere deep inside that she was absolutely right. Her radar is seldom off, but still trying to put the best spin on the top).

Of course, he wouldn't have permitted that conversation to take place in his muted and dull law library of an apartment. I guess, in retrospect, it makes sense that he would be hovering around us and monitoring every syllable of our verbal exchanges, but her eyes spoke volumes even if she didn't. I believe he truly thought he was winning her over. I knew without a doubt he wasn't even scoring positive numbers on her assessment scale.

So fast-forward to this past Thursday Night and my friend (the nice) Mike, suggested a trip. Sure, it sounded like just the thing except for one small glitch. M-O-N-E-Y. I told him it would be near to impossible to get a decently priced ticket 12 hours before a flight took off from Wilmington for La Guardia.

Nonsense, he said. He told me to "hold on just a sec". I held on and, in the meantime, Katie called to see how things were going and just to check in. I casually asked her if she had plans this weekend. No, nothing solid. I told her to hold on. So as I was holding on for Mike, Katie was holding on for me, but she didn't really know what she was actually holding on for. She just held tight.

The next dialogue on the YAHOO Chat screen was something along the lines that I could be booked on the flight leaving Wilmington THE NEXT MORNING (Friday) and return on Sunday leaving La Guardia at 6:29 PM. Would that be enough time, he queried?

I read the screen and I laughed. Literally. Out loud. I just laughed and thought to myself, "what are they putting in your coffee over there?"

Sure - but how much? Booking a flight on such short notice out of Wilmington would have to be exorbitant and impossible. He told me to hold on just a little longer. I waited. I advised Katie to wait as well but again, she had no idea what she was waiting on and I really wasn't sure myself.

The next thing I saw was an e-mail pop up that informed me I had been booked on the 10:15 AM flight out of ILM and would be arriving in NYC by N-O-O-N. "Hey," said Mike, "you and Katie can have lunch!".

Again, I said, "how much?". It seemed a reasonable thing to ask. I was told that it had been "taken care of". Period. It was done. It had been reserved. It was now a moot point. Oh and, "Susie, you need to pack. You're leaving in about 12 hours."

I was STUNNED. No, I was beyond stunned. So then I decided to stun Katie by telling her I was coming to NYC the next morning, even though I really didn't believe it myself. She became stunned and excited, and then stunned some more. OH MY GOSH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This is a joke, right? I'm thinking, we're all playing into this and it's funny, but it's not real and it's a just a joke.

More e-mails followed from Hotwire booking with my flight information. According to Hotwire, I had a seat with my name on it. This was happening! By now it was about 9:00 PM and in about 12 hours, I would be at the airport, packed and on my way to NYC. Holy heck! Just like that. This amazing man gave me the greatest gift imaginable. He sent me to see my daughter. He arranged for it to be possible to meet with my friend Glen (if he would be free that weekend) and he gave me Christmas about 6 weeks early. I didn't know what to say, what to type, what to think or what to really do by this point. He again advised, well, more along the lines of ordered me to get packed and ready because I had better not miss that flight.

I'm pretty sure he's a "fairy god-soldier" and, at 6'5", he's a formidable one. That's like a foot more formidable than me.

The next morning, I was still in a state of shock. I logged onto Yahoo and Mike asked me if I was ready? No, my clothes were being washed. I still hadn't taken my shower. He wrote back - "Go get ready! NOW!" And I did just that. But still, I had it in the back of my mind that I would get to the airport and the ruse would be up. I wasn't really going to New York City. This was a "playet", a scene from a funny movie, or maybe just a late April Fool's farce. I didn't completely buy into it at all. It was just too fast. Too surreal. Too "out there" and beyond my scope of comprehension.

But what the heck, I thought. I can play along. I called my friend Glen and asked if he would be free over the weekend for lunch or dinner so he could kick my ass for not having my outline, three chapters and formal proposal ready. He couldn't resist the chance to kick my ass into gear (with witnesses), so he said he'd find a way to meet us. A few minutes later, he called me back and told me to be sure and bring a coat.

This was a very big weekend for Glen. He became a father. The family adopted a red, miniature poodle who is now known as "Sunny". In the time I've known Glen (a little over a year), he's moved away from Manhattan to the SUBURBS, visited Disney World, became a home owner in the 'burbs, and now commutes back into Manhattan. Talk about a year of transformations for this wonderful man. But domesticity hasn't changed him a bit - he's still the best nut EVER and how sweet it was to see him and collect a hug. He's actually taking off this week to settle the new family member in (8 week old puppy) so his official excuse for not being able to do anything this week will be..."I have a new dog. Deal with it.". I respect that. I'm just glad he could fit me into his calendar and drive into the City on a day he didn't have to be there. Thank you, Glen.

