Prissy Elrod's Blog, page 3

Fathers of yesteryear and today

The fathers in my heart

Father’s Day remains bittersweet to me. I reflect with fondness, love and adoration for the father I lost long ago. He had a handsome face, tattooed with a perfect dimpled chin, eyes bluer than the sea, and a mane of thick blond hair atop his six-foot-five inch statuesque frame. He really was movie-star charming. Ask any nurse who worked beside him.

My memories of Lou Landrum, M.D are nested in my heart and soul forever. Missing him is as much a part of life as breathing. He was such a kind, generous and humble man and cared for thousands of patients in Lake City, Florida. Payment mattered little to Lou. Should one of his patients be unable to pay in dollars and cents, he would gratefully accept their tomatoes, okra, peas and corn. Or nothing at all. I think there were more ‘couldn’t pay’ than ‘could’. I base this assumption on all the vegetables dropped on our doorsteps through the years.

He wasn’t a perfect father, though death usually promotes, titles, and then crowns you as such. I have come to realize this ‘perfect title’ is given only when one dies. Those departed are remembered as being absolutely perfect in every way, having done nothing wrong during their entire remembered life. I believe the departed should be granted something. Perfection seems reasonable enough to me. By golly, give it to them!!

I watched this title crowned atop my grandfather soon after his death. And then my own father. It’s a remarkable thing, really! Heck, it gives one something to look forward to when their end fnally does come. Everyone will look back at, well, our absolute perfection! Awesome:-)

In Far Outside the Ordinary, I wrote about Boone and his strife for perfection all of his life. Luckily — and immediately after his death — my girls promoted him to perfect in record time.  This promotion and newly crowned title would make him beyond happy. We have reached the half-way mark for Sara Britton, my youngest daughter.  Boone has been gone from her life for half of her life. Actually, that is really hard to believe.

And Dale, the father who never planned to be. I would call him perfect but he is still living so that won’t work. But I will hint ….he is awfully close! This quiet man has opened his heart and shared his love with me and with my girls– Sara Britton and Garrett — in every way, and with such unabashed devotion. I thank God for this man every day of my life.

So to all the wonderful men — living and gone; perfect and imperfect — Happy Father’s Day! You are remembered and loved as you were, and as you are.

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My ‘Far Outside the Ordinary MOTHER(S)

 

Mothers are the thread, the golden thread, capable of weaving hearts together forever. It begins at birth, and continues throughout our lives, until their death, even beyond.  Most of us will keep our mothers in our hearts until the very last moment, until our very last heartbeat.

Even so, mothers are not perfect, though they may try to be, or want to be. I have unlucky friends who have said how unkind, uncaring, and unaffectionate their mothers were. Yet, these very friends are such wonderful mothers today. And so are their daughters with their own children. You see, one doesn’t need a perfect mother, or even a good mother, to  become a wonderful, nurturing mother.

When I think of my good fortune, I almost feel guilty. I have been blessed with two wonderful mothers: Sylvia LeBlanc Landrum, 89 years  young, gave birth to me and my sisters– Deborah and Gina. And Mazelle Patterson, now 92, came into our family before I was born. They are like two sides of the same coin, each nourishing me in their own unique and wonderful way. Both are a constant in my life and are my priceless gems.

To this day, I still have the art sketched poem I gave my mother when I was only six-years-old. What can I say, I save my heartfelt treasures forever.

“M” is for the million things she gave me,

“O” means only that she’s growing old,

“T” is for the tears she shed to save me,

“H” is for her heart of purest gold;

“E” is for her eyes, with love-light shining,

“R” means right, and right she’ll always be

Put them all together and they spell mother. A word that means the very world to me.

Although the author was Howard Jones, my first grade teacher had me believe it came from me…. as an original. It would be years before I realized it was simply a poem, belonging to someone else, copied by a six-year-old little girl for her mother. Actually, for her mother(s). I made one for my Mazelle too, after winning the argument with my teacher.

