I was digging through some old e-mail when I came across a request to update my gigantic list of goals.

On my 38th birthday, I wrote about the 101 things in 1001 days project (which I learned about from dienu.com). I drafted my list of 101 goals on 25 March 2007, and then provided a single update on 01 January 2008. It’s now been 839 days since I made the list. How am I doing today?

Here’s the current state of my list:

Financial
Perhaps unsurprisingly, I’ve done well with my financial goals. I’ve met them all. In fact, I’ve exceeded my goals by a wide margin.
1. Pay off all non-mortgage debt
2. Fully fund Roth IRA (2006)
3. Fully fund Roth IRA (2007)
4. Fully fund Roth IRA (2008)
5. Fully fund Roth IRA (2009)
6. Establish a $5000 personal emergency fund
7. Open a high-yield online savings account
8. Automate bill payments
9. Automate IRA contributions
10. Get a safety deposit box

Health and Fitness
I haven’t done as well here. In fact, I haven’t done well at all. I think the contrast between this list and the first list demonstrates that what gets measured gets managed. The things we focus on are the things we excel at.
1. Give up sugar for a week
2. Eat only home-prepared food for one month
3. Eat vegetarian for one month
4. Get cholesterol to healthy levels borderline now
5. Have a colonoscopy
6. Complete a marathon keep getting injured during training!
7. Complete a 100-mile bike ride
8. Play a team sport
9. Do 100 push-ups got up to 50+ before giving up
10. Bench-press my body weight
11. Complete a one-mile swim
12. Maintain a weight of 170 or below for six months
13. Drink only water for one month
14. Give up alcohol for three months

Home and Garden
I did a little better with this list, though I still have many goals left to accomplish. I actually think I could finish some of these in the four months that remain of my 1001 days.
1. Get the birds out of the workshop ceiling
2. Repair ceiling upstairs in house
3. Clean all gutters and install gutter guards
4. Finish modernizing the electrical system
5. Build a patio
6. Prune the holly trees
7. Learn how to use the chainsaw properly
8. Finish building the horseshoe pit
9. Hire somebody to paint the house
10. Open all windows that are painted shut
11. Park my car in the garage (this entails a lot of sub-steps)
12. Remove debris file from beneath the cedar
13. Add new spigots outside
14. Get a rug or carpet for the library getting close!
15. Acquire some nice office furniture
16. Create home maintenance checklist
17. Erect a hammock keep trying to find a used one
18. Acquire a chipper
19. Set up workshop for woodworking no longer a priority

Personal
I made great start on this list, but haven’t done much on it recently. I really do need to purge my record collection, for example. And though I no longer want to sell all of my comics, I do need to organize my collection.
1. Purge wardrobe of anything I haven’t worn in the past two years
2. Get a massage uh, this is sort of an addiction now
3. Learn to shave with a safety razor
4. Update my address book
5. Sell record collection
6. Get rid of computer books
7. Sell CDs, keeping only hard-to-find favorites
8. Sell comic books
9. Sell board games
10. Hold a gourmet potluck
11. Create the Indispensable Comic Strip Reprint Library in progress

Self-Improvement
Wow. I haven’t even tried to do anything on this list other than the two interview items — and that’s because those come up in the course of my GRS activities. I need to do more here.
1. Take a speech-com class (Dale Carnegie?)
2. Take a drawing class
3. Take a Spanish class I’m more inclined to take French now
4. Take a yoga class
5. Take a cooking class
6. Give a good radio interview I can do this on a regular basis now!
7. Give a good television interview This is a little more difficult for me, but I’ve done it

Adventure
Again, I haven’t done enough here. One of the things I crave is adventure, but I only talk about it. I never put my words into action.
1. Get tickets for World Cup South Africa Not going to happen
2. Skydive hahaha
3. Go on a trip by myself I should do this
4. Go white-water rafting
5. Ride in a hot-air balloon
6. Learn to shoot a gun Kris beat me to this and taunts me about it

