Peppur Chambers's Blog: Pen and Peppur

A few weeks ago, I was walking the dogs. It was about 7:30 am. I usually walk Molly and Vivian on the weekends, Matt does so during the week. I like to take them on the fun walks. To the park, hiking in the mountains, exploring along the canals. You know, enjoying the Arizona west and veering away from the boring every-day walk.

On this day, a quiet Sunday, I decided to stay close. Figured I’d find fun in the neighborhood. I threw on a sweatshirt and shorts because it was a little Arizona chilly. I made myself a coffee, poured it in my Yeti and got us out the door.

Molly and Vivi, San Tan Mountain Regional Park, AZ

We live in a quiet neighborhood. Suburban. An HOA-situation, constructed between two main artery roads that lead to highways. Our house is perched on the bend of a cul-de-sac, which is di-vine. It reminds me of my childhood home. The blue house off 60th street & 12th avenue in Kenosha. Safely tucked away from the world where we could ride bikes and roller skate in the street while real life happened around us.

With pit-bull mix Molly and chihuahua-poodle mix Vivi leading the way, we rounded the corner to go to the park. I looked left for any on-coming cars, and there, turning off the busy main street about a half-a-block away is a coyote.

Yes, a coyote.

This ain’t the mountains. This ain’t a deserted street. It ain’t even a house in the hills in LA where you see coyotes on the regular. It was little ole Orchid Street.

I literally said, “Uh-oh.”

I was sorta trapped. If I made a false move, my dogs would see the animal. That visual awareness could be disastrous. I couldn’t turn back. Plus, my instinct said I needed to go forward; put some distance between us. At the clip that coyote was comin’ at us, if turned back home, it would be on us in no time. I would be mauled for certain.

So, I did what any of you woulda done.

I ran.*

Across the street, there was a neighboring section. It had thru-streets, no cul-de-sac. I knew, like Bender and crew trying to escape Mr. Vernon in The Breakfast Club, that I could run down one street, turn a corner and cut through a section that would land me in the park via a side entrance. To safety. Where The Coyote certainly would not be.

With coffee flying in one hand and dogs running like the wind on their leashes in my other, I sprinted us through the neighborhood and into a wooded pathway that landed us on a sidewalk within the park.

Panting, I leaned down to catch my breath. (So out of shape these days.) I felt victorious. I smiled. Wiped the coffee off my arm. Gave a ‘good dog’ pat to the girls and sighed with relief.

I fixed myself upright and took a sip of my remaining coffee to sort of soothe my soul. And there to the right, comin’ down the lane, was, The Coyote.

It looked at me. Just like it looked at me before: Interested.

“Uh-oh!”

Clearly The Coyote was on to us. It had to be, right?? I mean, what were the odds that it would find us?

I look to my left, no cover, no escape. There was no choice but to high-tail it back the way we came and sprint back home. Now, we all know I ran track. These days, I run about once a year at the Pat Tillman fundraiser run — and I challenge myself to not walk the whole thing. I was lookin’ at a 440, at least…! Could I do it? Could I sprint again? Could I?

The Coyote was comin’. Had to think fast. No time to think about a 440. No time. I yelled to the dogs, “Let’s gooooo!”

And we ran, and ran, and ran, all the way home.

I arrived at the front door. Coffee sploshed all over my arm and chest. Sweat drenched my forehead. Chest heaving like there was going to be no tomorrow. Just dead. The dogs, tongues lolling and calm as could be, looked up at me as if to see if I was alright. They knew something was up, but they didn’t know what. They still had not seen The Coyote.

Molly in the backyard.

Hands on hips, I did that runner thing where you pace until your heart stops pounding and your human self returns to your body. I nodded to the dogs. Acknowledging their sportsdogship in all this. “Good girls…good dogs…good job,” I squeaked. Honestly, I was just thankful they ran with me and not ahead of me. I wouldn’t be here to tell you about it if they hadn’t. Molly, is a 60lb barrel-chested beast and is fast as fuuuudge. Vivi is a fearless sprinter, too, as we all know. I’d need to be She’Carri Richardson to have kept up with them.

Sha’Carri Richardson, World Champion. Photo: Hannah Peters//Getty Images

When I caught my breath, I looked back behind me. There was no coyote. I felt successful, like maybe I had outsmarted him. That the cul-de-sac helped me win.

But, somehow, I knew this wasn’t the end of it all.

There was somethin’ I needed to do. There were other dog walkers out there. I’d seen them. A lady with a tiny, white, Maltipoo, a guy with two big mutts. What if they hadn’t ran track? What if The Coyote had them cornered against a wall, staring them down and licking its lips with anticipation? I mean, What if??

I ran in the house, told Matt what happened and grabbed my keys.

Perched at the kitchen counter, enjoying his coffee, he rolled his eyes. His head bounced back in a laugh. “You’re going to go look for it aren’t you?”

“Yup,” I said, with extreme determination. If I’d a had a cowboy hat on, I woulda tipped it at him.

Me at the Black Rodeo, Scottsdale AZ

I jumped in our black SUV and cased the neighborhood, looking for action. If I’d a had a cigarette, I woulda smoked it. I retraced my path, looked left and right as I drove slowly through The Breakfast Club neighborhood and other streets in the HOA-situation. I was ready to jump out just in case anyone needed help from being shredded.

