Kay Bratt's Blog, page 7

Introducing Connie Towns Burr in a release collaboration for INTO THE BLUE by Kay Bratt

I’m delighted to introduce you to a wonderful artist who is collaborating with me on my release for INTO THE BLUE

that will hit your Kindles or be mailed out to you on March 19, 2021.

(My birthday! What a great gift if you order now and that will put you into my grandest pre-order giveaway ever!) 

Connie Towns Burr is an artist whose style of watercolor painting has evolved into what has been described as ethereal, light-infused, and therapeutic. 

Her work has been juried into numerous exhibitions across the country and in private collections across the U.S. and abroad. You can sometimes spot her work in the background on the hit television show Grey’s Anatomy.  

She has been painting watercolors for over twenty-seven years and loves watercolors because of the freedom and fluidity that it offers her. 

See more of Connie’s art at:

 https://www.connietownsart.com/   and order your own pieces at http://connietownsart.etsy.com 

GIVEAWAY ALERT: 
If you have pre-ordered my upcoming novel, INTO THE BLUE,  send a screenshot of your receipt for e-book or print to AlohaAuthors@gmail.com with the subject line of ALOHA
to be entered to win one of five beautiful sets of Connie’s watercolor prints I’ll be awarding,
including Maui Hideaway and Kamaole Beach in a 5×7 size.

FIVE MORE winners will get to choose their favorite ring from this sea glass collection by Betsy of BaublesbyBets

PS. Comment below if you’ve emailed your screenshot of your pre-order and you are in!

Also, the print edition is not available for pre-order yet but will be soon!

Watch my newsletter for that announcement and come back to enter!

The post Introducing Connie Towns Burr in a release collaboration for INTO THE BLUE by Kay Bratt appeared first on Kay Bratt.

Feed Your World Knowledge with a Darn Good Story at Great Sale Prices

 

First, let me say that The Palest Ink is on sale for only 99 cents currently.






Next, I want you to know that out of all my books I’ve written, this one means the most to me. It was the hardest to write with tons of research. Also the hardest to edit. And I sobbed at the end of creating specific chapters I won’t talk about here, because I hate spoilers.
But it’s also a story of hope.
And inspirational people who refuse to follow a dictator and instead risk their lives to do the right thing.
I can promise you this; you will walk away a changed person after reading this story that is based on real victim and survivor accounts of a time of chaos called the Cultural Revolution. It’s set in the 60’s, when the USA was all about the Vietnam War, and had no idea what was going on behind the secretive borders of China. You’ll be shocked, to say the least. And if you like this book and want to know more about what happened to the main character after he grew up, there’s a series of books based on him called The Tales of the Scavenger’s Daughters. Those are set in modern day and were inspired by a true story of a man who worked around a railway station for years and picked up abandoned baby girls, that he and his wife raised as their own.
The series was a runaway success, selling more than a quarter of a million copies!
And those are all on sale right now too.
Grab them all while you can. I think you’ll be glad you did.  {download today at sale prices} 
Scroll down to see what others have said about reading THE PALEST INK.

I find it one of the greatest joys…

When a book brings me to tears.

It may be sad that I find joy in my tears.

But, I just find it beautiful.

when these words that someone wrote.. Form such a brilliant, vivid story that you are completely entranced by it, I was so caught up in what was happening, that I lost myself, and I had a melt down and I cried as if I had lost my own family – I cried these beautifully sad tears for these characters that I grew to love. Being able to do this to a reader, is absolutely undeniable talent. Kay Bratt you are so very talented. And I whole heartedly look forward to the rest of your books.



Kay Bratt is my new favorite author! The Palest Ink is a wonderful novel. Excellent character development and I learned something about Mao’s Cultural Revolution in China. I’m going to China next March and thought it would be fun to read a novel taking place in China. I got a lot more than I bargained for since it was such a good book! I’ve read 4 more by her–The Scavenger’s Daughters, Tangled Vines, Bitter Winds, and Red Skies. I enjoyed them all. The Palest Ink is a prequel to the other 4 but I recommend reading it first for background. I highly recommend this series. Each book is quite moving.



Thank you, Kay Bratt for writing this amazing series. I sincerely believe The Scavenger’s Daughters series should be required reading in every school because history really DOES repeat itself. As I read this particular installment, I highlighted everything that paralleled current events taking place in the United States as well as around the world in this moment in history. The playbook doesn’t change much throughout the ages nor locality. Kay Bratt has gifted us with several unforgettable characters to usher the readers along this educational journey. Lots of wisdom. life lessons, reflection on what is most important in life, resilience and that which makes us all human.


It is hard to review a book through tears. As well as being a brilliant story after reading the scavenger series, it also opened my eyes and mind about China’s cultural revolution and what happened. It is easy to ignore that part of history that was so unpleasant from the other side of the world, but it is also important for everyone to take the opportunity to educate themselves about what was happening at that time.
A brilliant read! Thank you Kay Bratt.

