He was not a man of many words but when he did say something you listened. I can honestly say I don’t think I ever really knew who he was beyond my grandfather. I caught glimpses and pieces of him in stories he told but never got the full picture of the man known affectionately as “Red.”

Maybe that’s the reality of everyone. Maybe we only really know our version of people. Maybe I should have asked more questions or prodded slowly and gently, providing the right amount of pressure until a diamond appeared. Maybe Red was just Red.

Life’s a funny thing. One minute you are born and the next all of your things are left behind for family to sort through to determine what should be kept, donated, sold, or has sentimental value.

I guess what represents the person truly are the loved ones that are left behind. They each carry a piece of the person with them.

I shared a story with my boys the other night of how I imagined my grandparents meeting some 60 plus years ago.

Cue the 50’s country music. My grandmother worked a truck stop/restaurant near a place in town called “The Round House” where truckers would stay. She was a very young mother working to support her children, leaving her past behind and looking for a fresh start. She was beautiful, old Hollywood beautiful. I imagine my granddad coming in and sitting in his usual “spot” or booth when walks up, a new waitress, one he hadn’t met before. She was different. With a shy grin, she takes his order, his usual as he was very much a creature of habit and brings back a cup of coffee.

Later, he somehow musters up the courage to tell her a joke. He catches a smile from her and it takes his breath away. He is about to head back on the road and knows he would have to ask her out before any of the other guys knows she’s working there. He mumbles something about going out, and surprising herself and him, she agrees. Underneath that tough exterior and uniform, there’s something about the guy.

Years pass and now they are reunited in heaven. She was always right even when she was wrong, and he was never right even if he was right. That’s just how their relationship worked. I imagined as he entered heaven, there was a familiar scene, he was much younger and so was she. It was his spot in the old truck stop/restaurant, and she brings him his “usual” and says curtly, “It’s about time.” He smiles and laughs, saying something not quite appropriate for heaven but St. Peter gives him a pass as he knows how long Red has missed Faye. Together, they leave and go home in heaven to their old yellow house on Strawberry Street. They sit on the front porch swing and look down at the life they created together. Other family members stop for a spell and greet Red. His brothers jokingly rib their baby brother and his mother greets him with a hug. His daddy hands him a hat and he places it on top of his head. He thanks God he’s finally home with “mama” as he affectionately called my grandmother. He can finally rest easy and is no longer alone or sad.

I brought home the candy dish Red won in a cake walk as a child. I can’t believe he kept it that long. It’s a story I’ll never forget and a piece of him I will take with me. I loved the man and I know he loved me in his own grandfatherly way. I guess I didn’t have to know everything about the man, but just that he loved me.

My port was removed earlier this month. This would mark my 4th surgery in 2 years (lumpectomy, tissue removal, port in, port out). It also signals the next step in my journey. We had a trip planned that was timed perfectly with my port removal.

I am currently on vacation with my husband’s side of the family in Utah. They all grew up skiing on Spring Break. I grew up going to the beach. There’s a big difference between the two vacations. One requires muscles I didn’t know existed. The other requires sunblock.

I was determined to take a ski lesson. I thought I’ve done chemo, I can ski. I talked to my friend Karen before the trip. She’s the kind of friend that we pick up where we left off, even if it’s been months since we’ve talked. She and I were instant friends when we met – though we’ve led different lives – she’s more exciting and edgier. She’s a survivor, too. I’m glad our paths crossed.

She gave me sound advice as she’s been skiing before. She told me to just scream while going downhill. We both died laughing with tears in my eyes from the belly laugh.

My first lesson went surprisingly well. I’m sure my anxiety medicine helped. I did make the ski lift, and I went down a hill. I only fell a few times-once off the lift at the end square on my bottom. I couldn’t physically pull myself up from a few of the falls. Thank God for my Saint of an instructor, Mike, and that it was a private lesson. He grabbed my dead weight up.

Although I wanted to scream as Karen suggested when I felt I was losing control, the Southern in me remained polite, holding in a proverbial shiiiittt that was on the tip of my tongue- I just pushed it back into my gut. As Mike called out, “Just push your left leg out further,” and the burning started shooting up in every part of my body, I began to second guess my decisions. I felt a lot like Lucille Ball taking ballet lessons, shoving chocolate in her mouth, or squishing grapes – a kind of beautiful awkwardness.

