Prissy Elrod's Blog

Have You Ever Wanted to Publish a Book?

Happy 2021!

I thought you should know I spoke to the universe on your behalf.  “Stop messing with us!” I scolded.

I have discovered the absolute best way to get through all of life’s difficulties is by clinging to faith, gratitude, and optimism. Let’s hold tight to my notion, shall we?

Some of you may have heard me say I never aspired to be a writer, author, or speaker. In the beginning, when I spoke about writing Far Outside the Ordinary and Chasing Ordinary, I would refer to myself as an accidental author with a chuckle.  I now believe nothing happens by accident and know it was God’s plan. He gave me the courage to share my personal journey of transformation so I might inspire others to embrace their landscape of choice, chance and change and reimagine, recreate, and then resurrect their untapped potential.

Honored, Humbled and Grateful

 

So many of us have a story to share but we shut down the idea with critical thoughts of:

I’m not a celebrity

Who am I to write a book?

I didn’t major in writing

My story isn’t unique

 

Women particularly underestimate their worth, value and talent by 25%. We talk ourselves out of the power of our voice. But the truth is, you are unquestionably unique and story has been proven to be one of the most potent healing mediums- containing the power to unify, transform and uplift individuals, communities, worlds.

 

If you’ve even considered writing a book, I want to invite you to a special FREE event Women Writing Bestselling Books That Change Lives hosted by my friend Sara Connell. Sara has been featured on Oprah, New York Times, The View, Forbes, TEDx and is a master at helping women change lives with their stories by becoming bestselling authors and speakers.) She’s on a mission to help every woman who feels the calling to make a difference this year- MAKE THAT impact.

 

On Feb 3rd, she’s interviewing me and 13 other amazing women who have written books and are leading powerful movements around the world.  I talk about my own story and books: Far Outside the Ordinary and Chasing Ordinary which takes place from 11:00-12:00 EST. As part of the event, Sara will also teach a BOOK WRITING MASTERCLASS that will help you explore your own book idea, set it up as a bestseller from the start!

 

This event is completely free and all are welcome. 

Get Your Free Ticket here: https://saraconnellcoaching.lpages.co/how-to-write-a-bestselling-book-that-changes-lives/

 

Here are the details again:

WHAT: Women Writing Bestselling Books That Change Lives

WHEN: WEDNESDAY FEBRUARY 3rd, 2021 9:30-2:30EST

WHERE: ONLINE (Over Zoom)

COST: FREE

 

Access Your Free Space https://saraconnellcoaching.lpages.co/how-to-write-a-bestselling-book-that-changes-lives/

 

I’m excited about this event and look forward to seeing you there! (If you can’t attend live, you can sign up and automatically receive the recording.)

 

Very Best!

Prissy XO

Catapiller to Butterfly Transformation

The post Have You Ever Wanted to Publish a Book? appeared first on Prissy's Blog.

HEART AND SOUL

My heart is blooming, not just her flowers.

I was asked once during a radio interview, “Who would you say had the greatest influence in your life?”

Mazelle with me-or one of my own babies.

Without a breath or blink I answered. “Mazelle Patterson.” Don’t get me wrong my parents were wonderful, too. They blanketed me with so much love and guidance. But Mazelle, well, she was the most influential person in my life. Sadly, we buried her.

As a newborn Mazelle was there when I arrived home from the hospital. She rocked, embraced, and nurtured me as a baby and toddler.

I remember how I clung to her leg, apron, or thickset fanny as a child. Sometimes my mother would allow me to sleep over with Mazelle. There, she would tuck me under a frayed quilt and lull me to sleep as she sang gospel lyrics, or quoted bible scriptures.

She whispered words of affirmation as she wrapped my blond ringlets around her finger. “You a sweet girl, Prissy, you sure be.”

This repetitive positivity infused my mind and instilled those core values, traits, and characteristics one needs to live a harmonious life: empathy, kindness, gratitude, ambition, love, and humility.

As teenagers she scolded, punished, and supported my sisters and me. She taught us right from wrong, as well as sympathy, consideration, and all the characteristics I believe make a person likable, respectable, and successful. Even as adults she continued to mentor the three of us.

Her trouble makers grown-up: Deborah, Gina and ME

She could tell you anything you wanted to know about the bible and never complained– no matter her misfortune, sadness, or physical pain. She oozed only gratefulness, positivity, and joy from her core through her pores.

More than once I heard her pray as she lifted a glass of water to her lips, “Thank you, Lord, for this water I’m ’bout to receive.”  Oh, how she loved the Lord!

She self-taught, was self-learned, and excelled at anything and everything she conquered. She did so with cleverness, courage, and conviction. Her plethora of gifted talents evolved from staying power and her stubbornness in a life too hard. She never gave up. Never.

Mazelle enrolled in the local junior college and learned how to upholster furniture, then she opened her own upholstering business. She also enrolled in a professional baking class where she learned how to create magnificent wedding cakes. That, too, became a side business. Oh my, the lady could cook her way around any expert chef. Ask the hundreds who tasted her feast.

I won’t call her perfect since she had a flaw. Her lousy driving. In my earliest years– before I had a driver’s license–she hauled my whining self here, there, and yonder. Her speed alone shut this tweenager up. She scared me senseless.

I’m in back-seat white-knuckled!

Indianapolis lake house. We yanked her off!

When she drove from Lake City to Tallahassee for a visit, her  trip was 20 minutes shorter than anyone I knew. This only because she drove 80 miles-per-hour and everyone else drove the speed limit.

As she approached her 95th birthday, the car we had gifted on her 85th birthday, stopped running. When we bought the car, ten years earlier, my husband and I figured she would drive another year, maybe two, and that would be it. By then, she would be 87 or 88-years-old. She was independent and loved living alone, not having to depend on anyone for anything. Hence, the gifted car. 

But I swear, she outdrove the lifetime of that stupid car by ten years. Finally, it broke down. Yay! We thought. Until I answered my ringing phone.  “I think it can be fixed.” she declared. It couldn’t, it had 200K+ miles. She lived alone and had no interest in ‘giving up’ driving. Ugh!

We began a hunt for another used car for her.  Mazelle shared the pending car search with her daughter, June. A few days into the hunt I answered my ringing phone to drama. “Prissy, don’t you dare buy her another car. She’s too old and can’t see!” she scolded.

June, if you’re reading, I’m sorry and pathetic!  And don’t blame m y husband since he had to live with me. Not to mention, your mother kept him fed when he was in college and broke.

Dale with Mazelle 1969

Dale and Mazelle 2019 -50 years later!

When her license was expiring she called. “I’m studying the book to take my driving test again.”  Say what!

I pacified my sisters, mother and everyone else, “Don’t worry, she’ll never pass that test!” I was confident.

When I answered my ringing phone she squealed, “I passed!” Her excitement was virtually visceral. What was wrong with those testers in Lake City? I wondered.

“How could you pass with only one eye?” I asked.

“There’s plenty of soldiers driving round with one eye!” she said.

“Well, they aren’t 95! Lordy be, you’ll be 98 when it expires.”

Two birthdays (96 and 97) came and went. Her car insurance bill grew heftier and heftier. 

She called me worried when she got a copy of the bill. “It’s a dirty shame what they charge us!”  she said.

“What’s this us sh*t… you mean me.” I laughed. “They can charge me anything they want, you’re almost 98.” She gave me one of her belly laughs.

“I sure do appreciate it, I sure do.” And she did…I have 42 ‘thank-you’ voicemails saved on my cellphone to prove it.