Are you convinced yet that you need to read these books? I hope so.
You can find them here at this link ———–> [Tales of the Scavenger’s Daughters]

 

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What You Need When You Need It Most

Have you ever had your heart set on something and then fate sent you a curve ball and it ended up being the best thing after all? This year I turned 50 and my sweetheart told me that he wanted me to finally have the puppy I’ve been yearning years for. I’ve been involved in dog rescue for several years and I’ve had foster fails, adoptions, etc. but this time I wanted a girl pup from a reputable source. I do not believe in backyard breeders and for sure wouldn’t deal with a puppy mill, but I also think that there are solid breeders out there who shouldn’t be ostracized or categorized with the bad crowds.

I did my research and picked a very good Yorkie breeder who has decades of experience and many repeat customers. I started a conversation with her and throughout the weeks, we  communicated back and forth as she tried to help me figure out just what sort of pup would be the best fit. I paid her a deposit and anticipated having a beauty soon. I bought puppy dresses (don’t judge) and bows, and toys.

Then one day a photo came across my feed. It was of a little scraggly-cute pup that was a mixed breed of a Yorkie with a Chihuahua. They call it a Chorkie. Something about her eyes and her little compact snout just grabbed me through the screen.

I was instantly and madly in love.

She wasn’t a purebred Yorkie. But I didn’t care. I wanted her.

I drove eight hours round trip to bring her home, and what I got was a dog infested with fleas, a bad case of coccidia, and who was very weak. She barely weighed one pound! I’m sure the pup wasn’t the 8 weeks old that was told me to me. She was looking so puny that I was terrified. I stopped an hour after picking her up and called the breeder that I had a deposit with, to get guidance on what to do! She directed me to the nearest PetSmart and gave me instructions on what to get to keep the baby going until I could get her to the vet that next Monday. For the first week, I fed her first through a tiny bottle, then syringe, while coating her gums with supplement a few times a day to keep her sugar levels up.  I kept her crate on a table next to my bed so I could touch her when she cried. By the end of seven days, I was exhausted. But I was still in love.

I named her Hazel Beatrix, or Hazel Bea, for short. Her middle name is from Beatrix Potter, an author I have a lot in common with when it comes to beginning our publishing careers. Fun fact: Beatrix first submitted The Tale of Peter Rabbit to publishers in 1900. However, the initial copies and concepts were turned down. Rather than giving up, she self-published 250 copies of the book and sent them out to family and friends, including Sir Arthur Conan-Doyle, of Sherlock Holmes fame. The books were so well-loved that publishers could no longer afford to ignore her work.

My first book was also turned down by many publishers and I self-published it and caught the eye of an editor who saw a gem in the rough.  That book has gone on to sell more than  100,000 copies and was the catalyst to my successful career as an author.

Beatrix Potter was also known as a savvy entrepreneur. I’ve been called that same thing many times throughout my life, always finding ways to add to the household income and now using that savviness to market my own work.

But back to Hazel Bea. Fast forward to today, nearly two months later, and she’s healthy at two and a half pounds of sweet and spicy personality. Her dark hair seems to be turning silver, and it appears she’s going to have silly chihuahua ears that are also adorable. She will not be the show worthy beauty that a well-bred Yorkie would be, but to me she’s gorgeous and she has my heart. I’ve been going through some really tough stuff with health problems, work, and adult children issues, but my little Hazel Bea has made me smile, laugh, and brought me tons of comfort. I just love her little spunky butt. And she wants to be with her mama all the time! Well, except when she’s terrorizing her fur-brothers by jumping on their heads, nipping their feet, and wrestling up a storm.

I worried that a puppy would be to much of a distraction as I’m trying to work, but I discovered she’s just enough. I work too much anyway– and she gives me a reason to get up and stretch, or to take a much needed break. But I’m still writing!

I’ve also probably gone way over the top with her. But I just can’t help it. I told my Ben that when I turned 50, I was just going to let my crazy flag fly and not care what anyone thought. And if jazzing up her daytime bedroom makes me happy, then that’s what I’m going to do. And don’t worry that she’s incarcerated much. She only goes in there if I leave the house because she’s too tiny to be left out with the big boys. Oh, and if putting bows and boas all over her make me laugh and smile, then y’all get to be a part of it, too. And if anyone wants to tell me to cool it, that’s she’s just a dog.. well, you just aren’t my people. As my Mom likes to say, don’t let the door hit you on your backside on the way out.

Because she brings me joy. So that’s all that matters.

For others out there, Hazel Bea has her own gig writing our Bratt Pack updates in my author newsletter. She calls it Hazel Bea’s Bratt Bytes. And I’ll warn you, she gets sassy. I hope you’ll sign up to see what she has to say. Lastly, I hope you don’t wait fifty years to do what makes you happy. Life is short. Let your crazy flag fly high.

