Autumn Calvert

Tag: Autumn Calvert

  • To Dream of Horses: Conquering Allergies and Fear

    To Dream of Horses: Conquering Allergies and Fear

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    “OH JESUS! HELP ME, GOD!”
     
    The winding country roads filled with clouds of dust and dirt as my friend, Jerry Dwain, navigated the sharp turns and twists like a NASCAR driver. He owned a bright blue Z28, and he drove it at full capacity.
     
    The day had begun with a simple request.
     
    “Hey, Autumn! I’m headed out to look at a horse. Wanna come?”
     
    I agreed.
     
    Jerry Dwain, was horse crazy. This part of his life I only heard about. My eagerness to support him in his pursuits caused me to accept the invitation.
     

    CHILDHOOD ALLERGIES

     
    As a child, I had severe allergies. Most foods, mold, mildew, and all animals caused me to go into reactions. Often, the reactions would send me to the hospital. Much of my early years, I considered the hospital to be a second home.
     
    The worst of the reactions?
     
    Horse hair/dander
     
    Before my parents knew any of this, they allowed me, at 2 years old, to go on a horseback ride with a family friend. Not long after this ride, I came close to death. I stayed in the hospital for 2 weeks. It would not be the last time.
     
    My parents tried to avoid horses, but with horse and cattle farms everywhere in our South Alabama culture, it was impossible. 
     
    My little sister once went horseback riding with a friend. As soon as she stepped into the house, the allergies kicked my butt. Back to the hospital for me, and I never touched her.
     
    These types of situations happened all the time. The doctors said I would outgrow the allergies. I believed them.
     
     
      

    NOT ANOTHER FRIEND!

     
    Many years later, I met my soul sister, Cris. This friendship was “love at first sight”. We swear we were friends in previous lives. Then, she said these words: “I love horses!”
     
    “Well, shit,” I responded.
     
    She laughed at me. I told her my predicament.
     
    “Well, shit.” She responded.
     
    Then, we found out we were pregnant the same month. Our firstborn children were born 4 days apart.
     
    Cris had gotten serious about her horses, and her daughter, as a babe, would frequent the barn. I wanted my son to go, too. How could I keep this wonder from him? It broke my heart.
     

    RETRAIN THE MEMBRANE

     After Asher’s diagnosis of autism spectrum disorder, Cris called.
     
    “Girl! Get him involved with Happy Trails! They are awesome!”
     
    “I wish I could, but…” Cris understood. She knew something I did not, but, being a great friend, she waited to tell me.
     
    Cris started a teacher facilitator program a few years later. The program worked with horses and humans. Yoga, Somatics, and other alternative therapies taught students how to help others. She asked if I would be her guinea pig. I told her it was fine, but, NO HORSES! She agreed, and in January 2017, we began.
     
    The lessons were odd. It took me a minute to become accustomed to the style, but after a lesson or 2, I was starting to see differences.
     
    Cris gave me a list of questions to answer, and one of those questions led me to where I am today.
     
    “What is a dream you never think you’ll see come true.” (A synopsis)
     
    Easy one.
     
    I want my child to be in therapy at Happy Trails, and I want to ride horses.
     
    When I told Cris my answer, she smiled.
     
    “I’ve been waiting to talk to you about this,” she said. “I do not doubt you have allergies, but I believe your biggest problem with horses is PTSD.”
     
    My face must have mirrored my confused mind.
     
    “Autumn, you went through a lot. Why don’t you have the doctor run an allergy test on you to see where you are now. Then, we will take the next steps to make this dream come true. We are doing this. Are you in?”
     
    “Uh…let me think about it.” That’s exactly what I did.
     
    A couple of months later, I called the doctor.
     
    The results of the test were encouraging. The nurse said, “Wear a mask and gloves, make sure your arms are covered around the horses, and you will be fine.”
     
    I asked, “So, what exactly will be my reaction? Will I need hospitalization if I do not do these things?”
     
