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Amy F. Quincy Author/Freelance Writer

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amyfquincy

Freelance Writer

Write It Down!

“The discipline of writing something down is the first step toward making it happen.” ~ Lee Iacocca, auto executive

Before I ever moved to Jacksonville, when I was still in college, I wrote in my journal what I wanted for myself as a young adult on my own. I live alone in a great apartment by the beach. I have a job that pays all the bills, lots of friends and an orange cat. Years later, I re-read my entry. I didn’t even recall consciously wanting those things, yet I had them all, right down to the color of the cat.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  Henriette Anne Klauser explains this phenomenon in her book Write It Down, Make It Happen: Knowing What You Want – And Getting It! By putting it on paper you declare your intent. And  that, she says, keeps the subconscious part of your brain working in the background to make it happen. You become more alert to the signs and signals that help you achieve your goal. So, I went into the Humane Society in ’92 thinking I wanted to adopt a kitten of any color, but when I saw the orange one some part of my brain went Ding! Ding! Ding!                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          By writing it down, you declare yourself in the game.  Putting it on paper alerts the part of your brain known as the reticular activating system to join you in the play. ~ Henriette Anne Klauser                                                                          
                                                                                                                                                                  So write it down. Don’t just think it. In the same way that you may keep a list of things to do that day, write down what you’d like to accomplish in the longer term. A year or five years. “There is a solidity in actually committing it to paper,” says Klauser. “It is a physical thing to put it on paper…writing it down is a commitment.”

 

And experts say to use language in the present tense, as if it’s already so. As in, I work for myself, I have all the clients I need, or I am a successful writer. And I’m no expert, but for what it’s worth – be specific! I should have said I live on the beach, not by the beach.

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Winter Weight

I just got back from the grocery store. If, at any time during the shopping I’d left my cart somewhere, I wouldn’t have been able to claim it. I wouldn’t have recognized it as my own. It was chock full of fresh fruits and vegetables, whole grains and fat-free everything. It was the kind of cart you don’t mind bumping into neighbors with instead of praying to escape unnoticed with your king-sized Twix, bags of chips, and rolls of cookie dough. It was a January cart.

January carts are unlike any other. They’re fresh with the promise of new resolve. They’re a testament to our new healthy way of living, new eating plans, and new diets (though experts warn against calling anything a diet.) After bingeing my way from Halloween candy straight through to the last glass of champagne on New Year’s Eve, I (along with most of the free world) could stand to lose a few pounds. And so, it begins. Again.

I choose Weight Watchers. Because, at the risk of sounding like the ad, it works. And also because nothing is off limits. It just “costs” more of your daily points. This works well for me. Like most people, if I’m told I can’t have something, it’s the only thing I want. Of course, some common sense is in order. I once had a friend that didn’t eat all day to save her points for alcohol at a party that night. Not the best plan.

This year, in addition to counting points, I’m watching my sugar intake. Me. Who’s been known to say there’s no such thing as too sweet or too rich. But my dad was recently told he’s borderline diabetic. And my mother is always saying I consume too much of the sweet stuff. Then, at a New Year’s Eve party, someone told me all the dangers of diabetes. It’s no joke. Cardiovascular disease, kidney and nerve damage, eye and foot problems to name a few. I do like my cakes and cookies, but I’m not an idiot. Call me crazy, but I operate on signs, nudges, and intuition. When the universe seems to be shouting a message, I listen.

So, I’m trying to choose foods lower on the glycemic index. I’m also reading labels. I read somewhere that you should avoid items with more than 6g of sugar per serving. Since I’m not The Diet Nazi, I’ve stretched that to anything in the single digits. I’ve also cleared everything “bad” out of the house. I’ve learned in the past, if it’s there, I’ll eat it. I can’t do portion control. I can’t have one piece of chocolate. If there are cookies in the house, I won’t stop until I’ve consumed the entire bag. When I was relatively new to the wheelchair, I used to have junk food in the house. I could eat a few and throw the baggie full of whatever across the room, the theory being that it was just too much effort to get from the couch into the wheelchair to pick up the bag. Now that a transfer is easier, no place is out of reach. And it’s worth the effort.

