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Amy F. Quincy Author/Freelance Writer

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I’m breaking tradition and posting this now instead of Sunday – for obvious reasons. Enjoy this post from my friend Sarah’s blog! ~Amy

sarahcotchaleovitch's avatarFull-Time Writer Mom

It was a childhood joke with my mom and her sisters. After returning from a big shopping trip with their mother, they would say, “Look, Daddy! See how much money we saved!” Then my grandfather would groan and view the purchases and all the “savings.”

I can’t tell you how many times I go to one store or another, where the cashier makes a point to show me how much I saved. Yeah, but what about that other number–the amount I spent? What I save doesn’t actually put money in the bank, although many people shop like it does.

While retailers look forward to moving from the red to the black this weekend (and I understand that they depend on Christmas shoppers to turn a profit), I wonder how many of their shoppers will do just the opposite, putting themselves into debt to kick off the holiday season. There’s nothing…

View original post 1,071 more words

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Gratitudes

1. I’m grateful to be alive. I could so easily not be. I’m one of the few individuals that’s been given a second chance at life.

2. I’m grateful for my mind. Just as the surgeon was millimeters away from life-giving functions, it’s also miraculous that my words and memories were not affected. They fuel my writing. The physical damage was great, but I’d rather write than walk.

3. I’m grateful to be able to communicate. Sure, I sound like a drunk E.T., but it’s nice to smile and exchange even the most mundane pleasantries with neighbors on Frankie’s walks.

4. I’m grateful for all the family in my life, but particularly for my mom. She made a great sacrifice — twice. Once, when I was born and a second time, six years ago, when she gave up life as she knew it in Miami to come to Jacksonville.

5. I’m grateful to Brooks. The rehabilitation hospital, the Adaptive Sports and Recreation Program, the Clubhouse, the outpatient therapy and the Neuro Gym. For everything they do to improve the quality of life for those of us in the community living with a disability.

6. I’m grateful to have a purpose. Find one. Go within. I think it’s something internal, something that can give you hope on dark days, regardless of external forces.

7. I’m grateful to have friends. Old and new. You can’t have too many. They make life sweeter. They’re the electives in a heavy courseload. I’m especially thankful to have one friend/physical therapist (she knows who she is) who keeps me moving!

8. I’m grateful to have Frankie and Bella. And yes, even my mom’s insane cat, Carlito. Animals are wonderful. They have such emotional lives. And not just cats and dogs. Consider — just consider — not eating them. You don’t have to start breaking holiday traditions if you’re not ready. Start next year. Start with red meat. It’s not all or nothing. I’m still unable or unwilling, despite repeated attempts, to give up seafood. Do what you can. Just think about it.

9. I’m grateful for my social security. Fortunately, the government pays me Social Security Disability Income. With it, I can afford the basics of food, clothing, shelter and then some.

10. I’m grateful to live in Florida. I can see the sunrise over the ocean every morning if I want to. It’s sad that I know this (hey, I don’t have cable!) but on Family Feud when Steve Harvey (who’s funny, that’s another excuse) said, “Name a state with the best beaches,” Florida was a top answer.

Keeping a list of things you’re grateful for can help you cultivate a more positive outlook on life which can improve your emotional well-being and reduce stress!

19

On The Farm

Since I’m loathe to simply slap up the “Writer At Work” sign and leave my poor readers with only the Sunday paper or less worthy blogs (blogs of dear friends excluded, of course,) I’m doing the next easiest thing: posting something I’ve already written. Frankie got a lot of love last week, so for all you Frankie fans out there — enjoy this excerpt from my book. And don’t hold it against me if the sign’s there next week. 

Arguments with my mother can sound like Abbott and Costello routines.  We are parked in the car and my mom is taking Frankie out to do his business.

“When we get back, we can eat!” she tells him.

“I thought you said you didn’t bring any cookies,” I say.

“I didn’t.  You said you brought grapes.”

“I did.  But those are for lunch.”

“But we always have a snack at the park.”

“Yes.  We always have cookies.  You’re welcome to the grapes.  But they were for lunch.”

“Well, I didn’t bring cookies.  I thought we could eat your grapes.”

“Again.  We can.  I’m just saying, they were for lunch.”

Frankie whimpers to remind us he needs to go out or this could go on forever.  As the door shuts, she shoots me a look that says I’m a spoiled child, unwilling to share.

Continue reading “On The Farm” →

5

Parenting

I feel like the parent of the kid who got picked last for T-ball. I have the world’s cutest dog, who on Halloween looked especially dapper, and no one said a thing. Not one person.

I walked him in my neighborhood in the morning. I walked him in my mom’s neighborhood in the afternoon. And he sat out with us for the arrival of trick-or-treaters. Nothing. My mother’s political signs got more attention than his costume.

