Hey! Can you keep it quiet out there?

I don't know if it's the nature of these questions or just my own stubborn, consistent nature, but I often find myself with the same answer to different questions, day after day.

The obvious answer is my faith. But I have said that in numerous ways before. So there is something else I cannot, even if I try, ever give up. That's my stubborn nature.

On my maternal side I'm German and on my paternal side I'm Greek. That alone would indicate a certain degree of stubbornness. Add to that the story of my fiery ancestor, Theodoros, who is often called the George Washington of Greece for his guerrilla tactics against the Ottoman Empire back around 1821. No wilting violet, my ancestor. Sometimes I am stubborn even when I don't want to be. It's nearly impossible for me to give up on something once I have set my mind to it.

Stubbornness has served me well in raising six boys. It has had to be tempered, however, for the sake of my marriage. There is good and bad in everything, isn't there?

My first real pet (not counting a dime-store turtle with a short lifespan) was my collie, Shasta Daisy Belle. She was the product of a litter from a dog my uncle owned, and he gave me first choice. She was a purebred, AKC registered, and said to be a distant relative of Lassie (at least one of them). But, unlike Lassie, my Shasta Daisy was tri-colored. A beautiful dog with a brown nose, a white collar, and a black body.

I trained her, from where to use the bathroom to how to sit and heel. She was a very good dog, loyal and obedient. And she was mine.

Life got harder, though, when I was 17 and we moved to a house without a fence. Poor Shasta Daisy had to be chained up--my parents almost never let her into the house. Then, not too much later, I went away to college. While I was at college, she died of old age.

I've never had another dog. There have been cats, and my kids have had guinea pigs, rabbits, and hamsters. But none of these could compare, for me, with my beautiful Shasta Daisy.

Blue is the color of the sky. The color of the lake and the ocean. Blue is peace.

Before my parents were married, my father said he wanted his firstborn to be named Linda. (It's a good thing I wasn't a boy!) There was a popular song in the early 50s about a girl named Linda. So my name came long before I did.

When I became a Muslim, it was suggested that I take an Arabic name. I agreed because, as a Muslim writer, I want my readers to know my orientation. My not-quite-yet husband said he had a sister named Jamilah, and I reminded him of her. Not only that, but Jamilah has the same meaning as Linda.

Kolocotronis, btw., is my maiden name. I've changed my last name, legally, to that of my husband and children, but I will always be a Kolocotronis.

This is a tough topic for me. Several years ago I began suffering from a strange malady and the first doctor I went to see told me it was all in my mind and gave me a prescription for Xanax. (I never filled it.) Later I learned that it was an actual condition, with a name and others who suffered from the same symptoms, but even some of them have commented on the assumption that this condition is purely psychosomatic. It most definitely is not.

I do think that, in some manner, the mind can control the body, but I also believe that we often fail to recognize physical conditions that are beyond our control. Autoimmune diseases fall into this category as does my particular malady, environmental illness (also known as multiple chemical sensitivity).

For years I suffered some level of guilt, worried that I had brought this condition on myself and striving to achieve the state of mind where I could escape it. A few months ago a specialist told me, quite definitively, that my mind had nothing to do with my illness. You can't imagine the relief I felt.

There is a mind-body connection, but I fear that we sometimes make too much of it.

When I was young, my favorite part of school was summer vacation. I daydreamed through my classes and tripped through recess, so elementary school wasn't much fun.

But high school delighted me, for the most part. Classes were more challenging and teachers were more interesting. I was able to choose the activities I enjoyed and avoided those that made me look clumsy and foolish.

College was better. After a few basic courses I could concentrate on what interested me the most and do in-depth research, which I have always loved. My friends included the kinds of people I had never met before--some who had grown up on farms and some who had grown up in other countries.

Graduate school was the best. I was respected as a scholar by my professors and treated to stimulating discussion. My focus became narrower as I honed in on the topics that had the greatest interest to me. I was challenged and felt fully alive.

The best part of school is the challenge. The worst part is the day-to-day, worksheet style of learning. I was guilty of some of this as a teacher. It's hard to avoid. But that's not what education should be.

Two thoughts came to me. One was that I had to get to work. The other was that I would need to go out soon to buy a new keyboard.

A couple days ago my publisher gave me a tight deadline for the weekend. Everything needed to be done by this evening. I made it, though I wasn't sure I would and I had to sacrifice some family time to get there.

Because of my keyboard, I wasn't sure I would be able to meet the deadline. Late last night, while I was working, I took a swig of water from my water bottle. At the same time, a tiny bit of rice I had recently eaten stuck to the roof of my mouth, near my throat. I tried to move the rice so I could safely swallow the water. What I ended up doing was (and this is really embarrassing) accidentally spitting out the water--all over the keyboard of my laptop. I did my best to clean it up, but certain letters stopped working.

