Life By The Slice, The column - observations on life, relationships and humanity - sometimes humorous, sometimes serious, always from the heart.

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RELEASED JULY 28, 2003

If only [what hangs on] these walls could talk

Four items hang on the wall just to the left of my desk. They don't look very appealing the way they're grouped because of how different they are, but for some reason, last week when I moved into my new office, I chose these four things to display. It felt right to me somehow, even though it looked a little odd.

It occurred to me last night what exactly they represent. I now officially call this area my PEW. That's short for my Passions & Emotions Wall. I'll explain.

On the left, an OBX license plate which stands for the Outer Banks in North Carolina. Went there last July for the first time for vacation, only I wouldn't necessarily call it your usual holiday. The day before departure, my doctor told me that I may or may not have Hodgkin's disease and that it would be several weeks before an MRI could be performed and a few more after that before the specialist could give me his diagnosis. After much debate, my husband and I decided to go amidst much confusion and fear, figuring that if the outcome was negative, it might be a while before another getaway could happen.

That week spent camping, we endured a tropical storm, enjoyed sunsets that sizzled the Pamlico Sound, and entertained wildlife from rodents to feathered friends. We spent the majority of the time trying to avoid the "what if" conversation, but the necessity to have it clung to us, much like our sweat-soaked clothing.

I learned of a place within that I hadn't known existed. It was a place of strength, courage, and peace that kept me sane and very aware of all that I cherish in life.

Located just below that plate is the first newspaper article I wrote that was published in 1991. It's yellowed somewhat and the mug shot reveals a face with fewer wrinkles and a really bad taste in earrings. Twelve years have passed but I can still vividly feel those holy hours when that story was born among diapers, bottles warming on the stove and demands for attention by a not yet three-month-old.

To the upper right of that relic is a framed pen and ink drawing. In the fall of 1987 I was compelled to put to paper what had formed in my mind. It was a picture of a lighthouse, pine trees, rocks, and seagulls. A few weeks later, my father called to say his father, my Grandpa, had ended his life on Christmas Eve. I hadn't seen my dad in a while and as an afterthought, I threw that picture into my suitcase for the journey south. I figured he'd like to see it, considering he had grown up in Maine and loved lighthouses.

Ever enjoying my father's approval, I showed him the drawing. Expecting nothing but kudos from him, I was startled to see his face drain of color when he held it in his hands. He put the picture aside and fumbled through his pockets.

He found his checkbook, flipped through the decorative pages, and landed on one in particular. It was the exact same picture I had created, only in color. It was of Cape Elizabeth, Maine. Where he grew up. Where I'd never been. Where my Grandpa's ashes were scattered a few weeks later.

Below that drawing is a signed, limited edition print of Switzer Bridge in autumn. This is a covered bridge that is no longer traveled by vehicles, located in Stamping Ground, Kentucky. It's also very secluded and romantic.

I saw the print at a bookshop nearby the same day that my husband, who's from that little town, took me there, in autumn, to show me a small piece of where he had grown up. It was also the same place where, for the first time in my then 37 years, I understood what it meant to be loved.

So there you have it. My PEW. I wonder if maybe you'll take another look at what's on your walls and find that perhaps you too, have your very own PEW? Drop me a line if you find something profound. I'd love to hear about it.