Music has always been a big part of my life . My daughter says you can always tell what CD I am listening to by the tunes I sing when I think no one else is listening . Sometimes a song gets a hold of me , winds itself around my soul and causes me to make a change in my life . Several years ago , I was partner in a small medical group . I had been out of the office for some surgery and behind my back the other three partners decided to sell out to a large hospital group . I felt betrayed by these men I thought were my friends . As we got closer to the merger , my anger became over powering . One night I was watching a concert on PBS by the rock band Fleetwood Mac . While watching the concert I realized that this was the same great music I had enjoyed so much while eating pizza and drinking beer in college . I couldn 't believe the music was actually the product of this one group , but then again they had three different vocalists . I went out the following day and bought their greatest hits album . When I buy a CD , I put it in the car and it can stay there for weeks . Fleetwood Mac 's ballads of love and betrayal began to throb in my head . The pounding rhythms of The Chain and Go Your Own Way spoke to me . One morning after a particularly ugly meeting , I got in my little blue Z - 3 . I turned the CD to the song Rhiannon . The raspy growl of lead singer Stevie Nicks , mirrored the frustration and anger I was feeling . I drove from Tacoma to Federal Way at 75 miles an hour , screaming the words of the song . " Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night , and wouldn 't you love to love her . She rules her life like a bird in flight , and who will be her lover ? All your life you 've never seen a woman , taken by the wind . What would you say if she promised you heaven ? Will you ever win ? " During those dark and difficult days , Rhiannon became a real person to me . She looked a bit like Stevie Nicks , her long blond hair blown by unseen tempests . Rhiannon wore a long black dress , fitted at the waist . Tassels hung from the sleeves . The dress floated as she twirled . Rhiannon was a strong woman , who knew her own mind . She became my mentor and I emulated her . I would be assertive in this unhappy situation . I would allow myself to use the power of my anger , but I would not let my anger become me . With this image of Rhiannon I began to tell myself a story . It was a love story between this strong , assured older woman and the handsome young man who would become her secret lover . The story moved from my imagination to my computer , and to escape the trials of my work place , I began to write their story . Within months I had written a novel . While I wrote about Rhiannon , something changed within me . As first novelists often do , Rhiannon was imbued with parts of me . I began to glory in those strengths , and by the time the book was finished , I had made a decision . I couldn 't care for people properly if I was feeling angry all the time . I would leave the big hospital group . Their brand of cover your ass medicine with 7 . 5 minute office visits was never going to work for me . I decided I would open my own practice , where I could care for patients the way I felt they deserved to be treated . But I had no idea where to start . I was driving down the street one day , with Rhiannon still playing in my CD player . I saw a real estate sign at an office park and something told me to call the man whose name was on it . Soon we were looking at office space . Then , over lunch one day , I ran into a woman who used to work for us . She had been involved in the healthcare industry for a long time . She told me how to start getting insurance contracts set up and helped me apply to the government plans . She put me in touch with people who knew insurance billing and computers . I went back to counseling and my counselor gave me the name of her attorney . The attorney told me how to get out of my non - compete clause and helped me get a state business license . She gave me the name of an accountant . When I wasn 't working or writing , I spent all my free time making phone calls , and right after New Year 's in 2006 , I handed my resignation to my employer . Three months later I opened my own practice . " She is like a cat in the dark , and then she is the darkness . She rules her life like a fine skylark , and when the sky is starless . All your life you 've never seen a woman , taken by the wind . What would you say if she promised you heaven ? Will you ever win ? " The summer was growing short and my chance of going to medical school was diminishing . A distraction arrived when my mother and aunt came to stay for the 4th of July holiday . The three of us had just arrived home from shopping when the phone rang . " Hello , " I said juggling a bag of groceries . " Speaking . " I shuffled the bag onto the kitchen counter . " This is Dagmar Coperhaver from the University of Nevada , School of Medicine . We have had an opening for the upcoming class and wanted to know if you were still interested . " " Oh , my God ! Yes ! Yes , I am still interested . I had almost given up . Oh , my God . What do I have to do ? " Dagmar laughed . " Well , orientation starts August thirtieth and we recommend you come a week early to get your housing , financial aid , and other details taken care of . You won 't have time once classes start . So , can we expect you ? Or do you need to give it some thought ? " " Great ! I will send you out financial aid materials and an orientation packet . Call me if you need anything . Oh , and , by the way , congratulations . " My hand was shaking so hard I could barely get the phone back in the cradle . I turned around . My mother , aunt , and the girls were all staring at me . I am sure they thought I had taken leave of my senses . I grabbed the girls and danced them all over the kitchen . I had no idea how I was going to get in Reno in six weeks and at that moment I did not care . I was still flying high when Tom came home from work . I grabbed him by the shoulders as he came through the door . " I got accepted at the University of Nevada . I have to be there the end of August . Isn 't it great ! " He looked at me with an empty , flat expression . " Well , I just can 't do this right now . Can 't you call and tell them you will have to wait until next year or do it by correspondence or something ? I can 't leave . " I spent that time trying to figure out how I was going to get to Reno with a reluctant husband , two kids , a dog , a rabbit , and a guinea pig . I considered many options . I could leave them all behind and move into graduate student housing for a year in hopes Tom would come to his senses . I could rent an apartment for the kids and the animals and leave Tom in Pocatello . We could sell our house and buy a new one in Reno and try to act like we had a normal life . After communications resumed , we decided on the latter . We flew to Reno and saw twenty - four houses in two days . We looked at places which should have been demolished . We looked at houses which violated every building code known to my engineer husband . All we wanted was a house in our price range which had decent paint and kitchen tiles which weren 't smashed out by sledge hammers . There were some nice neighborhoods , but we couldn 't afford them . There was one house on the edge of the neighboring town of Sparks which was a possibility , but it cost too much and the wall paper and carpets were hideous . We left town without making an offer . I began to panic . I needed to be in Reno in two weeks and I still had nowhere to live . I started thinking about campus housing again , but the medical school started a few weeks before the rest of the university . I would have to find somewhere to stay until I could move into the dorms . It was then that I had an idea . We had purchased a small tent trailer when we moved to Pocatello . I would park it in an RV park until I could move to campus . It was warm enough in Reno and the trailer had a propane heater if it did get chilly . I could cook simple meals on the stove . I had light and a table to study on and most importantly a bed . Besides , it would just be for a couple of weeks . Two weeks later , I loaded the car with all the things I would need to become a full time student once again . I hooked up the trailer , and drove Sarah , Robin , our pets and plants to my mother 's house . That night my mother told me she thought I was crazy , but at long last she acknowledged my dream . She said she would do whatever it took to support me . I stayed the night and left for Reno the following day . It was a long drive across the brown sagebrush desert . I played music full blast to keep myself awake . I worried the car or trailer might breakdown . I was afraid my marriage was over and I had totally blasted my family apart . I arrived in Reno late in the day and checked into the Shamrock RV Park . I hooked up the power and the water . I used the payphone to call Tom and my mother . I showered in the RV park common bathroom and cried myself to sleep . Little did I know this would be my home for another six weeks . I stepped off the elevator and into the cool , semi - darkness of the SUB study lounge . I was wearing jeans and an ISU sweatshirt I had picked up on line . I hoped no one would notice that it was one not available in the bookstore in this decade . In my hand was the Starbuck 's chai latte I meant to throw out before coming here . Starbucks existed in this time but only in Seattle . I hoped no one noticed . As I expected , my younger self was sitting in the large leather chair in the corner . She was dressed in bell - bottom jeans and a peasant shirt she had embroidered herself . Around her hair she wore a blue bandana and a thin necklace of love beads adorned her neck . A battered book bag stood beside her and a bright pink pop can sat on the side table . She was reading a textbook with a yellow marker in her hand . Every now and then she would look up and gaze out the windows across the way . I strolled across the room experiencing déjà vu . This place held so many memories . The good and the bad . I took the seat next to her . " Hi , Debi . My name is Dr . Dorothy Tate , " I whispered . " Hi , " she said . She looked around the room for an explanation . " Do I know you ? " She must have mistaken me for a faculty member . " I know what you carved on the top of your dresser . " Her head swiveled around . " I know about Donnie . And Cynthia . " Her mouth fell open . " And I know what is going to happen to you in the future . " She picked up her Tab cola , took a sip and gazed at me suspiciously . " If you really are my future self , how did you get here ? I mean isn 't there some rule on Star Trek about not changing the past . And what about the space - time continuum ? I mean , this is cool and all , but I don 't think you ought to be here . " I set