An Open Letter to my fellow Coaches Wives

I know many of you have wondered where my blogs have been, and I’m always touched by those who check in to make sure I’m doing okay. Truth is, I am, it’s just I haven’t exactly been moved enough about anything to want to write about it lately. That is, until this past Monday night, when my feelings got the best of me. 

Photo credit to my friend Kristin Istvan

Tailgating at Lincoln Financial in Philadelphia, PA

Let me set the scene for you: My husband coaches for the Philadelphia Eagles football team. This means different things to different people; but for the sake of this blog, it means I was at the Philadelphia Eagles v. Minnesota Vikings Monday Night Football game. Not only was it our first home game of the 2022-2023 football season, it was a nationally televised night game and a formidable opponent. Shaken, stirred or on the rocks, it was a stressful evening kind of cocktail. I worried about the final score, injuries, traffic, tailgating fare, forgetting our tickets, parking pass and a bottle opener! Fixating on these details distracted me from the raw emotions bubbling up inside of me. 

My football grown kid lending a hand to another football kid.

Why so emotional? Conflict. One of my dear friend’s husband coaches for the Minnesota Vikings. She and I met as strangers 10 seasons ago when both our husbands were on the Philadelphia staff. Our “like” of each other was immediate, and so began our football friendship. There is something very different about a football friendship. You respect each other’s children for braving the “new kid at school” angst. You live the same crazy schedule. You’ve moved more times than most want to count and created a new life for your families every time. This commonality gives the friendship a jump-start and intensity. So, we eagerly planned to meet up at halftime. 

Sideline double hug from our buddy Chance Warmack

As part of my family’s pre-game ritual, we go on the field to watch warm-ups and see our husband/dad. Another perk of that tradition, which surprises most, is visiting with the opposing staff and players. Why would we co-mingle with the enemy? Because, if you’ve been in this business long enough, you have a few “football family friends” on every team you play. So being able to quickly catch up with them is sometimes the true highlight of the day. Boys we coached in college come up and hug us as adults, husbands and even fathers, too. Coaches who’ve stepped into our lives come running over for hugs, updates and a quick picture with the fam. We all understand how important the wives and families are to each other and to the success and happiness of their own family. It’s a love fest on the sidelines just before the coin toss. 

When the whistle blew for halftime I eagerly made my way to my friend. She was waiting for me, with her quiet demeanor and bright smile. We hugged like it had been forever, even though just two seasons had passed, and then came the tears. All true friendships feel this way. It’s not about the quantity of time you spend with someone, it’s about the quality. It’s a cliche, but so true. Shared memories, forgotten stories, sharing scary feelings, catching up on all the big and little things. And the realization just how important a person is to you and how deeply you miss them in your daily life.

Since our meeting, I’ve been raw with emotions. Reminiscing about all the other true friendships I have made during my 30 years as a football coach’s wife. No, I’m not going anywhere just yet, but I am counting my blessings. To all the strong and honest wives whose paths I have crossed, I thank you. I am a better, kinder, stronger, smarter, sassier and more dependable person thanks in part to adopting a bit of each one of you in me. I deeply miss my “old” friends, but also look forward to making wonderful new ones. Because in this line of work my friends, it’s a necessity.

Moral: A strong friendship doesn’t need daily conversations; doesn’t always need togetherness. As long as the friendship lives in the heart, true friends will never part.

A little idea I have:  Have you watched an episode or season of HBO’s Hard Knocks, a television show that follows one NFL team through training camp? It depicts all the challenges players and coaches face during pre-season. Well, here’s my two cents for what it’s worth. I think they should do a Hard Knocks season on the football families. You want drama, hardship, adversity, high emotions and depth of character. Look at how football families handle the public’s raw emotion of love and hate of their team when they win or lose. The pressure of the media and press, sometimes including the calling for the firing of a coach. The constant threat of moving to a new team, city, school and neighborhood hanging over our respective heads. It’s not always great to be living that, but that sure would make for great television.

The Meaning of Life

My family just returned home from a two-day, 400-mile road trip. We braved awful Friday afternoon New York City traffic, snow squalls, icy roads, dense fog and whiteout conditions to say our final goodbyes to a dear family friend.

George; my husband’s coach, mentor and a friend of us all.

The moment we pulled into the driveway and unpacked our car, I threw in a load of laundry, changed into my cozy sweats and grabbed my computer to write. I just couldn’t wait one more second to tell you that I believe I’ve discovered the meaning of life. 

Jerry; Father, Pop Pop, Father in-law and fairest man in the world.

Over the course of my 58 years on this planet, I’ve attended my fair share of funerals. As a child, ironically, I recall funerals scaring the life out of me. Open caskets were commonplace back in my day and seemed so primitive to me. If I am being honest, and no disrespect to those who appreciate a good viewing, I still don’t like them. They leave me feeling physically ill.  “Don’t they look great?” And what’s a person to say, “Nope, they look dead, puffy, slathered in makeup and nothing like how I wanted to remember them?” 

Then the cluster of what to say? What not to say? How do you console a person you’ve never met? “Hello, I worked with your husband and loved him. I am going to miss him at work.” Do they really care? Do they think I am comparing my loss to theirs? Aren’t they tired of all this social kindness? Wouldn’t they just rather read my sympathy card at a later time, alone with a glass of wine? 

These last few years, however, I have lost some pretty wonderful people—mostly people I’ve loved deeply. People who directly affected my life, my path and who I am. These funerals were different for me, so I asked myself why. It wasn’t just that I was close to these people. Could it just be that I am more mature? Is it because I am actually older and therefore closer to my own final chapter? Maybe it has something to do with my strong belief in angels and the afterlife? Or perhaps it’s just a special concoction of them all. 

Cathy; my friend, illustrator, business partner who turned my dreams into reality

Whatever the reason may be, I now feel honored to attend a funeral. This is not to say I anticipate a happy occasion full of laughter and confetti. But I no longer dread the conversations. Instead, I see it as an opportunity for everyone who loved, admired, respected, worked beside the deceased to come and pay their respects one last time. Share their story, tale and sorrow with others in the same boat. Meet strangers who now somehow feel like a friend. Put a face to a name you heard so much about. Hug a family member who strongly resembles them. Hear someone speaking who has their same tone of voice. 

As I stated before, these last few funerals felt very different to me. I noticed the people who showed up and the lengths at which people traveled to be present. I looked at their faces and saw their heartache. I noted all the different relationships people had with the deceased; be it family, friend, co-worker, coach, wife, husband, teammate or neighbor. I listened to the reasons they loved them and why they will miss them so much. I could have listened all day to the “I remember the first time I met …” stories. 

Ira; my Uncle, who faithfully loved and supported both me and my dreams his entire lifetime.

But what struck me was how each person attending the funeral knew the why. Why the person who is no longer with us changed their life for the better. This for me is indeed “The Meaning of Life.” It wasn’t ever about money, gifts or riches. It always came down to giving of themselves to others. It was about their time, attention, kindness and being accountable. 

I now know this … I want a closed casket, please, so you may remember me in your best light. I want people to cry. I want to be missed, really, really badly. I want to leave gaping holes in everyone’s heart. I want an open microphone so everyone can share their stories, but also want the stories of how you helped me included, too. I want good food at the after gathering and I want everyone who attended to leave with a thoughtful parting gift. But above all, I want to know I left this world, and my people, happier than had I not been here at all. 

My Uncle often spoke of a Farewell Party instead of a funeral. His family honored his wish and threw him a lovely party. The only thing missing was the guest of honor.

A little thing you should know: Weather mimicked our life for sure this weekend. As many weather elements we experienced outside our body, so too did our hearts inside. And about 45 minutes from home the sun poked out of a clearing sky and a rainbow appeared. A sign for sure.

Moral: Every pain gives a lesson and every lesson changes a person. Abdul Kalam

Serendipity

This past week I said my final goodbye to Cathy Hofher, the person who single handedly made me a published children’s author. The person who drew pictures for my “words.” As I sat in the chapel listening to her family honor her life, I couldn't believe I was sitting there. It wasn't just the obvious disbelief she was gone, but more that I was literally there. Had it not been for Cathy’s single act of kindness, there would be no Inch by Inch Publications Company, or “Reach for the Sky,” “Put Your Best Foot Forward,” “Take a Deep Breath” and “What Can I do Today” books on shelves across our country.

Our four children’s books www.inchbyinchbooks.com

I met Cathy in the winter of 1993. Her husband Jim offered my husband, Jeff, a job as the offensive line coach (that’s football, for non-sports fans) at Cornell University. We drove up to visit the campus and ask all the questions. I remember meeting Cathy for the first time. She politely held out her hand to introduce herself and I grabbed her in a bear hug. In many ways, I never let her go. That was until today. I also remember her laughter. It was a trifecta; her eyes lit up, her giggle was a two-part reaction kind of thing and then came the smile. A reaction I never tired of over the 30-plus years of our business partnership and friendship.

