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— Rachel Carter

It’s a wonderful invention, that little blinking light above the front and rear bumpers of every vehicle. I just wish more people would learn how to use it.

It also wouldn’t hurt if a lot of drivers went back to school to learn about paying attention to and respecting other drivers on the road. I bring it up because, in recent weeks, I have come dangerously close to being run off of Interstate 40, U.S. 70 and other area highways by drivers who seem to have forgotten the rules.

The only things that seem to have saved me from having a massive wreck so far are my own efforts to be a defensive driver and the presence of those many turn lanes along U.S. 70 between Garner and Smithfield. (Bless the people who demanded that those lanes be installed!)

My hope in writing this is to encourage drivers like the ones who have nearly killed me to perform the incredibly difficult tasks of turning their head 90 degrees and, or lifting their hand to turn on their turn signal. Those of us who value our lives and wish not to be run into ditches would be much obliged.

The murder trial of Lynn Paddock, accused of killing her 4-year-old adopted son in 2006, has been a strong reminder to some of us in this business that, underneath our media personas, we’re as human as anyone else.

The case has been a subject of much discussion over the past two weeks as we’ve read stories by Mandy Locke, our colleague at The News & Observer, who is covering the trial. We’ve paid close attention to the details Paddock’s children have told the jurors about her abusive behavior towards them.

The children have testified that Paddock robbed them of food for days, forbid them from talking to one another, and used extreme measures to punish them for behaviors Paddock considered unruly. Sean Paddock, the youngest of Lynn Paddock’s adoptive children, died when his mother wrapped him so tightly in blankets that he couldn’t breathe. It was a tactic some have suggested she might have gleaned from the teachings of Michael Pearl, a controversial evangelical pastor from Tennessee.

As the trial has continued, we’ve often wondered how anyone could be so cruel. We’ve asked ourselves what would possess anyone to want to have children if they only intended to harm them. And we’ve debated how it could be possible for these children to have come to such an abusive home in the first place.

The horrific events that reportedly took place inside the Paddock home have troubled us just as much as they might trouble anyone. It’s even caused some of us to cry. It speaks to the fact that, although we’re charged as journalists with remaining objective and fair, we’re human too.

That fact makes me think that I can’t be the only person, journalist or not, who hasn’t wondered why Lynn Paddock’s then-husband, Johnny, hasn’t been charged in this case. It seems bizarre that a father, even one who traveled frequently on business, could be unaware of his eldest son reportedly being strapped to a bed for weeks and forced to urinate and defecate all over himself. Or of his daughter being beaten so brutally with plumbing pipe that her entire backside turned black and blue.

In the interest of full disclosure, I should state that I was among the reporters here at The Herald who covered portions of the Paddock story as it developed two years ago. My primary involvement was covering her case as it began moving through the court system. And because of that, I'm hesitant to make statements about what should or shouldn't happen.

I’ll simply say that I would hope that anyone charged with protecting the state’s interests as far as criminal activity goes would find it within themselves to do all they’re able to do to make sure justice is truly served.

For the past two years, I have been volunteering with the Johnston County Animal Protection League. Mostly, I’ve helped at their annual events and tried to spread the word about its good deeds through the newspaper. Now that I have some more free time on my hands, I began volunteering at PetSmart this weekend. JCAPL has wonderful cats for adoption at the store in White Oak Shopping Center in Garner.

I could have spent the whole weekend in that cat room. It was so fun to play with the cats, scratch them behind the ears and give them love that they needed so badly. The cats spend most of the day locked in a small cage with barely any human companionship. And to make matters worse, parents let their kids bang on the doors while the cats are sleeping. I guess some people forget that those animals have feelings too.

As I was about to leave Sunday, I noticed an older couple looking very interested in Bug-a-Bear, a Siamese and Himalayan mix with ocean blue eyes. I asked them if they wanted to take a closer look at her. Of course, they said yes and I brought them inside the cat room. Bug-a-Bear immediately began rubbing their hands, licking their fingers and was calm as they held her in their arms.