The decision was made to get serious about my weight when I recently visited a fitting room. (Where did those rolls come from?) I’ve also found myself more comfortable in items with an elastic waistband, or “spring-loaded” as a friend once substituted, having forgotten the correct word.

If you, too, have a plan to trim down in 2012, I wish you much stick-to-it-ive-ness. Here’s to February, March and April carts, too. And if all else fails, may you find the perfect pair of spring-loaded pants.

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Not a Service Dog

Believe it or not, Frankie could’ve been a service dog. Well, I don’t know that he would’ve made it all the way through training or graduated, but he was accepted. He had the right temperament and personality. Or so it was determined.

Years ago, preferring to adopt a homeless animal rather than support a breeder, I began looking for an organization that trains rescue service dogs. There aren’t many. With so specialized and special a mission, apparently it’s better to know an animal’s parents and history. After much looking, I was left with one immediate option (and not a very good one.) Train Frankie. First, he would need to be evaluated in a class.

After barging in late, Frankie leading the way, I handed over the leash to the instructor. She took Frankie around to meet the other dogs, all of whom outweighed Frankie by at least 50 pounds. After passing that test (he wasn’t timid or aggressive, but invited everyone to play,) she threw metal food bowls to land near his head. Instead of being scared or nervous about the clanging bowls, Frankie checked them all for food. She called his name to make sure he knew it, pulled his tail to make sure he wouldn’t growl and gave him treats to see how food motivated he was. (I could’ve answered that one.) In the end, he was cleared for take-off. The instructor called him happy-go-lucky. I think Mom and I were just excited to get that little “service-dog-in-training” vest.

Now I laugh to think of Frankie as an assistant to the handicapped. In fact, I’ve compiled a list (by all means not exhaustive) of the things Frankie does that a service dog would never do. A service dog would never:

…chase a cat.

…bolt through the door at the slightest opening.

…use the couch to roll about and dry off dew after a walk.

…chase a leaf.

…run across the front of a moving power wheelchair to bark at another dog.

…eat ants.

…bark and growl at lizards like they’re dangerous intruders.

…bark and growl at his own reflection.

…eat cat poo.

…walk on top of tables and counters.

…eat birthday cake.

Unfazed by chocolate
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Auld Lang Syne

Merry Christmas to you! I’ll assume you’re reading this after the whirlwind has subsided. So now that the presents are opened, the cookies baked, and the cards sent (or not,) it’s time to begin thinking about a holiday I can really get behind – New Year’s.

It’s easily my favorite holiday of them all. I love to reflect on where I’ve been and where I’m going. Metaphorically speaking, of course. I always make resolutions. Some, like lose weight and be more patient with Mom, are repeats every year – but hey, at least I’m trying, right? That’s what clean slates are for. To try and try again.

This year, my writing coach emailed me something interesting. It was a list of assessment questions for 2011. Things like “what energized me?, what did I look forward to?, what have I regretted not doing?, and what made me cry?” She said we have to become self-aware before we can recognize patterns and choose to grow.

So this week I’ll be looking back before forward. It’s bittersweet to reflect on days gone by. I always get wistful when I hear Dan Fogelberg sing about meeting his old lover in a grocery store (you know the one?) or the notes of “Auld Lang Syne.” Even When Harry Met Sally makes me sad when she wonders what on earth the song means and he responds that he thinks it’s about old friends. But it’s a happy sad.

At a New Year’s Eve party I went to many years ago, you had to bring something from the closing year to toss into a big bonfire. Everyone took turns going around the circle explaining what they would be burning and why. A recent grad brought textbooks to burn. They were so fat, the fire went out. Practicality aside, it’s a nice tradition.

