2017 will go down as a real bummer. I’m sorry. It‘s true. A devastating loss, followed by a spinal fusion, then, Irma, that nasty hurricane. It happened back to back. Bitter. Bleak. Goodbye and good riddance, 2017. Come on in 2018!

Even so, Scrooge can take a hike. I refuse to let him bring me down. I’m choosing to be happy, counting all my blessings, not getting bummed out by the bearings of badness.

After all, I am the limoncello queen. I turn lemons into luscious liquid and drink the happiness. 

Even with this truth, and my lovely lemons, Christmas season is tough with my beloved mother gone. Every day I must remind myself how lucky I was to enjoy her beautiful life for so many years. What a gift! But, as many know, first holidays are difficult for those who’ve lost a loved one. And I’m so sorry to anyone reading and living this ‘first’. I feel your pain.

On the humorous side (you know I’m going to find it) we will be having Christmas family dinner at our house. (26 people, half of them crazy, bingo, and a bouncy house). I’m fixing beef tenderloin- with a twist, this year.  For once I won’t be anxious, waiting for mama’s remark. That infamous, unfiltered comment, ”Ewww Prissy, why’d you fix dead cow?!” I never thought I would miss hearing her words with every bite I chewed. God Bless her sweet vegetarian self.

Here’s some more humor for you. Well, it’s funny to me, anyway. My youngest daughter, Sara Britton, said to me a few weeks ago, “Mom, you need grief therapy.” I was crying way too much for my baby girl.

When their daddy was dying, even afterwards, I wouldn’t cry in front of my daughters. I’m not saying it was a good thing, or even the right thing. But I was afraid it would be more difficult for them. So, I concealed my fears and tears around them. I made plenty of puddles–under hanging clothes–inside my dark closet. That place was a perfect crying space. 

Since my mother died, I cry anywhere, anytime, on anyone. I don’t care. My daughters are only familiar with the happy me. It’s taken them off guard. Hence, I need crying therapy, say they!

Recently, I was to speak at an event in Tallahassee called Dove Story. It’s a fundraiser for Lee’s Place, a grief and counseling center. I tell a story -any story -to a crowd of 200 attendees, a sold-out event.  A few days before the event, my girls were meeting me for lunch.

Beforehand, that morning, I had a meeting with the directors at Lee’s Place. The meeting ran late, and my phone was off. They kept getting my voicemail. 

“Where is she, why doesn’t she answer?” Garrett asked Sara Britton. Sara Britton asked Garrett. Both asking, wondering, worrying. They do this.

“I’ll track her . ” (And she claims tracking app is for children) Hardly. She be tracking me. “Lee’s Place, that’s where she is”. Garrett announces. “Thank God, she’s getting that therapy.” Sara Britton squealed. 

Umm…no, helicopter daughters.  Ain’t nobody got no time for no therapy.  

Now, about my husband. A man who hates the spotlight. He should have thought about that before he married a girl with a blog. The same girl who shared his private emails in her memoir. Let’s talk about him.

He’s an artistic skater. You know, the kind that spins around in circles and doesn’t fall. They skate backwards more than forward. Heck, I can hardly walk forward some days. All that skating– not to mention the reckless, wild, bachelor life he lived–finally took a toll on him. After umpteen opinions, a spinal surgery recommendation. Or, rather, fusion of L4 and L5.

I seldom take real medicine (I’m homeopathic), or the flu shots (no way), X-rays (nope- radiation). Here they were, suggesting a plate, rod and screws. It gave new meaning to the term getting screwed.

We found the neurosurgeon he wanted, after much research. He was a pioneer with the X-lift procedure. I won’t bore you. But my husband would if I let him. By the time he finished telling you about it you could do it yourself.

The surgery happened at the worst possible time. Who knew? Irma, that’s who. She started moving towards Jacksonville (where we were) as he lay on the fusing table. Everything went downhill from there. Irma’s tail is a tale to tell.

The picture of Dale is 30 hours after his five-hour surgery. But, 24 of those 30 hours he was flat on his back from a dura puncture (not uncommon) during surgery.

Four hours after I took this photo, the earth shifted. We were fleeing. His drains and catheter pulled out thirty minutes before we slammed our car doors. The hospital evacuated and the Hyatt Hotel where I was staying. His predicted four-day stay was nay…way too soon. We headed back towards Tallahassee as fast as my sporty car would go: 20-miles-per-hour. I kid you not. That dang interstate was a noodle nest, the highway from Hell on the road to Hell. We didn’t know it though, until it was too late.