Love,

Kay

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You Had Me At Aloha!

 

We all want to get away to a beach somewhere, right?

Well, now you can. At least in your imagination, you can travel to Maui.

 

I Was Once an Alfalfa Sprout or something like that…

 

Okay, I’m not 100% sure that is true. Maybe it’s just something I dreamed up along the way but I do know for sure that I went to school in this big house in Buffalo County, Nebraska. It was called Alfalfa Center and there were only a few dozen students all the way from kindergarten to sixth grade, but for a while it was one of my favorite places. It’s hard to remember all the different schools I’ve been to, as our parents had quite the wanderlust gene and moved us all around the states into many small towns. We never stayed anywhere long, barely long enough to remember anyone or anything about the places.

However, this school is linked to a childhood tragedy, which is probably why I remember it so vividly. They say your strongest emotions set your deepest memories. But before we get to that, I’d like to reminisce about Alfalfa Center. I remember our music teacher, not her name but the songs she taught us as we sat on the old hardwood floors around the piano she played. One song, Orion, visits me on nights when I look up into the sky full of stars. And the food! Oh my gosh, the home-cooked lunches there were to die for. We’d start smelling lunch cooking mid-morning and it was so heavenly that it was hard to get any more work done until it was in our bellies. I say we, because my twin sister and older brother accompanied me there. I’m sure they also remember the food, the music class, and maybe even the teachers.

There were only a couple and Mrs. Cernik comes to mind well. She was a large bleached blonde woman with long kept fingernails that she used on the back of our necks or on our arms when she was displeased. I can recall dreading the moment when she walked around the classroom, peering at our work over our shoulders. I got those fingernails a time or two myself. But my poor brother was her frequent victim. I specifically remember my mother having “a talk” with that teacher once about what she’d do if her kids came home with any more bloody trails down our arms.

But back to good things. The bookmobile was a part of this time in our life and it was probably the best thing that ever happened to me. My sister and I always read at a level higher than others in our grade and we also left that bookmobile each time with stacks of books so high we could barely see to walk. Reading and my books were everything to me. Our family didn’t have much, but when I could escape into a story, I didn’t care about much else. We lived in the country and I’d take my book and find a haystack, or climb into the loft of my neighbor’s barn, and be content for hours.

We all had a few friends at Alfalfa Center School. I remember my class only had 5 or 6 students, but there was one girl who I considered my best friend. Her name was Tracy and everyone loved her. She was eleven years old and just full of smiles, laughter, and energy. Big brown eyes and blonde hair, she just lit up a room.

Tracy’s parents were stricter than mine and it took a while for them to agree to let her ride the bus home with my siblings and I to play after school. The day finally came and we arrived home and spent an hour doing chores. Then we asked Tracy what she wanted to do. It was her idea to walk up the dirt road and cross the highway to go explore a huge abandoned home that everyone called the haunted house. I remember she thought she was the only one out of all our classmates who hadn’t gotten to see it up close.

We lived near a very rural highway with not much traffic back then. It was a cold day and Tracy and I traded coats, but we all bundled up and headed that way. At the highway, my brother crossed first. When he did, I looked right and saw a car just peeking over the hill coming at us. I yelled stop and held my hand out to grab Tracy before she stepped out into the road, but my fingers just grazed the material of my coat she wore.

She was almost to the center line when we looked left and saw a car coming that way, too. Tracy had hesitated in the middle and saw it too.

She called out, “I can make it!”

With my sister and I on one side of the road, and my brother on the other, the driver really had nowhere to go. He hit the brakes but there wasn’t enough time. Tracy was only inches from making it to the other side when his car hit her. I won’t paint the picture here but it was a horrific scene. My brother ran away in one direction, and my sister went screaming in the other direction. Later I learned she was running to the gas station to call for help.

With them gone, I knelt beside Tracy, sobbing and begging her to get up. My eyes saw the damage, but my psyche wouldn’t accept it.

I was still there kneeling beside her when the first person arrived on scene to help. I was led to a neighbor’s house where I was told to call Tracy’s mom and tell her what happened. I remember that call so vividly. First she hung up on me, thinking my sobbing and incoherent blabbering was a prank. Then I called again and handed the phone to my neighbor, Miss Charlotte, and she verified that Tracy was enroute to the hospital.

She later died. Or maybe she died there.

I don’t know for sure.

We weren’t allowed to attend her funeral. My siblings and I suffered with guilt. I had recurring nightmares for years.

At the little quaint school I loved so dearly, we were suddenly outcasts.

“Murderers!”

“You killed her!”

“If she hadn’t known you, she’d be alive!”

Kids can be cruel. And at only ten years old, I believed everything they said as they made us retreat away from them at recess, or told us to go away, that we weren’t allowed on their team or at their birthday party, or whatever. I really wished it could’ve been me, to end everyone’s grief. I was just a poor kid from a family of four children. I wouldn’t be missed. I really thought that. The taunting and ostracizing confirmed it.

