I often write about my mother and my aunt being twins born on Christmas Day.
From my earliest memory, their dual births on a date dedicated to a child born in a manger and a jolly old elf with eight tiny reindeer made the sisters seem magical. Yet, growing up I didn’t know my Aunt Agnes very well.
She entered the convent of the Sisters of Mercy before I was born. For years I was barely aware of her existence as she was restricted from receiving visitors or seeing her family but for one day each year---ironically---on Christmas.
My strongest recall of her during my growing up years took place at a family gathering for which she had received special permission to attend (accompanied by another sister of Mercy, of course.)
I was in 7th grade and had just finished a class assignment on what I wanted to be when I grew up---or my “vocation” as the nuns liked to term it. For whatever reason, I wrote about becoming a Mercy nun!
I received an “A” on the project----a major accomplishment in my academic life. I couldn’t wait to show Aunt Agnes the vision for my future. Beaming as I handed her my written work, I waited for her words of praise to fill the space between us.
After several minutes of reading, she looked at me and concisely stated, “You could never be a nun.”
Fortunately, her painful but honest assessment of my future didn’t divide us. As I finished high school, married and gave birth to two children, Aunt Agnes became a treasured source of love and support for me and my children.
In December of 2007, I was driving back to my office following a client visit and my phone lit up with my aunt’s name. At this point, she was the last of her siblings still alive and the bond between us had strengthened both as family and as women.
In her usual and direct way, Aunt Agnes instructed me to pull over and park. She then delivered the message of her failing health diagnosis of esophageal cancer.
For the next three months, all who knew and loved my aunt supported her with prayers and caring gifts, including a beautiful handmade prayer shawl.
I had never heard of such a thing, but quickly learned that as a knitter weaves the strands of yarn together, they hold the intended recipient in prayer asking for them to know peace, strength, comfort and a sense of being loved. The ideal is that when the person wraps the shawl around themselves, they will feel surrounded by love and prayer, especially when illness or grief makes words difficult.
Following my aunt’s passing, I was honored to be given her prayer shawl. For the next fifteen years whenever I sought its refuge I could feel my aunt’s love and support.
Then in 2022, my cousin---the only daughter of aunt Agnes’ sister Catherine, was diagnosed with a list of medical challenges that left little doubt of her future.
Feeling helpless, I offered to visit my cousin, take her for rides---anything that might ease her medical journey. Ultimately, that Christmas I gave my cousin the one thing I truly believed could help her---our aunt’s prayer shawl.
Over the last four years, my cousin wrapped herself in its soft embrace in hospital rooms and care facilities. And last week as she took her final breath, it was by her side.
Yesterday, Aunt Agnes’ prayer shawl found its way back to me and I have kept it wrapped around my shoulders since. As intended, it has made me feel surrounded by love and prayers--- as I grieve and remember.
#HeartandSoulStoryteller
𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 & 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗲𝗹𝐥𝗲𝗿 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐕𝐨𝐥.𝟑𝟎: 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂 𝑴𝒆𝒂𝒍
On Friday, I joined with people across America, and around the world, in again reliving the tragic losses of 9/11.
Yet on the 25th anniversary of the terrorist attack on our nation, I also found myself thinking about dinner. Not just any dinner. Rather, a unique gathering of family and friends that I hosted for 20 years on the First Sunday of every month--- beginning October 6, 2001.
Why? Looking back at the September 21, 2001 email I sent to 60-plus people, this is how I began:
𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝑭𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑭𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔,
𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒏 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒍 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚’𝒔 𝒄𝒊𝒓𝒄𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆. 𝑳𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒆𝒘 𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒌𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒈𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒆𝒏𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒖𝒍𝒕 𝒐𝒇 9/11. 𝑨𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕-𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒇𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒇 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒏𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒚𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆, 𝒘𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆 𝒊𝒕. 𝑾𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒕𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓.
What the rest of that email contained was my First Sunday Dinner Plan---where I invited everyone to come to my home on the first Sunday of each month for no other reason than to share a meal and enjoy each other’s company.
That was the only invitation I ever sent out (other than to newcomers) with the only condition being that everyone bring a dish to share and what they wanted to drink.
While life occasionally got in the way of these dinners, for 20 years most every First Sunday I welcomed anywhere from 8-to-48 people to my dining room table(s). And while I imagined the tradition continuing forever, the day came---twenty years almost to the day of 9.11---that I sold my home and had to host the final First Sunday Dinner. These pictures are from that gathering.
Throughout those more than 200 dinners, new people were welcomed and longtime attendees passed or moved away. Yet the joy of joining together and sharing a meal formed cherished connections and memories for all of us.
On Friday, while I spent time immersed in the images of the unimaginable tragedies of 25 years ago, I also took heart in looking at these photos of that final First Sunday Dinner--a tradition born from sorrow and pain---that became a bonding life lesson on the blessings of sharing a meal.
#HeartandSoulStoryteller
𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 & 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗲𝗹𝐥𝗲𝗿 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐕𝐨𝐥. 𝟐9: 𝑨𝒏 𝑯𝒐𝒏𝒐𝒓 𝑴𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝑬𝒙𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒚 𝑴𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒇𝒖𝒍
Storytelling is part of my DNA.
Being instructed not to tell a story goes against the very essence of my storyteller’s heart and soul. That said, for the past week, I did as instructed and kept this particular story to myself.
Thankfully, my period of imposed silence has come to an end and I can finally tell you this story!
I am honored to be among the 25 Western New York women named Buffalo Business First’s 2026 Women of Influence Award winners.
This is the 20th group to be honored since Business First established the awards in 2007, bringing the number of Women of Influence honorees to 500.