As football coaching life goes; within a week of accepting the job, Jeff moved to Ithaca, N.Y. and I spent the next six months finishing out the school year, packing up my life and saying goodbye. When I finally arrived in Ithaca Cathy was there to welcome me. She invited me to a book club. She consistently called to check in on me because she sensed I was struggling living so far from family and friends for the first time. 

When I am sad, baking helps me sort out my gloomy disposition. Since I had few friends and no family to share the baked goods with, my husband brought them to the football office. Eventually even they couldn't keep up so I opened a stall at the local Ithaca Farmers Market and called it “The Sunflour Bakery.”

One chilly Saturday morning Cathy and her three adorable little girls walked up to my stand and changed my life forever. Cathy sheepishly handed me a hand painted wooden birdhouse with The Sunflour Bakery painted upon the roof. She said, “I know you’ve been feeling sad lately Allison, and thought this little birdhouse might cheer you up.” 

From that moment on we never looked back. She loved my words, and I loved her art. We were two gals who both had childhood dreams; mine to write and hers to illustrate. We spoke almost every weekday morning about life, what we were planning to make for dinner, pending or looming football moves, pets, sisters, parents, children, husbands, weather, football wins and losses, and then always our books. Despite all the odds, Cathy and I somehow managed to build Inch by Inch Publications and publish four books. We were responsible for it all; writing, editing, illustrating, producing, publishing, marketing, distributing and running a company. 

Our very first book signing at The Corner Bookstore in Ithaca, NY

Yet with all that in common, Cathy and I were sort of an odd couple. I was an outspoken chatty northern girl and she was a polite soft spoken southern gal. I wore my emotions on my sleeve, often breaking down in blubbering tears while she had hers neatly tucked in her pocket and dabbed her tears with a tissue. We traveled the country together inspiring teachers and students. We spoke at endless conferences including our favorite; The Annual Football Coaches Wives Convention.

Celebrating the opening of the MSU Children’s Garden with our book “Take a Deep Breath” taking center stage.

For two girls who only lived in the same city for two years, we were connected. A connection that remained even after my husband and I moved on from Cornell. We finished each other’s sentences. So many people said we were like a vaudeville act; incredibly entertaining, laugh-out-loud funny, heartwarming, honest and always so inspiring. After “our gigs” we would sit together before our flights took us our separate ways and discuss the highlights. Every single time we would marvel at how overwhelmingly lucky we felt to be living our dreams and genuinely making our world a better place. 

Basking in the glow after another successful Author-Illustrator visit in the state of Michigan

Amidst our goodbyes I always told her how grateful I was she cared enough about my well-being to paint me a birdhouse. She always played it off, always the humble one. However, it was her caring heart that not only dramatically changed both our lives but the lives of everyone who will hold our books in their hands.

Cathy and I never spoke much about how our books would outlive us. We just plodded along each day with a goal of getting our books into as many hands as possible. And yet, here I am today—continuing our dream alone. Honestly, it’s been too many years I have been going it alone. Cathy was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s in 2019 which eventually robbed her of her artistic talents, memories and independence. It’s the disease said to end a life twice. Once when the memories of their life and loved ones are erased and again with their last breath.

Cathy lived her life in the humblest of fashions through art, compassion and love. Her final act of kindness was to donate her brain to science to advance critical research to end Alzheimer’s. It is true this disease erased her own precious memories of her beautiful life, but it cannot and will not erase her memory from ours.

Cathy Hofher November 24, 1954- November 30, 2021

A little thing you should know:  Even though Cathy loved flowers very much, her family requested memorial contributions be made to the Alzheimer’s Association, which I do believe she would have loved more. alz.org/donate

a forever grateful friend,

Moral: “Every single day of your lives, ask yourselves this question: “What can I do today to make this world a happier place?”—excerpt from What Can I Do Today?

Gratitude With a Sprinkle of Glitter

I was driving down a leaf-covered street, November 12th to be exact, when a song came on my radio. Everything switched into high alert. First Cautious paused my breath long enough for Brain to recognize something was awry. While Curiosity was frantically leafing through past memories, Happiness turned up with a sheepish grin. Next came Anger, pushing its way to the front of the line. But inevitably, Guilt and his best friend Shame showed up with a blanket of doom and gloom. All this hullabaloo occurred within the first few notes of the song. This was not a particularly important song for me mind you, but it’s important to note, it was a Christmas song.

What happened next was new—unexpected and downright shocking. Bravery appeared, parting them all like the Dead Sea, followed closely by Cocky and Indifference. As I surprisingly turned up the volume, Happiness began to sing along. I looked at the cars beside me to see if they were witnessing this coup d’etat. They were unaware.

You see, Christmas doesn’t happen in my world until after Thanksgiving. I’ve been steadfast in respecting November my entire life. We spend the entire month being grateful and end with a feast of turkey and all the traditional delights. Then, and only then, will I unleash the crazy of Christmas. This means no decorations, Hallmark holiday movies and for sure NO Christmas music until December 1st. Yup, I am the one who mutters under her breath in disgust when I hear early holiday music in the stores as people load their shopping carts with glittered garland as I strictly shop for pumpkins and gourds.

So I spent a good part of November 12th pondering this new wrinkle in my shield. Who is this new person I hardly recognize? I felt a sense of shame in my behavior, as if I were some kind of fraud! Yet, I could not ignore the excitement I felt in my veins. Is this the adrenaline rush criminals refer to while committing a crime?

All my life, Change has tripped me up. When I pick a side, team, food, brand, article of clothing or rule, I am all in. And by “all in” I mean I am LOYAL to a fault and have no desire or need for change. Which is why my reaction to this holiday song had me all up in a tangle.

When I am confused, bothered, upset, oh heck, any kind of emotion really, writing usually helps me make sense of it all. But when sitting down to write isn't possible, I revert to my trusty Playlist, chock full of my best songs. I’ll tell you this, every time I listen to that list, I find the answers and support I was searching for. It’s as if the lyrics are dear friends speaking hard truths and encouraging me. It may sound slightly crazy, but if you haven't tried it, you should. Oh, and look at the gem they just played for me.

Something has changed within me.
Something is not the same. I'm through with playing by the rules of someone else's game.
Too late for second-guessing, too late to go back to sleep.
It's time to trust my instincts. Close my eyes and leap!

Defying Gravity
Wicked Soundtrack

And as if someone turned on a 300-count strand of twinkle lights, I understood. I am not dishonoring my core value system, just tweaking a self-imposed rule. No shame or embarrassment necessary, just making a happiness adjustment for me. I’m still the same November grateful gal I’ve always been proud to be, just one who gets her holiday spirit on a few weeks earlier now.

Moral: “Let it go, let it go! Can’t hold it back anymore…” Frozen Soundtrack

with glittered gratitude, allison

A few little things you should know:

1. Some of you have an Elf on the Shelf in your home, but I live with a real life freakin’ Christmas elf we named Madison Lee many, many years ago. She is impossible. I hear her quietly playing Christmas tunes before Halloween. I see trails of glitter as she walks past. I watch the packages arrive at our doorstep. And yes, I can smell her darn holiday candle scents coming up through the floor boards. It wouldn’t surprise me if she were the mastermind behind this whole coup d’etat!

2. Which leads me to this: I am utterly out of Christmas control. I have since glitterfied my entire home. I can be found loading my cart with all the latest and greatest holiday decor I can get my hands on, most especially my new obsession of bottlebrush trees!!!! I am even posting holiday decorating and crafting reels to my instagram. Feel free to follow whoever the me I am now on Instagram @missallisonjo

I have posted a reel on how I made these little bottlebrush trees a little bit sweeter… @missallisonjo

Wayne's World

I am a big believer in learning something from everyone I meet. It’s part of my life game plan. On a clear day my path will cross with someone and I wait for the lesson. On a foggy dark day I am often unwilling or unaware of the lesson right in front of my face. And that my friends, is my challenge. 

Long Beach Island, New Jersey

Now, before you get agitated by my “Polyanna” spin, I’m not saying all “crossings” are sweet and happy. Most are downright aggravating and challenge our patience. Others break our hearts and shatter ideals.

I also believe crossings are not coincidental. Running into an old high school friend who gives you the inspiration you’ve been searching for. Witnessing a squirrel dangerously dash across a busy road is the best sort of reminder to take it slow and be aware. Overhearing a daughter’s tone of voice when speaking to her mother in a doctor’s waiting room offers a whole new perspective. These are the “crossings” I am referring to. Everyday run of the mill interactions that mold us into who we are today.

I want to share a few I experienced recently that might seem small and silly to you, but were oddly enough, game changers for me. And therefore, I felt worthy of an entire blog. If just one reader benefits from this, I shall consider it a win. 

Atop Skaros Rock

I am a "rusher," but not the kind who rushed for a sorority back in her college days or a football running back. I am referring to the way I conduct myself. When someone requests a simple action or response from me, I respond as if my hair is on fire. My gut reaction is not to take up too much of their time or be a nuisance. Albeit, a phone conversation where I speak too quickly, which inevitably results in having to repeat myself. Or I thrash through my wallet at checkout only to get everything in a tangle. Maybe you do this too. But, every single time these sort of things happen, I berate and shame myself for handling them like such an amateur. 