    “No,” she answered. “You will need allergy medicine. You’ll be sneezing and itchy. Allergy meds will take care of it.”
     
    “Ok,” I responded with a shake, “so, if I start allergy meds daily, will that cover it?”
     
    “Yep. It should. Take it slow. Be mindful. Take your meds. You will be ok.”
     

    JUMPING INTO THE WATER

     
    As soon as I stepped out of the car, I walked over to the horses. It was Cris’ daughter’s 8th birthday. They had recently moved to a majestic farm. They had also moved their horses, and the barn was close to the house. This was my first visit since the horses moved. Fear gripped me.
     
    “It is ok, Autumn. You have meds on board. Let them come to you. You’ll never know what will happen unless you try.” I convinced myself and proceeded with caution.
     
    Indiana Jones walked over to me (a beautiful, gentle horse). I reached up and touched his soft nose. I looked him in the eye and smiled. Everything was ok! I cried.
     

    GET ME HOME! 

    Jerry Dwain rounded the sharp curves, “OH GOD! GET ME HOME, JD!”
     
    My dad came home not long after we arrived. Jerry Dwain sat in a chair staring at me as I struggled with my body on the couch. Dad relieved him of his duties.
     
    “Autumn, what were you thinking?” Dad was angry as he handed me my meds. “Go get in the shower and wash it off. If you get any worse, we will head to the hospital.”
     
    A hospital visit proved unnecessary. Though the night was difficult, I managed to stay above the line of emergency.
     

    HAPPY TRAILS

     
    “Sure! I’m there on Friday. Would you and your son like to come out then?” I had spoken to Kathi, the owner of Happy Trails, of my horse allergy drama. She was happy to help me overcome my trials. We would take it slow.
     
    We arrived and were greeted by a dog fascinated with the game of fetch. My husband and Asher played with the dog until Kathi returned from a ride.
     
    After the introductions, a horse, a gorgeous brown horse with black legs that looked to be dipped in paint, caught my attention.
     
    “She is gorgeous!” I exclaimed to Kathi.
     
    “Let’s go meet her. Her name is Zoe. She is an Arabian.”
     
    I had smelled the horses in the air. The mask was in my hand at the ready, and I had used it a few times out of pure fear. But, for Zoe, I wanted to be without it. I didn’t want to frighten her.
     
    Kathi attached all the head gear and explained the purpose of each rope as she worked. I couldn’t wait, so I walked over to Zoe. My stomach bubbled with excitement and fear. I reached up and stroked her face.
     
    “Hello, Zoe! You are a beautiful horse! And you know what else? You are helping me overcome a mighty giant. I will always love you for it.”
     
    My courage mounted as Kathi handed me the rope and allowed me to play a game with Zoe.
     
    I continued patting her face, her hair, her neck, and her body.
     
    No reaction.
     
    We went into the barn and met the other horses.
     
    No reaction.
     
    Kathi’s brilliance and training was clear. Her presence told me if I needed a break, it would be fine. Her confidence in my ability to triumph surpassed my fears.
     
    When it was time to go, she encouraged me to sign Asher up for lessons. I knew he would thrive in this environment. His countenance, being around the horses, had changed. Yes. He would be signed up.
     
     

    PTSD BE DAMNED

     
    I got a little sneezy when I returned home, but, I was fine. I also made my son and husband strip their clothes and put them straight in the wash. Old habits die hard.
     
    PTSD, at its core, speaks lies. Though the experiences that caused the PTSD are real, future reactions to similar experiences are not. It takes a retraining of the brain to realize the new is not the old. After years of desire, I finally torched the idea I would never touch a horse.
     
    One of the first things I did after going to the farm was to send a picture to Cris. She was thrilled!
     
    Then, I sent the photo to Jerry Dwain. He and his husband own a horse farm in Florida. JD has become a notable horseman, and he breeds show horses. This was his response to my photo: “The outside of a horse is good for the inside of a man.”
     
