Susan Abel Sullivan, author
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Love at SECOND Sight?

2/18/2014

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I knew I was going to marry my husband the second time I saw him. 

Which is funny because the first time I met him there was zero love connection.  I thought he was just some non-descript middle-aged man.  And I was only 25-years old. 

And he thought I was a lesbian because my roomie at the time wore her hair very short and liked to body build.  You'd think from this not-so-brilliant start that there was a snow ball's chance in hell of us ever getting together.

And yet, today is our 25th Wedding Anniversary.  And I KNEW--in a psychic news flash kind of way--that I was going to marry this man the second time I ran into him. 

I'd been engaged to be married twice before and neither had worked out.  I wasn't a lesbian when I met the hubs, but I HAD sworn off men because I seemed to be kissing an awful lot of frogs looking for that one prince. 

And then BOOM--like the proverbial butterfly that lights on your finger when you stop chasing it, the hubs walked into my life and into the branch directors' meeting at the Pensacola YMCA. 

He was late and as he rushed in to take a seat, our boss the CEO said, "Have you two met?" meaning me and him.  My future hubs and I looked each other full in the eye--just like in the movies--and said exactly in unison, "Yes...we've met."

And that's when I KNEW.  Which was curious because I wasn't in love with him or anything school girlish.  I didn't know a thing about him, whether he was married or single or had children or might be a Hare Krishna.  But I was now determined to find out more about this man that my internal psychic hotline had said I was going to marry.

We started hanging out about two weeks after that fateful staff meeting--we never even really dated--and we were engaged to be married less two months later, had the wedding another two months after that, and here we are TWENTY-FIVE years later, still married to each other, an oddity in today's culture of multiple marriages. 

So there you go, love at second sight.  It's wholly possible.  You just have to listen to your heart.  Or your internal psychic hotline.



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Having Words: the Hubs Has His Day

1/30/2014

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The hubs has what I affectionately call George W. Bush Disorder, i.e., he likes to make up his own words, although, I'm happy to say he doesn't do it impromptu during a public speaking engagement like the former President.

The hubs' newest word is yesolutely.  Think of smashing yes and absolutely together so that it completely crowds out the abs. 

So your task, should you choose to accept, is to use the word "yesolutely" in casual conversation this weekend. 

 If someone asks you if you want to go out for drinks, give 'em a resounding, "Yesolutely!"  If someone asks you to adopt a pet llama, say, "YESOLUTELY!" And if someone asks if you believe in pocket dragons, you can tell them, "Yeso-freakin-lutely."

My work here is now done.  Yesolutely.










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At Least I Had On Clean Underwear

12/9/2013

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You know how mothers always want you to have on clean underwear in case you're ever in an accident?  When I was in the 7th grade, I passed out during an AMBULANCE demonstration, of all things, fell face first and ate the pavement, and then got carted off to the hospital in the very ambulance used in the demonstration.  And the first thing my mother said to me in the ER was not "Are you okay," but "Why did you have to wear that today?" 

My underwear, though, was clean.  She should have been thankful for that.

I was wearing plaid pants, a t-shirt that didn't match, and what we called Hong Kong shoes which were flip flops made out of bamboo.  Or maybe faux-bamboo.  Also, being that I was a gawky tween, I hadn't washed my hair in several days and it lay lank and stringy on the back of my neck. 

My mom was mortified that I'd gone to the hospital this way.  Never mind that I'd scraped off half my face in the middle school parking lot or that I'd passed out for no apparent reason during class.  Appearance was everything.  I was mortified that she was mortified.  Why couldn't I have gotten a call from the psychic hotline that morning to alert me to the impending doom that was to be the most embarrassing day of the 7th grade for me? Why, why, why?

Mr. Butler, my marketing teacher, thought an ambulance demonstration would be a cool teaching moment.  Why we were studying occupations during a marketing class was beyond me since marketing is about ADVERTISING, but hey, this was 1976. 

The class certainly got their teaching moment that day.  I passed out face forward--BAM--and the EMTs whisked me onto a stretcher and zoomed me over the Pensacola Bay bridge to Sacred Heart Hospital.  I was lucky I didn't break my nose (that would happen later that summer at the beach) or knock out my teeth (that would happen to my cousin while we were all jumping on my bed--in the DARK) or bust my lip on my braces. 

Nope, a GIANT scab formed across one cheek and I was introduced to Neosporin (a wonderous ointment.)  They never did figure out why I fainted.  Probably locked my knees.  The whole episode was far more embarrassing than painful.  There's nothing like being the center of negative attention, especially in middle school when life is awkward enough. 

But hey, at least I had on clean underwear. 

The irony? No one even saw my underwear.  I didn't have to get undressed or put on a hospital gown. 

Oh, the humanity! Ha!










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Veteren's Day 2013

11/11/2013

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PictureMy parents, Ernie & Jean Abel
Today's post is a combination ode to Veteren's Day and Memorial Day.
 
My dad, Willam Ernest Abel, known as Ernie, of Fort Payne and Gadsden, AL, served in the U.S. Navy during the Korean War.  He went to the University of Alabama on the GI Bill after the war and received a Bachelor of Science in Broadcasting.  He was the first person in his family to ever go to college and was the youngest in a family of seven.  Both of his parents died when he was only ten years old.

The U.S. Air Force hired him to direct training films as a civil servant.  He went on to earn a Masters degree as a Education Specialist from Auburn University in Montgomery and worked for the U.S. Navy the rest of his career reviewing top secret training programs for the navy. 

I get my love for theater, drama, singing, acting and writing from my dad.  Even though he majored in Broadcasting, he acted in school and college plays, as well as little theater after he graduated.  Both of my parents loved to dance.  They met while teaching ballroom dance for Arthur Murray.  And both of them played musical instruments--my dad: guitar and trumpet. 

My dad was one of the beta readers for my first published novel, The Haunted Housewives of Allister, Alabama, but sadly, he succumbed to kidney cancer and died before it was published in print and eBook.  I think he would have gotten the biggest kick out of knowing I finally made it as a published author with an honest-to-God printed novel. 

Here's to you, Dad, the finest man I have ever known and the best father a girl could ever have.


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