Glen treated Katie, John and me to an amazing lunch at Arte Cafe on 73rd Street right off Columbus Avenue. It was scrumptious. He demanded I eat dessert as well. It was fabulous. And then he said, "When will I see you again...you know, with your WORK ready to be submitted." Everyone looked at me for a response People at neighboring tables probably chuckled to themselves.... I came up with one. By the final week of January, I am to return to NYC with three chapters, an outline and formal proposal in hand to pass over to Glen's hands. Then, we shook hands on it. Katie and John served as witnesses. I have my work cut out for me. Now I'm REALLY stunned. But I am pleased and I've got no place to run. There were witnesses. Tough, New York witnesses. I'm a demure (smile) southerner. I don't stand a chance should I not produce.

It was so fantastic seeing my Katie, visiting with John, catching up with Glen, hanging in NYC with Katie all day on Saturday, catching a movie with her at the Paris Theatre, and just being in her space. Precious time. It was the best ever. It was so sweet to see Glen again and have him with us at lunch and he's so animated and hyper and the man doesn't even drink caffeine - I can't imagine how he would operate on stimulants! It was the best lunch ever. I'm going to keep my promise and honor my commitment and come through. I gave my word. I meant it. Plus, they will kill me if I don't.

But I just have to say, that Mike Skierski is one heckuva man. Mike, you will never know what this weekend did for me on so many levels. You gave me family time, friend time, professional time and "walking in NY time" with people I love so much. Thank you for that from the bottom of my heart. You had better find the time to let me show you around my corner of the coast when you get out of Iraq in a few weeks. I owe you a huge hug and a big kiss. You rock, Mike. You are amazing and generous and every other positive adjective I could possibly think of and then, it wouldn't be enough to express how much this entire weekend colored my world. I just love your heart. You're simply incredible.

So, that's what I've been up to these past few days. It was a whirlwind trip and you can see the photos if you click this hyperlink: Flickr. I'm just so very grateful for all of it. I loved spending time with John and Katie in their beautiful Upper West Side apartment. I was treated like a queen.

Ok, maybe not exactly like a "queen". It is, after all, Katie we're talking about here. Katie wouldn't treat "The Queen" like a queen so I may have embellished just a bit on that point. But, on a positive note, she didn't slap me around or beat me up, and I believe that says a lot and I was pretty impressed. Actually, she was so oddly domestic that I barely recognized that facet of her, but as much as it pains me to say it, NYC obviously agrees with her. She was shining and happy and it showed and that speaks volumes. She was my Katie and she was just as I'd expect. I adore her. She's a tough nut, but in a good way. She may well have even mellowed just a bit.

Big Yellow Taxi...How to Hail a Cab NY-Style, By Way of the South

One incident that stands out from this trip involves her hailing a cab for me when I was ready to leave for the airport on Sunday. This is when it was confirmed for me that she truly was a genuine New Yorker. She stepped out onto the street where she lives and within about two minutes, a cab slowed down and she stepped over and opened the door. I was standing back (as instructed) and sipping the last of my ginger peach iced tea. I am, it should be noted, very southern and a couple of days in New York can't change that. So the cab driver sees the suitcase and before Katie could say anything, he indelicately "shared" that he wasn't going to the airport. She fixed him with "a look" and said, "Then get out of here. We need a cab that will go where we need it to go. Go on! Get!", and she waved her hand away with a flourish.

I just stood back and watched and laughed so hard! It was such a "Seinfeld" encounter and so very "Katie". She was basically saying, "So don't waste my time you idiot. Get off my street! What? You're still here? Be gone with you!". It was classic. Where this child gets it, I have no clue. But I laughed. The cab driver, not so much. I don't think he laughed.

After that, she announced we would walk a few steps to the corner and stand on Columbus where there would be better prospects. She found one instantly, but before she hailed that one, she said, "Let me hug you now. They don't like to wait and so let me tell you goodbye before one stops.". We hugged and it was just so wonderful and no, I didn't cry. I smiled. I kissed her on the cheek and I felt so much pride at that moment for this young lady who I have admired and have been intrigued by since she burst into this world on August 26, 1983. She fascinates me. There are moments still, twenty-four years and some change after the fact, that I still can't believe I am her mother, but I am just so pleased to say that I am. It is a most proud admission I make.

In a couple of minutes, she had found another cab and this one didn't give her any flak and I was relieved for him and for me! We hugged again, but this time, very fast. I climbed in the yellow taxi and she closed the door and she waited until he drove away. I watched her walk back down the street where she lives, and I was so grateful that I had been afforded the privilege and gift of spending two wonderful days with her in "her" town because it was then I knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that Manhattan truly was "her town".

Not Quite Random, But An Act of Gentle Kindness...

And then, there is Mike in Iraq who made it all impossibly possible.

Knowing there are people in this world who so generously extend a not-so-random act of kindness just blows me away. I don't know how to thank him adequately, but I'll figure something out. I know it sounds redundant but what can I say to a man who just up and orders a ticket like that? Thank you Mike.

More later - I'm exhausted! It was freezing in NYC. We saw snow this morning before setting out to meet up with Glen. I mean, it was bone-chilling frigid (to me). Katie had me walking all over that city and my feet are practically numb, but it was worth every single step.