Granted, it was just a $5 shirt. (I don’t believe in decking him out in complicated, constricting garb, strictly for my amusement: see last year’s post.) But, this was really adorable. I can only describe it as a muscle tee.

As I discovered after the holiday, when I  posted his picture on Facebook to soothe my wounded feelings, there’s some discrepancy over exactly what he was. One friend assumed he was a pirate. I get that. Skulls and crossbones and all. Another friend thought he was a biker dude, which I find even funnier. Some of the skulls are wearing helmets, so I get that too. I’m not sure about the helmets by themselves. Some invisible ghost Harley reference I don’t get? Whatever he was, he was cute. But, no one aside from me and Mom appreciated it.

The only other person we saw on our morning walk took one disapproving look at Frankie and said, “Oh, Amy” in the same tone one might say, “For shame.” Good thing she never saw 2010’s hot dog costume.

I’ve become a true pet parent and no one but other parents can understand. I recognize how crazy I’ve become about Frankie, and I say this is why I never had human kids. That and the fact that I never married or really wanted them, waited too long, am a little selfish, in a wheelchair, and now almost 43 years old. With real children I’d be unbearably suffocating, overbearing and overprotective. My mom occasionally misses being a grandma, but she’d feel differently as the only babysitter I could trust.

Next year, I plan to take Frankie to school — er, I mean, doggie daycare — where he’ll be fawned over in the manner he deserves. Then he and all his costumed friends will be treated to Halloween pupcakes. Stop rolling your eyes.

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Remembering Amy

by Emory Clements

I lost a dear friend last weekend. Because it was unexpected, many of her friends are still reeling. But we came together last week, not for a service exactly, but a gathering of sorts, a service before the service.

While there, what struck me most was, while I knew very few people, I wasn’t the only one. Everyone there, it seemed, didn’t know anybody else. This beautiful person had touched so many lives — and most of them in random ways. So-and-so met so-and-so on eHarmony or in a class, and that someone knew a neighbor of Amy’s who turned out to be somebody else’s realtor. And so it went. I met Amy several years ago at a self-improvement workshop that neither of us particularly cared for. We joked that the best thing to come out of it had been our friendship. The assortment of people that arrived last Tuesday may not have known each other, but it all led back to Amy.

Her short-time love (that they weren’t yet married is just a technicality in my book) spoke of two words Amy associated with herself — creativity and connection. Someone else spoke about how, upon hearing the news, her best friend was prompted to say “I love you” to her for the first time in over twenty years. I had similar experiences. Friends, those I see all the time and those I hadn’t heard from in months or years, reached out to me. Connections are important. The lesson I left with is to tell the people you care about that they matter.

On the way home, another good friend of Amy’s mentioned that Amy’s easel was still at his house. They had taken an art class together. Amy had gotten bored. She didn’t have the attention span for it. He, on the other hand, was on to something. He showed me some paintings on his phone. They were good.

As a creative person myself, I feel certain that Amy has left it to me to encourage him. This is a role I gladly accept. I think everyone has the potential to be creative or do something that makes a difference, something they feel passionate about. We differ only in how much we’ve actualized or stifled this natural urge.

When I considered writing this blog, I hesitated. Was it selfish of me to write about something so personal? About losing a person most of my readers don’t even know? And then I remembered: that’s the magic of writing. When done well, it makes you feel. There’s something in it that the reader can relate to. So, it doesn’t really matter if you knew Amy or not. I write what’s personal to me and you can connect to it through something personal to you. Magic.

And so, I find that this giving friend of mine keeps on giving. And I simply pass on the message. Creativity and connection. Do with that what you will.

Amy Louise Hyler
1966-2012
13

Carpe Diem

Ever feel that a movie’s theme is the theme to your whole life? I watched Dead Poets Society again last weekend and it struck a chord deep inside me then, as much as it did in 1989. Then, the passion it stirred up was like that of the student’s in the movie, largely unfulfilled, barely recognized even. Now, I know my desire to write with the same certainty that character Neil Perry feels for his love of acting.

I might have even gotten a tattoo with the words Carpe Diem. Now it feels a bit too cliche — both the phrase and the tattoo itself. I guess I missed that opportunity some years ago. At least I didn’t miss the writing life.

So, I encourage you to “gather ye rosebuds while ye may” if you haven’t already done so. Gather them now, don’t wait. Or in the words of Henry David Thoreau, “…and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. “

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I’m a Push Girl!

With fellow Push Girl,
Ashley Cooper-Heath,
Ms. Wheelchair Florida

Well, minus the traffic-stopping good looks, the regular voice, the clothes, the dates and the cool wheelchair. I realize that’s an awful lot of missing qualities, but I really think it has more to do with attitude. It’s a spirit and passion for life. It’s about not letting disability keep you from living a full, active life.

