I
may live in temperate Southeastern North Carolina, where winters are
mild and fleeting, but I've literally been SNOWED under lately with
work, stories and the itinerant deadlines.
The topics have been fascinating and nothing if not diverse. The stories are complete and publication starts next month and quite frankly, I'm rather proud of them given the fact that they are far outside the bounds of my comfort zone and niche.
First up: Bridge sensor technology. My super cool editor at PC Magazine has kept me busy and I'm completely grateful for it. He invited me to interview the creator of a new technology that is looming on the horizon and almost ready for its close-up. I had the pleasure of chatting several times with a brilliant and kind professor from Clarkson University, who is the force behind a new brand of technology that not only monitors the structural health of our nations bridges and overpasses, but uses the vibrations (i.e., energy) created by cars crossing the spans and harnesses those waves to create the energy to fuel the sensor itself. This story should be published in the February issue of PC Magazine in the "Front Side" section of the magazine.
In mid-December, Erik gave me something even more complex than bridge sensors to figure out and, at the time, I didn't think there could really be anything MORE complex than bridge sensors. Of course, I was famously wrong. Currently there's a bill winding it's way through Congress and it's "powered" by well-funded lobbyists working for the MPAA and RIAA. In effect, should this bill pass, our nation's 2200 colleges and universities would be forced to assume responsibility for any student within wireless "tapping" distance who might purposefully or unwittingly download a movie or audio file. In other words, it would force institutions of higher learning to take on the role of "police" rather than education and could possibly jeopardize financial aid and grants, because more money will have to be expended to install IT monitoring applications that are not only are ineffective and ridiculously expensive, but some bright student will figure out how to hack into the program the nanosecond it's installed. For this story, I had the privilege of interviewing a top official with Indiana University, as well as the VP for EDUCAUSE, which represents most of the colleges and universities in the US. It was a fascinating story and in the middle of my discussions, my editor was so pleased with my due diligence that he doubled the word count of the story, affording me more room to report the "other side" of the story. It was easily one of the most challenging assignments I've been handed to date, but I learned a great deal and I was honored to write this piece. It's scheduled for publication in late February/early March and I'm eager to see it in print.
Always one to keep me on my toes, Erik tossed me yet another interesting assignment. He must have been paying attention over lunch one day when I mentioned that I loved the water and boats. Last night I completed a piece on a fascinating prototype powerboat, aptly named "Earthrace", which will set off on 1 March 2008 in a quest to circumnavigate the globe and fueled by a "bio diesel" fuel. Pete Bethune, the New Zealand Skipper in charge of this boat not only mortgaged his home and most of his assets to pay for the venture, but in keeping with the theme of using renewable energy sources for fuel, he and two of his crew mates DONATED some of their human body fat via liposuction. When I mentioned this story to a few of my friends, they were most eager to inform me that they would be happy to donate some fat to the cause. This story will appear in PC Magazine's "Green Issue" which is set for publication in April. If you want to learn more about the boat, the captain and plot the course of the voyage of "Earthrace", you can visit www.earthrace.net and learn more about this fascinating adventure. Special thanks to Beverley in the UK for the high resolution photos, technical information and specifics which allowed me to write my story.
In between all of this, I have been working 37 - 42 hours a week at a Drug and Alcohol Assessment Company, processing clients who have received DWI's and are required, by North Carolina law, to complete an assessment following any DWI arrest. I've enjoyed this immensely and have learned a great deal. Not only has working with my new friend Sherry been educational, but she's been a peach in teaching me the ropes, the forms, the process of pulling driving records, Department of Corrections Offender histories and participating in both the ADETS (Alcohol Drug Education Traffic School), short-term and long-term therapy classes. I have gleaned so much in these days at the office and it's almost like being paid to learn even more about the disease of substance abuse and alcoholism and, if the number of times our phone rings is any indication, the problem is wide-spread and growing at an obscene rate.
I've met every age group, socio-economic and educational background, race, gender and varying levels of understanding and I've been exposed to the formidable power of denial. It's astonishing and some days, it's nothing short of heart-breaking. I'm so grateful to be given this opportunity to grow and learn and share and every evening, I become more grateful for my recovery and realize that in terms of "hitting bottom" a little over four years ago, I had a very soft landing.
Tomorrow night, I've been asked to speak at one of the treatment groups we conduct. Sherry has asked me to share a little of my own experiences - in other words, explain what it was like when I was drinking, what happened that inspired me to stop and what life is like now. Keep in mind, I'll be speaking to people in a treatment program who are pretty sure they've landed there by mistake or some wicked twist of fate, so it should be interesting to watch how my words are received. Another different facet to this form of communication is that, while I have written extensively on my alcoholism and recovery, I very rarely speak publicly about it to groups. In fact, it's rare when I share in a meeting, so this is a rather huge stepping stone for me and I won't have my trusty monitor or keyboard to help in the telling of my story. I'll be looking eye to "eyes", and I'll even admit to being a little nervous about the prospect, but the overriding thing I need to keep in mind, is that if I do nothing more than plant a few seeds, share a few past experiences that may ring true and sound familiar to someone in my audience, it may possibly make a difference and in the end, that's the prize. The brass ring. If I keep my purpose and focus on the reality that alcoholism is quite literally a life and death issue, I know inside that God will steady my knocking knees and distill my delivery into what I hope are the right words. He's gotten me THIS far, and I see no reason to doubt my Higher Power's direction. But don't let that stop you for praying that I don't make a complete shambles out of my presentation. Prayers for intercession are encouraged and welcome! You might want to pray for my audience as well.
Which brings me to the end of February and even though February is yet to commence, I have promised myself and my friend at Random House, that I will be flying up on 28 February to deliver more words, in a form I'm much more comfortable and familiar with - written words. Additionally, it will give me the chance to have lunch with my friend Erik at PC Mag, and Glen of RH fame, has promised me a "no holds barred" tour of his stomping grounds which happen to be on the same island that my daughter now calls home: Manhattan...here I come.
I
must also let you know that my wonderful, lovable Daddy celebrated his
83rd (or was it 38th???) birthday on 24 January. This spry young man
made out like a bandit in cards, good wishes, phone calls and I was
most pleased to run out and buy him a new pipe, some special tobacco
and yes, some very spiffy pipe cleaners! From where I stood, he looked
as if he had a fantastic day and it's nothing less than he richly
deserves. He's a pretty wonderful guy and so is his wife. They're both
so blessed to have each other and I'm even more blessed to have them
both. Happy Birthday DADDY!!!!!!In a few days, I'll celebrate 48 crazy, unpredictable, adventure-filled years on this planet. I love birthdays. I love everything about them. I can be heard now and then to complain about turning another year older but, in the grand scheme of things and taking a quick glance at where I've been and, more importantly, where I am, I feel nothing short of blessed to still be around to splash in the waters, dig my toes in the sand and offer up a huge "THANK YOU" to all that is God. Turning 48 doesn't really rattle me because I know, deep inside, I'm still as dazzled and amazed at life as I was when I was 8 or 12 or even twenty.
One more request: There is a certain young man in Cincinnati who is presently undergoing a bone-marrow transplant after two relapses of Acute Lymphoctic Leukemia. If you would be so kind, visit his site at: Matthew Fackler's Website, sign his guestbook and leave a nice message, it would cheer him on immensely. I know that tomorrow night, should I feel my knees start to knock or my voice begin to tremble, I'm going to think of Matthew and remember what he's in the middle of and the courage and style he is exhibiting through his present challenge. He's a true hero. I'm just a hacker. 'Nuff said.
"Wake up Susie,
Put your shoes on,
Walk with me into this life...
Finally this morning,
I'm feeling whole again.
It was a helluva night...
Just to be with you, by my side.
Just to have you near, in my sight.
Just to walk a while, in this light.
Just to know that life goes on."
James
Taylor wrote and performed that song, but I imagine it was exactly what
God was inviting me to do on 11 January 2004. Thank God I finally heard
this life-saving invitation and at the lowest point in my life, feeling
completely beat to a pulp and completely out of options, something
inside of me whispered that perhaps there was another way and maybe
even "another day".
February 6, 1960 remains the date of my birth, the day I was given life. January 12th, 2004 is the day I was graciously afforded the amazing and precious chance to reclaim it. Not everyone gets a second chance. I never want to take that for granted. In many ways, January 12th is much more dear to me than February 6th.
It was a helluva night.
By all accounts, I should not even be alive to write this entry. I drove in a black out and somehow landed in the parking lot of a grocery store about a mile from my home. I have no recollection of the drive, but in the process, I somehow managed not to kill myself or anyone else who might have innocently been in my path. That fact alone is proof positive that God had taken over the steering of my car because I can't imagine how I made the drive from Wrightsville Beach to that parking lot and every single day of my life, I am so grateful that the only casualty was my neighbor's mailbox (it didn't survive). I have no memory of that either, but my friend Kathleen and I connected the dots and somehow it came to light that before landing in the parking lot of a nearby store, I must have made it home, turned around, and by some miracle made it to the parking lot of the closed store.
A
few of the events of that night remain murky but one impossible to
ignore fact is that I was in a very bad place and seriously sick. I
have no idea how long I had been in that parking space, I was passed
out over the steering wheel and though the car was in "park", it was
still running. It was then that one of Wilmington's finest must have
spotted the lone car parked with an idling engine and found me,
knocking on the glass of my window, rousing me from my horrendously
inebriated state.
My memories of what transpired after that are sketchy at best, but I wound up downtown at the police department and I was charged with a DUI and even though the policeman didn't catch me driving, the fact that the car was engaged was enough to earn a ticket I so richly deserved. As that long night progressed, I took advantage of my "one phone call" and for some reason, I called my neighbor across the street from my home, asking if he could come and pick me up. I have no idea how I came to choose him as my one designated call, but in my toxic reasoning, I felt it would be better than calling my parents because I didn't want to worry them. That's how twisted and irrational my reasoning was that night. As if they weren't going out of their minds wondering where in the world I was and how desperately frantic they must have been imagining only the worst possible scenarios. They had lost one daughter in May 1973 and I imagine that they were steeling themselves for the possibility that they may have just lost the other one. When I think of the anguish that my family went through that long night four years ago, I shudder and, as a parent, I can't imagine a worse way to spend a night.