In the recipe of life, I think mothers are the main ingredient, perfecting, or ruining the flavor.  Born in New Orleans, my mother has a Cajun/Creole attitude with French and Italian blood.  Sylvia LeBlanc is one of God’s atrocities.  She is a colorful character with a serious germ and chemical phobia.  It’s a good thing I love her —- she could make a sane person snap. I say that lovingly, if you are reading this, Mama.

You see, she is obsessed with organic food, clothes, and cleaning supplies. She is aware of dangers lurking out there long before the FDA mentions it, argues it or bans it. Her Yorkie dogs — Rhett and Scarlett — lived until they were almost seventeen years old, after a life of only organic dog food and bottled water.  She sneaks her silver flask, filled with organic wine, to restaurants. No one should be surprised she looks twenty years younger than she is, and is still very healthy for her age.

My mother is generous and compassionate towards animals and people, a foot soldier for the underdogs of the world. That might be because dog is in the word underdog.

She met my father, a surgeon when she was only 19 years old. He was already 26 and finishing his residency at Charity Hospital in New Orleans. They married in 1945.

On the opposite end of the health forum from my mother, Lou Landrum, my father, smoked Salem cigarettes, drank Smirnoff Vodka, ate Oscar Meyer bologna and Sunbeam white bread his entire life.  He had his side of the refrigerator, she had hers.  His was filled with products containing sodium nitrates, her side with products and labels no one recognized. Fifty years ago she was shopping health food stores in a neighboring town.  Our family drank purified water in five gallon jugs, delivered by a truck from the same neighboring town, one hour away.  My friends knew it was strange. By then, I was oblivious to our oddity.

My mother was more like a fourth daughter to my father. She was stunning with her pearly white skin, ebony black hair and lean figure.  All of which scored her modeling assignments before marriage to my father. When we were shopping as teenagers, a shopping clerk would approach my mother, sisters, and me.

“May I help you girls find something?”

“No thanks!  My friends and I are just looking,” replied my mother.

She never acknowledged she was our mother. Who would have believed her anyway?

Like many women of her generation, she was given an allowance to run the house.  To this day she never records a check or balances a checkbook.

“I know my balance, it’s in my head.”  She says tapping her temple with her pointed index finger.

“Really, so forever you remember your running balance?”  I ask.

Sylvia-isms will always be remembered, whether I practice them or not.  I must say I’ve learned some important lessons from her over the years.

The first is benevolence.  She supported all of her siblings and sustained two of them all of their lives.  Her brother Charles, the strangest of the litter, lived in the impoverished home situated in the ninth ward.  When Katrina hit New Orleans, he climbed into the attic with only his cartoon of Camel short cigarettes and one small bottle of water.  He laid on his back for three days and nights in the dark.  He only became frantic when he was getting down to his last Camel. On the fourth day, a boat came by and rescued him and CNN interviewed him.  He was 75 years old at the time and my mother paid to have the destroyed house rebuilt. He moved back in and lived there until the last year of his life.

Something else I learned from my mother is the importance of good health.  It’s the one thing you can’t buy and the only thing that matters. Oh and there is her ‘sleuthing’ and ‘maintenance’….. two more very important things.  You should read the labels on everything and take care of your skin, eyes and organs. They need to last a long time.

Here’s the best, or maybe the worst, depending on how you look at it.   Hitchhikers — never pick-up hitchhikers, or make eye contact with them.  My mother always picked them up when we were young.  I would feel the car slowing down and my stomach would start knotting as I sat in the backseat, my eyes first squinting, then focusing, on what/who lay ahead.

“Please mama — don’t pick ‘um up!”  I pleaded.

“Hush! You girls move on up to the front now, it’s too hot outside for anybody to be standing on the side of the road. We’re gonna’ pick ‘um up.”

She would. She did.

How we all never ended up in some green dumpster still remains a mystery to me.

