Inspiration

Some Things Do Last Forever!

Leave a Comment / Finding Hope in a Bad Haircut During a Winter Freeze /

Stuff! Too much stuff. I have a treasure trove of family heirlooms passed through my generations; strange glassware, unusual statues, moth-smelling scarves, gaudy jewelry and yes, a bear rug. (More on the rug later!)

As I am packing, I have become quite envious of my daughter who has developed into a minimalist. With the growing conviction that I do not want to leave her with the same burden others left me, I decided not to encumber my life with extra baggage from this move.

Besides, nothing last forever, right?

Wrong…

 Yes, most things fade … except memories, feelings, and smiles will imprint on your heart forever.

Take my glass camel pitcher or is it a teapot? The one I have wrapped and toted from house to house even though it’s ancient and chipped. The pitcher is the oddest; a camel lying down, the lid, his colorful saddle with a rattan handle.
Look closely and you can see the
broken green saddle bar.

 The pitcher belonged to my Great Aunt Hilda who had a perpetual smile and a seventy-year marriage to the love of her life. She would be well over 130 years if alive. Aunt Hilda made everyone smile even though she broke almost everything she touched. My mother once said that I took after her. “Just like Aunt Hilda, you are shushly.”

My mother explained how her Aunt Hilda would dust for my grandmother who was overwhelmed with a houseful of seven children. “She needed help caring for her family, so she called on Aunt Hilda.” I remember Mom giggling, “she broke everything when she dusted. But she sure made us smile.”

When my mother passed, I rediscovered the camel glassware. The discovery made me flash back to Great Aunt Hilda. Every summer morning as a child when she watched me, she would cook me a Birdie in the Nest egg sandwich. (Click on the words to see the recipe!) I would spend the morning playing UNO with them at an outdated metal framed kitchen table with the red-Formica top. My Aunt would howl every time Uncle Albert or I yelled UNO, and the jovial rolls under her chin and folded arms jiggled like we were experiencing an earthquake.

 As I grew older, Aunt Hilda had additional reasons that made me smile.  Reasons my mother would shudder in horror about if she knew. Great Aunt Hilda had no reservations explaining the Birds and the Bees. A woman ahead of her time, she enlightened me on the subject and how enjoyable relations could be.

Our little secret. Perhaps, those secrets are for a later story.

The camel, broken or not, is a priceless relic to me. I would be tossing Aunt Hilda in the trash not to mention my mother’s smile.

How could I throw her away?  The family relics like the camel; glassware, statues, scarves, jewelry and yes, the bear rug in the first picture, all spark cherished memories.

I came to a decision I could live with…I would share my smiles!

I didn’t shoot the bear. I couldn’t, I am not by any description a hunter. But when my daughter begged for a bear rug for our rustic and western themed décor, after much loss in our lives, I wanted to make her smile. I had to find one. By pure luck, or should I say by divine angels, a dear client had one to give away! I had no choice but to inherit it. For many years, the bear stained a smile on our hearts and not to mention was an interesting topic of conversation in our home.

Today I am moving and the fuzzy bear would never fit into my coastal decor.  I loved the bear rug, and my client, who without knowing free of charge, created glimmers of happiness in our chaotic lives.

I decided to pass the feeling on.

When I received a ‘thank you’ and a snapshot of the young boy embracing our beloved bear, I was left with a delightful lasting memory as well as his mother and grandmother.

Letting go is redeeming and refreshing especially when permanently stamped with a smile that may linger forever. Some things do last forever!

I am not positive to whom I will share the unique camel pitcher, but I do hope my stories will leave every reader with an interminable impression. One that makes them smile to escape from their chaotic world!

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I would love to hear any of your stories or thoughts! You can reach me at aliciastephensmartin@gmail.com or Follow me on Facebook and Instagram and send me a message! Happy Reading!

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Who Rescued You?

Leave a Comment / Finding Hope in a Bad Haircut During a Winter Freeze /

Have you ever been so nervous that you feared freezing mid-sentence or blurting out the wrong word? My recent TV interview with Amy Khem was indeed a privilege but, I almost cancelled because I was overwhelmed with apprehension.

At the Good Day PA on ABC27 Studios with Host Amy Kehm!

Everyone at Good Day PA on ABC27 was professional and inviting. However, my insides were electrified with terror. I feared becoming star-struck, staring into space, consumed in a complete daze the moment the director announce,”on the air in five, four, three, two, one…” I imagined being frozen in a hypnotic trance, mumbling the words, “Where was I going with this?”

At my age, this phenomenon of brain relapsing can happen several times a day, only this time I would be in front of thousands of viewers. Amy Kehm the host, proved to be an expert.
She promised to pull me through the interview, and rescue she did!

Amy saved the moment like many others in my life; my publisher, my editor, my grammar guru, and the one beta-reader I distressed over more than any other reader. The thought of this particular reader reviewing my literary labors of love sends daggers into the pit of my stomach!

Fear coerces us to say no to new adventures. Fear makes copping out easy. Ultimately, this creates feelings of regret. So it is a blessing when there is an Amy Kehm or a beta-reader who can restore your morale to new heights. I remember, (as a teenager who worried too much about what others thought,) when another living
creature rescued me from a dark abyss.

