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Amy F. Quincy Author/Freelance Writer

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amyfquincy

Freelance Writer

Into Africa

dreamstimecomp_17994561Writing is like flying standby.

My good friend Michele, just days away from making the journey to a Third World country this way, was a bit too frazzled about it to make the correlation, but I bet my fellow writers will get it.

Since a round trip ticket can often be close to two grand, Michele was relying on a “buddy pass” from a pilot friend to fly from Jacksonville to Atlanta, Atlanta to Johannesberg, South Africa. From there, she would need to find and board an unknown bus for the several hour ride to Lesotho, a separate, landlocked country within South Africa. All this traveling — by herself.  She would then meet her daughter, Annie, and some of Annie’s fellow Peace Corps volunteers at the border for the drive to Laribe, the small village where Michele would spend the next 20 days.

I get nervous for an overnight trip to Tallahassee. I plan out what to wear each day. I pack and repack a week in advance. I leave instructions the length of small novels for pet sitters, and I rise at 2:00 a.m. the morning of. That’s if I fall asleep in the first place.

But, if you find yourself unable to plan, like Michele’s on a wing and a prayer type journey, the rule is: you gotta have faith. And this is kind of like writing.

Time and time again, my “just okay” plans are laid to rest by some much better inspiration that hits me in the final hour. Sometimes, I don’t even have a so-so idea and I’m staring at an empty screen on the Saturday night before a new blog post. And any writer will tell you, it’s waiting for the inspiration to hit, much like waiting to be told to board, that can be sheer agony.

This is not to say you writers out there should wait till you have a brilliant thought before sitting down to write. You’ve got to face the empty screen, like Michele had to show up at the airport, if there’s to be any hope of getting off the ground. I’d never write anything great, if I didn’t force myself to focus on churning out something just okay. And it’s not just writing, but life, that works this way.

I got a text from Michele on her way to Johannesberg as she took off. It was a picture of her holding up a champagne glass with the words “Yeah, baby. First class!” Things are often the scariest just before turning out wonderful. Face your fears.

Michele in Africa
Michele in Africa
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Max Out Your Humanity!

thI love Oprah. I have yet to figure out why everyone doesn’t feel the same way. Is it because she’s a powerful, black woman? She’s out there doing all this good in the world. Really making a difference.

Check out the commencement address she gave to Harvard’s Class of 2013. My favorite bit is the last ten minutes. About living an authentic life. She says theologian Howard Thurman said it best when he said don’t ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive and then go do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive. It’s an inspirational message for us all.

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Early Bird or Night Owl?

thdreamstimecomp_17745581I’ve decided that there is an essential part of what makes you you that can’t be changed no matter how hard you try. Your propensity toward “morningness” or “nightness.” I know this because I’ve been trying, and failing, to change my routine.

It all centers around Frankie, of course, King of 6th Avenue and to his eyes, all of Jax Beach. Actually, in his own mind, he’s probably King of the World.

See, back when I lived alone, I could wake up when the partiers were just getting home and not hear a peep out of him — as long as it stayed dark around his crate. I kept the kitchen lights off and stayed out of the living room. Now, though I’m clear on the other side of the house and there’s a concrete wall between us, I have to creep around like a burglar well after 6:00 a.m.

The reason for this is Mom’s approach to his discipline (or lack thereof). She allowed him to bark when he woke up, getting up herself and letting him out of his crate. Now, he feels one of his responsibilities, along with alerting us to all manner of potential intruder, including lizards, is to act like her alarm clock every morning. Problem is, this alarm goes off whenever he wakes up, regardless of the hour. And he has supersonic, albeit selective, hearing. So after a couple mornings of 5:00 a.m. barking, I decided to try sleeping in (my version, in which I’m still out of bed by 7:00).

His Highness still needs to be walked however, and being that it’s summer and hot by 8:00, I decided to try to shower at night.