My dad is a logical man and while I was busy downtown being booked with a DUI, he was calling the local hospitals, friends and finally, the police department to see if they knew anything about his missing and unaccounted for daughter. Fortunately, his call was answered by my arresting officer who told my Dad that he had strongly suggested I call my family, but he couldn't talk me into it. He relayed the information to my father that I was confused, disoriented, but still very much alive and that I would be free to leave in a couple of hours.
As dawn began to break on the cold Monday Morning of 12 January 2004, my father and the neighbor I had called earlier, arrived downtown at the police department at about the same time. I went home with my Dad who, upon seeing me, embraced me with a warm hug and was so completely thrilled and relieved that I was alive...maybe not in great shape, but alive. He told me that he loved me and I told him that I thought maybe I just might have a drinking problem. (You think???). My Dad told me that I would be OK and that he and my Mom and my son and daughter would help me any way that they could. There were no lectures on the trip back home. There were only expressions of relief and a well-spring of love, kindness and support. I didn't know much that foggy morning, but I knew that I wasn't alone and that no matter what the coming days might bring, the legal repercussions of my misguided behavior or the status of my impounded Buick, I did have the good sense to know that I was loved, unconditionally.
Three
days later with as much fear as I've ever felt, my son drove me to my
first AA meeting. I was beyond terrified. I knew nothing about the
organization or what any of it was about. I come from a long line of
teetotalers so this was foreign territory for all of us. I didn't know
if AA could truly help me turn things around, but I was desperate
enough to entertain the slightest possibility that there may be hope
for me there. And thank God I was desperate and so frightened. I would
never have sought assistance if I hadn't been. I needed to be knocked
to my knees, it's the perfect position to begin a prayer.
Nearly on the brink of tears and feeling as shaky as I ever have, I walked into that meeting and I found a room full of smiling faces and hearty welcomes. I walked out one hour later with phone numbers and warm embraces from people who would play a pivotal role in my recovery. After just one hour, I emerged feeling as if I had finally found something that made sense. I walked in hopeless and I walked out with the priceless commodity of hope. At that point, I dearly needed hope.
In the past four years, I have made all manner of silly mistakes, stupid errors in judgment, some dreadfully bad decisions and I have faced some difficult situations. I've sailed through twelve hours in a roiling tropical storm and I've experienced a car wreck that completely totaled my car. It's been a busy four years! But the one thing I haven't done is felt the need or had the desire to take a drink. That's amazing and that's all God. That's a miracle.
This matter of "living life on life's terms"
is challenging stuff! Recovery is a serious business because the
disease of alcoholism is progressive and terminal, if left untreated.
It's a deadly disease and we never arrive at a plateau where we who
suffer from it are considered "well", but if we do a few simple things
and follow the suggestions of the what I consider to be a
divinely-inspired program, we can and do get better. Much, much better.
In my mind, "recovery" is a verb, a term of action, ongoing and, if I do the "next right thing", it's never-ending and that's one of the great things about it. At every meeting I attend, I see and hear from people who have relapsed, who have went "back out" and tried living in their old ways, and those are sobering moments for me because the point is driven home that I am only one drink away from the end of my life.
When I first joined AA, I couldn't imagine what kind of life lay before me that didn't include a glass of wine to get through a date, an evening alone, or a social gathering of any sort. What fun could there be in dining out? How would I make painful chit chat or appear "cool" without a glass of merlot in my hand? What joy was there left in this world? I imagined a life akin to that of being a nun and my transforming into the female equivalent of a monk. Surely people who didn't imbibe had to lead completely boring and colorless lives because there was nothing to break the ice, ease the tension and I wondered would I ever be able to laugh again? I knew I could never drink again, but I had it in my mind that my future looked bleak, colorless and without any joy and happiness and that I was evolving into a sad and boring existence, maybe something a librarian could deal with, but I didn't know how in the world I would find much excitement in the rest of the days of my life.
Fortunately
for me, I was fabulously wrong. The idea of never drinking again for
the next 30 or 40 years, if I happened to live that long, struck me as
the most dismal prospect imaginable and I would become sad to consider
the string of sober days ahead of me, with no buzz or mind-numbing
elixir. As the haze of wine slowly lifted and I took in my new reality,
it wasn't too long before I began to sense that rather than enhancing
what I mistook for "a life", I had been making my way with a dulled
sensibility. I couldn't see the forest. My vision was so obscured that
I couldn't even make out the trees.
As I attended more and more meetings, found a wonderful sponsor and finally began getting serious about "working the steps", things began to happen. Life hadn't changed, because life didn't need to change. The change that took place came from the only place that it could and that was within me. As they often say, "it's an inside job" and my interior needed some serious revamping and major reconstruction. My life didn't transform overnight, and I learned to adopt a different method of measuring the mystical nature that is "time". "One Day at a Time" became my metronome, reliably ticking off the measure of my days and it's stood me well. This is a good thing - I needed recalibrating.
In my early days of attending meetings, I would often hear folks with many years in AA joyfully share how happy they were to be alcoholics and how their bottom became the springboard to a life worth living. I would look at these fine people and listen to them and wonder, "how could anyone possibly feel they were blessed to be an alcoholic?". Was it brain damage that sparked such nonsensical declarations? Mental disintegration? They looked sane and happy and completely normal but I couldn't help but wonder if they were out of their minds. I was sure I would never ever live long enough to feel happy about my status of being an alcoholic. Don't get me wrong, I was grateful to be alive and afforded a second chance, but I wasn't happy that I had landed myself in a 12-step group and while I was grateful for many things, alcoholism would never be one of them.
After four years of sobriety, I can unequivocally state without the slightest bit of hesitation or reservation that I am, completely and profoundly, happy to be a recovering alcoholic. My gosh, the blessings of these past four years, the connection with my Higher Power who, for me, is God, the ability to live my life with a measure of sanity I didn't know previously, and to know that, on good days and especially bad days, I am still a child of God and I am loved and cared for, watched over and protected, was worth every stumble I made to earn my seat at the table. I can't imagine how I ever lived "pre-AA" because that doesn't remotely resemble what is now my conception of living. Admitting my powerlessness, that my life had become unmanageable and willing it over to a power much greater than myself, is the kindest act I have ever taken for myself and I renew that admission of powerlessness on a daily basis.
Of the 47 years and eleven months I have been allowed the gift of this life, the past four years have been a period of intense growth, learning, understanding and offered more hope and inspiration on a very personal basis than I could have ever guessed was possible. In the days and weeks following 11 January 2004, I was sure that would forever be a date I would consider to mark the darkest and most painful day in my life and certainly nothing to celebrate but now I know it was the day that I was truly saved from myself and lead away from the wreckage that made up my life. This is a day of gratitude, thanksgiving and an occasion to reiterate my thanks to my family, my friends and most of all God for taking another chance on me. It is a day to celebrate the most precious gift I was ever allowed. It is a day of hope and joy and a study in unmerited grace; a reason to look forward to a future with the hope of lots of days to be spent at the doable rate of, one day at a time.
I am so very glad I woke up, walked into the LIGHT, and eternally grateful that I finally found my way. To my precious family (Barbe, Maxine, Katie and Justin), my cadre of crazy friends, Officer Locklear (for being the catalyst of change), Hearing Officer J. Stewart (for having faith in me and allowing me to get back behind the wheel), Peter at Monitech (for making me laugh every time I visit), Amy Hotz, (for the nice profile in the Wilmington Star), Erik Rhey (for feeding me so many interesting assignments for "PC Magazine" - this latest one takes the cake!), Glen Edelstein of Random House (for reminding me of the work that needs to be completed and delivered), and all of the angels who light my way on a daily basis and most of all, to God, I offer my deepest and most heartfelt appreciation for another year of magnificent miracles.
In case you missed my message, there IS life after putting down the bottle. That's the best part.
February 6, 1960 remains the date of my birth, the day I was given life. January 12th, 2004 is the day I was graciously afforded the amazing and precious chance to reclaim it. Not everyone gets a second chance. I never want to take that for granted. In many ways, January 12th is much more dear to me than February 6th.
It was a helluva night.
By all accounts, I should not even be alive to write this entry. I drove in a black out and somehow landed in the parking lot of a grocery store about a mile from my home. I have no recollection of the drive, but in the process, I somehow managed not to kill myself or anyone else who might have innocently been in my path. That fact alone is proof positive that God had taken over the steering of my car because I can't imagine how I made the drive from Wrightsville Beach to that parking lot and every single day of my life, I am so grateful that the only casualty was my neighbor's mailbox (it didn't survive). I have no memory of that either, but my friend Kathleen and I connected the dots and somehow it came to light that before landing in the parking lot of a nearby store, I must have made it home, turned around, and by some miracle made it to the parking lot of the closed store.
A
few of the events of that night remain murky but one impossible to
ignore fact is that I was in a very bad place and seriously sick. I
have no idea how long I had been in that parking space, I was passed
out over the steering wheel and though the car was in "park", it was
still running. It was then that one of Wilmington's finest must have
spotted the lone car parked with an idling engine and found me,
knocking on the glass of my window, rousing me from my horrendously
inebriated state.My memories of what transpired after that are sketchy at best, but I wound up downtown at the police department and I was charged with a DUI and even though the policeman didn't catch me driving, the fact that the car was engaged was enough to earn a ticket I so richly deserved. As that long night progressed, I took advantage of my "one phone call" and for some reason, I called my neighbor across the street from my home, asking if he could come and pick me up. I have no idea how I came to choose him as my one designated call, but in my toxic reasoning, I felt it would be better than calling my parents because I didn't want to worry them. That's how twisted and irrational my reasoning was that night. As if they weren't going out of their minds wondering where in the world I was and how desperately frantic they must have been imagining only the worst possible scenarios. They had lost one daughter in May 1973 and I imagine that they were steeling themselves for the possibility that they may have just lost the other one. When I think of the anguish that my family went through that long night four years ago, I shudder and, as a parent, I can't imagine a worse way to spend a night.