Entertainment
The Wii bowling is no longer a priority, though I’m still making slow progress on the movies. Yay for Netflix!
1. See all Oscar-winners for Best Picture 59/81
2. See all Oscar-winners for Best Documentary 6/66
3. Bowl 300 on Wii Sports 264/300

Photography
Before I started Get Rich Slowly, I was actually interested in making money from photography. I was making good progress, too. This list of goals reflects the fact I hadn’t yet abandoned those dreams. Now I have.
1. Sell/publish a second photo
2. Digitize all photos
3. Sell $100 of images at iStockPhoto

Reading
Not bad progress here, but not as much as I’d hoped. I spend most of my time reading personal finance books!

1. Read all of Proust’s Remembrance of Things Past 1/7
2. Read all of Shakespeare’s plays 13/38
3. Read all of Dickens 6/17
4. Read all Hugo & Nebula winners 23/82
5. Read all Pulitzer winners (for fiction) 10/56

Writing
Although I haven’t diversified my writing activities, I can’t say I’m disappointed here. I write a ton, and nearly every day. I haven’t sold a magazine article or published a book, but a book is in the future, I think, and I’ve contributed to three other personal finance books, so that’s a start.
1. Compile and print a Friends Cookbook
2. Sell a short story
3. Sell a poem
4. Sell a magazine article
5. Write a book well, no book written, but…
6. Publish a book …I’m getting close to this
7. Participate in National Novel Writing Month no longer a priority
8. Digitize all of my creative writing

Work
15 goals
1. Implement GRS forums
2. Implement GRS book section
3. Implement GRS tools and calculators section
4. Start a GRS podcast
5. Complete GRS redesign
6. Complete Animal Intelligence redesign done, but I haven’t written at this site in a long time
7. Move all old foldedspace entries to the new database messed this up
8. Launch Success Daily unlikely to happen, though jdroth.com may play that role
9. Launch Vintage Pop on hold, but in the works
10. Launch Too Much Cat abandoned this plan
11. Interview Robert Kiyosaki (or host guest post) not going to happen
12. Interview Dave Ramsey (or host guest post) still a good goal
13. Achieve $10,000 web income in one month
14. 1,000,000 visitors in one month to GRS oh so close on a couple of occasions
15. 100,000 RSS subscribers at GRS not going to happen

I now know that some of these will never be accomplished. Setting up other web sites? Not going to happen. I don’t consider this a failure — it’s just a shifting of priorities. And I’d now rather beat “Super Samurai” on Dance Dance Revolution than bowl 300 at Wii Sports.

I may not achieve everything I set out to do, but I’ve done a hell of a lot over the past couple of years.

I’ve had a lot of amazing experiences lately that I’m not able to write about for a variety of reasons. However, I had two encounters yesterday that seemed especially important to me, and I wanted to write them down before I lost them. These anecdotes will be a little vague. Sorry.

I’m in San Francisco for some professional development and media relations training. (Yes, I’m serious.) It’s been a whirlwind of activity, but I love it.

In a morning meeting, I was complaining about the entire journalistic process in the United States. I’ve seen enough of it from the inside now to know that I cannot trust a single thing I see on television or read in a magazine. (Remember our five-year-old argument about Truth vs. truth? The media takes this to a whole new level.) These stories are manufactured, just like a cardboard box. They’re not reported. The “journalists” create the story they think their audience wants, and when they contact me, I’m just an ingredient.

Bill, one of the fellows working with me, listened to my complaints, and then he said, “J.D., you can’t look at it like that. You can’t expect it to be straight reporting because it’s not. You have to think of it like sausage. What they’re producing is sausage. The media is a giant sausage factory. You don’t want to know what goes into the sausage or how it’s made. You just have to trust that what comes out at the other end tastes good.”

I loved this analogy. Based on my experience, it’s so completely apt. It’s exactly what goes on.

I’m in the midst of participating in a bit for tonight’s episode of “On the Money” on CNBC. I’ll be on their Success Stories segment. But you do not want to know the ingredients to this piece of sausage.