Hello November!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I was only about an hour late picking my OLD friend Billie up at the airport this morning. I didn't think his plane arrived until 10:55 AM. I was WRONG! He was a good sport about it, but I think the Wilmington police probably thought he was a vagrant or something.

Billie has come in to help me paint my living room, foyer and hallway. However, it's not all work and no play. We had lunch at Bluewater and then headed to the South end of Wrightsville Beach for a long walk. There were surfers about (Rick, you should have been among them!), and the waves were starting to become impressive courtesy of what is now Hurricane Noel, presently situated over the Bahamas. Take it from me - it's better to be on the shore and observe these things than sail through them - I've done both this year and let me tell you, I was happy to be on the shore!

We ran into this wonderful woman named Sandy who, as it turns out, is a professional photographer and as we were taking photos, she asked if we wanted her to take one of both of us. Sure, how nice, I thought. Well, she took the camera and cut loose! You can see all of them on Flickr, but this woman KNEW what she was doing!

Sandy has her own website - Artistry by Sandy - and it's worth checking out. I definitely want to meet up with her again. She looked like an angel on the beach in her white shirt and free-flowing skirt. If I ever get married again (don't hold your breath on that one) this woman is handling the photography.

I then had to explain to her that Billie was JUST A FRIEND. He really is like the brother I never had but a better and more faithful friend would be hard to find. He's good people. In fact, he's salt of the earth. We're blessed to count him as part of the family.

After our beach walk and impromptu photo session, I had to drop something off at my attorney's office and then head home to change my clothes because, of course, I kind of got in the water while I was at the beach. In my jeans and Doc Martens. Hey, it was warm outside and the ocean wasn't all that cold. There were lots of people surfing and surf fishing and of course, I checked out several of them and their catches. All in all, it was a lovely day.

After I changed into dry clothes, we headed for my AA meeting which I am chairing on Thursdays for the month of November. Of course, I dragged Billie along for the fun. It was pretty amusing - he's never in his life taken a drink - so I'm sure it was quite an experience for him. I think he had a good time. We had a great meeting and a large crowd! They must have had no idea I was chairing...

We came home and my Mom had prepared a wonderful dinner. Good thing - tomorrow will find us painting and remember, my living room ceilings are 20 feet high - I can't wait to see how Billie plans to tackle the walls. But of course, I still plan on trying to get some fishing in this weekend. There should be even MORE impressive waves tomorrow as the tropical system moves north up the coast. We might have to take a break about mid-afternoon and head back for the beach.

Halloween was fun. Justin and Stephanie did a great job with their pumpkins. Mine didn't turn out so great. Oh well, in another life - as a homeroom Mom - I was known to turn out some pretty impressive pumpkin carving but this was not the year for it. Mine didn't turn out anything like the pattern I used.

I had plans to make it over to Wrightsville Beach to see a "legendary scarecrow" who lives on Harbor Island, but my parents got misplaced and I had to stay around until they turned up. I never got to see the scarecrow and I was deeply disappointed. I wonder if I can talk this "legend" into doing a special performance for me? I think he's susceptible to chocolate.

And never let it be said that Halloween is only for the young! Yesterday morning, my Dad knocked on my office door and I turned around to find Alice Cooper instead. I was a little surprised! My Dad was getting ready to go mow the grass, but apparently he had been channeling Alice Cooper and voila! You don't tend to see an 82 year old guy looking like this first thing in the morning!!!!

For a brief few minutes, I realized that I was the most "normal" person in this house and let me tell you, that doesn't happen often. Fortunately, he didn't mow the entire time like this - it got too hot and, to be honest, I think his "new look" frightened Cassie. She wasn't quite herself the rest of the day. The cats just fixed him with a puzzled look and went on about their business. It takes a lot to ruffle cats.

I hope everyone had a great Halloween. It was one freak show after another around here! I love this crazy family of mine.

There Are Angels and Good Pirates Among Us...I Found THE STUD, Got a New (Pot) Rack, Welcome Home Justin & Get Well Soon, Katie!!!!

Updated 10:15 PM, EST, 28 October 2007...

On 19 August, I had an over due final lunch at Bluewater with what I not so affectionately refer to as a "bad pirate". Yesterday, I had lunch at the same restaurant, with someone I had corresponded with and would never have known unless I'd met that "bad pirate". Lunch with a "good pirate" is a wonderful thing and unquestionably the better choice. [Photo: Susie & Bobbi at Bluewater, Wrightville Beach, NC.]

Bobbi had visited my blog back in the summer and she'd sent me a note in my blog guest book. Her expression of good wishes was genuine at the time. She didn't quite understand how everything had come to pass in such a short span of time, something many others found difficult to digest as well, but she's a dreamer, a gifted artist, a sailor and she still maintains faith in miracles, so she accepted the rapidity of the relationship as perhaps being just that and, like so many others, she just hoped for the best.

