We've got to stop meeting like this. Love that movie cliche! And I've loved meeting with you for 12 years each Sunday as you snuggled in bed, sipped coffee on the couch or lounged in your favorite cafe. But now it's time to move on. We've been through a lot, you and I: Weddings and divorce and remarriage. The births of children and grandchildren. The deaths of those we love. Coping with codependency and addictions. Career changes and job frustrations. Simplifying our lives and determining our values. And generally trying to figure out just who we are and how we fit into this sometimes sorrowful but mostly wonderful world. Together, we've witnessed countless random acts of kindness - and hopefully been inspired to pass some on. We've stepped into the worlds of those you might otherwise know little of, from egg donors and cross-dressers to the purposely child-free and those agnozing the loss of a chid. You've heard husbands plea for their wives to come home, children beg their parents to stop drinking, and couples stressing that a marriage can recover after infidelity. Through your letters, emails and phone calls, and when we've met in person, you've shared bits of your own lives and said Relating helped you through some tough spots. Just as you helped me. Your outpouring of caring shored me up when I wrote about my sister Sally's two strokes and about my HIV test coming back falsely positive. Your congratulations buoyed me even higher last year when I shared my reunion with my long-lost love. (In answer to your continuing questions, Sally's doing well and Eric and I continue our two-continent commuting!) Even though it goes against the grain of journalism, I've always contended that a personal story - properly told, with the lessons extracted - is universal. Which is why I've dared to share private aspects of my life, in the hope you'd know that you were not alone and that solutions and blessings lay just around the corner. So, after more than three decades in the business (29 with The Oregon Journal and the Oregonian), I'm ending this phase of my career. It's been quite a ride. In the early years, undercover reporting for features was fun: shoplifting, weekending in a nudist camp, posing as a blind person, serving time in jail as a drunken driver, working with a police woman as a decoy prostitute, etc. I covered social services, courts, general assignment. I did features on addiction and psychological issues. I sat on one too many couches with tearful parents, paging through the scrapbooks of their dead teen-agers. Sometimes I returned to the office and sobbed in the restroom before I sat down to typewriter and (later) computer. Being the first to know - and getting the story at any cost - was an exciting part of journalism. Sometimes, I was embarrassed and even ashamed by the demands of the craft. Later, I eschewed all that and tried to do work that helped people. That made them feel better about themselves and their world. that nourished their souls instead of fostering doubt and depression. What's next? I plan to finish more books and a novel and do some freelance writing and speaking from my office on the houseboat or half-way 'round the globe. I'll spend more time with my baby twin granddaughters, who live in town, and travel to see the other four grandchildren in California. I'm learning Swedish, too, to prepare for longer periods in Stockholm - the least I can do for this man who's vowed his life-long love and support! Perhaps our paths will cross. I hope so. You can reach me at JannMMitchell@aol.com or 15725 NW Sauvie Island Rd., Portland OR 97231. Let's part with this quote by George Bernard Shaw, which is taped to my computer screen: Life is no 'brief candle' to me. It is a sort of splendid torch which I have got hold of for the moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations. Thank you, friends. Be gentle with yourselves and with one another. And hold your torches high.