Later in the day, I was working with Michelle, who is giving me public speaking training. She was asking me about my story and my goals. She wanted to know how I present myself. What do I want people to remember me as? I kept coming back to my old song-and-dance: I want people to trust my advice and listen to what I have to say, but I don’t want them to think of me as a financial expert. “I’m just a regular guy,” I said.

Michelle shook her head. “That won’t work,” she said. “You can’t kiss a girl through the screen door.” She didn’t even have to explain what she meant. I understood her meaning immediately. “The truth is, you are an expert. You’re an expert on the fundamentals of personal finance. You’re a common-sense advisor.”

Great stuff. (She also gave me a good disclaimer to use after I bill myself as a spokesman for common-sense fundamentals. She told me to say: “I am not an expert in this space. You should seek a professional advisor.” In other words, I should lay claim to what I can, and then offer people further options.)

I have another entire day of training ahead of me. I have to be over at the office in 25 minutes. I’m excited for what it might hold.

One of Paul’s many virtues was that he pushed my comfort zone. Sometimes this was problematic, but mostly it was a good thing. In high school, I was very much a “play by the rules” kind of guy. (Mostly, I still am.) Paul sometimes liked to break the rules.

I did not skip a single class period up until my senior year, for example. But then Paul induced me to skip twice. On the first time, we joined a few other kids to watch music videos at somebody’s house. (Details are very hazy in my old-man brain: Tami and Kim J. perhaps? Amy F.? I’m not sure. All I remember is INXS.)

The second time, I remember clearly.

On the 09 March 1987, U2 released The Joshua Tree. When Paul and I entered high school, we were unfamiliar with the band. I heard them during the first week of my freshman year. I’m not sure if I introduced them to Paul, but I believe it’s likely. In any event, by the end of our senior year, he and I were both hooked on them. We owned all their LPs and many of their rare singles.

So when the new album came out, it only seemed natural to skip school to buy it. After lunch, we hopped into my dirty old Datsun 310gx and drove to Tower Records. We each bought a copy of the LP, and I picked up my first “cassingle” — “With or Without You” on cassette tape. We were back to school before the final bell.

I’ve always treasured the memory of that day. It seems to typify the Paul and J.D. relationship.

Here are two songs from my favorite U2 album, The Unforgettable Fire. Both have been in my mind lately. First up, the best U2 song ever: “Bad”. This is the amazing Live Aid performance that I’ve shared here before: “If I could, through myself, set your spirit free, I’d lead your heart away, see you break, break away, into the night and through the day.”

And then there’s this, which is doubly-apt since today is MLK day. I’ve been singing it to myself all morning: “Sleep, sleep tonight, and may your dreams be realized. If the thundercloud passes rain, so let it rain, let it rain, rain on me.”

I’ve held back the tears until now, but watching these videos…so cathartic.

There’s a memorial service for Paul in Eugene this Wednesday afternoon. If you’re interested in attending, please let me or Tom know. Paul’s parents are trying to pull something together for Portland this Saturday, too. I’ll post when I know more information.

When I was young, I wanted to be a poet. I wrote a lot of very bad poetry during my teenage years.

It’s been a long time since I made poetry a habit. Still, I generally jot a few lines every year, and then forget about them. Sometimes — like tonight — I’ll stumble upon something I’ve written and think, “Wow. That’s actually pretty good.”

The poem I found tonight was this untitled bit, which is dated 11 September 2001:

In the twilight
the colors bleed and fade —
what once was red, or blue, or green,
is now black. Or white.

The approaching darkness
casts long shadows, cloaking
all that once danced in light,
consuming warmth, producing fright.

I like this because it works on multiple levels. Superficially, it is evocative of dusk. Symbolically, it represents the tone of that time: the aura of approaching gloom.

On the other hand, maybe it’s just as sophomoric as all the other poetry I’ve ever written…

I borrowed the neighbor’s pressure-washer on Friday. After five years at Rosings Park, I decided it was time to clean the gunk and the moss off the sidewalks. It was fun, actually, and strangely satisfying.