I kept hoping the couple would want to adopt Bug-a-Bear. No one adopted any of the cats Saturday, which was quite depressing. Many people had commented on how beautiful Bug-A-Bear was, but had yet to give her a new home. It happens a lot, though. People stare through the glass, feeling so sorry for the homeless animals, but are not willing to do anything about it – except this couple.

They handed me the adoption fee, signed the paperwork and took Bug-a-Bear to her new home. I felt grateful that I had the opportunity to help give her a new home. But then again, I feared those people would bring Bug-a-Bear back. People often find some excuse to surrender the animals. I have yet to find an excuse that I find valid to return an animal that is supposed to be a part of the family.

Fortunately many people keep their animals until the day they die. They cherish it, spoil it and love it as though it was their own child. That is how I felt these people would treat Bug-a-Bear. They seemed to genuinely want Bug-a-Bear in their home for the rest of their lives. By the time they left, the cat had already been renamed Sweetie. Trust me, that name fits her personality well.

So, a gallon of gas is, like, $3.80, and it’s not even Memorial Day.

That’s definitely affected my summer travel plans, and I only pay for me to get around. I can imagine that folks who would be packing up a gas-guzzling van or SUV with a whole family — whom they also have to feed and entertain as well as house somewhere — are sweating the cost of summer vacation way worse than I am.

My boyfriend the outdoorsman told me about something that, with a little imagination, could be an inexpensive alternative to a traditional getaway: the National Wildlife Federation’s Great American Backyard Campout on June 28.

Almost 10,000 people across the country have signed up, but if you act fast, you could be the first from North Carolina to register, at backyardcampout.org. The Web site also has tips for how to pass the time while you’re out there “roughing it.”

I am almost regretting that I ever donated money to certain nonprofits. And thinking that way makes me feel horrible.

About a year ago, I answered calls from a few organizations that were raising funds for causes that I think are important. The pleasant-sounding callers asked if I could donate fairly small amounts of money — from $20 to $50 — to their nonprofits and offered to send me materials, along with payment slips and envelopes, in the mail. I told them that would be fine.

In all three cases, the mailings arrived less than a week later. I read the materials, wrote the checks and mailed them off, thinking that would be the end of it. I figured they would call us again maybe in a year or send us another letter some time in the future.

Then the calls started coming. Today, we get at least one call from one of these organizations a week. It’s always about the same thing: if we could donate more money.

Like I said, I think these nonprofits’ work is important and I want to support it. But I can’t afford to give nearly as much as they are asking.

On top of that, their constant calls have started to feel almost like harassment. Being asked to donate more and more has taken the joy out of philanthropy and, like I said, made me almost regret my decision to donate in the first place. And that, in turn, makes me feel bad and selfish.

I also think that if they called less often, maybe once or twice a year, I might actually be more willing to write another check since I wouldn’t be as weary of being asked again.

Don’t assume that just because something is new, it won’t break.

I learned that expensive — and hot — lesson last week. I moved into my Clayton townhouse three years ago, and the home was brand-spanking new. In fact, builders were working up to the last minute to get everything done before I closed the deal. Like most homeowners, I’ve had my share of problems with the house, but they were all under a warranty so it didn’t cost me a dime.

But the most recent disaster cost me almost $900, and I have a feeling it could have been prevented with proper maintenance. For the past several months, my electricity bill has been outrageous, but I just assumed the rates had gone up. Two weeks ago, I noticed the air coming from the vents was lukewarm and it never cooled the house down. Finally, I decided to call an HVAC specialist to examine the problem.

The crews discovered that a coil had burst and leaked out all the Freon in my air-conditioning unit. If I had gotten the unit checked regularly every year, like most technicians recommend, it might have saved me some money. My unit holds six pounds of Freon. It cost $45 per gallon to refill the Freon. That adds up to $270, plus the cost to replace the coil and labor fees, which eventually add up to most of the tax refund money I received this year.

I imagine I could have saved a few hundred dollars if I had gotten the unit checked annually. But the thought never crossed my mind. I just assumed it would not give me any problems for several more years. Turns out I was wrong — $900 wrong to be exact.