But there was nothin’. Nobody in distress. No sign a’ nuttin.

Maybe I’d been outsmarted. Maybe there was something else going on. I mean, what if there’d been no coyote at all? What if? Maybe the lesson to learn in all of this is to believe in your strengths even when you believe them to be dormant. To believe that you can be a superhero for anyone, including yourself.

Love you!

*Note to readers:

Should you meet a coyote face-to-face in your neighborhood or elsewhere, Do NOT run. Do not panic like I did. Instead, you are supposed to keep eye contact, make yourself look big, make a lot of noise, and stand your ground. (Good metaphor for life, right?) Here is a link for info: https://www.humaneworld.org/en/resources/coyote-hazing

Each weekday morning, I have the intention to get to my laptop at 8:00 am, log into Zoom, and do my 1-hour London Writers Salon writing session with hundreds of other writers.

I don’t always make it.

Like all of us, there are often distractions that get in my way. Today, the way-blocker was doing the dishes, loading the dishwasher, cleaning counters and then getting myself ready and getting the dog to day care.

I didn’t make it.

I found myself in the car at 8:03, starting to stress and get angry that I hadn’t met my goal. I started that spiral of berating myself for not planning ahead, not having my bag ready, not cleaning the kitchen the night before, not doing the right things to prepare for this moment.

Then, I heard a voice. It said, “Stop.”

It then told me to pull into the grocery store parking lot, use the hotspot on my phone, use my laptop and do Writers’ Hour in the car.

I did that.

Then, my computer was acting weird. Like, not letting me open my novel! I could not work on it. I started to get irritated. But realized, this, too was a sign.

So, I stopped trying to do what wasn’t working and reached for what I knew would: my journal.

Pen in hand, I did my “Morning Pages” instead and had a beautiful, wonderful writing moment of several (and I mean sev-er-al) epiphanies. I won’t go into what they were because I think they were meant for me. BUT as I finished, a small mesquite-tree BRANCH literally dropped onto the window shield. I was like, “What…the…?” I leaned forward over the steering wheel, craned my neck and looked up through the window shield. Above were three frolicking Monk Parakeets. I LOVE those birds. They are such delightful surprises. I would see them in LA. Actually, sometimes they are hard to see because their green color can blend in with the brightness of trees. Howeves, I can always hear them, especially if I listen for them.

I took those birds as a sign that I was in the right place at the right time doing the right thing.

After I was done writing, I thought, “I’m hungry.”

I don’t know if you’re like me, but, my goodness…sometimes, deciding what to eat is a monumental feat. I can’t make decisions. I can’t decipher how to nourish myself.

Again, the voice said, “Stop.” And then the voice said, “Helloooo…you’re in a grocery store parking lot. Go in.”

Still, I pondered. I know myself. I looked at the Fry’s looming ahead. I get lost in grocery stores — too many choices, too many interesting distractions. Too many people to observe. It’s too much!

So I asked for help: “What should I get?” The voice said, “Yogurt.” I groaned. Like, I really did. Because yogurt doesn’t always sit well with me. Stomach bloating, all the things. But, it does have some good qualities that maybe my body needs right now. I got my ass out of the car and click-clacked in my black, kitten heels all the way into the store.

Once inside, I stood at the door, paused and listened. I wasn’t familiar with this store; had never been inside. So I listened and looked for whatever it was that I was summoned inside to see. Because, maybe the call for yogurt wasn’t about the dairy treat at all. Maybe it was about something else.

I didn’t have time to linger and do all the things I like to do in the grocery aisles, but I looked and listened as I made my beeline to the dairy section. (Saw the same man twice; with one of those times being in front of the yogurt section! Saw a woman that reminded me of the receptionist at my eye doctor — thus reminding me to make an appointment. Saw a red-haired, scraggily-looking young man twice. He really looked like he needed a hug – so on the second encounter, I made eye contact with him and hugged him that way.)

My senses were sensing and I felt pretty alive.

Now, here comes the good part:

If I eat yogurt, I’m eating granola with it because I really don’t like the consistency of yogurt. Y’all. I reach for my granola bag and there is a gosh darn coupon for FREEEE yogurt on the bag!!!! Hello!

Because I had the coupon, I decided to go to the checkout person rather than self-check in case there was electronic trouble. I wanted to go to Aisle 8, (that’s my lucky number and my birthdate). There was a line. I went to Aisle 9 instead. Now… (stay with me) … this morning, when I was hurriedly getting dressed, I was going to wear my special my gold hoops that I bought with my own money in high school. Instead (The Voice) said to wear my beaded flower earrings I got in Mexico. They are gorgeous and I’ve been told: healing. Back to Aisle 9: The check out woman is checking out my stuff and she says, “Are those earrings hand made?” I instinctively leaned forward so she could see them better. Somehow, I knew she needed to see these earrings. I said, “I think so, I bought them from a woman’s stand in Mexico.” She said, “I’m a beader. They are.”

That’s when I knew why I was sent in the grocery.

I looked at her and said quite intently, “Good luck beading tonight.”