    Yes, Jerry Dwain. You speak the truth.
     
    As a child, the outside of a horse broke the inside of me. The doctor said I would outgrow it, and I did. What I did not outgrow was fear. Fear, as I have learned, is not something to outgrow. It must be fought.
     
    After years of PTSD symptoms, the thing that almost killed me healed me. The war within my body turned into a war within my mind. Winning did not occur overnight. It was a steady uphill battle. But, when the battle ended, a dream came true.
     
     
    FOR MORE INFORMATION: 
     
    This non-profit is a worthy cause. To sign up or donate, please visit their website! 
    Quote from their site:
    “We are horse lovers who use horses to improve the lives of children and adults with disabilities. Our
    goal is that the personal confidence students gain  from Therapeutic Riding will affect their lives in a 
    positive way.”
     
    Cris Pyle works with people and horses. She offers her expertise to those wanting to become their best, and her services are available for helping your horses, too! 
     
    Jerry Dwain’s farm in Florida is a wonder! Check it out!
     
    This site offers more information on PTSD. Name it then work on it! You can do this!
     
  • Flip Off Fear In 5 Steps

    Flip Off Fear In 5 Steps

    Win the battle against fear.

     

     

    I stepped up onto the platform. It was higher than I first thought. Too high. I don’t like heights. Though the padding below promised a soft landing, it did little in the way of helping me feel confident.

    “You are the Simone Biles of klutz. This is not a good idea.”

    The voice in my head spoke these words loudly as my palms got sweaty, and my knees shook.

    A kid, about 4 or 5 years old, skipped me in line…again. I let him. I was still trying to decide whether to take the stairs back down to safety or jettison myself off of this platform and slide through the air.

    “Surly, the folks who built this indoor trampoline playground tested this. Look! The four year old is killin’ this! Wait…we did have to sign a waiver. Why did we have to sign the waiver? Is this thing safe?”

    As the words floated into my conscience, another voice spoke up and made me move over to the zip line.

    “It’s time to give your fear the middle finger, girl. Do this.”

    Fear is a constant source of trouble. As someone with an anxiety disorder, my fight is daily and constant. Making decisions, even simple ones, is complicated and gut clinching. Even when I don’t have to make a quick decision, the thought of having to make a decision in the future can send me spiraling. My mind stays in hyperdrive most of the day. There are times I will even wake in the middle of the night in a panic.

    Fear.

    After I was diagnosed with the disorder, I began to seek out the best ways to handle it. I spent hours online reading articles and testimonies on the effects of anxiety. Often, I would find myself whispering, “Amen,” to the computer screen.

    Over the last 6 years, I have tried many tactics and self-help tricks, but few proved worthy.  This list is what has worked for me.

    It is a mantra I speak to myself daily, and I put it into action.

    FLIP OFF FEAR IN 5 STEPS

    1.  NAME THE DEVIL

    Fear is cunning. It likes to dress itself up in costumes of other emotions. There are times I think I am feeling angry, but once I start to strip away the burning desire to scream, fear is hiding in the corner snickering.  It is the same with sadness, jealousy,  and so on.

    I look at this sniveling little nuisance and begin to work through the rest of the list.

    What happens if I don’t work through this list? What if I stop at naming the devil?

    Fear begets more fear and births doubt.

    “I’m afraid of this fear. I cannot do this! I cannot conquer it! It is stronger than I am…”

    Before I can count to 5, the little freak as doubled in size, multiplied, and gone into hiding again. It has cloaked itself in my self-doubt and slithers away into the shadows. It knows if it stays in the shadows, it can restart it’s destruction. It finds a suitable costume, and the process begins again.

    Unless a decision is made to fight this battle now, it only makes the battle worse later.

    The first weapon in the arsenal is naming it.

    Name the devil. Then, take the next step.

