Cruising to Calm...

I'm happy to report that the Inderal or, as my Dad refers to it "Enditall", has resulted in a much more reasonable heart rate. I've dutifully kept a record of the past three days and my beats have returned to well within normal levels. In fact, I'm positively Zen! It's so strange, really, but my body feels like it's made a pretty positive readjustment. I'm actually sleepy at night. Strange for me.

I've also stayed out of the pool this weekend to give my ears a rest. Fortunately, there have been some really good movies on TCM, and I've taken a little extra time to tend to my cichlids, angels, mollies and other assorted tropicals. Friday, on the way home from work, I stopped and purchased the requisite feeder guppies, goldfish and brine shrimp as well as a couple of gourami's and a pink convict cichlid and the fish are doing well. In fact, my tanks have never looked better.

One year ago today, I had a car wreck and my PT Cruiser was effectively totaled. My gosh, so much has changed since then and most of those changes have been positive and healthy. I promptly ended an ill-advised engagement in the days following the accident - an engagement that should never have happened in the first place, no question, but thankfully I finally got wise and took care of business.

In fact, I haven't truly dated anyone in the past year. I've been out with friends, gone out to dinner, movies and even concerts, but not in a romantic sense at all and that, too, has been a good move. For one thing, I've had a lot of things going on and I just haven't met anyone in the past year that I would want to cultivate that sort of relationship with and I'm glad that I didn't because if I had, it would have taken time away from my family and this year was a pretty big year for family. I'm glad I was able to hang with my son during his last year here at home and also, not seeing anyone allowed for uninterrupted time with Katie during her visits home and my visit to NYC. I adore my family and I unapologetically covet the time I spend with them.

Not seeing anyone also allowed me to make a lot of cosmetic changes in my home. I painted several rooms, moved some things around, and definitely put some more "personal" touches into it. It's certainly not as noisy and busy as it once was when the kids lived here, and I miss the noise and activity, but that couldn't last because they had to grow up and move into their own spaces - continue their own adventures and journeys into who they are destined to become.

I've grown much more interested in aquarium-related activities and I enjoy fiddling with my fish. I now have five aquariums up and running. It's fun learning their behaviors and watching them grow and stake out their territory in their watery homes. They're much more interactive than one might imagine. They eat from hands and flock to the front of the tank if they believe I'm harboring food. The cichlid tank in particular is a fascinating place to gaze.

And could someone please tell me what John and Elizabeth Edwards were thinking this past year and a half? Have you been following his political disintegration? Can you possibly imagine if he had been the Democratic nominee and this had come out? And for as much as I have marginally admired Elizabeth Edwards in the past, I can't help but wonder where her brain was in all of this? Like his dalliance was never going to see the light of day? How in the world could she stand by and allow him to toss his hat in the ring knowing that he had tossed his pants somewhere else? That strikes me as a bizarre brand of dangerous and blind ambition and it makes me wonder if she wanted the power, the office and the attendant trappings as much as he did. How in the world could she tell the rest of us he was fit to lead us, after the risks he took on a very personal level with their family? I really think Maureen Dowd nailed it in her NY Times Column yesterday. Check out her column, so appropriately entitled, "Keeping it Reille".

I imagine it feels VERY real at the Edwards house these past few painful weeks. Just goes to show, you never meet anyone worth very much in a bar. What a cautionary tell-all that turned out to be?

I try to avoid making across the board, generalized pronouncements, but doesn't it seem as if attorneys are particularly predisposed to a virulent form of narcissism? Do the classes attorneys are required to take in law school sort of propagate such behavior and are the ones who don't make the cut, people incapable of becoming pond scum? Could it be said that if you failed to make the grade toward a legal education it's only because you have too firm of a grasp on reality? I can't help but wonder. Makes me curious as to what kind of plumbing system they use to service the water coolers in America's Law Schools - and at what point do so many of them truly lose their souls? I know that's not very nice to say, but it nearly feels valid.

I know that many attorneys have told me that law school is a grueling, difficult experience and demands a lot and, for a few I guess, it requires that they make the ultimate transaction - they appear to sell their soul and deteriorate even further into politicians. How sad for them.

Oh well, from having tended several tanks in the past year, lest we forget that even the most beautiful of tanks function better with a bottom-dwelling plecostomus or two to keep things clean and eat matter that the community fish wouldn't touch. I guess it's kind of the same with many lawyers. They serve a purpose and are sadly essential, but they do the kind of work that many of us wouldn't have the heart, or stomach, to take care of and attend. Although, well, now I feel guilty. I'm not so sure it's fair to compare my beloved plecos to lawyers. I really like those fish. Perhaps a better comparison would be carp. Yes, much better.

Anyway, it's been a peaceful, calm weekend here at the ranch. The ear is on the mend, the heart rate is behaving and it's still summer. All I need is a sailor and a sailboat. I think I'm ready for a little adventure.

Let Me Get This Straight...

...you're telling me that three pots of coffee and several large iced teas a day might result in too much caffeine?

I found this nugget of wisdom courtesy of a stubborn case of swimmer's ear. Yes, I've been turning too many flips in the pool to make up for lost time. My pool officially became swim-worthy last Friday so I had a lot of time to make up for and, well, I worked hard to get in as much swimming and flipping as I could. Any reasonable person would do the same right?

I noticed Monday that the hearing in my right ear was fading in and out and noises started sounding more like gurgles. I tossed it off as a fluke and tossed my business clothes off right along with it and ignored the percolating annoyance as something that would go away in a day or two. I spent a couple of hours Monday evening in the water and by Tuesday Morning, as I was driving to work, discovered that I couldn't even listen to Sting on my cd player. Clearly, this was getting serious.

Wednesday, I spent my lunch hour at the CVS on Wrightsville Beach, perusing the aisle featuring over-the-counter remedies that promised to dry up my ear and restore my hearing. When I got back to the office, I administered the drops and waited for everything to clear up only, well, everything didn't clear up. The gurgling became more intense, so much so that I even cut my swim time down from 2 hours to one and applied the drops both before and after my swim. They didn't work. Someone mentioned that perhaps if I stayed out of the pool for a few days and gave my ears a chance to dry out, it might resolve, but I thought that sounded rather radical and I dismissed it instantly.

By Thursday Morning, I realized the time had come to seek professional help. I had googled the daylights out of "swimmer's ear". I thought google was good for everything. I guess nothing is perfect, not even Google.

I called and requested an appointment with my physician's office. As it turns out, my doc was out Thursday Afternoon (probably swimming), but I could see the PA. Of course that would be fine - it was just a simple case of swimmer's ear and I had no doubt that a PA could easily take care of it. Besides, I had my shiny new insurance card and it's always less painful going to the doctor when you know it won't break the bank. I had researched my benefit package and without a doubt it's the best health plan I have ever seen. I'm impressed with it and I hope it gets very little use but, well, let's face it - it's a huge comfort to know I am covered.

I made the appointment for 3:15 and skipped lunch, thinking I would pick something up after the visit. In the meantime, I tossed back a few cups of coffee, an iced tea and some nuts. I was so preoccupied with trying to hear, that hunger took a back seat.

However, as I was sitting in the waiting room, after checking in with my favorite ladies at the front desk who are always smiling and truly can make you forget you're in a doctor's office, I was directed to the "PA" side of the office and met another very kind staff member who took my information, updated my new insurance info and even complimented me on what great insurance it was - only $10 an office visit, she commented in admiration. "Yeah, pretty cool, huh?". I never thought I would arrive at the place where health insurance benefits would be on my top ten list of things to shoot for but, given the cost of healthcare today, it's a pretty big deal.

After a few minutes, I was called back for the obligatory weight and vitals check. We sailed through the weighing in and I was directed to a seat for my least favorite part of any exam - pulse and blood pressure. I tried to prepare them that the values would probably be higher than what they were accustomed to seeing and not to be too excited if my pulse was 100 and my bp was a tiny bit elevated. It's just how I'm wired and I get high-wired when I'm surrounded by white coat types. She smiled and started pumping up the dreaded cuff.

I was watching her face as she pumped and when she released a little air and pumped again, I knew I was in trouble. Again, I reminded her that my vitals "show off" when in the presence of medical professionals. She excused herself and within a couple of minutes returned with another more serious looking nurse who commandeered the cuff and resumed the pumping. The other nurse was busy on the computer looking up my chart and medical history. I was now flirting with full-borne panic and wondering how weird it would look if I told them my ear had miraculously recovered and apologized for taking up their valuable time. It was a very small room and when the third member of the staff entered, it was becoming a little too crowded for me.