Yes, I know. I was a titch stupid to abet her driving. But it was Mazelle and she never asked me for anything. In my defense, I did demand she drive only back roads, the ones with little traffic.

Her “no drive” proclamation to me!

It was April when I called her. “Mazelle, you know you have just six months left to drive, right? Your license and insurance expire on October 6, your 98th birthday!” Did I just say that?

In truth, when the pandemic hit, it imprisoned her at home. She no longer cared much about the car. The isolation and lonliness kept her from church and the people she loved. The vehicle was nothing more than a symbol of her independence. The alternative… a new identity, in the ebbtide of her life. She could no longer be a giver but would become a taker, depending on everyone for everything. It was impossible for her.

As it happened, Mazelle suffered a massive heart attack a few days before her birthday. My heart struggles with the timing of that heart attack and her snatched independence. But God whispers to me, “Prissy, she was 98 years-old.”

Mazelle’s service was perfect. The c louds parted and the predicted rain slipped away. I was engulfed by a gentle breeze as I listened to gospel soloists and speakers share songs and sentiments for the most influential person in my life.

Joy and pain were tangled inside my heart. I wept through my snotty mask with tear-filled sunglasses. 

Her great-grandson, Choyce Robert Williams, only ten-years-old, authored his own poem and titled: Grandmother’s Love. He read it aloud so proud.  Clearly, her legacy of talent lives on.

Some people grow roots inside us and stay even when they leave. Mazelle is rooted inside me where she will live on forever.

She was a kindred soul through my happiest and darkest hours. I am privileged to have been part of her life. Mazelle, I will always lean my heart as close to your soul as I can.

God speed! Enjoy your mansion in the sky, beautiful angel!

Our last goodbye

My home: December, 2020

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Life Lessons from the Angel of Death

 

It was July and a blistering hot  morning. We’d been living with Covid-19 four months by then. I opened my cellphone to read a vibrating text.

 “Please give Pops a call tomorrow. He can use your beautiful spirit right now.”

You bet I will! I tried yesterday but no answer, probably sleeping. 

The next day I called again.

 I texted-Your dad still not answering, mailbox full, can’t leave message. Is he alone-should I go check on him?

Yes! He texted.

I jumped in my car and sped to check on Pops, a.k.a. Cornelius Duhart, a.k.a. “Du”. The texts were from Michael, his son, who lived out of town.  

Duhart’s sister answered my overzealous knocking. We’d not met but she knew who I was. Almost everyone in Duhart’s enormous family knew my name, if not me, personally.  I was Christy to him, and them. 

His sister was quiet and studied me with questioning eyes. Slowly she opened the screen door to let me in. She said little as she showed me through the living room, down the hallway, towards a closed door. I peered around the back of her head as she turned the doorknob.  I caught my breath at the sight of Du lying there.

 “Christy!” he hollered. A smile crowded his sunken face. “Come here, sit, right here.” He patted his bedsheet and slid himself over for me. I flashed back and remembered how he  counseled me when Boone lay dying.

“He needs to be touched.” he lectured. But my upside-down thinking challenged him at every turn. Meaning, if I pretended Boone wasn’t dying then maybe he wasn’t. 

“The dying knows they be dying.” He said. I relented and crawled beside my husband in that steel hospital bed awaiting death’s arrival.

I looked over at Duhart and swallowed my fear and slid in next to him. I wanted to pretend, tell him he was fine and he’d be better tomorrow. But we knew, the two of us. After all, he was my Angel of Death, Chapter One of Far Outside the Ordinary. Had I not learned anything?

Wanda, his daughter, slipped in and administered more pain medication. Oh how I understood her broken heart, the pain visceral. I’d been there watching my own daddy. He was loved hard by many, too. Duhart and Lou Landrum were both benevolent givers.

I tried to find something humorous to share with Du. Humor is my bandaid when uncomfortable. But my fragile strength collapsed.  Instead, I cried. Duhart expected no less of me and just tightened his grip on my arm. He pointed to his right foot outside the sheet. It was swollen from amputation and there was a vacancy where I expected five toes. I didn’t count and looked away.

“The pain is bad, infected and needs to be cut off.”

“If it’ll save your life, do it.” I pleaded.

“Nah, won’t save nothing.”

“Then don’t.”

  “I’m tired, just ready to go.”  he mumbled.

 

Du had been in and out of the hospital for over two years. It started with open-heart surgery and was further complicated with diabetes and congestive heart failure. His big heart wore out from bestowing so much love on everyone else.

Time drifted as I sat sharing  space inside the stale air. We retold the same worn-out stories ,   repurposed our memories. A broken grin replaced his usual large smile. It pierced my heart.

I sensed his exhaustion and left , promising to return the next day. I couldn’t. I was a hot mess .  Dale, my husband, took charge and suggested he go visit. He loved the man who stood by him as his own mother took her final breath. Dale and Du were like brothers after that life-changing event. It is life changing, you know?

A week went by and I was swallowed by guilt. There is no cure for regret. I knew, without a proper goodbye, I would live with regret. I asked Dale to take me back. The change in a week screamed hopeless. Michael sat beside him, creating a melodic tune on his guitar.  He’s an upbeat, handsome man, with bright eyes just like his father.  It was lovely to witness sthe love between father and his son in the ebbtide of Duhart’s life.

I stood on the other side of his bed and rubbed his boney hands as he once rubbed mine. He drifted in and out of a morphine induced sleep. Occasionally, a soft chuckle escaped as he dreamt.  He’d open his dazed, glazed eyes and search the room. Then watch Michael plucking the guitar strings or video taping him. He smiled large for the camera.

Dale shared ‘do you remember’ stories with him. The two going back and forth, filling in each others gaps with fading memories.  We all hid our sadness and attempted to create joy. 

Du looked over towards me with  worn-out eyes. They locked with mine and his began to water. He gave my hand a weak squeeze and held on.

“You and me the same, Christy.” He whispered.

“I know.” My cracked voice buried a rising sob.

“We’re just different colors, oh, and you have that penis.” I said. He chuckled and moaned in the same breath.

“See, I made you laugh.”

After twenty-three years he was familiar with my unfiltered tongue. He was by far my best audience.

“We gots the same soul, too.” he continued.

 “Twin souls, that would be a God wink.”  I said and wiped the falling tears off my cheek.

“Sure is.” His heavy eyes closed again as he drifted back to sleep.

“I will always love you.” I whispered. His eyes opened half-way and closed again. I studied the slight smile inside his thinning lips. It was a telltale sign he felt my love. I saw peace on his skeletal face. and a wave of gratitude enveloped me. The two of us were an unlikely pair. Yet, we shared this deep friendship with the pureest love for over two decades. How lucky was I?  It would our last conversation,  and one I will carry in my heart forever.

I started bawling the moment I saw Mike Duhart on my caller ID.   I picked up and he could hear me.

“Why are you crying, Prissy, it’s a celebration.” he said and laughed.

God love him! We talked for 30 minutes as he filled our conversation with positivity, scripture and Pop’s stories. By the time we said goodbye,I felt Duhart had resurrected  inside my broken heart.  Michael said everything his father would have, a perfect apprentice from the man who oozed kindess and positivity. Thank-you, Michael!

It was this past Saturday we buried the man who made life easier for others. Mainly, those living in pain with no hope.  He was an angelic flashlight who led my daughters, and me, through the darkest of days . He showed us the light. Corneleus Duhart was one of the most enchanting beings I will ever know.

“No one ever gone, Christy.”  He said to me only moments after Boone died. And I believed him.

You were the Angel of Death but I’m giving you a new title today. You are now the Angel of Life.  Everyone should aspire to be like you and sprinkle kindness and joy, not chaos and hate.

