My Experience at a Theresa Caputo Live Event; The Long Island Medium

Crazy is in the Eye of the Beholder - Jacksonville, Florida  

Have you ever stopped to think about how often we use the  word “crazy” to describe a person or a situation? Crazy is a word that can be used fun lovingly or mean and demeaning.  The word, no matter what the person’s intended use may be, its interpretation is based on ones personal frame of reference.     If you turn to Merriam-Webster it is defined in the following three ways:

1 a : full of cracks or flaws : unsound

  b : crooked, askew

2 a : not mentally sound : marked by thought or action that lacks reason :      insane

b (1) : impractical(2erratic

c : being out of the ordinary : unusual

3 a : distracted with desire or excitement

b : absurdly fond : infatuated

c : passionately preoccupied : obsessed

Source: https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/crazy

Despite Merriam-Webster’s attempt to define crazy,  it is a word whose meaning can only be defined by you.  It’s definition is one that can be dynamic and evolves based on experiences.   My definition of crazy changed in a very unexpected way when I attend (for a third time) Theresa Caputo’s , Long Island Medium, Live Experience in Jacksonville, Florida (4/22/2018).   

I  had watched Theresa’s show for years,  but I had not considered attending one of her Live Events.  I never felt that I need to connect with any of my loved ones that had passed away, until she came to Savannah, GA in October 2014.   It was the sudden death from an unknown illness of my niece earlier that year, on April 1, 2014, that led me to attend for the first time.  My heart was broken and my soul was filled with loss and grief.

I had such an incredible and special relationship with my niece.  She was the only child of my older brother and only sibling. My brother had joined the Air Force at the age of 18 and was married with a child by 19.   He and his wife divorced when my niece was about 9 months old and before she was even one her mom had remarried to another man in the Air Force, whom she subsequently was having an affair with while married to my brother.  

After I graduated from college I made the decision to move from my home state of WV  to Charleston, SC where my brother was stationed. I made the move for several reasons that included better job opportunities,  to help out my brother, and more importantly to be closer to my niece. My niece was only 3 years old when I moved. The adventures and memories that my niece and I made together  in the 17 years that followed could fill a book. We built a bond that words fail to describe.

My niece had to deal with a significant amount of stress  growing up, more than any kid should ever have to endure.   She was constantly having to cope with her father and step-father being deployed to the Middle East,  having to relocate and change elementary schools at least 4 times, a messy divorce between her mother and step-father when she was 11,   and adjusting to another stepfather at 15. My niece’s mother would often use love and guilt as away to manipulate and control people in her life to get what she wanted. Her mother created a very emotionally toxic environment for my niece and her half-sister to grow up in.  The relationship my niece and her half sister had/have with their mother was/is tumultuous often filled with harsh words with periods of love and adoration. All I could do for her was to be a source of support and unconditional love. Her stability in unstable world. Despite my personal feelings  that I harboured for her mother, I never said anything negative about her in front of my niece, nor did my brother, because she was her mother and she loved her. We knew one day she would realize for herself the type of person she was/is and have to come to terms with their relationship.

My niece made the decision to join the Army, shortly after graduating from High School, something that her mother was very much against.   The Army gave her the freedom, time and the opportunity to become the person she wanted to be. She was finally able to live life on her own terms and not  on her mothers; with that came an understanding of the relationship she had with her mom. To my nieces credit she had sought out counseling to learn how to accept, forgive, and move past  the toxic relationship she had with her. She was dedicated to finding a way to build a relationship with her that was healthy for both her and her half-sister. She was making her own path in this world,  when she suddenly became ill with an unknown virus that damaged her lungs and stopped her heart 18 days away from her 21st birthday.

Her death left behind so much grief and all those emotions that  come when someone you love unconditionally is suddenly gone from your life.  My brother burdened with the memories of having spent the last half of his 20 year military career  in a war zone, was now left having to bury his only daughter. When I learned that Theresa was coming to Savannah after my niece passed away, I had to go.  I needed to go, not just for me to know she was ok and at peace, but I needed to go for my brother. I wanted some message from her that would make things easier on him, for me, for all of us she left.  I asked him to go with me, but he declined for his own personal reasons. I attended the event with my mother and we both had high hopes of Theresa giving us a message from my niece, but there wasn’t one.    I will admit I was let down, but I did leave thinking a random comment Theresa had made during the show was sign from my niece.

Despite no direct message from Theresa that October, when I learned she was going to be in Jacksonville, Florida  in 2016, I was going. I figured now that my niece had had “time” being a spirit she was going to be able to be heard better,  convinced this time I would get a life changing message to give to my brother. Nope. Once again I got no direct message from Theresa, and left let down and disappointed.   On the drive home I thought about the messages that Theresa had given to others and that is when I realized why there was no direct message from my niece. I have no guilt or regrets of the time I was able to spend with my niece here on earth, and neither did my brother, or my mother.   We are not burdened with guilt and the “what if’s” that so many people that attend Thereas’s show have. She left this world knowing that we loved her and that she loved us. My niece had this amazing incredible heart and compassion for people and animals. It only made sense if she was there she would be trying to help some other spirit  get a message through to someone that truly needed it and potentially save their lives.