    2. BREATHE

    Fear hates oxygen. What it wants to do is send the mind in a tailspin. It wants us to sweat, get nauseous, wide-eyed, and paralyzed.

    It wants us to hold our breath.

    But, when we start to fill up it’s living quarters with oxygen, it starts squirming like a fish on the sea shore.

    Why?

    Oxygen feeds our brain. It helps us to think deliberately and strategically. It calms everything down when fear has stirred it all up.

    Once fear has begun to fear it’s own demise, it will roar. It will go into it’s own version of a panic attack. It does not want to loose it’s playground and is cozy at home in the recesses of your brain.

    What does that look like? 

    More fear and more doubt.

    It is to be expected. This is the reaction of all things about to die. Letting fear’s fear take over only allows it to get a foot hold to fight back. Keep going.

    Name it, breathe deeply, and take the next step.

    3. SPEAK TRUTH

    Now, the devil is backed into a corner, it begins spewing words of doubt.

    “Look at you, little wimp, thinking you can defeat me!,” it cries in a monstrous cackle.

    Arguing with fear does no good.

    Fear is a bully.

    No matter what is said to it, it will have a response. Generally, it will be laughing at you.

    So, how to get through this part of the battle?

    Speak truth to yourself…not to your fear.

    “I am bigger than fear. I am stronger than fear. I am capable of winning. I will win. I will be the victor. I am the victor.”

    Fear will hear these words. As it gags on the oxygen in the brain, it will brag about it’s own strength, wit, and stealth. It will reach it’s dying arms out into the soul and charge it with electrical impulses of fight or flight.

    Don’t stop.

    Name it, Breathe, and Speak truth. Then, move to the next step.

    4. MOVE

    The intensity of the battle has reached a climax. Fear is pulling out all of the stops. Every play in the playbook and every trick in the bag is revealed. It knows death is close. It will not go down without a fight.

    Now is the time to move.

    Move towards the object of your fear. It could be as simple as a decision to walk out the door or as big as stepping out of an airplane for the first time sky diving. Either way, the battle is the same.

    Propelling the body towards the feared object or situation requires activation of all the other steps. The little freak will begin to grow larger the closer the object or the situation gets. It does what fear does…attacks.

    Name the devil, breathe, speak truth, move…repeat

    The devil is defeated when the food supply is gone. It no longer has footing. It no longer has it’s feast. It no longer has doubt as a weapon. Now, the situation has been dealt with, the decision has been made, the snake has been handled, the step out of the airplane has been taken, and fear has been proven wrong.

    Fear has been conquered. The battle is won.

    Now, take the next step.

    5. TRAIN

    Prepare for the next battle.

    Fear has thousands of identical twins lurking in the corners of the mind. With anxiety disorders, the chemistry in the brain is jacked up. It is a water source for fear.

    Slowly, over time, I believe the chemistry can be changed. But, it takes training.

    How does one train to conquer fear?

    Meditation, exercise and diet.

    Like with all training, it takes time. Time to set routines. Time to learn how to do it. Time to conquer fear enough to even start.

    Pick one of the above and start slowly. I have found if I do too much too soon, I give up. Starting slowly with training will set those routines in place. Each time you do a session, confidence grows.

    If you pick mediation, do a 5-minute mediation every morning or evening and gradually move up in time. If you pick exercise, do 5-minutes a day and move up. If you pick diet, eat one healthy food a day and move up.

    Sometimes, a season of training is put on pause due to depression or other issues, it is ok. Let me repeat this again:

    IT IS OK!!!!

    The trick is to not allow this time of depression or forgetfulness conquer the training. If it has been a long time since training, IT IS OK! Start over with 5-minutes.We all have other battles we face in a day.

    NO JUDGEMENT! 

    Half of the battle with training is learning how to take care of the mind. Taking care of the mind means to be accepting of where one finds themselves.

    Fear does not want us to be kind or gentle to ourselves.

    It wants a person to feel disappointed in themselves and defeated by themselves. Once a person feels defeated, the voice of fear is amplified over all the other voices of truth.