I’ve given up. Not only is it a complete pain to get off the couch during prime time viewing when I’m feeling vegetative and lazy, for me it’s also incredibly dangerous. My already severely compromised balance and motor control get even worse after 5 o’clock. This is not the time to be dancing around on my pole, transferring over slippery wet tile. As soon as I returned to my early bird routine, my mood improved dramatically. (So did my hygiene — I was no longer skipping showers.)

So, the moral of the story is — don’t bother fighting it. Several studies have shown that your preference is at least 50% genetic anyway. And to feel better about your type, here are some fun facts I picked up:

  • Night people tend to have higher IQ’s.
  • Morning people may be more reliable and apt to cooperate.
  • “Eveningness” is an evolutionary advancement that marks out more intelligent individuals.
  • Studies have shown that night owls may be more emotionally unstable or prone to addiction.
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Fear of the Fourth

Funny-4th-of-July-Cartoon-DogsI’m re-running my post from last July 4th in hopes that some doggies and their owners will find comfort this year.

Original Post:

Thank goodness it’s over.

Last night was the first night I dared leave Frankie’s crate in the living room where it belongs instead of in my bedroom. He only slept in it once all last week, preferring instead to wedge himself under the bed between unused framed art and boxes of old yearbooks. If he were playing hide-and-go-seek, he’d have lost. His hind legs and tail poked out from under the bed frame. I’m sure he thought he’d made himself as small and invisible as possible. I let him take whatever comfort he could. He’d been traumatized.

Frankie’s a little unorthodox in his other flight-taking routines, though. Instead of getting under something, he prefers to go up. Much like a cat. My mother left him alone inside on the Fourth while she lit sparklers in the driveway. When she went inside to check on him he was on top of the fish tank, scanning the walls to go higher.

Dog owners know this is their companion’s least favorite holiday, New Year’s Eve taking a distant second. My neighbors and I nodded to each other as we walked our dogs in the mornings after and exchanged comments like, “I see you two survived,” along with advice about doggy valium and something called the “thundershirt” which guarantees to reduce anxiety by creating gentle pressure. I abandoned evening walks altogether as the booming began in my neighborhood right after lunch. My mother insists this is ridiculous since you can’t even see fireworks when it’s bright out, but I guess that’s not the point. The noise is.

So, although it’s too late to help out this year, I’ve learned some important pointers for next year (and New Year’s.)

  • Resist the urge to take your pet to any fireworks displays.
  • Keep your pet indoors at home in a sheltered, quiet area. Some animals can become destructive when frightened, so remove any items that your pet could destroy or that would be harmful to your pet if chewed. Leave a television or radio playing at normal volume to keep him company while you’re out celebrating.
  • Don’t coddle or reassure your pet. The dog sees your reassurance as confirmation that there’s something to be afraid of. Talk to your dog calmly during these times and try to engage the pet in distracting activities such as playing with a ball or performing obedience commands.
  • Try accupressure points. The points that can be gently massaged to promote relaxation are the neck from behind the ears and down, the tips of the ears and the front of the paws just below the wrist joint.
  • Explore natural remedies. A bit of peppermint oil on a dog’s paw pads has a calming effect. A few drops of Bach’s Rescue Remedy, a flower essence, in the dog’s water bowl will also help calm your pet during times of stress. (We tried rubbing Rescue Remedy on the tips of Frankie’s ears and he fell asleep!)
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Press 1 for English

th“Agent.” I said into the phone as clearly as possible. I was losing my cool.

The voice on the other end didn’t seem to care. She would never lose her cool. She wouldn’t get angry no matter how much I berated her. Knowing this just made me madder. “I’m sorry I seem to be having so much trouble understanding you. Please say the —”

“AGENT!” I hollered, cutting her off. This only made it worse.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice full of regret. “I still didn’t get that. Please say the —”

I hung up.

Hanging up on someone, even a computer, used to be so much more satisfying back in the day. Back when you could slam the earpiece into its cradle. And if you were really mad, the number tones sounded a reverberating jangle. There was an echo, an exclamation point to your anger. Now we’re stuck with clicking closed a cell phone – if you have a flip top. Otherwise, you can mash your thumb on the ‘end’ key. How satisfying is that? It doesn’t allow for much self-expression.