My sincere thanks to Buffalo Business First and the members of its editorial staff who served as judges, along with Sylvia Bennett, senior vice president and chief development officer at BTPM PBS; Sara Dayton, managing partner at Lumsden & McCormick LLP; Anne Joynt, partner at Lipsitz, Ponterio & Comerford LLC; and Chandra Redfern, CEO of the Buffalo Federation of Neighborhood Centers Inc.
Being selected as a 2026 Buffalo Business First Woman of Influence is an honor that will forever be a defining moment in my career and leave an enduring imprint on my life.
Most significantly, I want to thank the two people who made it their mission to dig into the details of my patchwork career and push and prod those details into a nomination that not only earned me this wonderful honor, but provided me with a reflection of the place I hold in their lives---as their mother.
Thank you, Lisa Abt, for your discerning eye for detail and organizational excellence.
Thank you, James Abt, for once again proving that you are the most talented writer in our family.
Thank you both for your support and love. Sharing this moment with you—and knowing that you helped make it possible—makes this honor extraordinarily meaningful.
𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 & 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗲𝗹𝐥𝗲𝗿 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐕𝐨𝐥. 𝟐𝟖: 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑳𝒊𝒇𝒆-𝒔𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑽𝒂𝒍𝒖𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑾𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏 𝑻𝒂𝒍𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈
I met Susan Marie Morreale twenty years ago at a women's getaway event where we were both invited speakers. That day, as Susan shared her story, she revealed intimate details of her recent breast cancer journey.
Listening to this elegant woman talk about the ways in which the disease had ravaged her body and mind---and how she was determined to overcome its effects through healthy eating and lifestyle habits---- I was inspired by her incredible inner strength and sense of self.
In the years since, I have watched Susan live out her philosophy and share it with women throughout our community through the creation of the HER brand.
HER is much more than a business or marketing concept. It is Susan’s philosophy brought to life through her retail store on Hertel Avenue in Buffalo. There, she offers a carefully curated selection of plant-based products, a wellness tea bar, and the HER Kitchen, where she hosts events centered on seasonal, plant-based meals crafted with wellness in mind.
This month, Susan is introducing the newest addition to HER: HERtalks.
Created around the idea of “walking with women through the ages and stages of life,” Susan describes HERtalks as, "...monthly gatherings that make space for honest conversations, meaningful connections, and shared wisdom, featuring inspiring women who are helping shape the wellness landscape."
These HERtalk conversations will be accompanied by a curated menu of small bites from HER Kitchen. Susan notes that each menu will be thoughtfully designed to complement the evening’s theme and to, "...truly nourish you from the inside out.”
These days, we face a constant barrage of information about the latest health and wellness trends, along with endless promises that they will keep us younger, stronger, and healthier. I don’t know about you, but I often dismiss those hard-sell claims as hype—designed primarily to generate clicks, views, and revenue.
That is precisely why I believe in Susan Marie Morreale and respect what she has created with HER.
For Susan, this is not simply how she makes a living. It is how she shares the practices and philosophies that helped her reclaim—and ultimately save—her life.
Link to HERtalks inaugural event: https://www.facebook.com/share/1BmiV8G9sh/
𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 & 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗲𝗹𝐥𝗲𝗿 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐕𝐨𝐥. 𝟐𝟕: 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒆𝒍𝒔𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒆?
I am a born and raised Buffalo Gal….in the best meaning of that term. I have spent all but seven years of my life in this community and will go to my grave believing there is no better place to live, work and play.
That said, there are a few trademarks of my "Queen City" personality that have made me stand out to people outside of Buffalo. One of the most prominent is my intense interest in sports. Particularly NFL football. Specifically the Buffalo Bills.
Whenever someone outside the 716 remarks about my pigskin passion, my answer returns the same: “Hey, I grew up in Buffalo. Bills football is a way of life here---man, woman and child alike.” Sound far fetched? Let me explain.
In my preteen years, from September through the end of December, the highlight of our family’s week was listening to Bills games on the radio. I can still hear the team's announcer, Van Miller, excitedly calling out scores and praising bruising tackles---from championship runs through the team’s all-time worst 1-12-1 season.
Most of all, I can remember the first time I actually attended a game. It was September 2, 1965. I well into my 13th year--a fact that apparently made my parents believe I was worthy of an NFL ticket, albeit for a preseason contest.
I didn’t care. I just wanted to go.
On that balmy fall evening, I walked down the steps of the Bills home field, War Memorial Stadium---to a seat beyond the dreaded view-obstructing poles---under the bright lights of my first Buffalo Bills game. Every sight, every sound, every smell of the experience is still imprinted in my DNA.
The Bills were playing their dreaded division rivals, the New York Jets. The game ended up a 31-10 Bills rout due to the two "Charleys": Kickoff specialist, Charley Warner: who ran back a 92-yard kickoff return for a touchdown. Receiver Charley Ferguson: who caught an end-of-game touchdown pass from backup QB, Daryle Lamonica.
That night marked the beginning of my lifetime of Bills memories, made all the more meaningful by the family, friends and fellow fans who have shared the team’s joys and agonies along with me. Included in those many recollections is the 1973 relocation of the team from the War Memorial “Rockpile” to the upgraded Orchard Park (Rich/Ralph Wilson/New Era/Bills/ Highmark) Stadium.
It was an unsettling time, no doubt, but over the last 52 seasons, a whole new list of unforgetting moments have blended with my teenage memories into a special “Hey, remember that game….” mosaic. Now, with the debut of the Buffalo Bills shiny new Highmark home, I’ve been reviewing the six-decades of those game highlights stored in my memories.
It’s been a fun journey, but it has also piqued my Irish temper regarding the team's new stadium: the staggering construction costs, newly established licensing fees, triple-digit ticket prices, parking charges, and captive-audience prices for food and drinks. Together, they add up to an exclusionary sum for so many in Western New York who dream of attending just 𝐨𝐧𝐞 of their team’s games.
