You have three and a half years left to live… at the most, maybe less. December 21, 2012, is 1,248 days away. Some say that will be the end of time.

What if they are right?

This sort of information is kind of like a cancer diagnosis, when the doctors announce you have a certain number of days left to live. If they are right, you’ve got to make the most of your final days on this earth. But they could be wrong… or you could beat the “terminal” cancer, like Lance Armstrong did. So you can’t just go nuts, live irresponsibly, and blow all your life savings.

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Jeff and I have been married for almost ten years, and I guess you could say we’re “happily married”. I really don’t have any point of comparison because Jeff is my first husband. But I don’t even remotely want a divorce and, as far as I know, neither does he… so, for the time being, I’d say ours counts as a happy marriage.

But there was a time, in our first few years, when I nearly divorced him… because of a coloring book incident. Yup, a coloring book.

Hunter and I went to San Diego to visit Ali for a week. Jeff stayed in Georgia because he had to work. One night I called his cell phone, expecting to find him home and ready for bed, when I heard a woman’s voice in the background. “Who’s that?” I asked, as casually as I could manage.

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This was my grandmother, my dad’s mom. She was a character and a half (in case you can’t tell). This is the same woman who led me to believe I was the Goddess of the Universe… until I found out she was schizophrenic, and also thought aliens were after her. It’s alright though; these things happen to the best and toughest among us, and she was certainly that.

My grandmother had six children, and endured all sorts of personal traumas in her life. Even in the best of times, life wasn’t easy “back in the day” in Liberia, Costa Rica. Things we take for granted now were a major ordeal when she was coming up.

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