Despite my revelation as to why there was no direct message from Theresa, when I found out she was coming to Jacksonville again in April of 2018  I got tickets again. My buying tickets for a third time and hoping to finally get a message from my niece, while seemed crazy to my husband, has nothing to do with my evolution of the definition of crazy, that started when I was about to walk out the door for Jacksonville.

 What  I failed to mention earlier is  when I graduated from college it was with a  Bachelors of Science in Geology. I love rocks.   I have three kids ages 13,11, and 7 and have gone many times to their school classrooms to talk about rocks.   It just so happens a few months earlier, I had spoken to my son's 5th grade class (he and my niece were like two little peas in a pod) and I had collected various type of rocks/minerals to give to the kids to start their own rock collections.   One of the rocks that I had left over was a teardrop shaped piece of obsidian that is also known as “Apache Tears” (Please do an internet search or follow link below  for clarification and details for why they are named Apache Tears).  The metaphysical properties  of the rock are believed to help deal with grief and heal from trauma.   Just as I am about to leave for Jacksonville, I suddenly had the overwhelming feeling that I had to bring one of these Apache Tears with me, because someone needed it.  It is as this point I started an internal argument with myself that I was just being crazy and it was just because of the meaning associated with the rock that I thought I needed to bring it along.   In an effort to save the time it would have taken to argue with myself I just grabbed the rock and put it my purse.

So now here I sat in packed theater for a third time with a rock in my purse, waiting for Theresa to come on to the stage.  I just kept thinking to myself that I had officially lost my mind. Why did I bring this rock? I am surrounded by people that could use a rock  that is believed to help heal grief. How would I know who to give this rock to? I don’t have any kind of psychic abilities and I don’t talk to dead people.    I take that back, I talk all the time to dead people, my niece, Uncle David, Dad, Granny, and Aunt JoJo. I just don’t have dead people coming and talking to me.

Upon Theresa making her entrance on to the stage I was still hopeful that I would get a message from niece , but I was more anxious about the rock and feeling like I needed to give it to someone.  Theresa began the event and started talking to spirit and passing messages on to love ones and I listened intently for some indication that this was the person to whom I was supposed to give the rock.  It was getting close to the time for her to end the night when I finally declared that I was crazy. The weird and totally nuts kind. Despite her having spoken directly to many people I just didn’t get a feeling of “ yes this is the person” , and now  the event was coming to an end, but then there was the last person she spoke to directly

The last person Theresa spoke  with that evening was a women who had witnessed the murder -suicide of her son and sister.   The women with was seated two sections behind me and a few rows away from the entrance into the lobby area.   There was something familiar about this women, like I knew her from somewhere, but of course I didn’t. As the two women spoke, I could feel the anger, grief, sorrow, and defeat that this woman was feeling.   I was then so overwhelmed with the feeling that this was the woman who the rock belonged to. Theresa started making her way back to the stage, while still speaking to this women, and at one point was standing right next Ato me.   In effort to confirm that I was not crazy I asked my niece in my head to do some spirit yelling and jumping up and down to get Theresa’s attention and to ask her to give the rock to the woman. I like to think that since it was time for the event to end that she didn’t really have time to deal with  my niece trying to get her attention, nevertheless both Theresa and my niece just left me still holding the rock thinking I had lost my mind.

As the theater lights went up I decided  to just roll with my crazy. I asked my husband, who had attended the event with me,  to keep a lookout for the women Theresa had just spoken with. He paused for a moment looking around at the approximate 2, 500 people that had attended the event, that were now filling out the exit doors, and responds with “ Umm Ok, but I doubt we will see her, this place is crowded”.   Since the women was sitting so close to the lobby I made my way to the exit that she would have left from. My logic was if I ran into this women, then she really was the one that was meant for the Apache Tear. I made my way up the aisle to pass by where the woman had been sitting and  was surprised to see her still seated with the friends she had come with in an otherwise completely empty theater section.

I was nervous about approaching the women, the last thing I wanted was to have her think I was some lunatic and yell at me.   My heart was pounding, but I knew one thing for certain if I was crazy or not, I knew if I didn’t give her the rock I would regret it and always be left wondering if I should have.

    

I went down  an empty row in front of her to the seat where she was sitting.  I don’t think I even said Hi to the Women, and I am pretty sure the first words out of my mouth was something to the effect “you are going to think I am crazy, but I feel like I am supposed to give this to you’’.  I reached out and gave her the rock and started mumbling about being a Geologist and before I could tell her about the rock she cuts me off and says “I know exactly what this is! This is an Apache Tear right ?”. I told her it that it was.  I was taken back by the fact she knew all about Apache Tears, it is not like this is a rock that everyone knows about. She had this look of a mix of shock, comfort, relief, and faith all at once on her face and then proceeds to tell me that her sister was an Apache Indian!!   In the moment I had reached out and handed the rock, when our hands touched and eyes met you could feel almost like a surge of emotion or energy. It was a connection of sorts that was made between us. I can’t really explain just how profound and extraordinary it was, other than nothing else was need to be said between us.  I can’t remember if I even said in said goodbye to her or just walked away.

