Just a quick word to let everyone know I came through the carpal tunnel surgery just fine. I've discovered I'm living with another Florence Nightingale. Wayne was a wonderful nurse to me yesterday, staying up until midnight to make sure I had my medication on schedule. This morning was a comedy of errors as he helped me with my clothes.

We're on our way to Colville, where Susannah's Garden takes place (I'm signing at E-Z Knit Fabrics on Friday), and we'll stop and see my friend Linda Miller in Spokane. After that we're going to take a couple of days vacation.

I'm having surgery tomorrow morning. Not to worry–it isn't for anything serious. After all these years of typing away on a computer keyboard, plus knitting, I need carpal tunnel work done on my left hand. (The right hand was done about seven years ago.) Wayne is looking forward to being my nurse—not.

Yesterday I had a pre-op doctor appointment. While I've seen Dr. Bliss any number of times, I can never remember where his office is located inside the Port Orchard complex. Just as I was studying the reader board, I happened to see the good doctor and decided to follow him. He obviously knew where he was going. And he did. He headed straight into the men's room! Thankfully, I stopped myself in the nick of time.

I'll be away from the office for a few days but will keep everyone updated on Wayne's nursing skills.

I had a fabulous weekend in Phoenix, where I spoke at the Desert Dreams Writers' Conference. If you’re in the area, and want to learn about the craft of writing, do look for next year’s conference.

An hour after I landed I met with the fine ladies at the Arizona Knitting and Needlepoint store with my friend Joan McKeon, where–surprise, surprise–I purchased yarn!

My speech was during Saturday's lunch, followed later in the afternoon by a book signing. Several of my faithful readers stopped by for the signing and it was a pleasure to meet them. I just wish I had more time to visit with each one individually.

Highlights of the signing included meeting Karen Woods, who has knitted 30 baby blankets using the pattern contained in THE SHOP ON BLOSSOM STREET. She gave me one to take home for a grandchild. Karen read THE SHOP ON BLOSSOM STREET shortly after being diagnosed with cancer; knitting these blankets was her therapy. Another highlight was meeting Renee Nowell, a very talented lady, who brought me one of her hand-bound books to use as a journal. See what I mean when I say I'm blessed? I have the most wonderful readers in the world.

I forgot to mention the special cake I made for dessert on Easter—a delicious coconut cake that I first tasted about seven years ago in the south. I really love coconut cake, and this one in particular stayed in my memory. When I had a signing in Georgia early this year, we went back to the same restaurant so I could have it again. It was even better than I remembered.

I wanted the recipe. I was willing to pay for it, which I did. I didn't care what it cost. Thirty dollars. I bought an entire cookbook just for the one recipe. It arrived in the mail in time for Easter. The first ingredient: a Duncan Hines cake mix. As Dave Berry would say: I'm not making this up.

But, the cake was delicious and worth the price!

It's a relief to be in the office this morning. The family was over for the Easter weekend, and after all the cooking, cleaning, and chasing after the grandkids, I could use the rest. Seven grandchildren ran through the house like banshees; up and down the stairs, outside, inside, beneath the furniture and every which direction you can imagine. By the time everyone left, Wayne and I were exhausted.

It's the holiday we enjoy the most, when our family gathers together to celebrate the season of rebirth. My parents, when they were alive, were always right there with all the grandkids, hiding the Easter eggs, applauding their every effort. I don't find it the least bit ironic that this year Easter fell on my father's birthday.

Wayne and I are playing the Easter Bunny this Saturday with the grandkids. For the last several years we've hidden Easter eggs in our yard, staggering the grandchildren by age group for the big hunt. We use plastic eggs filled with wrapped candy and quarters. This year I'm including special eggs addressed to each grandchild with messages inside–little love notes that let them know how special they are.

For our Easter dinner, we've ordered a peppered ham. In honor of my father, I'm making his favorite dish, potato salad, and using my mother's recipe. Then on Sunday morning we will gather in church as a family to celebrate our risen Lord.

Wayne's home! He drove 3,323 miles from our winter condo in Florida, across the entire United States, and arrived in Port Orchard late yesterday evening. It amazes me, no matter what route he drives, he goes through Las Vegas. Go figure.

When he walked in the house, it'd been two weeks since I'd seen my husband. Fifteen days, to be exact, and what struck me was what a good-looking fellow I married. We've been together thirty-eight years, and he's as appealing to me now as when I first met him. By golly, I love that man.

I had lunch with a Readers Group from a local Senior Center this afternoon. They were delightful and such fun. They got a kick out of some of the ‘fan' letters I receive. Did you know I've actually gotten marriage proposals through the mail? Well, sort of. One of my favorites came from a guy in prison who wrote, "You can be my woman and I don't even care if you're fat!" If only I had met him before Wayne. Darn, darn, darn. The ladies wanted to know how I'd answered his letter. I don't believe I ever did. One suggested that I was just too nice and didn't want to hurt his feelings.

That cheerful, happy whistling you hear is me. I'm in a fabulous mood, and can you guess why? I'm writing today. For the last month I've been doing a bit of professional housecleaning, some reading, autographings, and, of course, plenty of traveling. Now, finally, I can write.

I'm happiest when I can create. For the next few days I'll be working on the synopsis for my 2007 Christmas book, tentatively titled Hark, the Angels . (I have little doubt this title will go through two or three transformations.) As you have probably already guessed, this is another book about Shirley, Goodness and Mercy. They're b-a-c-k and I can hardly wait . . . .

I'm back in the real world once again, where a Sail and Sign card isn't able to grant me my every wish. I completely understand those cruise commercials where people who come off a cruise claim they are royalty on a temporary exile. That long sigh you heard was me as I encounter a desk filled with stacks of projects to be started, completed, read over, signed and shipped off . . . all before the end of the work day. Still, it's wonderful to sleep in my own bed with my own pillow and hear the shouts and laughter of my grandchildren. Home has its own special brand of comfort.