"OK, what's the problem?", I reluctantly asked the really tall nurse with the officious manner.

"Honey, your blood pressure is 160/100 and according to your chart, it's never been that elevated. Let's see what your pulse is."

Oh boy, I knew I was in trouble now and they didn't seem at all concerned with my ear which was probably just as well because by now, I could hear my heart beating in there, amidst the gurgling. I was starting to feel trapped.

The tall nurse was now shaking her head, walked out as if she was on a mission and returned with a pulse-ox meter and placed it on my shaky finger. Great, just great. My pulse was 170 and they were not at all pleased with it. I told them I had a history of panic disorder, was on medication for it, (though I had not taken it yet that day), and that honestly, as soon as I left the premises things would slow way down.

The three of them eyed me suspicously as that stupid meter started tapping too fast and too loudly for my taste. So much so that I took it off and handed it right back to them and told them I would take my meds right then and there and they would see that if they just calmed down, so would I and we could all be pals again.

They seemed kind of stunned that I removed their medical equipment and, quite frankly, so was I. But I felt secure in doing so because I know me and I know how my resting pulse can reach most people's targeted heart rate in less than 60 seconds and besides, I hadn't eaten anything (stupid move) and my plummeting blood sugar and all of the caffeine swirling in me wasn't helping anything at all.

The tall nurse walked out and came back in bearing a can of orange juice and peanut butter crackers, while the other one was perusing my 8 year medical history and notes penned by my primary care physician who insensibly picked THIS AFTERNOON to be out of the office, leaving me to scare these fine people who were in a dither and hadn't even gotten to the original point of my visit.

Finally, blessedly, the PA walked in and sized up the situation and my growing panic. I'm sure I had already flashed the obligatory "deer in the headlights" visage and if I hadn't been so hungry and shaky, I would have bolted straight away.

She smiled, introduced herself and a calm fell over the room. I finshed up the OJ and crackers and again, repeated my spiel on how I just naturally have a rapid resting pulse and that the blood pressure numbers were probably tainted by hypoglycemia and caffeine saturation. She listened intently, and let me finish my tired tale - the only thing I didn't offer in my defense was "and the dog ate my homework", but if it would have worked, I would have blamed Cassie in a NY, hyper-heartrate minute. Cassie would have understood - she's loyal like that.

As a welcome change of pace, she moved from the cardiac craze and actually started quizzing me about my water-logged ears. Finally we were getting down to business. She first peered into the one that was only marginally impaired and when she got to the problem ear, she nodded in compassionate understanding. "I bet that's pretty painful. There's even some blood in there. How's it feel?".

Well, it felt clogged up, but it wasn't really so much painful as it was annoying. Everything sounded muffled and distant. I missed my hearing. I missed shaking my head without feeling half the pool was trapped in there.

My new best friend the PA returned to her computer and in a matter of a couple of minutes faxed a couple of prescriptions to my neighborhood CVS. Relief was on the way!!!! Yippee - I could blow this joint.

Not so fast. As she was typing longer than the epistle of my episodic ear inflammation would have required, I asked her if she was writing a book? Did a case of "swimmer's ear" really merit so much typing?

"No, this is about that other issue - I have to document your bp and heart rate and add it to your chart.". Then she stopped typing and looked at me and very kindly, non-threateningly turned to the topic of tachycardia. Tachycardia is defined as a rapid heartbeat of more than 100 beats per minute. At my current rate of 170 bpm, I more than meet the criteria.

"Listen, I realize that folks get tense in a doctor's office and there's no question that when you are presenting with a pair of swollen, infected ears - that, too, will elevate one's vitals. But 170 is extremely high. You didn't come in here with a severed limb or raging infection. You came in with swimmer's ear and there is no rationalization for those vitals.".

Of course, I knew she was right. And now that the OJ and protein had kicked in, I found I was able to listen more intently about this tacky tachycardia. And, to be honest, my heart had been beating faster, at increasing intervals, in the last few months. It had been an eventful spring and summer - new job, new routines, offspring relocation, nocturnal parental falls, one failing feature after another on my car and a $540 bill to get it repaired this past Monday, and trying to find a new routine in this suddenly quiet, empty nest.

This kind PA listened to it all and she appeared to be around my age and could relate to my rationalization, and I completely admitted that I consume way too much caffeine. I owned my caffeine consumption.

She said she wouldn't be able to sleep that night unless she offered a possible solution. As long as it didn't involve more tests and I could get out of there, I was all ears - even if they were waterlogged. Besides, I trusted her and she had cleared the room out and got rid of that pulse-ox meter. I told her I was open to suggestions.

She offered that she didn't think there was anything "organically" amiss with my ticker, but she said even the most healthy heart muscle gets tired of sprinting for no good reason and mine needed a rest. I could buy that. She asked me if I would be willing to cut the caffeine intake and mix the caff with decaf, keep a two week, 3 times a day record of my pulse, and try a very low dose of a beta blocker.

And before I knew it, I found myself promising that I would cut the caffeine in half, measure my pulse and yes, I would even be willing to swallow the medicine. She made a very thoughtful, reasonable pitch for it and she empathetically made a great deal of sense. Besides, I did have great health insurance now so, well, sure. No excuse not to. She even gave me her personal number in case I had questions or concerns which I thought was very kind. This visit was beginning to look up after all.

She promised me I would feel better and my heart would thank me and she said I could still get in the pool, but to keep my head out of the water for a couple of days. I knew that was pointless. I can't get in the pool without being underwater. I didn't even walk near it yesterday - too much temptation. Today, however, will be 48 hours and I will be back in business. I can hear again! Well, sort of. OK, it's much, much better.

Which brings us to the medication. On the way home Thursday evening, I picked up my scripts and again, thanked God for my health insurance, and brought the meds home. I immediately administered the ear meds hoping for a fast resolution but, I will admit, I couldn't bring myself to take the beta blocker Thursday Night. I had to google it first. I googled the heck out of it.

Inderal LA 60 mg. Overall reviews were positive and impressive. Hardly any negative press to be found and I tried to avoid focusing on those as to do so could become a self-fulfilling prophecy and I know how powerful the mind can be. However, I still wasn't ready.

Last night, my Mom asked me if I could tell any difference yet from taking the Inderal. I told her I couldn't detect any difference at all and then I mumbled, "probably because I haven't taken it yet...". My Mom's hearing is just fine and she caught my mumble.

"Susan - take the medicine! You're so silly. Take it right now. It's safe!".

I wanted to believe her and she's got a great track record for being right. I went upstairs, took the capsule from the bottle and slowly walked downstairs for a glass of water. My Dad was sitting at the table and of course, I love my Dad, but his hearing isn't quite perfect.

My Dad asked my Mom what the name of the medicine was and she told him it was called Inderal.

"End it all? Suz, did you take that "end_it_all" yet?".

I was in mid-swallow and I almost choked - giggling - which was probably his primary purpose. My Mom was just shaking her head, having reaffirmed yet again that she lived in a house with crazy people. Funny...but crazy.

So after I took my "end it all", I went back upstairs and waited. For what, I'm not sure, but I'm pleased to report that the pretty purple and pink capsule didn't "end it all" and I woke up after a really good sleep. My pulse is a healthy (for me) 88 and my ear feels much better.

In other news, the newly-relocated WV couple, known as Justin and Stephanie, seem to be settling in quite well and apparently they both report that West Virginia isn't as bad as they feared it might be! Justin shared with us that it's cool enough at night in them thar mountains that they have found it necessary to don a sweater and jacket. I assured them that if there had been in Wilmington this past week, they would have found no need for either. It's been oppressively hot and humid and even my 33,000 gallon sparkling clean pool has felt like warm bathwater. It's still water though, and I love it. It centers me.

Justin has been busy learning the ropes of his new position and will be heading to Roanoke on Monday with his Dad to get some realtime experience in opening up a huge Direct Buy store. It's interesting and fun hearing his stories when we connect on the phone now.

My other offspring, Ms. Katie Parker and her tall boyfriend John, are flying to attend a wedding in Virginia this evening. It will be a quick trip and they will return to Manhattan tomorrow afternoon. On 4 September (less than a month), she and John will take off, first class, for a ten day vacation that will find them in Paris for 7 days and London for three. She's been looking forward to revisiting Paris for a long time and to do so with John will be extra special for her, I'm sure. She can't wait to show him one of her favorite cities and, I do believe, she's going to try and get up with our beloved friend Michel, who lives in Nantes, but frequents Paris quite often. I hope they have a great time. I can't wait to hear all about it.