Eventually our parents decided to move again and we left it all behind.

But did we?

I can’t imagine the pain that Tracy’s family went through to lose their daughter so tragically. I’m sure they’d find it hard to believe, but Tracy has been with me all my life. In the moments when I am terrified to cross a road. Or later when I think of my children near a highway. Or when I was pregnant and thought for sure God would take my child because Tracy’s family didn’t deserve to lose theirs.

I always wanted to do good things to make up for Tracy being taken and me being spared. I felt I needed to prove that I was good enough to have been salvaged. Probably twenty-five years after the fact, I found Tracy’s sister on Facebook. I poured my heart out to her, and wrote Tracy’s mother a letter. I told her how sorry I was and how Tracy’s death had plagued me with guilt for my entire life. I wanted her to know I was a good person. That I had always taken the right path. I guess I needed to prove something to her. I’m not sure what.

But isn’t it crazy how tragedy can mold us into who we are?

About a week or so ago I was in a bad emotional place. That day in a group I’m in, someone asked if we thought their grandchild should attend the funeral of her estranged drug-addicted parent. I was a strong advocate for letting that child go and have that closure. I was thinking of Tracy and the closure that I was never given and the years of nightmares and guilt. Forty years still wasn’t enough to take away the pain.

Later that night I was talking to a friend about my emotional state. I didn’t tell her about Tracy, just some other things. She told me I needed to find some peace and to get out my Bible. I promised her I would, though honestly it had been a very long time since I’d done just that.

Do you know that later I was climbing into bed when I remembered my promise. When I got out my Bible and cracked it open, I turned to a page at random and there, staring back at me was the only picture I have of Tracy, along with the newspaper clipping about her accident.

I think Tracy was telling me to be at peace about her death. Yet I don’t know if that will ever happen. I still see every tiny second of the accident replayed in my mind when I think of her.

But I also still love that little white schoolhouse.

Despite the trauma it reminds me of.

I’m not sure why I felt led to tell this story. It’s painful. Yet some of it is bittersweet. I was reminded of the bookmobile today by reading someone’s post. Then it made me think of Alfalfa Center. I reached out to a friend who was there then. She sent me the photo. Then we talked about Tracy and she was shocked as I told her about our experience. For she went through her own grief when Tracy, also her friend, died so tragically. She doesn’t remember the taunting and I don’t think she was a part of it as I remember her always as a kind soul.

Yet through our conversation and across many miles, she said she wanted to hug me. Quietly, I was crying on this end. She didn’t deny my memories. Instead she comforted me. And I feel bad that I never knew how much she suffered either.

We are all fragile, y’all. And we all have emotional baggage.

But if you are still holding guilt from some long ago tragedy or trauma that was not your fault, I see you.

I hear you.

And I wish you peace.

Love,

Kay

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Alone Together, A Pandemic Story. (An open letter to my Granddaughter)

Dearest granddaughter,

One day you will receive this letter, probably when you are much older and possibly wondering about the grandmother you were named after. In my hopes that you will find this, I want to tell you first that you brought me immeasurable joy. With your sweet nature and loving attitude toward everyone, you made being your grandmother a pleasure.

But I’d also like to tell you about a very memorable time in my life. You might find my next words hard to believe or even imagine, but I can promise you that every bit of it is true, and that even during the hardest times of our lives, mankind found a way to turn towards the light of kindness.

It was the beginning of the year 2020 and you were only an innocent six years old when seemingly out of nowhere, a mysterious and terrible virus began to sweep the world. At first I was not alarmed because it was in China, so very far from our home in Georgia of the United States. I don’t know if you remember, but Papa and I used to live in China and I loved its people. So I went through deep bouts of sadness as we watched the news and the numbers of infected and fatalities rise into alarming statistics.

However, China was five thousand miles away and I was in my safe cocoon that I believed was impenetrable. But soon my mirage of safety was shattered when the virus jumped borders, landing in Italy and other countries, as well as eventually in the United States. Though they were warned, many people barely paid attention and didn’t heed the warnings, until it was too late and the enemy was in more places than we could count.

In a matter of weeks, the virus was categorized as a pandemic that had no cure, and more than eighty million Americans were ordered to stay at home to try to stop the rapid spread of the virus. Even Hawaii, where your aunt lived, put a two-week quarantine into place for any visiting tourists, and a 30-day stay-at-home order for residents. Across the news we watched as state and city curfews were enacted, and in some places even enforced by the National Guard.

Quarantines and stay-at-home orders led to businesses closing. Many families struggled from being out of work and were unable to pay their bills. Restaurants, movie theaters and gyms shut their doors. Casinos were also affected and the famous lights of Vegas and other high stakes areas slowly dimmed out until they were dark. Brides-to-be were devastated when their long planned weddings were canceled. Funerals changed too, many not held or when they could, continued with only a few mourners, everyone in fear of contracting the invisible enemy.