my Starbucks cup on the mahogany end table between us . Her blue grey eyes took in the unfamiliar logo . " I think in the latest Star Trek movie Spock proved you can meet past versions of yourself without causing a universal cataclysm , " I said . " I came here to share with you some universal truths I have learned over the years . " Debi began scribbling flowers and mandalas on her yellow spiral notebook . We always did this when we were bored in lectures . " Before you start , I want to ask you a question , " she said . " How old are you ? " " Man ! I always thought I would be dead before the end of the century . Am I really going to look like you ? I mean , your hair isn 't even grey . " " And I am probably a lot fatter than you thought you would ever be , " I said smiling at her bluntness . Debi blushed and started a new drawing . I changed the subject . " I know you are struggling and you feel lost about your future . I am here to let you know that you survived . " " Because 35 years ago I sat alone in this study lounge wondering if any of it was worth it . I wondered why I was stuck taking rinky dink classes in a major I didn 't want . I wondered what happened to my dreams . I was directionless and thinking I should just kill myself and get it over with . I have come to give you some advice and some hope . " " Why do you care ? No one gives a shit about me , " Debi said , her eyes filling with tears . " Mom doesn 't care about anything I want . Dad just doesn 't care . And Tom … I don 't know about Tom . I mean the Tates are a great old family and they have all the culture and stuff I want , but I haven 't heard from him in weeks . " Debi rubbed her reddened watery eyes . " Damn contacts . They keep floating off . " I want to hug her and tell her everything would turn out alright , but that is a lie . " So , first piece of advice . Listen to your gut . If something inside you is screaming , no , listen to that voice . It is the genuine you telling you the right thing to do . " " But If I do that people might get mad . I don 't want to make anyone mad . " Tears continued to flow . I handed her one of the tissues I had packed in my overstuffed pockets . I nodded my head . " Ricky Nelson . 1972 . It might sound trite but it is true . If you go around trying to make everyone else happy you will end up miserable because you are putting their needs before your own . " I watched her write Garden Party in the margin of her notebook . " Well no shit ! " she said loudly . She picked up the crumpled ball of tissue and threw it at me . Other students gave us a dirty look for disturbing their concentration . " I know you are feeling frustrated and angry . You have every right to feel that way . You don 't know yet that it is life 's adversities that make us who we are . They are the furnace which tempers us and makes us stronger and more resilient . " Debi leaned back in her chair crossing her arms and ankles . " Now you are talking in riddles . You sound like just like Gandalf talking to Frodo . I just want to know what is going to happen to me . " I smiled at her . " Thanks for the compliment . Wait until you see the Peter Jackson version of Lord of the Rings . You are going to be blown away . " I took another sip of my latte , and wiped the foam from my upper lip . " I suppose wisdom does speak in riddles . I can 't give you specifics about the future . That would disturb the space - time continuum . " The corner of Debi 's mouth turned up , but she continued to sulk , so I leaned forward to catch her eye . " You need to know that you aren 't going to die from loneliness . Your life will eventually be what you want it to be even though the path is going to be difficult . You are a smart , talented , caring person . Surround yourself with people who support you . Those are the people who truly love you . " Debi looked down at the battered watch she wore on a thick leather strap . " Is that all ? I have cell bio lab to get to . " She rolled her eyes heavenward . " God , I hate that class . " " Far out ! " she said , smiling broadly . Another student shushed us from a corner . Debi gave him a dirty look . I was amazed at how her feelings showed so fully on her face and in her body language . I thought about my own carefully controlled emotions . I too had things to learn . " Well , " I said , clearing the lump in my throat . " That brings us to my next bit of advice . It comes from a book which is not yet written but I think you need to hear it anyway . Have you got your pen ? The author says , " Never again use another person 's body or emotions as a scratching post for your own unfulfilled yearnings . " She gave me a blank look . " It means you will never fill the hole in your soul with someone else . Mom taught us to depend on other people for our happiness and , Debi , " I gently touched her hand noting the calluses on her fingertips and the chewed fingernails . " You can only find that happiness within yourself . Play your guitar . Read good books . Listen to great music . Find the things which truly make you happy and hold tight to them . Oh , and take ornithology next semester . You will fall in love with bird watching . " She wrote BIRDS in capital letters in the corner of the notebook page and followed it with a question mark . She peeked at her watch again . " I really have to go . " " Okay . Last piece of advice . This one comes from another wizard you are going to love . He said , ' It does no good to