Stubbornness and pride got me through the entire lesson. My body hated me, and my smart watch was in shock, not recognizing its owner. It was exhilarating and exhausting.

I took today off. I am not sure if I’ll brave another day tomorrow. Pride may tell me differently. I may try again. I’m just thankful for the chance to feel the snow on my face and see the beauty around me.

My husband’s family is amazing. They accept that their son married a Lucille Ball.

I’m thankful the port is gone, and the adventure called life continues.

Close your eyes for just a moment. Imagine yourself in an old familiar place that you haven’t visited in quite some time. Here the sound of the water fountain and smell the cookies baking in the distance. Sounds of people passing by and the swish of the bags they carry come to your ears. Open your eyes and look around you. It’s the late nineties and you are in the mall on a random Saturday with your friends or family.

Let’s go pick out a new CD and with the latest technology you are able to listen to the CD before you purchase. The CD store looks like a scene out of Empire Records with the baggy pants, wallet chains, Doc Martins, spaghetti strap shirts, and plaid, lots of plaid. After picking out the latest Green Day CD, Nimrod, you head to Spencer’s to check out the weird and inappropriate merchandise which is thrilling as you know your mom doesn’t really approve, but she did buy you the green lava lamp for Christmas. Time to restock on your Sun Ripened and Raspberry lotion and body wash at Bath and Body.

Younger you beg for a trip to the “Hello Kitty” store. You would have sold your soul to Satan himself if he promised to buy you something at this store. It was that good. Maybe you are getting your ears pierced for the first time. Claire’s is the perfect spot for this coming-of-age occasion. The flower power earrings and Ying and Yang jewelry beckon you-you wish you were a hippy chick, but you are only 12. You beg your mom to buy the dress from World Winds, for your inner flower child. Your sister’s style is more the Limited. With school shopping in mind, your mom takes you to Parisian’s, McRae’s and the family favorite Gayfers, in the other mall. Calvin Klein jeans are on the top of your list and New Balances if your mom agrees. Your lunch plans include Picadilly to get some jello or Quincy’s across the street for an all you can eat buffet!

Maybe you are visiting the mall that has the movie theatre with the photo booth right outside of it. I remember the sweater I wore the first time I saw Titanic in that mall theatre. It was a black turtleneck with a white stripe going across the chest. Your sister actually took a picture with you in the photo booth and let you borrow some of her perfume for the occasion. You wore the Matchbox 20 CD out on the way up there and back, memorizing every song.

A trip to the mall was also an award, a field trip for making All A’s. $20 could purchase you several items and with money left to spend at the arcade which later became American Eagle, where all the cool kids bought their summer shorts and tees.

A day or evening spent at the mall represents a simpler time, a childhood now 20 something years ago. The feeling of new clothes and laying them out to wear to school was one of pride. Carrying the right bag with the right purchase in the mall gave a teenager or pre-teen a sense of elementary empowerment. The mall represented freedom for older teens who could spend the day and meet with parents later.

Now days shopping online has replaced this feeling. I do like the convenience of Amazon, online shopping, and things like After Pay but sometimes I’d like to transport back to time when the University Mall was the new mall, and you could still catch a movie at the McFarland Mall. CD players were the latest thing, and CD stores made you feel ultra-cool. You didn’t have a diet to think about so Great American Cookie and Sbarro were perfect choices.

I’ve officially become old and wish for the good old days. I have no regrets as my childhood was pretty awesome despite the angst, hormones, and general awkwardness.

I just wish the real world would just stop hasslin’ me.

Check out this flash back photo. The posters are from Spencer’s. Did you notice the phone with the cord? Middle school me in a hand me down collared shirt from the Limited.

The wailing, knocking, and clicking of the machine was not as bad as I expected, almost comical in a sense. I imagined the MRI tech on the other side literally setting off alarms and banging a hammer and not really doing anything. Honestly, I felt like I was trying to take some type of demented nap in a construction site, and thankfully the deafening silence was short lived. I’m grateful it was not long, and my initial sense of panic calmed. 25 minutes later and the scan was done. I experienced my first ever breast MRI today. I was thankful for the earplugs too, as I cannot image how loud those noises actually were. So you be wondering if you’ve kept up with my breast cancer journey, why a breast MRI and why now?