Finally, there is family.  They are more important than anyone else and should always come first.  Treat your family with the same courtesy you would a stranger, they care more about you.

My mother’s recipe for life remains spicy even now.  Her Creole and Cajun juice has been stirred and simmered for a long 89 years, resulting in a memorable feast.

“What’s your mom’s secret, she looks fantastic!”  A friend asked me.

“A splash of something called LeBlanc.” I replied.

My beloved father died from lung cancer when he was only 67 years old.  My mother warned him years earlier he would.  I remember their conversation as he ate his bologna sandwich on his day off from his medical clinic.

“Lou, I don’t know why you keep eating that stuff, it’s gonna’ kill you.”

“Just leave me alone, will ya’!  Pick how you wanna’ die. I’ll pick my way.”

The irony: my mother preaching to the doctor on issues of health and the doctor ignoring her advice with dire consequences.  In his defense, it all occurred before staying healthy became a full time job for the baby boomer population.

I never ate processed meat after that day.  Her preaching worked on someone it seems.

And so this is just a tiny bit about my very own ‘far outside the ordinary mother’. I’m sure each of you have a great story about your own mother. Please feel free to share it with me. Just realize I’m a writer and you may want to change the name to protect the innocent.

Each of us are united by one common thing……a mother who birthed us. Enjoy yours today, or remember her from yesterday.

May you have a ‘Far Outside the Ordinary’ Mother’s Day!

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Happy Valentine’s Day!

Yikes, finally, only four months late, I am posting on my blog. Excuse me…..newsletter! I have the nicest boss. She understands my routine: sipping cappuccinos, unstacking and restacking catalogs, studying fashion trends, trolling Facebook, and organizing my paint tubes. I like her generosity and patience. It’s a darn good thing I am the boss of me, otherwise, I would have been fired three months ago. Okay, four months ago.

There is still a February chill in our Florida air. Even so, my french doors are wide open, with Pandora playing and birds singing backup.

2014 is gone, just like that. Only ten months are left in 2015. Yep, I bet that probably made your heart skip a beat. Good, let’s all feel some pressure and be on the same page here. It flies, I’m telling you.

Far Outside the Ordinary — a.k.a. FOTO — has taken on a life all its own. Seriously! I am honored, humbled and awed as I watch from the sidelines.  It’s as if those butterfly wings have taken flight and soared, much further than I ever imagined. Honestly, when I wrote my journey of loss, regret and rekindled love, I never dreamed it would travel so far and be read by so many. And the number of readers who have reached out to me with their praise and kind words, then sharing their love for FOTO with other readers. Just wow! It swells my heart to realize how my story impacted so many who are now suffering, have suffered, or perhaps feel hopeless in their unrecognized life. Truly, there is no greater reward for me than realizing my personal journey has helped another person traveling the unchartered, treacherous road of grief.

I am asked on a daily basis, “So Prissy, what’s happening with your book?” Well, for you, my subscriber friend, I will tell you…. even if you didn’t ask!

FOTO has been acquired by Beaufort Books, a publishing company in New York and will be distributed nationwide by Midpoint Trade Books. I met Megan Trank, managing editor, and Eric Kampmann, President, when I was at the National Publicity Summit in October. Our negotiations for the FOTO acquirement began shortly thereafter. I am excited about this merger and so delighted to partner with this wonderful company and these individuals.

Yes, I am writing the next book. My hope is to have it finished by summer, then send it off to the smart team. They will critique, edit and advise as to exactly how many dangling modifiers I must correct.  Hopefully, after that nourishment, it will be full term and healthy, ready to be delivered to you by the end of 2015, or maybe, the beginning of 2016.