You weren’t perfect but you were close enough for me. Thank-you for all those life lessons. Mainly, the gift of letting go. You will live forever inside Far Outside the Ordinary and Chasing Ordinary. It was my honor to pen your life.

BTW, you would have so loved your service . Man, were you popular! Crowds of people stood outside in the pouring rain.  Even me. I imagined just what you would have said, “Get your boney self under that tent, where’s your umbrella, Christy?” I wore my new hooded raincoat so didn’t need cover. Besides, I wanted that rain to camouflage my crybaby tears as I stood there and retraced the history we shared. It  reminded of the quote by William Shakespeare…Tears water our growth. I felt taller when it was over.

It took me two hours to realize my new rain coat wasn’t waterproof. I was soaked to my underwear. Worse, so was your program I’d stuffed inside that coat for safe keeping. How you would have laughed at that ridiculous scene. Laughter through tears was always our favorite.

Michael played the guitar for us at the service. The very song he learned in those final days sitting with you. He also read your poem, the one you asked he read. Say what? I had no idea you were a poet.  It’s fitting I post that treasure here on my blog. Honestly, it’s kinda funny. I’m finally letting you have the last word for the first time ever. The irony of life.

God speed dearest Duhart. Soar high above and spread those beautiful, glorioius wings! You done good down here!  Christy will always miss you!

 

 

Angel Army

I’ve said my last prayer

I’ve sang my last song

The father has called me

So, it’s time to move on

You felt my love before

And you’ll feel it again

My brothers and sisters

Sons daughters

Grands and friends

The fight is not over

The war is not won

The Lord will not rest

Because His work isn’t done

I’m part of an army now

High up in the clouds

When you see the sun shining

Just know I’m looking down

I’ll always be with you

Still right by your side

So, listen for my voice

I dwell on the inside

So humble yourselves

And wait for the King

Life after death

what an amazing thing

 

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Watercolor Author Event

*YOU* are INVITED!

 

 

 

Come see me

Prissy

 

The post Watercolor Author Event appeared first on Prissy's Blog.

BUTTERFLY IN FLIGHT

Greetings!

Although I’ve been a worthless slug– sitting on my fanny two months– a certain butterfly kept fluttering and has taken off. Bookclubs are her destination.

Thank-you Author Buzz, M. J. Rose, and Bookmovement (representing 35K bookclubs) for readying her. Who knows what states she will visit. I wish I could latch on and fly with that girl. But I’m still dragging this patched foot and learning to walk again. Still, Author of the Month with Bookmovement is nothing to sneeze at dear, cocky butterfly! 

Below is my interview with M. J. Rose, creater of Authorbuzz. Bookmovement released it to thousands of readers promoting my new book.  The interview sheds light on why I wrote Chasing Ordinary-my sequel to Far Outside the Ordinary. In truth, I never planned to.  Repeat after me. Life is in charge of us.

If you’re not a member of Bookmovement you might consider doing so. It’s pretty cool!

Click here for more information: https://www.bookmovement.com/landing_2/ 

They also have a phone app. Say it ain’t so!

 

 

BOOK CLUB GIVEAWAY

 

Chasing Ordinary

 

by Prissy Elrod

 

Chasing Ordinary is about a Southern housewife who loses her way with the death of her husband. After the loss, through a series of unexpected events, and with courage, she rediscovers her confidence and happiness by becoming who she had forgotten she once was. Her journey is described through a collection of flowing true stories. Her description of each character and event is woven together to show how each contributed to, and impacted her transformation. In this sequel to Far Outside the Ordinary, the story picks up a full year after the death of her husband, when her college sweetheart appears back in her life and she learns he is still in love with her. However, when it comes to parenting and relationships, nothing’s ever that simple. As she attempts to create a new life and have a second chance at love, she realizes extending her family requires courage and difficult choices.

 

 

Writing her first novel, Far Outside the Ordinary was an exercise of discipline. It took four years to write, three computers, two espresso machines, 48 how-to writing books, a Florida State University Memoir-writing class, 24 blog subscriptions, a half-dozen periodical journals and 14 revised drafts. Elrod kept the manuscript to herself, not allowing anyone to read it for the first three years of writing her story. Then finally, in 2013, she sent the draft to a Pushcart Prize-winning writer in Texas (Steve Adams) engaging him to read the manuscript and provide feedback. Elrod has just published her second book, Chasing Ordinary

 

 

Author Q & A

by M. J. Rose

 

 

Your book is a memoir – your second memoir. What is it like to examine your own life and write about it? What is the toughest part? The most rewarding? 

The first memoir-FAR OUTSIDE THE ORDINARY– told of loss, how to live after loss. But it left some of my readers believing the only way life can be happy after loss is being rescued by some Prince Charming. That is wrong on every level. So, I wrote the second memoir –CHASING ORDINARY– to clarify THAT belief. Happiness comes from within and someone who loses a person they love must learn to love life, and themselves again-from within. My point is this…when one person dies two people shouldn’t.

What is the toughest part? I think the toughest part about memoir is writing your truth, from the deepest level, and doing so without hurting others, especially those you write about.The most rewarding is learning how many people my story has helped- in so many ways (letters, emails, texts, and phone calls) It validates my returning to all that pain to write my story. It also left a blueprint for others. I realize my late husband’s death was not in vain.

One of the themes is about how one door closes and another opens. That suggest keeping hold of hope and being open to opportunity… how did you manage to do that in face of your personal tragedies. 

I am one of those people who looks for the positive in life, no matter how dire it is. I try to make the lemonade with the lemons. Sometimes it’s sweet, sometimes, very tart. You acquire a taste for the differnt flavors because you must, even if you don’t want to. It’s about trying, never giving up, and learning to appreciate what you have, and not what you lost.

You chose to tell this tale through a series of short stories, all true. What gave you the idea for that format and why did you choose it? 

Funny in that I didn’t realize I was writing in short story format until the manuscript was finished. It was the way the story came out in the purest form. I saw no reason to change the flow of the narrative arc.

 

Thinking of all the book club readers who are reading this interview, would you put together your ideal book club– made up of authors –who you would pick to meet with to discuss your book. And what would you expect them to ask you? 

I would invite Elizabeth Gilbert, Joan Didion, Mary Karr and Carl Hiaasen.

 

Elizabeth Gilbert I would expect her to ask me, “What are you most excited about in your life today?” She asks everyone that. I would answer in this way. Through loss I found the girl left behind and discovered my talent through pain. Losing was winning in a bitter, sweet way.
Joan Didion understands and writes unexpected loss with such clarity. She would understand my story then dissect it, and me. Something I would welcome.
Carl Hiaasen is Southern funny, much like me, only he’s a better writer and funnier. One must find humor is life, and even death. It’s the only way to survive.
Mary Karr: She is crazy and writes about her crazy family so well. We might be sisters with different mothers. I have one of those Southern Crazy families, too.

 

M.J. Rose is a NYT bestselling author of  Tiffany Blues and 16 novels, founder of AuthorBuzz.com & 1001DarkNights.com. Rose’s work has appeared in many magazines including Oprah Magazine and she has been featured in the New York Times, Newsweek, WSJ, Time, USA Today and on the Today Show, and NPR radio.  

 

So that’s all the happenings since my book launched two months ago. Foot Rehab and Butter(flight)!

Here’s to a healthy, happy rest of summer. Watch your step–especially you ladies in lovely high heels. That coming from someone who didn’t!

Cheers and Hugs,

Prissy

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ThE sUmMeR oF mY Discontent

Hello Readers and Friends!