Yes, I’ve finished my treatments and now take a daily hormone suppressant. My blood work has been good, and to my knowledge show no signs of recurrence. I think the MRI is a next step in determining if it’s time to remove my port. It’s also precautionary as I have dense breast tissue, and the MRI can produce a better image sometimes than a mammogram.

Honestly, getting a test or scan done can be triggering and even when I need an IV or blood drawn. Thankfully, there’s anxiety medicine that can help with all of that. What comes after the scan is the dreaded wait… the wait to breathe again and know everything is okay. I think it’s normal to have doubt. It’s an easy thing that can creep into your mind as you remember what it was like before with the original diagnosis. Remission is not a conversation for me (because of my age) for at least 5 to 10 years and lord willing when and if I get there, the thought of cancer will never completely diminish.

I think that’s what it means to be a survivor, living with the knowledge of what happened and could happen again. No, I don’t dwell on it. I live most days focused on my job and family without a single thought but when another appointment or scan comes around, the thoughts trickle back.

With those thoughts also come joy in moments to remind you are here and are able to be in the moment you are in.

For now, I’ll just relax and be thankful for having a chance to spend the day with my mom.

I use my dishwasher frequently and am somewhat disappointed when something isn’t dishwasher safe which kind of seems like a rarity these days. When I registered for china when I was getting married one of the things that sold me on my pattern was that yes, it was dishwasher safe.

Now, there is always that one pan that needs a little extra attention that doesn’t make the cut. This particular pan may sit in my sink for (yikes) 2 to 3 business days before I decide to wash it or more times than not, put it in the dishwasher. Recently, I saw something on Facebook about the husband or wife being upset about that particular pan or dish that soaks longer than the rest. If you are reading this, I imagine you have a dish or pan that comes to mind. If I am being honest, it’s any dish that needs extra attention at the moment at my house.

For me, there’s a kind of freedom in relinquishing a dish or pan to the sink to be soaked and not cleaning it immediately. It’s almost a declaration of “yes, I do not have to do this today” kind of mindset. Most of us now work, clean, and raise kids while trying to find a moment to sit and scroll on our phones, binge a series on your streaming service of choice, or just sit. The aforementioned dish releases you from imaginary chains that binds us to housework. We think if only I didn’t have x, y, or z to do today, I could do something I want to do for a change.

Friends, I am here to tell you that you don’t have to do housework every weekend or every day for that matter. I’m not advocating for a dirty home or your home to wind up on hoarders. What I am advocating for is self -care- finding time for you to do something for you. You can’t be the super woman that I know you are sitting on E! Yikes, doing what you want to do comes with a level of guilt- especially for working moms that feel like they don’t spend enough time already with their children. Am I good at this? Not really but I’ve gotten better. It’s only taken me almost 13 years in my marriage, two kids, and a health scare to figure it out.

I spoke with someone on Zoom the other day that I work with through my hospital’s connection to UAB and she said something that inspired me. It was her birthday and she told me she was dedicated this next year of her life to saying yes to things she wanted to do. It is her year of “yes”. I love that concept. What can we do to say yes more to things we love than being determined to have the clean house of the year?

Here’s a start- forget about the dish. Let it soak. Go do what you want to do!

Here it is! Currently, soaking and me not caring!

The other day as I was walking on the back dock into work, something stopped me for a moment, and I looked over to the window into the Cancer Center. I thought about how many times I had sat on the opposite side of that window in the chemo lounge beside my mother getting chemo. Despite the treatment being tough, I enjoyed our Monday morning ritual and spending time with my mom. We would chat for a bit, look at our phones showing each other pictures, and I would gradually drift to sleep from the Benadryl.

I thought I caught a glance of my former self, a toboggan pulled down over a freshly shaven head with sweats and tennis shoes covered by a blanket given in love from friends. The beeps of the machine came to mind and the motley crew that would arrive similar to the regulars at the local bar. The regulars would give a greeting as they prepared for the grueling task of chemo in front of them with no complaints, living angels on earth. The TV in the background with the show Doctors added to the background noise. I remember the dread of having to go to the bathroom because of all the fluids and having to drag the IV pole, an unwanted friend, into the bathroom with me. I mastered the art of holding the pole and undressing. I see some of my favorite nurses moving gracefully from patient to patient with a smile and encouraging word.