So, imagine my dismay when I was shopping with a dear friend and witnessed her calmly take her time to sort through her wallet for just what was needed. Even the shopkeeper didn't seem to mind. Instead of chaos, there was calm. She handled the task with grace and confidence. Had I blinked, I may have missed it. But thankfully my day was a clear one and I was paying attention. I knew immediately I was going to embrace her way as my new way.

The other “crossing” took place over the last few weeks. We hired a gentleman to help address and rectify a puzzling flooding problem at our home. After meeting many different people and hearing their plans, Wayne won! He’s not your typical winner, honestly. Nothing sexy about him. No swagger, no fancy truck or tools but he embodies everything you want. He is professional, methodical, timely, fair and has an amazing work ethic. He arrived bright and early every single day with a smile on his face, including weekends. He rarely stopped to take a break, other than to eat the lunch his wife packed for him. Yet, he always made the time to explain his progress and plan for the day. He’s quite literally old school, as Wayne is 75 years young.

So yes, I watched Wayne carefully. It was a very tricky, technical and arduous job and I am not ashamed to admit I was a touch concerned about his welfare. But, what started out as a watchful eye quickly turned into fascination. He not only worked tirelessly, but happily. He never panicked or got angry when a challenge presented itself, actually it seemed he almost enjoyed it. He paused, made the necessary adjustments and moved forward with no fuss. I, for example, get so angry with myself if I’ve forgotten my rake in the garage and I am just in my backyard. I decided I wanted, and more importantly, needed to work more like Wayne. I want to enjoy the job at hand, take pride in the little details and learn to embrace the inevitable bumps in the road as well.

Moral: Gosh golly, can’t we all use a little “Wayne” in our worlds?

Just me trying to keep up with my new friend Wayne and his world.

Watch and learn my friends,

A little extra thing you should know: As a reminder to stay on track and reward myself for working on me, I bought the very same wallet my friend uses! And you guessed it, it works like a charm!

The Ugly Truth

Finally, after months of not feeling much like writing, the drought is over. I cannot explain it, but there’s just something about uncomfortable economy plane seats that get my writer juices flowing. Seems since COVID brought our world to its knees it took me and my writing down with it as well.

Remember back when businesses shuttered one by one, airports were ghost towns, countries closed borders, schools went virtual, special occasions postponed and life inside your front door became your whole world? Computers and video calls for many became our only connection with the outside world. I remember it well because that’s when my own hibernation began.

Inside my cave I mastered the art of sourdough bread and refurbishing furniture. I watched and worried alongside the entire world about rising infection rates, the health and safety of loved ones and the progress of a vaccine. I fretted over the lack of Clorox wipes and toilet paper. I worried about accommodating four people all working from our home. But in addition to those seemingly reasonable concerns, I was shamefully worried about how I looked. There, I’ve said it. 

It wasn’t the “Covid 20” I gained from no open gym coupled with eating all my sourdough bread—it was my closed hair salon. You see, pre-COVID I mindlessly colored my gray hair every three to four weeks.  So, as the pandemic grew so too did my gray roots. It was a massively humbling time for me because I realized what others thought of my appearance mattered to me—a lot. My gray roots robbed me of my ability to make direct eye contact and I became a shadow of my people person self.  I’m no Albert Einstein, but the correlation between my increasing grays and my decreasing self-esteem was blatantly obvious.

Typically, my life is a constant balancing act of people visiting, social events and football. Never would there have been a long enough swath of time to even contemplate committing to growing out my gray roots. So, there was never even a moment I considered stopping. But then on a silver platter I was handed the perfect opportunity to stay at home with no end in sight—enter the COVID QUARANTINE! Hibernation became my excuse to stay in a safe, comfortable and judgment-free space. Except for the moments I passed a mirror and hurled a look of utter disgust and bewilderment at myself. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. 

A few months into my hibernation, Mother’s Day was around the corner and that meant so were pictures. I wasn't at all comfortable with my gray hair, yet there was something about those stark gray roots growing that were oddly empowering. I was so fortunate to have had a core crew of super supportive people, but the vast majority were visibly stunned by my Cruella DeVille hairdo. I fell victim to my negative self-talk and colored my roots again.

The moment the hair color was slathered on I knew I’d made a dreadful mistake. I watched the brown colors wash down the sink drain and felt my disappointment rise—wishing I had believed in myself more. I looked into the mirror and actually missed that hard earned inch of gray growth I had so fiercely disliked. So I again began the waiting game of days, weeks and months until it turned into a year and a half.  

Oh, and somewhere in the midst of this my hair stylist and friend helped blend my roots to my ends! #priceless

I am proud to say I came out of hibernation a changed person. It’s not just the silver hair, yeah that’s what we gray folk call it. But there is an essence of bravery about me now. I am stronger and more confident because I taught myself to be less concerned about what others think and focus more on what I think and feel. I base decisions on what I want, like and need now. Not all the time of course, but more than not and that's good enough for me! I even smile now when I pass a mirror these days and sometimes even slap myself a high five!

https://www.instagram.com/melrobbins/?hl=en

Looking back now, I view this whole experience as a gift of sorts, the perfect storm if you will. Shuttered down hair salons and mandatory quarantine for months on end was the perfect time for me to choose to go silver. I’m not saying it was easy or it’s a choice for everyone, but it was indeed my right choice.

Moral: To be secure about things that make you insecure is securing.

your brave silver-haired friend,

A little reminder for you from me: I am fully aware this challenge of mine pales in comparison to the troubles of others. I by no means am saying woe is me or trying to diminish the troubles of others. I am just continuing to share my view on my everyday life. Take it or leave it—but please do not be offended by it.

Until we meet again

Once again, I unwillingly find myself here. This time the chair has a leather cushion. The beige room has just one extra large framed geometric print. The only window overlooks the northern Philadelphia skyline. The people beside me are different too. But the scene within these four walls is the same. I am sitting beside a person I love who’s struggling with his last breaths. Whoever said, “Third time’s a charm” was for sure not referring to this particular scenario. 

I know this drill. As I said, I have been here before. I’ve read “Gone From My Sight; The Dying Experience” which is more commonly referred to as “The Little Blue Book”. I’ve been schooled on what signs to be on the lookout for, and their potential meaning. I notice staff gently walk into the room as if the floor were covered in eggshells. I hear their carefully worded questions to glean important details about their newest charge. I watch their eyes carefully, for they speak the unspoken. 

I know Hospice workers too. They are the ones who quietly swoop in to care for those experiencing advanced, life-limiting illness. They keep their patients comfortable during their last bit of life here. Their primary language is compassion; saying enough to comfort loved ones, but never too much. They speak in hushed tones while navigating a room filled with loved ones sitting vigil. These super humans measure time in minutes, hours and days. Patience and empathy are their super powers. Hospice caregivers have hearts of gold and a special talent to walk even though they have angel wings to fly.

I don’t remember much these days, but I remember this. Every minute feels like an eternity, yet it seems like no time has passed at all. I find myself counting breaths, searching for a pulse and noticing the temperature of the hand I've been holding onto so dearly. My heart replays happier memories on a loop. My inner voice makes deals with God. I call on all my angels to help the transition from here to there, wherever there is. 

Of course you must know I have my own concept of “there.” You're greeted by all those you’ve loved who arrived before you; think wedding reception line. The weather is your version of a perfect day. It is a place where time no longer matters so reunions and hugs can last forever. Tables are filled with every single food you have ever loved. Your favorite scents fill the air. You are led to the coziest room you've ever seen and snuggle up with all your past pets to view your Life movie. Afterwards, you meet with an angel to discuss the highlights and lowlights, answer a few questions, explain a few actions and receive your report card. Your grade determines the amount of time or community service you must serve before being ushered to the heavenly gates. Some may spend eternity at this stage whilst others may sail right on past. 

It is at those gates you are handed your Angel Star card. Similar to a credit card except your balance is angel stars awarded based on your level of human kindness, compassion and heart. These stars are used to perform miracles on earth. Sitting beside your loved one during their darkest hour. Turning a traffic light red to avoid a dangerous accident you know will be up ahead. Flickering a light bulb, leaving your scent or a special token, selecting a song on the car radio or visiting in a dream.

I wish you a smooth transition Dad and a receiving line as long as the horizon. Please spend a few of your million angel stars to let us know you've arrived safely.  

with a melancholy heart,

Just a few important things you should know about my father-in -law:  Jerry H. Stoutland (5/1/29-1/24/21) was a true “gentle” man. I recall meeting him many years ago. He was Lutheran—I was Jewish. He was a man of few words—I was a chatterbox. He shook hands— I hugged. But we shared a common love of gardening and his son. Time passed, grandchildren arrived, hugs replaced handshakes and I learned to appreciate the quiet between our conversations. And up until the very end he made sure to mail me a card for every Jewish holiday. 

Moral: Actions do indeed speak louder than words.