My dad is a logical man and while I was busy downtown being booked with a DUI, he was calling the local hospitals, friends and finally, the police department to see if they knew anything about his missing and unaccounted for daughter. Fortunately, his call was answered by my arresting officer who told my Dad that he had strongly suggested I call my family, but he couldn't talk me into it. He relayed the information to my father that I was confused, disoriented, but still very much alive and that I would be free to leave in a couple of hours.
As dawn began to break on the cold Monday Morning of 12 January 2004, my father and the neighbor I had called earlier, arrived downtown at the police department at about the same time. I went home with my Dad who, upon seeing me, embraced me with a warm hug and was so completely thrilled and relieved that I was alive...maybe not in great shape, but alive. He told me that he loved me and I told him that I thought maybe I just might have a drinking problem. (You think???). My Dad told me that I would be OK and that he and my Mom and my son and daughter would help me any way that they could. There were no lectures on the trip back home. There were only expressions of relief and a well-spring of love, kindness and support. I didn't know much that foggy morning, but I knew that I wasn't alone and that no matter what the coming days might bring, the legal repercussions of my misguided behavior or the status of my impounded Buick, I did have the good sense to know that I was loved, unconditionally.
Three
days later with as much fear as I've ever felt, my son drove me to my
first AA meeting. I was beyond terrified. I knew nothing about the
organization or what any of it was about. I come from a long line of
teetotalers so this was foreign territory for all of us. I didn't know
if AA could truly help me turn things around, but I was desperate
enough to entertain the slightest possibility that there may be hope
for me there. And thank God I was desperate and so frightened. I would
never have sought assistance if I hadn't been. I needed to be knocked
to my knees, it's the perfect position to begin a prayer.Nearly on the brink of tears and feeling as shaky as I ever have, I walked into that meeting and I found a room full of smiling faces and hearty welcomes. I walked out one hour later with phone numbers and warm embraces from people who would play a pivotal role in my recovery. After just one hour, I emerged feeling as if I had finally found something that made sense. I walked in hopeless and I walked out with the priceless commodity of hope. At that point, I dearly needed hope.
In the past four years, I have made all manner of silly mistakes, stupid errors in judgment, some dreadfully bad decisions and I have faced some difficult situations. I've sailed through twelve hours in a roiling tropical storm and I've experienced a car wreck that completely totaled my car. It's been a busy four years! But the one thing I haven't done is felt the need or had the desire to take a drink. That's amazing and that's all God. That's a miracle.
This matter of "living life on life's terms"
is challenging stuff! Recovery is a serious business because the
disease of alcoholism is progressive and terminal, if left untreated.
It's a deadly disease and we never arrive at a plateau where we who
suffer from it are considered "well", but if we do a few simple things
and follow the suggestions of the what I consider to be a
divinely-inspired program, we can and do get better. Much, much better.In my mind, "recovery" is a verb, a term of action, ongoing and, if I do the "next right thing", it's never-ending and that's one of the great things about it. At every meeting I attend, I see and hear from people who have relapsed, who have went "back out" and tried living in their old ways, and those are sobering moments for me because the point is driven home that I am only one drink away from the end of my life.
When I first joined AA, I couldn't imagine what kind of life lay before me that didn't include a glass of wine to get through a date, an evening alone, or a social gathering of any sort. What fun could there be in dining out? How would I make painful chit chat or appear "cool" without a glass of merlot in my hand? What joy was there left in this world? I imagined a life akin to that of being a nun and my transforming into the female equivalent of a monk. Surely people who didn't imbibe had to lead completely boring and colorless lives because there was nothing to break the ice, ease the tension and I wondered would I ever be able to laugh again? I knew I could never drink again, but I had it in my mind that my future looked bleak, colorless and without any joy and happiness and that I was evolving into a sad and boring existence, maybe something a librarian could deal with, but I didn't know how in the world I would find much excitement in the rest of the days of my life.
Fortunately
for me, I was fabulously wrong. The idea of never drinking again for
the next 30 or 40 years, if I happened to live that long, struck me as
the most dismal prospect imaginable and I would become sad to consider
the string of sober days ahead of me, with no buzz or mind-numbing
elixir. As the haze of wine slowly lifted and I took in my new reality,
it wasn't too long before I began to sense that rather than enhancing
what I mistook for "a life", I had been making my way with a dulled
sensibility. I couldn't see the forest. My vision was so obscured that
I couldn't even make out the trees.As I attended more and more meetings, found a wonderful sponsor and finally began getting serious about "working the steps", things began to happen. Life hadn't changed, because life didn't need to change. The change that took place came from the only place that it could and that was within me. As they often say, "it's an inside job" and my interior needed some serious revamping and major reconstruction. My life didn't transform overnight, and I learned to adopt a different method of measuring the mystical nature that is "time". "One Day at a Time" became my metronome, reliably ticking off the measure of my days and it's stood me well. This is a good thing - I needed recalibrating.
In my early days of attending meetings, I would often hear folks with many years in AA joyfully share how happy they were to be alcoholics and how their bottom became the springboard to a life worth living. I would look at these fine people and listen to them and wonder, "how could anyone possibly feel they were blessed to be an alcoholic?". Was it brain damage that sparked such nonsensical declarations? Mental disintegration? They looked sane and happy and completely normal but I couldn't help but wonder if they were out of their minds. I was sure I would never ever live long enough to feel happy about my status of being an alcoholic. Don't get me wrong, I was grateful to be alive and afforded a second chance, but I wasn't happy that I had landed myself in a 12-step group and while I was grateful for many things, alcoholism would never be one of them.
After four years of sobriety, I can unequivocally state without the slightest bit of hesitation or reservation that I am, completely and profoundly, happy to be a recovering alcoholic. My gosh, the blessings of these past four years, the connection with my Higher Power who, for me, is God, the ability to live my life with a measure of sanity I didn't know previously, and to know that, on good days and especially bad days, I am still a child of God and I am loved and cared for, watched over and protected, was worth every stumble I made to earn my seat at the table. I can't imagine how I ever lived "pre-AA" because that doesn't remotely resemble what is now my conception of living. Admitting my powerlessness, that my life had become unmanageable and willing it over to a power much greater than myself, is the kindest act I have ever taken for myself and I renew that admission of powerlessness on a daily basis.
Of the 47 years and eleven months I have been allowed the gift of this life, the past four years have been a period of intense growth, learning, understanding and offered more hope and inspiration on a very personal basis than I could have ever guessed was possible. In the days and weeks following 11 January 2004, I was sure that would forever be a date I would consider to mark the darkest and most painful day in my life and certainly nothing to celebrate but now I know it was the day that I was truly saved from myself and lead away from the wreckage that made up my life. This is a day of gratitude, thanksgiving and an occasion to reiterate my thanks to my family, my friends and most of all God for taking another chance on me. It is a day to celebrate the most precious gift I was ever allowed. It is a day of hope and joy and a study in unmerited grace; a reason to look forward to a future with the hope of lots of days to be spent at the doable rate of, one day at a time.
I am so very glad I woke up, walked into the LIGHT, and eternally grateful that I finally found my way. To my precious family (Barbe, Maxine, Katie and Justin), my cadre of crazy friends, Officer Locklear (for being the catalyst of change), Hearing Officer J. Stewart (for having faith in me and allowing me to get back behind the wheel), Peter at Monitech (for making me laugh every time I visit), Amy Hotz, (for the nice profile in the Wilmington Star), Erik Rhey (for feeding me so many interesting assignments for "PC Magazine" - this latest one takes the cake!), Glen Edelstein of Random House (for reminding me of the work that needs to be completed and delivered), and all of the angels who light my way on a daily basis and most of all, to God, I offer my deepest and most heartfelt appreciation for another year of magnificent miracles.
In case you missed my message, there IS life after putting down the bottle. That's the best part.
"Wake up Susie,
Put your shoes on,
Walk with me into this light.
Another night has gone.
Life goes on.
Another dawn is breaking.
Turn and face the sun.
One by one,
The world outside is waking.
Morning light is driven away
All the shadows that hide your way.
And night has given away, to the promise of another day...
Another day,
Another chance that we may finally find our way,
Another day,
The sun has begun to melt all my fears away...
Another day, another day.
Oh, wake up Susie,
Put your shoes on,
Walk with me into this light." ~ James Taylor, "Another Day"
I have a confession: I am a closet political junkie. MSNBC (Tim Russert and Keith Olbermann) and CNN (Anderson Cooper) are my Dealers. Courtesy of their reportage, I have been taking hits of Barack Obama, John Edwards, Mike Huckabee, John McCain, and Rudy Guiliani. Things haven't become so bad that I've been driven to try Hilary Clinton - I mean, I'm not in a "dark" place and that would be the equivalent of "hitting bottom" as far as I'm concerned.
So I've been Googling
because I need information. I guess I consider myself a political
independent but I've always had Republican leanings, though our present
President has pretty much left a bad taste in my mouth with regard for
republicans, although I like to think of myself as an open-minded sort.
I stood in the rain for almost three hours on a cold November day in
2000, soaking wet but determined to cast my vote in order to elevate
George to an office he's turned into a complete disarray. I broke up
with George W. Bush several years ago and nearly lost interest in all things political. However, the occasion of the Iowa Caucuses have become my personal excuse for a recent political relapse.
Admittedly
and with no apologies, I have absolutely no love for Hilary Clinton. As
disappointed as I am with GWB, I can't imagine the pain of having to
see her facade or hear her shrill voice pinging from my television set
for the next four years. Though I went into the Iowa Caucus coverage
knowing next to nothing about Barack Obama, and feeling no affection
for John Edwards, I found myself cheering anyone who could unseat her
from her self-appointed throne as the implied Democratic front-runner.
Whatever Obama or Edwards did or did not represent, it had to be better
than anything Hilary could offer and I was more than pleased to watch
her uneasily try and pull it together in what was anything but a
conciliatory speech Thursday Night after the results of the Iowa Caucus
were declared. I detest her. I would cast a write-in vote for her
husband before I would ever cast a vote for her, and I have absolutely
no respect for him, but the guy is nothing if not charismatic. I find
her a few steps below the calibration of repulsive.