I'm now six weeks into my new position as Operations Manager at Senior Solutions NorthStar and I'm still learning new things everyday, but I just have to say I work with some of the kindest, sweetest and comical people I've ever been associated with. From George, the enigmatic president of the company in Greenville; Rich, our VP here in Wilmington, who hails from DC and LOVES to surf, adores his wife and is patient, affable and always smiling,; Bobby, our 30 year old manager who is originally from Philly and has the most enthusiastic, compassionate personality and Ryan, the talented, knowledgeable young man who trained me in Greenville, who shares my love of cichlids, gadgets and kindly reminds me he is always as close as a phone call away when I have questions and need guidance.

I have managed to land in a business that not only challenges me, but provides a very essential and vital service to those who are senior citizens, and those of us who hope to be. In a short amount of time, our little office has grown into more than a collection of co-workers; these people are so much more than that and it feels as if we're growing into a sturdy team, a family, and by doing so, work feels less like work and more closely resembles a mission. It's a blessing when one finds oneself in such a situation and I enjoy the people that I work with, respect their talents and knowledge and I manage to learn new things every single day. I feel deeply blessed to be there and I must thank my friend David for alerting me to the opening back in early June. David has done many kind things for me in the almost five years I've known him, but exposing me to this position and company has to be one of the best. I'm deeply grateful. Thank you, David C.

Finally, as I mentioned earlier, the car has been repaired. I no longer have to fear oncoming rainstorms because the windows are finally functional again and the door handle has been replaced. The "status window" still says, "check traction control", but after the $540 price tag of repairing those issues, and being assured by the mechanic that the traction control is really OK and that it's a faulty sensor, I can live with the message window, which would have tacked an addtional $140 to the repair bill. It's a great treat to have the windows go up and down again and be able to open the car door without having to roll the window down first. Hey, it's the little things, right?

Where has the summer gone? On one hand, it feels like it's been a long one. This summer has certainly been filled with changes, challenges and twists and turns and at the same time, it seems to be flying by and how can it be mid-August? I have no idea how we got here, but we're here, we're hanging and at the end of each day there's a long, unending list of things to be grateful for and smile when recalled.

I need to send a "shout out" to my friends who have called, left voice mails, text-messaged and e-mailed me to let me know they were thinking of me this first week with Justin now living in West Virginia. I have a great family and an incredible and growing posse of friends and my gosh - more blessings than I can count. I'm happy to say I haven't had too much time this past week to feel sad and I haven't been lonely at all. I can't imagine where I would be without the special people in my life. Each one of them display love, compassion and kindness that many times just blow me away and are stellar examples of the truest epitome of what friendship is all about. Thanks to each one for this exceptional gift.

Everyone of us will come across times in our lives where we need hands to hold, warm hugs, the heartfelt kind, the sense of knowing that we're not walking alone, no matter where it is we're being directed to walk. Now of course, my recent experiences haven't required very much of me in terms of being serious or even terribly frightening, but if we're alive, those times will visit each of us now and again. Not only have I been comforted and felt loved through the rough patches, in my life, but I've learned something more - by sheer example of those close to me - and hopefully I've gathered knowledge on how to be there for these same people when they travel through their own unavoidable valleys. I've not been at all disappointed and, by the same token, I hope not to disappoint my angels by sending them to voice mail, not returning calls or ignoring them at a time when they might need me.

Every single day reminds me that maybe some of the most important lessons my teachers and parents taught me pertained to the essential magic and inestimable values of friendship and I swear, it seems that every single day there is an instance in my own life or someone's life close to me, that sort of validates that - sometimes in small ways, many times in profound ones. The code of the "playground" kind of follows us all through life. Play fair, take turns, be kind and always share. Always share with a glad heart. You can't go wrong remembering those things but you will wind up in a miserable place if you don't practice them. Thanks to my parents for teaching me that lesson- it's timeless.

Sun On The Moon...

Friday around noon found Justin, driving his black Mustang Cobra; Stephanie behind the wheel of her Ford Escape; Jennifer steering the Sebring and Tim, riding high in the Budget rental moving truck, pulling out of our driveway bound for Hurricane, West Virginia. I'm relieved to report that they safely made it to their destination at around 10:00 PM later that night and I'm sure each one of them were worn completely out.

I got a call from Tim at around 9:00 AM Thursday Morning asking for directions to the rental truck office and also for Stephanie's cell phone number because Justin's cell phone wasn't picking up. At 9:00 AM, I wasn't surprised so I gave him Steph's number and thought to myself, "Uh-oh, Justin isn't even halfway packed up!". I finally got Justin on the phone about an hour later and he was scrambling. It was showtime! This was happening NOW! I have to tell you, I was glad to be at my office because I knew Tim and Jennifer were in for a LONG day.

They made it to Justin's apartment with the truck and waded right into sorting, packing and organizing things to be moved. I dropped by Justin's apartment after I got off work and I spotted Tim in the truck arranging Justin and Stephanie's possessions, Justin making trips back and forth with lamps, paintings, cd's, cushions, you name it, he was carrying it. Shortly after getting a sweaty hug from my son, I spotted Jennifer coming downstairs carrying her adorable white dog, Charlie, because he needed a potty break. It was obvious she had been working diligently as well and, though she had to be exhausted, she looked pretty good for a woman who had hit the road very very early and hadn't stopped, not to mention she had to keep up a level of benadryl in her system because she is severely allergic to cats and Justin and Stephanie's "baby", Soprano, was in the middle of the madness.

I followed Jennifer up the stairs to the apartment and she and Justin began packing things up in the refrigerator and freezer for me to take home. My favorite flavors of ice cream! Vegetables! More ice cream! All kinds of juices and even MORE ice cream. I hit the creamery jackpot!

Now, I have to tell you, Justin didn't seem too keen on having "two mothers" giving him directions...I don't think he found it nearly as funny as Jennifer and me. We were both laughing, but he wasn't laughing so much and I could swear his jaw was clenched. He had just about reached his limit of his usual civility. We finished bagging things up and Jennifer helped me carry my cache to the car. More than that, she reassured me that everything would be fine and I can't tell you how much that meant to me. She had been through telling both of her daughters "goodbye" - Melissa is in college in Colorado and her oldest, Faye, is in school in Canada, so Jennifer could easily appreciate how tough this whole "youngest child leaving home" stuff is.

I can tell you one thing, Justin is blessed to have a stepmother who cares enough to swoop in and help pack his things up and assist in moving him to another state. She was in the middle of it, allergies and all, and someday I hope he can look back on her investment in his future and truly appreciate just how much she has contributed. I've never been anyone's stepmother, but I can't imagine taking on that role nearly as well. My kids are unquestionably blessed to have her love.

About an hour later, Justin, Jennifer & Tim stopped by (Stephanie was spending her last hours in town visiting with her Mom and Grandma), and the three of them were dragging. Justin was heading for the shower and I had a Bunn commercial coffeemaker that was in perfect working order, but just gathering dust in the garage (we drink a lot of coffee around here but not THAT much), and my Mom had called me at work and suggested that I see if Tim and Jennifer might want it for their new store. I took them in the garage to look at it and Jennifer said it would be great for the breakroom so we were happy to make a small contribution to their new venture.

My Mom had just pulled a homemade peach cobbler out of the oven and, although they were going to have dinner at Kiva Grill (Justin's former employer), we gave them a "to go" dish so they could have dessert when they got back to their hotel later that night. It smelled heavenly and goodness knows they earned dessert after all their hard work. I had told my parents that watching Jennifer arrange things and direct Tim and Justin around the apartment as they were gathering things up, it made me wonder if SHE was related to my Mom. I mean, no one could ever confuse me for organized and I'm much more accustomed to being ordered around than doing the "ordering", but Jennifer was a carbon copy of how I remember my Mom during countless moves. She was on the ball, energetic, rolling her sleeves up and digging right into it all. I was impressed but, well, when I see things like that, it brings up the nagging, niggling question, "Am I adopted and they just haven't gotten around to telling me yet??".