* * *

Epilogue:

When I was in the car writing in my journal, I had asked for a sign. I needed a sign to show me what I should be doing. When I observed the check out woman, I thought about my own life. She was older than me, maybe late sixties or an early seventies. Maybe. Her brown hair fell from her ponytail — maybe those strands never even made it into the rubber band this morning. Petite and thin, she was shifting on her feet; sighed heavily as she leaned forward to rest her palms on the counter while I paid. She looked tired. I felt her tiredness. It was only 9:30 am but I imagined she probably had to start her shift at 4:00 or 5:00 am. But the need to work at Fry’s started way before then. I looked at her knowing that she had more to give. She had something inside that made her smile, that gave her life and gave her an (artful) purpose in life. We all have this. I truly believe we do. It’s in those moments when we are tired and leaning on something for support that we need that push, that reminder that IT is still there. So. I say to all of you, “Good luck beading tonight.”

Love you.

Bibliography:

I wanted to look up the flower earrings to make sure I was being truthful with my words.

1. LOOK AT THIS! How in the world does the Czech Republic connect with Mexicooo?! I’m floored. https://www.preciosa-ornela.com/story/los-huicholes-199

2. Here is some spiritual and cultural information on the powerful Peyote Flower, Huichol art and Wixarikas people: https://makpalli.com.mx/en/blog/brief-history-huichol-art/

Adios.

Recently, my very cool friend Trish Lindo posted an eye-opening message on LinkedIn. She said:

Read her entire post here.

In this world where MANY of us are facing uncertainty in our work life — whether facing a layoff, have been laid off due to economics, technology shifts or any other variety of reasons, we have to know two things:

Our journey matters.We all have earned a Bachelor’s Degree in L.I.F.E.

I have an BA in Advertising/Marketing from Marquette University. Nearing graduation, I remember interviewing at Leo Burnett agency. This was my dream job. I just knew I was going to be a very cool advertising girl in Chicago. The recruiter told me, “We’re not taking any advertising majors. We’re taking psychology majors.”

Huh?

I mean, I get it. Advertising is all about psychology, but c’mon man!

Suffice it to say, I never did get a job in advertising. (I think I applied elsewhere, but knowing myself, I probably got confused, was insulted and moved on. When some doors close, I either try to create a new door or look for another way.)

Since graduating as that young creative, I have done just about everything a writer can do — who has a marketing degree, from the college of communications, and who also loves dance and performance (aka “The Spotlight”).

Until now.

Matthew and I are happy to announce a new venture! Introducing…(focus The Spotlight):

Collaborative Sign & Design

Matt is a little like me. He has worked on a ship boat, was an actor, worked in the wine business and still consults in the entertainment industry. He understands the need (and the art) of the pivot as much as I do. Going into the sign business was his idea.

At first I was like,

Huh?

But then, I got it.

We’ve been working hard behind the scenes. Getting systems in place. Launching our website. Doing all the things entrepreneurial start ups do. This “announcement” phase is one I was sorta unsure about. I felt confused. I mean, how does producing, writing, acting, filmmaking, theatre, copywriting and marketing translate into SIGN MAKING?

And after reading Trish Lindo’s post, I had the answer: PERFECTLY!

I love what I bring to the table in my new role as a sign maker.

Thanks to my advertising degree:

I know fonts, Pantone colors, design and layout…

Thanks to my brands I’ve created:

I know branding, selling, marketing…

Thanks to my novels, films, plays:

I know drama, storytelling, human nature (psychology!)…

Thanks to Pen & Peppur:

I know proofing, copywriting, editing…

And that’s just ME!

Matt is a diligent project manager, creative strategist, excellent forecaster and speedy problem solver.

Are you in a position to pivot? Is the writing on the wall? Is there a message in your tea leaves? Then I’m here to tell you that you, too, have a degree in L.I.F.E.

You can (and probably should) pivot.

If you need the courage to try something new, let these words be the cue you need to step onto a new stage and DO THE DAMN THING!

For everyone else: HIRE us, TELL a friend about us, wish us well! As a creative sign maker in Arizona here are some signs we can do (in AZ and beyond!):

Lobby signsWall murals (#ART!!)Monument SignsBannersStep & RepeatsBuilding Signs/Channel Letter We didn’t make this sign, but I find it inspiring.

Thank you in advance for the emotional support, for the referred business and the exciting encouragement. We appreciate you!

Links n’ stuff:

Facebook
Instagram
LinkedIn
Medium: Collab Corner

I’m having one of those days where I really want to tell you all something, but I can’t put my finger on what it is.

When this happens, I start to feel like my inner psychic is trying to tell me something, but that I am not hearing her. Like, she’s telling me to take the headphones off…and listen.

Sometimes, I can do this. Sometimes I can remove the barrier that is making being present so hard.

Today, I cannot.

To move past these moments, sometimes I will do busy work. Like clean out my closet. I will tell myself that I need to do something physical, something new, something of substance. I’ll start. But then. I’ll get exhausted doing it, and leave. The task. Unfinished. For weeks or months. And then…fall into some depression with no name.

I’ve been trying to sort that bin of picture frames since January.

Right now, I’m sitting here. Gluing my butt to this seat so that I do not do that. Again.

