humor

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 I would spend the morning playing UNO with them at an outdated metal framed kitchen table with the red-Formica top.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!

Order your copy today:
TabortonBooks
Amazon

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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The Dismal Days Before A Precious Gift!

1 Comment / Celebrate, horses, Humor, Journey, passion, thought provoking /

If you read last month’s blog, can guess which one is me in the picture above? This was one of the treasures I have discovered in my recent winter purge. I am smashed in the middle with my flirty bangs. But why my dismal expression?

As I am purging, I am filling together pieces of my life. I think I know why I was miserable in this photo with my sister and my father styling his infamous crew cut.

But back to that later.

The wonderful attribute about hoarders is they keep every note, every snip of artwork and every family photo from the past. Such a collection was one of the family treasures my parents left my sisters and I to organize and share. A daunting task. But every ounce they saved was a golden gift. (Well, most of it.)

Even though it is the month of Cupid’s kisses, February can be dismal; a hallway that is sometimes dark and cold connecting January to Spring. Perhaps a reason why we should focus on hearts and the magic of love. One like my parents.

Their love stretched a lifetime most of which I was a part of. However, before my siblings and I were even a thought in their hearts, they were simply
Joan & Joe. They dated twenty-four months until my father was sent across the globe on a ship. The Korean War. A dark part of their story. The hallway between dating and forever. But in that aching time, my parents managed to leave us a treasure that told the story of their deep love.

 Love letters were saved in stacks and in shoeboxes tied with ribbons. The precious articles that now fit in one half of the old refrigerator where I store my journals and important memories. These pictures and letters are my future project. I have unearthed my parent’s love story. My father, (obviously the romantic of the two) the artist, the dreamer, and the writer.

I remember my father would occasionally slip one of the letters in a fresh envelope and address it to my mother. Then he would ask me to take it to the mailbox for Valentine’s Day. He was an old romantic.  Although, my mother would say, “Oh, Joe you are ridiculous saving this stuff,” she was the one who retained the stacks of letters.
(Look for this non-fiction book in the future.)

Then there are the relics; the Voice–O–Graph.

I never knew such an age-old technology existed. Today when we can instantly share our images on Facetime and Zoom, a foggy voice spinning around on a 45 player seems archaic. The voice-o-graph was called the ideal greeting card. I am so excited to embark on their love letters. A part of their lives when I was not even a thought in their journey together.

These letter and records give me chills! The realization of their love, which stretched across the world, was tested by distance and war.
Decades later, I was truly smashed in the middle. Their legacy was raising three sisters: the love child, the princess, and me-the middle. Of course, I was the cream of the Oreo cookie.

So back to my first picture above. My distressed expression. I am sure that was the day I was informed my dream of a pony would be placed on hold.

My parents announced I was receiving an even better present.
A baby sister or brother. (No telling at that time.) Little did I know,
she was indeed a precious gift; my baby sister and one of my best friends. (As they both are.)

P.S. I did get my pony in due time.
Never too late!

So back to that hairdressing novel with butterflies, beauticians and of course an enduring LOVE!
Join me on a renewed writing journey and enjoy my latest series. Happy February and remember I will be signing at the Horse Expo in Harrisburg. Drop by and say HI!

Order your copy today:
TabortonBooks
Amazon

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A Beautiful Day to Write

Leave a Comment / Author, Celebrate, courage, dreams, Inspiration, Miracle, money, Quest, Reading, Uncategorized, women, Writing /

A few years back, I hated snow days. I loathed that crack in the sidewalk. The one I hit every time I shoveled. The shovel would come to a sudden stop and the metal handle would slam into my belly with such force I coughed up a few choice swear words. The day was all about extra work and a loss of income; shoveling, plowing, and most of all rescheduling my clients. But my priorities have changed since I published my first novel. A snow day is a perfect day to write. No more excuses after a year of hard knocks.

My second novel is ready. A novel about an over-the-hill hairdresser.  But, I hit a snowstorm. A crack in the sidewalk. The majority of agents I researched today are young and wrinkle free, not to mention calling for teen fiction. Really? What about us second-time-around writers and readers. Dried up?

I don’t think so. Today, I completed two short stories and a novel. As life moves along, so must I. Never give up. It’s only a crack in the walk. It’s a beautiful day!

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Why Can’t I Be More Like Hetty?

Leave a Comment / America, Determination, dreams, enduranceHardship endurance women history, Women History /

“Hetty” Green (November 21, 1834 – July 3, 1916), was the richest woman in America during the Gilded Age. She was a single woman working a fortune amidst a sea of men – her nickname, Witch of Wall Street.

 

Why can’t I be more like Hetty. When it comes to money, I never have enough. For that reason, anger stirs in the pit of my stomach when I think about the sugary green stuff. Like a sweet layer of whip cream on a strawberry torte, it teases at me only to land on my hips, leaving me nothing except an empty bowl and a decreased bank account after I am forced to purchase the latest diet products and exercise DVDs. After reading Demi Stevens’s blog this morning, I believe my disdain is misdirected.

 

I was born in the middle and unlike my two sisters I have buttery fingers. Enticed by the iced confections in life, I have no patience. The oven takes too long to preheat, all while I am standing in the crumb-infested kitchen with the oozing batter dripping from my spoon and the thick aroma of vanilla and sprinkles dancing in the air. Not to mention, the left over Cool Whip lingering on my lip because I stole a lick. I break, to hell with watching the delicacy rise and swirl. I drive straight to the bakery, tossing my hard work into the yard for the birds.

 

This recipe for money I have followed for fifty-years. The sweet confections suck me in. I have enjoyed life; vacations, scuba lessons, horses, knitting, spinning, farming, and a host of critters – not to mention I am self-employed (a sure way to devour the money.) This desire has left a bad taste. I am back in the kitchen-my bun in the oven taking twice as long to plump up again.

 

Somehow, God always takes care of me. I am healthy and can work, able to do extra baking and kneading. Unfortunately, this burns me up, I’m over-cooked and my cookie jar always short of that perfect dozen.

 

Can I be more like Hetty? Hetty, it is said, was a miser; never turning on the heat and wearing the same black outfits. Whether true or not, the fact is I don’t respect how hard I worked for the ingredients. The sweetness calls me. I have no willpower. I let go before the jar is full. It’s not the money that angers me, but the calories living on my hips – the bills in my basket, the cost of my impatience. I need to be more creative, more patient. Build my cupboards before its too late. Because had I been a little less sugar- dependent, I would be living a sweeter life today.

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