I encountered a problem, however, while working next to the house. As I sprayed the sidewalk, the mud and grime splashed onto the siding. This meant I had to spray down one wall. Unfortunately — and unbeknownst to me — this also meant that I was spraying down a nest of bees (or wasps or hornets — whatever the stupid things are).

I was merrily spraying away when I felt a sharp pain in my hand. I shook my hand a little, but kept on spraying. The pain continued. I looked at my hand. There were two bees (or wasps or hornets), backs arced, driving their stupid stingers into my stupid fist. Ouch!

Swearing forcefully, I dropped the pressure-washer and shook my hand as hard as I could. The stupid bees (or wasps or hornets) continued to sting me. Finally, I brushed them off, and then danced around, cursing and swearing. After I got that out of my system, I moved the pressure-washer away from the nest and finished my work.

“Poor sweetie,” Kris said when she saw my hand. “Does it hurt?”

“Yes it hurts,” I said. “It hurts like hell. Remember my adhesive capsulitis? That pain was a 9. This is an 8. It sucks.”

Fortunately, the pain subsided. Unfortunately, it was replaced by swelling.

On Saturday, we drove to the hardware store. “What happened to you?” asked the checker as we were paying for our stuff. I told her I’d been stung. She sort of freaked out. “Oh my god. You’ve got to go to a doctor. Why haven’t you gone to a doctor? With swelling like that, you need to go to a doctor.”

As we were driving home, Kris said, “Maybe you should go to the doctor.”

So we drove down to Canby — the only place we could find that offered “urgent care” for our insurance network — and I went to the doctor. Though she assured me that there was nothing to worry about, she seemed duly impressed by the swelling. She prescribed a couple of drugs and asked me to return on Sunday.

The swelling continued. By Saturday night, my entire right forearm was swollen. It was as if I had a grotesque meaty claw instead of a hand. I certainly could not type.

By Sunday morning, however, the swelling had begun to decrease (and the pain had returned). As requested, I returned to the doctor’s office in the afternoon. She seemed pleased that the swelling had begun to subside, but surprised that it hadn’t gone down completely. She prescribed another medication (actually, a second steroid).

Now, on Sunday evening, the swelling is mostly gone (though not completely) and has been replaced by a dull ache throughout my hand and wrist. Plus everything itches. As you can see, I’m able to type, though it hurts to do so for very long. That’s bad news because I don’t have anything written to go up at GRS in the morning!

Meanwhile, I have a little present for the bees (or wasps or hornets — whatever the stupid things are). While we were at the hardware store on Saturday, I bought three cans of long-range (27 feet!) poison. Those bastards are dead in the morning.

We’ve gradually been purging the clothes from my closet. I have a tendency to never throw away (or give away) any garment, especially those I love. If a shirt becomes a favorite, I keep it for years, no matter how tattered it becomes.

One of my favorite pieces of clothing is a tattered old blue FILA hooded sweatshirt. It’s cottony soft, has a zip-up front, has an ample hood with drawstrings, and feels comfy on a chilly autumn day. But the thing is a rag. The cuffs are frayed and falling apart. The hood is tearing away from the body of the sweatshirt. Kris is embarrassed for me to wear it in public.

I’ve spent the past year trying to find a replacement, but I’ve never found anything suitable. No sweatshirt possesses the same qualities. Some have hoods, some are made of cotton, some feel comfy, but none combine all of these things in one. I check Costco every time I’m there, but no luck. (Costco’s where I bought the sweatshirt originally.)

Last night, Tiffany came over for dinner. Every time she comes over, she returns things she’s borrowed, or offers things she no longer wants. Last night was no different. But at the end of the list, she held out a piece of black clothing. “Do you want this?” she asked.

“What is it?” I said, and I unfolded it. It was a hooded sweatshirt. A FILA hooded sweatshirt with a zip-up front. “Huh?” I said, like a character from a Japanese cartoon. I ran upstairs to fetch my precious blue hooded sweatshirt, which Kris and just that morning put in the “throw away forever” pile.