It was a beautiful day for a riding lesson on my heart horse. A thoroughbred named Joe. At the time, I did not own a horse of my own, but the instructor graciously offered Joe for me to ride or simply groom whenever I wanted. What a gift. We developed as quite a team, Joe and I, after one moment when I learned that Joe always had my back.

It was the final show of the year. The worse kind. A jump off with other students at the farm. Students my age that I wanted to impress with my style. Instead of the typical riding jodhpurs, I foolishly attired myself in my favorite over-worn bell bottom jeans, which were getting weak at the seams. What was I thinking? Who worried about red-carpet style at the barn? I wasn’t thinking about anything but me,
certainly not Joe.

I can’t really remember how many students were present. Nor the course or how many jumps. There was a small audience of parents and friends. Upon seeing the crowd and the three-foot jumps ( a first for me), my entire body stung with fear.


It was merely the first jump when the dreadful incident occurred. We were mid-air, Joe soaring over the first set of three-foot rails as I heard the horrid ripping sound. As soon as I felt the wind on my tush, I knew exactly what happened.


My bell bottom jeans split up the back seam revealing my psychedelic neon, lime bikini underwear. My mind raced with only one thought, flee! I wanted to leap off, and quit. Not Joe. He thought of us.

Joe cleared the first jump without any help from me. I wasn’t sitting in position, my heels weren’t down, and I gripped the reins too tightly, which forced the metal bit to see-saw in his mouth. How completely wrong as a rider, but I was wallowing in humiliation as my body banged my faithful steed from all angles. Joe should have been angry, but instead reached new heights in everyone’s heart.

My honorable steed cleared each fence in perfect pattern and form, even with my sideshow underwear peeking out through my flapping jeans. Beneath the snickers,
Joe impressed onlookers with his style.

Although Joe is in heaven, this is another loving creature, rescuing my Daughter!

Joe pulled me through like my most dreaded beta-reader whom I will forever miss…
My Mom.

A last celebration lunch with my mom and daughter.

My mom was the essence of a rarely pleased critic; a Goldilocks in search of perfection. Perhaps it was her own dread of failure or her phobia of MY failure.
But on the day she received her diagnosis of a brain tumor while we sat in the reception area of the doctor’s office, she told me she read my first book, Spurred to Justice, in two days and loved it.

Trust me, my mom wasn’t afraid to burden me with an honest review. After her acknowledgment, we sat before her scheduled appointment, editing the first chapter, unsuspecting the outcome of her brain scan. This moment I will hold ever so close in my heart. Thank you to all the Moms, Amys’, and Joes’ in our lives.
The rescuers.
There would be no sanity to life without them. Who rescued you? The concept of others ( including furry friends supporting your back,) is the theme of The Silver Cowgirls series. I felt the story in my heart. I hope you do too.


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Stick to Your Dreams!

Leave a Comment / Finding Hope in a Bad Haircut During a Winter Freeze /

Every profession has its hazards, and hairstyling is no exception. Although not as death-defying as a skyscraper window washer in New York City, working with the public can be challenging.

Some client issues seem simple and merely unpleasant to others, yet these
concerns can have a lasting effect on one’s morale.

On Tuesday, I was needled the entire day by a painful problem that was ignited after my first client, Lois. Lois is a long-time, loyal patron.

Although always well overdue for a haircut, she generously brings me homemade soups, always praises my work, and shares genuine conversation, which usually touches my heart. Her hair carpets her head in luscious waves so thick it seems impossible to penetrate to the scalp with shampoo.

Lois’s eight-week appointment was like any other. With such longstanding devotion, I take extra time talking. We shared our happenings, both happy and sad, while I was trimming away. After Lois left, there was enough remnants on the floor to make
a shag rug which I swept away. Unfortunately, she had left me with something else. Lois had speared me with an unbearable problem. No matter what I did to forget her, she had burdened me with a constant stabbing reminder that would not be resolved until the day was over. I was stuck with Lois all day.

Sticking to something can be good unless it is Lois doing the sticking. Take for example, Liberty Cunningham, who can stick on a horse like glue even if
she is dangling from the side or flipping on the backs of two galloping steeds.

Here I am with , Liberty Cunningham, Pro Rodeo Trick Rider,
Roman Rider, Liberty Horse

Liberty has been riding since she could walk. But her real dream was trick riding. Now as a mere teen, through her determination, she is a national sensation. She navigates several horses in jaw-dropping performances. Thoughts of Liberty are cemented with me as I work on an article about her amazing feats. Please check out Liberty at the Equine Affaire in Ohio just two weeks away, and savor her fascinating show.

How about a friendship that sticks for decades. Take Lucy and Ethel. True friends are always there with a helping hand no matter the physical distance that sets them apart. They stick like Liberty to a horse.

Please join me at The Ohio Equine Affaire, April 11 and 12, where equine and non-equine friends stick together. I invite you to visit me at booth 113, The Plaid Horse Magazine and pick up an April issue, free!