Letter to a friend during COVID

Dear Michael,

We’ve known each other most of my life. I mean seriously, I cannot imagine my life without you. No matter where my family has moved, you’ve always been there for me. When my world is falling apart and out of my control you have this crazy knack of refocusing my energy onto a project. You light up my life and give me purpose. There isn't usually a week that goes by we don’t get together and visit. I love how we share new ideas, excitedly hashing out a plan and list of materials. Sometimes our visits are frantic but other times we quietly stroll along just to be in each other’s company.

I guess this is my way of saying I miss you. I miss our time together. I find myself rummaging through my plastic buckets of projects we've done together in the past, trying to drum up that same feeling of excitement. It’s just not the same without you. You’ve always been there for me when I need a pick me up—and this past year I have needed that often. 

Who knew our trip together back in March would be our last for so very long? Remember how we decided to learn how to paint like Bob Ross during our two-week lockdown? We filled our cart with all those tubes of oil paints, brushes, canvases and you shared your coupon with me? If I had known then what I know now—I would have been more present. Hindsight is indeed 2020 and it has been crystal clear to me I took our time together for granted. I am so sorry about that.

Now, you don’t answer my calls. You've never been great at texting and your emails feel so generic. It is as if you send them to the entire world or something. Sometimes I get in my car and drive by your home, I see you are spending time with others, others who are not taking this pandemic as seriously as me, and it breaks my heart. Are you being careful? Are these new friends of yours wearing their mask properly? Do you share your clever ideas with them now? Seems perhaps you have moved on—and maybe you think I have too. Yes, it is true, I have been spending more time with Amazon, but only because it is safer for our world. But I promise you, it is not the same as face to face time together with you. 

With the new year fast approaching I have hope. I hope. I see a light at the end of the tunnel and a trip in our future. I look forward to appreciating the little things I clearly took for granted. I am eager to hear all your new ideas and projects we will do together in our future. I will not hold a grudge as we all have had to make tough decisions about how we survived this once in a lifetime pandemic experience. 

Send my love to your family and friends, especially JoAnne. Tell her I miss our time hanging out in her fleece department. Oh, and don’t forget TJ! Tell him my wardrobe is in shambles and kitchen towels are in tatters too!  

Until we can craft again,

A little thing you should know too Michael: My holiday gift giving season was a bust. I had no idea how much you’ve helped me figure out crafty clever gifts for all my family and friends. And, I’ve just about run out of that artificial bag of snow you had me buy to sprinkle on my Christmas trees. You were so right when you said, “Allison, this right here is the best bang for your buck in Christmas tree decorating!” Can you please save me a couple bags on clearance and I’ll pick them up the next time I see you. Hopefully sooner than later! 

Whispers from Christmases Past

Once upon a time, when the kids were young we made an entire day out of getting our Christmas tree. Each year our tradition started with bundling up the kids and dog and caravanning to our local Christmas tree farm with friends. We then hopped on a rickety wagon which slowly meandered through the countryside where the trees grew towards the sky. We spent the next hour traipsing through the woods in search of the perfect Stoutland tree. Once chosen and cut, we saddled up beside the roaring fire with a cup of hot cocoa. And, as you can well imagine, tree decorating was another drawn-out, but wonderful, process.

Times are different, and especially more so this year. To be honest, it’s been years since my grown kids and husband enjoyed all that hoopla. So, this year, we drove to our local tree farm, selected a pre-cut tree and were home in less than 45 minutes. My family is happy to help if I ask, but I am happy to handle the rest on my own because it still brings me joy. 

With endless time at home this 2020, I decided to maximize the tree process. I let her, yes our tree is always a her, chill in our driveway for a few days taking in the view, water and allowing her branches time to fall. Then she moved into her new digs and I filled her stand up with more water. Every morning and night I check her water levels because I worry about her. If you know me, you're not surprised by this. A few days later she was ready to handle 700 mini white lights and our treasury of ornaments. Again, this is probably not much of a revelation and something many of you likely do.

As I unwrapped our ornaments I was overwhelmed with memories of Christmases past. To some, the rather ugly mouse on skates ornament is just that. Yet my husband and I are whisked back 25 years finding this little guy hanging onto a discarded tree while walking to speed up the labor of our first born child. Those adorable little sneakers are actually the first pairs of shoes we laced up on our kid’s itty bitty feet. There are ornaments from every family vacation we’ve ever taken. That lion finger puppet from my childhood has been an ornament for over 35 years.  I have an ornament given to me by a dear friend who knew it would guarantee when she was gone, she would always be a part of our holiday tradition. There is an entire selection of ornaments from my Uncle, who embodied the spirit of Santa. I could go on and on, since we have two plastic tubs full.

If all these ornaments could speak, we would have ourselves a new tradition. But for now, in the quiet of the night lit by twinkle lights, I swear my tree and I can hear voices, the laughter and all the stories being retold. I also believe she stands a bit prouder now, knowing she was chosen this 2020 holiday season with the honor of carefully displaying and caring for our Christmas memories. 

 Moral: Everything has a story to share-the trick is to listen.

 Your sentimental friend, 

A few little holiday things I do:

Hanging lighting can be a real holiday mood killer. I split my tree in thirds and string lights of 100 from the bottom to the top, linking new strands as I go. If any lights go out during the season it’s far easier to add strands of 100 to fill in. The bonus is these shorter strands are more manageable for me on my own.

During 2020 I grappled with my potential hoarding tendencies, but for some reason couldn't bring myself to dispose of a basic white glass globe from an old light fixture. Well, thank goodness, as this holiday season I filled that sucker with tiny colored lights and turned it upside down on a table. It looks like the moon at night and reminds me of a lesson from Put Your Best Foot Forward, “The moon taught me… there is almost always a bright side.”

A trip down "Lesson Lane"

We called our plumber to investigate our mysterious basement sink woes. He snooped for a bit and said, “I’m surprised you haven't heard the sink gurgling when you run your dishwasher.”  To which I replied, “We only run our dishwasher at bedtime, you know, when the utility rates are the lowest.” He looked me in the eyes and we chuckled, knowing some of what we both learned as children no longer applies in today’s world. My life is chock full of these sort of Baby Boomer contradictions.

Never, ever, get into a car with a stranger. Yet today, with the click of an app, I not only hand over my current location, destination and cell phone number to utter strangers, but I jump into their car as well. I might as well just tie a bow around my neck for goodness sake. So these days, BEFORE I get into any hired car I always follow this safety process:

1. Confirm car’s actual license plate matches with app. 

2. Ask the driver who they are picking up? 

3. Confirm destination

And then since lessons from my youth die hard, once I have followed those safety rules and exchanged niceties I politely make a short phone call. It goes something like this; “Hey, so I’ve just left and GPS says on 95N I will be arriving to you in 12 minutes. Yup, cannot wait to celebrate your graduation from the Police Academy.”  Now, I sit back, make small talk with the driver knowing we are both aware I am meeting someone very strong with sleuthing skills and shoots a gun too. 

My last driver politely waited for my “conversation” to end and said, “ You know, drivers are in more danger than passengers! We go though a thorough screening process, passengers don’t.” (I knew they listened!)

Never sit too close to the television screen. As a child I was told  it would damage my eyesight forever.  However, now I hold my cell phone right up in my face. And might I add, way longer than a thirty-minute episode of  The Brady Bunch. 

Only endorse a check in front of the bank teller at the bank. Now I sit at my kitchen counter signing checks, taking a couple pics and poof… they magically appear in my account! Just like Mike Teavee transported through the television in “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory”! 

Beware of strangers you meet on computers. When computers were introduced it was drilled into my head the people on the internet could very possibly be dangerous. Yet, my wedding docket lately is filled with happy, safe people who’ve swiped left or right. Who am I to judge whether meeting someone you don’t know on the internet is any safer than face to face?

Growing up seat belt laws weren't enforced, just recommended.  So kids often slid across slippery leather seats like an amusement park ride. If your mom had to unexpectedly stop short her arm immediately released into your chest! Unless you were driving in a station wagon. Then kids sat in the “way back” around a pullout table or hung out the window. Yes, you read that right! If it were a long road trip kids rolled out their sleeping bags and slept back there too. These days some cars won’t even switch into gear without seat belts fastened. 

As a young child smoking wasn't encouraged or discouraged. Second-hand smoke wasn't even on our radar. Same sort of philosophy applied for kids wearing helmets to ride bicycles and roller-skates. I am not bashing these lessons,  just recognizing how very much our world has changed since I was a child.

Moral: Sometimes, you just don’t know what you don’t know. 

in all seriousness, 

A little thing you should know: Baby Boomers could be referred to as Ad Council babies too! Stop me if these are seared into your memory as well.

Only You Can Prevent Forest Fires. In 1947 Smokey the Bear Forest Fire Prevention ad campaign helped educate and reduce the number of acres lost annually to wildfire.

Keep America Clean. This anti-pollution ad campaign first aired on Earth Day in 1971 with a Native American crying as he walked alongside a stream littered with trash.

Friends Don’t Let Friends Drive Drunk. This slogan launched in 1983 and began the lifesaving trend of the Designate Driver aka DD. 