It is as though for just a moment the former me saw me too and gave a nod. She smiled a knowing smile that one day she would be where I stood. I politely nodded back with a smile on my face, thankful to have known her but glad to be moving forward. I run my fingers through my hair, almost wavy like, thick to the touch. It feels wonderful. I step into the hospital ready to do a day’s work, God’s work, feeling alive and grateful.

As crazy as it sounds, I am grateful for the time at the Cancer Center. I gained new friends, a new perspective and insight into another world. And if I ever should forget to count my blessings, I’ll peer into the window at the Cancer Center, and I will remember. I will remember.

The French always have a way to make things sound sexier and because I’ve been watching too much of Emily in Paris on Netflix, I decided to make my title sound tres sophisticated. Of course, my French has more of a Southern twang. I digress. I decided to explore a little bit of history of resolutions.

The most interesting historical fact about resolutions I found related to Julius Caesar’s time. According to history.com, Julius Caesar established the beginning of the new year as January circa 46 B.C. The name January comes from the two-faced God Janus. This spirit is said to have lived in doorways and arches. For the Romans, they believed Janus had the ability to look to the past year and ahead into the new year. Romans, in turn, would offer sacrifices to Janus and made promises to the God of good behavior in the new year.

We do something similar as we ring in the New Year. Typically, as the ball or whatever item drops where you celebrate, we sing Au Lang Syne which translates to times long past according to a Google search. We literally welcome the New Year while looking back to days gone by.

I am typically one that loves to make resolutions and lists for that matter. By nature, I am goal-oriented and have been as I can remember-from a planner in school to my favorite day in college-syllabus day (nerd alert!).

This year, however, I find myself with no really goals in mind which is kind of shocking. I keep remembering what a doctor told me when I asked how he was able to focus and not take work home with him. We are all guilty of that, I think. It’s sometimes hard to shut things off quickly- if only it was a light switch when you left work. He said something to me that was so profound yet so simple. He said, “I choose to be present wherever I am- home, work, etc.”

So instead of a lengthy list of resolutions this year, I am choosing to consciously be present wherever I am. It’s not going to be easy as there a number of distractions at both home and work but I am going to do my best. I’ll try to share how it’s going, but if I am in the moment, you may not hear from me.

Happy New Year! May it bring you peace and happiness. Be present.

My career path has provided me a different insight to what holidays look like for in different industries and careers. For years earlier on, I planned a breakfast for kids with Santa at NorthRiver Yacht Club, a prestigious country club. Kids donning their Sunday best anxious to see Santa, and parents anxious to get the best picture possible. Downstairs in the Crystal Room and 1890s room was overflowing with families and a spread fit for a king or in this case princes and princesses. Plates filled with pancakes, hashbrowns, and ketchup smeared- almost like a work of art from a toddler. Squeals and crying alike could be heard across the Yacht Club. Santa could invoke both reactions equally with no guesses on which kid would do what.

Later on, after moving home, I was able to be a part of planning the largest Christmas celebration in our area and State- Christmas on the River. Stressful, yes but seeing the crowds faces during the Day Parade made it all worth the while. Witnessing the ability of a small town to come together to make this event possible is nothing less than remarkable.

Next, there were Christmas parties with the Credit Union with song challenges for new employees and laughter filling the dining room of Choctaw Country Club where all branches would unite. Celebrations of jobs well done and well-deserved recognition served as the night’s agenda.

This year marks my first holiday season in healthcare. Healthcare is a high pace, stressful environment for both employees and families alike. Adding the holidays in the mix makes this even more a challenge. Our employees work long hours, and I know our families and patients are struggling with the fact that the holiday season was not the same as years passed. This career by far has been my most challenging and rewarding. In my short time I have fallen in love with our hospital, employees, and patients. It is my hope that this week, along with the help of employees we can spread joy and holiday spirit for patients and fellow co-workers. My dad instilled in me that the most important thing we can do for others is to share the gifts and talents God has provided us. I feel that every job I have been blessed with has allowed me to be able to do this. However, this time I feel it is even more important to share these things in a healthcare setting. I ask that if you are reading this to stop and pray. Pray for our employees- some will be working on Christmas. Pray for our patients and their families. This time of year, is so special but it is also so hard for so many. Stop and count your blessings.

