Editor’s Note: This piece was first published in Coastal Illustrated in March of 2012.

When it rains, it pours. 

         This expression has turned out to be an almost weekly, if not daily, forecast for my life since last November. I keep sitting around waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop, and not just drop by the way, but land on my head, knocking me out for the count.

By Margaret Evans, Editor

The other night I found myself racing from Lady’s Island across the Woods Memorial Bridge to Pigeon Point Landing, chasing a sunset. I had just dropped off my daughter at the Beaufort High football game, and was on my way home, when the sky over the river exploded in such inexpressible radiance that even now, I’m at a loss to describe it.

Y’all, I’m worried.  As usual, of course, about a lot of the usual things: where do all my socks really go after I put them in the dryer, is Fat Free milk really free of fat and is someone at the NSA baffled over how many mason jar photos I have put up on Pinterest and what it could possibly mean to the security of our nation?