I caught three of the four Push Girls on a talk show last week, The Jeff Probst Show. I’m proud to say I had no idea who he was until I flipped by Survivor (not watched, I swear) and recognized his crater-sized dimples. I’m such a fan of the show (Push Girls, not Survivor,) I decided to re-run my “Pushing the Envelope” post, because I think everyone should meet these girls.

It’s hard for me to judge how successful the show is or why. I love it. And I really don’t think it’s because I’m in a wheelchair. Lots of able-bodied friends I know have watched it and become hooked.

I did find out something on the talk show I didn’t know. One of the girls, former model Angela, recently returned to modeling on the show. She had quit young — 21 or so — because she didn’t like promoting the message of ideal beauty. She’s modeling again, paving the way for others with disabilities, because now she has a different message to put out there. How cool is that?

Jeff asked them what their life-changing event had taught them. Their answers seem to sum up what I’m always trying to convey. That life is short. It can change in an instant. Their second chances reminded them that life is precious.

Original Post:

There’s just no competing with California. Better weather, healthier lifestyle, prettier people. Even the girls in wheelchairs are glamorous in L.A.  Case in point: “The Push Girls,” a new reality show featuring four beautiful, brave women — all disabled.

Hooray! Finally, a reality show I can admit to watching. And a show I can relate to. Not that I have much in common with these women aside from height, or lack of it. No, next to this bunch with their stylish clothes, high heels and blinged-out wheels, I look ready for the nursing home in my stretchy pants and granny wheelchair. But I applaud them. They refuse to be typecast. They’re pushing boundaries and breaking molds. Their new series on the Sundance Channel (Mondays at 10) is dispelling any preconceived notions of what it means to be handicapped. Continue reading “I’m a Push Girl!” →

10

Best Day Ever!

Annie balances the boat

Otherwise known as “Why I Live at the Beach.” Seriously, I don’t mean to sound like a beach snob, but it was 9:00 a.m. On a Thursday. And we walked there. Well, I didn’t walk, obviously, but it was an extremely short ride in the beach wheelchair.

My friend, Michele, and her daughter, Annie, took me out kayaking. At first, we weren’t sure we were going. It wasn’t the calmest day we could’ve picked, but I voted to go for it. Michele had a day off. Annie was only in town for another week. The stars were aligned.

Getting past the breakers

Once we made it out past where the waves were breaking (I was instructed to lean back,) it was smooth sailing. Annie swam out to us and climbed in the middle of the two-person kayak. I have no idea how she did this. It took place behind me and I was scared to turn my head for fear of tipping us over. Suffice it to say, she slipped in the boat like some kind of Navy Seal.

I, on the other hand, was given a paddle that sat uselessly in my lap after I demonstrated my paddling skills – wildly slapping the water or grazing it enough to make forward movement very difficult.

Free to simply enjoy the ride I said, “It’d be perfect if we saw some dolphins.”

And what do you think happened next?

Michele and Annie spotted three dolphins. My eyesight’s so poor, I hardly ever see them from the shore anymore. I know they’re out there, because people have tried to point them out, but they’re usually too far away. We must have been 10 yards from these three. Close enough to hear them breathe.

Float time!

Returning to shore didn’t go quite as smoothly. We tipped over in a wave and spilled out. But I didn’t mind. Even when snow skiing, falling was my favorite part. Besides, I was wearing a life jacket. Michele and I played in the surf. She was looking for the hat she’d lost when we capsized. I was trying not to drown. Swimming in the ocean is probably something many of you take for granted. I don’t anymore.

It didn’t escape my attention that the date was October 4th. Exactly six years since the brain surgery that saved me. Not a bad day, or way, to celebrate life.

13

Calling All Angels

Volunteer Angels

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I’ve seen and met angels wearing the disguise of ordinary people living ordinary lives.

~Tracy Chapman

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It’s waterskiing time again! Please enjoy the great video put together for Brooks by John Lipscomb, check out Channel 4’s news coverage or read my blog from last year. (I should probably mention that the girl in the tiara is Ashley Heath, Ms. Wheelchair Florida — just because tiaras and waterskiing don’t normally go together.)

What struck me this year was the enormous number of volunteers it took to make this happen. A great many people took their weekend and did something for others instead of something for themselves. So, I’ve been thinking a lot about those that need help and those that give it. I guess it takes both to make the world go round.

But, here’s a secret. I’m kind of selfish. I honestly can’t say if, before the wheelchair, I would have spent the weekend hauling gear and pushing wheelchairs or curled up on the couch with a good book.

So, if you’re one of the helpers of this world (and you know who you are,) then I commend you and thank you. If you’re not, maybe it’s not too late. Or if you’re like me and you’ve realized it’s too late to be of much help now, then what a marvelous lesson we’ve learned for next time.

We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give.

~Winston Churchill

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