I ended up leaving my laptop on overnight, hoping that would help. Maybe it did. I never made it to the store today but my keyboard is back to normal. Whew!

My time capsule would contain some pictures of myself and my family--pictures that showed the dress and surroundings of my time--and my books. I would probably include a few newspapers from important events (I collect newspapers). I may include a few objects, such as my fourth-grade metal lunch box or some of the baseball cards I collected when I was young. And I would write a message to place in the capsule--something that gave an indication of these times and my own experience.

For the last twenty-five or thirty years I've realized I wouldn't be able to "save the world." What I can do, though, is help someone and thereby save a very small part of the world.

Actually, it's even simpler than that. I start out by simply being a good person. Treating others the way I want to be treated and generally following the rules, the mores, of society, though not always the norms. After that I build friendships and relationships based on truth and caring, absent of deceit and selfishness. I marry someone who is also, basically, a good person and we raise our children to be good people. Through my six sons, I have multiplied my efforts simply by giving birth and raising my children to take their places in the world. They continue the process and, if everyone they touch comes out better for the interaction, then I have done my job.

But it doesn't stop there. I can smile. I can pick up trash from the street or sidewalk and make sure I myself don't litter. There are thousands of small things I can do to improve the world, and by doing so I have already saved it in some small way.

My motto as a youth was something I borrowed from the creator of Doonesbury--"Even revolutionaries like chocolate chip cookies." I imagined myself as someone who would go out and change the world dramatically, with great flourish. But we don't need to be revolutionaries. All we need is to be good and do good.

When I was 11 or 12 my mother arranged for my younger sisters and me to take swimming lessons from a teenage girl in the area. She also happened to be the daughter of our town's mayor, so I learned how to swim in the mayor's pool! They were a nice family, and he's still remembered as one of the best mayors of Kirkwood.

I looked it up but I still don't know exactly what I was doing. It would be a good guess to say that I was working with my editor on a book. What my email showed was my involvement with the campaign to get Barack Obama into the White House. He gave his speech, "A More Perfect Union," on March 18 so I was most certainly anticipating that. I'm sure I was also anxiously waiting for the Pennsylvania primary. Because it was a Sunday, I may have gone out canvassing that day in preparation for our May primary. I'm not sure.

Now Barack Obama is in the White House and I'm working with a different editor on a different book. I'm waiting anxiously for the spring and look forward to seeing my youngest granddaughter, who still a hope and a dream, three months from being born, last March 16.

Ambitious, Busy, Creative, Determined, Eager, Forthright, Grateful, Honest, Intuitive, Joking, Kind, Learning, Messy, Natural, Optimistic, Passionate, Quiet, Restless, Smart, Traveling, Understanding, Verbal, Writing, eXperienced, Young at heart, Zealous.

Oh, and did I mention humble?

When the days become warmer, and the sun shines nearly every day, and the trees wear brighty colored buds, then I come alive. After struggling through another dark and cold winter I'm ready to tackle life fully. I burst from hibernation and embrace the light, storing up energy until winter comes again.

Is there a choice? I don't see how there could be. How could anyone close his or her heart to others?

Maybe it's because I'm a "bleeding-heart liberal," or maybe it's the mother in me, or maybe it's my parents' "fault," but I think compassion comes naturally, without thinking. Maybe the problem is that sometimes we think too much.

I did this quite a bit when I was younger, in high school and college, and I believe it was beneficial. It helped me choose a path for my life, and even helped me choose a spouse. There are so many life-altering decisions made during the teens and 20s, and introspection can help guide someone through those tough times.

I also spent time reviewing my life when I was in my early 40s. My children were growing, my body was aging, and I wondered, again, where I was headed. The middle age introspection guided me to change my direction and find more fulfilling ways to live.

But there are times in between when introspection isn't necessary, when the most important action we can take is to simply keep on going in the way we have chosen.

I believe everyone wants peace, at least on a personal level. Some rely on religious beliefs. Some seek it through family. Some take up hobbies. Some pursue peace through destructive means such as drug abuse, gambling, or promiscuity. The more they pursue peace in this way, the harder it is to attain.

We all want to feel satisfaction and a deep sense of well-being. Peace. Many of us find it. Others never will.

However I answer this question, the wording is wrong.

It could very well be Who I trust, becoming a discussion of faith.

Or I could speak about whom I trust, with special emphasis on my mother and my husband.

But what do I trust? My intution? Not that much, but it helps.

This is a very odd question. How can I be aware of something that I am not yet aware of?