She needed for me to give her the rock, just as much as I needed to give it to her.    Despite the different reasons why were both had come to see Theresa that night, I like to think that we  were both leaving with more peace and strength than we came with and knowledge that no matter how isolated  grief makes us feel, we are not alone. It was up to us to make the most of whatever time we have left.

There you have it.  People may read this and really think I am crazy, however   It doesn’t matter to me, I am happy to be called crazy..now.   Just like beauty is in the eye of the beholder, so is crazy.

Oh, and yes I have gotten tickets to see Theresa when she comes to Savannah on June 23.

Link To Apache Tear Legend:

http://www.firstpeople.us/FP-Html-Legends/Apache_Tear_Drop-Apache.html

Finding HighTide

   

It has taken me approximately 10 months to open my laptop for the purpose of writing for my blog.  There was nothing I wanted to say and honestly those routine everyday responsibilities took everything I had to complete, courtesy of death.  It was the sudden death of my niece Brianna, who was just 18 days from her 21^st   birthday, which had me at the mercy of grief.  Grief is a powerful emotion that you either learn to live with and manage or it consumes your life.  It is a seemingly a very personal emotion that is defined differently for each of us, but apparently we all go thru the same seven stages typically, identified as:
- Shock or Disbelief
- Denial
- Anger
- Bargaining
- Guilt
- Depression
- Acceptance and Hope

My heart was broken, yet life and time went on, eventually moving me along with it.  I thought I was handling my grief very well and keeping it all together, but that was not the case.  By the mercy of God and the bond I had with my niece I did not struggle with guilt associated with her life or her dying.  We had no unresolved issues.  She knew I loved her and I knew she loved me.  The logical scientist part of me must have reasoned that “bargaining stage” was futile.    It was anger, depression, and denial stages that I seemed to be bouncing back and forth with that left me in a constant state of anxiety like I was hanging off the edge of a cliff. 

 The only thing I knew to do was to do those everyday life tasks. I began managing my life.   I coordinated schedules, completed deadlines, and everything else that was expected and required.   At the end of the day when all the life managing tasks had been checked off completed and everyone was asleep, I would lay awake and focus on what tasks needed to be checked off for the next day.  Sometimes I would play games on my iPad until I eventually fell asleep, so as not to think about Brianna.  

One night I thought I would try music to distract my thoughts to slumber.   The music instead created a flood of memories.   I did not stop them and let the memories wash over me.  It was like there was a movie playing only for me of our life adventures together.  As the memories played I began to feel comforted by the realization of just how much alike we had been.  From our disorganized whirl wind ways, our creative nature, to our ADD tendencies that included blurting out whatever we happened to be thinking at any given moment.   I then realized I was letting Brianna down.

Brianna grew up wanting to make everyone happy, a byproduct of two divorces and blended families.   There came a point in her life when what she wanted for her own life conflicted with the life that others wanted for her.   It took courage for her to stand up to those she loved and take control.  She had to break free from the guilt of not doing things in her life just to make someone else happy and risk losing them in her life.   The risk she took to follow her own path turned her from an insecure girl, to confident Army Soldier ready to find her place and purpose in this world.   I was so proud of her, because she was living the life I had always wanted for her…..her own.

I was no longer living my own life, but managing responsibilities in a life.     I was hanging on to the anger, denial, and depression because letting them go, was not only finally accepting her death, it came with the realization that if I lost her I could lose anyone at any time.    I was tired and needed to let go.  Even though I could rationalize that Brianna would always be where she had always been, in my heart, I just didn’t know how to let go of that proverbial cliff I was hanging on.

Ironically it would be Brianna's father, my brother, who would facilitate my white knuckled release.   My lack of sleep, constant state of anxiety, and grief stage hopping left me with very little patience.   When my brother started looking into doing Crossfit and started talking about it every time we spoke, I took drastic measures.   I called up the local CrossFit gym and signed us up for a class and then I called him told him what I did.   I had no idea what I was getting myself into, since I lied and had not watched any of the video links that he had e-mailed me, nor was I really paying attention to him when he was talking about it.   I just wanted to stop hearing about it.

I will admit I was very intimidated walking into that gym for the class.   If not for my brother being there, the fact I was not going to admit fear, and to a lesser extent that I had not listened to anything he had told me, I would have turned around and walked out.  The class was made up of mostly young attractive Army men in their twenties possible early thirties, thanks to our close proximity to an Army base.   At least I was going to have something enjoyable to look at while I was being tortured and making an idiot out of myself.     After the Crossfit instructor went through the work out of the day and had scaled it down to accommodate for our years of inactivity and excuses, the fun began.   The majority of those attractive male Army soldiers then proceeded to shed their shirts in a vain effort to reduce the hot muggy southern weather, at which point I started to laugh.   I was not nervously laughing at the site of the shirtless young males, but I was laughing because at that moment I knew I was letting go of that proverbial cliff and in some cosmic way it was Brianna that had got me to that particular class.   It was her telling me in her own funny and sarcastic way “look see life is good and there are reasons to be happy and here is the proof”.    The reason I knew this was all her doing because all I wanted to do was to capture a stealth cell phone image of those well-defined young attractive shirtless Army guys and text it to her with the caption “Bet you wish you got stationed here instead of Texas”.