After visiting for a bit around the kitchen table with us, Jennifer and Tim headed for their hotel and a shower before dinner. I knew this would probably be the last time I'd see them before they pulled out because I'd be at work the next morning by 8:30. Tim kindly reassured me that everything would be fine, he and Justin had a lot of work ahead of them getting the store ready, and that I didn't have anything to worry about. I hugged Jennifer and thanked her again for working so hard and she promised me she would remind him to call his mother often, and I know she'll look out for both Stephanie and Justin. It is an immeasurable comfort for us to know they are being well cared for and loved by family. That's such a gift and eases a great deal of anxiety.

After everyone left, and before Justin took off for dinner with Tim, Jennifer, Stephanie, her Mom and Grandma, I hugged my son and told him how much I loved him. I also told him what a golden opportunity this was for both him and Stephanie. Yes, it's going to be an adjustment and he's going to have to learn and PRACTICE the art of compromise and accommodation, because he and Stephanie will be living with Tim and Jennifer for a few months until they can get their own place and, let's face it, little annoyances can get blown out of proportion when you're living in someone else's home and I say this because I know it's happened here before Justin and Steph got their own place. We had our moments! But the love within a family can smooth just about anything out and I know that Tim and Jennifer want our son to succeed just as much as he does. If they can keep that in mind, the inevitable skirmishes will fade out quickly. Plus, there is a LOT of work to be done. Tim's "Direct Buy" will be opening in mid-September and he and Justin will be heading to Roanoke in a week to assist with the opening of that store to help out the owner who is heading to China for the Olympics. It will be a great "dress rehearsal" for them and a lot of invaluable "on the job training" for Justin, not to mention, he will be spending a great deal of time around his father, learning from him, finding out what makes him tick, and vice versa.

It's a unique opportunity - a chance to grow a business and, even more importantly, an exquisite time to strengthen the ties between a father and son. I have great faith that they'll be successful on both fronts and we wish them as much success as possible.

Friday Morning finally arrived, no matter how much I was hoping it wouldn't. Justin had spent the night on the sofa bed in the living room, and as I made my way downstairs after getting ready for work, I first slipped into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. My dad was at the kitchen table and he invited me to step out into the back yard for a minute. He wanted to show me something. I grabbed my coffee and followed him outside and there, gleaming before me in the morning sunshine, for the first time this summer, was the cleanest, clearest my swimming pool had looked in a year. For the first time this season, it looked swimmable! I looked back at my dad and said, "God really knew the exact moment I would need this pool, didn't he?". My Dad totally agreed. I could barely believe it and you have to admit, the timing was incredible.

I walked back in the house, noticed it was just about time for me to leave and I walked into the living room and just then Justin turned over and raised up. I bent down, took his face in my hands and told him that I loved him, I was proud of him and that I knew he would do well. I told him I would miss him terribly, but he would be insane not to make this move and take on this challenge. He hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. No tears from either of us. We both had work to do and it was time to get on with it. (Unfortunately, I didn't get the chance to tell Stephanie goodbye - she spent the night with her sweet grandma, but I hope she knows she left with my best thoughts and heartfelt wishes. I believe she does.)

I walked outside and got in my car, so proud of the fact I had gotten through that without a teardrop, and low and behold, my car window refused to budge. I kept pushing the button but no response. And then, after I stopped pushing, the window just fell down into the slot. Like the rear window behind it, apparently this window's regulator had burned out as well. I just sat there and shook my head and I had to laugh. Now I had two windows that needed new regulators, a front end that was held up by a bungee cord and that damn "check traction control" light that refused to go off, not to mention that the driver's side passenger door can only be opened from the outside. Ha! It was way beyond time to call the repair shop. Oh well, at least the swimming pool was clear, right? Thank God for that.

I held out hope that it wouldn't rain before I got home Friday Evening because if it did, my car was going to get rinsed on the inside and me, right along with it. Friday was interrupted now and then with booms of distant thunder, but rain never materialized and by 5:00 PM, I breathed a huge sigh of relief - no rain, no wet seat, I was home free!

I pulled out of my parking spot at work, drove about a mile down Oleander, headed to Pet Supermarket for a few live brine shrimp and feeder goldfish for my cichlids, and as soon as I crossed over the intersection between College Road and Oleander, I saw this mammoth sheet of rain headed straight for me and my hopelessly inoperable window. I knew I was about to get wet but I was wrong. I got soaked. Of course, I had worn a silk suit on friday which doesn't lend itself well to raindrops. I maintained my course, pulled into the pet store and walked in dripping from head to toe. I was already wet, might as well get some fresh food for my fish. I got a lot of stares in the freezing pet store and a few curious looks. I smiled and said, nonchalantly, "my car windows are on strike." and just shrugged and ordered 50 brine shrimp, 50 feeder guppies and 2 dozen feeder goldfish. I walked back outside, slid into the seat of the car and continued to get soaked all the way home. The "sun shower" stopped just as I pulled into my driveway. Perfect.

I went inside and my dad followed me out with scissors, plastic and packing tape to cover the window until my appointment with the mechanic on Monday Morning at 8:00 AM. As my neighbors, Kathleen and Richard, were pulling out of their garage, they graciously offered to let me park the car in their garage, but since the skies were clearing up, I just decided to take my chances and leave it where it was in my driveway. I appreciated the offer but held out hope that maybe it would stay dry over the weekend. So far, so good.

Justin called me around noon on Friday, telling me the caravan was on I-40, WV bound. Tim called me a short while later, telling me everyone was in line on the road and halfway to Raleigh. I smiled...remembering the James Taylor song my kids sang to at the top of their lungs about a thousand times growing up, whenever we took to the car. A song they swear they will never be able to forget, not that they want to. It was their childhood anthem...

"In line, in line they're all in a line.
My ducks are all in a row.
They do not shift,
They do not move.
They have nowhere to go..."

But these ducks had somewhere to go - West Virginia to be specific. These ducks are headed into their future and I hope with all my heart it's as sunny and bright as it portends to be from here...

After Dad and I finally got the hole covered up where a window was supposed to be, I headed outside to the backyard to make sure that the clear swimming pool I had seen earlier in the day was not simply an apperition. There it was - sparkling, crystal clear. My parents had followed me outside to stare at it with me.

I noticed the skimmer needed a couple of chlorine tablets and I headed into the pool shed, still in my sopping wet, silk pantsuit and as I stepped on the platform of the shed, in my sandals, my feet flew out from under me because the surface was slippery thanks to the recent rainshower and I fell flat on my face. My parents ran over and I looked up, sunglasses askew on my head, silk pantsuit now not only wet, but covered in dirt, and I said, "Good grief! This has been a heckuva day!". We quickly assessed the damage - my right hand has an ugly broken blood vessel and is bruised where I caught myself, so is my elbow which also made impact, but the rest of me seems to be fine...a little sore, but none the worse for wear. When I finally stood up, I laughed and said, "Well, today is the first day that my health insurance kicked in. Good to know!". Fortunately, I didn't need it for that spill and, even more fortunately, I must have inherited my Mom's strong bones. I hit that platform HARD and it's good to know my bones can handle my occasionally clumsy ways.

I made my way upstairs, after replacing the chlorine tablets, peeled off my messy, soppy outfit, took a quick shower, grabbed some iced tea and fed my hungry cichlids and particularly my ravenous pair of Oscars, several live shrimp, goldfish and feeder guppies. It got my mind off the pain.

Later that evening, I received a text message from Justin. "I'm 300 miles from home.", it read. I thought, no, you're about 175 miles from your new home but no, that's not quite right. This will always be home for him, I realized. This is where he grew up - at least the last 8 years of it.

After a blown window, a backyard tumble and a cichlid feeding frenzy, not to mention a night of watching "Shark Week" on Discovery, I fell asleep before midnight. My Dad woke me up after 11:00 PM to inform me that Justin had tried to call me - they had made it. My ducks had made it safely to WV. In a row, no less. Thank God. I went downstairs, grabbed a fresh peach, a glass of tea and said a prayer of thanks to God. And then, I went right back to sleep.

Saturday Morning, I spoke with Justin and Stephanie and they sounded tired, but fine. Stephanie gave me a comical recap of her first driving experience in tunnels and real mountain roads. She had me laughing hard as she told me about her fear in driving through Walker Mountain Tunnel, flashes of Princess Diane which immediately increased her anxiety in the middle of driving through that long tunnel at night. Then, she told me that her Ford Escape was really struggling because she had it in overdrive. She reported that after she disengaged it from overdrive, it ran like a charm. She's a great story-teller and I'm begging her to blog all of these things so that she can smile and laugh at what all of this felt like in the beginning. [Note to Stephanie - if you're reading this (and I know you are), BLOG already! I want to know what this new adventure looks and feels like from your perspective and that's a great way to share it.]