Thank you, God, for allowing me to help others and share what you’ve given me. It’s not for me to keep. Thank you for your son.
“And while they were there, the time came for her baby to be born. She gave birth to her first child, a son. She wrapped in strips of cloth and laid him in a manager, because there was no lodging available for them.”
Luke 2: 6-7

It’s been 5 years since my grandmother gained her wings. From her death, a floodgate of memories, thoughts, and words opened up and this blog was created. I often think of what I would want her to know since her passing. I realize she is watching over me and is well aware but I miss the ability to pick up the phone and hear her voice. I miss being able to sit at her counter in the kitchen and get lost in her stories I have heard numerous times. I loved to watch her face as she told these stories. I had these stories memorized but when she told them, it was though it was the first time I had ever heard them, picking out new details I missed the last 100 times.

My grandmother was born in 1936, the same year as Elvis who she adored. I think they had a lot in common as kids-so poor they didn’t have a pot to piss in. The irony is that her maiden name Baker had once been the name of the county where she grew up. She was in fact a descendant of the Duke of Clanton, now with Chilton as its county name. I wondered why the name changed and read somewhere that the folks in this county didn’t take too kindly to what the Baker men’s political beliefs were; carpetbaggers I believe was the term I read. I digress. I don’t want to be political in my blogs or worry about something that has long since passed. This is more about the woman I knew, loved and adored.

She was the youngest of Auklee and Ola Mae Wright. Her mama died giving birth to Ruby who would have been her younger sister but God needed Ola Mae and baby Ruby. My grandmother was close to her siblings. She could have more fun with them than anyone else on this green Earth. What they didn’t have in money and things, they made up with love. From her stories I learned that being poor didn’t mean you were unhappy. Their love was what kept them going when times got tough and when the only thing she had to eat in a day was an orange peel she found on the playground. This kind of love moves mountains, gives you the ability to walk through fire, and live to tell your stories that live on for generations.

My grandmother was a beauty. I forever have an image in my mind from an old photo of her standing by her house on Strawberry Street with her beehive hair style. Her beauty routine included Ponds cream every night and Jergen’s lotion. I keep both as part of my routine too. I’ve written about it before but strawberry scented Suave was the shampoo I remember most at her house.

She had a green thumb and was a very good seamstress. Oh, how he could cook, but I miss her fried bologna sandwiches the most.

My grandmother was strong and not afraid to speak her mind. She was a true peach-soft exterior with a hard inner core.

Now at 37 I look in the mirror, I catch a glimpse of her from time to time. I have some of her features. I don’t know if I’ll ever be as strong of a woman as she was but I’ll try. I’m thankful God saw it fit for her to be my grandmother and to have her on this Earth as long as we did.

I miss you Maw Maw Faye. We all do. Don’t worry, you continue to live on through your stories, the lessons you taught us, and the love you shared. I love you a bushel and a peck.

I fear what my life will look like when my kids are grown and moved out. So much of my life is spent chasing them, schedules, school, sports. If I’m not doing that I’m working and trying to find a date night for Will and me. What will become of Ashley Coplin when the busiest ceases to exist?

I don’t have a hobby other than this- writing. Will plays golf so I know how he will spend his days. I’m an introvert/extrovert meaning the mood to throw a party comes around once a blue moon. I know what you are thinking. Geesh lady get a life.

And after cancer treatments, the feeling of letting go and living in the moment is slowly fading away and I’m drawn (like earth’s rotation around the sun) to being the same, safe person I’ve always been but why?

I was born into this world already in my 30s because of my old soul. Literally, started my to do lists when I was a few months old.

The extent of being adventurous is summed up by parasailing once, my one tattoo and will add a 2nd because of a dear friend but that is the extent to my mid life crisis/post Cancer.

I fear that I am boring and lack conversational skills beyond potty training and work related topics. What would my epitaph read? Here lies Ashley, always an old soul with the tendency to be very A type. She once let go but then reverted back to the old ways.

As much as I admire my sister (care free, artsy- can literally do anything) and in some ways jealous of her, I could never be that way.

I don’t know the answer except to keep trying. Keep trying to push myself into new experiences and out of my comfort zone. Quiet the anxiety and live in the moment.

Like all of us, I’ve been given one life and I’ve got to make the most of it.

So here’s our challenge fellow moms- we can take care of kids and us too. Self care has to be a priority. Don’t lose yourself in the day to day. Remember that girl… love her too.