The call I had disconnected was my fifth attempt to try to talk to an actual human at the cable company. It’s very hard to get through to an actual human. Apparently, there’s only a few of them sitting around like royalty, waiting to talk to those of us patient or tricky enough to make it past their automated lackeys.

I thought I knew the secret. A rep sympathetic to the problem of my voice and a voice response system once told me to always respond “Agent” no matter the question. The reason for my call? Agent. My telephone number, beginning with the area code first? Agent. The extension number of the party I wish to speak to? The answer is always “Agent.” Don’t even start playing their game. Don’t press 1 for English. Don’t enter your account number or zip code. Give them nothing.Turns out, I could repeat “Agent” till my blood boiled over — it didn’t work. I’ve also tried playing deaf, dumb and mute. I just hang on the line in silence, hoping my inability to communicate at all will get me through to a live person. That usually doesn’t work either.

Lately, my favorite television ad is for Discover Card. In various versions, people call Discover Card reps very similar to themselves. “We treat you like you’d treat you,” they promise. Now I don’t have a Discover card, but they say you’ll get right to a live person when you call. Smart advertising. Even if it is a lie.

So next time you’re losing your cool with an automated voice or you’ve been the next caller for twenty minutes — think of me and try to laugh. I guarantee I’m having a harder time than you. If all else fails, just keep hitting 0. Or click your phone closed.

6

Happy Summer

I have a serious case of the lazies. If I could wish myself into this picture, I would. 1Seriously though, the view’s not bad from the pool in the backyard. And there’s something about an afternoon thunderstorm that’s perfect for napping. So, in honor of Friday’s official start to summer, I hope you’ll enjoy these summertime quotes. I couldn’t decide on just one — it’s like a whole field of sunflowers.

And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.

~F. Scott Fitzgerald

 Deep summer is when laziness finds respectability.
  ~Sam Keen
A perfect summer day is when the sun is shining, the breeze is blowing, the birds are singing, and the lawn mower is broken. 

~James Dent3

 In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.

~Albert Camus

What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.

~John Steinbeck

There shall be eternal summer in the grateful heart.

  ~Celia Thaxter2

 It’s a cruel season that makes you get ready for bed while it’s light out.
~Bill Watterson

Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass on a summer day listening to the murmur of water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is hardly a waste of time.

~John Lubbock 4

 

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Mirror, Mirror

dreamstimecomp_13039193My magnifying mirror taught me an important lesson last week. Well, it’s already a belief of mine. Let’s just say, I was reminded that there’s wisdom in the saying: Ignorance is bliss.

My old mirror was loose at its base, so I figured I’d just pick up a new one during the move. Trouble being, Bed Bath and Beyond only had mirrors with a measley five-times magnification instead of the high-powered eight I was used to. No big deal, right? I mean, it’s only three times less. That’s what I thought — until I got it home. Less magnification together with poor lighting and the fact that the mirror hangs a bit too high meant I was missing all kinds of supposedly important details.

I’ve revised my opinion about what’s important.

“Do you really want all that information?” a friend asked me, when I picked out the mirror.

I thought I did, but I can say now that I definitely do not.

My self esteem is much better with the new mirror that tells lies. Well, not outright lies. Just lies by omission. Don’t ask, don’t tell. That’s our policy. I was wondering why I looked better in my new place. It seemed like a miracle. Dark circles faded and blemishes disappeared. Was there something in the water here? Was I getting better sleep? Had I suddenly stopped sprouting rogue chin hairs? Then I remembered the new mirror. Three times less. I still had chin hairs. Heck, I was a billy goat. I just didn’t know I was a billy goat.  Ignorance is bliss.

One of my favorite characters is Scarlett O’Hara who can look tragedy in the face and declare, “I can’t think about that today. I’ll think about that tomorrow.” Tomorrow is, after all, another day. And one of my favorite ending lines to a book is in The Sun Also Rises when Brett says, “Isn’t it pretty to think so?”