I will be graciously sharing The Plaid Horse booth with Fran Severn Levy, author of Riders of a Certain Age. Come witness Liberty Cunningham, other incredible stars, and, of course, the breathtaking horses. This is an event that will stick in your mind forever!

As for my client Lois, she was still clinging to me when I arrived home on Tuesday night. I frantically stripped in the hope of ripping her away. One of the dangers of hairdressing is actually hair. When hair is cut in small sections they transform into an armory of terrorizing weapons know as hair splinters. (Certainly a form of torture in medieval times.). Some people have fine, soft hair, others coarse or unruly, but no matter the texture, when hair is cut the individual strand becomes a needle splintering into your clothes and your skin. Call it a job hazard.

Lois was nestled in my shoes, in my socks, in my pants, in my shirt, in my bra and other undergarments. She was jabbing me like steel pins. Lois’s hair splinters were roosted against me the entire day and quite annoying. But seeing Lois every eight weeks is worth the poke.

The lasting memories of clients like Lois far out outweigh the pain and will stick with me for a lifetime. Sticking to the dream is what life is all about!

A good book can stick with you, too. That was my hope when writing the Silver Cowgirls, which is based on four women who reconnect after three decades. That friendship is rekindled in The Silver Cowgirls Ride Again. And perhaps the Silver Cowgirls will gallop into a Golden trilogy?

Join me on a renewed writing journey and enjoy my latest series.
Your support means the world—happy reading!


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TabortonBooks
Amazon

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Finding Hope in a Bad Haircut During a Winter Freeze

Leave a Comment / Finding Hope in a Bad Haircut During a Winter Freeze, Inspiration /

Yup, that is me. Second grade. The day school pictures were taken. The day after someone decided to trim (no mutilate) my bangs. Perhaps a frustrated hairstylist?
More on that disaster later.
The last thing anyone wanted this week was a snowstorm followed by a winter freeze. But when dealing with the wrath of nature, we have no choice. I should have appreciated the hibernation time to finish my seventh novel. Unfortunately, I could not focus. Instead, I walked away from my computer and decided that the winter hibernation was the perfect time to purge.
Yes. Purge and organize.
Purging brings a feeling of freshness. In my case, I went from an overwhelming feeling of being imprisoned under a mound of snow to hope. I spent the morning hours rummaging through old pictures and books, a collection that would put the Library of Congress to shame; inevitably I discovered surprising treasures.

God works in mysterious ways. My latest novel is a fiction based on forty years of working in a salon behind the chair. The salon was co-owned with my husband, Richard Martin, who passed in 2007. The stylists and the clients were the nucleus of our lives. I had been struggling with the last revisions of this seventh novel. The novel encompasses a fictional salon based on my experiences, paralleled with a rhetorical theme of butterflies. I had reached a lull in organizing the dynamics and flow of the story. I was wondering after three hundred-plus pages and several grueling rounds of edits, if this was even worth my efforts. Toss the whole silly idea in the trash.
And then I found a book hidden among the masses…

This Golden Library of Knowledge, a sixty-nine cent book in a series from 1942, was an oddity. I had no clue where it came from or how it landed in my collection. I picked up the book. Upon opening the first page, I was flabbergasted at the author’s name.

Richard Martin.

I blinked. A 1942 book about butterflies is no big deal, right? (Unless you happen to be writing a novel encompassing a butterfly theme.) I stared at the author’s name. Richard Martin was my partner in business and deceased husband. Of course, Richard was not born in 1942 and upon closer examination the letter ‘A’ was not his middle initial. Clearly, my Richard wasn’t responsible for this Golden Book of Knowledge. But how surreal! Was this a message from heaven about these beautiful insects, or about my novel moving forward?

The snow outside was melting as my bookshelves were slimming down. I was recharged with the hope that my novel was on the right track. I returned to my computer, and fingers typing away on the keyboard in new resilience.

So what does that all have to do with the picture I found of my disastrous second grade haircut.

Second grade was a tumultuous year for me. I helplessly lost a favorite uncle right in my presence, we moved from my childhood home (a home I loved) and my princess-of-a-baby sister was born, all altering my life forever. At the time, as a seven year old, I felt imprisoned under an avalanche. The night before pictures it was I, alone, who chomped a whooping chunk from my hair with no style intended.

My mother (who always had my back) came to the rescue. She was a bookkeeper by trade but could handle a pair of sewing scissors like John Wayne could maneuver a revolver in True Grit. She cut a straight line (well semi-straight) and connected it to my way-above the brow slice. Although a little short, by third grade, I had transformed into the Bell of the Ball with a new wispy style! My mother giving me hope and much needed confidence!

AND they were flirty and just the right length!

Join me on a renewed writing journey while enjoying my latest series!
Order your copy today:
TabortonBooks.com
Amazon
Your support means the world—happy reading!

I also wanted to share my latest article with ON THE BIT. I talk with a woman who inspires me every day! READ MORE.

Thanks for stopping by! Please feel free to reach out and leave a comment, (share a picture of your most memorable haircut disaster) a review or tell me about something that inspires YOU!

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