Call Me Oprah!

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During the recently lost writing career, I often dreamed that Oprah would choose Counting on a Miracle or House of Miracles to highlight on her show. If she reads the blog, know that both books are worthy.

Yet lately none of the silly illusions have worked to distract me from the turmoil of day-to-day life. It's funny, but the hopes and dreams of yesterday ring somewhat hollow these days. It's almost like why make plans?

Now of course, I know that the above-mentioned feelings have been nurtured by the events of the past few months, but the transparency of life is evident when the essential elements are exposed.

So what would happen if Oprah called now? It would no longer be about selling so many books that I wouldn't be able to walk down the street without being recognized -not that such a scenario ever appealed to me.

It wouldn't be about having so much money that I could just retire and get a nap each day (which is still my lifelong goal).

Instead it would be about telling the story of a hospital, my sons illness and recovery, and the story of my life as broken down in chapters of happiness and resounding sadness.

I suppose Oprah's call would be greeted with a lot less enthusiasm these days, but you know what, it should come soon - Rivera gives up a game-tying hr last night, the gout is still there, I'm afraid to even eat, I'm sleeping like crap, the Sabres missed the playoffs, and the Bills are going to blow the draft again.

I never needed a famous talk show host more than I need her now.

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