I don’t know what you do when you wake up at 4:30 a.m. and can’t go back to sleep but lately I’ve developed a bad habit of rolling over and reaching for my glasses and iPAD to see what the rest of the world is doing. This morning, I was greeted with the following karmic message in my inbox.


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The night before I started a week-long sailing course I learned my not-so-recent-former boyfriend had gotten married. I was stunned. He was the one who introduced me to sailing; he was the one who convinced me to move to Annapolis, the capital of the US sailing world. 


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Aw, yes, it’s Valentine’s Day.  Like everyone else, I think of long-stemmed roses, heart-shaped candy, and red ribbon and bows.  I’ve had plenty of these over the years, but what I associate the most with this day is the memory of my parents.  Both had surgery on Valentine’s Day and both were told they were about to die.


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I’m often asked what it’s like to live with heart disease. For me, the physical limitations have been much less difficult to manage than the emotional and psychological ones. Heart patients are cautioned about becoming “cardiac cripples”—overly anxious and worried about their future to the point that it affects their health.  Yep, I’ve done that.


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Maybe it’s because I’m a writer so people are prone to tell me this but it seems everyone wants to write a book.  Mostly they want to write their life story.  Maybe not all of it, but there are always a few memorable events — being high-jacked over Africa, surviving a childhood illness, catching the garage on fire — they want others to know about before too much time passes.


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