As the summer days become even warmer, hotter and humid, you might want to have your air-conditioning unit checked by a professional. Trust me, it is worth the investment.

I have a disease.

In fact, many people have the same disease, but do not realize it. You won’t find it in a dictionary or a medical book. I like to call this sickness “speeditious,” or the need to drive excessively fast on a regular basis. Unfortunately, I can’t blame this disease on genetics. No one makes my decisions for me.

The severity of my disease hit me Friday as I was speeding on U.S. 70 West in Clayton. I am not sure how fast I was going, but I know it was at least 10 mph over the speed limit. Suddenly, a state trooper was on my tail, flashing his sirens and signaling me to pull over.

Normally, I accept my punishment and do not think twice about my driving. But this time was different. I had a passenger with me. My boyfriend, Evan, turned to me and said, “Sarah, you are going to get yourself killed in a car accident one day, and I don’t think I could handle that.” He was absolutely right. Was my life worth driving faster than everyone else? No.

My boyfriend also pointed out another not-so-startling observation. I was a “showy driver.” I like to drive fast, and speed past other cars when I feel they are going too slow. I put my brakes on at the last minute, which makes Evan hit that “pretend brake” on the passenger side. To top it all off, I have no shame tailing you if, once again, you are driving slower than molasses. Either you move, or I’ll find some way around you.

I did not drive off with a ticket that day. I put on my brakes before the trooper could clock my speed. Luckily, I escaped possibly getting my fifth ticket at age 26. It only takes a matter of seconds for me to become a statistic. The Highway Patrol investigated 1,160 fatal collisions in North Carolina last year. You can bet speed was a factor in many of those accidents.

Putting my life at risk is one thing, but to endanger someone you care about deeply is another. Going a few miles over the speed limit to whiz by a slow driver (yes, I have done that) or turning the volume up on my stereo so my music is louder than the person's beside me (again, another yes on that one, too) is simply not worth my life – or the life of anyone else for that matter.

From that day forth, I vowed to be a safer driver. Having a passenger in the car really opened my eyes. Worse than that, it scared me so badly that I was shaking as I drove away from the trooper. It was a bad feeling – full of guilt, regret and sadness. I’d prefer not to feel that way again.

“Speeditious” can’t be cured overnight, but you can believe I will try ridding myself of the symptoms today.

The concept is simple: Lock you cars.

This seems to be a lesson that many people are learning the hard way in Clayton. Clayton police have been investigating more than two dozen car larcenies over the past two weeks. Reports show that the thieves are taking anything they can get their grubby little hands on, such as jewelry, medicine, cash, an iPod and CDs. Someone even got away with a $900 bulletproof vest that belonged to a Wake County Sheriff’s Office employee.

Now, some of you may think that leaving your car unlocked is no big deal. Perhaps your car is not exactly an eye-catcher. Tape covers up those dents, scratches and spots that have became evident over the years. And who would want to even get inside your car, right? It would take more time to clear out the soda bottles, newspaper and clothes than to find something worth stealing.

You think that no one in their right mind would even bother giving your “out of style” car a second glance. Think again. Clayton Police Chief Glen Allen told me that the culprits could care less about those details. All they want is to snatch items that are quick and easy to find. It doesn’t matter how cheap or expensive those gifts might be.

If some fool is going to break into my car, they are going to have to work for it. Not only do I lock my car, but I have an alarm system. And the most valuable thing people can find in my car are some Dunkin’ Donut napkins, several pens that are almost out of ink and crumbs from the muffins I chow down occasionally. Thieves will not find wads of cash, a massive amount of CDs or a sparkling diamond ring in my car. They might be disappointed, but at least they didn’t get away with my valuable stuff.

So remember folks, an unlocked car is an invitation to criminals. That is one invitation I don’t want to send.

I’m not so sure that those of you who might read this care too much about my personal life. (Maybe I’m wrong, who knows.)

But I feel I’d be remiss if I didn’t briefly mention the major trial I’ve faced over the past several weeks and how it’s affected me.

My drama started March 15 – the third consecutive Saturday I spent in Charlotte helping out a friend who was moving to take a new job with an architecture firm. This particular day, however, was moving day and, therefore, the most hectic and important of the weekends we had spent in the Queen City.