But it's odd to find myself cheering on candidates that I know so very little about, and it is because of this that I have been burning up my keyboard in search of answers. I mean, if I'm going to wish success for someone, I'd like to know a little something about them. I would hate to be questioned about my support for candidate X or Y and offer up my reasoning as being, "Well, X or Y isn't Hilary Clinton, and that's good enough for me!". How insane and illogical would that be? I'm not comfortable with that at all. I need information. Facts. A rap sheet. I want answers. I want to see a platform rather than platitudes. Like many Americans, I find myself undecided and confused. I don't care at all what party banner they campaign beneath, or whether they are "red and yellow, black and white". I don't want to know the "spin". I want the truth and that seems to be a very difficult item to unearth and disseminate.
Thanks Arianna Huffington, but I don't quite consider you the source of a deep well-spring of truth. You're a marketing maven, but hardly what I'm looking for in terms of breaking news and/or hard evidence.
Tip O'Neill once said that "all politics is local", and perhaps at one time it was, but that had to be "pre-Internet". In this age of real-time information and real-time disinformation, it strikes me that "all politics is spin". Spin makes me disgruntled and dizzy. I don't want spin, I want the truth. I wonder where it's hiding and I wonder what it is?
It appears as if this is a daunting task, this fact-finding stuff. I have two aquariums in my home and even though the water can look crystal clear, I can sometimes tell that all is not well in the watery world my fish inhabit. For instance, if I notice the smallest change in behavior or note a lack of enthusiasm when food is introduced, I am instantly reminded to examine "the facts". I note the temperature, I check to see if the filter cartridges are spent and need replaced and if both of these vitals check out and yet, for some reason, my fish are acting "fishy", I test the water with strips that report the true condition of what looks like perfectly balanced water and, many times, I am chagrined to discover that the clarity of the water disguises a dangerous shift in pH, or that my fish are finning around in an ammonia soup, too many nitrites, or that my precious black mollies are on the verge of an icky "ick"epidemic because I was trusting that the sparkling appearance of their home meant all was well in their world. After I apply several "litmus tests", only then can I truly decipher the habitability of their aqua-habitat and the true quality of their life. Of course, after I read the results and determine the ranges that need to be adjusted in order to ensure a return to homeostasis, my fish return to the business of being happy fish and behaving as fish are supposed to behave.
Were it so easy in the larger (s)tank of politics. What IS the litmus test? Where can I find those test strips? What's the true nature of the brand of "clarity" being broadcast from the cacophony of contenders? Who can I trust? Who's hiding something? Which one is speaking out of both sides of his/her mouth and how can I rely on any word that any of these people are saying?
Take the case of charming, "aw shucks" Mike Huckabee. I watched and listened to a round table discussion comprised of Tim Russert (who I unabashedly respect), Andrea Mitchell (covers Hilary Clinton's 'campaign' and who looks tired and so 'over it'), David Gregory (covers Huckabee's campaign and wearing Prada boots), and NBC News Political Director Chuck Todd. I listened as David Gregory was outlining the facts (as he saw them) on Huckabee and most of them were positive and endearing even. And then reporter Chuck Todd said something along the lines of, "but have you not heard what the people inside of Arkansas say about the guy? What his former constituents truly think of him?". Right along with David Gregory, I felt my mood shift. Huh? What? A dark side to Mike Huckabee? I need to know about that. What is being alluded to here that I need to know?
More googling. More wikipedia. More questions. There was that nasty incident with his son, David, ten years ago when his son was somehow implicated in participating in the hanging of a stray dog as he was involved with some activity having to do with the Boy Scouts. I found an article in Newsweek: "A Son's Past Could Come Back to Bite Huckabee". Geez, as if the photo on that site of his son isn't enough to scare you and make you wonder if Mike Huckabee might have married his first cousin, after you get past that, the facts of the story are unsavory and uncovers a situation that involves animal cruelty and the subsequent firing of an Arkansas State employee because he didn't hide the facts very well. What do Arkansans know about Mike Huckabee from first-hand experience that I should know and why do I care that Chuck Norris is grinning broadly behind the candidate as he makes his glowing acceptance speech in Iowa Thursday Night? I don't care that Chuck Norris is backing Mike Huckabee. I want to know why I should. Where is the litmus test strip?
What about the candidate's spouses? Do they matter and should they be a factor in the race? Theoretically, I believe the answer is no, but we don't live in "theory". We live in reality and the reality is I need to find something positive about a candidate's spouse. Who's going to have the most profound effect on a future president? His or her cabinet? Get real. The influence will emanate from the person they begin and end each day with and there's no point in pretending otherwise. Judith Nathan Guiliani's face and plastic smile make my skin crawl. She has "other woman" written all over her and she could be the most kind and wonderful person in the world, but that's not what she projects to me. Obama's wife, Michelle, appears poised, intelligent and almost reluctant to be in the spotlight and I like that. Cindy McCain appears as if her face got frozen in a plastic surgery procedure gone awry. Ms. Huckabee looks a little matronly and like some of my elementary school teachers...the ones I recall as being terribly boring.
Bill Clinton is, well, Bill Clinton. I'm sure he would be gracious and entertaining, but I definitely wouldn't feel comfortable if he "watched over" the staff when Hilary was away on presidential business. Let's face it, he's got the brains, the looks, the charisma and the double-coated teflon and she's got...well, she's got to find something else to do. I'm sure she has a personality, but it just doesn't connect very well with "real" America. Do you ever watch her and just get the feeling that she's doing everything she can NOT to explode when she's crossed or contradicted and can you imagine what a mess that might be? I conjure this image of an automaton, with twisted steel springs and nuts and bolts shooting in all kinds of directions...a lot like a dirty bomb.
I'm confused. I'm slightly cynical and maybe I feel a little jaded by it all, but I also understand that I need to be engaged in it because whoever wins the next presidential election could have a major impact on my life and the lives of the people I love and future people I will love (grandchildren). It's confounding, and I swear I am so sick of hearing the overuse of the new buzzword "Change". Hilary Clinton spent untold millions of dollars and hundreds of days in the State of Iowa over the past couple of years, and somehow, Friday Morning, she shares with a reporter how Iowa really doesn't have all that great of a record in predicting who will ultimately be the next president of the United States. Wow Hilary, why did you spend so many millions of dollars and vast quantities of your precious time trying to cajole people into casting a ballot for you? Were you bored? Not much going on in the Senate? At the very least, own your bad performance and sad showing. Just OWN it, already.
With all due (or undue) respect to Mitt Romney, I would be less than honest or forthright if I didn't admit that his Mormon background bothers me. I've read several books written on the subject of Mormanism and by people who have left it, ("Under the Banner of Heaven" by Jon Krakauer and "Leaving the Saints" by Martha Beck - just to name a couple), that it creates an undeniable discomfort within me to embrace a candidate that practices and believes in the tenets of that sect. Frankly, I'd be just as uncomfortable with a candidate who professed to be a Scientologist, or a follower of Santeria. I realize we're supposed to maintain a separation between church and state, but most of us do care about the beliefs and practices of those we elevate to lead the nation.
It can't be overlooked, in this vast murky tank of tumult, the effects of the "talking heads". As handsome as I believe Keith Olbermann is, or as interesting as I find Tim Russert to be, there are times when I'm convinced the media is just another cog in the political machinery. I like Tom Brokaw and I even share the same birthdate with the guy (though not the same year!), but I don't really care what "his" opinions might be. The most elusive quantity in this election season seems to be the ability to find information without an opinion attached. Pure truth. The opportunity to examine unspun facts and form an opinion based solely on "just the facts". If you think I'm taking the so-called "liberal media" to task, don't even get me started on Fox News' Bill O'Reilly or Sean Hannity. They send my annoyance numbers into the triple digits.
Presently, I'm looking closely into Barack Obama. I'm reading anything that looks credible to try and get an idea into who this man is and what makes him tick. He certainly has a great education, an impressive wife and two cute kids. I'm only slightly annoyed that he's one year younger than me, but I certainly wouldn't let that become a deal breaker in terms of affecting my decision to cast a vote for a candidate. I suppose it's just an interesting moment to consider that at 47, I am now one year older than one of the candidates running for president of the United States. You know, like the first time you visit a doctor and are deflated to realize he's younger than you are. I hate reminders that I'm getting older because I swear I'm not.
I know this is a very ticklish and sensitive topic to write about, but I'm not coming out for anyone at this point and what I'm wondering is, how do any of us get to the core of the candidates? It's a shameful sham. As for me, I'm going to keep googling and searching and watching and wondering.
Wouldn't it be wonderful to believe in someone without having to figure out who represents the lesser of all evils? Is that still possible? Well, with the current offerings, I have my doubts. It seems to require a great deal of digging to find out which candidate is least likely to jerk us around, lie to us, raise our taxes and usurp our futures the most painfully. Instead of considering which person to vote FOR, I almost feel as if what I'm really trying to uncover is who to vote AGAINST. I know our system of government wasn't set up to work this way, but sadly I feel that it has become just that.
Barack Obama wrote a book entitled, "The Audacity of Hope". In reviewing and learning more about the current cast of characters running for office, it's not the audacity of hope that piques my curiosity as much as the elusive and fragile quality of it's existence. Politically speaking, anyway.
"American REALLY needs you, Harry Truman. Harry, could you please come home?"
But it's odd to find myself cheering on candidates that I know so very little about, and it is because of this that I have been burning up my keyboard in search of answers. I mean, if I'm going to wish success for someone, I'd like to know a little something about them. I would hate to be questioned about my support for candidate X or Y and offer up my reasoning as being, "Well, X or Y isn't Hilary Clinton, and that's good enough for me!". How insane and illogical would that be? I'm not comfortable with that at all. I need information. Facts. A rap sheet. I want answers. I want to see a platform rather than platitudes. Like many Americans, I find myself undecided and confused. I don't care at all what party banner they campaign beneath, or whether they are "red and yellow, black and white". I don't want to know the "spin". I want the truth and that seems to be a very difficult item to unearth and disseminate.
Thanks Arianna Huffington, but I don't quite consider you the source of a deep well-spring of truth. You're a marketing maven, but hardly what I'm looking for in terms of breaking news and/or hard evidence.
Tip O'Neill once said that "all politics is local", and perhaps at one time it was, but that had to be "pre-Internet". In this age of real-time information and real-time disinformation, it strikes me that "all politics is spin". Spin makes me disgruntled and dizzy. I don't want spin, I want the truth. I wonder where it's hiding and I wonder what it is?