I like to dip my feet in the ocean on the 1st (my version of a polar plunge.) Others stay home to cook a big pot of black-eyed peas and ham hocks. In Spain, they eat 12 grapes at midnight to secure 12 months of happiness in the coming year. In Japan, misunderstandings and grudges are forgiven and houses are scrubbed. Buddhist temples strike their gongs 108 times in an effort to expel the 108 kinds of human weakness. 108!

Whatever your tradition, I wish you and yours all the best for 2012. And wherever you are when they play that familiar song, I’ll be somewhere feeling nostalgic. Happy New Year.

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A New New Year’s: A Holiday Excerpt

I must have been insane to do it.  Maybe my ability to reason had not been fully restored.  I still operated under my old personality.  It was the end of 2007, and the old me loved going out to ring in the new year.

Vivian looked cute.  She wore tight metallic pants with a black silk scoop-neck and the strappy heels with the high cork wedge I’d passed on to her.  I loved those shoes.  Even as painful as they’d been after a night out, I loved them.

We waited in a short line.  The girls wore tops covered by leather jackets that would later be shed to reveal sparkly colors and glitter and too much skin.  I was conscious of my jeans and frumpy black sweater.  I wore flat, black boots that might as well have been corrective shoes surrounded by all those tottering heels.  These women clacked.  I clomped. Continue reading “A New New Year’s: A Holiday Excerpt” →

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Snap Out of It!

I’ve been in a bad mood for a week now. The universe seems to be conspiring against me. Bad things keep happening, creating a kind of chicken and egg scenario. Am I in a bad mood because things keep going wrong? Or do things keep going wrong because I’m in a bad mood? You know the theory: send yuck out, get yuck back. I’m like Pig Pen, only instead of dirt, I have a cloud of negative energy surrounding me. Don’t come                                                 into my force field if you know what’s good for you.

Recently, an unsuspecting friend got sucked in. When she came to the door, I was struggling to get my wheelchair, myself, and a bag of garbage outside all while keeping Frankie in. Hearing her voice, he pushed past me. Once outside, he took off down the street. My friend gave chase, inspiring him to greater speeds. And she left without food. One thing I know about Frankie — he doesn’t care who you are or what you have to say unless there’s food in your hand.

While they circled the block, I stayed inside to stew, worry, and generally be useless. Unfortunately, during the first few moments of Frankie’s escape, with everyone outside and the door open, Bella had seized her own opportunity. When I managed to get back outside (in full-blown panic,) I found her tiptoeing across the carport. I scared her back in with lots of yelling and foot stomping, just as my friend and Frankie came back, Frankie leading the way. He walked in of his own accord to collapse on the tile floor, dirty and panting. I’m not sure she ever caught up to him.

The day before that, I spilled milk all over my legs and the floor. And the day before that, a bag of dog food. It tipped over in my lap and of course, I made it worse trying to right it, sending kibbles flying throughout the kitchen. Frankie was helpful during the cleanup in both instances.

To understand how this happens, first you need to realize that pictures don’t do me justice. You really must see me in action to begin to understand just how uncoordinated my handicap makes me. The other night, for example, I planned to read in bed when I threw a pillow onto the floor. It hit the cord of the ceiling fan light, sending it up into the blades (which were spinning.) The cord broke and was whipped across the room, leaving Bella and I on the bed in complete surprise and darkness in a matter of seconds.

Enough is enough. During the season of merriment, when everyone is at their jolliest, I don’t like being the bah-humbug type. So, I researched some cures that guarantee to banish the blues. If you’ve been grumpy too, here’s what you might be missing:

Exercise – It’s long been known that working up a sweat releases feel-good neurotransmitters, like endorphins, into the brain.

Vitamin D – When the days are shorter and the weather’s worse, your body could be running short of “the sunshine vitamin.” Upping your intake can rebalance your mood.

Friendship – Feeling alone can only increase bad feelings. Don’t isolate yourself. Pick up the phone and call a friend.

Fish – Try to have 2-3 servings a week of the omega-3 fatty acids found in fish or take a daily fish oil supplement.