Hellooooooo Chasing Ordinary!

Would you like to repurpose your dining room table? Just write a book. I’m serious!

What a mess I’m living these days. 

It’s okay. I’m so happy she’s flying out in the big, beautiful world. Finally!

Lawzy-it sure took me long enough.

Before the actual book launch party I had a *reveal* dinner for family and a few friends. It was important to me I have our youngest family members be included…and able to run wild and free. Also, I wanted them to see why I was too busy for them sometimes when they called to beg. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. 

“Can you pick me up today, Sassy?” 

“When can I come over and play?”

 “Not today darling angel, Sassy’s writing.”  Did I say guilt? Indeed.

But as soon as they arrived at our reveal party, I heard the three youngest hollering in unison, “Sassy’s on this book– look!”

They were shocked.  I want to believe it was then they finally understood my distraction and vacancy those days I ignored them. Perhaps a picture is worth 1000 words. Praise the Lord!

 

A week later Hearth and Soul was the perfect setting for a Not So Ordinary evening as my book was officially released.  My heartfelt thanks to Susie, Serena, Candice and the entire staff who worked tirelessly spoiling me rotten. If you’ve never visited this spectacular store– you really don’t know what you’re missing. My night couldn’t have been more perfect. I couldn’t be more grateful to all those who came for support. People in line for me. Say it ain’t so.

It was Saturday- a week or two later. I had just returned from Thomasville, Georgia and a Chasing Ordinary book-signing. It was *Independent Book Store* day. My thanks to Annie Jones, owner of The Bookshelf, for inviting me. She has such a flare and it’s such a cool bookstore. Visit or shop online bookshelfthomasville.com/

When my signing was over, I packed up my paraphernalia and raced back to Tallahassee. We were going to a dinner party at the home of two of my favorite people-who also happen to be fabulous art collectors. I had no time for a shower and barely time to change clothes. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and grabbed a favorite pair of white jeans and cute pink shirt. No time for my wild hair so I clipped it up and zipped my jeans.

 I heard my hubby calling from the other side of the house. “Let’s go!” 

I slipped on cute khaki wedges and laced them up. Yay! I was three inches taller immediately.

“I’m coming!” I hollered back while I sprayed perfume behind both my ears. I gave an extra squirt just for good measure after spending three hours in the hot sun. Nasty! 

Once we arrived at the party, I walked around studying all the sensational art (my passion) and mingling and yacking with friends. I meandered into the kitchen and began talking with someone I’d not yet met. Her name was Rita and she was an author, too. A memoirist. We clicked immediately and talked about our writing – her book and mine. 

After a short while, I excused myself to get some wine. I poured the last sip from a bottle I found sitting on the self-serve bar. Yum, I liked it. But it was empty. I decided to take a picture of the label so I’d remember the name. Pictures of wine labels help me keep track of wines I like.

Where was my phone? I wondered. Oh yeah, somewhere outside where I’d taken pictures of the lovely sunset. I went to retrieve.

Somewhere in the middle of the possible and impossible it happened. One false step and my size six foot let me down. Literally! 

I heard the crack, snap and pop and fell on my cushioned fanny.  I looked down at my trader foot which looked detached from my body. A horrific sight.

I was alone in the dark, in a daze, still plopped where I’d landed. I felt like Humpty Dumpty and a flash went through my shocked brain.What if all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put me back together again?  

I heard her whisper as she squeezed my trembling hand, “I’ll get help.” It was the author I’d been talking to in the kitchen. Only later would I learn Rita (the author) was really Rita Coolidge (the legend). I always loved her music. Now, I love her. I’m thinking she may well be the upside of this downside story. I’m also thinking I’m one big goof ball. 

The ambulance arrived with a crew of rescue cuties wearing red shirts. The diners sipped delicious wine as they gazed at the state of me. What a way to ruin a good dinner party, Prissy! 

As I waved goodbye –blinking tears– they blew kisses. They should have been shouting ‘Good riddence you party pooper!’

I was hospitalized that night after hives broke out all over me. They wanted to keep my fractures company. I’m a coward at heart. After the swelling went down (four days later) surgery was performed to mend all the breaks in my tiny ankle (plate, screws, rod). But that wasn’t enough.

Nope. Cellulitis, UTI and shingles jumped on board. Why not, right?  This holistic, organic, homeopathic being was infused with prescription drugs, foreign objects and so many things I’ve spent my life avoiding. As I profess to everyone, everywhere, everyday…we simply are not in control of our lives. My mantra I keep trying to remember.

But this *cast potato* is in charge of her cast color. Hot pink, lime green and cerulean blue thus far. 

Shakespeare and Steinbeck may have the kinship to The Winter of My Discontent. But, by golly, I’m staking claim to The Summer of My Discontent. Me. Me. Me. You hear me?

As I write this blog, I’m beginning my fifth week of immobility. No weight bearing at all. For this street rat–with a new book to market— it’s a bitter challenge. An injury sitting on top a wound.

But, I’m no downer. No sir. You see I finally graduated from a wheelchair to a scooter. From the bedside chamber to a throne. From no underwear to maybe underwear. Don’t judge until you try pulling your panties down with one leg inside a heavy cast– standing on the other leg– balancing and having to pee. The indignity caused by one cute shoe is brutal.

All of this whining is nothing. You want to know my biggest disappointment about this unexpected and fractured life? Too bad, I’m telling you anyway.

I was scheduled to leave for France on June 6th for three weeks. I pulled out my old travel agent hat, the one I wore on my head many years ago. Back then I took folks to Italy, Hong Kong, here, there and yonder. 

I put together and recruited travelers for this France fabulous trip– all gathering at the summer home of Katheryn Ireland in Midi-Pyrenees, France. Two groups of women and two different weeks. I planned to spend a few days in Spain between those weeks. 

Everything planned, perfect, and in place. Well, except my foot.

Here’s the ugly fact. This gal can’t travel internationally if she can’t stand on two feet.  So, my good friends will travel without me and still have a glorious time. That makes me so happy for them. Now they can enjoy what I did last summer.

Above are my pictures from last summer. I met such beautiful women-inside and out. They were strangers when we met and now are wonderful friends. 

By the way, I am already putting together another trip. May be in Italy. May be in Fall. Maybe!

Leave a comment if you are one of those who might like to tag along with me. I can promise you fun. That’s my gig. 

My thanks to all who have written, texted, emailed and called after reading Chasing Ordinary. You have no idea how grateful I am for your kind words of affirmation–especially right now!  How I love seeing all the posts on Instagram and Facebook.

A HUGE thank-you to those who took precious time to post a review on Amazon for me after reading Chasing Ordinary. Amazon reviews are priceless jewels so I welcome them from anyone brave enough to pen. This wounded author needs all the help she can get from her village of readers and supporters. Well, until I’m back to signings, bookclubs and speaking events. I’m pretty worthless these days. Thanking you in advance for this kind gesture!

Okay AUDIBLE listeners who keep asking,”What about audible?”

Would you believe I was only three chapters away from finishing my recording? Three chapters!  When I can get myself back to the recording studio (in a wheelchair with no elevator) I’ll finish the job. My Southern accent spinning full throttle for you poor thangs listening to me.

Meanwhile, I’m be writing for Flamingo Magazine  (click) where you can read all my *goings-on* inside my column (click) Panhanding and also find me inside every issue. Why not subscribe so it can land in your mailbox.

