Sorry to have been away for several days.   Vacation with family took precedence and then there was that pesky inconvenience called Tropical Storm Fay.

Thankfully my house is fine; my pups are fine.  My friends are fine.  That's all that matters.

So, back to blogging.

I'm in the midst of a bathroom remodeling project.  When last I saw it, my center hall/guest bathroom was completely ripped out to the studs in the walls and there was a rectangular hole in the floor where the bathroom will go.  (We're sinking the tub.) 

I've picked out the new tub, sink and toilet.  I know what I want for the flooring.  I haven't selected all the tile for the walls yet, but I know the general look.

Right now, my contractor is running the plumbing where it needs to go and doing what needs to be done with wiring, etc. 

The whole process got me thinking.  I know someone whose life right now is pretty much a train wreck.  The way he's put things together for himself doesn't work.  He doesn't function the way he needs to and things are looking pretty ragged and on the edge of falling apart.  Trying to address things piece-meal hasn't accomplished anything.  It's like trying to stop 10 different leaks in the roof with a single bucket. 

I feel for the man and want to help but sticking on band-aids won't do the trick.

He needs to renovate his life.  Take things down to the bare basics and work on issues from the inside out.  Sometimes, it takes a total deconstruction before the real rebuilding can happen. 

Sometimes, when you take that approach, the end result is better, stronger, more solid than ever before.

I'm sleep-deprived and my butt is starting to fuse with the leather on my recliner.  I remain enthralled with the Olympic games. 

I might have thought, at first, that synchronized diving was unnecessary.  We already have single people diving, why need two to perform in tandem?  Well, after watching a couple of nights of competition, I'm considerably more impressed.  It's difficult enough to do a triple twist, double somersault, back swan dive in the pike position by yourself, but this sport requires you to do it in synchronization with your dive partner and lots of points are given for "synchro".  Wow!

The Chinese divers?  Mosquitos have more body fat.

The Canadian men's syncho team of Alexandre Despatie and Arturo Miranda live and train here in the Keys.  Last night I mused how great it would have been if they'd competed under the flag of the Conch Republic .  If they'd won, perhaps Margaritaville would have been the anthem.

Michael Phelps consumes 12,000 calories a day including eggs, ham & cheese sandwiches, an entire pizza, chocolate chip pancakes, french toast, grits, several energy drinks, a couple of cows and a side of pig.  Every single day.  When he finally gives up swimming, he's going to have a radical eating change or he'll blow up like a house.  Then his next competition broadcast on NBC will be The Biggest Loser.

I know about 18 channels are broadcasting Olympic sports, but I didn't train for this much channel surfing.  I'd like to keep the television tuned to NBC and not have to switch around.  I know that swimming and gymnastics are marquee events, beach volleyball attracts a lot of male viewers to watch women compete in bikinis and the world revolves around Phelps quest for 8 gold medals, but I'd like to see a few additional competitions on the prime time coverage.  Show me equestrians, fencers, and that all-family martial arts team.

I actually get to the point where I can't watch the gymnastics competitions unless the American teams are nailing every routine.  More than any event, these draw me in emotionally.  I don't know how young athletes don't crack under the stress.  I'm sitting at home and can't handle the pressure.

Do you have a favorite event to watch?  Are you as sucked in as I am by the games, or don't they grab your interest?

For the next two weeks, I expect to experience as much of an emotional roller coaster as a room full of PMSing women watching tear-jerker movies.

The Olympics are on.   Here, a gagillion miles away from Beijing, connected through the television, I'll celebrate the grand achievements and feel my heart twist in my chest when someone falls.

I don't know how the parents of these young people sit in the stands and watch their children compete in the International spotlight.  I can barely stand to watch for fear that someone will slip from the uneven parallel bars, crash their bicycle, or hit the diving board on the way down.

Last night, Michael Phelps won his first gold medal of these games.  Watching his mother's face when he won his race, seeing the expression on his when he was awarded his medal, brought tears to my eyes, too.

During the games, I hate when controversy crops up.  Right now, I don't want to think about the human rights abuses in China.   I don't want to think about performance-enhancing drugs or age-qualifications.  (Although, if some of those Chinese gymnasts are 16, I'm Marilyn Monroe.)

The idealist in me wants only to enjoy watching dedicated, talented athletes reach out and grab their dreams.  I want to experience the thrill of their victories, cheer for them, and applaud from my living room.

I particularly enjoy when the athletes who aren't in the marquee sports excell.  Loads of cheers and applause for the U.S. Women who swept the medals in the individual sabre event.

How many of us ever heard of the names Mariel Zagunis (gold), Sada Jacobson (silver), and Becca Ward (bronze)?

Former President George H.W. Bush attended the matches.  Afterward, he handed his handkerchief to one of the women who cried joyful tears after her win.

Said Zagunis afterward, "We couldn't have asked for a better result today, three American flags being raised."

With moments like that, I need someone to hand me a handkerchief, too.

Wow!  Over 20 people responded to my personal Literacy Benefit.  In return for receiving a free copy of one of my books, they promised to make a donation to a literacy organization their area. 