Chocolate – Some sources say to cut back on sweets to avoid suffering from a sugar “crash.” Others point out all the wonderful ingredients and properties, including mood-enhancing dopamine, that make chocolate good for you. Guess which take I’m going with?

Having just finished a nice bar of chocolate and making a lunch date with a friend, I can feel the cloud beginning to lift. I think my funk is starting to fizzle. I even think I’ll listen to some (dare I say it?) Christmas carols.

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Holy Holidays!

I’m not prepared. Either mentally or physically. I have no money, no time, and very little good cheer. Not that I’m a Grinch. I’m not. I’m as pleasant as usual. But it seems this time of year requires extra pleasantness when all I really want to do is be left alone to don my sweatpants and eat a big plate of Christmas cookies.                                                             Baked by somebody else, of course.

I attempted to commiserate with a friend a while ago. I should have known by the carol music playing in her car well before Thanksgiving that I was barking up the wrong Christmas tree. Turns out she’s Martha Stewart’s fourth cousin twice removed. She’s had her shopping done since October.

If you’re also kin to Martha, then by all means, bake, shop and decorate away! The season is what it is because of you and your 10-foot trees and chocolate rum balls. If, however, you’re more like me — here are a few of my survival tips:

One for all. This year, almost everyone in my family is getting the same thing. It isn’t unthoughtful if you put a lot of care into picking that one item. You’re really just taking a great idea and duplicating it. I have a standard wedding present that gets rave reviews — delivered champagne and chocolates. A friend has a favorite bereavement gift that includes a comforting, soft blanket and beautiful engraved wind chimes. Giving in mass works for friends and co-workers too. A variety of teas, cocoa and a candy cane with a nice bar of chocolate in 20 mini-stockings and you’re good to go.

Bag it. Do yourself a favor. Use gift bags instead of wrapping paper. Avoid the hassle of needing the scissors, tape and bows. Or better still, opt for gift wrapping if it’s free.

Just say no. Don’t feel obligated to do everything. There’s a reason more people get sick this time of year and it usually involves burning the Menorah at both ends. I’m not suggesting you skip the office Christmas party and all of the good gossip that entails, but you don’t have to R.S.V.P. yes to every invite in the mail. Speaking of mail, one thing I’m forgoing this year is holiday cards. Skip the stress of that terrible moment when you open a card from the neighbor you left off your list. And I’ve never been the family newsletter type. I find that when you write a blog, people you’ve never met know your life story anyway.

‘Tis better to give … Instead of buying one more anything for the person who has everything, why not experience the joy of giving to someone who really needs it? Let the people on your list know that this year you will be doing something charitable with your holiday budget. Who can gripe about that? I found so many organizations online and ways to give, it’s hard to pick just one. Help nationally through the Salvation Army, Toys for Tots or Make a Wish Foundation. Or research programs in your area. Provide presents for a low-income family, shop for children with a parent in prison or give to the victims of domestic violence. How about helping make the holidays brighter for the family of a fallen military soldier? Pick what tugs at your heartstrings the most.

“Get it yourself!” Let them buy what they really want. Gift cards are quick to purchase, easy to redeem, and can be slipped in a stocking. Plus, you avoid the risk of buying the wrong thing in the wrong size.

If you’re still feeling overwhelmed, there’s always egg nog. Sane animals usually hibernate this time of year. So, take a tip from nature: unplug the phone, stay in your pajamas, and don’t come out till it’s 2012. It’ll all be over soon.

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Humble Pie

I haven’t been through anything. Sure, compared to most of my able-bodied readers, I suppose I’ve been through something. I have great strength and a positive attitude. I’m inspirational and blah, blah, blah. But I’m here to tell you, I haven’t been through anything.

I recently spent a Saturday afternoon at an adaptive horseback riding event put on by Brooks Adaptive Sports and Recreation Program and Haven Horse Ranch. I thought I was going to write a post about therapeutic horseback riding. As usual, all attempts to plan out or corral my writing have failed, and my storytelling takes a shape different than the one I expected.

