“Home Fires Burning”: Day Two of the Miracle on Lombard Street Preview

Chapter Two: Home Fires Burning

“As for Davin and Joe, blocks passed without a word being shared. The silence, however, was somehow warm and far from empty. There were brushes of shoulders, nudges of elbows and sparring of gazes. Neither man hid his attraction for the other. Far from it. They toyed with each other with everything but their tongues.” (page 53)

 

Bright and bushy-tailed (and a very fine bushy-tail, it is), I welcome one and all to Day Two of the Miracle on Lombard Street Preview Blogging Event.

 

For all concerned citizens, I am happy to say that my cold is better and survival is now a distinct possibility. Unfortunately, coughing fits still tackle me with no warning, sending my panic-challenged brain roaring back to bad, bad days. But no worries, I will not allow a simple cold to take me and my sanity out. No way. No how… and if that sounds like some “buck it up” motivational cheerleading on my part, I plead the fifth.

 

Moving on…

 

Negotiations are currently underway as to the exact date of Miracle on Lombard Street’s release. All indications indicate that the big day will be Monday and Tuesday of next week. Once these high-level, heated, boardroom discussions are complete I will pass the final decision on to you… please insert completely non-sarcastic smile here.

 

The image of “home fires burning” has been particularly poignant for me this week. As noted above, I’ve been battling some briar-filled memories this last week. To put it simply, I don’t do sick. Any kind of sick. Injury? Bring it on. Sniffles? You’ll find me hiding under my bed.

Please don’t stuff me into that Cowardly Lion costume too quickly, however. I’m not as big of a baby as I may appear. Really.

 

When I was eleven, in the first major appearance of my panic disorder in my life, I convinced myself that I was dying. My heart was giving out. It was either beating too slow, too fast or too irregularly for me to survive. I was convinced with every fiber of my soul that I would not live to see my fourteenth birthday.

 

I was terrified, absolutely scared to death. For hours, I’d sit with my hand on my chest, counting the heartbeats, sure that I was about to feel my last one.

 

As the months dragged on and my fear escalated, I would make myself so nervous that my heart would start to actually beat erratically. An extra thump here, a missing thump there assured me that I was going to die.

 

Guess what?

 

I didn’t.

 

And every year on my birthday, I thank God that I made it to fourteen. I have vowed never to complain about getting older. Every decade that I see is an unexpected blessing, a cherished event that leaves me saying “Wow!”

 

Unfortunately, this habit of my body’s to go along with whatever freaked out thing my mind is thinking at the time has not dissipated with the years or the meds. For instance, if I convince myself that every time I cough I will puke, well then, every time I cough, I puke. Done deal… that is until I can convince my mind otherwise.

 

Silly, isn’t it?

 

Stupid, certainly.

 

Sad? Yeah, sometimes it is just sad.

 

And sometimes all I find myself saying, with no clear logic attached, “I just want to go home.”

 

Bright and bushy-tailed, I do indeed write this blog to you. The panic has faded again, and I find myself already home.

 

Until tomorrow…

 

Chloe Stowe

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