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.

It had been a long week. My youngest had not slept well all week. I was looking forward to not setting an alarm for this Saturday morning. Mid-week, Robin, a new work friend mentioned that her church, Christian Chapel was hosting a walk for Breast Cancer Month and said “You should come!” I told her I would think about it, but secretly I was worn out and the walk started at 7 AM meaning I’d have to set an alarm. Before leaving on Friday, Robin once again said “I hope to see you there!” Later that evening, a get a text from another friend, Brandi, asking if I was coming. She was going to walk in my honor but there was no pressure for me to come. I told her I’d see how Anderson slept but again, I thought I just want to stay in bed!

Climbing into bed last night, I knew I would have to go. God has sent not just one messenger but two. He has his reasons and knows the right people to send and at the right time. Sometimes the right time to do something is when you don’t have the energy to do so. That’s when you get the biggest blessing. You see, it’s been a year now since I was first diagnosed and officially joined the Cancer Club. At the event, they asked the “survivors” to get in line first to receive breakfast. I had never thought much about the word until I literally became one. Brandi yelled at me when it was announced, “Ashley get in line; that’s you!” It literally means a person who survives, especially a person remaining alive after an event in which others have died. Lord may I never take this life for granted. What a powerful definition and all I can repeat over and over in my head- after an event in which others have died but I didn’t-I’m alive!

I want to thank Robin and Brandi for pushing me to attend today’s walk. I want to thank Christian Chapel for putting on this special event that I plan to attend for years to come! When I arrived, I realized there were so many people I needed to see in addition to my two friends. One friend (a fellow warrior and survivor) and I discussed the importance of using your diagnosis to help others. I think it’s a responsibility we have to others going through similar situations. That being said, I am here if anyone needs to talk. Please reach out to me.

Looking back at last year, I didn’t know what to expect and all I knew was that I would get through. I proudly now own a button that says “survivor.” May it always be a reminder of what I’ve been through but more importantly what I do now going forward.

With a hint of Fall in the air recently, my mind has been wandering back to
my college days at the University of Alabama in the early 2000’s. Particularly I was remembering our favorite dining and drinking spots. Some still exist while others have sadly gone away. So, here’s my top 5 list of favorite spots while at UA. The order is not significant, just what I can remember.

Nick’s in the Sticks– This establishment is still open but now has a sign. I think part of the appeal back in the day was that there was no sign. You had to remember where it was. Remember, this was a time when Facebook was in its infancy and most people didn’t have GPS systems in their cars (although
they did exist). The drink of choice here was a Nicodemus. I’m not sure all the ingredients but I know it had Rum, 151 and tasted like an adult Hawaiian Punch. The filets were some of the best in town and on a college budget, you could get a filet, salad, and baked potato for $8. There was always a line so we would order our Nicodemus’s and hang in the area in front of the restaurant (it’s small and has very limited seating). The hostess outside greeted you with a puff of her cigarette as she sat on an old wooden stool and barked at us if we went beyond the fenced in area. Inside, there were Christmas lights and Alabama memorabilia from past championships and tributes to Bear Bryant. Remember, this was the Shula era, there were no championships to be won. Going to Nick’s could ease the blow of Brodie Croyle being sacked 6 times by Auburn at home because Nick’s reminded you that championships could be won or maybe it was the Nicodemus that helped ease the pain.

The Waysider– This restaurant is one of my favorite breakfast spots in town. A small, red wooden house on Greensboro Ave is unassuming. The Waysider is where I learned to love grits. Yes, I grew up in the South but never took the time to try grits until a dear friend and pledge sister encouraged me to try them. I was hooked but the biscuits are my favorite there. Like Nick’s, prints adorn the walls of past Alabama victories. Daniel Moore prints are hung in every available wall space. Parking is limited and is around back.