Catching Happy Days

The moment I heard the phrase, “catching happy days,” I felt it resonate deep within me like a forgotten memory. It’s no secret how much I love the idea of living a happy life and helping those around me be happy. This, however, felt like more than that. I knew this phrase would become part of my repertoire for the rest of my life—as perhaps it had been once before.

Shameful shopping cart abuse

Agree to disagree as you wish. I believe a human’s being, heart and soul are made up of endless prior lifetimes and experiences. Each life we live is meant to practice and utilize past lessons learned, as well as to teach us new, important ones. Hold onto your knickers people, but I believe I’ve once been a dog, shopping cart, a home and a Brit, just to name a few.

Sure I receive my share of dumbfounded looks when I share this, but it’s my belief. For those who need further explanation; here goes. I have such deeply rooted emotions, fascinations and connections towards things that seem to have no logical reason or explanation. For example; I cannot leave a shopping cart unattended in a parking lot without feeling terrible. To this point, whether rain, sleet or snow I will return the cart to its shelter for protection. Whenever I enter or walk past a home I feel a tale of those who've come and gone through the front door. I respect and admire each home for providing shelter and protection to those who've lived within her walls. I trust you get the gist.

So imagine my delight when my new next-door neighbour revealed a British accent. I about keeled over with delight. I certainly hadn't planned on really liking her, as I already had plenty of wonderful friends. I just planned on enjoying her accent. But as life often goes, a different plan took hold. Three years into our neighbourly friendship she invited me to tagalong with her across the pond to visit her homeland, friends and family.

St. Pancras International Railway Station located in the heart of London.

I am happy to report some six years later we are in every sense of the word dear friends and have just returned from, as we warmly refer to now, our third Tagalong. As you’d suspect we visit all the typical tourist sights and perhaps some you might not. We traverse London proper and even the not-so-proper bits searching for history, architecture, unique shops, delicious food and drink. We log endless miles on foot, bicycle, Underground and iconic black London taxis. We explore markets too numerous to count but never to be forgotten. We even manage to find a few hidden treasures too!

The Breakfast Club in Spitalfields, London. Ask the hostess to speak with the Mayor between 5 and 10 p.m. If you’re lucky you'll be escorted back in time through a refrigerator door, down a staircase and into a hidden Pub! @Mayor of Scaredy Cat Town

Once we handle London we head off to the countryside. Whizzing along the “wrong” side of narrow roads past sheep grazing on bright green hills, through small towns with moss-covered roof topped homes with chimneys for as far as the eyes can see.

Castle Combe is a village and civil parish in Wiltshire, England

We tinker about in antique shops for hours, sit around eating decadent cheeses and drinking comforting cups of tea. This is a life I believe I have lived before. It truly feels like my home away from my home. 

Hungerford Arcade is a jackpot of English goodness.

Yes, perhaps it’s fantastic friends who treat me like one of their gang. It may have something to do with sitting alongside her family to eat a proper Sunday meal. But maybe, just maybe, I was an English gal once upon a time. Afterall, I cry every single time I watch Mary Poppins. The Union Jack flag makes me tear up. I simply love cheese, gin and tonic, scones, a good cup of tea and those salt and vinegar crisps are to die for.

So on our flight home, we selected the movie Elizabeth at 90-A Family Tribute to honor the Queen. Not two minutes in and the Queen’s cousin remarked as children they loved to play a game called Catching Happy Days, which consisted of running around outside catching leaves falling from trees. I love trees. I love leaves and often times collect them too. I rest my case. It’s safe to say I’ve been Catching Happy Days all my lives!

Moral: “Everything is possible, even the impossible.” Mary Poppins 

xx, 

#BeKindLikeKyle

If you're anything like me, you spend many of your days running from thing to thing like a chicken with your head cut off. Some things are important and others not so much. Some things just keep you from doing the very thing you should be doing in the first place. But sometimes, when you least expect it, someTHING happens and your whole world comes to a screeching halt. A veil of silence blocks out the noise around you. Though it sometimes takes your brain a bit to come around, your body is fully aware. Your eyes tear up, your skin gets goose-bumpy and your breath quickens.

 Those were my exact symptoms a few weeks ago when my friend sent me a video of a little boy on his first day of kindergarten. She said, “Allison, you must watch it. You and Kyle speak the same language.” My friend knows I was a kindergarten teacher in my heyday and may have suspected I was feeling melancholy with all the first day of school hubbub.

 I watched the video at least ten times within the first few minutes. Each viewing brought with it a different layer of emotion for me. First was pure delight just hearing his innocent message, followed quickly by utter happiness because of his kind heart. Mixed in was even a tinge of sadness uncovering just how much I truly miss teaching children. But the cherry on top for me was hope. Hope for the future of our world. So I asked my friend if she knew where I could send Kyle a set of autographed books as a thank you for being just the KIND of person this world needs more of.

 As the week passed I just couldn't shake that little boy Kyle out of my mind and heart. I felt compelled to do more; as if it were a calling. It’s hard to put into words without sounding flighty, but I knew my job was not over. So, I spoke with my friend again and asked her to tell me a bit more about this new role model of mine. That’s when she told me Kyle was a Philadelphia Eagles fan, the same team my husband coaches for. They say there are no coincidences, just events and people coming into your life for a particular purpose.

 That’s when I hatched a plan and contacted Kyle’s mom and dad. With their blessing in hand, I reached out to some Philadelphia Eagles football people who put their heart and soul into the organization. Our head coaches wife donated her very own stadium seats for Kyle and his parents. The office staff provided field passes and two bags full of Eagles swag. A special football player even videotaped a message inviting Kyle and his family to our game. Our team owner made certain this little boy was recognized for being a kind person and the team President made it a point to personally meet Kyle on the sidelines. Just see for yourself! 

Watch how Kyle’s kindness turned into a dream come true. Kindness will alway win #bekindlikekyle ⁦@Eagles⁩ ⁦@brandongraham55⁩ ⁦@TheEllenShow⁩ ⁦@InchByInchBooks⁩ pic.twitter.com/89Y1ITuu8a

— Allison Jo Stoutland (@astoutland) September 23, 2019

Perhaps you, too, are now covered in goosebumps or had to reach for a tissue? Just so we are clear, I honored Kyle’s act of kindness for purely selfish reasons. Not for the obvious one minute of fame or for increased book sales. I did this for the health and well-being of my world, our world. I am tired and saddened by all the filthy, distasteful and hurtful “news” that seems to go viral and frenetically fill our social media and news feeds. I am discouraged by the regurgitation about things gone so wrong. I am even more fearful I am becoming numb to all of this. I refuse to live my life that way.

 So I am taking a stand with this blog because I must do something. My intention in writing this all along was to highlight Kyle’s kind spirit and help it take flight into our news feed. Truth of the matter is, kindness is 100% contagious. The more people see this, the more people will be kind and the kinder our world will be. Join me, won’t you? Share Kyle’s kindness with all your people please. Or do your own version of something kind, add the hashtag #BeKindLikeKyle and share it with the world. Let’s start a movement!

Moral: “Unexpected kindness is the most powerful, least costly, and most underrated agent of human change.” Bob Kerry

 #bekindlikekyle,

 A little thing you should know about me: I am technologically challenged, so my daughter has kindly helped me create the video montage and posted to endless social media outlets. Without her help none of this would have happened. Hats off to @madistoutland

It's the Final Countdown

If you have football family blood running through your veins I’d bet anything you understand this musical reference. If you don’t, let me help you. This song pays homage to the final week of summer vacation for the man of our house. He goes by husband and dad in our home, but in one week’s time he’ll be answering to Coach pretty much all the time. Please take a moment to listen to this perfect little ditty.

See, this is the last week of his summer hiatus before he returns to his job as a full-time football coach. So for all intents and purposes, this week marks the end of summertime for our family as a complete unit. 

Check your calendar, it’s a thing people! I should know because this year marks my 27th final countdown. Yet each year it somehow sneaks up on me. Usually it’s the comments that get me, “You know, this weekend is probably the last time I’ll be able to go out for dinner until next year.” Or, “We better do that this week. You know this is my last week, right?” Or, “This’ll be the last time I take out the garbage.” It may sound like am taking literary liberties here, but I promise you that I’m not.

2019 family vacation to Cabo San Lucas

Why it catches me off guard is a conundrum. I see the fall-scented candles starting to line the shelves at the mall. I can smell the extra cinnamon in the air at our local coffee shop. I am sure the other morning walking our dog I felt a slight chill in the air. Oh, and of course I noticed our 2019-2020 season schedule was released the other day. But, it’s amazing how our family can get caught up in the new norm of having him around full time. We jam pack this special time with our treasured family vacation. Often we road trip to visit family and friends. We try to start and complete a few projects around our home with his help. In other words, we get comfortable having him back around the house. So I suppose it is a good thing it still catches me off guard. 

Our week began innocently enough tuning into the 2019 Wimbledon Championship Men’s Singles match. What was to be a backdrop to our lazy Sunday morning turned into a match of historic proportions and a 4-hour, 57-minute commitment. You should know I am a one sport gal. My heart only has room for one sport and I choose football—more specifically the Philadelphia Eagles. After all, they graciously employ my husband and in turn provide us a wonderful home and life we truly love. The Philadelphia Eagles organization is an extension of our family and so all of my heart is fully committed to them. 