I compared the two sweatshirts. They were both from FILA. They were both the same size. They both had the exact same tags. They were the same sweatshirt, but the old one was blue and the new one was black.

“Where’d you get this?” I asked Tiffany.

“Costco,” she said. “A few years ago, we were driving back from [some place in California], and I was cold, so we stopped at Costco. This was the only thing I could find.”

“It’s the exact same as my old sweatshirt, except that it’s black,” I said. “Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you,” Kris said. “Now maybe we can throw that old one away.”

Tiffany, as always, just laughed at us. I think that for her, visiting the Roth-Gates household is like visiting a foreign country, where the people are just a little strange. But the people in this country are happy now, though. They have a precious new sweatshirt.

As many of you know, I’ve begun to push myself in new directions. My personal finance blog has been wildly successful, and because of this I’ve been presented with new opportunities.

Public speaking
For one, I’ve been offered some speaking engagements. I spoke to graduating students at Western Oregon University last spring, and last weekend I gave a talk at the Multnomah County Library. Though I was one course shy of a speech communication minor, making presentations to groups right now scares the hell out of me. It’s tough.

I console myself with the knowledge that I will get better with practice. It used to be that I was very nervous when I met “imaginary friends” for coffee or lunch or dinner. (”Imaginary friends” being Paul J.’s term for internet-only friends, a term that has found common usage in our house.) But now I’m very comfortable meeting these folks, and even look forward to it.

Might it be possible that I’ll eventually feel the same way about speaking to groups?

Media appearances
Even more intimidating than public speaking are the occasional media appearances I make. Since my disastrous first live radio interview, I’ve had a couple of other television and radio appearances. These have been of mixed quality. In all cases, I was tense tense tense tense tense. And in one case — the series of interviews being broadcast this week on KPTV-12 — I really think I did a poor job. (It makes me sick to watch these.) But, in general, I think I’m improving.

The real test will come tonight. I’m scheduled to appear on KGW-8’s “Live at 7″ program to speak about frugal Christmas gifts. Once again, I am tense tense tense tense tense. After speaking with friends and family, though, I have some goals. Paul H. suggested that I try to speak more slowly, and so I will. I’m also going to try to take a moment to compose my thoughts before answering questions.

Again, I’m hoping that by continuing to do these things that I hate, I’ll actually get better at them.

Book deal!
Okay, so that subheading is premature. I don’t have a book deal. I haven’t even completed a proposal. However, I have agreed to work with an agent from Waxman Literary Agency. Next up: a book proposal, which we hope to have done in a couple of months. Then, assuming it gets picked up, an actual book. Who woulda thunk it?

This, too, is scary, but in a better way than the previous two things I listed. I know how to write. I feel confident in my abilities. I’m not worried about my ability to create a quality book.

However, each of those first two things I listed — public speaking and media appearances — will be critical to the success of my book. I’ll need to be able to present myself in a variety of situations if I want to promote the book and encourage its success.

Building confidence, destroying fear
It seems strange to me that little foldedspace has led me to so much more. I know that many of you long for the days when I wrote about comic books and cats and computers. I miss those days, too. But I’m not sure that they’ll ever return.

In the meantime, the seeds I planted here have grown into something amazing, something that has let me climb higher than I thought possible. I’m well on the way to achieving my dreams.

I like Chicken Wings. I like Things That Are Hot. Doing a little addition, you might correctly conclude that I like Chicken Wings That Are Hot. Today, however, I discovered I don’t like all Chicken Wings That Are Hot.

For years, I’ve been proud of my ability to tolerate hot (spicy) foods. It’s not just that I’m Tough, but that others are Wimps. When I hear my friends complain about how spicy a certain salsa might be for example, I silently heap Scorn upon them. “Spicy? Hah!” I think. “I don’t detect even a bit of heat.” Yes, many of my friends are Wimps. They are not Tough like me. (Note: Jeremy is Tough. Jeff has some Toughness in him.)