Honestly, it’s gotten to the point that my passion for the Bills has taken a turn, recently leading me to declare that I will never go to a home game again.
************************************************************************************
On Saturday, August 15th, my daughter put me in her car and took me to the Bills’ preseason opener at Highmark Stadium—her treat. At first, I railed against going, reminding her of my, “never to attend” vow. In the end, her thoughtful generosity overcame my Irish frustrations and despite my misgivings, I went.
As I sat in my seat, taking in the sights and sounds of the magnificent new stadium, sixty-three years of Bills memories—shared with family, friends, and community—came rushing back. Unexpectedly, my eyes filled with emotion that spilled over and onto my cheeks.
Looking around, I tried to figure out all that was stirring my heart and soul. Then some iconic words—a Bills tradition reflecting so much of what I have experienced as a Buffalo Gal—echoed in my mind. And I understood...
“𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰?”—𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒗 𝑳𝒆𝒗𝒚, 𝑩𝒖𝒇𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒐 𝑩𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒂𝒄𝒉, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟔–𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟕
𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 & 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗲𝗹𝐥𝗲𝗿 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐕𝐨𝐥. 𝟐𝟔: 𝑯𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝑭𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒉
Eight months ago, I launched my latest book, The Secret Sand Circle, with plans to travel across the country for signings at libraries, bookstores, and book clubs. It was a successful pattern I began in 2014 with my Kindle Top Ten bestseller, 𝑪𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝑯𝒊𝒍𝒍: 𝑨 𝑵𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝑳𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆.
But as the saying goes, “We plan, and God laughs.” And lately, I've been hearing laughter from the heavens, loud and clear!
After months of national pitches, I have received one invitation, two commitments, and many maybes. Given my past successes, the lack of response has been baffling, causing me to doubt the three years I spent writing this book—and even my abilities as an author.
Then I heard my mother’s voice repeating what she had preached all of her life: “Have faith.”
That reminder sent me digging through my oversized to-do basket for a notebook I had purchased in January. It has a burgundy leather cover, an elegant gold pen, and one word written across the flap: faith. Holding it felt like a salve to my wounded author's heart and soul.
I opened it and began writing—not a story or essay, but ideas for changing how I connected people and places with my book. First, I listed the events I had pursued and the few I had secured. Seeing them on paper reignited my determination. 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑪𝒊𝒓𝒄𝒍𝒆 deserved better.
So did I.
I started by making the difficult decision to withdraw from a book festival to which I was committed. From the beginning, the trip had felt like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole—another of my mother’s favorite sayings. Once I sent the cancellation, I felt a sprig of hope bloom.
Next, I focused on the book’s "Community Benefit Initiative." I donate a combined 20 percent of every sale to NAMI Buffalo/WNY and the local NAMI chapter where I am speaking, in support of peer-to-peer mental health counseling. The initiative has not grown as I had hoped, but I still believe that the book—and the cause—have strong potential.
That belief led to a recent conversation with Shannon Higbee, Chief Strategy Officer at The Alliance for Rights and Recovery, a New York organization supporting mental health recovery and rehabilitation. A copy of 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑪𝒊𝒓𝒄𝒍𝒆 is now on its way to Shannon because of her enthusiasm for my book. the associated initiative---and the possibilities.
Finally, I returned to my notebook and listed the places where I had spoken and signed books over the past decade. With a family wedding bringing me to Denver in September, I decided to reach out to libraries and organizations there. After sending the emails, I walked away from my computer, bracing for more silence. Yet when I noticed my notebook I did all I could to, instead, have faith.
Within hours, a lovely individual named Teal responded.
She wrote that her organization’s September speaker had just cancelled. Because it is National Suicide Prevention Awareness Month and National Recovery Month, she believed 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑪𝒊𝒓𝒄𝒍𝒆 would be a perfect book to highlight in an in-person presentation. She also invited me to appear on the organization's newly launched podcast, “Restricted by Corsets but Never Silenced.”
Who is this group you ask?
I am honored to share that it is the Denver Woman's Press Club founded in 1898 as a gathering place where, "...writers build friendships, find support, and strengthen their skills and confidence."
After months of doubt, the message was clear. All I need to do, is have faith.
𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 & 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗲𝗹𝐥𝗲𝗿 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐕𝐨𝐥. 𝟐𝟓: 𝑷𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒔, 𝑷𝒖𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒄 𝑺𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑯𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑭𝒖𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆
When I was 16 years old, my father and I had a "common sense" conversation about my future. It began with him asking what I wanted to do for a career. Idealistically, I replied that I wanted to earn a degree in political science and become a government representative in Washington, D.C. His response was immediate and direct. “No. You’ll go to college to become a teacher. That’s what women do.
In the end, my father was wrong on both counts.
I did not go to college to become a teacher---or any other degreed position. And my 25-year resume proffers a variety of roles in government/political operations---or as I have come to prefer the job description --- public service. It is a purpose I have pursued since my teen years, serving as president of my high school student council as well as my freshman college class.
I then went on to serve as president of several home-school and PTA associations, president of my community’s Chamber of Commerce, media specialist for the Erie County Legislature, district office manager and chief of staff for two county legislators, and campaign manager or coordinator for numerous city, county, and state candidates—including myself. Yet despite my lifelong passion for government/public service, I have made the decision to temporarily step back from all such involvement.
Why?
Because from my perspective the purpose of the work---to serve people and their communities---is no longer the standard of the profession I once cherished.
I’m not saying there are no longer people working in government as public servants rather than politicians. What I am saying is that the profession has become a cesspool of corruption, greed and substandard efforts to do the job---𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆. It’s gotten to the point that I am limiting the amount of time I spend watching the news and reading online news reports. I am also stepping back from conversations about politics and the divisive rhetoric that so often accompanies them.