dwell on dreams and forget to live ' . " I stood up to take my leave remembering to take my Starbucks cup with me . " I am leaving you for now but remember to follow your gut , take care of yourself , don 't depend on others for your happiness , dream but do not get lost in those dreams , and most importantly , life isn 't fair . Now , off to class with you . " I walked back toward the elevator . The smell of the place is a mixture of disinfectant , urine , and dust as old as time . I hear the hollow echo my black Mary Janes on a gray tiled floor . The grimy , metal barred windows are so high up , I cannot see out of them . It is winter outside ; I remember the chill on my cheeks . The place has a creepy eeriness which raised the hair on my arms and set me shivering . A similar smell or empty hallway transports me easily back to that place . I always associate it with my grandmother . My Grandmother Molesworth didn 't live on our family farm when I was very small . When people mentioned Grandma Katie they did it in hushed whispers . Their grown up words and their raised eyebrows successfully hid the secret for many years . When I was seven , the conversations about Grandma became more frequent . One Saturday , Uncle Dale and my dad got in the old blue Chevy station wagon . They were gone over night and when they came home , they brought my grandmother with them . She was a squat gray haired woman in a brown gingham dress . Her thick stockings were rolled up above her knees . Her pale blue eyes showed no emotion behind the bent dirty glasses she wore . I couldn 't understand her when she talked . It seemed as though her large yellow teeth were glued together somehow although she opened her mouth fine when we sat down to eat dinner that day . After that she was always at our house . The boys would drop her off early in the morning and then pick her up after the farm work was done . She would sit in the same chair all day staring at the black and white television , only coming to the kitchen for meals . She talked to herself through her clenched teeth and her mutterings frighten me . When my mother talked about Grandma she used words like " Thorazine " and " shock treatments " . One day , Grandma was sitting in the kitchen and I was playing near her on the floor . Grandma said something to me and Mom translated . " She wants to see your doll . " I handed it to her and sat fascinated as she stroked the long ponytail of my classic Barbie . " She likes blond hair , " my mother said . I thought about my own blond hair and wondered why Grandma didn 't like me . And then I knew . Grandma was a blue - eyed blond . She and my quiet , sad Uncle Howard were the only ones in the family who resembled me . Whatever was wrong with them was going to happen to me , too . I became afraid of my own thoughts . When I played with my imaginary friends , I was ashamed and I played as far from the house as I could , so no one would know my secret . One spring night I heard my mother talking in a loud voice . " I am sick of being stuck here with her all day . She hates me , you know . She thinks I am her sister Etta . I didn 't get married to babysit your mother . " I couldn 't hear my When we came back that fall , my grandmother was gone . My dad and the boys had found her a place in a nursing home . I rarely visited . The smell of the place gave me such an overwhelming sense of déjà vu , I would flee for the car after only a few minutes . One afternoon when I was about thirteen , my Aunt Jeanne came to visit . She was upset that her husband , my dad 's youngest brother , didn 't want more children . Mom pored ice tea and we went to sit in the front yard . I sat on the tire swing , listening intently . Mom began to talk . " Well , you know about their mom and dad , don 't you ? " Jeanne shook her head . " Well , their father committed suicide . Hung himself from his own tie . In a hotel in Twin Falls . " Tears started to leak from Jeanne 's over made up eyes . " And their mother , well , " her voice dropped to a whisper , " She tried to castrate Don with a butcher knife when he was a baby . " Jeanne covered her mouth with her hands . My mother went on . " They kept her at home after it happened . Their dad died a few years later and Howard took over the housekeeping . After the war , Dale and Bob took her to Blackfoot . She was there until the hospital kicked out all the chronic patients . " Grandma died when I was in college . She had lived over thirty years of her life in institutions . The day of her funeral was the only time I ever saw my father weep . He called her " A saint . " During my third year of medical school , I was assigned to the Nevada Mental Health Institute . When I walked into the grey tiled hallway with its barred windows and that sickly hospital smell , the déjà vu struck me once again . I knew I must have visited my Grandmother at State Hospital South when I was very small . I spent the month there walking crab - like down the hallways , protecting my back against my memories and fears . At least once a week in the summer , I would be sent on an errand to my uncles ' house . My uncles ' house stood at the end of a long dusty rutted driveway . They had lived in this house all their lives , and I didn 't like going there . I would walk the half mile between our homes , dragging my feet and kicking stones along the gravel road . When I got there I would stop in the wide front yard and pick a few pie cherries . They