I had the distinct honor (note: sarcasm) of driving the 17-foot U-Haul all the way there. That’s really not so bad, I guess, but moving trucks make me nervous.

When we started moving my friend’s belongings into his new apartment, I had an accident. As I was walking on a landing at the bottom of a flight of stairs, I sprained my ankle pretty badly. To give you some idea, the swelling was about the size of a tennis ball, and my foot and lower leg swelled as well.

Add to that the fact that I passed out in my friend’s apartment from my body’s attempts to compensate for the adrenaline by slowing down my heart rate and you’ve got a real unfolding drama.

I ended up in the emergency room at a hospital in Pineville – thanks by the way to all those who looked after me! – and later was sent home with a leg brace, crutches and instructions to ice my ankle and see a doctor in two days.

Two weeks, three X-rays and three trips to two different doctors later, I finally learned that I also tore three tendons in my lower leg. Now, I have a boot to stabilize my lower leg and I’ll have to wear it for the remainder of this month.

I’ve also been on crutches for about 2.5 weeks and will continue to use them for about another week and a half, if all goes well. I have to say that getting rid of those things is probably the thing I’m most looking forward to right now, apart from just flat out being able to walk again unassisted. It will be so nice to use my hands for something other than typing and lifting my body!

But I will say there has been one perk to having the crutches – I’ve lost between 5 and 10 pounds. I’m not sure that’s exactly a fair trade, but it’s definitely a benefit.

Last weekend, I got myself in a muddy situation.

After rain fell through Johnston County, I went to an auction at Olive Farm Supply in Clayton. My parking options were slim pickings, so I pulled behind a Cadillac at the entrance. Seconds later, I heard the tires sink deeply into the mud. Panicked, I tried to put the car in reverse, and only dug myself deeper into the mud. Not to mention, my car was only a few inches away from being partly in a ditch.

As I angrily slammed my hands against the steering wheel, a group of men sauntered over to my car. They offered to find someone at the auction who could pull the car out with a tractor. As drivers and spectators stared at my car, which was partially off the ground, I tried not to burst into tears.

As I waited for the men to return, I got the number of a tow truck company. But that wasn’t my only problem. My editor was depending on me to report on the auction, and another event in Selma a few hours later. What if I couldn’t make it? My dad keeps a watchful eye over the cars our family. If I had damaged it, he would not be happy. But then again, neither would I.

Ten minutes later (it felt like an eternity), the men returned with a tractor. They tied a chain under the car and pulled my car out in a few seconds. Luckily, the car was not damaged, except for the massive amounts of mud stuck under the tires. Nothing a car wash couldn’t fix. I thanked the men many times for their help, and went about my assignment.

Word spread fast about the incident. A man I interviewed said, “Oh, you are that girl? I heard about that.” I blushed in embarrassment. The man said, “Aren’t you glad you got stuck on a farm?” Yes, I sure was. If I had been anywhere else, it might have taken much longer to get the situation resolved.

The incident taught me two things: Stay away from muddy roads and sometimes put your trust in strangers. Don’t get me wrong. I am not suggesting you talk to every random person who comes along. But realize the world is filled with kind people who look out for others. The men at the auction could have ignored me, but they chose to help. For that small task, I will always be grateful.

Just about every weekday morning, I hit the drive-thru line at Dunkin Donuts in Clayton for coffee. For the past few months, I have been looking at something across the way I thought might be a mirage: the new Comfort Suites hotel.

I moved to Clayton in May 1999, and I’m pretty sure the “Comfort Suites Coming Soon!” sign was already in the ground at the corner of Shotwell Road and U.S. 70. I kept telling my folks in Maryland that pretty soon, they’d be able to stay right down the road from me when they came to visit. And then I waited.

The weekend before last, they finally had their long-awaited first stay at Comfort Suites, which still has that new hotel smell.