Still, something within me longs to be back in the trenches of public service—helping to elect service-minded candidates, writing legislation to assist those in need, and lobbying government officials about the issues and conditions impacting our cities and towns, and the people who live in them. Yet at this moment, the best I can do is continue to serve my community as a private citizen and public journalist, working to make a difference through the ways and means available to me. Along with one more thing.
I have begun binging all seven seasons---156 episodes---of 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑾𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑾𝒊𝒏𝒈.
If you are unfamiliar, 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑾𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑾𝒊𝒏𝒈 was a fictional television series based on the White House tenure of President Josiah Bartlet and his fiercely dedicated, but flawed, West Wing staff. While the acting is superb, what makes the programming so compelling is the brilliant writing by the series’ creator, Aaron Sorkin and later shaped by writers and producers, John Wells, Debora Cahn, Lawrence O'Donnell and Peter Noah.
Watching these episodes has soothed my heart and soul like rain after a long summer drought. It has reminded me of how our government once operated---as an entity of the people, by the people and for the people.
Sure, I’m being idealistic in that statement. I know from the beginning of time, governments have been defined by graft, greed, corruption and cruelty---the darker aspects of the "human condition." Nonetheless, I know from my own experience that there have always been people dedicated to the greater good. Individuals determined to ensure that those with less receive more and those in need receive care. Communities bound together by their innate believe in kindness and justice---something in short supply these days.
So now each night I immerse myself in West Wing episodes--pondering that long ago "common sense" conversation with my father--and trying to rekindle my youthful hope for the future.
𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 & 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗿: 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐕𝐨𝐥. 𝟐𝟒: 𝑴𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑴𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔
I recently launched a new business called 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫: 𝑴𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝑴𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒆.
Within days of launching the venture, I landed my first client. Soon afterward, radio/podcast host Penny Wolfgang invited me to discuss my fledgling enterprise on her, “On Target” Radio Show. That opportunity was followed by interest in my services from a successful Western New York real estate executive.
However, all of those achievements were eclipsed by a moving commitment I made last fall to my brother-in-law.
I promised to travel upstate and help sort and prioritize the possessions belonging to him and his wife/my sister-in-law in preparation for her move from their home into a small apartment.
His request was not a casual one. He was in the final stages of advanced COPD and was asking me to make sure his beloved wife would be cared for after he died. He passed away on November 30.
To be clear, downsizing and moving are experiences I know well. When I was married and became a mother to two young children, I soldiered through 12 moves in 10 years.
Later in life, I professionally guided hundreds of older adults through the moving process as they transitioned into the Fox Run at Orchard Park Continuing Care Retirement Community.
I additionally gained extensive hands-on moving experience in helping relocate my mother, father, daughter, grandchildren, and several close friends whom I consider family. In other words, I knew what I was getting into when I made that moving commitment to my brother-in-law. Or so I thought.
Last Sunday, I set off for New York State’s “North Country” on a journey to make good on my family promise. I took with me my tried-and-true routine when guiding people through the moving process---𝐃𝐃𝐊: 𝐃umpster, 𝐃onate, 𝐊eep.
While my “three pile system” may not be perfect, it’s a pretty fail safe means of helping people reach those impossible decisions about all of their “stuff!” I felt confident that I could efficiently and thoughtfully help my sister-in-law get packed and ready to move.
In reality my confidence quickly faded as she began unpacking long-stored-away boxes of treasures:
Her husband’s hand-written “Head Chef” recipes.
His meticulously crafted class notes for food electives he taught to generations of culinary students.
Post-it notes he placed throughout pages of box-after-box of cookbooks---many which had been penned by internationally-renowned chefs whom he knew and, in some cases, partnered with in creating culinary delights.
Awards, commendations and thank yous from food organizations, restaurant owners, culinary learning institutions and students from across the United States and Europe.
And most importantly, memories my sister-in-law related to each recipe, every course curriculum and the collection of carefully tabbed cook books--- revealing how deeply the two of them were connected in their passionate dedication to creating exquisitely presented and extraordinarily delicious food.
After taking a few days to reflect on—and release—the emotions stirred within me by the experience, I don’t believe any downsizing/moving project will ever more meaningfully teach me what it means to move people—and their memories—with care.
#HeartandSoulStoryteller #TheNextChapter
𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 & 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗿: 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐕𝐨𝐥. 𝟐𝟑: 𝑭𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚, 𝑭𝒖𝒏, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑨 𝑳𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑳𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒄𝒚
B. David Bisset was my father, James W. Bisset’s, brother. The two were born nine years apart, so by the time “Jim” came along “Dave” was well into his own life. It was those circumstances that shaped their relationship into one that was never especially close.
My earliest memories of my father’s brother date back to when I was 8 years old. That's when Uncle Dave, his wife, Irene, and their three children, Dave, Jim and Karen, traveled from their Radford, VA home to Buffalo as part of their summer vacation.
I had never met any of them, so we had no real connection. Yet, Uncle Dave changed that from the moment he walked in our house and began revealing his plans for their week-long stay: trips to the Buffalo Zoo, both Fantasy Island AND Crystal Beach and an afternoon at the movies.
For a latch-key kid of working parents, rearranging a segment of my traditional "day camp" summer into a combination of family and fun was beyond my comprehension. And as I quickly learned, it was a dream experience---one to which I looked forward every few years when the Virginia Bisset Clan returned.
One of the reasons my uncle was so devoted to family fun was that it was, quite literally, his job. He was the Director of Recreation for the City of Radford. Creating enjoyment for people of all ages was part of his DNA.
My father, however, never seemed to know quite what to make of his brother’s work. “Rec Director” didn’t fit his idea of a profession, and, thus, he never gave it the credit it deserved.
The irony is that the work my father never fully valued led the City of Radford to honor his brother in a lasting way: with a 57-acre park set on the New River which, in 1975 they dedicated as Bisset Park.