were so tart they would make my eyes water , but I always had to try them . Sometimes I would dawdle in Uncle Howard 's hen house . The chickens would fly around me , feathers and straw showering down as I searched their nests for warm , brown eggs . On my way back to the house I would stop and pick some of the wild hops which grew next to the wooden outhouse . I would rub the oily pods over my fingers , inhaling the tart beery aroma , wondering why they were there . But eventually I would have to complete my task . The back pouch was the entry and there was a single concrete step leading into the house . The torn screen door had long lost its spring and when it was opened , it slammed against the peeling , white siding , pushed open by the relentless Southern Idaho winds . The porch itself was gloomy , lit by a single blub which turned on with a string . The walls were unadorned and the wooden floor was worn smooth from countless footsteps . Uncle Harold 's coveralls hung to the right of the door . The smell of sweat , manure , and neglect made the air too thick to breathe . I would throw open the screen door letting it bang against the side of the house . Holding my breath , I would quickly open the lid of the white chest freezer blocking it so it wouldn 't fall on me . I would lean over digging rapidly through the hard , cold , packages searching for the proper one before my fingers froze . Once I had the prize in my hands , I would run for the safety of the road . As I got older , I became braver . I started using my trips to explore the house . I could hurry through the porch to the kitchen and dining area . On the right was the small faded kitchen with its yellowed , peeling linoleum and red checkerboard shelf paper . In the dining room there stood an oak dining table covered with an ancient sheet of green oil cloth . My grandmother 's Singer sewing machine sat in front of the window . The table and the sewing machine were brought here from Missouri when she and my grandfather came west full of hopes and dreams . And it was in these rooms that all those dreams were shattered . Through the dining room was the living area . Here the carpet was worn down to the backing and the floor leaned ominously downward . The windows were shaded with yellowed lace curtains , the only feminine touch in this house of bachelors . The room was filled to bursting with Craftsman style oak furniture . The green leather upholstery was split revealing the dry , crackly kapok padding . The story was I had taken my first steps in this room . Uncle Dale was sitting in the arm chair and I was walking along his legs . When I got to his feet I just kept going . Across from the chair stood a green oil stove and behind it was a small narrow cabinet set into the wall . The cabinet held my Uncle Dale 's books . They were dry and dusty giving off that peculiar aroma of paper decay . His tidy bedroom stood off the living room . I remember spending a very sleepless night there when he was asked to babysit me . I was afraid of the house . There were phantoms there . On another memorable visit , I crept up the forbidden stairs off the dining room . The stairs were steep and the treads were bowed by time and the passage of feet . My heart was pounding in my chest as I ascended the stairs , but it thudded to a standstill when I reached the top . A long faded carpet ran down the narrow hallway . In each bedroom , my uncles ' iron beds with their thin mattresses stood on bare wooden floors . Fuzz balls the size of grapefruits lie in the corners , and the dirt on the floor was like a thick layer of barroom sawdust . I felt bad my uncles had to live in this decaying house with all their sad memories . I wanted to help so one day I decided to wash the years of grease and dirt from the windows . I took a bucket and sponge and filled it with hot water from the new bathroom they had added the year my grandmother came home from the state hospital . As I pulled the crackling blue and grey curtains away from the dining room window , the moisture of my wet hands disintegrated them . I wetted my sponge and took a swipe at the grimy panes . The water ran down into the peeling window casing . From the cracks erupted a swarm of winged insects which surrounded me , brushing me with their wings as they went flying through the dining room . Spilling my bucket , I fled the house , terrified of the horde which I had unleashed . I was afraid all the ghosts who inhabited the house were coming after me . I didn 't want them to follow me into my life . It was the last time I entered the house alone . The sights , the sounds , the smells and the stories chased me far way . When the boys moved out , the new owner of the property knocked the termite infested house down with one small shove of a caterpillar tractor , and he burned the remains . I would have liked to have witnessed that funeral pyre . Perhaps it would have cleansed me from the terror of its malevolent spirits . Posted by My mother 's Lane cedar chest always stood at the foot of her bed . She got it when she lived in Lewiston , Idaho and her sister , Irene , had one identical to it . I like to imagine them walking arm in arm , smoking cigarettes and talking excitedly about their upcoming weddings . They never could have guessed where their lives would take them . My mother 's cedar chest was a beautiful piece of furniture when I was young . It was oak veneer and Mom always kept it polished and oiled . I