(Continued)

Now, home is a two-room wood cabin up on stilts in the Glades just west of Boca. Basically, I’ve moved from swank to swamp. You know that magazine you see in checkout lines at the grocery store, Real Simple? That’s just for starters. I’m talking the real thing. No electricity lines (just my generator), no land phone (just my cell), and no neighbors (just Lana, the six-foot gator that lurks around my front porch). No roads either – just my airboat.

Now if all that seems like a drastic change, it is. Here’s why: With any kind of recovery, you’ve got to go cold turkey. You’ve got to change playgrounds and playmates. There’s no doing it half-assed, or you get sucked right back in to where you started. So I had to reinvent my life. And just moving to a different city wouldn’t cut it. I wanted to meet the challenge of total independence.

The only obstacle was money. I had no kids – neither of us had ever wanted them – so that’s one worry I didn’t have. But as a Boca Babe, I’d spent my husband’s income as fast as it came in. And he did too. Even the house was mortgaged to the hilt. So I was left with nothing but my jewelry, which I sold to buy my one treat to myself, my Hog – a 2003 100th anniversary 883cc Harley Hugger. That Evolution engine represents my own personal evolution. For some people there’s therapy, for me there’s my Hog.

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