El Rincon– Our go to Mexican restaurant located on University Boulevard is now longer open. I believe 95% of the college population went to El Rincon for their toxic margaritas. I’m not really sure how much tequila were in these drinks but usually you could be one and done if you started your night here.
Mexican food has always been a comfort food for me too. Chips, salsa, queso and margaritas-what more could you ask for?

Paty’s 24 Hour Diner located at the dormitory Paty Hall is no longer in existence but after a night out, it was the go-to for late night breakfast. College kids now have a Waffle House on the strip, but I’d take the 24 Hour Diner over Waffle House any day. Additionally, they took Bama Cash and Dining Dollars as payment so why go anywhere else after too many El Rincon margaritas and Nicodemus’s.

Harry’s Bar– Who doesn’t love a hole in the wall bar? Urban Legend says that the former owner Harry used to play basketball at UA when he is in college. What I knew of old man Harry is that he would bring out tequila shots for the girls. This place had nostalgia written all over it. Alabama county signs were the art of choice for this establishment. I remember being disappointed that there were no Marengo County signs. The drink of choice here was a Crazy Bucket. With a group of friends, you could all pitch in $5 and receive a plastic bucket with cups containing an unknown concoction. I tried to watch the bartender make a crazy bucket one night but loss track. It was everything liquor, beer, and the kitchen sink.

I love thinking about friends and times at the University of Alabama. I’m thankful for the memories. My head hurts thinking about those drinks now and as adult in a time at college where there were no Ubers, I’m thankful for our safety. Although a lot has changed since I first stepped on campus, it was always be one of my favorite times of my life and I will forever say “Roll Tide!”

In the recent years there has a been a lot of attention on rush or the politically correct time “Recruitment” at the University of Alabama. I am thankful when I went through rush 19 years ago, we didn’t have social media or Tik Tok. I’ve written before about how much I really didn’t know or understand about sororities at the University. All I knew is that I wanted to be in one and my friends from high school were rushing.

Particularly, one event sticks out in my mind. It is one of those events that changes the course of your life without you being aware until you are 37 years old looking back and writing a blog. On the night before Bid Day, the penultimate event, “Serious” Night as we called in 2003, was a time of reflection and self-contemplation on what house you really felt at “home.” If I’m being honest, I thought Panhellenic was surely joking. There was no way I’d know in a week’s time if I would know enough about a sorority to think in “serious” terms of a forever home and sisterhood.

Well, Serious Night 19 years ago I met a girl, a sophomore from Enterprise, Alabama at the DZ house on Serious Night. I asked her if we had to talk so seriously. I still wasn’t buying into the algebra equation behind sorority rush: one week = one house=rest of college and life. It seemed hokey like Billy Mays (for the younger generation please google “Oxyclean guy”; God rest his soul) would come down and say “Hey! Billy Mays here! All you have to do is add two scoops of Oxyclean and this is the sorority for you!”

Flash forward and from that not so “serious” talk, I pledged DZ but more importantly I gained a forever friend. Today’s her birthday. I miss her and not a day goes by that I don’t think about her and the blessing she was years ago and is to this day. Lindsay Beth, thank you for being your true, genuine self so many years ago and allowing me to see that real people did exist in sororities. I’ll admit there was some doubt- I mean have you seen the door songs? Stepford wives’ kind of shit but hey I did a door song (somebody had to stand on those chairs, and Lord did not give me the good lucks or talent to be a front row gal but whose knees are hurting how? Ha!) More importantly, past the door songs, ice water teas, etc. there are good people that will be in your wedding, at your baby shower, and that you will love you forever.

As I disclaimer, to my knowledge no sorority girl was hurt in this blog post. If you can’t laugh at yourself, then you are taking life way too seriously. I have no grudges against door songs; I am just not the cheerleader type. This disclaimer is not legally binding but maybe it will save me from some mad comments about my dislike for participating in door songs. I digress. Happy Birthday to the girl whose maiden named will always be pronounced with a growl! I love you!