By the way, signed copies of Chasing Ordinary may be found at the following locations: Hearth and Soul; My Favorite Things; Weezies; BedFellows; Haute Headz; Midtown Reader; The Bookshelf in Thomasville, Georgia; Sundog in Seaside, Florida; and Downtown Books and Purl in Apalachicola, Florida.

Personalized copies may be ordered from my website at prissyelrod.com

Have a wonderful summer!  Please watch your step… especially you ladies wearing your lovely high heels. Do better than me!

Hugs and love to all!

XOXOXOX

Prissy 

 

 

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ThE sUmMeR oF mY DiScOnTeNt

Hello Readers and Friends!

Would you like to repurpose your dining room table? Just write a book. I’m serious!

What a mess I’m living these days. 

It’s okay though since my new book is now in our big, beautiful world. Finally! Lawzy-it sure took me long enough.

Hellooooooo Chasing Ordinary!

Before the actual launch of the book we had a *reveal* dinner. It was important for me to have our little peeps come. I wanted them to see my finished product so they might see why I misbehaved whenever they called me. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. 

“Can you pick me up today, Sassy?” 

“When can I come over and play?”

 “Not today darling angel, Sassy’s working.”  I whispered with a heart in pain. Did I say guilt? Indeed.

When they arrived at our reveal party, I heard the three youngest hollering in unison, “Sassy’s on this book, look!”

They were shocked.  I so wanted to believe now they understood my distraction and vacancy those days I ignored them. Perhaps a picture is worth 1000 words. Praise the Lord!

 

A week later Hearth and Soul was the perfect setting for a Not So Ordinary evening as my book was officially released.  My heartfelt thanks to Susie, Serena, Candice and the entire staff who worked tirelessly spoiling me rotten. If you’ve never visited this spectacular store– you really don’t know what you’re missing. My night couldn’t have been more perfect. I couldn’t be more grateful to all those who came for support. People in line for me. Say it ain’t so.

It was Saturday- a week or two later. I had just returned from Thomasville, Georgia, from a Chasing Ordinary book-signing. It was *Independent Book Store* day. My thanks to Annie Jones, who owns The Bookshelf in Thomasville for inviting me. She has such a flare and it’s such a cool bookstore. Visit when you can, or shop online now:  bookshelfthomasville.com/

When my signing was over, I packed up my paraphernalia and raced back to Tallahassee. We were going to a dinner party at the home of two of my favorite people-who happen to be fabulous art collectors. I had no time for a shower and barely time to change clothes. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and grabbed a favorite pair of white jeans and cute pink shirt. No time for that wild hair of mine so I clipped it up and zipped my jeans.  I heard my hubby calling out, “Let’s go!” 

I slipped on my cute khaki wedges and laced them up. Yay! I was three inches taller immediately. “I’m coming!” I hollered, spraying my Flower Bomb perfume behind both ears. I gave myself one extra squirt for good measure- spending three hours in the hot sun.  You be a nasty girl, Prissy! 

Once we arrived at the party, I walked around studying all the sensational art (my passion) and mingling and yacking with friends. I meandered into the kitchen and began talking with someone I’d not yet met. Her name was Rita. She was another author, a memoirist. We clicked immediately and talked about our writing life- her book and mine.  After a short while, I excused myself to get some wine. I poured the last sip from a bottle sitting on a self-serve bar. Yum, I liked it. But now it was gone so decided I would take a label picture. Pictures of wine labels help me keep track of the few wines I like.

Where did I leave my phone? I wondered. Then remembered it was outside where I had taken pictures of the lovely sunset. I went outside to retrieve it.  Somewhere in the middle of the possible and impossible it happened. In a blink! One false step and my size six foot let me down. Literally! 

 

I heard the crack, snap and pop and fell on my cushioned fanny.  I looked down at my trader foot which looked detached from my body.  A horrific sight.

I was alone in the dark and in a daze, still plopped where I’d landed. I felt like Humpty Dumpty and thought –What if all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put me back together again?  

Then I heard a whisper, “I’ll get help.” I looked up to see the author I’d been talking to in the kitchen. She was squeezing my trembling hand.  Only later would I learn Rita (the author) was Rita Coolidge (the legend). I always loved her music. Now, I love her. I’m thinking she may well be the upside of this downside story. I’m also thinking I’m one big goof ball. 

The ambulance arrived with a crew of rescue cuties wearing red shirts. The diners sipped delicious wine as they gazed at the state of me. What a way to ruin a good dinner party, Prissy! 

As I waved goodbye –blinking my tears– they blew kisses. They should have been shouting ‘Good riddence you party pooper!’

I was hospitalized that night when hives broke out all over me- just to keep my fractures company. I’m a coward at heart.

After the swelling went down (four days later) surgery was performed to mend all the breaks in my tiny ankle (plate, screws, rod). But that wasn’t enough.

 

Nope. Cellulitis, UTI and shingles jumped on board me. Of course, they would. This holistic, organic, homeopathic being was infused with prescription drugs, foreign objects and so many things I’ve spend my life avoiding. As I profess to everyone, everywhere, everyday…we simply are not in control of our life. A mantra we should remember.

But this *cast potato* is in charge of her cast color. Hot pink, lime green and cerulean blue thus far. 

Shakespeare and Steinbeck may have the kinship to The Winter of My Discontent. But, by golly, I’m staking claim to The Summer of My Discontent. Me. Me. Me. You hear me?

As I write this blog, I’m beginning my fifth week of immobility. No weight bearing at all. For this street rat–with a new book to market— it’s a bitter challenge. An injury sitting on top a wound.

But, I’m no downer. No sir. You see I finally graduated from a wheelchair to a scooter. From the bedside chamber to a throne. From no underwear to maybe underwear. Don’t judge until you try pulling your panties down with one leg inside a heavy cast– standing on the other leg– balancing and having to pee. The indignity caused by one cute shoe is brutal.

All of this whining is nothing. You want to know my biggest disappointment about this unexpected and fractured life? Too bad, I’m telling you anyway.

I was scheduled to leave for France on June 6th for three weeks. I pulled out my old travel agent hat, the one I wore on my head many years ago. Back then I took folks to Italy, Hong Kong, here, there and yonder. 

I put together and recruited travelers for this France fabulous trip– all gathering at the summer home of Katheryn Ireland in Midi-Pyreneees, France. Two groups of women and two different weeks. I planned to spend a few days in Spain between those weeks. 

Everything planned, perfect, and in place. Well, except my foot.

Here’s the ugly fact: This gal can’t travel internationally if she can’t stand on her own two feet.  So, my good friends will now all travel without me and have a glorious time. That alone makes me so happy. 

Above are my pictures from last summer. I met such beautiful women-inside and out. They were strangers when we met and now are wonderful friends. 

By the way, I am already putting together another trip. May be in Italy. May be in Fall. Maybe!

Leave a comment if you are one of those who might like to tag along with me. I can promise you fun. That’s my gig. 

My thanks to all who have written, texted, emailed and called after reading Chasing Ordinary. You have no idea how grateful I am for your kind words of affirmation–especially right now!  How I love seeing all the posts on Instagram and Facebook.

A HUGE thank-you to those who took the time to post a review on Amazon after reading Chasing Ordinary. Amazon reviews are priceless jewels and I would welcome one from those brave enough to pen for me.

Thank-you in advance for that kind gesture. GoodRead reviews are a plus from all my Goodreaders, too:-) Enough begging, Prissy!

Okay AUDIBLE listeners who have asked, “What about Chasing Ordinary in audible?” Would you believe I was three chapters away from finishing.

Three chapters!  When I can get myself back to the recording studio (in a wheelchair with no elevator) I’ll finish it.  A few weeks max!

