(Primarily written for those I spent time with in Northport, LI NY, which is my home of childhood memories.)

I'm on the mountain and for the first time I'm reluctant to return to Nashville. I miss my art. The quiet. The utter solitude. I'm home.

Mind you, I like Nashville and my attic hideaway that's starker than a Monk's social calendar... it's just that my fabulous place in Nashville isn't exactly a sought after second home. There have been times I've savored the sounds of the city. Because of my location, most of the city sounds I hear are hospital related - both ambulance sirens and rumbling whirs of rescue helicopters have made the house shudder. I guess because I have a serious illness, these have become pleasing and connecting and symbiotic.

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Interestingly, even with the additional 2,000 feet here on the mountain, I haven't used supplemental oxygen. There are too many variables for me to explain here, but rest assured, me happy. (Hints: Pulmonary Rehab, Clinical Trials, Positive attitude.)

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My time in Nashville is winding down. My lease is up mid-May but I'll vacate at the 1st in order to attend my youngest's graduation from W&L School of Law. This occasion is going to be more than my son's graduation... it's a family reunion that'll include all three of my amazing children and my amazing father, Buddy Lewisy.

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But back to Nashville: I suspect I'll most miss my sessions with my health psychologist who specializes in people like me with a serious illness. His research focuses on gratitude, which is also my chosen focus. Every week I lug in my journals. He likes that. He closes his eyes and I read. He thinks I'm brilliant. I'm not. I just have courage. I'm posting here, aren't I?

He takes my words, my thoughts, and we discuss. Healing magically appears. I also discuss whatever I'm currently reading, which recently included Viktor Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning. If you haven't read this, dash now and get it!

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I started writing my third book last night, and that quite frankly, is why I'm here tonight. My first novel (The Night the Moon Cried) had no takers. It was dark & dreary and perfectly wonderful - yet, no takers. My second novel (Coyote Corner) is not finished, but it's hysterical. I still laugh when I read it, so it must be funny, right? My working title for this third novel is Half Past a Freckle.

Many of you will smile when you read that. Others will probably, once again, be twirling a finger at the side of their head... something I clearly relish.

I write and then I write some more. I have a story to tell - it's time. It's Half Past a Freckle.

As always, thanks for listening.


P.S. Below is a photo Ginny Parker recently posted on FB, I think it's spendid. I post it for you and for my dear friend Bex who lives in Massachusetts and is married to a marvelous Lobsterman.




Lobster Boats in Northport Harbor