I'm not much of a worrier. I try to maintain a positive outlook on life and not wander down the what-if road. I like the quote from whoever said that worrying is like a rocking chair. It gives you something to do, but gets you nowhere. Yessireebob, that's me.

Okay, I made all that up. I do try not to worry, but I often fail miserably.

For instance, I had a very nice Christmas holiday but for some reason my mind kept careening into the ditch of worry. Will the turkey be underdone and the whole family keel over from salmonella poisoning? Or will it be so overcooked and dry that someone will choke at the dinner table and need the Heimlich maneuver, only I will have forgotten how to do it? Or say we live through dinner but we all die in our sleep because I never bothered to buy a carbon monoxide detector? Or there's a natural disaster or another Depression or a nuclear explosion right here in Nubbins?

See, that rocking chair is in hyperdrive.

The little boy I tutor, Johnny Mac, usually helps calm any worries I might be carrying around. He's sweet and easy going and we read children's books, for heaven's sake. What could be worrisome about that? But the last time he was here he mentioned again that a new lady - Joy something or other - had moved in down the street, and he's had a few conversations with her. I've never seen her though. I've tried a couple of times to stop by with a plate of welcome-to-the-neighborhood cookies, but she is mysteriously never there. Johnny Mac is convinced she is a spy ("Why else would someone move to Nubbins?" he says), and now he's got me worrying about this stranger in our midst.

And what about my friend, Pearl? Something is going on in her life, no doubt about it. We hardly ever see her any more, and when we do, she doesn't seem like her usual happy self. But she won't say what's going on. Every time I think about Pearl, that rocking chair starts up again till I'm afraid it might wear a hole in the floor.

But here's the good news: I may be a worrier, but I'm no dummy. I've been around long enough to know that the solution to worry is to get it out of your crazy head and into the arms of supportive friends. For me, that's the Walkie-Talkies, the ladies I walk around town with once or twice a week. I guess all of us have been afraid to bring up the subject of Pearl, but I finally did it last week on one of our walks. Pearl was missing as usual, and I finally just blurted it out.

"I hate to say this," I said, "but I'm worried about Pearl. I think something's wrong."

"Ida Mae, I'm so glad you said something `cause I've been thinkin' the same thing myself," Myrtle said, and all the others nodded their heads in agreement. What was I thinking by not bringing this up earlier? "What do you think is going on?" Myrtle asked. "Do you know, Roberta?"

"No I don't," Roberta sighed, shaking her head, "but it's something. I've tried asking her about it, but she just says she's been busy."

"What do you think we should do?" asked Pepper, wringing her hands a little.

"Maybe we'd have more luck if we asked her what's going on while we're all together," I offered. "If we did, maybe she'd see that we're concerned and care about her and come clean." The group agreed. "The next time she comes on a walk with us, we'll ask her."

"She's been missing an awful lot of them," Roberta added.

"If she hasn't shown up by next week, we can take our walk right over to her house," I said. That was a week ago, and we've had no word from Pearl since then. The plan now is to go over there in the next few days and talk to her all together. Then I hope we'll know what's really happening without having to make something up in our heads.

Till then, I may be spending some time in that rocking chair to nowhere, but I feel a lot better now that I've shared my worries with my friends. And while I'm imagining made-up scenarios, maybe I'll just imagine one where I've got wonderful friends who walk with me and share my worries, where I live in a sweet little town full of interesting people and stories, and where the turkey is always cooked to perfection. Why not?

")