Yesterday, rather than mope around and nurse maudlin thoughts, I grabbed a book, a large tea, a couple of peaches and my sunglasses and I went outside to the patio, threw my stuff in the chaise and walked to the edge of my pool, at the deep end, and I swear I felt like giggling. It was still clear and sparkling. Seconds later, I dove into the crystal sunlight dappled water and had a glorious session of swimming and turning flips. Heaven! Sheer watery chlorinated heaven! My muscles loved it, my bones enjoyed it and my mental state soared. I stayed out there most of the afternoon and I have the tan lines to prove it. I plan on doing some more of it later this afternoon.

We miss Justin and Stephanie, just as we missed Katie when she flew the coop and landed in Manhattan. However, things are just as they're supposed to be. What's the point in having wings if you never use them? Katie and Justin are doing just what they were raised to do - take a chance, chase and discover life - and sometimes, you have to chase life to different states, toward foreign shores and a few of us have even been known to chase it on sailboats that get mixed up in tropical storms. You just do it!

We're proud of all of them and we expect great results.

Countdown...

"So, help me if you can
I've got to get
back to the house at Pooh corner by one.
You'd be surprised there's so much to be done,
count all the bees in the hive,
chase all the clouds from the sky.
Back to the days of
Christopher Robin and Pooh."

And that is exactly where I am today. Wednesday. In two days, my son will move to West Virginia. Today I am thinking of him, remembering mental snapshots, and about every ten or fifteen minutes, I get this HUGE lump in my throat. You know, the kind that reminds you that tears are a breath away if you're not careful. I don't know how much longer I can go on being careful. I want to cry. I really do and I'm not a person given easily to tears at all. There have been times when I wish that I could cry, but today, tears are threatening at every turn.

I already miss Justin. I was on my way home from work this past Monday, to collect three cats and take them for their vet appointments and rabies vaccinations, and suddenly this car appeared beside me, honking, and there was Justin. At the intersection of College and Shipyard. Smiling. Laughing. Passing me by in the dust.

He beat me home with minutes to spare. We started corralling the cats and he drove Felix, Magellan, Princess and me to the vet and took each one in, separately, handling it all with great finesse. I laughed and only suffered three small puncture wounds on my arm because Magellan was a little nervous.

As I was waiting to pay the bill, one of the staff asked me how I was going to handle having Justin move away. I looked at her and smiled and said, "not well.". She laughed. I couldn't have been more serious.

This is going to be tough. I mean, I have a HISTORY with this kid! I knew him before anyone else, except for God. He used to swim inside of me, punch my ribs and do somersaults and it took 2 1/2 days of back labor to coax him out. We know each other well.

Sunday Night, at about 10:00 PM, he cajoled me into going to see "Stepbrothers" at the movies. He didn't have to twist my arm. We rode in his Cobra Mustang and I don't believe he went below 70 the entire way. He whipped that car around, changed gears effortlessly and I held on for dear life. He looked over at me and with an impish grin said, "Mom, we need one great last adventure before I move, right?".

We have had some seriously crazy adventures, Justin and me. The movie was silly and funny and perfect for people grappling with serious stuff like moves hundreds of miles away. On the way back home, he said, "Listen, you got the best deal. You had me for the first 21 years!".

It's true, I have been privileged to be close for 21 1/2 years. I am just so grateful for that. But at this particular moment, it's not soothing my separation anxiety.

I can't even fathom, this Wednesday before his big move, how much I am going to miss him. I am grateful for e-mail and cell phones and text messages, but that's not the same. It's just not the same at all. I want hugs. Justin has always been the affectionate one, the sensitive touchy feel guy, introspective, never arriving or leaving without a generous and heartfelt hug and kiss on the cheek. That's hard to do from West Virginia. What am I supposed to do?

I know what I'm supposed to do. I'm to be grateful that this is a very positive, happy opportunity. He will, after all, be under the bright tutelage of his father. He will learn so much and be among family and have the chance to explore a whole new world (Justin was born in Amarillo, Texas - the only one among us who is not a native WV'ian). He will also have Stephanie with him, who is now his fiancee. He will be in my old stomping ground, the area where I was raised and spent the first 25 years of my life.

It's not like he's going into the service. He's not bound for Afghanistan or Iraq. He's not headed to a medical center in a faraway town for a bone-marrow transplant or an experimental clinical trial. He is heading into a great future. I'm beyond thankful for all of that, truly I am. But I have to tell you, I am selfish. I am just so selfish because, left to my own devices, I would keep him close to me and I can't do that. I raised both he and Katie to grow up, spread their wings beyond their comfort zone, find passions and then have the tenacity and guts to take on the world. I didn't raise shrinking violets and neither of them are remotely timid.

We've lived all over the US. I've taken them on vacations to many unique places. A few years ago the three of us hopped a plane and visited France for a week. We've shared a cruise together. Poked around the Islands of the Bahamas. We've witnessed space shuttle launches, opened and closed Disneyland (California), Disney World (Orlando) and Euro Disney (Paris). We've ridden space mountain more times than I can count. We've jumped into pools, streams, fountains and oceans in our clothes. We've brought home strays of every species imaginable and raised mice for the snake collection he once proudly tended, until he discovered skateboarding which he ultimately gave up when he happened on Mustangs which coexisted nicely with his awareness of girls.

Together with Katie, we made up stories on dark stormy nights and read Edgar Allen Poe. We've walked the floor with ear infections, waited anxiously in emergency rooms for stitches and I've been called for school conferences more than once because he wasn't "doing his best work". We cried together when my marriage broke up. We've argued over both stupid and really serious things. We've slammed doors, screamed at each other and said things in anger we never came close to meaning.

I've been suckered into all kinds of schemes and scenarios and bought what he was peddling more times than I can count, even with a calculator. I've stayed up all night worrying when he didn't come home at the hour he promised and I've been filled with rage when he didn't tell me the truth. Justin has also personally, on even more times than I can count, exhibited a level of compassion both toward me and others, that has literally taken my breath away. Out of all those things, what I remember most keenly are the times when he's taken my breath away. Those times far outnumber everything else.

I am proud to say though, I really did stand my ground when he wanted to adopt a caiman and I was always firmly against adding a ferret to the family. You pick your battles, right?

You know, they never tell you this stuff when you are about to give birth and you lumber into Lamaze Class. They cover such inconsequential things - contractions, labor, transition, epidurals, what to take to the hospital, how to bathe the baby, when you can expect to light a fire and burn your maternity clothes and stuff like that.

From where I sit, with a daughter who will be turning 25 on the 26th of August and a son who will be hitting 22 on the 21st of November, that pre- and -post natal era feels like it lasted about as long as it takes to blink my eyes. Of course, at the time, it seemed urgent, serious and some of it was terrifying to consider.

What they don't tell you in Lamaze class and, to be fair, what is impossible to convey, is the heart investment of the entire experience. I never knew I could deeply love and cherish anything (and I've had some great dogs!) as much as I have adored every facet of being a Mom. I mean, part of me wishes I had known all this stuff back in the day, but in reality, it would probably have been far more of a hindrance and I'm sure God knows it and worked all the logistics of the process out, but I have to testify that no matter where I go, what I do, whatever I may achieve or own or brush up against, it will never, ever come close to what raising a little girl and a little boy has given me. It is, in fact, an entity all unto its own. It is so intermingled into my being, the sheer depth, the strength and resilient durability of the parental bond.

God surely knew what He was doing in THAT department because there have been a few times when I thought...what the heck are we doing here and does someone have a manual or is there a service that could finish raising these kids until they're the more reasonable and responsible age of, oh, say 30? God knows that love paves over the pot holes and rough patches, and God knows He is right.

But "those" moments breeze by and before you know it, the kids are back in your good graces and you find yourself ecstatically devoted and signing on for the next exciting and improbable chapter of the craziest book in the world. And the most unbelievable part of it all is when you're on the page where "Kids grow up and move to a new town", you tearfully, wistfully pine, you so seriously wish you could start that book over and write it all again. Even the hair-raising parts which are generously sprinkled throughout.

This...is going to be tough. Painful. Definitely hard to swallow.

This is...life. Wouldn't you just know those two would pick the times I said, "You've got to try! You can be ANYTHING and go ANYWHERE if you just set your head to it and if you want it bad enough!"

