I'd like to present Gilbert: truly the coolest town in Arkansas.

Somewhere in the vast undulating belt of time past, I'm still sitting on that stilted wood-slat porch under an inky sky dripping stars, laughing my ass off as my little brother-in-law, David--actually called 'Spigot' for much of the night--, me and our two cousins, Wells and Clay, all tried to outdo each other in a thirsty game of Presidents. My cousins became Jack Nicholson and Couchon. I blushingly admit I was addressed as 'My Lady'--by my own twisted hand, no less, when it was my turn to be President and make the rules. Where else but the thick wooded hills leaping through the furrows of the ancient Ozarks could we lose ourselves in such fun?

Eighteen people, some no more than strangers, coming together for six days of harmonizing, relaxing, and being yourself--no matter what--could not take place in a less idyllic setting. All day, every day, the place smells like cinnamon french toast and stewing food. The sunshine is brilliant and hot, the river cool, smooth, and secret, like thick glass. This place cradles our short time of being togetherness, its gentle embrace more healing than a dose of midnight chocolate, a hundred lonely runs, even Kraft Mac 'n' Cheese; it sooths away our differences and self-doubts. In a dusty little backwater paradise, we all found a way to get drunk in our souls on riotous laughter, closeness, and sharing the warm love of family.

"Everything is material, actually...Writing is how we realize that we're not so alone." --Judging Amy, 'An Impartial Bias' Wed. July 26, 2006.

It's amazing how serendipity moves the mind. I start a blog in my bathrobe one morning, then find epiphanies in daytime tv later that afternoon. They're everywhere, people. They're all around us, all the time. Yikes.