Therefore, truly, I guess my best remedy is to write. Even when I don’t know what to say.

Have you felt like this?

What is your remedy? (How’s your closet looking?)

I’d love to know.

I found this story the other day. I wrote it back in 2014. I was still in Los Angeles. Floundering. Unsure what to do with the next phase of my life. Uncertain what the times ahead were offering.

Perhaps you feel this way today. Perhaps you need some comforting. Knowing that where you are today, won’t be where you’ll be ten years from now. Or, perhaps you feel as I do when I read it today. Like I am now the bee in the story.

The California morning sun blazed on my shoulders as I sipped my hot green tea in my office.

My office, which is actually my back porch, is my special place in the morning. My cat, Iris, arrives to the office before I do, and sits on her chair like a time clock, alerting and reminding me that the sun will only be in the right position from 8:00 am to 9:30 am, and I’d better hurry and punch in if I want to enjoy this part of the morning.

This is the time we both like.

Iris. 2025.

She yawns and settles into the chair, the sun covering her like a blanket as she curls into a little black ball; and I sit opposite her while the sun massages my shoulders and rubs my temples and sometimes even holds my hand while I contemplate life, bills, freelancing, family, more bills, global warming and other things.

I click, point and skim through the headlines of the day on my lap top; I should be spending my time otherwise.

I was reading of other’s triumphs and trials and bizarro-ness all while purposefully avoiding my own life when I heard a buzzing above my head.

My porch is enclosed by a clear plastic covering with grooves, which if painted blue, might resemble the type of rippled ocean waves caused by a passing motor boat that are choppy and tiny by the time they reach your feet. There, outside, in one of the plastic grooves was a honey bee. It was flitting about; its fuzzy black and yellow body hopping from one buzzing wing to another as though it were on a hot griddle.

I rose, and peering under it through the plastic roof, I could see its tiny feelers frantically waving up and down in distress.

I could tell it was dying. I’ve skimmed enough headlines to know.

I felt helpless as its legs slowly started to curl underneath itself in that awkward triangular way. I reached up to gingerly touch the bee through the hard plastic, hoping I was offering some sort of comfort as its head dipped forward into a ball.

I held my grandma’s hand as she lay dying in the hospital of ovarian cancer. I wasn’t there for her final breath, but I was there while she withered away with each passing breath that eventually lead her to the final one.

The bee stopped moving so quickly. The buzzing grew quiet. I kept my fingers there. Hoping. But like the precious time with grandma, where I hoped something else would happen other than what was inevitable and beyond my control, it expired.

It’s 4:00 am. I cannot sleep.

Welcome to Fat Tariff Tuesday. I spent at least two hours before bed last night scrolling. And scrolling. And scrolling. I told myself I wouldn’t do this. That I wouldn’t get sucked into the vortex of chaos that is swirling around us. But I did.

Is anyone else wishing they still had their notes from Econ 101?

Is anyone else envisioning long lines at gas pumps, with angry folks shouting for a drop of fuel? Is anyone else having flashbacks of empty shelves at Trader Joe’s, with folks reaching for (or fighting for) a lone avocado that rolled under a dusty bin, now desperately desired? Of course, in other parts of the world, this is already every-day life.

I’m usually pretty positive. I tend to look up rather than down. I try to vibrate energetically above negativity and over all crappiness. But these are interestin’ times we got here.

Thankfully, we’re all in this together. Right? Gotta hunker down; gotta go shut things down so we can move forward to better days ahead. Only, this isn’t COVID. Or shit, maybe it is.

Now’s a good time to ask this: “How you doin’?” (Said like Joey from Friends, naturally.)

How are you coping?

I don’t know about you, but during COVID days, I would turn to alcohol to appease my anxiety. Didn’t matter what kind. As long as it was wet, right? However, since then, I’ve gotten a bit more specific. And that’s a good thing because this moment we’re in now calls for something stronger. Like Bourbon. After visiting Kentucky last June, it has become my stiff drink of choice. But, reading (scrolling) in the NY Times last night, I found:

“Mr. Trudeau has promised that Canada is prepared to respond with tariffs on U.S. imports. It would initially target 30 billion Canadian dollars’ worth of products, including Kentucky bourbon…”

Of course, our bourbon industry took a hit in 2018 due to tariffs, recovered in 2021 when those tariffs were lifted, and now here we are again. I mean, is a Prohibition-Redux next? Will there be a run on bourbon with folks stealing aged oak barrels in the night? How will we cope?

In all seriousness, Brown-Forman has closed a cooperage and also laid off 12% of its workforce. Kentucky relies on bourbon way more than I do. There are going to be ripple effects that will reach us, too…go ahead on and check your Econ notes.

This all feels so very serious.

So very dark.

So reminiscent.

Did I ever tell you my grandpa was born in Kentucky in 1899. He told me dad, and my dad told me, that he would never go back.

“Never go back”….

Hmmm.

At this ungodly hour, it feels like we are going back in some ways. 1930s depression. 1970s oil embargo. 1960s Cuban missile crises.

How far back are we going to go??

Things sure are great. Again.

I’ll ask again, “How are you coping?”