That's just so like them. Selective listening. You really can't trust them.

I feel as though I resemble my kids when I would take them to the pediatrician for vaccinations or flu shots. "Wait, I"m not ready! Wait, please, wait! Give me a minute...not yet!!!!!!". And of course, the needle had to break the flesh and deliver it's payload. It was always going to sting, sometimes a little and sometimes a lot, and no amount of preparation could change that.

No, no, no, no, no! I am not ready for Justin to move. But if he postponed it a few days, I wouldn't be any more prepared in a week, two weeks, six months or a year. It's going to sting, but we have to get on with it. His future is calling and it's time to answer the damn phone, load up the moving van and head for those ridiculous hills.

People ask me if it was like this when Katie left home, when she made her way to Manhattan in May 2006. In a way it was and in another way it wasn't. You see, Katie was born with a plan. Spend anytime around Katie and you just realize that she has a list, steely determination and a fierce independence and no time for tears. I love my daughter with the same passion that I do my son and I have a great deal of respect for the way she tackles the streets of NYC, new jobs, her fear of flying and any obstacle silly enough to get in her way. She's amazing and it's not that she doesn't have a heart, she simply doesn't wear it on her sleeve.

Justin and I, however, aren't like that at all. Our entire shirts are covered in hearts. It's just the way we are. Sometimes, I am stunned by just how much like me he is, not simply in appearance, but in temperament, mannerisms, thought processes, behavior and quirks. That apple didn't far fall from this tree.

I want to walk outside and scream at the very top of my lungs, to no one in particular, "MY SON IS MOVING AWAY AND I AM REALLY GOING TO MISS HIM AND I AM HURTING BIG-TIME RIGHT NOW!!!!!", but I haven't been at this office all that long and people might talk. Besides, he just called and we're having lunch at his old work place in a few minutes. I can't be late. He's buying!

I'm sure I'll cry on the way back to my office, and I'll cry tomorrow at random times and don't even ask me about Friday. This weekend is going to be rough and I know that. My friend Sharon called me yesterday, "just to check on you. I know this isn't easy.", and she does know it because she's watched one of her sons move to San Diego and the other one to Lake Tahoe. She knows the landscape of where I am headed and she will be right there and cry right along with me and then she'll talk very sternly and tell me - "Enough - let's go to the beach and eat chocolate and drink tea.". Good friends do things like that. I love her. I love all of my friends. I'm crazy about my family. I adore my cats. I have the best dog in the entire world. My kids? They not only have my heart, they are my heart.

Sniff...

Beyond all this missing stuff, trust me, it's not lost on me how spectacularly blessed we all are. For as much as this is going to EXCRUCIATINGLY "sting", and you better know it will, I also know that these tears spring from good things. They spring from love, hope, golden opportunities, and at least a thousand or so blessings. I mean, if you have to cry, this is as happy of an event as you could hope for to sob over. There isn't any undue worry or fear. I know deep inside, that this sadness is of the happy variety and I must keep that in mind. No one is sick, estranged or at wits end or the thousand and one issues that can come up that truly can rob you of your sanity, serenity and sleep. I'll adjust and we'll slide into a new "normal", carve out a new groove - grateful for all that we have, always mindful of how well off we sincerely are, and hopeful for a bright future. We'll make new memories in different cities. <I practice sounding convincing when I say this. So far, I'm not really buying it.>

But in the meantime, I really do plan to cry a bit. I can sense Katie rolling her eyes and I expect a call at some point next week from her telling me to knock it off, grow up and get busy writing. She's not heartless, she will at least allow me the weekend to wallow. And then she'll say something really wise like, "How do you expect to meet a sailor with red eyes?"

Good point.

It's "Shark Week" on the Discovery Channel. I should be happy, right?

Headline News...

OK, this will be quick because I'm tired and ready to hit the bed but these have been some busy times in the Cook/Parker Home.

Here's the scoop! (Pssst...there are some new photos on the flickr site - click on the moving pictures on the right sidebar).

Someone became engaged in this family and for once, it wasn't me! Last Friday (18 July) Justin presented Stephanie with a ROCK and she said YES!

We welcomed and enjoyed company from West Virginia on Tuesday and Wednesday.

I just returned from The Pilot House in downtown Wilmington and a lovely engagement/farewell dinner hosted by Stephanie's lovely grandmother. She and I have made plans to get together after next weekend, following the kids' move, so we can cry and miss them together. They haven't even left yet and I already miss my son. I fought back tears a couple of times tonight.

My Mom is on the mend, but let me tell you, that fall left her with some serious bruises and after seeing the latent bruises I can only imagine she has bones made of steel. What a feisty lady she is. How blessed we are she bounced back.

I'll write more later, but for now, I am ready for sleep. These are busy, emotional, heart-tugging days. We're so excited for Justin and his new adventure working with his father in West Virginia, but we're all going to miss him tons.

I'll fill in the blanks this weekend.

The Things That Matter Most Really Aren't...

...Things At All. They aren't even Lincoln (POS's) LS, iPods, or swimming pools.

Last night or, rather, about 3:00 am this morning, I was asleep when I woke up to see my Dad's worried, searching eyes. Not a good sign at 3:00 am. I was awake instantly, bolted upright and said, "What's wrong?". I mean, nothing can be right when someone wakes you up at 3:00 am, right?

He told me in a quiet but anxious voice that my Mom had fallen going to the bathroom and could I please come downstairs. In a flash, I was down those stairs and walked into my parents room to see my Mom rather slouched in her chair, eyes closed and cradling an arm that was dripping blood from two angry looking lacerations; open, harsh wounds on her delicate tissue paper thin skin. I walked over and asked her what happened?

"I fell. I fell and hit my arm. I couldn't see and it was dark.", she whispered, mumbled really, in a weak voice without opening her eyes, head tilted to the side.

I asked her if she could move or if she thought she might have broke something, other than the painful looking skin on her arm.

"No, well, I don't think so. Need to lay back. Could I have a cold cloth on my head, please?".

I heard my Dad rifling around in the drawers of their bathroom, searching for bandages and antiseptic. I ran to the bathroom and found a wash cloth and ran cold water through it. My Dad brought a towel to lay beneath her bleeding arm.

Mom told me that the cloth wasn't cold enough and could I please put some ice in it? I raced to the kitchen and grabbed five ice cubes and wrapped them up in the wet cloth. My heart was beating fast and my mind was racing at a thousand possibilities always arriving at the same question..."What should I do next? Should I call 911?".

I walked back in, my dad was standing close to my Mom, gently stroking her arm and asking her if anything was hurting. It was at that moment that my heart made a giant leap into my throat at the sight of both of them. As scary as this whole scene was, it was just laden with a gentle sweetness that completely epitomizes their relationship.

Devotion is intangible but theirs is so sturdy, so strong and durable, that you can nearly reach out and touch the current that courses between them. It's effect was pervasive inside that room last night. It softened the rough, sharp, scary edges of an event that no one wants to confront at any hour, but is especially foreboding at 3:00 am.

Mom welcomed the icy cloth I delivered and we slowly eased the chair she was sitting in back so that her feet were propped up and her head could rest without slipping to the side.

Again, I asked her if she thought it might not be a good idea to get this checked out at the hospital.

"No, just let me lay here for a few minutes and we'll see. I don't want to talk...just let me lay here for a few minutes."

Dad had brought me a chair to sit beside her and he had settled into his desk chair. I looked over at him but his eyes were fixed on her.

I held her hand. I felt so privileged to sit beside her, even as my mind groped for something more that I could that might have offered her relief and comfort. She's not had much experience being the "patient". In truth, I have had scant experience being the caregiver. We were both assuming unfamiliar roles, but I believe we were doing the best we could at that moment.

Every few minutes, I would ask her if she was feeling better? She would tell me that she thought so, just give it a little while.

As I sat there, in the low light of their bedroom, I looked around at the trinkets, the photos, the books, word puzzles, momentos and then my mind would come back to, "Should I let her lay here or should we really be on our way to the hospital?". I just didn't know what to do but I hoped that what we were doing was enough. Of course, I prayed. Mostly my prayers were for guidance, comfort for my Mom and some kind of form of wisdom to know that what we were doing, at that moment, was the right thing.