I have one hour left to read. How frustrating!  So please stay tuned. My Southern accent is spinning full throttle for you.

Meanwhile, don’t forget I’m a contributor to Flamingo Magazine You can read my column by clicking  Panhanding  where all my *goings-on* are found inside every issue. Just subscribe and call it a day!

Chasing Ordinary is also now available on Amazon

There are signed copies at the following locations: Hearth and Soul; My Favorite Things; Weezies; BedFellows; Haute Headz; Midtown Reader; The Bookshelf in Thomasville, Georgia; Sundog in Seaside, Florida; and Downtown Books and Purl in Apalachicola, Florida.

And visit my website for signed and personalized copies: prissyelrod.com

Y’all wish me luck as I learn to walk again. Soon, I’ll be running full steam ahead and back to 20 miles a week. WEll, I hope!

Have yourself a wonderful summer. But please watch your step. Do better than ME.

Thanks again for all the support. I’m so grateful for each and every one of you!

Hugs and Cheers,

Prissy 

 

 

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CHASING ORDINARY : SAVE THE DATE

Cheers and Hooray!!

Chasing Ordinary is soon to debut.

It’s hard to believe my arduous labor is over and this new butterfly is birthing into the big, bad world. It feels like I’ve been carrying her forever. (‘Cause you have, Prissy. Four long years… wait…five!)

I can smell the printed ink, touch my crisp pages, and ogle those stunning colors bouncing off the butterfly design.

A ginormous thank-you to the team at Hearth and Soul in Tallahassee, Florida. I’m so excited to announce they are hosting my *launch celebration* at their gorgeous, captivating venue.

Save the Date: Thursday, April 4

How many times did I want to quit? Every day. I kid you not. To write the truth (as a memoirst) I had to return to the past (again). And looking back is much harder than we think. But what a gift it is. Because it’s only in looking back we see just how far we’ve come.

I’ll be honest though. I lost my interest in ever finishing this book. There was just too much stress and sadness happening in my life- all at once: my mother died; two hurricanes and evacuations; a boy I mentored (eight years) murdered his mother (crowning me the worst mentor in the history of mentoring); my granddaughter wrecked her beautiful face riding a stupid Go-Kart; packing and moving twice within five months after our house sold; renovating at same time; and throw in a sick husband who needed spinal surgery.

*A Fragile Mess* seems like a good title for my next book!

The point– I tossed out more pages, chapters and drafts of Chasing Ordinary than I could count.

Chaos and Creativity make an ugly couple and have zero chance of success. So I had to do what I always do. Search within my own being for the answer. It almost slapped me in the face…the answer. This wounded butterfly needed to nourish her heart, strengthen her wings and brighten her being. We all have our breaking points. I’d reached mine. Ask my two daughters. I knew I needed to fly away…somewhere…anywhere. And so I did just that.

Kathryn

I retreated to a place of peace and tranquility at the summer home of Kathryn Ireland, in Toulouse, France.

The week was magnificent and restored every fiber in my being. It was  *far outside the ordinary* in every way and so was Kathryn.  It’s no wonder Bravo television scooped her up. And in just this month alone, there are three magazines sitting on newstands featuring her oozing talent. The guru of hostesses knows all there is about entertaining and design. Visit her website: https://theperfectroom.com

 

Flowers were everywhere

My Big Purchase at French flea market…10 euro

Things in life happen as they’re supposed to. I’m a firm believer in this truth. Though I must confess the *why of it* remains a mystery.  I met lovely strangers who were like honey to my heart. Beautiful friendships blossomed by chance. Sadness met joy.

BTW… I’m heading back this summer-working as Kathryn’s sidekick and filling up her beds with my friends. (More in my next blog should you be interested in joining us)

When the week was over I flew home counting my blessings and not my burdens. Funny how that happens. And best of all, m y heart, mind and soul were infused with every thought, word and narrative needed to finish my book. I did.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thanks to each of you for your support, love and encouragment.  

You are like my personal cheerleaders steering me onward and straight to the goal line. Despite all the interceptions and tackles, that knock me flat, I know you’re sitting in my invisible stadium waiting for a touchdown. I want to give it to you, even more than I want to make one.  

There are no words for such gratitude. A simple thank-you seems lame for your grand gestures. Even so, thank-you forever more!

Hugs and love!

Prissy

 

 

 

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Easter & Flocktail

HAPPY EASTER

It was an honor to host a Flamingo Magazine Flocktail event at my home last week. What’s Flocktail? Why, it’s when flockers come together to mix, mingle and toast all things Florida. It was also a celebration of the magazine’s Spring 2018 Iconic Florida Edition. 

A glorious 64 degrees and perfect March day. A cool breeze fused with the sweet fragrance of ligustrum privits circled around us. Ligustrum plants are plentiful in my front and back yard, even though they make me sneeze. But, they’re pretty so I don’t care. A-chew!

Tallahasee friends and readers gathered to meet Jamie Rich, Editor in Chief & Publisher.  The award-winning magazine is headquartered in Ponte Vedra Beach. By the way, it is also Florida’s only statewide magazine. 

 

Traveling along with Jamie were her adorable sidekicks: Ellen Patch (Photo Editor and Senior Designer) and Annie Lee ( Marketing & Promotions). These women are so amazing. They are also brilliant, witty, and hard-working.  Afterwards, we all had dinner at Sage Restaurant  and a slumber party at my house. Triple fun!

Black Fig partnered and catered the event. And what a spread they spread. Our menu included Bradley’s sausage, Sweetgrass diary cheese plate and fresh Gulf shrimp. It was simply divine. Thank you, Mark Suber.

 

The tote seen below was a Matt Dean Original. The coveted prize of the event. The drawing winner was Cheryl Martel. Lucky girl! Thanks to Matt Dean for his generous sponsorship.

The gorgeous sunflower centerpiece was created by my best friend, Gayle. Oprah has nothing on me. I have me a Gayle, too.  

 

As a contributor to Flamingo– living in the panhandle– I love writing and pretending to know something about everything. You know I don’t, right?  But I do know something about ‘Things That Bug Me’. Read in my column by clicking here: Panhandling 

Subscribe and enjoy the next one by clicking here:   Flamingo Magazine

 

You can see me laughing like a hiena below. Now that’s something I haven’t done much over the last year. Life tackled me hard and knocked me flat. But, I got back up. I’m tougher than most people think. For anyone going through a bad time right now. You have my heart. You do.

 

Recap: I buried my beloved mother (she died on my husband’s birthday -April 5 ); my husband had spinal fusion during a hurricane evacuation; shingles-me; flu-him; flu-me; shingles me- again; Kenley (11) head trauma (wearing no helmet) in wrecked go-kart; Alex kills his mother. I wrote about that one -ugh! It forced me to see a forensic counselor.  But, it wasn’t over yet. Nope.  Two days after this Flocktail gathering my sweet husband was diagnosed with Transient Global Amnesia. Never heard of it? Me neither. It came out of no where. He  couldn’t recall names of ordinary objects. To say it was a moment in history for me is an understatement. Today marks one week since it happened. Now he is fine. Thank you, God!

And on Easter eve we  sold our house. The very one you see in these pictures. The couple who bought it are just wonderful. I’m so happy for them and know they will treasure it as we have.

So, I guess we’re packing and moving. Only I forgot to think it through.  I have no idea where we’re moving to. No idea. Zip. I’m just a girl who figures out as I go along. Why? Because I know we are really never in charge. I learned this valuable lesson the hard way. And it stuck!

