As I write this, one of my kids' friends sits here in the living room strumming on my guitar. He's actually pretty good. Meggie is gliding through the house on her roller blades, and she's got a little friend here who is playing the bongo drums right now. Teenagers are all over the place, up and down the stairs, and somebody's puppy is bounding about. I hope he doesn't chew anything else.

And, last night I was gonna go on a rampage when I got home with Meggie and the place was a total mess. Somebody had inadvertently locked the one telephone that works in a bedroom, and a puppy was in another bedroom. The kitchen was a total disaster area, as if everyone had just left their food and RUN... I was gonna tell everyone to GET OUT!

But, I didn't do that...

I had to go around the corner to the local liquor store to utilize my phone and listen to messages. I have not joined the world of "cell phones" as of yet...I was pretty angry! But, then I heard the phone message. It was from a crisis center for teenagers in Santa Clara -- the Wilson House, it's called. My son's girlfriend Carrie is apparently there. She had traveled back here from North Carolina with Steve, fleeing, actually, from a bad situation. Apparently, her father was on his way from North Carolina on an airplane to pick her up, and somebody needed to bring her things, her clothing and personal items.

I called the Wilson House and found out that she had been picked up by a police officer at the house during the day when the teenagers were there. Apparently, there was an APB out for her. And, she was only 16...

So, I found her stuff, thankfully not in the locked bedroom. I wasn't snooping, but I decided to look in the blue backpack and make sure those were Carrie's things. I found a journal, and when I opened it I only glanced at a few lines, but it hurt my heart to read of her fleeing for her life...how she had considered suicide because of what HE was doing to her (was it her father? I don't know...not specific enough.) My heart went out to her. I carefully put the journal back, feeling as if I was violating somebody's private heart and soul and drove to the crisis center with her stuff. They let me say good-bye. Even though I don't know Carrie that well, we hugged, and we cried. And, I wished her my best.

And, I found myself thinking, "You can't help them all, you can't help them all."

I cried for Carrie last night...I understood her pain. I've been there myself, fleeing from a bad situation. I hoped it would be alright for her. Suddenly, the puppy, the extra teenagers, the mess...none of it mattered.

I don't know her entire situation, and I'm not in a good position to do anything about it. I have to act like I don't know too much, or I risk getting into trouble which I cannot do considering I've got the kids.