Requests came from all around the United States, as well as a couple from Canada.  It thrills me and warms my heart to know that literacy will benefit from their generosity.

This weekend, I'll put the packages together so I can mail them out early next week.  I'll also write a check in all of your names to my local Literacy chapter.

Thank you, thank you, thank you!

On my travel day back home from San Francisco, I had a two hour stop in Las Vegas.  That's plenty of time to play the slot machines located by the gates in the airport.

It might be the only place in Vegas where you don't risk octagenarians tripping you with their canes if you race them to a nickel machine.

I love nickel machines.  It takes so much longer to lose $20.

I strolled around the concourse for awhile, in search of something to eat for lunch that didn't look like it had been processed in a Goodyear plant.  After locating, and actually enjoying, a freshly-made flatbread sandwich, I was on my way back to my gate when I saw something called an O2 Bar and Spa.

Now, I'm nothing if not curious, so I walked over for a closer look.  Jetson-style stools were lined up in front of machines filled with cylinders of water, "enhanced" with different fragrances like eucalyptus, peppermint, and watermelon.  A sign said that oxygen is good for relieving stress, headaches, tension, erectile dysfunction, and war in the Middle East.

Ok, so I made up some of those, but really, all this time I thought we only needed oxygen to live.  Who knew it had all these other benefits?

I couldn't resist.  I took the $20 that I would have lost in the slots if I'd played a quarter machine instead of a nickel one, and shimmied my butt onto the space-age seat.  The very peppy woman behind the counter, opened up a package with my own, never-before-used, nasal breathing tube.  Wow -- just like a real hospital!  I slipped it on while she instructed me how to turn the levers to use the O2 with various scents, or none at all.  "Just relax and breathe," she said.

I cleared my mind of useless, stressful thoughts like, "Would my plane be late leaving", "Was my luggage on its way to Ipanema by accident", was everybody walking by thinking, "Look at that idiot loser paying money for oxygen when we're breathing it for free?"

The lady handed me a warm wrap for my neck and shoulders.  A minute later, she walked from behind the counter with a massaging device she slipped over her knuckles and proceeded to massage my shoulders and back.

With eucalyptus and peppermint scents energizing my body, or at least tickling my nose, deep easy breathing, and the rub down, pretty soon I didn't care if a crowd gathered behind us and openly laughed.  A couple of minutes more and I started thinking this was the best idea ever and how come I'd never seen an O2 bar before?  Apparently, they're a big deal in California.  Those West Coasters are on to something. 

As the final touch, she brought out this very strange contraption made of thin wire.  With the flick of a switch, it began to buzz and she gently applied it to my head. 

The relaxing sensation tingled through my scalp right down to my toes.  I almost melted off the chair.  Only the fact that I'd have to carry it on the plane and keep it in my lap for the entire five hour flight kept me from breaking out my wallet and buying one on the spot.

I asked her if this was a franchise operation and if they serve a lot of customers throughout the day.  She said they get a lot of repeat business from frequent flyers.

No surprise.  I got a lot more pleasure out of that twenty bucks than I did from the slots.

Since the only sights I've seen in the last couple of days are the corridors, meeting rooms, ballroom, and lobby bar of the hotel, and a couple of thousand other writers, I don't think I can count this as a travelog anymore.

Yet, in many ways I've still been transported.  I've heard entertaining and inspiring speeches at luncheons.  Attended workshops by other writers that informed, educated, and carried me away to a higher plane of creative energy. 

I got goosebumps listening to Heather Graham and Alexandra Sokoloff talk about supernatural occurences and ghostly hauntings -- and how to use them in stories.

I've been stirred by Nora Roberts's eloquent, forceful speech against plagiarism.

I've shared laughs and cocktails with friends and fellow writers in the bar.

This conference has been terrific.  So much so, that it's almost more than my tired brain can process.

I'm ready to go home tomorrow, but I do so knowing that I've regained what I thought I'd lost.  My love of writing. 

I found my heart in San Francisco. 

You can still sign up to receive a free copy of one of my books.  Email me at mary@mary-stella.com with your name and address (No, I won't sell, share or give the info) and tell me which book you want -- All Keyed Up or Key of Sea.

The catch -- you must promise to make a donation to a literacy organization in your home area.  I am also making a donation in everyone's names to my local Literacy chapter.

You can sign up from now until I get home from the RWA National Conference in San Francisco.  I'll start mailing books when I get home.

Thanks for supporting Literacy!

I returned to San Francisco yesterday and settled into seeing more of the city than I did when I arrived Saturday and immediately took off from the airport to the Pacific Coast Highway.

Yesterday, several friends and I rented a limo for a two hour driving tour so we could get an overview.  Overall, I think San Fran is truly a lovely city with gorgeous architecture and lovely touches here and there that make the city even prettier.  Oh, and those views!  The Bay is incredible -- even when viewed from high up Lombard Street through the open sunroof of the limo. 