There were miracles in progress - I survived several storms, not the least of which was T. S. Barry in the Abacos. Eventually, in the immortal words of Sting, "I was brought to my senses", but even in the madness and tumult of those almost four months, I collected a lot of precious gifts. I met one of them yesterday and she was just as I imagined - maybe even better.

Bobbi was right at home with my animals, immediately welcomed by my parents and I think we talked nonstop for hours. She arrived at 11:00 and left after six but only due to the fact that she had a long drive back to Raleigh, not because we ran out of things to talk about. If she'd stuck around, I'm sure we'd still be chatting!

It was uncanny how much we had in common and the many points our lives had intersected, even to the point of having met some of the same people. The similarities were astounding and if our visit yesterday would have had a soundtrack, it would have probably been the theme from "The Twilight Zone".

We sat outside at Bluewater and smiled as sailboats paraded forth following the opening of the drawbridge. We talked of sailing, books on sailing, and I listened in rapt attention as she described her own sailboat and her recent sailing adventures. I shared with her what I had come to love most about sailing - close-hauled. The quietness broken only by the sounds of slicing through the sea. We talked of the mystical nature, of how when one is sailing offshore, life changes and is distilled into only that which is happening at that moment on the water. We both agreed that whatever chaos is swirling onshore, the moment the anchor is weighed and the sails are unfurled, the detritus that can confound and annoy us on ordinary days, recedes right along with the sight of land as one heads for the open water. Sailing is, to me at least, better than an "E" ticket and so many things that she shared about her sailing experiences were instantly familiar and recognizable to me and I know she understood my feelings and affection for all that is sailing. [Photo: Susie & Bobbi, Wilmington, NC.]

Bobbi fixed me with a look as we drank our second cup of coffee and then in a most serious tone said, "You do know it's an addiction, right? And you do know that you are afflicted. It's probably terminal.". I suspected as much, but it's always good to have a reputable second opinion. I think of boats constantly - real boats, not leaky, listing ones. When my friend Rick and I were crossing the bridge on our way over to the beach the other evening, we stopped and gazed out at all the boats anchored in the sound. I wistfully imagined being on one of those boats, the cozy warmth of the golden light being emitted through the port lights, the soft sounds of the wavelets lapping the fiberglass and the gentle sway courtesy of the wind across the water. It's all so irresistibly elemental, quiet and very spiritual.

Thank God my love for those things weren't extinguished or even slightly diminished by a series of unfortunate events at the hands of what Barney Fife could only term, "A NUT!".

As we were taking leave of our table, Bobbi slipped her hand in her purse and pulled out something with a ribbon tied around it. She handed it to me and I broke into smile. It was a clamshell, hand-painted with a setting sun and a sailboat. She suggested I untie the ribbon and open the shell. Taking her suggestion, because she is a good pirate, I opened the shell and found a floating key chain with Parker on it. I was told that not if, but when I finally get a sailboat of my own, I would be prepared and have a key chain ready and waiting. I broke into a grin and carefully placed it in my purse, grateful for the beautiful artwork, the "hope" attached to an empty key chain and, best of all, thankful that out of my messy and, at times, dangerous summer, I'd made what already feels like a good friend under the most unlikely of circumstances.

Thank you, Bobbi! What a gift of a day.

As Bobbi and I were sitting in my office talking, an e-mail came in as if right on cue. It was from another newfound friend, also courtesy of this past summer of trials, tropics and errors. My Texan friend, Sheri, had been visiting friends in Greensboro this past week and I dearly wish we could have met in person, but it just didn't work out (this time). Sheri, thanks for writing and your comments on the attachment I sent you Friday Night were hilarious. I opened your e-mail up with Bobbi sitting right beside me and we both had a good laugh. Next time, we have to meet up!

And in other news, my son, Justin, left Friday for a trip to New York City where he met up with his Dad, who flew in from Texas, and they both joined Katie for a fun weekend in Manhattan. We've missed Justin around here, but were delighted the three of them had this special opportunity to hang out together. I can't wait to hear all about the trip and hopefully there will be some great photos - I reminded Justin about fifty times to take his camera. He will return home later this evening and I'm sure he will be tired but very happy after hanging out with Katie and their Dad. [Photo: Tim & Justin in NYC. Taken by Katie Parker.]

UPDATED: 9:44 PM 28 October 2007. Dateline: Wilmington, NC.

I Have A New Rack and Found a Stud! (How's that for a teaser?)

Justin returned safe and sound from his trip AND (this is for your benefit R.E.), I did it!!!!!! Yes I did! I'd been wanting a hanging pot rack for over the island in my kitchen. However, have you priced those things lately? Well, I had so this set me on a quest to find a DIY (Do It Yourself) version and I found a kicky one on, what else, someone's blog!

