My editor, Paula Eykelhof, arrives this afternoon. Paula is the unsung hero behind the scenes when it comes to my books. We're been working together almost twenty-two years, which is almost unheard of in publishing. We like to say we're like Helen Keller and Annie Sullivan, although we keep switching places. Technically, Paula is here with her husband for a break from the harsh winter conditions in the Northeast. However, she's volunteering to meet with my writers' group on Saturday. Then early next week we're heading to St. Augustine and playing tourist.

It's raining, and when I say that, let me assure you rain in Florida is a whole lot different than the drizzle of the Pacific Northwest. This is rain with a capital R. R-A-I-N. Undeterred, I donned my walking clothes and headed outside this morning. Certainly this wouldn't keep up for long. Wrong. Forty minutes later I surrendered to the powers of nature. I didn't even bring an umbrella. No one uses one in Washington. An umbrella is a sure sign of a tourist. In Florida one needs a tent. I've learned my lesson.

My non-fiction agent, Wendy Lawton, stopped by for a visit. She'd been in Orlando for a conference and drove over to the coast. We had a great time, but we never made it down to the beach. Wendy was afraid she didn't have the right shoes. Shoes? Who wears shoes? There's nothing more satisfying than sand squishing up between your toes or chasing a wave. Okay, okay, generally the waves chase me. I feel so blessed to live on the ocean. As Wendy says, when we give directions, all we need to say is that our condo is the last one before Europe.

Other than walking through the New York airport dragging my underwear, I had a good business trip. No one I know objects to being wined and dined, certainly not me, so when my talented writing friend, Marie Bostwick, suggested a new restaurant, I was intrigued. She treated me to lunch at The Modern, which is a high-end restaurant in the heart of Manhattan and part of the Museum of Modern Art. The food was fabulous and the presentation was a work of art. The plate resembled a serving platter and the scallops—two—were placed in the center in a sauce that was heavenly. It was a feast for the eyes as well as the palate, but I can't imagine what would happen in Port Orchard if anyone charged that amount of money and then delivered a fancy plate with only two scallops.

When Nancy Berland, my personal publicist, and I were traveling through New York's LaGuardia airport, Nancy stopped me and said, "Excuse me Debbie, there's something hanging out of your suitcase." I turned to look, and sure enough, she was right. Apparently, during the security check, my bag wasn't properly zipped up. Imagine the writer, in all her glory, marching across the New York airport dragging her underwear behind her!

I was wrong–the desk didn't collapse, but the printer did! For the time being, I have escaped all my problems. There is nothing better than walking the streets of New York City, eating fabulous meals, and meeting with my publisher, agent, publicists and good friends to get my mind off these unending frustrations. Hopefully, by the time I return, I'll have a computer that works, an internet that's running and a printer that's humming.

Ah, Friday at last. This has been two weeks of computer/internet frustrations. I ended up getting a new computer system, which we thought would fix everything. And it did–for about three whole days. Then the modem went belly up. Bellsouth promised to overnight a new one to us. FIVE DAYS later the new modem arrived. It worked for a grand total of one day before the router decided it was old and tired, and since everything else had been replaced, it quit, too. The only thing left to change now is my desk. Frankly, I don't think there's enough chocolate in the world to see me through another e-mail/computer crisis.

I'm a goal-oriented kind of gal. Every January Wayne and I discuss the things that we want to accomplish in the New Year. It's good to have a clear view of our expectations. For example, we've decided to build a garage this year, which will include an upper level with an office for me. (I won't use it for a few more years but it will be there when I'm ready to make the transition to semi-retirement.) We're taking a month-long African safari in October. Wayne wants to take a motorcycle trip with his sons, and I'm looking forward to a mother/daughter get-away with my daughters. My guess is that we'll shop at some incredible outlet mall.

Wayne and I did errands this weekend. We needed to stop by the mall to make an exchange, and I'm willing to admit the thought of stepping into a shopping mall kind of thrilled me. All week the newspaper had been filled with huge advertisements for January sales. Macy's had a sign outside the front of the store so large I had to step around it. A one-day sale. That meant these incredible bargains were available that one day only.

I should have known. We were inside the store for three to four minutes, give or take five to ten seconds. Wayne found the clerk, made the exchange and was ready to go. When I protested that we were in the middle of the biggest sale of the year, he looked utterly perplexed. After Christmas what could I possibly need? Need? Who said anything about necessities? It doesn't matter if I need it when there's a sale. Lesson learned, my friends: never accompany a man to the mall. They are no fun whatsoever.

Bright and early this morning—okay, bright and early for my friend Martha Powers—we went walking. She's my walking partner here in Florida. Martha isn't normally a morning person; she drags herself out of bed five minutes before we're scheduled to meet at seven. I, on the other hand, have been up since five; I’ve written in three journals (my regular one, my gratitude journal and my prayer journal) read for an hour, and am annoyingly bright and cheerful. Some people are just happy in the mornings and that's me. Martha puts up with me. That's what good friends do. Two miles later and we're both raring to get into our day.