Ah… the good old days of Zap photos and no one using a straightener.

If I am being completely honest, I do not think I really started living until I thought I might be dying. Funny how that happens when you get an unexpected diagnosis that feels as though it came from left field. The signs, however, in looking back at the last year were there and were mainly extreme fatigue and extreme weight loss (not counting the obvious lump). Silly to think about it now, but I really thought the weight loss was just from trying to eat right and chasing a toddler. I actually felt good about my weight but after learning why I was losing, the number in my clothes’ tags became unimportant. I weigh about 10 pounds more now and am much happier with the focus on trying to exercise and eat healthy most of the time.

It’s been almost a year now since I was originally diagnosed with breast cancer. I’ll go back this week for a pet scan as a precaution. There’s a certain dread that sets in now when these types of procedures are scheduled and when your blood work is checked. I’m guessing, too, that I may be having a little PTSD triggered by certain dates and memories, but I’m self-diagnosing.

There also a thing about being diagnosed at what’s considered a young age- the aggressiveness of my type of cancer. Although, I caught it early (thank God), there’s a lingering that I don’t think I’ll ever shake, and it lives in the corner of my mind-the chance of it returning. This thought is not an everyday kind of thing but still exists.

So, how does one live with the uncertainty and play the card that’s been dealt? With a new lens and letting small, insignificant things (those that don’t pass will it matter in 5 years test) go. I’m also challenging myself to stretch outside my comfort zone (new job at the hospital is my such challenge). I’ve also learned to laugh at myself, i.e., trying to learn the latest Tik Tok dance from my sister (former high school cheerleader, musician, and the one with rhythm) with my two left feet and no assistance from an adult beverage to give me a kind of false confidence. And, I’m even repeating over and over again to give myself grace. I cannot stress granting yourself grace enough.

Finally, it’s all about the moments. The tiniest of moments you might miss if you aren’t looking- like the chance to sing at the top of your lungs with your 2-year-old Twinkle Twinkle or wearing the silly hat the restaurant gives your child just to see him smile. It’s also about time even when you are tired too listen to your 9-year-old explain to you how to play to chess even though you don’t think you’ll ever learn or much less win against the boy genius.

Breast cancer has taught and is teaching me a lot- a lot about myself and who I want to be with the time I’m given on this earth. The silver lining is that I get to choose how I react and respond in this life. It’s an everyday choice but it’s mine to make.

If I could give anyone advice it would be to don’t start living when you think your dying. Live now! You don’t want to be in the movie theatre watching your life, you want to be the star of your own show!

For as long as I can remember, I have always been enthralled with things of the past-clothing, music, and mostly stories. These stories came entirely from books I read and my grandmother. Out of all the great literary characters of all time, the heroines of stories have always been my favorite. From fiery characters, such as Scout and Idgie to the women that were more comfortable in the shadows like Ruth, Idgie’s softer counterpart; I have always felt somewhat of a kinship with them all. I do not consider myself girly yet I am not completely a tom boy. I feel as if I do not fit into one box. Really, I imagine that I am some lost time traveler stuck in the now when I am really supposed to be fighting for women’s rights to vote or a freedom rider, fighting for equal rights for all. I am for the meek and mild, the voiceless and powerless. You see as much as I love the same stories repeatedly, sometimes ad nauseum, real life continues to be so much better and more poignant. I hope that at the end of this life, I live on through my children, their children, their children’s children, and so on. I dream of being the old, strong-willed grandmother that tells giant tales to her grandchildren as they sit in front of me with big eyes of amazement and beg for just one more story and ask “did that really happen?” I smile, a knowing smile as the wrinkles slowly appear across my face and I say “Well, yes it happened! There was time when I fought cancer and I sent it running for the hills! I also worked to improve our hospital’s patients’ experience even though I was no doctor!” The dash in my epitaph will be one for the ages. The old woman I become will be pieces from other women before me and the memories they instilled in me. The shy little girl I was once will now be of literary legends. Courage I once read was telling your whole truth. The end of my days will be a new beginning for another girl who once had a grandmother that was a time traveler of sorts as she brought with her the past in the tales she told.