My companions that day were two women I had met only recently. One woman had been in a car accident that left her paralyzed from the waist down. The other has MS. She walked with crutches for short distances and was in a wheelchair the rest of the time. Those are the short, simple versions of their stories.

In reality, they’d both seen more than their share of tragedy. One woman’s husband had died, the other’s had split. They were both single mothers left to finish raising five children between them. And after all the bumbling doctors, misdiagnoses and health insurance nightmares these two managed to have quick smiles and good natures.

Sure, I’m happy. But I’m not grieving. I don’t have anyone to blame. My disability just — happened. Disappointment and heartache haven’t been poured on besides. Imagine having part of your insurance settlement signed out from under you while you were in a coma and then try living without bitter resentment every day.

My new friends are brave in small ways too. After the horseback riding, some people headed to Cracker Barrel. My brain immediately got caught up in logistics. How will three women in wheelchairs get out of and back into a car? How will we get in the restaurant? Through that crowded little store? To the restroom? While I was busy planning, they were busy doing — asking for help where we needed it. And I realized, I could use a little more “jump in and go” mentality and worry a little less about what people think.

I’m reminded, once again, how important it is to belong to this group. Usually, I’m the only person in a wheelchair. Here, I’m one of many. Eating with able-bodied folks, I’m conscious of what I can’t do, of poor table manners and food on my face. At this table though, everyone’s got their own problems. I’m freer to be me. And if that means spooning my eggs out of a bowl, so be it.

When it comes time for dessert, I’m eyeing the chocolate pecan pie. The three of us consult the menus. “You know,” our driver says, “it’s cheaper to buy the whole pie.” Ah, women after my own heart. When the pie comes, I’m asked how large a slice. I motion for a bigger piece. I’ll take mine with a side of courage, please.

8

All About the Books

Want to know my dirty little secret? In college, I didn’t actually read the books. Well, that’s an exaggeration. I didn’t read all the books. I mean, c’mon! I was an English major. How was I supposed to read all those books and write the papers on them? Seriously, it was like a book a week or some crazy thing. I had a social life too, you know. There were football games to attend and keg parties to go to. And to me, those things were just as important as my education. (Hey, I was nineteen!)

I always felt bad about that. Everyone assumes that an English major is well-read. And the first piece of advice you ever hear about writing is that to write well, you need to read a lot of books.

So, I set about making up for lost time. I read a lot throughout my twenties and thirties. I consulted old reading lists. I read Oprah’s picks. I even bought into that Classic Book of the Month club until it proved too costly and I dropped out. I still have two books from then, leather-bound, edges leafed in gold: Moby Dick and Great Expectations. I started Great Expectations for the first time this weekend, spurred on by my own blog. The point is, it’s never too late.

It is what you read when you don’t have to that determines what you will be when you can’t help it.  ~Oscar Wilde

Though I strayed in college, I’d been a pretty voracious reader as a child and adolescent. I loved and collected all of the Nancy Drew series. I was shocked to learn they sell those in antique stores now. (Great.) As a child, my grandparents gave me The Boxcar Children about four orphans who run away and set up house in an old boxcar. The children wash and keep milk cold in a nearby stream. They find old dishes to use in a dump. It was one of my favorites — independent even then.

 I would be most content if my children grew up to be the kind of people who think decorating consists mostly of building enough bookshelves. 

~Anna Quindlen

I realized at a young age, the comfort a book can provide. I remember spending part of a summer at my aunt’s, desperately homesick. The only thing that consoled me was a book from my mom — The Wind in the Willows. This still applied 20 years later in Europe, alone in my tent, snuggled up to a copy of A Woman’s World: Traveler’s Tales. 

Reading – the best state yet to keep absolute loneliness at bay.

  ~William Styron

And what teenage girl of my generation didn’t read Judy Blume’s Forever, Wifey or Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret.? So, do yourself a favor. Grab a book and settle in. It’s the perfect activity for chilly nights when the days are shorter. Or instill reading in your children. It’s a habit they’ll come back to, even when it seems all they care about is parties and football. I guarantee it.
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