My brother and I survived that first class, barely.  The two weeks that followed we found that the “easy” air squats they had us doing without any kind of weight (unlike the heavily weighted bars everyone else was using) left us both of whimpering in pain every time we had to stand or sit.  Despite my physical pain and lack of athletic ability my brother and I continued to attend classes.  This was due largely by the supportive and encouraging atmosphere created by the owners, instructors and fellow “athletes”   (I am more of an athlete wannabe) we found at the Hightide Crossfit  gym here in Richmond Hill, GA.   

I have been attending classes 3X a week for about 5 months now, even after my brother had to scale back due to a back injury, and I have yet to attend another class made up of mostly young fit Army guys  like those who  had shed their shirts  in that first class.  To me that is just another confirmation of it being Brianna getting me to that class on that particular day.  There are times in class when I feel discouraged because I am not able to do a workout movement or a particularly grueling workout. To make it through I just think of Brianna who was nervous and scared to go to boot camp and was worried she would not make it, but she did.    I also like to think that Brianna is there with me, laughing and joking, as I attempt great athletic feats, like jumping up on a 12 inch high box without hitting my shins.  

Crossfit has not only helped me to lose weight and gain physical strength, but also to become emotionally stronger.   Brianna found an outlet for me to be able to release all the emotional turmoil. Classes are something that I chose to do for myself and no one else.   It reminds me that I am alive and not to take that for granted and that I have choices.  I can chose to make whatever time I have left count and not be at the mercy of grief.  I can chose to run, I can chose to laugh, and I can chose to live my life as if Brianna is still here watching.   I am redefining myself and my potential.   I have chosen to let go of grief and find hope in acceptance.  People may notice the transformation that has occurred on the outside but the biggest transformation has truly happened on the inside.

This was one of her's and mine favorite photos of the two of us....In this photo we were both just so happy to see each other. You can see the love and joy.  She was on her way home from  a funeral and drama that had taken place.  At one point I asked her where she was and we realized we were both on I-85 heading towards each other!  We laughed at the odds, because she didn't know I was traveling to work and I had no idea she was taking a detour to stop in and visit her husbands family on the way back to Texas.   We both needed that brief moment at a gas station exit for her to be held in arms of someone that grounded her and  never let her go and for me it gave me this picture and a memory that will last until I can hold her  again.  

FU 2014!!!

Each year after all the drama and chaos that comes with end of the year holidays and associated festivities we anxiously look forward to the do over/fresh start of the New Year.   We think back on the year remembering all the good times, not so good times, what we did, didn't do, and wish we did.   We then vow to make changes so that the New Year is even better than the last.  It is will also be the year we follow through with all our resolutions.

My 2013 was beyond hectic and crazy, not only did the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas seem incredibly short, but my brewer-husband, Kevin, was consumed with all the plans, permitting, equipment, and construction that was (is) needed for the brewery in addition to working his full time job.  He had little or no time for our everyday home life responsibilities.   The majority of responsibilities we used to share then fell on me to do (..and still does) along with me working my full time job.   I was more than ready for a New Year. 

   

After all the Christmas presents had been opened and I could finally sit back and relax, I too started reflecting on things that had happened over the year.  It was then I declared that 2013 would be “that  year “.   You know the year, the one that when your old and you and your spouse will reminisce and laugh and make comments like “ it is a wonder we survived without killing each other”.  Unlike 2013, 2014 would be the year that I would finally be organized, it would be less chaos, less stress, laundry done routinely, I would blog regularly, and of course I would do the obligatory  lose weight, exercise, and get healthy.   Goodbye chaos and stress, hello carefree, organized and sexier me (from the weight loss, exercise, and getting healthy).   

 It became very clear 90 days into 2014 that 2014 had no intention on allowing 2013 to take “that year” in my history title.   Not only did 2014 trump 2013 for chaos and stress, but also knocked 2000 (the year my father died) down to being the second worst year of my life.

   I should have been aware of 2014 plotting against 2013, when the week before Christmas I found out that my Uncle David had a mass on his lung that was most likely cancer.  My Uncle David was only 10 years older than myself and was more like a brother to me than an Uncle.  The thought of him having cancer and possibly dying seemed implausible.  David possessed a young carefree soul like Peter Pan and the man never seemed to age.  David had just reconnected the previous year with his son he had with a former girlfriend.  She had moved away with their son when he was three leaving no way for David to find them.  His son was now in his early twenties and married with a family of his own.   David and I had grown even closer since I moved to Savannah, now that we only lived few hours away.  More importantly he was going on his twenty year anniversary with, Janet the women that gave his life the love and  the stability he didn’t have as a kid.   David’s life was finally in a good, happy, and content place, he could not possibly die now!! Surely modern medicine could get rid of the cancer or at least give him a few more years.