I followed the recipe (it was a kitchen accessory, after all), and removed the tire from the wheel of a bicycle, scrubbed it, spray painted it, went to Lowe's Home Improvement for the hardware, where I was assisted by a very sweet and dedicated young man, came home and then realized that I needed to hit pay dirt when it came to the installation...(i.e., I needed to hit a stud first time around. This summer, my stud-finding radar was way, way off - totally missed anything close to a target.).

I was talking to a friend and he offered me the use of his which I appreciated very much but, well, I was ready to hang the thing up and we all know how impatient I can be when I have it in my mind to do something - can I hear an "AMEN!" to that Rick? Even though I will be seeing this friend tomorrow night because he's consented to go see "Dan, In Real Life" (the movie, not that 'Ol Dan'), I knew for certain I wouldn't be able to wait until tomorrow night to see my pot rack hanging in all it's black, shiny glory. What to do?

Well, what I did was take a very fine, long hat pin and pierce the ceiling to see if a stud was where I suspected it to be. Guess what. It was! My Dad and I had quite a time removing the bolt from the wheel so we could insert the eye bolt, but with two pair of pipe wrenches, we did it, by golly. I then climbed up on the island and, holding my breath and saying a prayer that I had, in fact, found a stud, I bravely drilled a very large hole and, voila, I hit sawdust! Just what I wanted to find! I had, in fact, FOUND A STUD!!!!

I then screwed in the 8" eye-bolt, attached two large "S" hooks and then ceremoniously hung my project. Nothing fell! Before long, I had the cabinet emptied of pots and frying pans and about five minutes after it was complete, Justin arrived home from Raleigh Airport. He was rather impressed with my handiwork. I took a deep, long bow and gave him a big, hearty hug.

I know, I know, I could have saved the pot rack story for another day, but I had to write about it because it is DONE! I wonder if my "stud finder" is working now? This could be good news all the way around, the least of which has to do with pots and pans.

"Oopsie Daisy, Celia"

One more thing, you need to read Celia Rivenbark's latest column. I read it as I was waiting for my Dad to find the pipe wrenches and I laughed myself silly. Fortunately, I didn't have any trouble installing the @#$%&*& pot rack or I would have possibly gotten arrested like the lady in Scranton, Celia wrote about. If you want a good laugh, check it out. Another note about Celia - she was on "Good Morning America" yesterday. Celia - we need to do lunch soon so I can get your autograph and sell it on ebay.

Justin is downstairs in the middle of carving two very LARGE pumpkins he purchased before he left for NYC. It's chilly outside and supposed to dip down into the 40's tomorrow night. Can a fire in the wood stove be far behind? Rick, I hope you finish building that firewood rack soonish. I'm dying to say, "Wow, you've got a nice rack!". Hey, come to think of it, I guess I have a nice rack, now...get your mind out of the gutter...I'm talking about my new pot rack.

Oh, and I got a new PC Magazine assignment...and a new deadline! YIPPEE!!!!!!!!!!!! I have seriously missed having deadlines...go figure!

Katie - keep using the Vick's and drink rivers of hot tea. Feel better soon, please. We love you.

More later...

Taking Things With a Grain of Sea Salt...Separating the Facts From Fiction

"It is only with the heart that can see rightly..." Antoine Saint-Exupery.

But it's still a good idea to keep your eyes open.

Every morning I get an e-mailed meditation courtesy of Hazelden. It's interesting how often these meditations seem to present a particular concept that I need to employ in my life. They're short, but they always leave me with new avenues to explore as I go about my day.

"Today's Gift" had this particular paragraph and the above referenced quote: When we see with our hearts, our responses to the turmoil around us, the fighting children, the traffic snarls, the angry lovers, will be soft acceptance. When our hearts guide the action we can accept those things we cannot change, and change those we can. And the heart, as the seat of all wisdom, will always know the difference.

It was good for me to read "Today's Gift" because my heart, along with my mind, have been been reliving a particularly unpleasant episode that occured on June 2nd - specifically, sailing through Tropical Storm Barry. I know I've written about that storm, but not in the fine detail that I read about it when someone who had "crewed" for the erstwhile captain a few times - once resulting in a voyage she's quite likely never to forget - alerted me that an essay had been posted on the experience, and yes, that essay was found on the illustrious ragbagger website - the one owned by the person I was engaged to this past summer. The essay can be found here. "of storms and other blessings"

I read it and in doing so I relived those twelve harrowing hours to the point it made me shiver and left me feeling like I had dodged a bullet who's path I was completely clueless as to having been positioned in. It haunted me. The reliving of the storm, remembering the noise of the flogging remnants of the sail that was reduced to tatters courtesy of T.S. Barry's 60 knot winds and shivering in the cockpit as waves rhythmically assaulted me as I sat in a corner wondering if the next one would result in my imminent demise, knowing I was powerless to do anything to prevent it.

First of all, I appreciate the "accolades" offered to me in the essay for having an "intuitive hand on the helm" and we can both thank God for my "cool head in the storm". I take no credit for either. I loved sailing, even after that awful day and I love it still. It spoke to something deep inside me. Maybe the Aquarian part of me but it was probably borne of my profound love of the ocean. I loved sailing from the first moment I was on the water, no question about that.