loved it in the winter when she would open the lid and pull out the calf length fur coat which she always wore to midnight mass . I would lie on the fur side of the coat and rub my nose in the soft hair , inhaling the tart aroma of the cedar . I imagined wearing the coat when I became an adult . It would be the height of sophistication . Another old fur lived in the treasure chest . It is one of those long narrow stoles with the tails and heads of the poor animals it was made from dangling from the ends . I found it frightening but intriguing . I used to believe that it belonged to my grandmother , but I learned recently from my cousin Leslie , it was probably Aunt Irene 's . The stole was used as dress - up clothes and was part of many a Halloween costume . As much as I loved the smell and the glamour of the chest , inside it lay many mysteries . On the rare occasion I was left alone in the house , I would sneak into my parent 's room and carefully open the treasure chest . Most of the contents was boring ; old linens and my old baby clothes . However , tucked in a corner was my mother 's old diary , kept in the years before she met my father . I tried to read it to try to understand her better but she was too crafty for me . She wrote the entries in Gregg shorthand , so even her diary 's contents was another mystery I never was able to decipher . In the top drawer of the chest lay an unburned baptismal candle and a death certificate . I knew my sister had died shortly after birth . We visited her grave every Memorial Day . Along with my sister 's papers was a mysterious envelope which contained a copy of my birth certificate . I couldn 't understand why an attorney would be mailing my birth certificate to my parents . When I asked about it , Mom said , " You stay out of that trunk . The lid could fall and you would get locked in there and suffocate . " Some of the items in the chest were my father 's . There was a small silk pillow case which he had purchased for his mother while he was stationed in England during the war . Some old cards to his mother were tucked inside the case . He had kept it all these years for my grandmother who had no use for it where she lived at the state mental hospital . Over time I removed some of the items and made them my own . There was a wonderful calf - length wool pea - coat with military insignias on the sleeves and pockets . I pulled it out when I was in high school and wore it thinking myself very smart and John Lennon - like for protesting the Vietnam War by wearing it . Along with the coat there was a battered , brown box containing various military patches and buttons . These were a sacred relic to my mother . I believed for a long time they belonged to my father , but my dad hated war . He never talked about his experiences flying in bombers over Germany . Perhaps the box , like the coat belonged to my mother 's first husband , lost in the war . When my mother died , the chest of treasures came to live with me . Time had changed the outside of the chest . Someone had let the water flow over a potted plant leaving a large ring in the shellac . Pieces of the veneer had been pulled away and lost . As I sadly sorted through it , most of the items in the chest were meaningless . The old clothes and linens had no history attached to them so they were sold at my mother 's estate sale . But the fur coat , which I still love to lie on and rub my nose agaiThe old linens have been replaced by two quilts my mother made for my daughters . They are young and have no interest in them for now , but I hope someday they will . My baby clothes have been replaced by my daughters ' favorite blankies . The cedar aroma cannot hide the smell of their soft babyhoods . My sister 's papers and candle still lay in the drawer next to the silk pillow meant for my grandmother , and my parent 's birth , marriage and death certificates lay beside them . But that age yellowed envelope containing my birth certificate still remains . I have removed it to a safety deposit box . The attorney 's name is the only clue I have to the past I am continually seeking . As I get older I think perhaps the cedar chest is all I really need . The sight of it brings up memories of my mother and father and life on our farm . I no longer seek to know my mother better . She hardly knew herself . My life has moved forward making memories of my own . My daughters are women now with their own lives . Perhaps my grandchildren , the future of my DNA , will be drawn by the mysteries of my treasure chest and I will share with them the stories of my life and the items within . Of course , I watched dancers on the Ed Sullivan show . I loved the costumes and the grace of the dancers , but my knowledge of dance is still pretty basic . I can tell a ballet , from a waltz , and I enjoy watching a good rousing square dance , but the ballroom style of Dancing with the Stars I find fairly dull . The thing is no one ever told me that relationships are like dances . In the beginning a boy picks a partner from the line of waiting girls . He chooses the dance and the girl follows his lead . He either likes her and wants to continue the dance ; or he heads back to the stag line , leaving her to join the line of waiting wallflowers . I was drinking beer and playing pool the night Tom decided to ask this perennial wallflower to dance . I was so flattered by the attention and the opportunity to get out on the floor that I never realized how