Animal shelters suffered as people erroneously believed their pets could carry the virus to them, leading to more abandoned dogs and cats than ever.

Churches held on the longest, as they were the most important place for many to find the reassurance and comfort that was beginning to fade away like a wisp in the wind, but soon they too were forced to close, slamming their doors on the last confidences of many.

Visitors were banned from nursing homes, an attempt to protect our most vulnerable who then suffered through long days of loneliness and confusion, wondering where their loved ones were and if they were safe. Hospitalized patients for other life-saving surgeries were denied family members to be at their side, and had to face their procedures and recoveries alone.

All across the nation, schools and universities closed down and educators worked diligently to get as many students online as they could. Mothers and fathers struggled to learn how to teach their children at home while attempting to maintain some sense of normalcy in an upside down world.

The President of the United States and his staff fought to calm the masses, even as we, the American people, watched in horror as the virus become an unmanageable tragedy in China, Italy, and then our own backyard. Our government embraced the task of maintaining the difficult balance of public health while trying to minimize the economic impact and personal hardship to all.

A wave of panic began to form everywhere around us, causing many to run out and buy up all the supplies of household essentials, hand sanitizer, and masks that the medical world badly needed to be able to tend to the sick. Entire meat counters in grocery stores were wiped out and prices to buy supplies online sky-rocketed as some tried to profit greatly from the crisis.

Loss of income led to depression and desperation, which in turn led to panic and another crisis, this one being the stock market that began plunging. People watched helplessly as their investments and retirement accounts took enormous losses, and wondered how they would survive when it finally stopped spiraling.

Rumors spread that martial law would be enacted and those with less to live on would begin a tour of pillage and plunder, taking everything in their paths and using violence if needed.

Sadly, many families fearfully bought their first guns (or added to their collection) and stocked up on ammunition, until there was no more to be found, their fear overriding their sensibilities and long held trust of others in their communities.

The virus continued to rage across cities and states, leaving heartache in its path. Doctors, nurses, and other medical staff struggled to do their jobs without the protection of masks, gowns, and sometimes even gloves. They worked courageously, though sometimes fearfully, to fulfill their commitment and oath to the health of others.

As the days passed, major events like concerts, festivals, and marathons were canceled. Some sports were played in arenas without audiences. Auto racing events were canceled or delayed indefinitely, and even the World Olympics were postponed for an entire year.

However, during this time something else began to happen. The good stood up and said the bad wouldn’t win. They would not allow fear and distrust to control their lives.

Families decided to find the silver lining in their quarantines and stay-at-home orders. While the world was forced to slow down, they discovered the once lost gift of time and togetherness. Taking it in stride, they binge-watched family shows and some indulged their guilty pleasure of messy reality television series. Others returned to the familiar and hilarious comfort of sitcoms like The Office, Friends, or the heartwarming hometown series of Gilmore Girls.

When they weren’t outside taking in the fresh air, walking, or planting gardens, people took to spending more time on their hobbies and gifts. Some shared their singing with others, leaning out of apartment building windows, encouraging group songs. Others posted encouraging concerts online, bringing a smile to strangers.

Neighborhood committees and youth groups stepped up to help those in need around them, performing chores and tasks that some were too afraid, sick, or elderly to do. People stood outside windows of nursing homes and assisted living centers, with signs and affirmations of love for the family members, reminding them they are not forgotten.

Artists and introverts took the extra time to paint, write, and immerse their battered spirits in the things that brought them peace—those things that had fallen behind in their too-busy lives that always felt as though were on fast forward.

In many households, families reverted some evenings back to the good old-fashioned Game Night, rekindling their love for board games like Monopoly, Uno, and card games they once held dear. Bookworms united in online groups and compared recommendations and their glee at tackling their once seemingly insurmountable to-be-read piles.

Moms and dads gathered together in the kitchen and allowed their children to be a part of creating their meals, finding inspiration together as they rationed their supplies and got over their cravings for favorite things. They learned to do more with less and became mindful of what they bought and what they consumed.

People took time for self-care and to further their education, some taking up yoga to calm their nerves and others enrolling in online classes to build their resume and occupy their minds. Women took the opportunity to focus on skin-care and give their faces a much-needed break from the constant burden of facing the world with their armor of make-up. They realized that beauty wasn’t just skin deep and learned to embrace the beauty within and love the naked face they saw in the mirror.

Some of the most worried found a way to combat their fears by being selfless and joined forces to sew masks together and send thousands of them to lacking medical arenas as a last-ditch effort to protect those so greatly needed to get us through the crisis.

Animal shelters were rescued when animal-lovers stepped up to foster and adopt many more pets than usual as they tried to level the numbers once again.