Felix, our black, quirky cat walked in the room, followed by Cassie, who looked around as they were assessing the situation and knew something wasn't quite right. Felix looked up at my Mom and then walked over to my Dad and rubbed alongside his ankles. I think he was offering my Dad the only comfort he was capable of expressing. Both animals settled down in the floor, side by side, at the foot of my Mom's chair. Their eyes were inquisitive yet compassionate.

And I sat there, for well over an hour, stroking my Mom's hand, readjusting the rag on her head, asking her if she was feeling better, if she needed anything - maybe a sip of water? Tea? My dad sat quietly at his desk, facing us, drawing on his pipe, fingers interlocked on his lap.

After about half an hour, Mom asked me to wring the cloth out. It was getting drippy. My father got back up and started looking again for bandages but seemed only to find the 1 inch square band-aids which wouldn't begin to cover the angry gashes on her arm.

"Barbe, they're in the wicker basket at the top of the cabinet. You can't find anything...", she said in a rather bemused fashion. It was at this point that I finally decided we had made the right decision not to call 911 right away. She was coming back to us and taking charge. If she was able to direct our fumblings, Miss Maxine was assuming her position. I welcomed those words and my Dad, without missing a beat, smiled and said, "Well why don't you just walk in here and get the band-aid yourself!". Again, these were good signs at what was now 4:40 AM. I finally breathed a sigh of blessed relief.

I walked in the bathroom and found the shelf, the bandages and the peroxide and went about the business of attending to Mom's arm. She had finally opened her eyes and was watching as I poured small dollops of disinfectant and we both studied the scrapes as they bubbled and fizzed. I asked her if it was stinging? "No, not a bit!", she chided, as if I was somehow implying she was a wimp or whiny old lady. Again, this was a good sign.

After I bandaged her arm, she finally decided she was ready to make a try for the bathroom which had been the original target of her nocturnal wandering about. Daddy fetched her cane and I took her arm and together we made our way slowly to the bathroom. As I stood in there waiting for her, I quickly flashed back to when I was a little girl, and how many times she had taken such impeccable care of me, in so many situations, nursing me through tonsillitis, bronchitis, many bouts of the flu, pneumonia, a car wreck just last summer, and how capable she always seemed to be; how secure she always made me feel, by virtue of her sheer, stable, loving presence. What a gift she's always been. What a gift she continues to be.

Those midnight moments bring life into perspective with blazing speed. As stressful and scary as they can be, such times deliver clarity into what matters most in this life, as nothing else can. When I finally returned to my own bedroom last night, I thought about what had just happened, and the thoughts that had been razzing my brain prior to my middle of the night wake-up summons.

I had been irritated with machines, prior to my 3:00 am wake-up call. The front end bumper of my car was loose and making contact with the pavement. Not to mention the fact that in the last few weeks, in addition to the rear driver's side window which refuses to go up or down, the door handle to driver's side no longer works which means I have to roll my window down and open my car from the outside. Add to this the "check traction control" light that announces itself in the "status window" of the dashboard, the broken drink holder in the console and the fact that the sun roof window didn't close all the way last week leaking water onto my iPod, thereby completely rendering it inoperable, has made me feel a complete and utter distaste for my car and daily I find myself pining for my old PT Cruiser which got great gas mileage and even though it was lacking in many of the bells and whistles that come with my Lincoln (POS) LS, I honestly enjoyed driving it so much more.

So last evening, as I was sitting here surfing the net, I was filled with contempt for the Lincoln, the iPod (which I REALLY miss!!!!), and wondering how so many things could go wrong on a car in such a short amount of time. I wasn't exactly in the best of moods. I would have gone outside for a late-night swim, but my pool isn't completely cleared (however it is definitely on the mend after Friday's latest round of work by Pool Specialists!), so last night rather than swim, I stewed. Completely pissed off by the breakdown of the gadgets and machines I rely on every day. I felt like I was drowning in a sea of mechanical glitches.

But early this morning, there were no thoughts of a broken iPod, the dragging front bumper of a Lincoln LS, or a murky pool. My focus was instantly narrowed to what is precious in my life and what is precious is family, close, dear, dependable friends, and even the concerned countenance of a loyal dog and cat. That silly car in the driveway, the cloudy 33,000 gallon pond in my backyard, and even the busted iPod don't even register on the "matters most" meter. Those things can be repaired and replaced and will never cross my mind at the end of my days. What will transcend that threshold are the mainstays who bear the monikers of Justin, Katie, Mom, Dad, Stephanie and so many close buddies who make my life feel golden more times than I possibly deserve.

No one would ever volunteer for the 3:00 AM wake up call that I experienced last night, but attached along with the attendant angst, is the reminder of the volume of love that situates itself in my life, and as the vital signs return to normal and the world is illuminated courtesy of the dawn of yet another gift of a day, gratitude remains long after the tide of terror washes back out to sea and the storm moves out.

After a few more hours of sleep this morning, I walked downstairs to find my parents happily chatting over cereal and coffee, reading the newspaper, sun streaming in through the large windows.

"Good Morning!", my Mom almost too cheerily announced! Ah yes, she was back in the saddle - a little bruised and bandaged, perhaps, but "not nearly as sore as I thought I'd be!", she almost smugly added.

I guess the lingering result of last night is that it gave me even more reasons to be grateful, to be reminded of the fragility, and in awe of resilience and durability, that is life.

Life is, in fact, so much more than good, even if your car is crumbling and your iPod is a thing of history.

Life is absolutely amazing.

Unrealized Nightmares...Unmerited Blessings

I went to Greenville, South Carolina last week. I left on Monday Evening, after I had studied the myriad of interstates that would carry, and possibly confuse me, between Wilmington, North Carolina and my forecast destination. It's 312 miles between here and there and my major stumbling block, the area where my eyes kept returning to, was the Interstate bypass that would (hopefully) take me around Columbia, South Carolina. That was my least favorite part of the route, at least visually on the map, because I don't do well at all when I'm on multiple lane freeways in heavy traffic. Such driving is terrorizing for me. I know that because I've had all of my most impressively horrific panic attacks while trying to bypass large metropolitan cities in both light and heavy traffic. It can be distilled in one fourletter word. Fear. Pure, unadulterated fear.

But I had a plan because we're nothing without them, right? I would leave around 6:00 PM from Wilmington the night before I would need to arrive in Greenville. Given that there were 312 miles separating me from my target, I surmised that if I left at 6ish in the evening, it would place me and my car and my terror well past rush hour and hopefully in the lightest, most manageable traffic possible.

In the hours leading up to my dreaded departure, if you had seen me that day, you might have thought I was being remanded to the gallows. That I was facing incarceration and, in a sense, I was - I was becoming imprisoned by my own over-inflated, but nevertheless paralyzing, fear.

I walked about the house slowly. I would pace from my suitcase to the dryer, with a deliberate and defeated gait, robotically depositing the clothes I had mindlessly selected to wear on the off chance I survived my journey. Just in case some blazing eighteen wheeler didn't overstep his lane and crush my car and take me out with it in a fiery ball of cataclysmic devastation. If there was even the slightest possibility I would make it unscathed to Greenville, at least I would have clothes to wear as I trained for the job that would be waiting for me should I twice defy the unfathomable odds and arrive back safely on Wednesday Night to Wilmington.

Frankly, at the time, I would have told you that my odds of winning the powerball were much more favorable than my surviving the roundtrip tour I was preparing to embark upon. My mind was playing some very Un-empowering tapes and someone (me) had tripped the switch on my mental tape player to "repeat".

I finally bid my parents what I secretly felt could possibly be a final farewell and trudged to my waiting car. I would imagine that people being taken to death row probably had a more sunny countenance than the one I secretly wore. Death row inmates face capital punishment. I, however, was staring toward the capital of South Carolina and its eight possibly lethal lanes looming in my immediate future.

I walked out of here with the weight of the world and every agonizing mile punishing my psyche, deeply entrenched in the dangerous and dark recesses of my overactive and often times inaccurate imagination.

I pulled out of the driveway, waving at my parents, who were smiling contentedly, never once realizing the deep danger that the interstate bypass of Columbia was holding in wait for their only remaining and ridiculously panic-stricken daughter. I dug deep within myself and managed a smile, almost feeling sorry for them because I didn't think they stood a chance of seeing me alive again. How sad, because two days later, on July 3rd, they would celebrate their 62nd wedding anniversary and what a bleak stain my impending doom would lend to their very special day. They were just so clueless and didn't understand the monumental obstacles that my mind had managed to manufacture.