But about that storm...I try not to, but I still come back to this one burning question: "What the h*ll were you thinking, sir?".

When I wasn't pondering how I might survive, I had mental images of my family huddled around "The Weather Channel", not knowing if the storm was being broadcast in all it's glory, back in the states. Wondering if Jim Cantore was giving a "play by play" of all I was living through was actually more agonizing than the pitch and roll of the small sailboat that was being pelted from all directions by wind, waves and horizontal rains that stung my salt water saturated skin. I dearly hoped my dear family had no idea what my Saturday was like that day and my heart ached imagining their concern and fear.

Perhaps Neptune laughed, but I can promise you that for a woman who tries very hard and with great dedication to find something funny in the most absurd of situations, I couldn't for the life of me find anything to laugh about in our tangle with that tropical storm or the swim to the island 3 miles away on the first day of our sail or any number of other situations that you exhibited no regard for safety and sensibility. It was just about the most unfunny situation imaginable. I value my life. I wanted to live to see my kids, parents and friends again. I wanted to see my future grandchildren, my home, and so many people and animals who define that word for me. No, I couldn't find anything to elicit the slightest smile or faintest chuckle. Truth be told, I don't think Neptune would have found any of it funny, either. I'm betting Neptune was shaking his head, genuinely puzzled, like the sailors safely tucked in slips at the marina.

Now, I'm not one to promote the writings of a person I have no affection or any shred of respect for, and I'm hesitant to publish a link to this person's website because, to be honest, the beginning of this "essay" strikes me as generously fictitious and self-aggrandizing. If he finds being a father "the best fun I've ever had", he certainly never exhibited any signs of it during my four month relationship with him. I would be more than bereft if my kids didn't have any contact with me for that period of time. I can't imagine such a situation and I certainly wouldn't be sailing on the high seas, laughing my way all over the Abacos, but everyone is different, I guess. My family comprises what is best in my life - they always have and always will. I left for my flight to Marsh Harbor with hugs of love and good wishes from my kids and parents and I returned to warm embraces nine days later. I would never have made the ill-fated journey without their knowledge and approval. Not for one-second.

If invited (or uninvited) to choose one word to express my opinion on the the behavior I witnessed over time and with horrifying repetition, I would choose "reckless". Pure, unadulterated and unapologetic recklessness and a terrifying disregard for safety. Not attributes one desires in a captain.

I may have exhibited calm, but make no mistake, my eyes were wide-open. I also know, as most everyone does, that you are at a decided disadvantage when disrespecting the power of the ocean. It's bigger and more powerful than we are and, dare I say, it simply doesn't care if you're an attorney. Makes no difference. Did they not clue you into that fact in "captain college" or "skipper school"?

Before I set sail with this man, I was informed (by him) how he had scored highest on his tests for certification as a charter boat captain and he even proffered a copy of his (expired) captain's license. I assumed those facts implied practical ability and I was wrong in my assumptions. There's a vast divide between sailing through a test with flying colors and actually applying the principles of sailing in practical terms. An impressive test score doesn't count for much if the captain has an ego the size of Texas and the imperiled decision-making to go right along with it. This captain proved time and again - the man with the highest score nearly landed us at the bottom of the sea. A prudent, cautious man, even one "running away from a bad marriage" would have turned back when the storm changed, but this was not a prudent, cautious man.

The boat was marginally sea-worthy. Unfortunately, the captain was "sea-worthless", and that's the bottom line.

It's no surprise at all, to me, that this man lays part of the blame for the situation we found ourselves in at the hands of the fishing boat skipper he ascertained the informal weather forecast from the morning we set out, and that's not fair. That is simply not right, but it's typical. Every error this captain commits is somehow the result of someone else's mistake. The truth is, that the captain needs to learn something about owning his mistakes and admitting them, taking full responsibility. His failed marriage, the failed relationship with his kids, and failed relationships with those who went before me, were always assigned as being "the other party's" fault - it was a common theme - but not a reputable one.

I returned from that sailing trip internally shaken and confused. My life had been placed in danger and I wasn't consulted or informed of what might happen prior to June 2nd. Seeds of doubt had been planted during that fateful Saturday and they grew with each passing day. I was clueless about sailing, a true novice in every sense of the word. I made the mistake of casting my fortunes and, unfortunately, placed my safety in the hands of someone who had no issues with tossing all manner of caution to the wind, even if those winds blew from every point on the compass and at a velocity of 60 knots.

I remember when we finally, blessedly crawled into West End, the look of confusion on the mass of sailors waiting to welcome us and the unrelenting question heard over and over was, "What were you doing out there in that weather??". The captain summarily dismissed such inquiries and seemed annoyed at the repetition with which we heard that query over and over as we walked around the marina at Old Bahama Bay. I became increasingly, albeit privately, haunted by that question. I didn't have an answer and he never offered much of one to them or to me.