Oh how I empathize with Mirka Federer during her husband’s match

But, this tennis match ambushed me. The camera panned the crowd and settled on the players family members. In a nano second I felt their stress, angst and sense of helplessness run amuck in my body. Moms desperately kissing good luck charms hanging from their necks. Wives running their hands through their coiffed hair and picking apart their manicured fingernails. My heart raced and my anxiety increased and I morphed into my emotionally vested sport watching self. I pounded the countertop, cheered emphatically for my guy and fist pumped the sky. In other words, I was all in. My husband was literally stunned. While I was thoroughly engrossed on the match my husband was focused on me. In 27 years of marriage he had never seen this side of me before. You may be wondering how in the world this is possible. Because he is always on the field coaching and I am always either in the stands or at home watching when my Incredible Hulk persona takes over me. Lucky for us both, I look really good in green.

And I can relate to the original HULK-Bill Bixby

So, as this countdown week creeps closer to zero I took a quiet moment alone to listen to my heart and assess the season ahead. I am hopeful yet cautious. I am excited for the promise of what is possible. I am indeed rejuvenated and ready to tackle another football season. I am prepared. And in the background I hear, “Allison, can you cut my hair today? It’s my last one for awhile, so let’s cut it very short.”

XOXO,

A little thing you should know: I truly hope all my fellow coaches’ wives have stored enough rays of sunshine and wonderful memories for their family to last the long, always exhausting and emotionally draining upcoming season. May you have more wins than losses, smiles than frowns and cheers than jeers!

Choosing the Path to Positivity

A few weeks back I found myself stuck. Not between a rock and a hard place but literally stuck. Like I actually felt a moment of panic and thought I might need to call for help.

The day started out like any other day, attending a 6 am Gfit Women (Group Fitness for Women) class in my hometown of Media, Pennsylvania. I’ve been a struggling member since January. Yep, another one of my classic “this is the year I finally get myself in shape” New Year Resolutions. Each class is approximately 36 minutes of, what I consider, torture: cardio, weight training, strength and endurance. That translates to endless burpees, box jumps, lifting weights, running and jumping rope, just to name a few. All hellish.

Some of the badass Gfit Women getting it done with synchronized burpees!

But this particular day I almost mostly kept up with the Jones’, or should I say sort of kept up with the badasses. They are the girls who always go the fastest, are the strongest and look the best in their gear. For heavens sake, they even sweat pretty. I handled the running, increased my weights and didn't die. I left there feeling pretty darn proud, if I don’t say so myself.

Perfect day, too, since we were leaving for our family vacation the next morning. So I be-bopped through the rest of my day, enjoying endless loads of laundry, picking up dry cleaning, running into Trader Joe’s for plane snacks and picking up cash at the bank. I even broke another personal best record for running errands, so with the extra free time I pulled into the mall.

I busted through the front doors like Clint Eastwood. I strutted towards the bathing suit section with my imaginary chains dangling and guns blazing. The scene resembled a war zone, with items strewn every which direction. Bathing suit parts littered for what seemed like miles. Clearly I was not alone in my annual battle to find the perfect bathing suit. So I took a deep breath, womaned up and began the search and rescue.

You get the picture, right?

In search of exactly what, you might be wondering? A bathing suit that would compliment my newly cocky attitude, of course. I picked through the rubble until my hands ached and hangers were dangling from every appendage. I swaggered to the dressing room with my loot.

Somewhere in between a tankini top and a beautiful coral one piece I lost my perspective. I got caught up in a tankini two sizes too small. I allowed my cocky attitude to get the very best of me. There I stood in the middle of a rundown dressing room sweating bullets trying to wrangle myself out of this swimsuit straight jacket. I think I burned more calories in that dressing room than I had working out. As my Apple watch exercise app was soaring I felt my self esteem plummet.

I will spare you the ugly details but suffice it to say it was a super ugly life altering moment for me. Once free from bondage I splayed out on the half bench and caught my breath, thanked my angels and re-evaluated. What if I really had to call for help? Were there cameras in this dressing room recording my private fiasco? Are those actual paper cuts under my armpits from the size labels? This was a personal crossroads moment for me. Shall I tear myself down or build myself up?

This time I chose positivity and made the day a trifecta of personal bests! My takeaway was I am stronger and healthier than I have been maybe in my lifetime. I am fortunate to have a group of girls who inspire, encourage and support me. So I picked myself up off that bench and continued my search for a bathing suit that fit perfectly and honored all my efforts, progress and even my sassy attitude too.

On family vacation at The Resort at Pedregal in Cabo San Lucas.

she wore an itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow polka dot tankini,

Moral: Celebrate and honor all your accomplishments, both big and small.

A little thing you should know: I am a mad packer. I rarely, if ever, check luggage when flying. I learned my impressive skills from my father who claimed to learn them while serving in the army. It’s a matter of rolling and tucking, which come to think of it, sort of is the same kind of method as doing a reverse burpee. Too bad we don’t pack luggage in exercise class, I would crush every single one of those badass girls.

A Pocketful of Hope

A few months ago my husband and I went on a sunshine getaway for a few days to a favorite hotel of ours. It is quietly tucked in between two happening towns on the beach, alongside a boardwalk with a pool to boot. No need for a car rental as it’s just fifteen minutes from a major airport and within walking distance of some great restaurants. Just what the doctor ordered- rest and relaxation.

Unfortunately, even on restful vacations sleeping eludes me. Truth is, I’ve always been more of an early bird kind of gal anyways. The lure of getting a jumpstart on the day has always been too strong for me to ignore. It is my personal quiet time to gather my thoughts, list goals and make a schedule for the day ahead. #mykindofgameplanning

So, I brewed a meek cup of hotel room coffee and sat on our balcony. It was dark but I could hear the waves and make out boat lights twinkling in the distance. I also managed to find a star or two before they all disappeared into the early morning sky. I started spotting beachcombers busy waving metal detectors left to right in search of treasures. Off in the distance I could see a photographer desperately capturing a family of five in the fleeting golden hour. It was clear shell seekers were arriving too. I needed to get down there and share in the cache.

Half an hour later, with a proper cup of coffee in one hand and my husband’s hand in the other, I too was walking the beach. The sun was up but the crowds were not. As we plodded along I searched for my favorites; worn-down beach glass and heart shaped shells. Off in the far distance I spotted my competition-an older woman shelling, too.

I picked up my pace to make sure I saw more of the treasures on the beach between us. As we got closer I noticed she seemed disheveled. She had something in her hand to pick up and a dirty bag in the other. I was puzzled why a homeless woman would take shelling so seriously? As our distance shrunk I noticed her gait was off. She moved in an awkward fashion, darting and seemingly off balance. Wow, she wasn't just homeless, but perhaps also drunk. How sad. The competition was off as I assumed we may be actually looking for completely different things?

I contemplated giving her the leftover change I had from purchasing my cup of coffee. Would she think it rude of me to hand her some loose change and a few dollars? As I was waffling with what to do she was now just a few steps in front of me and I could see her clearly.

It turned out she was not much older than me. In her right hand was a pair of rusty old kitchen tongs and a grocery bag in her left. As I fiddled with the money in my pocket, she bent down to pick up…a discarded old juice box. As she dropped it into her bag so too did my stomach. She was not homeless nor was she drunk. She didn't need my money, judgement or pity. She deserved my respect and gratitude. She was collecting trash scattered all over the shore line left behind by others. I was stunned. She was so focused on her task that she never looked up and I never gave her the proper “thank you” she deserved.

As I walked past her in silence I was overcome with waves of emotions. First up was shame. How disappointed I was in how quickly I judged this kind woman based on a story I concocted. I was so far from being right. How could I have seen one thing and believed another? How many times in my life have I practiced this sort of reckless judging? The next emotional wave was hope. At a time where all bad, scary and horrifying news seems glorified, this small act of kindness I just witnessed felt enormous. She was quietly fighting the good fight. She wasn't picketing, posting on a social media platform nor chanting loud angry words. Clearly this wasn't about recognition, just simply getting the job done and therefore setting a powerful example.

Next thing I knew I spotted a plastic water bottle top like it was a lost treasure and quickly stuffed it into the back pocket of my shorts. With my eyes focused on something new, my pockets and hands quickly filled with garbage as my heart filled too.

I cannot get that woman out of my mind because she changed my view forever. As sort of a penance for not thanking her and a nod to her greatness, I made myself a promise. Every single time I go to the beach, albeit for a stroll or a full sun-soaking day, I shall take a page from her book. I will bring a happy attitude, a bag to collect trash left behind by others and my solemn promise to never leave anything behind except my footprints and a smile.

Moral: The world is our oyster-if we take proper care of it.

with hope,

Running on Empty

Ever felt like a jalopy? Worn down, beat up and not running smooth; as if the road is just too much to travel down? Well, perhaps, like myself, you too suffer from ETS-Empty Tank Syndrome. Just like a car, our body’s engine must be maintained and serviced in order to run properly. Each of us have a “tank” to keep filled, “pressures” to balance and a “windshield” to keep clear to see what is ahead. With regular maintenance and attention, a well-oiled machine is able to keep going even when levels run low. But, eventually every engine seizes up when the tanks run dry.