The official proclamation noted that the dedication recognized Dave Bisset not merely for working in the Recreation Department, but. "... for helping to shape and oversee the development of parks and recreation throughout the City of Radford."
Since its dedication, Bisset Park has become the realization of Uncle Dave’s lifelong commitment to creating places and spaces for people of all ages to enjoy games, picnics and special moments---the kind of fun he spent his life making possible for so many individuals, groups and families—including his own.
This week, Uncle Dave’s elder son, Dave, sent me a poster of Radford’s “250th Fourth of July” Celebration. Like many American cities, towns, villages and hamlets, their list of events included food trucks, vendors, music, games and fireworks.
Yet, for my nickel, it was the location of the red, white and blue event that made it extra special-- within the beauty and welcome of Bisset Park.
On the Fourth of July—or any day—there simply couldn’t be a better tribute to B. David Bisset, the man I was blessed to call my uncle.
𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 & 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗿: 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐕𝐨𝐥. 𝟐𝟐: “𝑨 𝑩𝒂𝒅 𝑾𝒆𝒆𝒌 𝑴𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝑮𝒐𝒐𝒅”
It’s been a week.
The challenges began when I caught my laptop power cord with my foot as I was moving past the table where I was working.
No big deal, you say? Yeah. That’s what I thought.
Then I picked up my laptop, which had followed that cord to the floor, and discovered the new psychedelic design of my shattered laptop screen.
I’ll spare you the painful details of the endless chaos in trying to figure out a new piece of technology---which I know nothing about other than creating words and images—along with the agita of trying to recover all those words and images no longer accessible behind that shattered screen.
The good news is that I am blessed by the friendship of people like Bob Reynolds and Marc Odien, who kindly and patiently led me through the maze of electronic information and options. Within 24 hours of the shattering experience my words and images life was restored.
The rest of my week offered the usual silliness and stresses---compounded by Mother Nature's insistence to make everyone in WNY feel as if we were living in Kansas and were all named Dorothy!
A little bit ‘o wind is no big deal. When gusts take out my plants---and destroy the first hand-crafted piece of pottery I'd dreamed of owning and finally purchased this garden season--- you get the picture.
Frustrated but determined, I kept on keepin' on, spending part of the week finishing up shopping for a client who just moved into a new home. It’s part of the services I provide through my new business, 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑵𝒆𝒙𝒕 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓, 𝑴𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝑴𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒆.
One of the stops on my list was a chain store where I needed to make a few exchanges. As I approached the assigned area, my eyes lit on the employee behind the counter—a lovely lady wearing a great big smile---and a hat filled with flowers.
My brain---clouded with the frustrations of my week---stalled for a moment. I couldn’t quite register the vision before me. Then, without thought, my week-long frown turned upside down and transformed into outright laughter.
Approaching the woman, I asked her if she made the hat? She nodded in affirmation.
I questioned if she wears her hats everyday, to which she said, “yes.”
My third query was if people call her “The Hat Lady?” This time, she laughed and stated, “Even when I go to the Erie County Fair!”
At this point my whole being was filled with a sense of joy---a significant accomplishment considering the week I'd experienced. As I stood and marveled at this sweet human being before me, I wondered out loud, “Why do you do this?”
Without missing a beat, she beamed and replied, “Because it makes people smile.”
And that, ladies and gents, is how a bad week is made good.
𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 & 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗿: 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐕𝐨𝐥. 𝟐𝟏: 𝑳𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝑨 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒎𝒑!
My name is Christina and I drive a truck.
To be clear, my truck is not a dually, extended bed, monster vehicle. It’s a short cab style that puts me up above the traffic and allows me full view when changing lanes and at intersections. And. to my delight, Ruby, (of course I've named my truck) is an adorable color of red.
This is not the first time that I’ve driven a truck. For almost 15 years, my family bred, raised and owned Morgan Horses, which we exhibited at shows across the United States.
In the later years of our equine adventures, our mode of transportation was a extended cab, extended bed, dually F-350 with a 24-ft, gooseneck four-horse trailer attached--- including space for everything needed for humans and horses to live and compete at a show for four-to-fourteen days.
If all of that reads like a foreign language, my best translation is a big-a** truck with an equally oversized trailer attached. The thing is, when I pull up at a location with Ruby the reactions of people range from surprise, to amusement, confusion and even disapproval.
Yet hands down, the times Ruby and I attract the most attention is in a crowded parking lot. People actually stand and stare, almost as if they are waiting for me to scrape the side or scratch the bumper of the vehicles around us. And when that doesn’t happen, they turn away seemingly disappointed.
Until this week.
I was shopping for a client, looking for items to decorate his new home. Of course, I journeyed to the mecca of all home décor ---The Boulevard South District, which offers a connected conglomerate of Home Goods, Home Trends and TJ Maxx. I'm pretty sure there is not a more congested parking lot in the world!
Undaunted, I eyed a spot that offered plenty of room for me and Ruby to glide between the yellow lines. Making the turn I employed the technique I have perfected over the years. I angled deeply to one side and at the last minute straightened the wheel, perfectly aligning to center.
I was feeling truly accomplished---until I looked up and saw a woman standing outside her car on the opposite side and one space down from where Ruby and I were parked. All I could imagine was that this person was winding up to offer some comment about how I almost hit the other cars surrounding us.
Taking a deep breath I opened the door and exited Ruby, ready to take whatever this woman was going to dish out. Immediately she yelled,
“You're amazing! I’ve never seen anyone park a truck like that.”
Then, with a raised fist she she called out,
“You are a champ!”
Yep. My name is Christina and I drive an adorable red truck named, Ruby---like a champ.
𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 & 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗿: 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐕𝐨𝐥. 𝟐𝟎: 𝑨𝒃𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑨 𝑷𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆
They say good things come in threes. That was certainly true for me in May—a month of abundance.