It appears as if this is a daunting task, this fact-finding stuff. I have two aquariums in my home and even though the water can look crystal clear, I can sometimes tell that all is not well in the watery world my fish inhabit. For instance, if I notice the smallest change in behavior or note a lack of enthusiasm when food is introduced, I am instantly reminded to examine "the facts". I note the temperature, I check to see if the filter cartridges are spent and need replaced and if both of these vitals check out and yet, for some reason, my fish are acting "fishy", I test the water with strips that report the true condition of what looks like perfectly balanced water and, many times, I am chagrined to discover that the clarity of the water disguises a dangerous shift in pH, or that my fish are finning around in an ammonia soup, too many nitrites, or that my precious black mollies are on the verge of an icky "ick"epidemic because I was trusting that the sparkling appearance of their home meant all was well in their world. After I apply several "litmus tests", only then can I truly decipher the habitability of their aqua-habitat and the true quality of their life. Of course, after I read the results and determine the ranges that need to be adjusted in order to ensure a return to homeostasis, my fish return to the business of being happy fish and behaving as fish are supposed to behave.
Were it so easy in the larger (s)tank of politics. What IS the litmus test? Where can I find those test strips? What's the true nature of the brand of "clarity" being broadcast from the cacophony of contenders? Who can I trust? Who's hiding something? Which one is speaking out of both sides of his/her mouth and how can I rely on any word that any of these people are saying?
Take the case of charming, "aw shucks" Mike Huckabee. I watched and listened to a round table discussion comprised of Tim Russert (who I unabashedly respect), Andrea Mitchell (covers Hilary Clinton's 'campaign' and who looks tired and so 'over it'), David Gregory (covers Huckabee's campaign and wearing Prada boots), and NBC News Political Director Chuck Todd. I listened as David Gregory was outlining the facts (as he saw them) on Huckabee and most of them were positive and endearing even. And then reporter Chuck Todd said something along the lines of, "but have you not heard what the people inside of Arkansas say about the guy? What his former constituents truly think of him?". Right along with David Gregory, I felt my mood shift. Huh? What? A dark side to Mike Huckabee? I need to know about that. What is being alluded to here that I need to know?
More googling. More wikipedia. More questions. There was that nasty incident with his son, David, ten years ago when his son was somehow implicated in participating in the hanging of a stray dog as he was involved with some activity having to do with the Boy Scouts. I found an article in Newsweek: "A Son's Past Could Come Back to Bite Huckabee". Geez, as if the photo on that site of his son isn't enough to scare you and make you wonder if Mike Huckabee might have married his first cousin, after you get past that, the facts of the story are unsavory and uncovers a situation that involves animal cruelty and the subsequent firing of an Arkansas State employee because he didn't hide the facts very well. What do Arkansans know about Mike Huckabee from first-hand experience that I should know and why do I care that Chuck Norris is grinning broadly behind the candidate as he makes his glowing acceptance speech in Iowa Thursday Night? I don't care that Chuck Norris is backing Mike Huckabee. I want to know why I should. Where is the litmus test strip?
What about the candidate's spouses? Do they matter and should they be a factor in the race? Theoretically, I believe the answer is no, but we don't live in "theory". We live in reality and the reality is I need to find something positive about a candidate's spouse. Who's going to have the most profound effect on a future president? His or her cabinet? Get real. The influence will emanate from the person they begin and end each day with and there's no point in pretending otherwise. Judith Nathan Guiliani's face and plastic smile make my skin crawl. She has "other woman" written all over her and she could be the most kind and wonderful person in the world, but that's not what she projects to me. Obama's wife, Michelle, appears poised, intelligent and almost reluctant to be in the spotlight and I like that. Cindy McCain appears as if her face got frozen in a plastic surgery procedure gone awry. Ms. Huckabee looks a little matronly and like some of my elementary school teachers...the ones I recall as being terribly boring.
Bill Clinton is, well, Bill Clinton. I'm sure he would be gracious and entertaining, but I definitely wouldn't feel comfortable if he "watched over" the staff when Hilary was away on presidential business. Let's face it, he's got the brains, the looks, the charisma and the double-coated teflon and she's got...well, she's got to find something else to do. I'm sure she has a personality, but it just doesn't connect very well with "real" America. Do you ever watch her and just get the feeling that she's doing everything she can NOT to explode when she's crossed or contradicted and can you imagine what a mess that might be? I conjure this image of an automaton, with twisted steel springs and nuts and bolts shooting in all kinds of directions...a lot like a dirty bomb.
I'm confused. I'm slightly cynical and maybe I feel a little jaded by it all, but I also understand that I need to be engaged in it because whoever wins the next presidential election could have a major impact on my life and the lives of the people I love and future people I will love (grandchildren). It's confounding, and I swear I am so sick of hearing the overuse of the new buzzword "Change". Hilary Clinton spent untold millions of dollars and hundreds of days in the State of Iowa over the past couple of years, and somehow, Friday Morning, she shares with a reporter how Iowa really doesn't have all that great of a record in predicting who will ultimately be the next president of the United States. Wow Hilary, why did you spend so many millions of dollars and vast quantities of your precious time trying to cajole people into casting a ballot for you? Were you bored? Not much going on in the Senate? At the very least, own your bad performance and sad showing. Just OWN it, already.
With all due (or undue) respect to Mitt Romney, I would be less than honest or forthright if I didn't admit that his Mormon background bothers me. I've read several books written on the subject of Mormanism and by people who have left it, ("Under the Banner of Heaven" by Jon Krakauer and "Leaving the Saints" by Martha Beck - just to name a couple), that it creates an undeniable discomfort within me to embrace a candidate that practices and believes in the tenets of that sect. Frankly, I'd be just as uncomfortable with a candidate who professed to be a Scientologist, or a follower of Santeria. I realize we're supposed to maintain a separation between church and state, but most of us do care about the beliefs and practices of those we elevate to lead the nation.
It can't be overlooked, in this vast murky tank of tumult, the effects of the "talking heads". As handsome as I believe Keith Olbermann is, or as interesting as I find Tim Russert to be, there are times when I'm convinced the media is just another cog in the political machinery. I like Tom Brokaw and I even share the same birthdate with the guy (though not the same year!), but I don't really care what "his" opinions might be. The most elusive quantity in this election season seems to be the ability to find information without an opinion attached. Pure truth. The opportunity to examine unspun facts and form an opinion based solely on "just the facts". If you think I'm taking the so-called "liberal media" to task, don't even get me started on Fox News' Bill O'Reilly or Sean Hannity. They send my annoyance numbers into the triple digits.
Presently, I'm looking closely into Barack Obama. I'm reading anything that looks credible to try and get an idea into who this man is and what makes him tick. He certainly has a great education, an impressive wife and two cute kids. I'm only slightly annoyed that he's one year younger than me, but I certainly wouldn't let that become a deal breaker in terms of affecting my decision to cast a vote for a candidate. I suppose it's just an interesting moment to consider that at 47, I am now one year older than one of the candidates running for president of the United States. You know, like the first time you visit a doctor and are deflated to realize he's younger than you are. I hate reminders that I'm getting older because I swear I'm not.
I know this is a very ticklish and sensitive topic to write about, but I'm not coming out for anyone at this point and what I'm wondering is, how do any of us get to the core of the candidates? It's a shameful sham. As for me, I'm going to keep googling and searching and watching and wondering.
Wouldn't it be wonderful to believe in someone without having to figure out who represents the lesser of all evils? Is that still possible? Well, with the current offerings, I have my doubts. It seems to require a great deal of digging to find out which candidate is least likely to jerk us around, lie to us, raise our taxes and usurp our futures the most painfully. Instead of considering which person to vote FOR, I almost feel as if what I'm really trying to uncover is who to vote AGAINST. I know our system of government wasn't set up to work this way, but sadly I feel that it has become just that.
Barack Obama wrote a book entitled, "The Audacity of Hope". In reviewing and learning more about the current cast of characters running for office, it's not the audacity of hope that piques my curiosity as much as the elusive and fragile quality of it's existence. Politically speaking, anyway.
"American REALLY needs you, Harry Truman. Harry, could you please come home?"
...was
gathered in the family room of my home Christmas Morning and they came
with names: Granny, Pops, Katie and Justin. If the names look familiar,
that's only because they happen to be the monikers by which my parents,
daughter and son are known by.We
were joined throughout the week with warm visits from friends. Another
year around the Christmas tree, healthy, happy and just as crazy as we
ever were. Who needs anything more? I can't imagine.
John joined us Friday Afternoon and we very much loved having him with us for a couple of days. He shared his holiday with his lovely mother, Nina, who lives in Cary. Last night, Katie, Justin, John, Stephanie and I had a late dinner at Henry's. I looked around the table at my 24 year old daughter and my 21 year old son and I felt so completely blessed to be sharing dinner with them and each minute in their company this past week has been a keen reminder of how very much I love them both.
John
and Katie left around 10:15 this morning, headed for Cary where they
will turn in the car they borrowed from John's brother, and head for
the airport and then onto their home in Manhattan. I am understandably
sad to see them leave, and I started missing Katie long before she left
this morning, but she's happy and it shows. We're very pleased to see
her enjoying her life, even if it means she goes about living her life
up North.
I have so many happy memories of Christmases when the kids were really kids, but I find I'm making new ones in spite of the fact their just a tad bit older. The smiles, the laughter, the teasing and giggles that have wafted throughout the house this past week, are precious and they reverberate long after everyone has scattered again, as everyone eventually must. I am so grateful for this past week which held more joy than I could possibly ever begin to merit. I am so thankful to God for assigning me the specific individuals who make my life so incredibly rich.
We
ranged in age from 21 to 84, but I think each of us would state
categorically that this was easily one of our best Christmases because
we had the good sense to know how exquisite it is to share time
together. My mind is, in fact, rather like a "Flickr Badge" with
revolving memories from this past week, most of which were not captured
by the camera but exposed to my heart. I'll keep those images there and
each time I revisit them, I'll be reminded of just how sweet life truly
is.
More later...