Some of us are out in the streets protesting, some of us are pulling on our suspenders, rocking back on our heels and shouting, “Now that’s how you get ‘er done.” And some of us are scrolling, and scrolling and scrolling. But I bet most of us are really starting to look over our shoulders. Of course, some of us never stopped.

Anyone else starting to feel like that scene in Titanic where the orchestra just.keeps.playing while the big ship is sinking? I am.

Is it too early for an Old Fashioned?

All photos are from Castle & Key Distillery, Frankfort KY.

Last Tuesday, our team launched Season 3 of our Lagralane Spirits podcast. The theme this year is all about Bourbon. And thank God, because after doing this work, you need a damn drink!

Podcasting is no joke. Everyone says, “Hey, do a podcast!”… but very few people talk about how much gosh darn work it takes to do a podcast! It is insane!

One would think that you could just hook up a mic to your laptop, throw on some earphones and start talking. It’s not like that at all. Well, the nuts and bolts of it are, but you can’t “just” with any of this podcasting stuff. (Especially if you want to produce a quality product.)

You have to get specific and you must get prepared.

What type of microphone? What type of system to use to record your session? Who will edit? Who will write the show notes? Who will build the website that promotes the podcast? The list goes on and on.

For this reason, I “just” want to use this space to thank our team…to show some love for those I love.

Our team at Fresh Bourbon (Ep5)

As a writer and co-producer of Lagralane Spirits, I like to think I know what I’m doing. My job is to help create story, manage any additional content that is written, write our newsletters and co-produce our entire season from coordinating with guests to helping promote the episodes. Howeves, my job also requires me to be organized, and meet deadlines — the unspoken heavy lifting of podcasting. Sometimes, this is the hardest part! I can’t do my job without each person on our team.

AJ with Jason, Yvonne and Elizabeth McCall, Master Distiller, Woodford Reserve (Ep1)

Our podcast coordinator and co-producer AJ Dinsmore is a dream. She keeps all of us in line and without her, our team would not be where we are supposed to be when we are supposed to be there prepared with what we need. Granted, she doesn’t work alone, but she really is the eyes and ears of our podcast.

With Victor Yarbrough CEO, Co-Founder of Brough Brothers Distillery (Ep 2)

Lagralane Spirits was developed during pandemic as a vehicle for Lagralane founders, Jason and Yvonne Lee to use their platform to talk about important social justice issues. To dive deep into Identity and Culture. And to do so while enjoying delicious cocktails. Without the talented, thoughtful and introspective Jason and Yvonne, we wouldn’t be where we are today.

Courtney Oliphant capturing story at Woodfood Reserve

The idea came from writer and co-producer, Courtney Oliphant. With an entrepreneurial mind driven by creativity, she saw the potential for Lagralane to extends its reach beyond filmmaking, while also including company founders Jason and Yvonne’s identity as actors and storytellers. Without her, we wouldn’t be where we are today.

Matthew Soraci at Castle & Key (Ep3)

Our co-producer Matt Soraci was instrumental in making Kentucky happen! It was our first time taking the podcast on the road, and without his attention to detail with coordinating and project managing, we wouldn’t have been where we were and where we are today.

When we started, did we know what we were doing? Yes and No. We’re all storytellers, we all know the importance of messaging and how to execute distributing that message. Did we know how much work would be involved? Uh, Nooooo. Did we stop? Almost!

What has kept us together is a mutual respect and love for one another. I can say this with utmost honesty. We care about each other. We believe in what we do. And this keeps us going. This keeps us solid.

Our team at Old Carter with Mark Carter (founder, L of Jason) and Rob Beatty (founder Kentucky Black Bourbon Guild) (Ep7)

I’ve got to add this: we’re in interesting times right now. To get through, we need one another. We need community. We need support of knowing we are not alone. Lean on your friends; be a friend. Be open. Be available. Be present. Our team does this for one another — podcast or not.

I hope that if you decide to do a podcast, or have already embarked on this journey that you have folks around you who get you. Who understand and support you when you get lost in the sauce; when you miss a deadline that messes up everyone else’s deadlines; when you freak out because you have to learn some new podcasting technology software and you pushback. All the things.

The Soracis at Fresh Bourbon

Nothing worthwhile can be accomplished on your own. I love our team. I love that I get to work with my husband, Matthew on a project I love. I love that I get to write beautiful words for my dear friends Jason and Yvonne to bring to life.

Bespoken Spirits (Ep 6)

This experience is a gift and I’m honored to be a part of it. Please take a moment to listen to our podcast. And drop a heart where you can to let us know you received our present.

Here is our season:

Ep0 – Launch with Rob Beatty, Kentucky Black Bourbon Guild (live)
Ep1 – Woodford Reserve (live)
Ep2- Brough Brothers Distillery (live)
Ep3 – Castle & Key (3/4)
Ep4 – Cyndi Gatterdam & Chris Grecco (3/11)
Ep5 – Fresh Bourbon (3/18)
Ep6 – Bespoken Spirits (3/25)
Ep7 – Old Carter (4/1)
*Please subscribe to stay up-to-date!