Privately, when I would engage in conversations with these fellow sailors, I couldn't help but realize that they had sat that same storm out safely in port. They were aware of it. They knew of its existence. I would try and quiet myself and buy into the belief that the good captain couldn't help it. He couldn't know. There was no way he would have set out that fateful morning knowing we would be faced with those sea conditions. No one would be that crazy and purposefully place our lives in such danger. Surely no one would do that, right?

"You did have on a personal flotation device the entire time, right? You had your harness tethered didn't you?", several people in the marina would ask. Well, um, no, I didn't. Not at all. Then I would wonder, "Why didn't he hand me a PFD?". Lifelines? At the time, I had no idea about harnesses and lifelines. I didn't know I should have been TETHERED to a LIFELINE because it was never, ever mentioned. It wasn't offered. Why were there no safety precautions? As captain, isn't it sort of assumed you protect your crew? I was the ONLY crew so how was it that I didn't merit a PFD????? A harness? Was I overlooked? I WAS the crew.

But the fact is, he should have known. When we left our anchorage that morning to sail for West End, the sky was gray and ominous and even the novice that is me, knew something didn't feel right. I don't recall the patches of blue sky he alludes to in his essay. My recollections of the morning before we weighed anchor were of atmospheric conditions that were in turmoil and certainly not conducive to a clear day of sailing.

I had no idea that we would be sailing out of sight of land or that I would close the day out having experienced what is easily the closest to death I've ever been. I was bruised, exhausted, hungry and filled with anxiety.As soon as the hook was dropped, the captain headed for bed and I spent the evening quietly drinking jasmine tea, cleaning up the sloppy mess the storm had made of the cabin, and walking out to the cockpit and searching the sea for hope in the slowly clearing sky. There were a few stars available that night and, though the sea was still angry, you could feel her mood shifting and settling down. I remember sitting out there alone for hours, trying to understand what I had just lived through. I looked at my arms and legs and torso and realized there were very few inches on my person that weren't bruised or nicked. Mostly, I worked on my mind and told myself it was a fluke, unavoidable and that probably everyone sails through conditions such as this from time to time. I had no yard stick by which to measure what I'd been through.

Only later, and not much later, mostly from hanging out in Oriental this past July, I would learn that most sailors don't encounter the conditions I unwittingly found myself in one month earlier. Most people never see 60 knot winds in foreign waters. The ones who do sometimes don't live to talk about it.

I had to adjust my mental attitude because my "adventure" was hardly finished. I still had the Gulf Stream to cross and while I'd heard a few sea stories from people on the boisterous and unpredictable nature of that river in the sea, I could only wonder if that passage would mimic what I'd just been through. I dearly hoped it would not - oh how I hoped it wouldn't be ANYTHING like the 12 hours I'd just spent being tossed about like a rag doll. But again, I didn't know. I'd never been through any of this before and when you have nothing to measure something against, you just hope for the best and try and remain calm. You tell yourself, "this is normal". And for a time, you buy into it because it's just the best you can do.

Of course, now I look back at that day now and I feel gratitude directed toward God, for allowing me to survive, and anger and frustration that any man's ego could allow him to thumb his nose at the sea with a brand of arrogance I'd never encountered, and allow his boat (and crew!) to be caught up in such dire straits. Yes, I learned a lot about myself, employed coping mechanisms I wasn't even aware I was in possession of, and I survived without a single fit of hysteria or panic - purely by the Grace of God.

The most intriguing part of remaining calm is that I have had panic disorder since the day my sister died when I was 13. I'm talking full-blown, hyperventilating, heart palpitating, dizzying panic attacks that can randomly occur when engaged in the most benign of pursuits. I KNOW how to panic, make no mistake about it. And yet, I can only credit God with preventing even the tiniest hint of those terrifying symptoms to arise during that tumultuous sail on June 2nd. In my mind, that's nothing short of a miracle and I know deep within my marrow that God truly sailed with me on that tiny, tossed sailboat that first Saturday in June. There is no other explanation for it. I felt God with me that day. I prayed like I've never prayed in my life and God was right with me and I experienced the essence of what is called the "peace that passes all understanding". It was one of the most spiritual experiences in my life and should I ever find myself doubting Divine Intervention, I need only recall that day on that ocean in that storm. I know it's real. I lived it.

And I also know, in time, the same God who kept me calm in that storm, will allow me to find a way to let go of the anger that I feel at times, toward the man who placed me in "harm's way". I'm human. I'm not there yet. I struggle with it. I know progress is being made - the anger softens and I remind myself that the man (I can't use the term gentleman because frankly, I know too much) who steered us in the path of that storm has, let us call them, "issues". Personally, I don't believe that he'll ever seek help or even acknowledge the presence of insanity that swirls inside of him. That's simply my opinion based on what I observed and experienced. I can't do anything about any of it but wish him the best and I try hard to sincerely feel that way but, again, I still deal with a great deal of anger directed squarely at him because I almost lost my life courtesy of his arrogance and misdirection.