   As 2013 counted down its last few remaining days it attempted a last ditch effort to secure its “that  year” title.    David had to be hospitalized due to breathing difficulties and along with that came the confirmation of cancer, one that was very aggressive with very low survival rate.  The doctors however gave us the hope of more time with a medical research trial that he qualified to participate.  The doctors were excited to have him in the trial since he was younger and otherwise healthier than the majority of people with that lung cancer.   He was released from the hospital and sent home on December 31.    David’s  best friend from childhood,  his remaining surviving siblings an older brother and sister, his son and his family, along with my family including my brother and my mother (his sister In-law)  all converged upon him.   Each of us brought there by our family bonds, love, and the fear of losing him.   We all knew we had let too much time pass between seeing those familiar smiles from our past and guilty of getting too caught up in our own lives to notice.  The same loving family bond that brought us together also dissolved away any hard feelings or strangeness that may have existed by living such different lives so far apart for so long.   The house he returned to that day was filled with an atmosphere of hope, love, memories and gratitude for time.   During those days I know time passed yet it felt like we were exempt from it, as if we were somewhere between 2013 and 2014.   It was if we were in a time that did not belong to either year.    It would be 3 days before 2014 would find us in that time void and force us to return to our own daily lives and for cancer to also claim the man I thought would live forever.

Despite losing David to 2014, I still held on to the belief that 2014 would still be able to become a great year of great things.  It was just off to slow start thanks to damn cancer and 2013.  Besides how bad could 2014 be, after all it did let us linger in that time void with David.  It had help us to come to terms with losing him a little easier.   

Apparently 2014 was just setting me up.   It didn't let us linger in that time void.   2014 was too busy plotting blindside devastation and heart break to not only secure its place in my heart of records to be “that year” but also its place in the heart of many others.     

April 1, 2014, my niece Brianna, only 17 days away from that monumental 21^st birthday, died suddenly and unexpectedly in a hospital in Texas.   My niece had joined the Army and was stationed at Ft. Hood. She had called me on a Thursday complaining she was sick with a cough and fever.  Friday she called to let me know they were admitting her to the hospital ICU and they were going to put her on a ventilator to help her breathe.  Saturday she still had a fever, but it was lower and her blood oxygen levels were getting higher.   Sunday the fever had broken, her lungs were clearing and healing.   The doctors felt she was well enough to be weaned from ventilator starting the following morning and we all felt she was on the road to recovery.  Except on Monday morning her heart would stop, and then would stop three more times, then on the fourth time the medical team was not able to get it beating again.   Every test they ran from A to Z when she was first admitted had come back negative.  It was not a case of Legionnaires disease or the flu.  The heart ultra-sound and heart catheterization procedures that had been performed to figure out why her heart was stopping did not reveal a cause or show a problem.     There was no reason, no cause, and nothing to blame.  There was no time void, no cancer, only questions.   Maybe we will know more later since they continued to search for answers after she was a gone, but I don’t think they will find a reason. 

Her Mom and Dad, despite being divorced since Brianna was around 8 months old, had both been there with her.  They did not have the chance to see her blue eyes open wide with shock to find them both standing next to her at the same time.   Her parents both lived in SC and had arrived at the hospital after she had been placed in a medical induced coma while on the ventilator.   Brianna’s husband of less than 9 months, also in the Army, had recently been deployed to Korea.  He was sent home through the Red Cross as fast as possible, but was unable to get to her before she passed away.    Her death came as a shock to everyone, including the doctors and nurses.  

The relationship I had with my niece was one that I struggle with words to describe.  The word special does not convey or begin to touch on the connection.   I loved her unconditionally.  There was nothing that she could have ever said or have done that would have ever made me not love her.   Even in death I could not hate her for dying.   My heart harbors a lot of frustration, hurt and anger for feeling like she was stolen from us.  It is these types of feelings when someone dies with so many questions,  that people will direct their blame and hurt toward God.    God let her die.   Everyone I knew and some I didn’t had prayed for her to get better, but she didn’t.   Did God ignore us?  Shouldn’t I blame God?

Brianna left behind so many that loved her that needed answers, needed to blame, and just needed to be angry.   There was her younger sister that had driven Brianna to madness when she was little and then become her closest friend that she worried about and missed horribly when apart.  There was the friend she had known since was five.  The same friend who she loved so much that the hurt and frustration of her being in relationship with a guy that did not value, respect, protect, or appreciate her had them on temporary nonspeaking terms.   There was her friend that had traveled across the country twice to be with her once when she completed boot camp and again when she needed a piece of home with her in Texas.   There was so many new friends and old friends whose lives she touched, each in different ways.   There was a new husband and his family who had also fallen in love with her.    There was Grandparents, Step Dads, a Step-sister, Cousins, Uncles and another wonderful Aunt that helped guide her through this crazy world.  There was Maw-Maw, and for her, Brianna was her sunshine.  There was her Father who Brianna thought had hung the moon.   

