Peddler's Village in Lahaska, Pennsylvania, has 42 acres of quaint specialty shops, restaurants and country landscape with a small town Colonial charm. It has strawberry festivals in the Spring and a scarecrow competition in the Fall.

On Sunday, it had two diabetics crashing simultaneously on the stone steps between Hats Galore & More and Skin 'n Tonic Day Spa.

If combined, their blood sugar would have been a perfect 108. But separately, my father and Charlie were in bad shape and spiraling rapidly downward.

Note to self : People with diabetes should eat.

The plan was to have lunch at Peddler's Village. Maybe grab a hearty beef burgundy at the Cock 'n Bull or French onion soup at the Spotted Hog or perhaps shepherd's pie at the Golden Armadillo (OK, I made up that last one). But we got a late start and didn't arrive until about 1:30 pm. We walked around far too long looking for a place to eat, me with my dangerously optimistic "I'm sure there's a restaurant just up this hill and to the left."

There rarely is.

The Spotted Hog was no longer in business and the Cock 'n Bull was packed with a 30-minute wait. My father (a type 2 diabetic) went down first with a blood sugar of 43. He looked ghostly. He plopped himself down and guzzled a juice box and munched on peanut-butter crackers. Meanwhile, I took a quick stroll down the path, searching in vain for a restaurant.

Note to self: If you go off alone, leave diabetes bag behind with actual person with diabetes. Susanne tracked me down and told me Charlie felt low and reminded me that I had the bag.

"You have the bag!"

If I had a nickel for every time she's had to say that to me, I'd … well, I guess I'd have about 45 cents. Not a great sum of money, but you get the point.

Charlie, with a blood sugar of 65, plopped himself down alongside his wobbly grandfather, guzzled a juice box and munched on peanut-butter crackers.

A family of four, sitting just a few feet away, watched the drama unfolding intently as if looking curiously at an ant colony in a terrarium. They never said a word. Not a "Can we get you something?" a "Is there anything we can do?" Nothing.

However, one person did stop to say something.

"You're blocking the steps!"

"We're having a bit of an emergency!" I barked back.

He stepped around the open bag of Charlie's testing supplies and walked about 10 paces before turning around and glancing back at us.

Diabetes is often like like an attention-craving child. You can't go anywhere without it saying "look at me! Look what I can do!" So we look yet again. Like we do every day. Every hour. "Wow, diabetes! great cartwheel!"

We never did get to a restaurant, but no one was complaining. Mouths were too busy eating chocolate-covered marshmallows on a stick.