So, it has become my habit to order my meals Hot (or Extra Hot, if the option is available) when I go to restaurants. My Thai curry? Hot! My Indian curry? Hot! Anything else that I could possibly get spicy? Hot! Please, very Hot!

Twice in the past, I’ve come close to defeat. Once while dining at the Bombay Cricket Club with Nick and Kris, I had a a dish that was really very Hot. But it was Tasty, and I was Tough. I emerged victorious. On another occasion, Andrew and I had Thai food at a little place north of Lloyd Center. My Mussman curry was almost too Hot. Almost. My gut burned inside for days, but I won. I won.

Today I went thrift-shopping with Kris and Tiffany. We started at the big Goodwill on 99E, just north of Powell. I picked up three books:

• Watership Down, to loan to Rhonda and Mike
• How Green Was My Valley, for book group
• The Modern Library edition of Looking Backward by Edward Bellamy, which I’d never heard of before today

While the Gates women shopped, I sat on a couch and read about Bunnies. I was there a long time.

Interlude: I sat in a fuzzy easy chair in the Goodwill furniture department. Across from me was a set of almost Nice, almost Antique furniture: an ornate chair with a wooden frame (for lack of a better word), a matching settee, and a coffee table. The set was unusual in that the sittable items were labeled with signs that read: DO NOT SIT. Perhaps as a result of this (or perhaps because the items were almost Antique), nearly every adult (except the Gates women) and many children stopped to look at the price. It was an interesting social Experiment. My hypothesis was that if one were to remove the signs, nobody would have paid attention to the Ugly things, but because they were labeled DO NOT SIT, everyone stopped to look at the price. Or maybe everyone else just has Bad Taste.

“Would you like to go to lunch?” Kris asked as we paid for our purchases. She spent $41. Tiffany spent $41. I spent $6.

“Yes,” I said. I was hungry.

“Let’s go to Sully’s,” she said.

“No,” I said. “I’ll pay for lunch, but I’m picking.”

“Where are we going?” Kris said, but I did not answer. I was Mysterious.

“Where are we going to lunch?” asked Tiffany.

“I don’t know,” Kris said. “J.D. is being Mysterious.” And then she said, out of some Wifely Instinct, “I’ll bet we’re going to Fire on the Mountain.”

Ah, indeed we were. A restaurant devoted to Chicken Wings — could anything be more Lovely? Tiffany ordered Wings. I ordered Wings. Kris ordered Fish and Chips. For her sauce, Tiffany chose Sweet BBQ. For half of my Wings, I chose a delicious Lemon Pepper sauce. But for the other half, I chose El Jefe, a “Crazy Hot” sauce. I wasn’t worried. I sampled the latter before I ordered. I could handle it.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAH!

From the first bite, I knew that El Jefe was going to kick my Ass. My lips were on fire. The inside of my mouth burned like a Televangelist in the Afterlife. My eyes began to water. I gasped for air. Tiffany laughed.

“Do you want some ranch dressing?” she asked.

“No,” I gasped.

“He hates ranch dressing,” Kris said.

“I know,” said Tiffany, “but he looks like he’s going to cry.”

I felt like I was going to cry.

I ate one Crazy Hot Wing. I ate two. I ate three. On the fourth, I cut corners. I avoided much of the skin. My heart wasn’t in it. I picked up a fifth — and then I put it down.

“I lose,” I said. “El Jefe wins.”

It was a sad moment for me. All my life, I have been the victor. I have been Tough. I have not been a Wimp. But today? Today El Jefe kicked my Ass.

p.s. I paid for lunch. It cost $35. So, my total for the day was also $41.

In February 2007, I did my first radio interview. It was a disaster. I was a nervous wreck. I swore I’d never do another interview on live radio again.

In the past eighteen months, I’ve held true to that promise. I’ve given probably a dozen interviews for newspaper and magazines, given several recorded radio interviews, and even done one recorded television interview. But I’ve avoided live interviews like the plague.