Can we talk about those hills?  I want to know who first came to this area, looked at the surrounding topography and said, "Yeah.  We can build."  I wonder if anyone staggers to the top of Lombard and wishes he could just rapell down instead of walking.

I have never seen so many storefronts crammed into available street space as I did last night in Chinatown. 

It's so odd to see people walking around in coats, sweaters and boots with scarves wrapped around their necks.  It's the end of July and San Franciscans are cold.  I, on the other hand, must officially be a Keys-girl because I absolutely love the cooler, breezy weather.  It's such a refreshing change from the 90 degree swelter and humidity that makes you feel like you're trying to suck air through a wet towel.

Plenty of panhandlers on the city streets.  Our hotel is completely non-smoking, to the point where you have to stand at least 10 feet away from the doors even when you go outside to light up.  A couple of my friends smoke and report that, when they go outside, they need to keep dealing with people coming up for handouts.

I wondered if this meant that San Fran, like many major cities, has a very high cost of living.  I'll have to ask a local.  If it does, then explain to me how I got a manicure for only $10?

I'm going out to dinner tonight and will be interested in seeing if we hit three meals in a row where restaurant staff have snippy or other wise uncooperative attitudes.  Yesterday, a group of us went of afternoon tea at a very high end department store.  To my mind, with the individual price we paid, we shouldn't have to ask for certain basic things.  The wait staff ought to anticipate, and fill the need before we have to ask.  Not so at this place.  To make it worse, when we asked, he replied with a haughty, "Of course", but the tone and 'tude implied a silent addition of, "you can, and you're a total idiot for not realizing that".

Last night at dinner, the maitre d' disputed our reservation for the room with the great view -- even though the reservation was confirmed a month or so ago.  He met an unmovable object in our friend who made the arrangements and seated us as requested.

The waiter took our orders without writing them down.  He returned and asked us to repeat them, saying to the three who'd ordered fish, "I know you want the mahi."  They replied, "No, we ordered the sea bass."

"Oh, yes, yes," he agreed before hurrying away.

When he brought our meals, he handed them each a plate with mahi.  Oh well.  He finally understood that he'd gotten the order wrong.  It took a few minutes, but finally, the sea bass arrived. 

When Alcatraz was a fully operational prison, prisoners dreamed of escaping.  Now everybody wants to get over there.  I really wanted to tour Alcatraz, but discovered today that the first available date is Tuesday!  I'm sad to report that a wistful, mournful expression and polite pleading didn't work.

All in all, the Alcatraz disappointment and disgruntled wait staff aside, it's been a good 36 hours in the city by the Bay.

Yes, I know.  Stil no pictures.  Pretend you're enjoying the buildup of anticipation. 

Still no pictures because I was too tired from being a tourist to track down an Office Max, but I've shared a little more about my adventures over on Babes in Bookland.

Click here to visit.

Cliffs Notes -- get it?  I drove the Pacific Coast Highway today from San Francisco to Monterey.  Gorgeous views of cliffs looming over really tan beaches and the brilliant, endless expanse of the Pacific Ocean.

Ok, maybe I'm the only one who thinks my pun is clever.  Just goes to show that I'm punchy.  Everybody here in California considers it 8 pm, but my East Coast body thinks it's 11 p.m. and I've been up since 5 a.m.

So, the beautifully, written, stirring tale of Day One's experiences will have to wait.

Ahh, you'd want to see pictures anyway and there's the little problem of the not-packed camera cord to download the shots.  I might break down and buy one at Office Max.  Because I need another power cord or wire for this hotel room desk.  Right now my cell phone is charging on one cord, the computer's plugged into another outlet, and I'm recharging my iPod via the computer.  Good thing I left the electric toothbrush at home or I could blow a circuit in my room.

Hopefully, you'll generously forgive me if I settle for teasers for descriptions to be written later.  Just think of lighthouse, harbor seals, Santa Cruz boardwalk, artichokes growing in roadside farms (One of which was just consumed by me for dinner.  Artichoke, not the whole farm.)

They're big on produce on the stretch of road I just drove.  I have this whole first impression of the total naturalness of this part of California.  Even the McDonald's looks cleaner and more healthy.  (Now that's a whopper for sure.  Whoops.  Wrong burger chain.)

I'm sure it's just a coincidence that, when I turned on the television, the first channel up from the hotel welcome menu, there was a show all about fertility-improving herbs for men and women.  A woman who looks like she could be Faith Hill's not-quite-as-stunning older sister was talking about how testosterone-boosting, sperm-stimulating herbs.  The whole time, she held her hands like she was about to bow and wish us Namaste.

Anyone who remembers my soupcon of separation anxiety over leaving the pups behind will be happy to know that the dogsitter checked in and they're all doing just fine.  Unfortunately, I forgot to tell her what to feed the fish, but that oversight has now been corrected.  So, everything's terrific at home.

Ok, I seriously need to stretch out now, but one more reminder -- You can still throw your hat into the ring to receive a free copy of one of my books -- as long as you promise to make a donation to your local Literacy organization.  Scroll down a couple of blog posts for details.

Good night, all!