Our life has been Far Outside the Ordinary this year.  Much like the year based on my book. Even so, I will keep on keeping on.  And you should too. Smile. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. You. Can. Do. It. 

So, on that note, here’s my plan. Between my beautiful family, writing speaking, packing, moving, and whatever else awaits in life… Chasing Ordinary will unveil in 2018.  Though she may be orphaned and neglected a few months longer, she will be stronger and more relevant when the curtain lifts. 

The univers e is my driver. I’m simply a passenger along for the ride. And, by the way, so are you.

Cheers, Hugs & Love!

Prissy 

 

Photograph credited to Katrice Howell  for my Chasing Ordinary back cover. Maybe, thinking, don’t know….soon!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Zero Degrees of Separation

 

It was 2009. November, to be exact. I was sitting at book club, sipping wine, sharing stories, laughing, discussing possibilities for our next month’s book choice.  I brought up something I’d been thinking about. I suggested we adopt a family for Christmas, rather than exchanging gifts among ourselves. We agreed our gesture of gifting each other was unnecessary. After all, there were so many people with so little. It was unananomious. We would adopt a family.

I reached out to a friend, a social worker, in the Leon Country school system. I hoped she could match us with a family in need. And she did. A widowed, single-mother. Her name was Liese. She had a son, Alex, 14-years-old at the time.

Liese was disabled. Also, morbidly obese. Consequently, she was homebound. I was told she was shot during a robbery while working inside a convenience store. I was also told her husband had been killed in the line of duty when Alex was a toddler. Later, I would learn he died in prison. Liese was white. Alex was bi-racial. They lived in a small apartment building in Frenchtown run by the Lutheran Social Services of North Florida. They had been homeless a few years earlier so were grateful to live where they were living.

Our book-club pooled funds and lavished them with clothes, food, books and gift cards to various grocery stores. We bought Alex a new bike. It was stolen before Christmas.  So, we bought  another, and this time included a chain and lock. But, that didn’t help. The second bike was stolen only a few months later. By the third bike he learned to bring it indoors and never leave it outside.

Liese and Alex lived in the heart of poverty. Crime, gangs and drugs were lurking outside the apartment door– hoping, waiting– to capture Alex.  But, he faired well and was a good boy. He loved music, school and his friends. Alex played in the Leon High School Symphony and worked part-time in a local music shop. He aspired to be a musician one day. This was music to my ears. After all, my late father-in-law, Karl Kuersteiner, was Dean of the School of Music at Florida State for many years. He was also a concert violinist.

I would share stories with Alex about the kind, talented, violinist. He was hungry to learn about a successful musician. On one of our visits, he took my husband and me to the guitar shop where he worked. His love, passion for music, was palpable. We wandered around the small shop as he pointed out all his favorite instruments. Mostly, it was guitars.

Years would pass. There would be more Thanksgivings and Christmases. Liese was a prolific reader. I would buy her books in the genre she loved -romance. Later, it would be a Kindle with an Amazon gift card so she could download more books. It was hard for me, keeping up with her reading pace.  She wrote emails, keeping me abreast of Alex, his high-school years, graduation, his plans. She hoped I wouldn’t forsake them after he graduated.  I assured her I wouldn’t. And I never did.

I would lobby different friends to help me over the years. They were sick of me–some told me so. “They’re takers, Prissy.” But, still, I kept begging. One special friend paid their utilities- anonymously- for more than a year. I lobbied for Alex’s admission to the Florida State Music Camp the summer after his high school graduation. Enough funds were collected and he was enrolled.

You’d have thought he had a ticket around the world: Music Camp and a Concert at Ruby Diamond Auditorium. Nothing so grand ever happened to Alex. Liese wrote and asked if I would attend his performance. After all, she never left the house. Alex was her caregiver from the time I knew them. He did everything for her.

When Alex scanned the dimmed audience and discovered my husband and me, sitting there, for him, a Cheshire grin crowded his entire face. It was a beautiful moment for a boy who never had anyone attend any school function, much less a concert at the university.

When Alex graduated from high school, I suggested Starbucks would be a great place for him to get a job.  I’d heard they would pay college tuition for employees unable to afford college. Not to mention- Starbucks was only a few blocks away. He could walk there in five minutes. He didn’t like my idea. And so my husband offered him a job. Alex declined. He just wanted to pursue his music dream and teach guitar lessons. Liese supported his decision. There was nothing we could say to discourage his plan.

“A year, he gets a year to chase his dream.” Liese said. I was baffled. My husband even more so. We thought he needed college or a job. Music lessons would never get them out of poverty. But Alex began his chase: music, guitar lessons and growing up in the only world he knew…caring for his mother.

It was Thanksgiving, four months ago.  I asked Gina, my sister, to ride with me to deliver a Thanksgiving meal to them. I’d ordered it from Fresh Market:  turkey, dressing, greens, and two pies. They no longer were living in the apartment I knew. The church relocated them.  I wasn’t sure where the heck I was going with the big box of food. I figured Gina could help me find the place, and also help carry the big box of food inside.  It was the first time she would meet them. Somehow, in all the years, I’d missed Gina in my quest for Alex and Liese donations.

Alex answered the door after only my one knock. I could tell how happy he was to see me. We hugged and he announced he would be turning 22-years-old in a week. I thought…How quickly he went from 14 to 22. He was rail thin, taller than I remembered, towering above me at 6’2″.  I was wearing flats and not my usual platform Fly London shoes.  Maybe that’s why I felt so small beside him.

Alex was chatty, friendly, helpful and kind. Two of his friends sat on the sofa playing video games inside the dark, smoky, and very tiny livingroom. Liese lay stretched on a recliner, her feet  swollen, enormous in size. She looked unwell, unkept, with bottles of prescription medications stacked in heaps next to her.

“I’m in kidney failure and have this really bad staph infection.” she said. “I think the home health nurse is sending me back to the hospital.” Her pallor confirmed it.

I was unsure what to say, how to reply to her bad news. Alex stood next to me in the kitchen but said nothing.  I did what I do when I don’t know what to do. I started running my mouth, blabbering about nothing -to Alex, Liese, and the strange boys sitting on the couch. Prissy nonsense…attempting to lighten a dark room.

In all my years visiting them the environment never looked so bad.  The windows were covered with unpacked moving boxes. There was no light spilling in from outdoors. Only the florescent light from the ceiling in the small kitchen. I placed my food inside the empty refrigerator. All I saw were half-empty bottles of ketchup and mayonaise. I explained to Alex how to warm the Thanksgiving meal.

“Oh gosh, I forgot I’m supposed to pick up the kids.” Gina said. It came out of the blue and loud enough for everyone to hear. “Oh, please don’t go, sit for a minute.” Liese said. I scanned the room and saw no chairs, not even any floor space. They had moved the previous June but never unpacked. I surmised they had no place to put anything; the space afforded them was half the size of their previous home. Alex and I hugged goodbye and I blew Liese a kiss from where I stood. “I’ll be praying for you, Liese.”

When Gina and I climbed back inside my car I was embarrassed to be driving it. Poverty and privledge- juxtoposed. It always affected me, even as a child.

“Are you out of your damn mind?” Gina asked before my car door was slammed.

“What?” I looked at her. “They were stoned– all of them. Who knows with what. And the pot-you had to smell it, Prissy!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” (I see what I want to see…it’s my character flaw)

Gina called my husband the minute she was out of my car, and sight. Before I could even drive home.

“Prissy has no business going there, especially, alone.” When she finished tales of mischief, my Dale had joined her team.

“You can help – just don’t go back over there. He repeated everything Gina said to him. “Please, just send money, or a nice gift to them this Christmas.”