You ever forget just how much you miss a person or people until you actually see them? And you think, “Gosh I’ve missed you!” That’s exactly how I felt yesterday at my granddaddy’s house as we gathered to spend time with family. One of my aunts was visiting from Clanton, where my grandmother was born and lived until my daddy was 5 years old. Chilton County was once named “Baker County” after my descendants. The Bakers gave every other plot of land to build this county. Politics or the Bakers’ dealings in politics lead to the county changing its name to Chilton, a judge in the county at one time. So, I guess I was an heir to a county once upon a time.

One of my favorite things to do when our family is together is to get them to tell stories about their childhood. Daddy always tells the story of “The Sack Man”. Stay tuned to another blog about the infamous “Sack Man”. This story never gets old and neither do the reactions from my dad and his sisters.

By now you are wondering what in God’s green earth do peaches and Vanity Fair have to do with each other? To understand, my grandmother, is to know both peaches or Chilton County and Vanity Fair. While going through some of my grandmother’s things, my aunts and I stumbled across an old photo of my grandmother and the ladies that worked at Vanity Fair.

Peaches are a big deal in Clanton, and you know they are a big deal because every year someone is crowned “Peach Queen”. If you’ve been living under a rock in Alabama then you wouldn’t know this fact. Most Alabamians, however, know the best peaches are from Chilton County. Both peaches and Chilton County are both big muses in my writing. Nell, my grandmother’s youngest sister, always said that “May peaches ain’t no good; June and July were”, simply meaning that the best time to pick peaches were in June and July. My grandmother could have been described as a June or July peach.

She had a soft, delicate and beautiful exterior with a hard center from a tough upbringing. She came to Demopolis from Clanton seeking a better life for her children, leaving behind family and all she knew. A young mother, she waited tables until one day a kind gentleman named Mr. Northcutt offered her a job at one of the newest industries in town-Vanity Fair, a sewing factory. Vanity Fair opened the doors for a lot of women back in the day- the ability to provide for family and in hours that corresponded with school hours-7 AM until 3 PM.

Now, I know a lot of the younger people may not remember Vanity Fair. I only remember the bits and pieces from my early childhood and hearing from my grandmother, as well as, the embarrassing bras and panties I got each year for Christmas (God, I would kill to have those as gifts now). What I do remember and sticks out the most was that these women became like family as they worked side by side, every day. They shared grief as some women traveling from a nearby town to work one day were killed in a car wreck. They celebrated birthdays, births of children, grandchildren, life. Two of my great aunts also worked at Vanity Fair and later my mom’s sister and my dad briefly.

You could say that Vanity Fair changed my life. If it had not been for Mr. Northcutt, I’m not sure how my grandmother would have been able to continue to provide for her family. Chilton County also changed my life. It raised some beautiful peaches, my grandmother and her sisters.

Seeing my aunts and my great aunt (93 in September and the only peach still alive) did my heart and soul so good. By spending time with them, my grandmother in a sense is still with us. I know she was proud to see us gathering around, telling the same old stories.

I know she was proud when we found her picture from Vanity Fair. One request my grandmother made as she was passing away was to be buried in a gown from Vanity Fair; that’s how much her time there meant to her. I am going to make copies of that photograph for my aunts and keep a copy for me for my new office. It will serve as a reminder of the real super heroes in this world, the women who work hard to put food on the table and raise their kids.

Aunt Jan brought peaches for the whole family yesterday, and I can’t wait to make a pie, tarts or just take a big old bite out of a cold peach. So next time you bite into a peach, remember to always be a June or July peach; may peaches ain’t no good. Count your blessings and remember a time, when women came together at a special place, a once upon a time type of place, to provide for their family.