I just never thought I’d see the day, but I’m glad for Clayton. The convenient Morning Glory Inn on Second Street has a few pretty rooms to offer, but The Clayton Center is selling out shows that are surely attracting visitors from all over. I have to think the Chapel Hill couple that bought my David Sedaris tickets when I couldn’t go last year might have wished to stay the night in town. Spotting a familiar hotel on the highway could have facilitated that for them.

Thursday was Valentine’s Day.

You know, the day of romance that is often filled with flowers, chocolates, stuffed animals and some sort of sappy card that is supposed to bring tears to your eyes. My Valentine’s Day contained none of those things, and that was perfectly fine with me.

My boyfriend was out of town Thursday, so we opted to celebrate the holiday this weekend. But I told him I didn’t want any gifts this year. Just a chance to spend some time together because our work schedules have been keeping us apart more than usual. So instead of wallowing in my sorrows at home with a tub of Ben & Jerry’s on my lap, I went out to dinner with a few of my coworkers.

We decided to have some much needed “girl chat” over plates of burritos, salsa and chips at a Mexican restaurant in Clayton. It was a chance to unwind after a hectic week. More importantly, it was a chance for us to get to know one another better. We share office space, but you can only say so much with dozens of people buzzing around.

After talking about an array of items – from television shows to tiaras – we finished off the evening with a bowl of fried ice cream.

It was truly one of the best Valentine's Days I’ve ever had. Sure, I missed my boyfriend, but there is something about hanging with your girlfriends that can’t be replaced. Maybe it is the chatting, the laughing or not having the pressure of being dolled up for a few hours of fun. You can always be yourself around friends, even if it means spilling salsa on your shirt or laughing so hard tears form in your eyes. A Valentine like that is rare to find.

There’s a running joke among my friends that I’ve become a bit too attached to the glowing box sitting in my living room.

I’ll admit that, while I like being around people, I find some measure of satisfaction in the nights I stay in, nuke a microwave dinner and plop down in front of the television. My biggest vice is the show Lost, which, for those who are as addicted to that show as I am – and those who aren’t but should be – returns for its fourth season tonight at 8 p.m. on ABC.

Sorry, I had to throw in a shameless plug for my favorite TV show.

Anyway, while most of the television I watch might be rotting my brain, there’s some value to the things we watch. For example, I’ve recently become attached to watching Today on NBC in the mornings. It’s something for me to do as I’m trying to wake myself up.

The show recently featured a series called “Today Goes Green.” I don’t exactly have a green heart, but I watched this series with fascination. (It’s not that I don’t care about the environment. I’m just as lazy about doing anything to protect it as the overwhelming majority of Americans seem to be.)

The news team of Today spent a week outlining simple tips for reducing one’s negative impact on the environment. They focused on ways to save energy and reduce pollution both at home, work and on the road.

Their reports left me wondering how environmentally conscious we are here in Johnston County. So I’d like to pose this question: have you made changes in your lifestyle to reduce your carbon footprint?

If so, I’d really like to hear from you. E-mail me at jcooke@newsobserver.com or call me at 934-2176. Tell me your name, where you live and a little bit about what you’ve done to “go green.” Please limit e-mail responses to several paragraphs.

There might not be such a thing as a free lunch, but Johnston County residents can take advantage of a free service that we hope will provide other kind of nourishment. The Herald will give anyone interested in remembering their loved ones on Valentine’s Day an opportunity to create an online video greeting.

Those who want to tape a greeting for their parents, grandparents, significant others or kids can choose from four more days to come to the paper’s office to have their 30-second greeting taped. The messages will be posted to the paper’s Web site, www.theherald-nc.com Feb. 14.

The remaining taping dates are Thursday, Jan. 31, Tuesday, Feb. 5, Thursday, Feb. 7 and Friday, Feb. 8. And if none of those days work, we are flexible and can try some other taping time.

Also people with little experience in front of the camera don't need to worry: We’ll do as many takes as it takes to get the greeting right (within a reasonable time frame).

And we’ll have to ask anyone participating to take care of their makeup and hair by themselves, since at this point, hiring makeup maven Bobbi Brown and hair guru Oscar Blandi is a little out of our league.

If you are interested in the service, email me at snygard@newsobserver.com or call at (919) 812-8274.