    Being kind to oneself oftentimes requires these same steps listed above:

    Name the devil (Self-defeating talk)

    Breathe (Oxygen stimulates confidence)

    Speak Truth (You truly are worthy and capable.)

    Move (Do 5-minutes of training.)

    Train (Keep Training)

     

    SIMONE WOULD BE PROUD

    I reached out an grabbed the zip-line bars. I looked down at the guy operating the zip-line. He was smiling at me. Something in his smile gave the extra boost of confidence to step off the platform.

    I flew through the air. The rushing wind flowed over my face, and I giggled. It was fun! Not only was it fun, it was a win for the “me” team! The carcass of fear dissolved.

    I let go of the bars and landed in the soft foam below. Immediately, I gave the zip-line worker 2-thumbs up.

    I had won against my own fear. The taste of victory was divine.

    With a new-found confidence, I made my way over to the monkey swing. It, too, was on a high platform. Again, I let the little kid skip me in line…several times. I was working on tackling fear.

    Courage takes work.

    “This is only fear. Breathe, Autumn. Yeah…that’s good. Breathe more. Ok…keep doing that. You can do this. You are stronger than this fear. You are not the Simone Biles of klutz. You are powerful.”

    I moved over to the take off area and placed my hands on the swing handle bar. I looked over at the swing worker, and he was smiling.

    “I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.”

    I stepped off the platform and into who I truly am.

    I am a conqueror. 

     

  • Bad Sheep: The Story Behind The Story

    Bad Sheep: The Story Behind The Story

    First of all, I want to give a big internet hug to all of those who supported the “bad sheep” Kickstarter campaign! We made it to the goal! Hooray!

    For those who are cheering the book on to success, I give you a big shout out of thanks!!

    We are now in the post-Kickstarter stage. Preparations are being made daily for the release of the book. This post is for all of you following the journey from idea to actualization.

    HOW “BAD SHEEP” WAS BORN

    I awoke with the story. It came to me in a dream. I outlined the story to my groggy husband who was pouring his morning coffee, and he said, “Let’s do it!”

    This same morning, I contacted one of my favorite cartoonist’s, David Hayward. After working out the details, he jumped on board.

    While awaiting the sketches from David, I spent hours researching children’s books and publishing. I spent hours in my mind going over each detail of the story. I did not give up on finishing, and I did not give in to doubt. *Side note: for those of you starting a children’s book, I suggest doing tons of research on all things children’s books. The time I spent researching the different aspects of self-publishing paid off. However, you will make mistakes. I made a bunch of them. As mistakes go, I learned, and the next book will be smoother sailing.

    A couple of months later, I got the email from David. It sent me flying! I saw him: my sweet little bad sheep! I was over the moon!!!

    For the most part, the initial sketches are the same as in the book. This is a remarkable accomplishment for 2 artists, whom have never met in person and who live hundreds of miles apart. We were able to find a wavelength and a vision with very few tweaks. Here are some absolutely awful photographs of me showing David the expressions I wanted for the sheep.

     

    Images sent to David Hayward to show facial expressions and the final product.

     

    Then, the process took the turn towards graphic design. With the characters in hand, I spent a couple of months playing with the graphic design. Finally, after consulting my son for direction, the book began to have a fluid appearance. The color schemes worked, the font worked, and the overall design worked.

    LEARNING

    The fun part of art is conception to actualization. The not so fun part is what to do with the creation once it’s in your hands.

    Though I had read about it, I am an artist…not a marketer. Want me to paint you a picture, write you a song, blog, story, novel, or make you a necklace? I’m your girl. It’s covered.

    I looked in my hands at the pages of the book, and I asked the question, “What now?”.

    So…I researched and found out. Even so, the “ah ha” moment didn’t come easily. I decided to just go with what I knew, and I did.

    I needed the funds to get it published.

