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Journal of a Living Lady
At this very moment I am doing what I have always imagined would be the epitome of literary experiences. Alone, on a towering penthouse balcony, I am in a writer's fairy land. To the left is a majestic golf course. To the right, ocean waves rhythmically lap the sandy dunes. It is sweet solitude, the necessary laboratory of a creative mind To top it off, this billionaire ambience, isn't costing a dime. At least not for me. For three days, I get to enjoy such ridiculous opulence. This is in stark contrast to my humble childhood home or current middleclass abode. In the early 1950's, there were no high-definition TV's, DVD's, i-Pods, or X-boxes to lure me away from the front porch steps. My imagination entertained me and eventually morphed to stories and poems written on torn bits of brown grocery sacks. While I am enjoying this posh environment, Buddy is not neglected. He is undoubtedly flying high, literally, on this beautiful day. He lives to fly. I love to write. I can fly and have the license to do it. He could write, but lets his Mississippi education chain him to the untruthful idea that he can't. A friend is here on business. She invited me to come along to share the journey. Margit is equally awed by the beauty and magnificence of this coastal island in South Carolina. Reservations for the hotels were full. She got bumped up to a resort villa. Sometimes life is better than fair. While Margit is listening to a seminar speaker at the conference center, I am soaking up the salty air and watching sea birds dive for lunch. Sometimes life is far from fair. I feel like the Queen of Serendipity. Three years ago, a CEO and regular reader of this column, sent Buddy and me on a first-class trip to the Holy Land.Old friends and new have been exceptionally nice to this Living Lady. I may never know why, but I am grateful.
nancyk@alltel.net
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