John joined us Friday Afternoon and we very much loved having him with us for a couple of days. He shared his holiday with his lovely mother, Nina, who lives in Cary. Last night, Katie, Justin, John, Stephanie and I had a late dinner at Henry's. I looked around the table at my 24 year old daughter and my 21 year old son and I felt so completely blessed to be sharing dinner with them and each minute in their company this past week has been a keen reminder of how very much I love them both.
John
and Katie left around 10:15 this morning, headed for Cary where they
will turn in the car they borrowed from John's brother, and head for
the airport and then onto their home in Manhattan. I am understandably
sad to see them leave, and I started missing Katie long before she left
this morning, but she's happy and it shows. We're very pleased to see
her enjoying her life, even if it means she goes about living her life
up North.I have so many happy memories of Christmases when the kids were really kids, but I find I'm making new ones in spite of the fact their just a tad bit older. The smiles, the laughter, the teasing and giggles that have wafted throughout the house this past week, are precious and they reverberate long after everyone has scattered again, as everyone eventually must. I am so grateful for this past week which held more joy than I could possibly ever begin to merit. I am so thankful to God for assigning me the specific individuals who make my life so incredibly rich.
We
ranged in age from 21 to 84, but I think each of us would state
categorically that this was easily one of our best Christmases because
we had the good sense to know how exquisite it is to share time
together. My mind is, in fact, rather like a "Flickr Badge" with
revolving memories from this past week, most of which were not captured
by the camera but exposed to my heart. I'll keep those images there and
each time I revisit them, I'll be reminded of just how sweet life truly
is.More later...
It's
been a busy couple of weeks since my last update. When I start
receiving E-mail asking me if I've sailed away with a rogue, pirate
captain (again), I realize it's time to update and quell such nonsense.
I promise I've learned my lesson and I'll thoroughly check and recheck
the next sailboat captain I take off with - you have my word! I'm silly
but I wouldn't make that same mistake twice...well, certainly not
within the span of the same year, anyway! And honest, I've sworn off
ALL ENGAGEMENTS for the remainder of 2007. I'm firm about that. I'm
practicing..."just say no"!
If you're reading this, I wonder, are you ready for Christmas? I'm certainly not but I never am. I would be deeply concerned if I was prepared because I'm sure something would be critically wrong. I've just accepted I'm not wired that way and my close friends and relatives know this and they seem to have accepted it which makes all concerned happy, joyous and free!
Let's see, since last I penned this blog, life's been spinning along, just as it's supposed to - in unpredictable directions, tossing in just enough surprises and challenges to make these days interesting, but I'm still smiling, writing this from my FRESHLY PAINTED office, surrounded by Felix, Magella
n,
Princess and Sylvester. Cassie darts in and out just to check on things
and see if we're all behaving. Most of the time we aren't. She loves us
anyway.Yes, I painted my office. I consulted my artistic buddy Bobbi and she suggested a scheme that sounded great to me so I got on with it. My office was the last holdout and if ever there was a colorful room in this house, souvenir and memory wise, it is this office which my kids affectionately refer to as "Central Command". I have no real power, but it makes me think I do and I'm sure it's only been assigned such a nickname simply to assuage my ego and make me believe I have the tiniest measure of control. What a laugh.
But
the painting project turned out lovely. I also redid the photo collage
that now hangs over the love seat situated in this room and it makes me
smile every time I pause to peruse it. It's reflective of my family
which is another way of saying it's the center of my universe. The
heart of life.It's also the room that Katie and I hang out in when she visits, where we drink copious amounts of coffee and iced tea and we watch old, vintage movies and we laugh as we walk through the memories we've collected together, and share a few we've made apart. There are always animals hanging around and someone generally has a cat in his or her lap, and laughter wafts throughout the loft, permeating the walls and filling this quirky home with warmth, comfort and joy. I can't wait to share more of those times with her and it won't be long now! She flies in (IF she gets on the plane) next Sunday, 23 December. She did remind me that the mere fact that she has a ticket for a seat on that flight doesn't necessarily mean she'll be ON that flight, so she always reminds me not to count on my daughter before she deplanes. Good advice, but I'm betting she'll pull it together, squeeze John's impressive biceps, dig her nails painfully into his skin - possibly drawing blood - and make the flight.
Now, I love to fly but I hate to drive and I particularly hate to drive to Raleigh...ugh! I experience many of the same physical symptoms that Katie endures when she's inflight, only I do it from the confines of my car. However, this trip to Raleigh will have the added bonus of a visit with my buddy and artistic adviser, "The good pirate, Bobbi", captain of the s/v Kokopelli and I have accepted her gracious invitation to overnight at her home in Raleigh so that I can recoup my sanity that will no doubt be lost on the drive up to Raleigh and be on time to pick up Katie and John at the airport. Plus, I'm sure that Bobbi and I will have a fine time - two crazy women on the prowl in the bustling capital city of North Carolina. No single man will be safe, is what I'm thinking. I can't wait to meet Sofi, her beautiful dog child, and view some of Bobbi's eclectic artwork.
This past week, I was thrilled to receive the annual Christmas newsletter that Sofi dictates to Bobbi, and even more amazed to discover it included a photo of Bobbi and me taken at Bluewater when we were having lunch on Wrightsville Beach this past October. I made the newsletter! I was honored!
I also loved the card that
Bobbi artfully designed and it is pinned to the corner cabinet that
sits above my desk - a beautiful sailboat on bluewater, beneath a
blanket of golden stars and a lazy crescent moon. One of my favorite
places to be and, when I simply excise the image of the moldy man from
the memory of my sailing adventures of this past summer, it becomes a
very nice recollection. To be honest, excision isn't that difficult -
he never braved the nightwatch and I spent many hours in the cockpit
alone beneath a canopy of stars and the moon in various phases, slicing
along with the sound of the waves lapping the hull, the whoosh of the
wind in the sails and the overwhelming knowledge that there is nothing
like being on the water to feel truly connected to the universe. I will
never forget that sensation, the sense of awe comingled with the rarest
brand of peace and I want to revisit sailing often in 2008. Again and
again and again...Every single chance I get...The County of New Hanover sent me an invitation in late November - they requested my services for jury duty. Now, I have to tell you, even though I know most people look upon jury duty as a huge pain in the derrière, I was kind of thrilled. I mean, I've been in a New Hanover County Courthouse in a past life for very unhappy reasons and to be invited because they actually "needed" me was a bit of a giddy honor. My family and friends asked me if I was going to "try and get out of it"... Nosiree! Not a chance! How cool it would feel to walk in there and not be scared out of my wits at the outcome, not to be on the "hot seat"! Ahhhhh, the joys and gifts of sobriety are wondrous and many. I sent up two prayers, in fact, well, make that three:
1. God help the person who may be on a trial I could potentially serve on a jury and help me to do the right thing.
2. Thank you God for allowing my life to turn around to the point that I get to appea
r at New Hanover County Courthouse for reasons having nothing to do with me.3. God, could you please make sure that I don't have to run into one particular defense attorney from Raleigh because that would be cruel and unusual punishment and hey, I'm not the one in trouble here!
I am happy to report that my services were not required for too long because out of the 100 or so of us upstanding, potential jurors available to step into our role and serve, they only needed twelve plus a few alternates and I was released from my duty a short-time later and told that I wouldn't have to worry about being called again for two years, having fulfilled my requirements as an available juror. Whew! I'm even happier to report that I didn't run into any Raleigh-based attorneys so God must surely have decided I had also fulfilled my time served in the company of maniacal morons for at least two years, maybe more. What a Christmas present from a benevolent and loving Creator!
After the rest of us "citizens in good standing" were free to leave the courthouse, I almost skipped out of the building and I know there was a smile on my face. I'm pretty sure that's the first time I've ever left New Hanover County Courthouse with a wide grin. There I was, on Princess Street, milling about all manner of law enforcement types, thinking to myself at how profoundly life can change and just how much I have to be grateful for in this life I've been granted. I honestly felt reborn and, in a sense, I have been.
It was at least 75 degrees on the 10th of December under a cloudless Carolina blue sky and I opened my sunroof to let the deliciously warm beams shine down on me in the heart of the port city of Wilmington, North Carolina and you know that feeling that sometimes settles over you that communicates with your soul and reminds you that life is just so darn good, and how incredible it is that you are around to be right in the middle of it? I had that feeling and it has lingered with me throughout this week. Yes, life is good. I'm grateful and I am right in the smack dab middle of it and some days are hard and challenging and the coffee isn't quite right (not yours, Mom - 'outside' coffee). My checkbook is positively anemic with only small and unpredictable cash infusions from freelance work and working part-time for my friends, Danny and Sherry, and I have no idea how in the world I'm going to buy very many Christmas presents, but then I remembered other times in my life when my checkbook has been much more impressive, but my life sure wasn't.
There have been Christmas seasons where I have had ample supplies of cash to fulfill and exceed the list of gifts for my family and friends, but other than a nice, positive bank balance, there was little that could remotely be defined as positive about my life. I guess I could have best been described as making my way through life "hit and run" style - no direction, no spiritual connection to speak of, nothing resembling anything close to the definition I now understand to be "joy" and as for "serenity", I wasn't even sure how to spell it, much less become acquianted with it. I was aimless, and even though I was capable of putting on a good face, most days, my life felt dark and cold and pretty hopeless. I was under the mistaken idea that a good life started with a positive cash flow and worked it's way up from there. I didn't understand that regardless of what First Union National Bank said, I was on the brink of bankruptcy and the worst possible kind - spiritual bankruptcy. As James Taylor sang in "Shed a Little Light", "you can't get no light from a dollar bill". Nothing made sense to me because my life wasn't making any sense but, of course, I couldn't see that or even know it until things got much, much worse. Thank God they did!
I was talking with a friend the other day and we were discussing personal transformations and I was trying to explain to him what had changed, but the fact is that nothing had to change except for me. Actually, what it all came down to was nothing more than a case of mistaken identity. I got my Spirits mixed up. The spirits in a nice merlot were never going to offer me any long-lasting relief, no matter how many times I kept trying. However, thanks to a series of very fortunate unfortunate events, I finally met up with the RIGHT Spirit and, in the words of Robert Frost, "it has made all the difference." I guess I blacked out on the "road less traveled" but I FINALLY woke up and found a better route. In fact, I found a whole new map and, along with it, something I desperately needed: A purpose. But first, I had to lose my keys before I could really get back on the road. And I did...thank God I did. It's true, you know, you have to learn to crawl before you can walk. I had to learn all over again how to walk before I could even think about relearning how to drive.