Cocktail confession with Cyndi Gatterdam and Chris Grecco (Ep4) “Thieving” at Castle & Key with Val Colella

Pssst: Are you thirsty yet? Bourbon is so delicious!! Pour a glass as soon as you can. Try any of these listed above. I swear you will not be disappointed!

A few weeks ago, I attended a leadership coaching session with my friend, Kibi Anderson. She is a tour-de-force and I was encouraged to not only support her business, but to be in the presence of her greatness and the other leaders who were on the call to learn how to be their best. You see, this year, my plan is to re-arrange myself. To still be a writer, of course, but to be a better entrepreneur. One who makes money! So I signed up for: “Asking Big: Creating a Culture of Innovation to Boost Revenue.”

While on the call, I was uncomfortable. I felt like a fraud (common theme over here on 555 The Hot One Lane ) and it started with her first ask of, “What is your word for the year?”. Ummm. I hadn’t chosen my word yet. I haven’t finished the work of prepping for the new year. I panicked and chose one that has been on my list: Elevated.

I don’t know about you, but I’m still not yet fully prepped for 2025. Thanks to a “Gold Member” coaching session with my London Writers’ Salon writers, I learned I wasn’t alone. In fact, one writer-friend, Louise Coughlan (AKA Living and Laughing with Lou), said in her lovely Irish accent, “The animals are still hibernatin’, n’ so am I. It’s nature that I follow.” In fact, she was taking all of January to continue with mental rest and planning (rather then executing strategy). Hearing those words from someone whose work ethic I admire, gave me a sigh of relief. Allowed my shoulders to drop just a little.

I used to work on in corporate. I understand the framework that planning doesn’t happen in a week — especially the week of 12/25-12/31. Corporations and small businesses plan by the quarter, by the year, by the five-year plan. They look ahead.

Why do many of us rush to plan and have everything wrapped up in a neat bow by the time January 1 ticks on the tocker? It’s not realistic.

This brings me back to that fraud feeling. And now that I’ve had time to process how I felt that day, I’ve had a realization. I wasn’t necessarily feeling like a fraud, I was just nervous and uncomfortable! Don’t laugh, but words like ‘Gross Revenue’, ‘Profit Sharing’, ‘Margins’, and the like, all make me nervous. They are not my wheelhouse. So, I went into the Zoom on tilt.

I am often brave, but within the act of being brave, I’m also a little scared and sometimes those fear emotions get tangled in with other feelings. Then, like a parasite, I start going after the host (me). I begin to attack from within by doing things like being mean to myself and calling myself a fraud. Raise your hand if you’re with me! Anybody?

The lesson?

We must give ourselves grace when we are stepping into something new. It’s really that simple. We must take a breath. Settle into the moment. And actively choose to let the experience we came for happen. To me, this is just one way for us to elevate…rather than slinky into emotional despair.

And, what better time to make a change? ‘Cause guess what?

It’s time to celebrate! Happy Lunar New Year, friends. It is the year of the ssssnake. A year of growth, flexibility and tolerance. (Does this not give you chills? Yippeee!) Get your slither on! I wish you the best this year in whatever you choose to do or not to do.

Fun at grandma’s. Summer 2014. Tucson. Niece and nephew made snakes.

By the way, if you need help with choosing what not to do, here’s some help: Deep Work: Rules for Focused Success in a Distracted World by Cal Newport.

My dad gifted the book to me. I’m reading it now and it, too, is helping me take my time to get focussssssed and to continue planning for a lovely 2025. (Here is a link to a Reddit post for extra info.)

Cheers!

Yesterday, I had the privilege to share my writer journey at an ASU Authorpreneur event. While recounting the story of getting a rejection from a London agent, I suddenly burst into tears. I quickly learned the emotion from that rejection was still living in me — eight years later.

A few things. You guys know I’m basically ‘okay’ with being vulnerable. There were about 20 wonderful women in the room (also my pops who showed up to support me!). The environment was welcoming; the room was electric with interest and excitement. I was the “expert” and all were sort of looking to (at) me for guidance.

I didn’t fall apart up there in front of them. However, as I found myself trying to choke back tears and swallow pain, I did have to finally let it all out in order to keep myself together. Here’s how it went:

Me: “You guys, I was so excited. I’d worked on my manuscript for almost three years. They told me to send it whenever I was ready. No pressure. Well, I finally sent it to the agent and they said ‘no’.”

BadaBOOM-BadaBING! Stab in my heart. Wrench in my gut. Words trapped in my throat.

Me: “Uh, oh guys…. I’m gonna cry.”

I quickly turned my back to them, embarrassed. I disappeared for a second; as soon as I was back in my body and my eyes focused on the white board in front of me, I caught myself. I turned back around and faced them.

Me: “You know what, I don’t care if you guys see me cry. This is painful stuff this business!”

And then I went on.

Afterwards, one of the women in the audience was so very kind. She came up to me and reminded me to own my feelings. That what I was experiencing was valid and that I was going to be okay. What a gift!

Let’s keep that gift giving going, shall we?

Emotions are a mudderfudder! If you’re anything like me, you may have grown up stuffing your emotions down when they popped up. As a kid, maybe you were reprimanded for crying. Or maybe as a teenager you were shamed for getting angry and told to ‘stop it’. Or perhaps in early adulthood you couldn’t stomach embarrassment and shame and withdrew yourself from the shitty situation causing said embarrassment and instead did something to make the feeling go away – drink martinis, eat chips, punch a wall.