Many who had questioned their faith or lack thereof decided to put it first again. The world was thankful for technology as Sunday services and mass were streamed online and parishioners attended in their pajamas. They and others picked up the phone and called elderly neighbors or relatives to ask how they were doing. Others used video calling to see the faces of those they missed or worried about in their isolation.

Privately and publicly, our medical teams were given standing ovations and being prayed for all over the world, giving them the push of encouragement and strength to continue on in the fight for life over fatality in the trenches of sorrow.

As parents took on the role of education in their children’s lives, a new respect and gratitude toward teachers and the difficulty of their vocations emerged.

Many restaurants switched to a take-out and curbside mode of operation, feeding the people as they innovated ways to keep paying their employees.

Brides overcame their disappointments at canceled weddings and said their vows in simple and small gatherings, sometimes with only the groom and a witness as they realized all that mattered was solidifying their matrimonial bond.

The government stepped in and lent a hand to the suffering finances of individuals and businesses, passing unprecedented bills of protection to save the economy and livelihoods of the people.

Companies learned the value of a generous sick leave time policy and employees learned to use it and not hold it. People decided to take the risk of passable infection disease seriously and took better care at public and private hygiene.

People came to know who was deemed essential workers and the role they played in supporting the world during a crisis, leading to a new attitude of respect to the white collar army of manufacturing employees, transport workers, emergency services teams, truckers, and farmers.

Widows and single people heard from family and friends they hadn’t heard from in years. People made an effort to let others know they were in it together, though sometimes alone.

Beer and alcohol distributors stopped focusing on their usual production and instead began making hand sanitizer to replenish hospitals and clinics. Other facilities  stopped their normal productions to one of making protective masks. Soon our surrounding countries stopped hoarding and began to share, shipping the products to other, needier countries.

When all was said and done and the virus was pushed back to a less lethal level, the world had transformed. Careers and money had taken first place in priorities of too many and had tarnished the reason we were created to begin with.  This invisible and lethal enemy stomped its way into our lives and made people change. Of course they did! It was inevitable because there were hundreds of thousands of deaths to mourn, and livelihoods to be altered. Priorities shifted and hope became the most common word in the vocabulary, as that was the only thing many had to hold on to. Hundreds of thousands of people realized that this was not a battle to save ourselves, but a war to protect our children, and their children. We learned to be selfless.

Many of those who survived considered the crisis was a test of sorts, albeit a deadly one, and the lesson was in looking back to see how they treated one another. People realized in the fast pace of life in 2020, we’d forgotten the sense of family and togetherness. Giving to others had dwindled to a shameful level and the long held rule of respecting our elderly was diminishing, too. We realized that the ability to change the world was up to us, and it was in our hands all along.

And this is the lesson I would like you to carry with you, Tiana Kay. In your life, you will face hardships and tragedies, and possibly uncertain times. But when that happens, remember that eventually the dust will settle and you will need to look back and face who you were, and who you will become. My legacy to you is to follow your heart and the path of kindness, in all that you do. For that, sweet girl, is one of the reasons the world made it through, while we were alone, but together.

Signed,

Your smitten Nana,

Kay Bratt

The post Alone Together, A Pandemic Story. (An open letter to my Granddaughter) appeared first on Kay Bratt.

Fear Not and Spread Kindness, Not Covid19

I’m sure that many of you out there can relate, but for the last few weeks I’ve let my anxiety get to me and cause me to nearly shut down. I recently had testing done to my thyroid and will be seeing a surgeon next week for a consult. I feel sure that with my family history of thyroid cancer, it’s probably the same for me and the fact that I’ve known for nearly a year that I had an issue in there that I didn’t want to confront makes me nervous. Have I waited too long? I guess we will see.

And what about this Covid19? I was worried many weeks ago and started stocking up on staple foods and meds. (I still only bought 3 bottles of hand sanitizer but I also bought 25 lbs of rice and two huge bags of black beans) I had hoped it was in vain but now it seems it wasn’t. It’s just as terrifying as I thought it would be. Also this week my daughter who lives in Maui was flown to Oahu for a company dinner that I was confident could wait, rather than putting her in the airport and airplanes twice, as well as more public places where she could easily come into contact with someone carrying the virus. On that day, it was hard for me to breathe. Literally.

And the stock market! Of course I’m worried about our retirement. Who wants to work until they are eighty?

Then you throw in the grim prognosis of my dear pup that I love so much, and worry over my elderly parents, my anxiety reached crippling levels. In reply, my body revolted in throwing me into one of my worst flares yet. Pain. Swelling. Break outs. Fatigue. Loss of appetite. All those fun things brought on by stress and my body’s eagerness to dive into fight or flight mode.

It was too much.

So yesterday I stopped reading articles online. Turned off the television news. Put my phone away.

I went outside and found a quiet place and asked myself where does all this fear come from?

Is it from the possibility of those I love dying, or of me dying?

I think it’s both.

