Good morning, everyone. The lake is indeed idyllic, but something in this crisp mountain air is wreaking havoc with my laptop. It's going bonkers. I hope I get through this post. Little poker and "Kill Spyware" pop-ups are bursting out all over the place.

Dotsie, your husband's seizure in Punta Cana must have been a frightening experience. But the fact that you all handled the situation well, calmly and together is a testament to your love and strength. I can understand how having a family member with a medical condition that needs constant monitoring would create special worries when traveling.

And I know what you mean about the passage in the book that connects us once again with home. I remember being very emotional when I wrote those pages. I was reliving the end of an incredibly special journey, but I know I was also sad because the act of writing the book was coming to an end. Writing "Ribbons" was a wonderful journey in itself, one that Adam and Dana also shared with me -- in some ways it's "our" book. Endings, of any kind, are so often tinged with sadness.

At the book club reading the other night, one of the women asked me to describe those moments when we neared our home. She was struck by that part of the story, as well.

Sounds like everybody's cool with the idea of a convention! Look out, Baltimore!

Nancy, if my lake cottage weren't such a wreck right now, I'd invite the whole boomer world up here! But we did some remodeling over the winter, and the place is in total disarray. Furniture in the middles of rooms, carpets rolled up and stacked like logs, boxes of nails everywhere, a giant table saw in the living room. We're living on bowls of cereal, after we clean the drywall dust out of the bowls...

But it is gorgeous. I heard the call of one of our two resident loons early this morning. And a great blue heron took off from the woods and floated past me while I ate my cereal on the deck.

I think I'll try to write something today. (After I do some painting. Priorities...)