"Take notes. Everything is copy."

That's counsel from Nora Ephron – or at least from her mom to her. It's advice for those times when Life with a capital L for LIVING, LOVING, and LAUGHING, seems to diminish into life -- little, limited, frightening, painful, and frankly depressing. As much as I would love to stay in the mental space where I see myself as a dancing column of light, there are times when dust motes invade, tears come, and waddaya got? Mud.

But the light is breaking through and it's time for Plan B – or C, D, or XYZ. Whatever. I'm not giving up. Those dust motes are turning into grit.

When you start writing a book, it's nice to know where you're headed with it – what the ending is going to be, how the story will resolve. Getting there is what makes the story. It's like the road from Guayabitos up to Tepic, the capital of the State of Nayarit, where we live. It is a windy two-lane asphalt ribbon that holds surprises at every turn. During the journey the compass on Hummercita literally goes full circle. But I know we're headed to Tepic, no matter what direction we seem to be going at one particular moment.

I kept that in mind last week as Larry and I drove there, and I checked into the San Rafael Center for Surgery. I'd gone there for "a study." I ended up staying several days and having some "serious" surgery. The anesthesiologist was named Filiberto, and he called me "Susanita la Bonita." He comforted me as the surgeons around me prepared, telling me about his home in the mountains and showing me photos of his two Huichol wives on an iPhone. "I've slipped a little peyote into the magic serum," he winked at me. "You will have beautiful, colorful dreams." I think he was joking. But whatever, the events of the last two months are receding into dream like status, maybe not beautiful nor colorful yet, but at least not frightening.

I'm back. I took notes. And Virgin Territory is going to be a great story.