I am this way. AND I am working on actually feeling the shit pain when it comes up rather than keep pushing it away. It ain’t easy. But I’m trying really hard. This work is coming from therapy and a desire to be a better-functioning human being.

If you are this way, try changing. That’s the only request. Try changing.

The other thing I wanted to chat about is this crappy thing called rejection. In the author world, getting an agent is no different from any of you going after a new job. Authors have a query letter that we send to agents so they will ‘hire’ us and bring us on the team. You have a resume that you send to companies so they will hire you and welcome you to their team. How does it feel when you send out resume after resume, often with no response? Or, what about when you get through a series of interviews only to be told ‘no’ at the last minute? Your hopes up, so sure you’re going to be greenlit and that you’d be setting up shop at a new desk and waiting for a new pay check? This very thing happened to a friend for nearly a year. A year of multiple rejections. It suuucks.

Rejection is an act that is attached to or digs up some kind of emotion, right? Yet, does it have to? By itself, it’s a thing. It’s a fact. It’s an inanimate object, like a baseball. The only problem is that when it hits you, it hurts. When I was in 6th grade, I was playing baseball with my brothers and the neighborhood kids one summer. I was the pitcher. Someone (maybe it was my brother?) hit a hard line drive that hit me straight in the stomach. Whap! Oh my god. I can still feel that pain. I couldn’t breathe and because I was playing with a bunch of boys, I wanted to appear strong. I hobbled home, doubled over and cried at the kitchen sink. I then got a drink of water to try and collect myself and went back out to the field to keep playing. Later, my brothers told me, “Wow, you just went in and got water and came back like nothing happened.”

Well, something did happen. I got hit.

Looking back, I’m proud of myself for going back out. I knew I wasn’t a quitter then and I know I’m not a quitter now. But, there’s something more here, isn’t there? Rejection is going to keep coming. We can’t stop trying for what we want and we can’t stop someone from not wanting us. We can’t stop the baseball zinger. What to do? Can I be more watchful and jump out the way to avoid the sting? Can I get my mitt in place and catch it before it causes chaos? Or do I prep for the pain? Maybe being equipped with all three options is an option.

So, what about you? What can you do the next time rejection hits you? It’s going to come. It’s going to take on different forms. You’re going to get ghosted while going after a new relationship. You’re going to send a text about something important to you and you’re going to be ignored by a friend or parent or sibling or co-worker. You’re going to go after a job and not get it.

What will you do differently the next time you get zonked? Think about it. That’s the request. Think about it.

I like to say that life is grand, because it is. It is hard, it is also delightfully full of lessons to be learned. Yesterday wasn’t the first time I’ve cried in front of people while being in a leadership position. I doubt it will also be the last, but I’m hoping that with enough work on myself, these surprise springs will happen less and less — not because I’ve gotten great at putting a stopper in the water works, but because I’ve done the work that doesn’t turn on the zing-zonging spigot in the first place.

I wish the same for you.

With Alexa Rouna (L) Sr. Program Coordinator/J. Orin Edson Entrepreneurship + Innovation Institute and Dalena N. (R) Sr. Program Coordinator, ASU Chandler Innovation Center

It has been a while since I’ve written. Normally, this sentence would be followed with some words of self-degradation. I’m working on changing habits and doing things differently, and this is what I will be sharing with you today!

The backstory: I’ve been feeling blah…the type of blah you can’t put words to, but that cause you to cry for no reason when you’re in the kitchen putting away dishes and listening to an NPR story about kids winning a spelling bee.

So, because I want to be a millionaire, I called in a friend. She is also a life coach. I texted her first with, “I don’t know what’s wrong, but I need a chat.” She graciously agreed with a call and after about 3 minutes in, she got to the gold:

“Are you feeling isolated?” She asked.

At the time of the call, I was driving to the airport to pick up Matt. With my hands gripping the steering wheel, I silently nodded, ‘yes’…and burst into tears.

Isolation takes on many forms. I’m isolated from my girlfriends. I’m isolated from my girlfriends who look like me. I’m isolated from the glitz, glamour and architectural yumminess that inspires a person like me. I’m isolated from being around that consistent hustle energy that fuels (and exhausts) me. All of this external isolation led me to a realization. I wasn’t really connected to my self at all. And that hurt inside.

I have a habit of telling myself, “It’s fine. I don’t need [fill in the blank]. I can manage.” I tell myself I don’t need cute cafes. I don’t need to be around anyone. I don’t need to dress up; I work from home — and I’m not in LA, NY, Chicago or Prague. I tell myself, “You’re a grown woman; you don’t need any of that stuff.” Before we get prickly about these statements, know that none of this is about knocking Chandler, Arizona my new home. What it is about is acknowledging self, understanding what makes me tick and then, winding that clock.

After the call, I felt so much better. I acknowledged that I DO need that stuff, and more importantly, I actually enjoy it. There is art in fashion. There is connection. There is life. There is creativity. I LOVE creativity! I’ve been denying myself joy because I thought it was a frivolous need. What?? Why??! And, can you relate??

