As most of you know, from time to time I will recommend a book to my readers I've especially enjoyed. I'd like to do that today. My friend, Robyn Carr, is one incredible storyteller and a talented author. (She also does "Carr Chat" interviews with visiting celebrity authors for the Henderson Public Library system in Las Vegas. Not a shy bone in this woman's body!) The first book in her Virgin River series, set in a small town in the redwood forests of northern California, goes on sale today. I was lucky to be able to read an advance copy of VIRGIN RIVER, and I loved it. I know you will, too. I promise you one incredible read. You can thank me later.

We had such a busy weekend that I was forced to send Wayne to the grocery store this morning. While I'm the one who generally does all the food shopping, on occasion I need to send Wayne. Most women won't let their husbands anywhere near a grocery store because they tend to take one of everything on the shelves. Not Wayne–he never deviates from the list. He gets exactly what I want and nothing more . . . well, unless there's a wine sale and then there's no holding him back. If there were competitive races for shopping, Wayne would be an Olympic champion. He'd have an entire string of gold medals.

Did I happen to mention that my dear husband has recently gotten back into scuba diving? He has so many interests these days that it's hard to keep up with him. He'll be gone all day tomorrow exploring the underwater world at Biscayne Bay. While he's down there gazing at the fish and the coral, I'll be . . . shopping. This, my friends, is the best of both worlds.

It has been two years this week since my mother died. I've been fighting back tears every time I think about her. Mom was with me when I entered this world, and I was with her when she left. It seems fitting, doesn't it? This morning I decided that, rather than think about those last, emotionally charged moments with her when I experienced despair and horrific loss watching my mother die, I would concentrate instead on all the wonderful, fun times we shared. The times we shopped together, cooked meals, and laughed over the Johnny Carson tapes until we were nearly sick. Those happy memories are what are most important, and while I will always miss her, she is very much a part of the woman I am today.

I read a really wonderful quote from George Bernard Shaw the other day, and it stuck with me. He said, "I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work the more I live." Isn't that great? I found it in a book I'm reading by John Maxwell, a favorite non-fiction author of mine. The title is THE JOURNEY FROM SUCCESS TO SIGNIFICANCE. I'm a huge fan of Mr. Shaw's. In fact, I have his signature hanging on my office wall. He wrote well into his 90s, and, God willing, I plan to do the same.

After my daily early-morning exercise and writing time, yesterday was filled with errands. After our busy weekend at Sebring, I needed groceries, my nails needed attention, and with a friend visiting, it called for a trip to the mall, which meant we had to do lunch.

I was a gad-about-town, and I was feeling great. I was wearing a new pair of white jeans and a summer top and noticed several people looking in my direction. Authors aren't generally recognized, unless you're Stephen King, so it had me puzzled. I've lost some weight (yeah!), but these people who were staring were strangers, so they wouldn't give me a second look for that reason.

When I went to change clothes last night, I noticed I had failed to remove the sticker from my new jeans. I was all over town, letting the entire world see what size I wore and how much I paid for the jeans.

What an incredibly fun weekend Wayne and I had at Sebring for the big La Mans class car races!

Neither Wayne nor I have ever attended a race before. In fact, we're both pretty naïve when it comes to anything having to do with racing. I've heard of some of the big name racers and NASCAR, of course, but most of everything else is like a foreign language. The reason we got involved in this is because Wayne joined the NSX car club, and the group attended the race. We were able to circle the track twice before the start of the race. I can really see us getting into this. I think.

Tomorrow is the big day. I bet you're thinking I mean St. Patrick's Day–and while it is that—it's also something else: Race Day. Wayne is taking his new sports car to Sebring for a get together with other NSX car fanatics. He'll be doing a parade lap on the race track. This is big stuff for my husband. I'm going with him, even though it means we need to leave way before dawn. It's going to be a fun day in the Florida sunshine. Look for details on Monday.

I've often heard people claim they aren't as young as they used to be. Well, duh! That statement never made a whole lot of sense to me until . . . I sat through a six hour photo shoot. As far as I'm concerned, Christie Brinkley was vastly underpaid. For anyone to smile that long is exhausting. The photographer and her assistant were fabulous, but by the time they finished I was too tired to eat. That, my friends, is tired. Wayne offered to take me out to dinner. I just shook my head, propped myself up in front of American Idol, and sipped wine instead.

I'm getting a new publicity photo taken this afternoon. Oh joy! I hate having my picture taken. First off, the photographer usually glamours me up with so much make-up that I'm afraid to smile for fear it will crease. They insist they want me to look natural. No, they don't. Natural is sitting in front of the computer in my bare feet and a sleeveless top.

I did learn something useful recently, though, and I'm happy to pass it along to my readers. When having your picture taken, just as the camera snaps, swallow. Supposedly it takes away one chin. Now if I can only figure out how to swallow and smile at the same time . . .