Over the last four months I’ve been enjoying FOTO signing events, book club invitations, and various speaking engagements. Somewhere in between these FOTO adventures, I also co-hosted a fund-raising event with Leanne Gibbs, founder of Fresh New Start. Together, with the help of Katrice Howell and Space at Feather Oaks, we threw a Far{M} Outside the Ordinary party to raise awareness and money for  young widows just out of the trenches of caregiving.  A week later, our home was opened to the public for The Tallahassee Symphony Christmas Tour of Homes.  As you may have read in my book, I am a tiny bit OCD. It just about took me Dale over the edge. It was a lovely event with charming people and beautiful weather. I was happy to ‘pay it forward’ by signing books and donating to this fundraiser.

So there you go. Now it’s time for me to move some stacks and drink some more coffee, especially since I know the boss can’t fire me. But before I leave, I was thinking I might give you a personal house tour, your feet up, sipping some whatever you sip, without one of the sixteen docents escorting you around my house, reminding you to wipe your feet. It is just you, me, and your mouse. Welcome to my hood and enjoy the tour:-)

Back yard

 

 

 

 

 

Living room




Dale’s office




Welcoming Bar





Piano room





My Kitchen-look at my snacks and supplements so messy.

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August and September In My Rear View Mirror

This caterpillar image was sent to me by my sweet friend, Leanne Gibbs, founder of Fresh New Start, an organization I write about in the last pages of Far Outside the Ordinary. Leanne watched each day as three of these jewels transformed. She waited for the Monarch Butterflies to emerge and wrote to me,  “I think of you each time I check on them.” My heart sang when I read that.  Thank you, Leanne!

I thought I might update you on my goings-on in this wonderful, totally crazy, ‘author-preneur’ world of mine.  Nope, I didn’t make that word up, but I do kinda like pronouncing it. Spelling the sucker … not so much. Especially since it’s not even in the dictionary. Shocker!

August and Atlanta were a couple this summer.  I love Atlanta! It has an electric current filled with art, history and Southern charm. The Spear-it- Fest welcomed me and my butterfly inside Tin Lizzy’s restaurant with lovely air conditioning. The other two hundred Florida State University fans mingled outside in the heat and humidity. They didn’t mind one single bit. The Atlanta Seminole Boosters know how to throw a party, can I just tell you? It was a blast!  I was honored to be hosted as an FSU graduate. (FOREVER ago! Shhh!!) I felt just as important signing my Far Ordinary the Outside books as those ‘National Champion’ players did signing their footballs. Later that evening, my good friend Gayle (I sound like Oprah) joined me for dinner at the Buckhead restaurant owned by local Tallahassee star, Art Smith. It was yummy, as was the Intercontinental Hotel where it lives. Thanks, Art!

The following week I was right back up there. This time visiting one of my favorite cousins, Varna Jo (yes, that’s her name) Holmes, and hubby John David. She had a full itinerary waiting for me. Omega Books welcomed me for a book signing, followed by lunch with twelve beautiful ladies at a local restaurant.  I was beyond honored to have Far Outside the Ordinary chosen as the August selection for the ‘Sister Chicks Book Club and Movie Group’. How adorable is their name? I was the guest speaker that evening and shared a scrapbook filled with pictures of some of the characters found inside the pages of my book. My event began with strangers, now friends. How cool is that?

Only a week later I skipped over to a book club right here in my own village, Tallahassee, Florida. So many beautiful girls in that crowd of movers and shakers: lawyers, doctors and Indian chiefs. Okay, maybe there wasn’t an Indian chief, but you get my drift. They called themselves the ‘Not So Serious Bookclub’. Right…don’t think so girls. I loved watching these young mothers of babies, toddlers and teens, mingling, sharing their ups and downs with one another. It reminded me of myself many years ago.

August and September have slipped away with record speed. My life is moving ever so quickly as the years go by. I have big plans and will try and squeeze every dream into each moment left. As I look through my windshield this last day of September I see exciting events all over my calendar. I am grateful, but also mindful of all my blessings. I take nothing in this life for granted.

I can’t wait to share my September journey with you, along with the upcoming October events. Honestly, I might need some time to wrap my head around it though. When I do, well….so shall you!

Until then I wish you good health and much happiness.