So I went back to my bookshelf and pulled out some favorites to try to calm me. Over the last twenty-five years or so I guess you could say I’ve had a very deep interest in subjects that relate to life after death. I’ve read dozens of books and done even more of my own research into articles and clips of discussions of things related. I’ve watched documentaries, movies, and followed any stories I have found about those who claim to have died and seen the afterlife, then returned to their bodies. I’ve sat through years of church services and lectures about heaven. Let me say here that I am not religious. However, I am very spiritual and have been since I was a young girl.

All that to say, what all my research has led me to is that I believe in a higher power.  God. I also believe that when we are dead, our spirits are still connected to those we love on earth and we can see and hear them, and even help them grow in their own journeys. I think that those on the other side give us signs all the time that they are with us. Gifts of encouragement, if you will. Like the heart of pine needles I walked up on after a bad few days of questioning my very existence. (I wrote about it a few posts back) Or the time that I was begging my grandmother to show me a sign and a few nights later I was up very late, alone, and smelled her sweet perfume rise up all around me. Or the tiny feather that fell from the ceiling, out of nowhere and slowly drifted onto my Kindle right in front of my face.

Sweet gifts and proof that our loved ones are around us. Maybe you have had a few yourself?

Do you want to get technical? I think that our spirits are permanent, and our bodies are temporary, donned for each particular journey we are sent to earth for in which we go through a life to learn, and elevate our spirits to a higher level with each lesson accomplished. I think we’ve all lived many past lives and have more before us and those in our inner circle will be in our other lives, but play different roles. (Example: your sister in this life might be your mother in another life)

Why are we here?

In my opinion, we are here to learn the greatest lesson of all, to be kind and compassionate in all we do. In a nutshell, it’s all about love.

Not a romantic or sexy love, but a love that reaches out to everyone who is in our life path.

I think that each life is mapped out for you, with a destination and time limit already in place, but you have the free will to make as many detours as you choose on the way. It’s free will and yes, sometimes that free will can result in tragedy and an early death. Might be your free will or that of someone else. Those detours or paths we take along the way are okay, and meant for us to learn from.

Sometimes we veer into a dead end or a path that causes us to be lost.

It is then that I think we are supposed to use the gifts that God gave each of us to find our way back. And guess what? If you don’t, you’ll get another chance at it in another life.  It’s important that as we grow older, we figure out what each of us are meant to do to help others in their life journeys. Each person that is put in your life, is put there for a reason. For example, I’ve had a rocky relationship off and on with my twin sister over the years. But this year when she’s going through a lot of hard trials, I finally figured out that because her life path and mine are connected, her trials are a part of my life lessons. Even during the times I want to wring her neck, I think I’m supposed to hang in there, bite my tongue and try to help guide her and show her compassion and kindness.

So this is what else I’ve learned. Subject to change at any time, of course…

We are all going to die. Some from the Covid19 and some of us from other things. It’s inevitable. But when I die, I am completely confident that I will get a respite in a wonderful, euphoric, place of peace surrounded by God’s light and the light of others. I’ll go through a life review that will either make me humble or proud. Then I’ll rest. And finally I’ll move on to my next life and lessons that will bring me closer to the place of honor, bowing at God’s feet.

I just pray that when it’s my time to go, I will have done enough and showed enough kindness to have left a legacy of love behind me. And you’d better believe I’ll be around, working hard to send my family little gifts of encouragement and signs that I am there. In the eyes of a sweet pup, or the light fluttering of a hummingbird, or the whisper of the wind in a peaceful moment.

So I try to fear not.

And just spread kindness.

Much love,

Kay

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Shake Off Those Winter Blues

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Life Is Crazy

Life is crazy. It’s full of ups and downs, highs and lows, and moments where you just want to shut the door to the world and hide in the closet. There are days when something makes you cry and then before you know it you turn around and laugh from deep inside your soul.

See the heart to the left here? I still remember that moment from 2019 when after a written attack against my integrity and character, I was in a very dark place. Someone who I thought was proud of me and loved me deeply opened my eyes to how they really felt about me. With the ugliness of their words, I doubted everything I thought I am, and everything I’ve done to be the best me I could be. Their bitterness got deep into my soul and rocked me to the core—making a black stain spread across my heart. I struggled for weeks, asking myself and God whether who I thought I trying to be was in actuality far from how everyone sees me. You could say I was in an emotional crisis.

One afternoon during this crisis, I took a walk with the dogs and where I usually turn left, I was drawn at the last minute to turn right. There at the end of the street were piles of pine straw scattered all across the road. As I was arguing with the universe about if I was doing everything I could to be a good person, I came across this perfectly formed heart that stopped me in my tracks. There’s no doubt to me that it was a message. A love pat. Whatever you want to call it. And it brought me a deep sense of peace when I most needed it.