My experience on that boat and my feelings aren't singular in nature because I've heard from others who have had similar voyages under his direction. These women found themselves on raging seas (though not of a tropical storm variety - thank God!), completely ill-suited to sailing offshore, and they also felt afraid and similarly in danger because the captain's ego overpowered any common sense that would have directed a more humble, reasonable and sound man. Two of them were nearly overdosed on Dramamine and bullied into taking it not per the directions on the label, but as he prescribed which was potentially dangerous. For some reason, he never made the attempt to dose me with Dramamine but I wouldn't have complied because even in the midst of my ill-advised infatuation, I would never take anything prescribed by a lawyer. I hadn't completely lost my marbles! No, I just set sail for parts unknown with a nut - which proves hands down that I'm hardly brilliant and I most certainly don't always make the best decisions.

If you read his essay on "Storms and Other Blessings", I warn you that this is a man who readily admits to writing in a style suited for the likes of the deceased former president, "Woodrow Wilson", and it's a bit on the superfluous, flowery side and, as the captain once reported, he doesn't write for "real people". To be honest, the style is reminiscent of someone trying to mix a "wholesome folksiness" within a dry, stiff framework more suited to writing an amendment to the constitution (of a country I wouldn't want to reside in IF he was in charge of writing anything attached to said constitution) rather than an engaging, page-turning tale - but that's just me and everyone has their own favored literary style. Suffice it to say, I'm not impressed.

I personally found the beginning of the story about "Master Kip" segueing uneasily into the tale of Tropical Storm Barry to be a disjointed meld - kind of like when you have an almost finished puzzle and the final one or two pieces left to place, you discover that in order to make them fit you must aggressively twist and push in order to achieve the necessary interlock and yes, you may have a completed puzzle, but then you have to hope that onlookers won't "notice" that not all the pieces quite fit the way they're supposed to when the puzzle is worked the way it's intended.

What a metaphorical example of my four months this past summer. The puzzle pieces ddn't fit right and it looked askew. Nothing interlocked the way it was suppose to - the way it was intended.

Something about the essay is off but, again, I'm not a "critical first reader" and I'm sure my assessment would be labeled "deconstructive criticism". So be it. I stand behind it. I'm entitled to my opinion. Then again, the captain's literary style sort of befits a man who isn't at all comfortable in his own skin and I don't believe for one-second that he's honestly ever felt comfortable in his skin for more than five minutes in his life. You may well find his style more literary-pleasing than I do. I guess I'm just one of those obstinate "real people" who enjoy nonfiction. I like it when I feel a writer is talking to me in a conversational style. His writings always felt more like homilies and there's nothing wrong with a good homily - I just prefer to receive mine in the sacred setting of a church, rather than read one bound in a book.

Oh, and there's a video attached to the site as well. I don't advise lunch before viewing. Then again, I know the guy. The "Gypsy Moon" lives again, I just fear for whoever takes to the seas under the current administration. I know one thing, my own experience with T.S. Barry aboard the Gypsy Moon most definitely brought me "nearer my God to Thee.".

As for the "acceptance" alluded to in today's meditation at the beginning of this post, I'm seriously working on it. I want to peacefully put this episode behind me, but it's still fresh and there are days I am completely addled by the events that colored my summer of 2007. Hey, I managed surviving a tropical storm and a car wreck that totaled my car. The car wreck, in retrospect, wasn't nearly as difficult to understand and process. Another driver ran a red light and smashed into my car as I was making a left hand turn at an intersection. It was an accident. A mistake. It wasn't pre-meditated and I don't think for one-second that the woman assessed conditions and decided to plow right into the side of my PT Cruiser. She didn't know me and I certainly didn't know her. Yes, it was scary and frightening and I wouldn't ever want to relive it, but it was also so random.

Sailing aboard a 32 foot sailboat in the Abacos into a tropical storm with someone who supposedly had great volumes of skill and all manner of knowledge was not random. He did know me. Because of that, it was all just so much more personal and I still to this day can't understand how someone with such supposed knowledge and skill can act with what I can't help but term an "arrogant miscalculation" and no forethought of safety for his "crew" (me). I try to find answers or understand the thought processes that lead to the decision but, honestly, I'll probably never know. At some point, I know I'm going to have to let go of any hope for logic, and simply "accept" the fact that I can't change any of it. Acceptance is, in fact, an action and one that I am taking...one grateful day at a time.

And I am grateful - even to be around to try and figure out something that will ultimately prove impossible to understand. It's OK, and I'm getting there.

I got a note from my Dad a couple of nights ago after he read the epic, fiction-laced, "Of Storms and Other Blessings":

"Susan - Your Mom is reading a copy of this now.

We are THANKFUL you are HOME TONIGHT.....Love, Dad"

Me too, Daddy. Me too.