This Christmas, there's no doubt about it, we'll be able to see the tree because it's not going to be hidden beneath a plethora of presents that used to obscure it as many of our Christmases did a few years ago, but that's OK. Of course, there will be presents, but the most precious ones can't be wrapped and many of them are completely intangible. In this, my fourth Christmas sober and shared with the RIGHT spirit, I've learned along the way what truly matters most and those things emanate from the people and creatures I love most and hold dear. Family, friends, cats, my dog and all of those colorful fish brilliantly swimming about in our aquarium.
Life. Life is the ticket! This house is just spilling over and sloshing around with it. You can't walk too far in this place without crossing the path of something filled with life and the love that fuels it - sometimes it's a grandmother or a grandfather, or a 21 year old young man and other times, life comes attached to a striped tail, a 50 pound bundle of canine goodness or even a pair of fins. Wrapped around it all, is THE Spirit that eluded me for so many years. The one that came from a "Higher Power" and not a glass bottle with a spent cork. Thank God I've spent my last cork and, to my friend up north, nothing is hard if you take it one day at a time. It's like that quote from E. L. Doctorow as he was alluding to the sometimes overwhelming proposition of writing..."It's like driving a car at night. You never see further than your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way." I'm pretty sure that's probably the best way to make the trip. That way, you won't miss anything. Incremental progress is HIGHLY underrated. Incremental progress is a good thing. It will take you far, even all the way to where you need to be.
Now, not only did I receive some deep introspective reckonings courtesy of my invitation from New Hanover County, but yesterday I opened my mail to find a check for the heady amount of TWELVE DOLLARS! Of course, I'm going to scan it and frame it before I cash it. To be perfectly honest, I feel as if maybe I should have paid them. Who would have imagined such gifts from something as simple and mundane as the prospect of jury duty? With an infusion of funds like that, who says there's not going to be a Christmas on Nottingham Lane? I know, I know, I am NOT going to spend it all in one place. So many people make that mistake. Not me! :-)
In
OTHER news of the less philosophical variety, my son FINALLY got his
new rotors installed on his birthday present, and his Cobra Mustang is
back in business. If you live within 3 miles of my house, you probably
know that by now. This Wednesday after I came home, he bounded in my
office and leveled an invitation at me...."Mom, let's go somewhere. Let's take a ride.". I didn't really need to go anywhere so I asked him where he wanted to go? "It doesn't matter! Let's just go! C'mon!".
Well, who can turn down an invitation like that? Certainly not me! We
hopped in the car and we went! We even wound up having a nice dinner
together at McAlister's - just my son and me. Talk about precious and I
don't mean that warm and fuzzy smarmy precious, but it is a gift for a
21 year old son to have the desire to take his Mom for a spin in his
pony car. 
I
looked over at him as he shifted gears, completely unable to disguise
his delight in all of the glorious horsepower that revs that pony of a
car. I was so happy for him.I don't really understand that brand of affection toward a car, probably because I don't love to drive, but I know that feeling as I've experienced it directed toward other pursuits. I guess it must be what it feels like when a sailboat is on a beam reach and the sky is dotted with white puffy clouds and the wind couldn't be more perfect if it tried. Or maybe it's the same sensation I felt sitting on the stern of a sailboat crossing the Gulf Stream, watching the phosphorescent wake sparkle in the fragile light of dusk, miles from even the hint of land and wondering if this must be what heaven looks and feels like?
Waves, water and wind inspire that same grin on my face and it all distills into a special sort of joy that makes being alive the best gig going. I was just thrilled to share it with him and I even pretended to understand the machinations of the engine and all that is a Mustang. Mostly, I enjoyed all that it entails to be his mother and for me, that is easily one of the best gigs going. Thank you, Justin!
"Sunny Came Home"
I
have a very special friend in New York City who cajoles, prods, cheers,
threatens and text-messages me often to remind me that I have an
important project to take care of and a story to tell. I'm referring
to, of course, my friend Glen who's an Art Director with Random House
and one of my most dearly loved and most enthusiastic cheerleaders. In
fact, I think he's the head cheerleader. When I was in a NYC a few
weeks ago, it was so wonderful to see him again.Glen and I have had quite a year - while I was busy sailing around the Abacos, dancing on various beaches and becoming increasingly disenchanted with an attorney who's mental seams were rapidly unraveling and coming unglued, Glen, for the first time in his life, moved off the island of Manhattan, bought a home in the suburbs north of the City, went to Disney World for the first time in his life on a fantastic family vacation and three weeks ago when I was visiting NYC, he and his family completed their Norman Rockwell existence by adopting a miniature poodle named, quite appropriately, "Sunny".
Through
it all, however, he has been a constant in my life this past year. Glen
has believed in my writing project since we had our first meeting in
the coffee shop of the hotel I was staying in while visiting Manhattan
in October 2006. We became instant friends and he's been an endless
stream of encouragement for me in more ways than I can adequately
express here. I wear a silver necklace around my neck that on one side
has a cross and on the flip side, has the word "LOVE". It was a present
from my dear buddy last year and a tangible reminder that I have yet
another guardian angel who is willing to work with me and stubbornly
determined that I bring my work to fruition.
Even
though Glen was busy adding to his family the weekend I was in NYC, he
made time to meet up with Katie, John and me and treated us to a great
brunch at Arte Cafe and how excited I was to introduce Katie to Glen
because they're both just so hopelessly twisted (in a good way!). In
fact, as we sat down to a scrumptious meal, it was as if Glen was
family. He fit right in perfectly and he and Katie got along famously.
It was a special treat for me to be in the company of two of my
favorite people however, the thought of them double-teaming me and
beating me up sometimes causes me some stress but, well, what can you
do?Glen seems to have a special knack for knowing when I need to be gently nudged, pushed, and sometimes even SHOVED as only a seasoned, born and raised NY'er can, but he does it with love and I know always that he cares. He's like family and I expect it always to be just like that. As I've mentioned before, my life is sprinkled with angels, and some of them just happen to have Yankee accents and frequently call me on my bullshit. Such is the case with Glen. I want to take a second to send a special thank you to my brilliant, talented northern friend who plies me with giggles, sends me iTunes gifts to inspire me, and never loses his faith in me. Glen, you're the best. We have a date for the last week of January in New York - please order some of that fabulous snow that you and Katie love so much and let's go ice-skating in Central Park. Oh, and yes, I'll be delivering my submission because I know that if I don't, there will be heck to pay and I know you well enough to understand that you will never let me forget it. You rock, buddy.
The Heart of Love...One of the most important events of this past week occurred on 13 December, because on another 13 December back in the year of 1923, a very special person was born: My Mom. We joyfully celebrated my Mom's 84th birthday and what a blessing of a milestone that is! She had a check up with her doctor the day before and she checked out pretty darn well! We're grateful because we love having her around.
She's something else, this Mom of mine. She cooks like a woman half her age, maybe even younger, and she turns out culinary masterpieces that can inspire people to fly from far-flung locations and a few have even been known to paint for their supper (right Billie?). She's easily the coolest 84 year old I've ever met.
When
Justin and I were out running around town to no place in particular, we
ascertained a book, chocolates, jelly beans and cards and of course we
couldn't wait until the actual date of the anniversary of her birth, so
on the night of December 12th, we surprised her with her gifts and she
was pleased.The phone rang quite often on the 13th, with friends and family calling from all over the place to wish the birthday girl congratulations for putting up with us for yet another year. We easily have the best end of that deal. Whatever steely determination that is sometimes attributed to me, is the result of her donation to my gene pool. Maxine Cook is a force to be reckoned with - sometimes obstinate, fiercely independent and she could easily teach Martha Stewart a thing or two, but thankfully for Ms. Stewart, we keep her so busy that she doesn't have time to mess with such domestic divas.
The center of my mother's world has always been, at least from my front row seat of 47 years, her family. She tends us well and always with a glad heart.
I've
made her shake her head more than a few times, but I think deep down
she's fond of my unconventional characteristics and I know any skill I
have in terms of home repair and painting come from watching her
through the years. I don't think there's much she can't fix whether
it's a bruised knee, misbehaving kitchen appliance or a broken heart.
If only I could get her to put faith in the power of Vick's Ointment
and The Farmer's Almanac and maybe, just once, entice her to confess
that she truly does love cats, she'd be nearly perfect but that might
be boring and, given her obstinance, a probably futile pursuit, so we
smile when she rages on about cat hair and the way Cassie sometimes
drips water from her water bowl, secure in the knowledge that she loves
all of the creatures in this house, both great and small. Even the ones
that shed. Happy, happy birthday Mom - we love you more than you can
possibly imagine. We're just so glad you are ours.
Now, I'm sure you'll order a box of cookies from the "Band of Parents", as they devotedly raise funds for Dr. Cheung's promising new monoclonal antibody vaccine,
because I'm sure everyone who reads this blog has a heart of gold, and
most of you have kids, and can grasp how paramount it is that this
vaccine comes into fruition. I know this because my readers are good,
generous and loving folks (most of you, anyway), but in the spirit of
the holidays I have another site to share and this one is for pure fun.My lovely, blogging cousin, Shane, sent me an e-mail this morning and I had to laugh for two reasons: First of all, I couldn't imagine why she would send me anything that would involve baking or any sort of kitchen activity (other than painting). Let's face it, I'm not exactly Martha Stewart OR Betty Crocker. The second reason being that after perusing the list, I do believe it contains every conceivable cookie known to mankind and it looks so appealing that I may just have to try a couple of these out.
If
you click on whatever cookie piques your interest and makes your mouth
water, the recipe for that cookie will pop up! It's pretty amazing and
way, way cool! Who took the time to compile this list, I have no idea,
but he or she must be dripping in domesticity and probably owns several
aprons - the ones that say something weird like, "Kiss the Cook!". I had to share the list with you.I have a feeling people won't say I'm too skinny after this season of cookies and joy. I'll just have to double up on the caffeine and burn it off the best way I know how.