So, while I am still physically isolated from my friends and surroundings I enjoy, there is something I can do to close that gap and get closer to self.

I decided to feed my soul with some fashion. Lately, I’ve been watching a lot of YouTube videos on decluttering, fashion and a whole lotta Mel Robbins self-help stuff. I decided to hone in on the joy I receive from the fashion girls.

Treat the Streets Like a Runway

While I occasionally get quite anxious watching their success and comparing myself to their success, I have to remind myself why I’m really watching — It’s fun and it is a free and easy way to stimulate my brain and feel inspired.

Oh, there’s something else wrapped up in this and that is my Achilles’ heel: success. What does a successful person look like? How does a successful person present themselves? How do I present myself? Welp, if I’m looking shleppy, I’m not feeling good and I’m not feeling successful. (I’ve written about this before and before. Honestly, maybe this theme is cyclical for me. Perhaps it is an indicator that I am in a foreshadow of change, or…?)

YO! Hang on. Epiphany time. Do you see what has just happened? Look:

I noticed a pattern. (“I’ve written about this before.”)I took a moment to dissect and understand the trigger for the pattern. (“When and why? One time was in Prague when I was feeling very lost, alone and afraid. < Trigger: I struggle to process emotions.)While writing to you, I discovered my need and emotion. (I need to feel successful to feel good.) I then processed that I needed to take an action. (What can I do to feel successful?)I took action: Shop + Write = Get reconnected to self!!

Holy Bananas. That was something. Take a minute and try this. Is something triggering you? Are you crying for ‘no reason’? Angry without any understanding? Maybe journal about it, write your blog, or write some notes on a napkin….see what you can discover.

Alright. Back to the fun stuff. Yay for FUN! Yesterday, I did a “Thrifting Haul”. If ya don’t know what this is, it’s when the YouTubers go shopping and they bring a bunch of shit home and film themselves. I decided to do just that, because why not?? I filmed myself last night. At the time I was filming, I didn’t know what I know now. Thankfully, I didn’t worry about hair and makeup. I didn’t try to make it pretty and perfect. I just tried to have fun with it and do my best with the skills and time I had, also knowing that I will probably never do this again! Ha! YouTubers do this as a job/career. That is not me! My job is something else << and that right there is another epiphany, my friends! I’m a married writer with two dogs living in the suburbs. I am not a fashion YouTuber with millions of views.

Hey, listen, if you’re suddenly feeling inspired to go work out some of your own emotions, feel free to jump off this blog! Go do you! If you want to hang around for the haul, here you go:

The Thrifting Haul
Location: Call It New, Call It Antique in Mesa, AZ

I didn’t go to the thrift store with the intention to haul; I was there to find one sweater duster I saw a few weeks ago. I’d left it on the rack, but that “Treating the Streets Like a Runway” chick above inspired me to go get it. I also needed to make a visit there to tidy up my vintage booth (i.e. work).

You guys know I love thrifting. I found seven, SEVEN pieces of clothing for $30. All of the items were under $15; plus there was a half-off sale and because I have a booth, I got an additional 10% off!! Wheeeee! And, I found what I found because I’d been inspired by the YouTubers.

Fun Haul in a Messy Bedroom

Now, if we want to get existential here, let’s zoom out. If you listen to Law of Attraction folks like Deepak Chopra, The Secret and okay, awesome Oprah, you know that we receive what we focus on, right? That shit was in full force yesterday! One fashion style tip I resonated with was that to pull your look together, you can go monochrome with colors; i.e., a camel colored blazer with a nice light-weight camel shirt or sweater can look sweet. I like that. Classy. Timeless. Another style I liked was to bring in a silky skirt with a sweater. So, when I saw a contemporary blue-green silky slip, my brain kicked into action. Initially, I wasn’t going to get it because I have other truly vintage silk slips, BUT when I found a turtleneck in the same deep color a few aisles over, I grabbed it and made an outfit out of it. Focus + Action = Results! (YOOOO! BOOOOM!)

So, it’s Monday, I’m working from home with no outside meetings and one scheduled Zoom. I decided to wear that monochrome look today FOR FUN. Here is how it looked last night when I was filming my haul FOR FUN:

Messy Video, Still Having Fun

I took video of the other looks, too. While writing the blog, I had trouble uploading the video and decided to upload it to our Her Words His Wine channel, because, Why Not! It doesn’t really belong there, but with a little wording, I made it fit. I now have repurposed content that I can use across my other brand. It’s a little messy, but I guess I’d call that success, wouldn’t you?

If you want to see the other looks, they will make it to IG and YouTube at some point in time. Or not. Ha! This project was unscheduled; I have many other things to do, like get out Her Words His Wine videos, do client work and oooh, write my third book. While I know I need to complete things in order to feel good/feel successful (yet another pattern), I also am aware that if I get overwhelmed by perfection and how much time this fun project takes, I probably will abandon it and won’t complete it! Real talk. For transparency: shopping: 1hour; shooting video: 45 minutes; editing 3 videos (not done): 2 hours; writing/editing this blog: 3 hours. Still have to promote and post.

Alright. That’s it. I hope you feel better. I do.

Love you all. Go have some messy fun!