Yes, it is. It is pretty to think my brows are perfectly tweezed and I’m not sporting spinach between my teeth when I leave the house. (Just kidding. My new mirror isn’t that bad.)

But really, why is it important to know these things? Other humans aren’t running around looking through bionic eyes with eight times magnification capability. Why should I have to give myself the once over with anything more than the naked eye?

I will say that sometimes you walk into a place with super-duper florescents, like an office building or a drugstore. Or the sun will back-light you in a way that exposes every hair that God and age have bestowed on you. The only advice I have in these situations is — move. Get the hell out. Of the drugstore or the office. And avoid the sun. It’s bad for you anyway. Besides, everyone knows candlelight and dusk are more flattering.

But if you happen to catch me in bad lighting that shows all my flaws – don’t say anything. I don’t want to know. I’m feeling pretty good about myself these days. But do feel free to tell me if I have spinach in my teeth.

2

Lighten Up

130601_0020 I like people who don’t take themselves too seriously. Who can laugh at themselves or make me laugh. People who turn lemons into Long Island Ice Teas. With lemon.

Last Saturday was another Life Rolls On event in Jacksonville Beach — They Will Surf Again. (For more info – please see my past posts or the Life Rolls On website.) I went, not because I love body surfing, but because I wanted to feel the sand in between my toes and the salt water on my skin. I went because I missed the ocean. Sure, I see it often (even since the move), but this was my chance to get in it.

My enthusiasm was shared by another adaptive surfer named Dani. I spent some time with Dani (who has spini-bifida and who I know from the Brooks program), when we both decided we wanted to sit in the water. Make no mistake — this simple pleasure becomes a huge production when you’re in a wheelchair. Particularly because I was in my power chair, having left my beach wheelchair at a friend’s house during the move. First, we had to notify someone who could track down an empty beach wheelchair. 130601_0009Then, I’d be ferried down, while Dani manuevered her manual chair through the sand. As we waited awhile to be able to carry out this smallest of desires, Dani said to me, “We could’ve crawled into the ocean by now.”

I pictured us scuttling across the sand like crabs, though surely not as smoothly. I laughed.

“Want to? Let’s go for it,” she said, serious.

I did want to go for it, but envisioned the hoardes of helpful volunteers who would descend on us as soon as we left our wheelchairs.

“Just yell, left, right or straight,” she instructed.

Did I mention that Dani is also blind? As if one disability wasn’t enough, she got hit with a double whammy.

130601_0023I was ready to make a scene, for the sake of a good story, but just then my beach chariot arrived. Once down by the water, we had a friend snap a picture. Looking at it later, I took in my long, Kermit the Frog legs jutting out next to her little ones. I’m not sure we should hang out together — our height difference is exaggerated, making me look like an amazon woman and her like Tiny Tim.

But, it’s fun to hang out with someone fun. I’ve met disabled people who tend to play the victim. Who are defined by what happened to them or the body they were born into. The kind of people who, ten years later, still tell anyone who’ll listen exactly how many weeks/months they were in a coma. Our loved ones often talk about the time we were in the hospital. We don’t. At least not the “we” I want to be around.

We all have our sad stories. Able-bodied and disabled alike. Some are just sadder than others. So lighten up! Don’t let tragedy or circumstance define you. If Dani and I can do it, so can you.

6

In the Flow

DSCF1432My writing group had our end of the year celebration this past Friday. We read our stories aloud to friends and family. My aunt and 94 year-old grandma were there. And my mother, of course.

I am a big fan of the writers group, but particularly this group. Not only is there real talent, but support, encouragement and friendship. So much of what writers do is in solitude, it’s great to come together — to celebrate our achievements and share our stories with a room full of loved ones. Writers need an audience. For what’s the value in a story not shared?

DSCF1435There is only one real deprivation. I decided this morning, and that is not to be able to give one’s gift to those one loves most. The gift turned inward, unable to be given, becomes a heavy burden, even sometimes a kind of poison. It is as though the flow of life were backed up.  

~May Sarton (from For Writers Only by Sophy Burnham)

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