"What

Is Love?" got its debut at the Marketplace across

from the Cotton Pickin' Fair in Gay last weekend, and,

believe me, it was a labor of love.

Those two

days gave me more exposure to the sun than I had

throughout the entire summer last year. I am allergic to

sunlight and I am still swelled and miserable from the

weekend.

But, for

once, I am not moaning and groaning in pain. I'm too

excited, and besides, the pain and edema will all

probably be gone in another week or so. But the book will

still be here.

About 10 or

11 years ago, Dr. John Stone, cardiologist, poet and dean

of admissions at Emory Medical School, invited me to come

hear him read some of his work. I was mesmerized. New to

the literary scene at the time, I was unaware how

absolutely awesome a good reading could be. And believe

me, Dr. Stone knows how to read, and write.

So, after

the reading, he invited me to his office to share with me

other pieces that were in the works. He also showed me a

poem in the shape of an apple, a gift from a friend. He

was in awe of it and I suppose I was, too. The format had

a name. He told me what it was. I don't remember.

That day I

went home and tried my hand at writing something in the

shape of something. I ended up with "What IS

Love" written in the shape of a heart. Then I filed

it away. Yep, for more than a decade, I just sat on it.

Then, a

little more than a month ago, that heart-shaped piece

emerged from its place of storage and began to take on a

life of its own. In just under four weeks from my first

consultation with a printer, I had the book in hand.

Not without

growing pains, of course, but I had the book in my

possession ready to make it available to others. And

that's when the fun began... when the joy became so great

that I have been able to forget about my own physical

misery most days.

And that,

for publishing this little book now. My health has not

been what I'd like it to be over the past year, and I

suddenly got to thinking, "If things keep getting

worse, someday might not come."

You all

know what "someday" means, don't you? Someday

you are going to do this or that, look up this person or

that person, go visit this place or that place, take art

or music lessons, write a book or plant a garden...

For the

past 14 years, in this column in one way or another, I

have told you a hundred times or more there is only one

thing I can't bear. That's regret.

Maybe

that's the reason I tend to be so impulsive, (though the

years have slowed me down a tad). Was there ever a time

you wanted to do something really important, something

special, something only you could do... and you passed up

the opportunity until it was too late?

One of my

more painful memories is of the little lady in the

nursing home in Sylvester. When I was 19, I taught a

Sunday School class of teens younger than I was. It was a

very small church, but there were eight or ten of us and

every Monday evening we went to the local nursing home to

visit the seniors. We all had our adopted residents. Oh,

we took goodies and tried to speak to one and all, but we

each adopted one person with whom we tried to spend

quality time every Monday evening.

On one

visit, my feeble little friend asked me to bake her some

chocolate chip cookies and bring them back before my next

visit, before the following Monday night. I was quite

busy and did not get around to it until Sunday. Then I

baked the cookies in the afternoon and was preparing to

deliver them when some young friends showed up and wanted

me to go fly kites with them. I wrapped the cookies and

sealed them in an airtight container, certain they would

be just as good on Monday night at my routine visit with

my elderly friend.

The

following evening the cookies were fine, but my friend

was dead. She had died that Sunday night. That's what I

mean about regret.

"What

IS Love?" is out. I will have no regrets over never

having published it. It's not chocolate chip cookies, but

it is food for the soul. I have already seen a number of

men and women choke up while reading it. Others have

giggled, or just smiled. Then they have turned to me and

hugged me and thanked me. And you know how I feel about

hugging. This little book may turn out to be the most fun

thing I have ever done!

I'm feeling

better already.