 It was my brother, her father that made sure many of us didn’t turn our angry hearts and blame to God.   After doing all that he could for Brianna in Texas, unlike the urgent and anxious drive to get to her the drive home was just a long drive.     The drive gave him time to think and when he got home he posted the following to Brianna’s Facebook page.

  “…..Well like most everyone I have talk to we are all mad Brianna was taken away. But on my 19 hr drive yesterday all I could do was think. So I thought of all the joy and love and laughs Brianna gave me. So I instead of cursing God I thanked God for giving me such an amazing time with her. Don't get me wrong I want her back but now I am just glad I did have this time with her. She had a lot of conflict but now it's over and we have an angel that will look after us like she did when she was here.”'

How could I blame God now?  My Brother was right, God put her in my life and I hers.  I could be mad at the hospital staff, but they did everything they could to keep her here.   In a conversation I had with a friend after losing Brianna, they had made the comment that it was going to be a rough year.   It was then I realized it was 2014 that deserved all my hurt, blame, and anger.    It made perfect sense, at least to me in my own way of managing grief and irrational thoughts.   2014 had planned this all along, so as not to be out down by 2013 and to secure its place as “that year” to never be forgotten.     It could have been left to 2064 to take her away, but instead it was 2014.   Asshole.

2014 to date has yet to care about my pain.   Instead it continues to create even more chaos and havoc as in some sick act of triumph,  by making time tick away a faster.    2014 has kept  Kevin even more tired and busy by  making sure brewery construction deadlines, schedules, and projects are barely made or pushed back, thus leaving me often  alone to learn how to live without Brianna, while trying to keep up with three kids, my full time job, laundry, bills, appointments… You know those annoying everyday life and responsibilities.  My once idealistic New Year resolutions of organization and flat abs have given away to merely surviving 2014.   

 Every time I laugh instead of cry and every morning I get out of bed to defend those I love from  what  else 2014  may have  in store, I like to think that I am giving 2014 the middle finger , with a big  ol’ Fu*K You !!

Brianna Fleshman Baxter 1993 - 2014Brianna's Memorial Video

David L. Fleshman 1963 - 2014

Top Ten Things I learned at GABF

10.     Brewer tickets are better than 

Willy Wonka's  Golden Tickets 

            They get you access to real toilets vs porta-potties

9.  Never judge a beer by it’s color

8.   1 oz samples of 3,100+ different beers  

is more than enough to find yourself 

sufficiently over the legal limit

7.     You don’t have to be a 

          ballerina,  toddler, or female 

to wear a tu-tu

              

6.  By the end of the sampling sessions

         it is like your are  walking around in a

      mine field of beer farts

5.  The only place where the men’s restroom line

is 3x longer then the women’s

4.     A cute girl or an ugly girl with great boobs

  will 9 out of 10 times 

get a pour over the restricted 1 oz. sample if a guy is serving

3.   95 % of brewers have facial hair

2.   When someone says “you have to try this”

 with no reason but a smile

      It is gonna taste  bad!!

1.     DO NOT DROP YOUR GLASS

Unless you like  thousands of people looking at you and yelling “ahhhhhhhhh”

A BEER EPIPHANY

  I make no secret of the fact that, despite being a brewer’s wife, I have very limited knowledge of craft beer in general and even less of a palate of what constitutes a good beer from a bad beer.    I  admit I used the Great American Beer Festival (GABF) in Denver, Colorado this past weekend as an excuse for me to escape my job, kids, messy house, and all responsibilities in general and just to spend a little alone time with my husband.   I had come up with 1001 different reasons why I thought it would be good for Kevin and me to go.  Turns out I didn't need any of them, cheap plane tickets and a weekend of drinking beer was enough of a reason for him to agree to the trip.  

The trip for me almost did not happen do to sick kids, but thankfully my mother, a retired nurse, was loving and foolish enough to take care of them and encouraged me to go.   Stepping on to the plane in Savannah I was feeling a little guilty leaving them behind, however by the time our plane landed in Denver I was over the guilt and ready to enjoy the long weekend of freedom.

To say that the GABF is a craft beer lovers paradise is an understatement.  Tickets for the three day event sold out in a record time of 20 minutes online.    The GABF website reported there was 3,100+ beers in the festival hall, 49,000 attendees (includes ticketed attendees, brewers, judges, volunteers and journalists) and 624 U.S. breweries serving in the festival hall (46 more breweries than 2012).     Given the number of breweries and all the beer being served, I felt like someone that had taken a  6 week foreign language class and was then dropped off in the country to fend for themselves.    I understood some of the language that was being spoken, but not enough to take part in the discussions when Kevin would speak to other brewers/beer lovers..     After an hour  into the first day of the festival, and having tried a few beers and not really liking any of them,  I began to think of excuse to plot my escape when suddenly I had a beer epiphany.