Click on the name of the cookie, the recipe will pop up and then head out for the store of your choice and gather the ingredients. Before you leave the house for the store, it might be a good idea to go ahead and pay for that gym membership you've been considering because I have a feeling none of these are fat-free and why should they be? It's Christmas and it's the time of year when you need to eat really gooey, rich, high-caloric confections so go for it, I say. Life is short.
So, that is how the cookie crumbles. I'm not in any way, shape or form responsible for what your bathroom scales report as a direct or indirect result of "experimenting" with this list. Don't write to me complaining about how your jeans are shrinking or how that little black dress needs to be let out just a skooch. It's not my problem and why don't you just forget about it until, say, January. January is much better suited for obsessing about things like weight and your expanding waistline. The days are dark and winter is already feeling like it will last forever so just delay your worries and fears as to how you're going to fit into your swimsuit until January. There's no time for that now. It's December, the holidays are fast upon us. It's the season of hope. Just "hope" you don't have too many pounds to shed in January and get on with your life.
Before you click on your favorite recipe, click on the video below and enjoy watching and listening to Will Ferrell and Zooey Deschanel sing, "Baby, It's Cold Outside" (from the movie "Elf") and then start printing those recipes!
If watching Will Ferrell sing "Baby, It's Cold Outside" doesn't get you in the holiday spirit, perhaps a holiday reading by David Sedaris will. Katie and I were talking about this yesterday and we both laughed hysterically (seriously!) at the vision conjured by this essay - it's a family favorite. That is, it's a "Parker" family favorite, so you know it's totally screwed up, but we love David Sedaris and his way with words. Enjoy! Christmas in the Netherlands. I promise, you will laugh.
Happy Holidays!
Susie
Just click on the name of the cookie and bam the recipe is there.
1-2-3 Cookies 7 Layer Cookies Allie Nelson's Famous Snickerdoodle Cookies Almond Crescent Shortbread Amish Sugar Cookies Andies Candies Cookies Angel Crisps Angenets Applesauce Cookies Apricot Fold-Overs Aunt Edy's Molasses Crinkles Auntie Linda's Ginger Gems Bakeless Dream Cookies Banana Drop Cookies Best Chocolate Chip Cookies in the World Biscotti Biscotti Blueberry Cookies Boiled Chocolate Oatmeal Drop Cookies < /B>Bronwnies Brown Sugar Shortbread Brownie Cookies Brownie Delight Brownies Buccaneer Snowballs Buried Cherry Cookies Butter Cookies Butter Nut Balls Butterballs Butterscotch Haystacks C.O.P. Cookies Candy Cane Cookies Candy Cookies Caramel Shortbread Cheesecake Brownies Cherry Buns Cherry Crowns Cherry Winks Chewies Chewy Noels Chinese Chews/Haystacks Chocolate Chip Cookie Bars Chocolate Chip Cookie s Chocolate Chip Meltaways Chocolate Chip Peanut Butter Cookies Chocolate Christmas Trees Chocolate Cream Cheese Squares Chocolate Crinkles Chocolate Mint Snow-Top Cookies Chocolate Oatmeal Cookies (no bake) Chocolate Snowball Cookies Chocolate Streusel Bars Chocolate Sundae Cookies Chocolate Walnut Crumb Bars Choco-Scotch Crunchies Choose A Cookie Dough Recipe Christmas Crackers Christmas Crunch Bars Christmas Ginger Snaps Christmas Macaroons Christmas Mice Cookies Christmas Shaped Cookies Church Window Cookies Coconut Cookies Congo Squares Cookie in a Jar< /FONT> Corn Flakes Cookies Cornflake Christmas Wreaths Cowboy Cookies (oatmeal) Cream Cheese Cookies with Apricot Filling Crème De Menthe Chocolate Squares Crème Wafers Crescent Cookies Crispy Crunchies Date Nut Balls Date-nut Pinwheel Cookies Diabetic Peanut Butter Cookies Disgustingly Rich Brownies Doodles Double chocolate chip cookies Double-Chocolate Crinkles Eatmore Cookies Eggnog Cookies Elizabeth's Sugar Cookies Elves Quick Fudge Brownies Emily Dickinson's Gingerbread Cookie Recipe Emily's Best Brownies Famous Oatmeal Cookies Firemen Cookies Fluffy Shortbread Cookies Forgotten Cookies Frosted Peanut Butter Brownies Fruit Cak e Cookies Fruitcake Squares Fry Pan Cookies Gems Ginger Cookies Ginger Crinkles Gingerbread Baby Gingerbread Cookies with Butter Cream Icing Gingerbread Men Gingerbread Men Ginny's Gluten Free Chocolate Chip Cookies Glory's Golden Graham Squares Glory's Sugar Cookies Gramma Chapman's chocolate coconut drops Grandma Elsie's Zimt (cinnamon) Cookies Grandma J's Butter Cookies Grandma Olson's Parkay Cookies Great Grandmothers Sugar Cookies Gum Drop Cookies Gumdrop Gems Haystack Cookies Ho-Ho Bars Holiday Cereal Snaps Holiday Chocolate Butter Cookies Holiday Raisin Walnut Bars Holly Cookies Hungarian Cookies (Little Nut Rolls) Ice Box Cookies Irresistible Peanut Butter Cookies Italian Cookies Jacob's Peppermint Snowballs Jam Bars Jessica's Famous Brownies Jessie's Chocolate Chip Cookies Jubilee Jumbles Juliet's Peanut Butter Blossoms Jumbo Chocolate Chip Cookies Kentucky Colonels Kiefle (cream cheese cookies with jam filling) Kifflings Kiss Cookies Lacy Swedish Almond Wafers Lemon Angel Bar Cookies Lemon Bars Lemon Cake Cookies Lemon Cream Cheese Cookies Lemon Squares Linzer Tarts Log Cabin Cookies Luscious Lemon Squares M&M Cookies Magic Cookie Bars Melt in Your Mouth Cutout Sugar Cookies Melting Shortbread Meme's Cream Cheese Cookies Milk Chocolate Florentine Cookies Mincemeat Cookies Mincemeat Goodies Molasses Cookies Molasses Forest Cookies Molasses Sugar Cookies Mom Mom's Crescent Cookies Mom-Mom's Ginger Cookies Mom's Nutmeg Sugar Cookies Mom's Old Fashion "Puffy" Sugar Cookies Monster Cookies Moravian Christmas Cookies Nana's Famous Soft Southern Cookies Nitey Nite Cookies No Bake Chocolate Cookies No Bake Chocolate Oatmeal Cookies No Bake Cookies No Bake Cookies No Bake Peanut Butter Cookies No-Bake Chocolate Oatmeal Cookies No-Bake Cookies Norwegian Sugar Cookies Nut Balls Oatmeal Bars Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Nut Cookies Oatmeal Coconut Crisps Oatmeal Cookies Oatmeal Scotchies Old Fashioned Sugar Cookies Ooey Gooey Caramel Chocolate Dunk Ooey Gooey Squares Orange Slice Cookies Parking Lot Cookies Peanut Blossoms Peanut Butter Bars Peanut Butter Blossoms Peanut Butter Cereal Cookies Peanut Butter Chewies Peanut Butter Chocolate Bars Peanut Butter Cookies Peanut Butter Cookies Peanut butter fingers Peanut Butter Reindeer Peanut Butter Surprises Peanut Marshmallow Cookies Pecan Puff Cookies Peppermint Snowballs Peppernuts Persimmon Cookies Persimmon Cookies Petey's Yummy Spicy Almond Thins Pfeffernuesse Pffefferneuse Cookies Pineapple Filled Cookies Pizzelles Potato Chip Cookies Potato Flake Cookies Praline Cookies Praline Strips Pterodactyl Nests Pumpkin Bars Pumpkin B ars Pumpkin Chip Cookies Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Cookies Pumpkin Cookies Queen Biscuits Quick Cookies Raised Sugar Cookies Raisin Filled Oatmeal Bars Raspberry Meringue Bars Really Peanutty Butter Cookies Reese`s Brownies Reese's Peanut Butter Bars Rich Flavor Christmas Cookies Rich Lemon Bars Ricotta Cheese Cookies Royal Almond Christmas Bars Rudolph Cinnamon Cookies Russian Tea Cookies Russian Teacakes Samantha & Kelsey's Chocolate Chip Cookies Sand Art Brownies Santa Claus Cookie Pops Santa Claus Cookies Santa's Butterscotch Melts Santa's Shorts Santa's Special Squares Scotch Cakes Scotch Shortbread< /B> Scotcharoos Scotcheroos Seven Layer Cookies Short Bread Cookies Shortbread Skor Squares Snicker Doodle Cookies Snickerdoodles< /SPAN> Snickerdoodles Snow Balls Sour Cream Apple Squares Sour Cream Christmas Cookies Special K Cookies Spice Cookies Spicy Oatmeal Raisin Cookie Spritz Cookies Stained Glass Window Cookies Stir & Drop Sugar Cookies Sugar Cookies Sugar Cookies Sugar Cookies Swedish Pepparkakor (Pepper Cake) Cookies Swedish Sugar Cookies Sweet Marie's Swiss Treats Taralle (Italian Cookies) Tea Time Tassies Texas Brownies The Best Shortbread in The World Thumbprint Cookies Thumbprint Cookies Toffee Squares Traditional Christmas Sugar Cookies Traditional Gingerbread Men Cookies Triple-Chocolate Chip Cookies Ultimate Chocolate Chip Cookies Vanilla Waffer Balls Walnut Butter Cookies Walnut Crumb Bars White Chip Chocolate Cookies Wild Oatmeal Cookies Will's Famous Apple Jack Cookies Yummy Yummy Peanut Butter Blossoms
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 lives 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. You can meet some of these young adults and kids by clicking here: Heroes. You may read other journals about kids like Erik, Nick, Sidney, Emily and Toby, just to name a few, who's lives may 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 ask 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 that 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 offer 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 finding a way 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.
"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.
Last
night, as I sat at the table with him and watched as he "LEGALLY"
ordered a Guinness with great pride, I could only smile. 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 tigh
tly.
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 pa
ced
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 thos
e 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.
"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.
Me too, Daddy. Me too.
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 o
f
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 an
d,
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...