Oscar the Grouch’s Sloppy Jalopy

My latest ETS episode was triggered with the loss of three very important human beings in a short period of time. Each playing a very different, yet integral part in helping me fulfill my lifelong dream of becoming a published author.

These past many months I‘ve been “driving around” on fumes fearful of breaking down. My “dashboard” was lit up with warning lights just like a car headed for the scrap heap. Instead of handling the situation, I stayed parked in my garage at home. This worked fine for me until my busy time as an author approached. My normal elevated levels of excitement to speak and share my life stories with teachers and students were dangerously low. I could not even muster up an ounce of interest to do my usual presentation slide show, updated to reflect current events that had taken place in my life. It was my fear of falling apart in front of a group of students when instead of using the present tense, I would be using the past that was debilitating me. I shared my fears with a few and desperately clung to their sage advice. But in the end, I knew it would be just me, my heart and my stories alone in front of the crowd.

Left beside the coffee pot the morning of my school presentation…

So as I sputtered along driving to school one morning I practiced the tricky bits of my updated presentation. In the parking lot I concluded my mental pre-game pep talk, gathered myself, my stuff, straightened my back, and put on my big girl panties and walked in. That day I did my best. I was vulnerable, honest and above all-brave. Yes, of course there were tears, but I mostly maneuvered around the bumpiest parts without having to call for roadside assistance.

Allison speaking to a group of 3rd graders in Chicago

Once all the books were signed and I said goodbye to my new friends I literally sashayed to my car. The drive home was so different from my morning commute. My tank was full, eyes clear to see the road ahead of me and engine was purring like a kitten. As I cruised down the road I pondered my newfound happiness. My heart felt just as if I’d spent the day with a friend I hadn't seen in a while; how I loved being in her presence, how she made me feel and how invincible I felt by her side.

Allison speaking with a kindergarten class in New Jersey

As the sun set, I realized sharing my stories with teachers and children in a school environment is the equivalent to taking my car in for a complete overhaul. The visit boosted my happiness level and rejuvenated my spirit. I actually felt all tuned up. Seriously, I think I even increased my miles per gallon.

I’ve always wanted my blog to be an honest platform for me to share my daily life. This latest struggle taught me how empowering it is to refill your own tank. I learned running on empty is exhausting, isolating and an unhealthy place to spend too much time. It’s our personal responsibility to recognize and respect our sadness and then find the courage to replace it with happiness.

Moral: You owe it to yourself to be happy.

Cheers to a full tank,

A very honest little thing you should know about me: For too many years I determined I was not a therapist-attending kind of person. I’m a pretty private gal and speaking about my emotions for an hour was comparable to a Brazilian Wax. But, when I was recently drowning in sadness I knew it was time to contemplate professional help. When I can’t read without squinting, I go to an optometrist. When my car doesn’t start, I call a mechanic. So, you’ll be proud to know when I wasn’t working right, I found a therapist. And like the calls to the optometrist and the mechanic, I’m sure glad I did.

Make Each Day Matter

He was standing right in front of me, wearing a smart pink sport coat. I could feel his hands on my cheeks, the warmth of his smile on my face as he looked into my eyes and said, “Make each day matter, Kiddo.” As he embraced me with his unmistakable hug I woke up. And just like that, he was gone … again. I took a huge deep breath as tears rolled down my cheeks, yet I felt warmed from his touch. As I lay there crying I heard Cinderella singing, “A dream is a wish your heart makes when you’re fast asleep. In dreams you will lose your heartaches. Whatever you wish for, you keep.”

Keeping this particular visit is just what I intend to do. Because, if you've ever experienced loss, you’re all too aware the pictures, videos, voice messages, texts, and birthday cards can be carefully labeled, stored and revisited for all eternity. But anything new; real visits, conversations and hugs are gone forever. In an instant cherished routines come to a screeching halt. No more lunches, garden walks and talks, weekend getaways or phone calls for me to share with my Uncle Ira. Activities once second nature are now debilitating. Things that brought me joy now bring me to my knees, that is except for tidying. 

Even the usual comfort I get from writing has failed me. So, other than purging and organizing, I’ve laid quite low these last two months. No, I have not jumped on the new Marie Kondo Method bandwagon, but proudly admit we do have a lot in common. 

The KonMari Method™ encourages tidying by category - not by location - beginning with clothes, then moving on to books, papers, komono (miscellaneous items), and, finally, sentimental items. Keep only those things that speak to the heart, and discard items that no longer spark joy. Thank them for their service – then let them go.

You see, I’ve been coping with my emotions, issues and stresses this way long before Marie Kondo was even born. The act of tidying allows me to throw all of myself into a focused mental, physical and solitary task. Some may believe I am squelching my emotions or burying my head in the sand, but I kindly respond, “Let me explain.”  

The AllisonJo Method of tidying is twofold. Whilst making sense of a messy physical space you quietly handle your messy emotional space too. Though both physically and emotionally draining, the end result is a clear and uncluttered home and heart.

It may appear to the outside world as if I am drowning in a huge pile of things, but I am really wading through my sea of emotions. Sifting through all the lessons Uncle Ira shared with me my entire life. He taught me the importance of doing the right thing even when it is more difficult. He taught me how to make, keep and cherish friendships. He taught me to gift with your whole heart. He shared his amazing knack for entertaining. He developed my love and obsession for gardening and birds. And in his final weeks he taught me how to die. I witnessed how important it is to leave this world a better place by touching the hearts and souls of so many.

So, amongst the piles on my closet floor you very well might find me crying for the man who stepped into my life when my real father stepped out. You may mistake my aches from lifting bags of purged stuff, but really it’s my heart aching over losing a man who helped make my dream of becoming a published author a reality.

When all is said and done, my closet mirrors my life with a new stark emptiness, but also too, it seems a newfound sense of control. It is time for me to take account of this new space—reorganize, repurpose and yes, seek JOY. What to keep? What to donate or discard? What items I choose to treasure my whole life long? It’s time to determine how the endless void of comfort, encouragement, guidance and love my Uncle Ira gave to me will be filled now that he is gone. He may never be by my side again, but he will forever be in my heart.

Moral: “Make each day matter.” Uncle Ira

with love from Ira’s niece,

Not-so-random acts of kindness

A few months back my aunt told me she and my brother created the verb “to allison--being kind to people, particularly those we need something from.” Worried it sounded much like manipulation, I sheepishly asked for clarification. “To Allison not only makes us better people but it really works. It’s meant as a very big compliment.” I’ve been pondering this idea for sometime now and decided to not only own it but share it with you as well.

allison

/al-i-sun/

noun

1. given name of Scottish and English origin meaning noble, kind 

verb

1. the quality or act of being kind, friendly, generous and considerate 

“She allisoned her way through the crowd” 

I don’t know about you, but compliments fuel my fire. They are the gas to my tank and milk to my cookie. I believe my family members were describing how I relate to people. Since this is who I am and the only way I know how to live, it always surprises me people find it so unique.

Still confused? Here’s an example of said behavior. I love recycling. So much so, my recycling bins usually overflow each and every week. During hot summer months I began leaving cold drinks as a thank you to the recycling people! Soon I noticed my empty recycling bins were returned to my house instead of left at the driveway end. 

Me and my recycling friend Willi

Living this way fills my heart with a warmth I feel spread throughout my body. It might sound a bit Disneyesque, but it’s my truth. I love knowing my mail carriers name so I can invite her to my annual Friendship Brunch. Knowing the names of the people at the gym makes going on those difficult days a bit easier. I thank those who are cleaning public bathrooms I use and buildings I enter. I attempt kindness with every 1-800 phone call I make not because I need something, but because it’s the only way for me. I suppose my life quote could be, “You get more bees with honey.” Except sometimes I'm not trying to "catch" anything. I'm just being me. 

This past September I spent a week working in Warroad, Minnesota. Don’t know where it is? Don’t fault your Geography teacher. It’s a pretty remote community six miles from the Canadian border chock full of kind-hearted people. Warroad aka Hockeytown, USA is home to Marvin Windows and Doors and The Shed; the best antique car showroom in the world.

The owner of The Shed allowed me to take a seat behind the wheel of this beauty!

I spent three days with the staff and students of Warroad Elementary School. My job was to share my book writing experience, my life as an author and co-owning a publishing company. In truth, I shared the triumphs and tribulations of my life and how it created the me I am today. I shared stories of being bullied in second grade on the heels of winning first place in a writing contest. I spoke from my heart about my parents divorce, my complicated relationship with my father, challenges of being a mom, wife and daughter to aging parents. As I shared my raw and deep emotions I implored each person listening to perform kind deeds daily, smile at a stranger, write a letter to someone you love, befriend the new kid, hold the door for the person behind you. Do anything--just be kind

I share my story with students passionately because their generation is watching us. They quietly overhear our conversations, absorb the evening news, witness our actions all while forming their beliefs. Often times leaving them feeling overwhelmed and helpless. So, now is the time to tip the scales back to a world we can be proud of. Overflow our world with positivity, exercise the common courtesy of listening to our fellow human, keep negativity at a minimum and above all else, CHOOSE KINDNESS.