The first good thing involved my friend Bryan Wittman, Owner and President of the Dry Creek Group. He invited me to collaborate on the script for a Key Ceremony he was producing in honor of WNY Army veteran Nathan Kalwicki and his wife, Veronica. The “key” unlocked the door to a mortgage-free, specially adapted home built for the Kalwickis by the nonprofit, A Soldier's Journey Home.
Bryan and I have worked together for more than a decade, and each event has been creatively fun. This time, the experience went beyond that into a realm of meaningful and life-changing. It was also consuming for everyone working with Bryan on the ceremony—all of us striving to go above and beyond for the Kalwickis in thanks for what they have given to our nation.
At the end of a ceremony filled with music, patriotic pageantry, heartfelt speeches and fireworks, it was everything we had planned, worked for and hoped for—and more. And I will be forever grateful for the experience.
The second good thing that came my way in May was a client for my new business.
Yes, I have started a new business. It’s called The Next Chapter: Moving You and Your Memories with Care. I decided to launch this service after reviewing my life experiences of moving my family 12 times in ten years, working as the move-in coordinator for Fox Run at Orchard and helping family and friends downsize, upsize and relocate throughout my life.
That review helped me realize I have the skills to help people during one of the most stressful times of their lives: moving.
My client is also a friend---Mike Billoni--- who recently was downsizing from a suburban, 1,700-square-foot house with land and gardens to a one-bedroom condo in the city. The work is everything I anticipated and more. More fun. More interesting. At times, more challenging. And unexpectedly, more meaningful.
Yesterday, Mike sent me this note: “Thank you for all you did for me in making this move. My new home is a dream come true.” I’m going to frame his words, along with a couple of photos of his beautiful condo, in affirmation of all that is possible in life.
I saved the best for last with my third good thing from May. I have been invited to participate in the San Diego Festival of Books, sponsored by @https://www.facebook.com/KPBSSanDiego. This is my first foray into Southern California, and I am excited for the opportunity to bring 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑪𝒊𝒓𝒄𝒍𝒆, and all of my books, to new audiences. I am also reinvigorated to make additional national connections for 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑪𝒊𝒓𝒄𝒍𝒆presentations and signings.
The abundance of goodness in May was equal parts exhilarating and exhausting, especially when adding the demands of my weekly podcasts. Looking ahead to my summer calendar of gardening, family birthdays, weddings and seasonal traditions—and the need to cram in as much fun as possible before it starts snowing again—one thing has become clear.
I need to step back from my podcasts until the fall, or perhaps even the New Year.
It’s a decision I made thoughtfully and with a twinge of regret. Nonetheless, there are only so many hours in a day and only so many ways I can stretch. Ultimately, I am grateful for the abundance of May, which has provided me the wisdom to choose—and a direction in which to grow.
Thank you to everyone who supported my podcasts and enjoyed them. I look forward to returning to them in the future.
Talk soon.
𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 & 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗿: 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐕𝐨𝐥. 𝟏𝟗: 𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑨𝒓𝒆 𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝑬𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔
On Saturday, May 30th, I was part of an inspiring "Key Ceremony" where organizers and volunteers from A Soldier's Journey Home and volunteers from Kathleen and Bryan Wittman's Dry Creek Group presented a mortgage-free, specially adapted home to Ret. US Army Specialist Nathan Kalwicki and his wife, Veronica.
Truly, there are no words to describe the emotions and feelings of the experience. So here are some photos from start to finish of this remarkable event.
Enjoy and take pride in the many people from our WNY Community who generously stepped forward to help make this happen.
𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 & 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗿: 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐕𝐨𝐥. 𝟏𝟖: 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒉 𝑹𝒆𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈
As a writer, I deeply appreciate the ability to edit my words. Reworking drafts into cohesive narratives allows me to shape the musings of my mind into something readable — hopefully, engaging.
As the host of a live Zoom podcast, there is no editing involved. What forms in my mind exits my mouth without the opportunity to review, revise, or reform it into something more entertaining — or more appropriate!
That’s exactly what happened on this past Thursday’s Heart & Soul ZOOM Podcast.
The topic for the evening was “Thanking a WNY Veteran.” The guests included members of the national nonprofit A Soldier’s Journey Home. This amazing group of volunteers have come to Western New York for two weeks to build a mortgage-free, specially adapted home for local Retired Army Specialist Nathan Kalwicki and his wife, Veronica. Joining them were Bryan Wittman, organizer of the Key Ceremony to officially present the home to the Kalwickis, and Nathan himself.
To be clear, the podcast was everything I hoped for — inspiring, informative, and heartfelt.
It also was 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞.
So repetitive that, while uploading the podcast recording to my YouTube channel, I started counting the number of times I said the same phrase — over and over again.
As the mounting word count and my embarrassment kept growing, I realized I was not the only one speaking the two words. Every guest, and even members of the podcast audience, were doing the same.
Fascinated, I re-listened to the full podcast and kept track of how often the phrase was spoken. The final tally was 65.
Sixty-five times in a one-hour podcast, the words “thank you” were spoken. That’s more than once a minute. There were also two “gratefuls,” two “thoughtfuls,” and one “appreciate” as well.
Repetitive?
No doubt.
Unprofessional?
Perhaps to some.
True gratitude from the hearts and souls of everyone on that podcast?
Absolutely.
And one of the best experiences of my storyteller’s career.
𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 & 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗿: 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐕𝐨𝐥. 𝟏𝟕: 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝑳𝒊𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔
Long before I dreamed of becoming an author, I held a passion for libraries---a place defined by books and people who cherish storytelling.
That passion is why, whenever one of my books has been published, I’ve donated copies to libraries where I have been invited to present and sign—- from Indiana, to Florida, Oregon, Pennsylvania and South Dakota.