    After asking lots of questions (the best way to learn), I discovered Kickstarter to be the safest bet for all involved: me and the people pledging to the book.

    It took me a couple of months to research, layout, design,plan and organize the photo shoot, by Julie McCullough(hair and makeup by Janae Burnside, and assisted by Rachel Harchanko,) write the script for the video practice this script, and create the Kickstarter campaign.

     

     

    Then, the hardest part for me and most artists, came promotions. Facebook, Instagram, Facebook, Instagram, Facebook, Instagram…………

    The pledges came rolling in, and by the end of the 30 days, the Kickstarter was FUNDED!!

    WHAT is NEXT?

    Now, we are in the planning stages of the launch. Kickstarter has a 2 week hold on the funds. This has put us on an early 2018 launch date. I was hoping for Christmas. Oh well. Life goes on.

    Until then, I am marketing my writing through blogs, engagement on social media, website updates, and email list building. The more engagement online, the better the book will sell. It is a simple process, but, it takes a ton of work.

     THE ARTIST’S DISCOMFORT

    There are days I want to run and hide from the world. There are days I wish I could be invisible online.

    Here’s the thing: I want to create stuff and make money doing it. To do this, I cannot be invisible. Yes. There are days I can be quiet online and post an “oldie but a goodie,” but, for the most part, I have to kick my anxiety aside and show up.

    Showing up also means book signings, book readings, lectures, stories, and new books. For me, this is fun! I love meeting folks. I love to make kids laugh (the best sound in the world). I love singing silly songs and smiling and listening. I also, like my grandfather, love the stage. I haven’t been on stage for a while, unless you count my dancing and singing in the car, so, it will be welcomed with open arms.

    However, there is a level of discomfort in making your art, and yourself, known. Balancing on the tight rope of confidence and comfort has proven to be tricky, yet, it is not impossible.

    FINAL THOUGHT

    This last year has been a real world education in how to be good at what you do, and how to be loud about it. As I have said…the first part is easy. The second part is not. I am still learning.

    The good news is I know more today than I did yesterday.

    “Bad Sheep” has been a lesson in endurance, myself, accepting critical advice, measuring excitement in portions to last for days, taking steps daily, and giving up the expectations of others. The biggest lesson I have learned this year is this:

    Not everyone will love my work, and it is ok.

    I have a several mottos. This is one I wrote for myself:

    Put the work out there for the world to see.
    Whether they like it or not
    IS NOT
    Up to me.

    Enough people will like what I do to make my work successful. I am certain of it.

    *Side note: if you are an artist, whether with the word, paintbrush, pencil, musical instrument, or otherwise, read the motto again…and again…and again. Your work has value not in the acceptance of it but in the essence of it. If one person’s life is touched by what you do, you have done well. Remember, to touch people’s hearts with your art, they must first be able to see (or hear) it. If you are afraid, release it anyway.

    There will be more “Bad Sheep” news starting in January, 2018! Also, stay tuned for more projects to be released in 2018! I will be adding photos and blogs to keep everyone up to date!

    Until then…

    Wow. What an amazing ride.

     

     

    To read more about Autumn and her work, click HERE!

    To read more about “Bad Sheep”, click HERE!

    To sign up for exclusive deals and hot off the press news, click HERE!

    Thanks for stopping by and taking a read!

     

  • Check the Backseat

    Check the Backseat

    My grandfather playing guitar on his 90th birthday

     

    My paternal grandfather was one of the most well-rounded people I’ve known. He was charming, witty, well read, smart, talented, and, my favorite, funny. He was not stingy with his smile. It was one of those smiles encompassing the entirety of his face. It illuminated a room.

    He loved a good joke or story. Even if his story was not particularly funny to anyone else, everyone would laugh at him laughing at his own joke. He was the cutest, sweetest person. I adored him…and still do.

    I could write a book about the exceptional person he was, but, today, I am focusing on one of his stories that always had me in stitches. I hope I do it justice.