What should have been a 2.5-hour trip took 7.5-hours. That poor man was holding his barf bag the entire trip.Two words flooded my brain: blood clot. 

Once I pulled inside my garage he couldn’t walk. It took two people to carry him inside.  The following weeks were bad. Not to mention my entire family (eleven bodies) had to take refuge inside our home, awaiting Irma. They boarded because we have a whole house generator. I shouldn’t be broadcasting that- probably.

Thank goodness for friends who are great doctors. Each one of them made house calls (like my daddy always did). They kept me calm, and less crazy. Even better, they cared for my patient.  A two-fold blessing.

Today, he is much better, mending, almost well. I see skating in the horizon. And nothing makes me happier than seeing him happy. Along with everyone else I know.  

NOW, to news and some noteworthy!

Did you know old-fashioned hairpins are worth their weight in gold? I sure didn’t. When I went through my mother’s personal treasures, I found a stack of hairpins. I laughed at those absurd, antiquated things. Yet, I couldn’t discard them. I scooped them up and brought them home.  I’m way too sentimental for my own good. Says the girl with letters from old boyfriends that are decades old. The letters and the old boyfriends. Note to self…throw them out.

Anyway, back to those pins. A few months later – when I was being a cry baby -I pulled the hairpins out. I started separating my long strands of hair, twisting each piece around my finger and clipped… one, then another, soon, a whole head full. I didn’t know what I was doing.  But Alexa was playing Sam Smith in the background and he kept me company. 

I left the clips in my hair and went about my business. I was planning to wash my hair later in the day when I was all done feeling sorry for myself. 

Later came. I was ready to shower and started pulling the clips from my hair. I couldn’t believe it. Perfect curls started falling. Soft. Flowing. I looked like I’d walked out of a hair-salon. It was a gift, by chance. A bestowal. Chance gifts are the best kind of gifts, don’t you think?   

Here’s another bestowal! Even better!

Flamingo , Florida’s only statewide feature magazine, offered me a prize… my own column. They’ve named it  Panhandling . My writing is now in each issue, found inside the pages of their beautiful magazine. They cover people, travel, outdoor pursuits, food, conservation, culture and style. I’m thrilled, honored and humbled to join their team. My most recent essay is here:  http://www.flamingomag.com/2017/12/07/panhandling-prissy-elrod-about-mama/

By the way, I love the column’s name for two reasons. I live in the panhandle of Florida. And, also, I peddle books, coloring books, and share stories on stage. That column name is way cooler than me though.

And Flocktails, a new event, just happened at Ponte Vedra Beach, Florida, where I spoke. My new column,and little ‘ole me, both introduced to all the invitees. Ruth Chris catered the event and served wonderful, yummy food.  Flocktails is a great concept we will be bringing to Tallahassee. Stay tuned. Click to see the Flocktails’ pictures http://www.flamingomag.com/2017/12/15...

There I am panhandling, rather, signing, Far Outside the Ordinary books. I look more important than I am. Thank-you for that, Flamingo team!

Shhhh!! I have something to share. My new book cover— Chasing Ordinary

(Coming summer, 2018)

I was asked to keep the cover secret and wait until the release date to unveil.  But you know I never listen, right?  I follow my own heart. 

So, you go. The butterfly wraps across the spine to the back. Katie Campbell, my award winning, Far Outside the Ordinary, graphic designer nailed it. Again. Thank-you, Katie.

Don’t you think children are the most beautiful creatures on the planet? They are happy vitamins nourishing starved hearts and souls. My own precious poodles and mutts (my names) are full of innocence, goodness and wit. They are a reminder God’s awesome magic, grace, and love. I realize His blessings, bestowed on me, every time I see these perfect human beings.

This holiday season– more than ever–I’m mindful and grateful for my heavenly gifts. 

Thank you so much for your support, encouraging me to keep writing. Your believing in me makes me believe in myself. As I tap my words today, it occurred to me how writing is my therapy. So, I guess that makesYOU my counselor. Let’s tell my girls. 

May your own season be filled with love, happiness and good health.

Love, hugs and happy 2018!

Prissy

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