Yet nothing has ever touched my writer’s heart and soul as much as providing my books to libraries in my own Western New York Community.
I still remember the first time I walked up the expansive entrance to Main Branch of the Buffalo and Erie County Public Library, cradling copies of Crown Hill in my arms.
All I could think about was that my books were going to be circulated throughout the City of Buffalo and beyond---into the hands of readers just like me, lovers of libraries and the books they offer.
Recently, I made that walk again, this time with copies of my newest book, The Secret Sand Circle. Once inside, I was met by the library’s Collection Development Manager, Kelly Donovan.
Kelly and I spent a few minutes chatting about the library, and as we did, readers of all ages surrounded us—groups of young people engaged in conversation, individuals quietly searching for their next reads.
The atmosphere was vibrant—a community space much different from the “silent” libraries of my youth. Yet still centered on the thing that connects all who enter their doors: a love of books.
Including mine.
The thrill never gets old.
𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 & 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗿: 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐕𝐨𝐥. 𝟏𝟔: 𝑬𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑰𝒕
Before marrying and becoming a mom, I had completed one year of college. As I witnessed my girlfriends and the women in my family earn their college degrees, I always felt lacking—-nowhere near as educated, or capable as those who had walked across a commencement stage and received that valuable diploma.
I carried that sense with me for years, even speaking publicly about it, particularly when presenting to audiences of young women. It was at one of those presentations at my high school alma mater, Mount St. Mary Academy, that my perspective on my lack of a college education began to change.
After delivering my speech on my experiences as a newspaper/magazine writer and author, a faculty member approached me. She was clearly a senior member of the staff and wasted no time in delivering the message she intended
“Why do you think you need a college degree? Your life experiences have given you an education equal to anything you could have learned in a classroom. Remember that.”
Blinking back tears, I thanked the woman for her kind words. Then, over the next twenty years, I did my best to follow her clear and pointed directive.
This week I worked as part of The Dry Creek Group (DCG) in producing the D'Youville University Commencement Ceremony. Bryan Wittman is the Principal of DCG. He is also the former Vice-President of Global Special Events for Disney.
Translation: the DYU Commencement included red carpets, bright lights, multiple cameras connected to movie-sized screens, two DJ’s, rooms filled with food and decorations, an NFL Star Keynote speaker, a massive fireworks display and….wait for it….an audience participation moment of clapping feet together to set a Guinness World Record.
Yeah….it was an extravaganza!
To pull off such an event takes months of planning and days of rehearsals. One of the early rehearsals included practicing the graduates walking across the stage to receive their diplomas. Since the graduates were otherwise occupied, members of our DCG crew stood in for them…including me.
The task was simple. Walk up the steps to the stage. Wait for your “name” to be called. Walk to center stage where the ceremony producer was standing-in for DYU’s President. Pause. Shake hands. Smile for the person acting as the graduation photographer. Walk offstage.
As I watched my fellow staffers perfectly execute the task at hand, my mind left the reality of the rehearsal. Standing there, I became a student at an actual graduation waiting to receive my college diploma.
As the stage director gave me the signal, I walked toward the woman holding the valued leather-covered document. As I reached her, I extended my hand and together we smiled for the memorable Kodak moment.
Then I was offstage, once again just me. Yet a magically fulfilled version of myself. I had finally walked the walk that I had dreamed about all of my adult life.
Amid the hoopla of DYU’s Graduation Day, I passed by one of the amazing lighted balloon displays set up for graduate photo ops. This particular one proclaimed that whoever was in the picture was a DYU Graduate. Tempted, I paused. I wasn’t really a part of the DYU Class of 2026, but still….
As I stood debating, a woman came up to me, offering a warm smile and kind words, ”Can I take the picture for you?” Before I lost my nerve, I said, “Sure!
It might not be a fancy diploma in a leather cover, but it works!
𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 & 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗿: 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐕𝐨𝐥. 𝟏𝟓: 𝑨 𝑾𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝑾𝒉𝒐 𝑫𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝑨 𝑳𝒐𝒕 𝒐𝒇 "𝑺𝒕𝒖𝒇𝒇"
I got married at 18 and gave birth to my first child at 19. For the next 20-plus years, my life centered on being a wife and a mom.
In my 40s, I finally had the space, time and desire to start figuring out my own life---who I wanted to be/become. At the core of that journey of discovery was how to earn a living without a college degree or traditional job experience.
I started with what I knew.
I combined the skills I had built as a wife and mother—communication, organization, intuition—and melded them with my ability to tell a story.
I began offering PR and media services, treating my clients the way I would treat my own family. Ultimately, that led to two decades of unusual jobs and meaningful work.
I helped rehab homes for veterans, promoted both the National Buffalo Wing Festival and the Eden Corn Festival.
I worked as a PR/media specialist for the Erie County Legislature, and marketed/launched and served as move-in coordinator for a continuing care retirement community.
I spent 13 years as a newspaper op-ed columnist and a commentator/special reporter for @WBFO (BTPM NPR ) and hosted my own, community-focused talk radio show on 1230 AM WECK.
I was part of a diverse collaborative that distributed COVID-19 vaccines to underserved communities and was hired to coordinate town, city, county and state political campaigns—-then ran for state office myself.
It was a mosaic of work that led a WNY businessman to once comment that I was one of those people that, "....does a lot of stuff."
It was not a statement of admiration.
For a long time, that man’s dismissive assessment lingered in my mind—- not just as criticism---but as motivation to blend the life skills I had developed with my “heart and soul” ability to truly connect with clients, and deliver the services they needed.
This week, I again recalled that businessman and his assessment of my career when a large manila envelope arrived in the mail.
Inside was an executive summary detailing a groundbreaking project on Buffalo’s East Side, designed to attract and inform potential funders. It was the culmination of a collaborative project with WNY Media House, who hired me to write the copy.