    CHECK THE BACKSEAT

    My PawPaw was a talented musician. Though he could play several instruments, he was best known as a bass player. Over his lifetime, he played bass in many gospel groups. This particular story revolves around a gig he played with a gospel quartet at a country church.

    If you are not from “around these parts,” Alabama country churches are a breed of their own. Most times, there are less than 20 attendees per service…except when the gospel group came to town.

    The pews would be filled, and folks would line the walls. Everyone from the county would show up to be entertained.  The church would be well cleaned, there was enough food to feed a small army, and everyone was dressed in their Sunday best. It was a party!

    It was at one of these events when my grandfather was put in a precarious situation.

    The quartet had sung their first set and took a break. My grandfather, as he would often do, stayed on stage with his bass. He knew it would only be a 10 minute break. Plus, the man LOVED the stage. To this day, I believe his true home was on a stage.

    During this break, the pastor asked the congregants for a  “love offering.” This offering was taken up to pay the gospel group. To fill up the silence, the pastor invited one of the locals to sing a “special.” Paw Paw sat on stage and watched as a middle-aged, stocky built, finely dressed lady move towards the stage in a self-assured and proper sashay.

    Paw Paw wondered why those sitting in the pews and standing around were snickering.  He had never seen a pastor invite the lesser of the local singers up for the break. She had to, at least, be a half-way decent singer.

    She made her way up the short set of stairs and smiled at my grandfather. He smiled back. She turned to move towards the podium. It was then my grandfather knew why all of those in the church were snickering.

    Her dress was caught, by the bottom hem, in the top of her girdle. A majority of her back end was unveiled.

    At this point, everyone in the church knew my grandfather, sitting behind this singer, had a bird’s eye view of the whole situation. They must have been wondering how he would handle his new vantage point.

    A song, on average, lasts about 3 to 3 and a half minutes, and, for this 3 to 3 and a half minutes, my grandfather sat behind this lady looking at her behind.

    How difficult it must have been for him to retain composure!

    My Paw Paw said it took all the strength he could conjure to not reach up and pull the lady’s dress out of the top of her girdle. I wish he had. It would have made the story so much better. 

    Instead, Paw Paw sat there with his eyes trying desperately to avoid contact with the backside of this stranger. He had no help from the audience. He had to avoid them as well. They were too busy trying to keep a measure of self-control. They must have had to work tirelessly not to look up at my Paw Paw. I bet the pews were shaking with folks painfully swallowing laugher.

    This had to be the only time in my grandfather’s life when the stage was exactly where he did not want to be. He said he picked at his fingernails, stared at his bass guitar, looked at his shoes, and, occasionally, glanced up to see if his reality was as he remembered.

    “Yep. The curtain was still pulled back. Time to pick my fingernails, stare at the guitar, look at my shoes, and keep it together.”

    Once the song was over, the lady pridefully made her way back to her seat. For the rest of the gig, my grandfather had to look out at the audience and see the eyes of this lady who still had no clue she had essentially mooned my grandfather for, at least, 3 minutes of his life…in church.

    Bless her heart…and his.

    My grandfather, the humorist he was, took this story and created the following joke:

    The other day, a man asked me why I had 2 black eyes. I told him I got them in church.

    He said, “You got them in church? What did you do?”

    I told him that as I was sitting in the church pew, awaiting the service to start, a lady walked past me with the bottom hem of her skirt securely folded inside the top of her girdle, exposing her rear end.  So, being the gentleman I am, I reached up and pulled it out. She turned around and slapped me.

    The man laughed and said, “Well, that explains the first black eye, but how did you get the second?”

    Well… I figured she wanted it that way, so, being the gentleman I am, I reached up and put it back.

    My Paw Paw was a comedian.

    From the very first time he told the real story, and to this day, if I am in a dress, I check the backseat. I would recommend you do the same.