truly out of step we were . His family was famous for their graceful waltz learned in the highest levels of society . My family did a rollicking tarantella with a smattering of country two step . I wanted to learn to waltz but try as I might , I just couldn 't follow the steps . Tom wanted to lead and I couldn 't go backwards into life . I wanted to stand alone to do the twist or the frug . I loved the rhythms of disco and wanted to try the hustle . And around the house I did danced much as I pleased , but when Tom came home , he would take my waist and attempt to lead me more mannerly dances . I always ended up stepping on his toes . We danced a furious merenge for many years , Tom dancing toward his career and me chasing after him . I found the paso doble of motherhood dull and monotonous . So one day , I started a new dance . I picked a lively two - step , balancing school and motherhood . Tom spent several years trying to continue in his lock step as I danced away in my own direction . Every now and then we would try to come together in the family waltz but the kids kept cutting in with dances of their own . I thought someday when all the distractions were gone , Tom and I could dance together . I hoped he would loosen up and enjoy a lively jitterbug or jazzy freestyle . But when our daughters danced away into their own lives , my husband and I moved again into a halfhearted waltz , trying to keeping up the appearance of a happy marriage . We went round and round and back and forth in the same four step pattern his parents had danced all of their marriage . Tom didn 't realize I was bored with the music , and he seemed unwilling to change the record . Finally the stifling routine of our steps caused me to dance away again , and this time it was for good . Two years ago I moved into my own studio . My first night there I put ABBA 's " Dancing Queen " on the CD player . I was sixteen again as I twirled and spun , unselfconscious . I am happy with my solo dance . I am my own choreographer . And if someday I choose another partner , he better be confident enough with his own dance to follow in my lead . Around the holidays I always rediscover how ambivalent I am on the subject of gifts . I enjoy giving gifts , however , I feel embarrassed to receive them . When people ask me what I want for any occasion , I usually answer , " World peace . " My trouble with gifts started the Christmas I turned eight . That year my teacher read Misty of Chincoteague aloud to my third grade class . I fell in love with the story of John , Maureen and the wild ponies from Assateague Island . That year , a copy of Misty was the only thing on the Christmas list I gave to my mother . The gifts started to accumulate under the Christmas tree and as they did I scrutinized them carefully . Soon a rectangular package appeared with my name on it . It seemed the right weight and size for a copy of Misty . It was solid along one side and dipped in on the other three . It made no noise when it was shaken . I would sit there for hours petting the package , anxiously awaiting the magic hour when I could open it and begin to read . On Christmas Eve , I bounced around too eager to eat dinner . When the dishes were cleared away , I sat down under the brightly lit tree and grabbed the rectangular package . I squirmed while the adults took their places . The rest of the gifts were distributed and everyone ripped in . The first tear in the red and green paper revealed the rear dust cover of a book . I turned the package over . My heart sank . Instead of the picture of a grey pony on the beach , there was brown horse and a man in a funny hat . " Justin Morgan Had a Horse " , I read silently to myself . I lowered the book to my lap . The rest of my gifts lay ignored . Later , I dawdled as Mom and I dressed for midnight mass . " Are you sick ? " she asked . " No , " I said as I pulled at the neck of the stiff new Christmas dress . " Well , then what 's wrong ? You have been pretty quiet . " She applied her bright red lipstick in the bathroom mirror . " I asked you for Misty of Chincoteague . " She never turned around but saw her narrowed eyes reflected in the mirror . " Why do you have to be such a brat ? It is Christmas for Christ 's sake . " " Nothing , " I replied in a surly tone . She continued to badger me for several more days . Finally she demanded , " Just tell me what you want . " When I again replied , " Nothing , " she threw down her dust rag , " Why do you have to be such a brat ? " Something exploded in my brain . I was a brat if I asked for something and I was a brat if I didn 't . " World peace ! " I screamed at her as I stomped out of the house . Years have passed and I have spent a lot of time and money on therapy . One day , while looking through some old books with my grandson , I found that copy of Justin Morgan . I turned it over in my hand detesting it . That day , I took the book to donation bin and hurled it in . I relished the bang as it hit the metal wall of the bin . It was the sound of chains falling away . I got back in my car and drove to a bookstore . I bought myself a copy of Misty of Chincoteague . This Christmas , I decided to take a chance . I asked for presents instead of world peace . I was very specific when I told people what I wanted . I told them where they could purchase the item , and what size and color I wanted . This year there were no surprises under my Christmas tree , nor were there any disappointments .