Cheers,

Prissy

P.S. If you are seeing funny characters in your display, you are not drunk! Some monitors don’t like the color turquoise and are rebelling. Please ignore them…..I am an artist and color is my guiding light.

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SOME FAR OUTSIDE THE ORDINARY SASS

Wow! Where should I begin? How about with a party and a word… magical. 250 generous people were in attendance and gathered together at the Carriage House, which sits nestled on the grounds of Goodwood Plantation, in Tallahassee, Florida, It is surrounded by canopied Live Oak trees, laced with Spanish moss, and literally hundreds of years old. Our night was beautiful and breezy, but I was as nervous as a chicken running from an axe. Far Outside the Ordinary was sitting there like a queen on her throne, after four long years of really hard work. It was surreal!

Friends, even perfect strangers, were in line to buy my book. It meant they would actually be reading it — all my thoughts and words splattered under a beautiful cover. I can honestly say I felt totally exposed, almost naked, as they drove off in their cars that night. With the food tables cleared, flowers and tables broken down, lights dimmed, staff gone, I climbed into my car and felt like somebody else. My deepest and most private thoughts, carried in my heart and soul for years, were now released to the world. As a writer, one never knows what will happen once you publish. Blessings awaited me …I just wouldn’t know it yet.

The party may have ended but the dancing just started. And the music be ‘rock and roll’, let me tell you that. I’m still learning the steps but loving the rhythm.

Sweet Patina was mighty sweet and requested my book only two days after its launch, actively supporting me since that day. Soon to follow was Bedfellows, hosting a wonderful book signing event, My Favorite Things, Haute Heads, Weezie’s Country Cottage and St. Johns Bookstore, all inviting my butterfly to grace their shelves. Then along came Green Peridot in Dallas and Baskets Instead in Lakeland. Recently Kanvas opened their doors and welcomed me for a Bras, Booze and Book signing party. Heavenly!

I am excited to say Far Outside the Ordinary has been chosen as the selection for over a dozen book clubs in Florida, Alabama, Georgia, California and Maryland. Since the book was released, I have been invited for book signings at The Bookshelf in Thomasville, Bedfellows and Barnes and Noble in Tallahassee, Downtown Books & Purl in Apalachicola, Hidden Lantern Bookstore in Rosemary Beach, Sundog Books at Seaside and the Southern Authors Book Signing at the Wirick-Simmons House in Monticello, Florida. August has me really doing the cha-cha steps, traveling to Atlanta for the Seminole Booster Spear-It-Fest on August 9, then back again the very next week for a book signing at Omega Books in Peachtree City. That same night I was invited as the guest speaker for the Sister Chicks Book Club. Imagine….inviting me to talk. Hilarious!

September, October and November are already scribbled with book events: Lake City, Gainesville, Dallas and a Media Summit in New York City. Yikes!

More exciting news came this week! My graphic designer, Katie Campbell, entered my cover in one of the top Graphic Design competitions in the U.S. and she won! Get out of here, you say? I’m not messing with you, I swear. Her Far Outside the Ordinary cover won! I just had to type that again. Print Magazine is one of the most prestigious design publications and will now feature Katie and the cover in their upcoming magazine. For those of you who may not know this…..Katie is also my niece. It is like having an extra scoop of delicious ice cream. Her talent is endless.

Since its release four months ago, there have been almost 2000 books sold with a second run of 1400 books ordered and delivered. My story seems to resonate with readers from all over the country. It is inspirational, universal and true. I am humbled by the letters I have received and the five star reviews on Amazon. Honestly, I never expected such an awesome response…. not in my wildest dreams, especially since my original intent was to write this for my family.

So, now that you are up to speed and dancing along with me. And because you are so good at it –not stepping on my feet –I have a wonderful surprise.

I want to introduce each of you to Corneleus Duhart: Chapter One, Angel of Death. As you know…a picture is worth a thousand words. Most especially, a picture of ‘Duhart’.