Even so, as I’m going into my fiftieth decade on this spinning ball of energy, I find myself doing a lot of thinking about who I am, where I’ve been, and what impact I’ve made on the world. I’ve had my share of heartaches and crawled out of the muck to claim my happily ever after, rather than settling for what my beginnings tried to pacify me with. I’ve helped people and I’m sure I’ve unknowingly hurt people. I also know that when I love, I love hard. And when I hurt, I hurt deep. And I spend too much time agonizing over how some people choose to live their lives and whether I can change it. But 2020 is here, folks. And suddenly I look in the mirror and it’s frightening to see the face looking back at me with all it’s unfamiliar lines and wrinkles. Reminding me that I’m not here forever.

It’s time for me to re-set life and how I want to live it. Time to be true to me.

What does that mean? Like most wives and mothers out there, I usually put myself last, putting all my energy into raising my girls, caring for my husband, and doing things for others. I’m certainly no martyr or Mother Teresa, but I’ll admit that I have found it hard to be good to myself. So this is the year I’ll begin to focus more on my spiritual life and finding what brings me peace.  Part of that I already know is tapping into more volunteer work, not for what others think of me but because it makes me feel good inside to do it. I’ve already got an idea of where I’m needed next, now I just have to make it happen. I will also focus on health, for myself and my Ben. After the hectic health scares of 2019, we know it’s time we make our well-being a priority, instead of an afterthought. I will continue to love hard, and let those who love me back know how much I appreciate them.

To those I love who don’t love me back, I will still love you, though I’ll no longer let your indifference bring me pain. I am choosing joy and you are welcome to be a part of it or watch from the sidelines.

Another important mission for this new decade is that I’ve got to stop blaming myself for any mistakes my adult children make, and realize this is now their lives and I can’t choose how they live it. I can only continue to try to guide them in the right direction but whether they take it or not is up to them. I will celebrate their accomplishments and sympathize with their troubles.

Though I must work to make a living, I will spend less time at my keyboard and more time loving the critters in my life, for I believe God sent them to me for comfort and such gifts need gratitude.

Continuing on a quest to build a stronger relationship with my twin sister will also be a big part of these next years. Such a close sisterhood can be difficult but I’m determined not to let us take each other for granted any more.  We are two strong-willed and successful women and should be tackling the world together as a team and not as rivals. I will continue to strive to be a positive role model in the difficult lives of my grandchildren, showing them as much affection and care as I possibly can.

I guess you could say that this is the time I decide to work on my legacy.

Between all that, with continued self-motivated study, I will try to quench this thirst to know more about life, death, and why we are here.  For starters, I believe we are all on this earth to learn lessons.  Our souls each choose this journey already knowing what sort of obstacles we will face. How we live this life, and how we treat others and what ripples we send out to the universe are important for our spiritual growth. Do you have someone in your life who is difficult and you struggle with the responsibility versus the challenge? Think of it as a life lesson and treat it as though you are training for the biggest exam of your life.  And know that when you’ve done everything you can to mend a connection and it never seems to heal, it’s okay to walk away and protect yourself. Let no one make you feel less than.

Keep working on self-improvement! We are all a work in progress. Especially me.  I could give you a whole list of how I need to change but I think I’ll keep that to myself a while longer.

Above all, the world is a chaotic place right now so as we go into 2020, please choose kindness. And when you can’t choose kindness, at least choose a quiet peace.

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A Priceless Gift

Today my new book, TRUE TO ME, is out for the world to read. This book was two years in the making, starting from the first chapter I wrote while in Maui helping my daughter set up a new life. It was an exciting and scary time for her, and traumatic for me considering she was only 22 and I wasn’t yet ready to let her go. But we got through it and in the meantime, I decided to set a series on the island of Maui so that I had somewhere to use all the wonderful memories we were making.  As I began developing Quinn and her story, I knew I wanted to use the ever-growing popular subject of DNA testing. My husband had recently dug into it for himself and he talked me into doing it as well. So, for research purposes, I gave my DNA and mailed it in.

No, I didn’t find out I was adopted or any other juicy plot twists. However, I’ll never forget the day I told my father that I was looking at a list of all his relatives. We were on the phone and he asked me under what names. When I told him, and explained to him what it meant, he got very quiet.

“If their names are on there, is it completely accurate that they are my blood relatives?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “DNA doesn’t lie. Why?”

Then he replied, “You’ve just told me the answer to a question I’ve secretly had for sixty years.”

I was confused, but he explained to me that though he knew and loved his own father until his death, he didn’t carry his name and the man’s family (for the most part) denied that my dad was their blood. They never accepted him and treated him like family. I never knew this and it hurt me to know that my dad carried that burden his entire life, always wondering if maybe they were right, and that he belonged to another man. To give my dad the knowledge that the father he knew and loved was indeed his biological dad was the best gift I could ever give.

In TRUE TO ME, Quinn’s story isn’t so simple. I hope you’ll read it and immerse yourself in the beauty of Maui and the complicated strands of building a family.

My best to you,

Kay

 

DOWNLOAD> TRUE TO ME

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