The next day I received an email from Liese.

Dear Prissy,

I wanted to write and let you know how much I appreciated you bringing Alexander and I Thanksgiving dinner.  I have felt so horrible lately dealing with my health and my finances being stretched to the limit since having to move I really didn’t feel too thankful for anything.  Alex did a great job cooking the turkey and getting everything ready.  I wasn’t able too eat much because  I am nauseous from all the medications I am taking but I was able to eat a little turkey, mashed potatoes and the rolls you gave us.  Everything was delicious!  Alex went to town on the turkey and dressing and loved the mashed potatoes.  He just about polished off the pumpkin pie on his own.  A couple of his friends came over later that evening to play video games and they all dined happily on the leftovers.

I hope you and your family had a nice Thanksgiving.  Speaking of family I enjoyed meeting your sister.  I was embarrassed by the horrible mess our apartment was in.  Truth to tell I have felt so bad and seem to have spent more time in the hospital lately than I have been at home unpacking boxes was one of the last things to do on my list.

It truly was wonderful of you to think of us and to do such a lovely thing.  I know how busy you are during the holidays with all your family and grandkids plus it sounds as if you have been dealing with a lot yourself.  I was very sorry to hear about your mother.  (Also your friend.)  Somehow you think your mother will always be there for you.  There has been many times during the last 4 months when I have been alone in a hospital bed thinking how much I wanted to see my mother.  She has been dead for 15 years but it still hurts at times.  That is what really worries me about Alexander if something happens to me.  For practically his whole life it has just been the two of us  I know he is “grown” now but he truly doesn’t have any other family to speak of since his grandparents died.

I also know how worried you have been about Dale.  He seemed so healthy and vital when we saw him.  You two were always on the go.  Alex was worried when I told him about Dale having spinal fusion.  It sounds extremely painful.  And now you said he has some kind of blood infection.  I hope he is doing better now and the doctor in Jacksonville was able to figure out what was going on with his blood.  I think Dale is a great guy and he was always so kind to Alex.  You certainly found a keeper when you met Dale.  But then I also think Dale was pretty darn lucky to meet you!

I wanted to let you know I am back in the hospital.  Saturday I started to feel very weak and could hardly move.  My home health nurse told me they weren’t able to reach the wound care doctor and I should go to the ER.  The ER doctor said it was a good thing I came in because the bacterial infection was back in my blood and I was on the verge of going septic again.  So, here I am back in my favorite place.  (Not!)

  They started me on a couple of new antibiotics hoping to finally eradicate the little devil and so far it seems to be working.  Right now I am waiting for wound care to send me to surgery to have debridement on the wounds on my back.  They are not healing and they think getting more of the necrotic tissue will help.  My main concern is if they will ever find an antibiotic that will get rid of the infection.  So far they have tried at least 12 different ones.  Sometimes I worry they will run out of different antibiotics to try.

I have no idea when I will be able to go home.  I am going to miss Alex’s birthday and I worry I will be stuck here for Christmas.  It may seem silly but since Alex was born we have always been together.  Even when things were at their bleakest…homeless and completely broke and it was just us two… we were always together.

There have been a lot of not so nice things that have happened to us over the years and I worry Alex won’t have too many good memories of growing up.  That is one of the many reasons I will always be grateful for all of the wonderful things you have done.  You really are the kindest, compassionate, most caring person I have ever met. 

Well, it is almost time for the doctor to come in and let me know what is on tap for today.  Unfortunately I know they won’t be telling me I can go home.

I just wanted to let you know what is going on.  It may be presumptuous but I feel you and Dale are perhaps the only people here in Tallahassee we can call friends.  I know Alex has lots of friends but being kids barely out of their teens they don’t have much on their minds other than girls and video games.  If you get the chance I would love to here from you.  You can fill me in on how Dale is doing and all of your wonderful plans for Christmas.  plus I want to hear more about the new book you are writing.

Again Prissy, let me say Thank You/  You really are a special person and I am so grateful to have met you.  Tell Dale I said hello!  iIam in room 429 at Capital Regional so the phone number for my room is 850/325-5429.

Take care,  Liese 

I ordered their Christmas that same day.

Dear Prissy,

The Omaha Steak boxes arrived safely.  I am still in the hospital, but Alex called me this morning very excited.  So many delicious goodies!! I told Alex he can cook the chicken and eat some of the potatoes and apple tarts but to save the pork chops and steaks for when (if) I get out of the hospital. Thank you guys so much.  It was very thoughtful, and I know if I ever get to eat them they will be delicious.  I told Alex these will be the fanciest steaks and pork chops we have ever eaten.  How are things going with Dale?  I hope his health is improving and you two will have a wonderful holiday season and a Merry Christmas.  If I ever get out of this dang hospital I will be sending you a Christmas card.  Our Christmas was looking a little bleak and I just felt all alone.  Sitting in a hospital bed there is not much else to do but think…I do try to not get too depressed…but it is a little hard when I feel so alone.  Just hearing from you makes me feel so much better and that I am not alone.  There are people who care us about us. You really are such a remarkable woman and I appreciate everything you and Dale have done for us.  Please tell Dale we said Hello!  If I don’t hear from you before Christmas and I wish you a peaceful and joyous one.

Love, Liese and Alexander.

And then -ten days ago -the unthinkable. What we writers call the inciting incident. When everything changes. And nothing is ever the same again.

Alex killed his mother.

He brought a knife from home, snuck into the hospital after visiting hours. He stabbed her multiple times in the heart, wearing gloves and mask he stole from the supply closet. I can’t begin to make sense of the senseless. For me, a person who sees her glass half-full, three-quarters full. I now see a leak. Drip. Drip. Drip.

I’m writing this blog for two reasons. One-to purge a heart full of grief. Second- for answers.

How? Why? Did I miss the signs? Were there any signs? Are killers in our plain sight? Are these killers– the ones slipping inside schools, clubs, auditoriums– just like Alex. Unrecognizable to an ordinary person? Alex was no killer. He wasn’t. And yet, he was. I can’t accept this. No matter how much my friends and family try to convience me. They see the animal in him. They beg me to stay away from him and this situation. They have genuine fear. I understand. And for them…I will. But, I keep asking myself-what would Liese want me to do? Would she want me to reach out to her son-even though he murdered her. After all, he was the center of her entire universe. The ying. The yang. My turmoil.

This quiet, smart, creative boy grew up to kill his own mother, the only family he had in the entire world. It is unfathomable. Who is responsible for this travesty? Someone must be. I won’t accept it was Liese. She can’t defend herself. Then, or now. At some point the system must take responsibility for the mentally unstable beings in our society.

A boy has fallen through the cracks. He was the only caregiver for his mother for all of his childhood. Yet, he kills her when she is already dying.

Alex didn’t use a gun and go inside a school. Instead, he used a knife and went inside a hospital.  Was it rage or was it love? Was he tired of her suffering, or tired of his? Is he the poster child for mental illness? Or something more cynical? He had no history of violence, no record, no trouble with the law. Nothing. Zip.

Six degrees of separation between us is no longer true. There is no separation. We are one phone call away from the unthinkable. There are unstable beings mingling among all of us.

I’m an ordinary woman living an ordinary life. Yet, I had two friends murdered. I have broken bread with two who have killed. I’m an author and couldn’t imagine these headlines. It should make any sane person fear, wonder, question what has happened to this beautiful world.

Evil is only a breath, a blink, perhaps, a smile away from each of us. 

David Thoreau wrote-Things do not change; we change 

Alex may speak this truth. Things did not change. He did.

 

 

 

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