After reading through the five-page document I found an enclosed note from, Lisa Napier, who brought me into the project.
“Thank you for your special gift of communication, consistency, and the role you play in keeping my business operating at such a high level.”
Yep, I’m that person who “does a lot of stuff"…like help move projects forward, support businesses and make a difference in my community. And I’m totally good with that.
𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 & 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗿: 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐕𝐨𝐥. 𝟏𝟒
In case you're not a lipreader, the word I'm shouting out in this picture is, "HELP!" While the reason may be obvious, here's the story.
For three decades the same person has cut my hair.
While to many that may not sound significant, to anyone who has struggled with a bad haircut, I can feel your angst streaming through this post. Now here's the real kicker---
My hair stylist has retired.
Simply writing that phrase turns my stomach into knots! Yet obviously, I have yet to do anything about the looming disaster that awaits---finding someone new to cut my hair.
I'm being overly dramatic, you say? Read on...
My hair is wavy, thick and has a mind of its own. There's a pretty good cowlick at the back of my head near the top and my hairline at my left temple has decided to recede from the union.
As a kid, my mom would cut my hair short. So short that if I wore a hat people would mistake me for a boy. Obviously there are some lingering issues regarding those memories.
When my mother passed, I chopped off my hair in a pixie style after wearing it below-shoulder length for twenty years. That led my daughter to proclaim that she felt as if her mother had disappeared!
Now, in desperation, and before my bangs reach my chin, I'm asking for your help. If you have a hair whisperer that knows how to tame tresses like mine, please share that savior's name and contact info in the comments.
Time is running short. It won't be long before I'll be forced to pull up my bangs ala Peebles Flintstone--a look I definitely don't need to add to my repertoire of bad hair memories.
𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 & 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗿: 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐕𝐨𝐥. 𝟏𝟑: 𝑨 𝑳𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒓𝒚 𝑻𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏
Recently I presented 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑪𝒊𝒓𝒄𝒍𝒆 to the members of The Twentieth Century Club, an iconic and respected woman’s club in my hometown of Buffalo. To my delight, it was a full house.
That's been my experience with this organization since 2002, when they first invited me to speak about my 9/11 essay "Why Are You Waiting," part of a 𝑪𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝑺𝒐𝒖𝒑 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒖𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝑨𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒂 Memorial Collection.
In the 24 years since, I have been invited to return to TCC with each of my seven books. Every time the room has been full. Every time, audience members have lined up to purchase my books—as you can see in this photo—-a testament to the extraordinary support TCC members have extended to me over the last two-plus decades.
As an indie author, I am constantly reaching out—to book clubs, bookstores, libraries, churches, community groups, schools, and event organizers—inquiring about presenting/signing/speaking. Thankfully, that outreach has cultivated a network of loyal groups and individuals who encourage and sustain my belief in me---in my author's career.
Still, the members of The Twentieth Century Club hold a special place in my author’s heart and soul for their unwavering support of my work—and for always welcoming me as if I am coming home.
"We have many speakers here, but you are one of the best---so engaging and entertaining. We always look forward to your presentations."-Twentieth Century Club Member
Photo credits: Lisa Abt
𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 & 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗿: 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐕𝐨𝐥. 𝟏𝟐: 𝑨 𝑳𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝑮𝒊𝒓𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑯𝒆𝒓 𝑫𝒐𝒈
I grew up in the city of Buffalo and its suburbs. Yet my childhood was deeply imprinted by memories of my parents and I leaving those urban highways for the dirt roads of nearby Wyoming County. There, we traveled to the town of Java, NY where, with a turn onto Curriers Road, we reached our ultimate destination—-the dairy farm where my mother was born and grew up, and her parents and one of her seven siblings remained.
The house defining the farm was a rambling country style set on a hilltop, close to the road. The front was highlighted by a porch that ran the entire width of the home, encompassing the formal entryway. It was an entrance that led directly into a gracious receiving room, adjacent to a formal parlor. I recall this area as the “fancy" part of the farmhouse. I also recall that the only time people came through that front door was when a family member had passed and was “laid out” or waked” in the parlor.
During my family’s visits to the farm, that area of the house became my “special place.” While the rest of the family gathered in the kitchen—- around the wood burning stove where my grandmother actually cooked all the meals—-I would quietly make my way to the receiving room. There I would get lost in time playing on the upright piano, set off to the side in a nook created by an open staircase to the second floor.
The stairway was formed by beautifully turned oak spindles topped by a sturdy oak rail and anchored by an elegant newel post. The stair treds were oak as well, with a deep-red patterned runner serving as safe footing for all headed upstairs to bed or coming down to begin a new day. The stairs were divided into two sections—-one of four risers with a landing wall that turned stair climbers to the left—- and the next eight risers leading straight up to the second floor.
Truth be told, it was the landing wall more than the piano that kept me in that part of the house for as long as my parents would allow. The way the piano was set gave me an unobstructed view of that wall and an oversized picture in a antique carved frame hanging there.
The image was of an angelic little girl trustingly asleep within the comfort of a majestic Newfoundland dog. And whenever I sat mesmerized by the innocent beauty of the image, I found myself dreaming about being that little girl.
Years later, after that my mother’s brother and her parents were waked in the parlor and the farm was sold, mom asked if I wanted anything from the house as a keepsake. Without hesitation I asked for the picture. And for the last 50 years, where ever I have lived, the little girl and her dog have resided with me on a wall in my bedroom.
Recently, through a series of coincidences, my daughter discovered that my cherished artwork is more than a childhood treasure. It’s actually a work from the 1890’s created by a famed English painter. She went on to say that it has a significant value in the art/antiques world.
Yet I cannot imagine any value to match the sense of comfort and joy this print brought into the life of a little girl sitting at a piano and dreaming.
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