We are now in California. We're nestled along a mountainside covered with plants and pine trees that do well in dry heat. Our cabin is not a cabin, after all. It is a cozy, perhaps doublewide, mobile home. I'm sitting on our covered deck looking beyond the trees to a pink horizon. We're still somewhat far from the City of Angels that holds onto our dreams.

You need to make them.

You probably think I've been sucked into some inexplicable vortex. That's an excellent guess and while I can tell you that vortex is called The Best of Me, I really can't describe it to you. Too many secrets. However, one reviewer nearly summarized the whole disturbing love story this week. Except for a quick stint in Pennsylvania for my cousin Paul's wedding, the play has consumed me. During tech week, the anxiety only allowed me to sleep for three hours each night.

Several days ago, my friend Dorothea unexpectedly and without preparation lost her one-month-old son in her arms due to a congenital heart defect. Sorrow rushed me and tears endlessly streamed from me in an attempt to leave me with an emptiness that I didn't reach. I feel so much sorrow at this incomprehensible mark of fate that my beloved friend must face. I feel so helpless because she's several thousand miles away and I feel I can do nothing to help her rise each morning, perhaps selfishly, because usually I know that she's out there somewhere breathing for me.

My mom lives in a triplex in a small south Jersey town that I absolutely adore. I didn't grow up here, but I'd be happy to live here. There is plenty to do along the single string of shops and restaurants a few short blocks away and the population is socially and economically diverse enough to keep my attention. I'd love to see my mom retire here to take advantage of the odd loveliness here.

First, let me begin by apologizing for making you "it." The tagging was purely unintentional on my part. As far as social networks on the Internet, I prefer facebook, but I'm very pleased that some of you thought enough of me to join the tag network which is exactly how I ended up there myself with regard for another friend. If you're not interested, you can stop asking me about it or apologizing because I truly will not think you aren't my friend as the e-mail suggests.

Now then, onto the fun stuff.

So, it takes a village and all of that, but when does the weave of relationships become so tight the threads break?

Santa's been pretty good to me, most of the time. I asked for a keyboard; I got a TV. I asked for a stereo; I got a Keyboard. I asked for a guitar and I got a Stereo. Ultimately, he seems to give me what I want when he feels fit. Though he never got me that guitar. No, the guitar was a casual trade among transient youths living in homes that would take them in. Mine happened to be my VW Bus. The trade was for a pack of cigarettes.

Happy Holidays!