Hugging is the best way to let someone know they matter.

In hindsight, I suppose I taught students in Warroad how to "allison." To live their lives looking to make new friends, help old ones, and make our world a happier place one kind deed at a time.

Moral: Every single act of kindness, no matter how small, has a ripple effect. Let’s start a tsunami.

with kindness and hope, 

A little thing you should know: To help spread kindness a little bit more, Inch by Inch Publications is kindly offering a 20% discount throughout November. All books will be signed and personalized and perfect for having on hand for gift giving (teacher, baby or holidays). A set of four books can be given as one gift or split up into many. Use code word: kindness at inchbyinchbooks.com

The People's Princess

Two things I love dearly are converging and I felt the need to share it with you. This Sunday (October 28 @ 9:30 am EST) this American football gal will be cheering on her Philadelphia Eagles sitting amongst Brits at Wembley Stadium in London, England. The team I love is playing in a country I am obsessed with. So to honor this once in a lifetime occasion I am reposting a blog I wrote entitled “The People’s Princess”. My heart bursts with excitement one moment, then saddens the next knowing Princess Diana will not be cheering in the stands with her adult sons, their wives and her three grandchildren. But my hope is there will be a shimmering kelly green angel watching from up above.

Most of my lifetime anything British and my heart skips a beat. Best I can remember my fascination began the day the press began their obsession with Diana Spencer. I fondly recall the first story of a seemingly simple, no frills kind of gal quietly going about her daily life with a smile that would inevitably illuminate our world.

If it was in print, I read it. If it were news, I watched it. The more they reported and photographed Diana the deeper our connection grew. I learned we both grew up in a single parent family, loved being a kindergarten teacher and dreamt of being a mom one day! She was a real Princess and I always wanted to be one!.

Look at who was an Eagles fan too…the similarities just keep tallying up.

Yes, it is true, I grew up dreaming of becoming a Princess. One of my favorite movies was Cinderella because I related to her. She did lots of chores, worked many jobs and never wore the nicest clothes-just like me. We both loved birds, animals and lived life with a glass half-full disposition. I, too, whistled while I worked, believed in fairy godmothers and the power of karma. Beyond all the odds she met a Prince. For me, Cinderella gave me hope one day I too would find my Prince, just like she did…and Diana. 

The day Diana wed Prince Charles I sat glued to our television fascinated with not just the fascinators but the pageantry as well. As I choked down my cup of tea channeling my inner-Brit I felt I was a teensy part of history watching fairy tale become reality. Time passed and Diana gave birth to a future king. A few years later another boy for good measure. I carefully observed her determination to raise those boys to be kind, loving and empathetic men within the confines of the Royal monarchy and the suffocation of the press. 

As the story goes; the boys grew up in the shadows of the castle whilst, her “fairy tale” marriage crumbled on the cover of every tabloid. To endure someone not loving you was difficult enough, but for every ugly detail to be documented for all the public to consume was just too much. But as I shamefully consumed it, I also wished privacy for her. 

Eventually Diana bounced back. She threw herself into helping bring justice for those who could not speak for themselves. She had pep back in her step, her smile and style were better than ever and she found a partner who brought her happiness. It seemed the Princess found her happily ever after until that ill-fated night in Paris-a moment still far too horrible to believe. A life-ending car crash apparently fueled by the unrelenting paparazzi chasing her. 

When I first heard this news my heart drowned in sadness followed almost immediately with a flood of guilt. I read those papers. I searched out those endless pictures, even just to stay connected to her in some way. Diana was proof living a kind life mattered and she affected the world around her one person at a time. Fairy god mother would have been so proud of her as she truly used her powers for good! Princess Diana exemplified the importance of being a great mom with strength, class, style and a sense of humor. I couldn't shake the feeling somehow I had some small part in her untimely and unnecessarily early death. 

As I watched her precious boys walk behind her casket, I felt a motherly instinct to protect them. I cried knowing they lost the one person who always placed their happiness ahead of her own. Who would protect their privacy with such a fierce yet gentle vengeance? Diana would never hug her son’s wives, hold the hand of her future grandchildren or brighten their lives with her smile My heart broke for the loss they felt and the loss they would always have to endure.

Then came the news of her crazy, fun-loving youngest son Harry found his Princess, I cheered, felt the pride of a mother and, yes, still felt a touch of guilt too. 

with a royal wave,

Moral: Use your powers for good-always! 

A few little things you should know: I studied abroad in England. I quite enjoy a good cuppa English tea now. I’ll speak to just about anyone with a British accent. I own my own tiara and often wear it around the house. My newest dear friend is a English gal and her name is not Diana. I never married a Prince or lived in a castle; but it’s our happily ever after.

Editor’s Note: This blog was originally posted December 6, 2017.

St. Dunston in -the-East...a destroyed church transformed into a magical garden in the City of London

Melancholy State of Mind

Everything I said to myself last week was in an Eeyore voice. Perhaps it's because we lost our football game in overtime. But I know the drill: look forward not backwards. That philosophy usually works for me, except last week I was invited to travel alongside my husband's team with fellow coaches wives. If you are looking for a strong, independent, empathetic, kindhearted friend who will always have your back I suggest you go find yourself a coaches wife. You run the risk she may move away from you one day, but her friendship is worth that risk. I was surrounded by these wonderful ladies and our trip was just that, wonderful, well until game time. 

I “ostrich" during away games. Translation: I choose to stay home and busy myself with mundane thoughtless projects while watching the game. There I can be neurotic, emotional, detached, vocal and watch without worry of judgment. I get lost in alphabetizing my spices, scrubbing grout on my hands and knees and purging junk drawers as a distraction. I can mute the TV commentary while celebrating touchdowns and tackles with shameless abandon. Basically, I am free to be my true football self.

But, having just witnessed first hand last week's game day ritual, forgetting this loss was much more challenging. Seeing the players march to their meetings was immense. Watching the buses roll out with a police escort made my stomach plummet. Having to sit among our opponent’s fans, who were mostly polite, was just too much for this girl. I excused myself to use the bathroom and that’s when our offense scored. Being beyond superstitious, I spent the next two quarters there. In the bathroom watching the game on the television so kindly installed for people just like me! I cheered respectfully for my team while dolling out paper towel to those who washed their hands! Yup, you read that right my friends, I will save that for another blog!

We took the lead in overtime and things were looking up. Up until the other team responded with a touchdown to win the game, putting our team on the wrong side of the win-loss column. If you thought it was difficult for me to watch pregame, imagine post-game. Sitting among a team of people whose every waking second of their working lives is geared towards winning was overwhelming. There was nothing glamorous, exciting or enjoyable about our trip home as I sat quietly among coaches grading game film other than landing safely in Philadelphia.

A few mornings later I again traveled alongside fellow coaches wives, but this time to volunteer with New York City Relief*. Our early morning drive together was again wonderful, until game time. As we arrived at our destination so too did my game day jitters. There on a NY City sidewalk were the people we traveled 2.5 hours to help. Our task was to interact and offer support to our new “friends” in need. In need of soup, dry socks, prayer, advisement, counseling, friendship and conversation. The next four hours we stood shoulder to shoulder with wives from another NFL team helping. Not as two separate teams, but as one team working together toward a common goal. 

With no bathroom for me to camp out in I determined conversation and friendship was my best option. It took me some time to make my first move, so worried it might seem I was here not to help them but make myself feel better. In the end I corralled up enough courage to sit down beside a “friend.” I looked him in the eyes and said, “Good morning, my name is Allison. How are you doing today?” 

I am happy to report I left with more friends than I arrived with. We smiled, shared worries, listened to each other, cried, hugged and made connections. I added a slew of new names to the growing list of people I quietly hope for; for good health, for work, for safe shelter, for a lost passport and for wives whose lives also depend on winning—although for the moment losing seemed so very far away.

Moral: It is very difficult to win, but it just might be far more difficult to lose.

*New York City Relief is an organization whose belief is: Together we’re providing the essentials to survive a day…and a pathway for a better tomorrow. www.newyorkcityrelief.org 

A little thing you should know:

“How can we help you?” “My daughter Destiny’s backpack broke this morning.” And just like that I went shopping with two ladies from the “other” team. We had some cash and a phone rigged with apple pay! First stop was Kmart for some sparkly school supplies. Like little kids spilling our combined money on the counter we had just enough. Next we strolled into Modell’s Sporting Goods for a backpack only to find apple pay wasn't working and now we had no other way to pay. Knowing returning without the backpack was unacceptable for us, we did what people in our world do, we game planned. We recruited a kindhearted manager who personally purchased the backpack while we ordered the same backpack online and shipped it to him! After a few hugs and an hour later we strutted down Seventh Avenue like Charlie’s Angels—with a brand new back pack for Destiny!