My epiphany came from the words of a beer sign describing  a brewery’s Raspberry Lambic Style Pale.  The words on the sign seemed illuminate and be written just for me “...sure to please even the most picky of palate.”  That’s me, I am a picky palate!!!  That first 1 oz sample was an unexpected surprise.   It was a fruity, sweet, slightly sour, and utterly wonderful.   Could it be true?  Could I have actually found a beer that I liked?  I of course had to try it for a second and third time just to be sure.   I then began to wonder and question my entire craft brew reality.  Was it possible that just maybe there was more beer styles other than fruity  ones out there I would like?   Have I been beer discriminating based on their names or looks?   I then went on a personal mission of craft beer enlightenment.  

The strange foreign land I had found myself in transformed into an exciting wonderland of beer style exploration.   I discovered that   I don’t like milk stouts and any beer that contained the word smoked in its description.   You would have thought that when the brewer of an especially “smoky” brew made the comment “you’re a brave girl” as he handed me the sample I requested, would have been a clue that it was a very ummmm…unusual brew to put it nicely.    That was my second and last “smoky” brew I would try.   It tasted something like a bad smoked BLT sandwich.    I also ventured into the world of sour beers.  The sour style of beer was either a hit or miss with my fledgling palate.   The majority of the sours I tried seemed to be a little too sour for me, but a beer ideal for those adults who loved sour candy as a kid.  The beers I  liked the most and often going back to seemed to be the wheat beers.  My  ideal brew was one called Agave Wheat.   It had the sweetness of fruity beer, but the smoothness I liked in wheat beers. 

 By the end of the GABF I found myself speaking a little of the natives’ craft brew language and even smelling the beers before I sipped.   I am not sure if what I was sniffing for is what true craft brew folks smell for or not, but I was able to determine with a sniff if I was gonna like the beer or not and that was good enough for me.  

I have a new appreciation for Kevin and his ability to create great brews; it’s both a science and art.  There just maybe hope that one day that this craft brewer’s wife will be able to speak and understand the beer language.   For now I am just excited that I can venture into a store and pick out a craft beer without having to result in calling Kevin and asking which one I should get.   I now have my own craft beer styles I like.

A Little Sav. Craft Brew History

I first must apologize about the length between blog posts.  The problem is there is only one of me and with a full time job, three kids, dog, and a husband that works a full time and is also trying to keep up with the growth of Coastal Empire Beer (CEB) I have very limited me time (aka blog time).  My duties as brewers wife has seemed to double thanks to Kevin’s “free” time going to equipment and building layout designs, brewing demands, and tis the season for beer festivals.  Did I forget to mention we finally have a real brewery home in Savannah now?    Anyway.  If  I am not dealing with kids and dirty laundry I am helping out with t-shirt sales and orders.   Even though I have a mountain of laundry and totally exhausted from wrestling the kids into bed, since Kevin was out at a beer event, I took some time to read up on articles about the Savannah craft beer scene.   I thought I would report a little bit of  the history of craft brew in Savannah, at least in this century, and clear up some misconceptions that CEB is new area start up Brewery .

Moon River Brewing Company opened in 1999 and took over the former Oglethorpe Brewing Company .   Moon River (and former Oglethorpe Brewing Co.)   brewpubs were/are not considered to be “true production” breweries  in the articles.   The reason is due to Georgia law that only allows them to distribute their beer in kegs, and only recently did the limit of off premise sales get raised to 5,000 BBL.   Owner John Pinkerton, as president of the Georgia Craft Brewers Guild, has been working to get the laws changed in Georgia to be more in line with the states that surround us.   Pinkerton has also won a gold medal at the GABF for his beer, the GABF is the considered by most to be the second most prestigious US Beer Competition behind the bi-annual World Beer Cup.

The first craft production brewery (in this century)  was Old Savannah Brewing Company.   They operated from around 2004 to 2006.   The true first production brewery took four years to finally open due to all the red tape, permits, and ordinances they had to navigate as a first timer.  They also had to learn to try and sell beer in a town that hadn’t fully embraced craft beer at the time. The brewery produced award winning beers and had great reviews initially. but The brewery shut down in 2006.  They won a World Beer Cup Bronze medal in the English Extra Special Bitter category.  It is rumored that they shutdown due to partner fighting.

Then in 2011 along comes  Coastal Empire Beer Company.  We are a contract brewery.   The difference between us and the recently opened South Bound Brewery comes down to business models.   When Kevin decided to open the brewery with his brother Chris the biggest concern they both had, given the economy, was taking on such a huge financial  risks.  It came down to how to best keep their families financially safe.  Chris and Kevin interviewed and met with several breweries that had extra capacity to brew the beer.   

The misconception that many have is that Kevin just simply handed them a beer recipe to brew brew or even worse that he didn't even come up with the recipe on his own and just said hey I want you to brew a beer for us so we can sell it.   That is so far from what happens.  Kevin being the brewmaster is very involved and travels over to the contract brewery on brew days.   That attention to detail has won Kevin 2012 and 2013 medals from the US Open Beer Championship and CEBC has held title of People’s Choice for Best Beer at Savannah Craft Beer Festival three years running. 

Thanks to Kevin’s and Chris’s smart financial plan of starting out as a contract brewer, they now have a solid base as they move the production of the beer to their new Savannah location.