    If not, just roll with it. Some day, somewhere, someone’s granddaughter might well turn out to be a writer and provide a chuckle to the world.

  • Death and the Empty Chair

    Death and the Empty Chair

    Juneko.

    She was an acquaintance of mine. We were once friends, but time and distance separated us from building our close friendship. Even so, knowing she was on this earth, walking around and smiling, gave me great peace. 

    When she died, the emptiness I felt was curious to me. She was not a part of my everyday life. We barely spoke, except through facebook. But, there I was, crying my eyes out.

    It was then I knew I had to make sense of these feelings. I needed a story to tell. I needed a visual to explain it.

    If you have endured the loss of someone dear to you or someone you barely knew, I hope this story will aid your ability to cope with death and the sorrow of an empty chair.

    THE BANQUET TABLE

    Imagine your life as a banquet table. All of the people you know or have ever known have a place setting.

    You are the host.

    Your banquet hall may look like a royal room with golden chandeliers, exquisite plates and silver. It may look like a long picnic table in the woods. It is your room to create.

    At your table, there is a chair for each of those people you have known. Sitting the closest to you are your most valued of loves: your spouse, child, parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends. Those sitting further down the table are acquaintances. The one girl you worked with in your 20’s. The guy you knew from church. The lady who always had the peppermint candy…and shared. There are those whom have hurt you sitting at this table, too. The guy or girl who cheated on you, the person who stole your money, the person who was mean to you…everyone you have ever known sits at this table.

    The table is longer than you first thought.

    Some of those sitting at the other end cannot even be seen anymore. They are part of your banquet, and, if you pull out your telescope, you can see them there. You may feel the emotions tied to the memory of this person: good or bad. It doesn’t matter. They sit at your table.

    Each place setting has a tiny card with the name of the person who is to sit in the chair. It will always be there. Though, they may be moved down the table, their chair, and their setting, follow them.

    At my table is a place setting for my Granny and Pawpaw. They no longer sit at my table, but their place setting and name remains. When I gaze upon their empty chair, I remember the joy and the sorrow. These people sat so close to me for so long. I remember their laughter, their shortcomings, their love.

    They have moved on to a bigger and better banquet table. But, somehow, they are still with me. Their absence leaves an empty chair in my life, but the fact they once sat at my table brings me great joy.

    Their empty chair is not empty. It is full of memories.

    No matter how one feels about the afterlife, what we all know for certain is how death affects us in this life. It leaves space…a void.

    Death is unavoidable. We will all have empty chairs at our tables, and, at some point, we will be the empty chair at someone else’s table.

    The experience of loosing Juneko helped me see. I did not know her well, but I was thankful she sat at my table. I was thankful for her life.

    I was also thankful I had a table to share.

    Now, when I look at those chairs filled with those I love most, I embrace the moment. I make more memories. I appreciate the gift of being able to share the meal of life with beautiful people.

    Until their chair is empty, I will smile and be glad they they accepted the invitation to my life. And, when their chair is empty, I will have memories to fill their seats. The image of their presence will not fade as long as I have a banquet to host.

  • I AM A SNOWFLAKE

    I am a snowflake.

I am not the sky.
I am not the ground.
I am frozen water 
Carved out of a cloud.

I am tender and fragile.
I am translucent and strong.
I am falling piece of time past
And a future life source for all.

As a single snowflake,
My presence still has worth,
But when those like me gather together,
A wonderland is earth.

The future for me is simple.
Again, I’ll be a drop of water.

Maybe I’ll be raging with the river
Or part of a rolling sea,
Or possibly part of a cloud again
But I will always be me.

Maybe I will help the beautiful to grow,
For this is my favorite task!
To see a life find hope in my gift
And all of their worries cast.

I am not just one thing.
I've known life in all of its stages.
I’ve seen the world and felt its pain
And written novels worth of pages.

To discount my validity is folly
Because I am part of you.
You can despise my existence or wish me away,
But I will continue to move.

I am a snowflake.