I was so proud that when I heard the announcement today, I burst into happy tears in my little cubicle at work. I emailed her to congratulate her and asked her the one question a reporter is never supposed to ask: How does it feel>
"Pretty damn good, thank you," she replied.
Dani and I had adjoining cubicles for a while and obviously some of my Molecules of BrillianceTM wore off on her.
No, really, she was the best reporter I had ever met. She had raised a couple fabulous kids AND she had been embedded in Iraq. She treated every story like it was important, which is way more than most reporters do. She was a hell of an interviewer, too - she got inside people's heads faster than Dr. Phil. I always told her I wanted to be like her if I ever grew up.
Yesterday I stumbled onto a blog that I ended up reading for about 3 hours straight. I tried to go do other things and not waste the whole day reading, but the story was so compelling that I kept sitting back down again.
63 Days is the true story of a woman who, during her teen years, was sent by her parents to spend 7 weeks in one of those wilderness boot camps for troubled kids. Her parents were told she would be riding horses, getting back to nature, and learning to love God.
The problem was that the place was run by a bunch of abusive psychos who had no expertise but exhibited sadism beyond imagination. It just proved to me what I knew all along - you can't outsource the care of your family without some seriously bad results.
She's a great writer and has hell of a true story to tell. At least I am assuming it is true. In these days of A Million Little Liars, you never know.
The blog interface is a little weird - you have to go back in the blog history to post #1 then read forward. It's worth it though.
Here's today's Enlightenment Moment ffrom Nando Parrado, one of the guys that the movie "Alive!" was about. Their plane crashed in the Andes and they survived for 61 days before they decided to walk out. After a long day of climbing, they came to what seemed to be an impassable mountain range.
Now, in this lifeless place, I saw with terrible clarity that death was the constant, and life was only a short fragile dream. I felt a sharp and sudden longing...for my father, whom I was sure I would never see again. But despite the hopelessness of the situation, the memory of him filled me with joy. It staggered me - the mountains could not crush my ability to love. In that moment, I discovered a simple, astounding secret: Death has an opposite, but it is not mere living. It is not courage, or faith, or will. The opposite of death is love. How had I missed that? How does anyone miss that? My fears lifted, and I knew that I would not let death control me. I would walk through that godforsaken country with love and hope in my heart.