The first few miles I had to literally fight with myself not to make a U-turn and turn my car around and run back home to my perceived safety zone. Honestly, I absolutely had to beat back the impulse as I made my way toward the Cape Fear Memorial Bridge and crossed the great divide that would separate the men from the boys, and me from New Hanover County.

I hate bridges. I abhor them. I have always had a fear of steel spans. Normally, just the prospect of crossing the Cape Fear Bridge would have been enough to reduce me to a hyperventilating, sweaty-palmed, heart-palpitating and trembling mess, but given that Columbia was on the dusky horizon, I reasoned that I had bigger fish to fry and so I had to put my fear of bridges on the back burner of the stove I use to create mountains out of anthills. No one can reasonably nurture more than a couple of unreasonable phobias at a time, so my fear of bridges had to rescind it's top stop in favor of rapid-fire freeway traffic.

But before I made it over the bridge, I took a side street on my way downtown to Market Street and found myself parking where that major thoroughfare (by Wilmington standards) terminates and I parallel-parked in a spot that faced the Cape Fear River and the USS North Carolina which is moored on the Brunswick County side of the river and is one of our major tourist attractions in this town I love so much.

I sat in my car, window rolled down, watching the tourists smiling on their way to or from dinner, small historic maps in hand, pointing at this structure or that sight, completely oblivious to the terror lurking inside of the white Lincoln LS which was, I must say, expertly tucked into a tight parking spot. I saw the horse-drawn carriage amble to the right of my car, as the horses dutifully trudged their course while the tour guide recited all manner of interesting and historical facts about Wilmington.

It was just another sultry summer evening in a sleepy, southern town teeming with tourists who had probably spent most of their Monday at our area beaches and had driven downtown for a nice meal and a little southern ambiance courtesy of our moss strewn, tree-lined streets and sweeter than iced tea charm. Stupid, clueless tourists. They had no idea the fear contained in the innocuous looking automobile, lurking just beneath the surface of the tousled, wind whipped blond hair of a 48 year old woman who wished for all the world someone would tap on her window and tell her that she didn't have to cross that bridge or merge into the lanes of the freeway that was supposed to take her AROUND Columbia, South Carolina.

I sat in that car, almost frozen in fear, mapquest print-out in my lap, staring absently out the window and wishing, dreaming, that the governor would call and say it was all a mistake - I could still have the job, the salary, the medical, dental and vision benefits without having to drive those looming, doomed 312 miles to Greenville; that someone as clearly bright as me didn't require training or need to make an appearance in a town so far away and INLAND, and that I could just learn everything on the fly and forget this whole silly Greenville madness.

I waited. I sat there for at least 20 minutes knowing that no one was really going to knock on my car window and tell me that it was fine, that I didn't have to go, and that I could simply turn around and return to the safe harbor of my home, my family, my dog and my two cats and my 50 or so fish contained in five aquariums who really needed me to look after them, but oh how I wished someone would have. At the time, I would have given anything for a reprieve, a stay of interstate transit, or a simple change in plans that would allow me to stay home and not venture outside my comfort zone which extends to about ten miles in every direction from the epicenter here at 326 Nottingham Lane.

It never happened. That call never came.

I took a deep breath and knew it was time to face my fears and plow through the list of turns, merges and highways and snap out of it. I wanted to call my Dad and ask him what I always ask when I'm feeling especially shaky and scared..."Dad, do you think I can do this? Do you think I'll be OK?".

I know it sounds completely ridiculous and I always know exactly what he's going to say, but I swear I can't tell you how comforting it is to here his response when I ask him that question. He chuckles in a manner that makes me believe that's the silliest question he's ever heard before in all of his 83 years been asked. His voice is tinged with a durable confidence I hardly ever feel, as he exudes the utmost belief in me and whatever it is I'm afraid to do, whether it's boarding a flight for NYC or Manchester or Paris or sailing or about to give a talk to a recovery group or go in for a root canal or sit for a test or drive to the center of downtown Raleigh or embark on a very long drive all alone. His words always empower me. They make me believe I can do things that my mind tries to trick me into thinking that I can't possibly deal with or handle. It's amazing really, the power of hearing him say that I'll be fine, just fine, and that it won't be any trouble at all and that I will just fly through whatever is looming on my horizon without the slightest hint of a glitch.

It's so comical in one sense. How many times did I hear him express his confidence in me when I was growing up and filled with all kinds of angst over just about everything and what a difference his belief in me meant on more occasions than I can count? I guess it's because as I was growing up and navigating childhood and adolesence and dealing with so much uncertainty and fear after my sister died when I was 13, my dad and my Mom were accruing a track record of being right about 99.9% of the time and guiding me with so much love, so much devotion, wisdom, kindness and compassion.

Late Spring of 1973. That's when most of my biggest fears were born - in the days, weeks and months following the completely unexpected death of my 23 year old sister. I was thirteen at the time, which is a hard age when everything is going perfectly, but my gosh, the day following May 25, 1973, it seems as if I caught every fear and phobia imaginable. And somehow, even in the deep and horrific pain of losing their first daughter, my Mom and Dad managed to guide their second one through the scariest period of my life and to this day I have no idea how they did it.

After having two kids of my own, and understanding the depth and magnitude of love one feels for their children, it's even more inconceivable to me that they had the wisdom and capacity to steer me through what felt like hell. But they did it. They did exactly that. They never gave up on me and they never allowed me to give up on myself, through every bump, stumble and fall I've ever dealt with in life. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't find my parents' strength and the power of their love and understanding, to be a force even unto its own. They have always been my rudder, the artificial horizon by which to fix my position, to navigate when life feels so disorienting and foggy that I have to rely and depend on my instruments because the weather is such that visual flight rules do not apply.

It is, in a word, uncanny. I am, in another word, blessed.

And they were also, a few days ago, as they celebrated their 62nd wedding anniversary. Justin and Stephanie joined us and my handsome, sturdy son "manned" the grill and graciously feted us with sumptuous, done to perfection steaks, baked potatoes and, for dessert, Stephanie and I snagged two big hits - Strawberry and Rhubarb pie and Dutch apple pie. It was such a great evening and a very special, intimate celebration for two exceptional folks.

Oh, and in case you're wondering, even though I didn't call my Dad on the way to Greenville for a pep talk, I just replayed one of his many encouraging "talks" in my head and, with a sturdy predictability, I could hear my father's voice in my head telling me it was really going to be JUST FINE! "Nothing to it!", I'd hear him say with a wry smile in his voice, exuding the confidence I often find myself running so short of, forgetting more often than I should, that I do come from sturdy stock and that I am stronger and more capable than I believe myself to be most days. I wish I could get those good tapes to kick in automatically without the fear taking hold, and some days I do better than others, but I guess that each time I face what I perceive as an obstacle or challenge, well, maybe something is strengthened that I'm not yet aware of and perhaps it serves a larger purpose. I don't really know why I let myself get into such a state from time to time and allow myself to become flooded with torrents of self-doubt but I guess the good news is that most times I don't allow it to paralyze me or render me immobile. There were times in the past that it used to have that power and in the past few years, I have at least managed to walk through most fears even if I was shaking just a bit so, well, that's progress, right? Yeah, it's OK to say that.

And, as you might imagine, Columbia proved to be "much ado about nothing". By the time I arrive there, it was nearly 10:30 PM, so the rush hour was long finished and put to rest. Only a nutty blond with exhorbitant fears could be found on the highway at that absurd hour and very little traffic was to be found. From Columbia to Greenville, I pretty much had the highway to myself and arrived in Greenville at around 1:30 AM. I know, I know - most rational people would be afraid to be out driving alone at such an hour - I mean - it would be reasonable to fear that the car might break down, that one might suffer a flat tire or engine trouble alongside an empty interstate in a mostly rural part of a southern state. To be afraid of those things would be prudent, rational and completely logical. For me? Those fears never really cross my mind at all. No, I'm more afraid of all of the things least likely to happen, bypassing the events that have a far better chance of causing me trouble. Go figure. If you do, let me know. I sure can't figure it out but, then again, maybe it's because I'm an Aquarian, and just a little crazy. The only physical pain to report from the trip was contained in the fingers of both of my hands, not unusual given the strength of the grip with which I held onto the steering wheel.

Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad and thank you so very much for being exactly who you are, and still taking the time to gently teach me so many things I should have figured out decades ago. Katie, Justin and I love you both so much. As Fred Rogers would say, "just for being you...".