Four years ago when I was diagnosed with depression and then bipolar disorder, the clouds parted and my life finally made sense. I did a timeline of my life with my therapist and bingo, there it was -- my alcoholism, depression and mania had been singing in perfect harmony as I plowed through the chaos that I had called my life. The amazing thing is how far back we were able to trace the illnesses. I started swimming competitively when I was 7. I swam hard and fast. I liked the way it made me feel. My coach and parents and teammates cheered me on. Swimming made me feel part of something -- and I finally fit in with the other kids. At 14-years-old, I had had enough of swimming back and forth, staring at a black line on the bottom of the pool. I slid into a teenage wasteland and the endorphins stopped working.

I think I would like to go to rehab. I didn't go to rehab when I got sober in 1998. I went to the local AA clubhouse, which was a former Shriner's clubhouse with a spiffy wood bar (promptly converted to a coffee shop) and a meeting room that seemed large  enough to drive around in little cars. I love my AA clubhouse and have had some wonderful times there. It had a major overhaul a couple of years ago and now features a nice pool table, a flat, large screen television above a fireplace, pin ball machines, a public access computer, and a lovely little cafe. Did I mention the coffee? We have cappuccino, too. Still, I think it might be kind of nice to go to rehab. I don't need it but I hear other recovering alcoholics talk about their rehabs like they're sororities or  spas and I think I could use 30 days to "work on myself" ... and my tan. I got the idea while trying to plan a vacation. I wanted to find a resort or spa for recovered alcoholics. A place where we could go and continue and expand our programs with lectures and seminars and yoga and massages and pedicures and really great healthy food. Meetings morning, noon and night. Movies. Tennis. Group meditations and long walks on the beach. Wouldn't that be great?

I sat down and talked with several suicide survivors last night. By "survivor" I do not mean they had attempted to take their own lives. By "survivor" I mean they have survived the suicide of a loved one. After listening for a couple of hours, I realized that the word "survivor" has never been been more aptly applied to a group of people. And after listening to these people for a couple of hours I can unequivocally say that I will never, ever try to kill myself again. Ever. I felt uncomfortable among them, not just because their stories were terrible. It was the visceral carnage every suicide leaves behind and how it affects even the most routine, mundane tasks we all perform in our daily lives.

We had another murder here last week. Actually, it was three murders and an attempted suicide. According to news reports: What ...

I have trained my dog, "Dog" to run in front of my bicycle on a retractable leash. He loves it. I love it. Every morning we ride down to the park, about 1/2 mile from ...

humility: \hyü-ˈmi-lə-tē, yü-\ 1 : the quality or state of being humble humble: \həm-bəl\ 1 : not proud or haughty : not arrogant or assertive 2 : reflecting, expressing, or ...

I interviewed conservative talk show host Larry Kudlow on Tuesday night, about 10 minutes after he finished his prime time show, The Kudlow Report, on CNBC. Kudlow is speaking in Palm Beach on Saturday ...

I was brought up to believe in a God with flowing robes and a beard. He looked to be in his sixties - maybe seventies but he was a in good shape. He was white ...

I went to bed last night at 1:30 this afternoon. I spent the night doggin' a Miami man charged with gunning down four people - including his twin sisters and a sleeping 6-year-old - at ...

It is Day 2 of my vacation and I have decided I would like to be a stay-at-home mom even though my only child turned 18 last week. I took the career path instead of ...