Last week, I was contacted by a producer from “On Point”, an NPR program I’ve never heard before. He asked if I’d be willing to speak about credit cards and credit card debt. Despite my vow of radio silence, I agreed. I felt like the topic would stick to themes with which I was familiar, and that I could do okay even if nervous.

And I was nervous. “We need you to use a landline,” the producer told me, so I drove out this morning to Custom Box Service. I sat by the phone for a half an hour, working myself into knots. Having learned from my previous disaster, I had just a few notes instead of pages and pages.

When the show called, the connection was lousy, as if we were talking over a garbled cell phone. They called back. This time I could hear them fine. I stayed on the line for a few minutes while Professor Elizabeth Warren, one of the Good Guys, described slimy credit card tactics. Then it was my turn.

The host asked questions I could answer. (Part of the problem with the previous poor radio interview was that the host wanted me to answer questions for which I was unqualified to give an opinion.) I felt that, although nervous, I was doing a decent job on the interview. I even remembered to smile at some points.

Then, all of a sudden, the interview was cut short. “I’m sorry, J.D.,” she said, “but we’ve got a poor connection. Thanks for being on.” When the producer came back on the line, he told me it sounded like I was on a cell phone.

Argh!

At least I was undone this time by a technical glitch and not by personal stupidity. I don’t think I came off sounding like a fool. But perhaps I sounded like I was underwater. I don’t know.

Maybe the third time’s the charm?

It’s one o’clock when we reach the house. Neither Mom nor I have eaten all day. She took her meds sometime before I picked her up at nine; I ate half a bag of peanut M&Ms on the drive to Salem. When we walk into the kitchen, she sets her purse down and says, “I’m hungry.”

“What would you like to eat?” I ask.

“Peanut butter,” she says.

“Just peanut butter?” I ask.

“And bread,” she says.

“A peanut butter sandwich?” I ask.

She thinks about it. “Yes,” she says. She shuffles her feet and looks down.

“Would you like me to make the sandwich?” I ask, pulling the bread and peanut butter from the fridge.

“No,” she says. “I can make it.” I watch as she slathers the bread with thick gobs of peanut butter. “And milk,” she says. I pour her a glass of milk.

While she works, I prepare a place for her at the kitchen table. “Why don’t you sit down,” I say.

“I’m fine,” she says. She stands at the counter and devours the sandwich in great gulps. She chases it with the milk.

When she’s finished, I show Mom the computer at the kitchen table. She sits down and types in a URL. She clicks the button. She clicks the button. She clicks the button. “It’s not working,” she says. I look. She’s not actually clicking the button.

“You’re pressing the space bar,” I say. “You need to click the button.” She presses the space bar again. And again. She looks at me, and I know that I’m making her uncomfortable, so I leave.

Moments later, she’s up again. I can see her pacing. She’s pacing, as if she can’t make up her mind where to go or what to do. I hear her walk into the next room and begin rummaging on the bookshelf. She comes in to my room. “You said I could borrow books,” she says.

“Yes,” I say. “What would you like to read?”

“How long will I be gone?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I say. “A few days.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “Anything.”

I giver her My Antonia by Willa Cather, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith, and a couple of others. She sits down at the kitchen table again, in front of the computer. She opens her e-mail program. I go back to my chair.

Moments later, she’s up again, pacing. “I don’t like it here,” she says. “Can’t we just go someplace and drive around?”

“Yes,” I say. “I have to go upstairs for a minute first.”

“Is the car unlocked?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say. I go up upstairs to send e-mail so the family knows where we are. When I get in the car, Mom is sitting at attention in the passenger seat. She has everything with her: her purse, the pile of books. I start driving.

Tony and Kamie pass us going the other way. They turn their truck around to follow. Tony calls me on my cell phone. “We’re behind you,” he says.

“I’m scared,” Mom says. Her hands are fidgeting uncontrollably. She’s sweating.

“Yes,” I say. “I am too. But it will be okay. It will be fine.” We drive in silence for a few minutes. Mom fidgets.

“Can we go to the hospital now?” she asks at last.

“Yes,” I say. “We’re almost there.”