Savannah  welcomed South Bound Brewery that opened up earlier this year on E. Lathrope Ave.  Savannah will also be the future home to Service Brewing brewery.   Service Brewing is a veteran run business and I have to admit with a retired uncle and brother from the Air Force and a niece in the Army, I think it’s pretty cool. 

Now you know a little of the most recent (at least discoverable in my time restricted research)  and the history of  craft brew in Savannah .   Even if this is just on my blog that not many people read I wanted people to know about the true area visionaries and production brewery that paved the way.

Old Savannah  Brewing Co. even though your gone you are not forgotten.  

.    

Thank you  to John Pinkerton  for working to help get law reform in Georgia when it comes to craft brew!

On a side note Kevin and I will be going to the GREAT AMERICAN BEER FESTIVAL in Colorado this weekend.   I can’t remember the last time Kevin and I had a weekend alone with no kids. I will try to keep you posted, but I may not be any condition to blog..but find me on twitter.   I may not be the biggest fan of beer and for the life of me I can’t remember the difference between all the different types,  but I am a huge fan of the ciders.    I know I am the worst brewer’s wife ever.  

CLEANING SUCKS

I am one aggravated, frustrated, tired, and in a serious need of a mani/pedi brewer’s wife. I have not posted anything in a while because I have been spending that time trying desperately and unsuccessfully to organize and beautify my home. I no longer want to live in fear of unexpected visitors at my front door, I want toys, batteries, and random crap to have its own place to call home other than the floor, I want my daughter back to sleeping in her own bed, and most of all I want the printer out of the living room!!!

I have a new respect for single working Mom’s. I do realize I am not single and that I am married to a wonderful husband, however he is your typical male and not to mention when you’re trying to make a business successful he is often doing other things that need to get done instead of dealing with the everyday routine house cleaning stuff. On top of trying to just get my home organized I must keep my “extreme over active creative disease” in check.
Side Note: I am happy to report I have managed to complete my project of woodland creatures that I spoke of a few posts back. Please see photos of the completed project(posted to associated blog entry) that I am happy to finally get done. It only took me two years to finally get my daughters room to look like it belonged to her and not a guest room. I wanted to also paint the furniture white, but that project will need to wait. 

While I was spending time painting Adalyn's room the rest of my house paid the price. This was no more apparent than the main bathroom, aka the kids Sponge Bob Bathroom. In the 3+ years that we have lived in this house my husband has cleaned the main bathroom I would venture to guess twice and to my knowledge has yet to ever clean the master bath. I am not sure why I would expect him too considering his history.

When I met Kevin he had actually just bought a house in Charleston, SC and when he relocated to Atlanta for work he decided to rent it out instead of selling it. Being the wonderful girlfriend that I was at the time helped him clean up the house and ready to be rented. Kevin is not one to concern himself how things may look, but just whatever it is that it is functional and usable and the master shower in his house was no exception. (the reason why the printer is in the logical location of our living room) As I took cleaner to what I thought was a frosted shower door, turned out to be a shower door that was uniformly covered in soap scum and hard water deposit. I was both awe struck and horrified at this discover and was even more amazed to learn that he had not cleaned the shower in over the course of the year that he had owned the home. Really?? Yuck. Like most women, I dismissed it as bachelor behavior and age. I was so wrong.

I am not a neat clean freak by any stretch of the imagination. I HATE cleaning. I hate even more is the unfair balance of cleaning in my house. The nastiness has to reach a level of undeniable yuck in order for my husband to take the initiative to clean. He does unload and load the dishwasher and wash the pans and in his logic that is cleaning the kitchen, never mind the white cabinets need to be wiped off along with the counters and appliances. It is the same logic that applies to pretty much all the chores in the house that need to get done. He will do the laundry and on occasion actually sort it into the various assigned baskets, but very rarely does the laundry actually get put away where it belongs. He thinks I am crazy when I say something about needing to wash off the baseboards. Is this something that men develop genetically or a learned behavior?

As I was scrubbing and bleaching out the kids bathroom my “extreme over active creative disease” along with my scientific brain came up with a nature vs nurture experiment that could not only shift the cleaning scales to one more balanced in my house, but in their own homes when they get older. Now that my boys are 6 and 8 they can now do some of this cleaning that I hate so freaking much. My experiment will be one of long term and the results will not be fully known until I have a conversation one day with their future wives. My plan start out by assigning them certain chores associated with various rooms and work up to them eventually cleaning the entire room on their own. I have already started Phase I of this experiment and making them help me conquer chores that is directly related to them like putting away their clothes. It went fairly well with minimal complaints and tears, but it got done. Once I am able to get them to do those types of chores without fighting and complaints I will move on to additional phases and to eventualy to a TOTAL HOUSE CLEANING REVOLUTION. This should be a very interesting experiment (one that will require extreme patience, determination, sense of humor, and a lot of luck and prayers).

 MOTHERS LET US UNITE 

FOR OUR DAUGHTERS AND FUTURE DAUGHTER IN-LAWS!!!

MAKE YOUR BOYS CLEAN!!! 

LET THE SCALES OF CLEANING BE FAIR AND BALANCED!!!