The F Word

The F Word

No, not that “F word.” Not the one that I Fortunately, I took one more look and saw a heard so often while working on the car approaching the light from my left at thoroughbred racetrack in my 20’s speed. She has a red signal, I thought. She’ll from people who punctuated their senstop. But she never did. Simply flew right on tences with the expression as a matter through that major intersection without a of course. In order to sound tough, I guess. But thought of slowing down. Another two or as a visualizer, I jumped nearly every time I three seconds and you’d be reading this in my heard it because the “movie” of that “activity” epitaph. Whew! Fear definitely came up for replayed in my brain. I could live the rest of me at that close call. Then relief. Then yes, anmy days without that word entering my ears ger. All to be expected. and be perfectly, delightfully happy. Though I’ve mentioned this in previous

Enough digressing. What I’m addressing columns, it’s worth repeating, that the panis the other four-letter F word. The one that’s demic has triggered widespread fear on many currently running rampant in our society, our levels and for good reason. It can be deadly for country and the world at large. Fear. And that you and/or loved ones. The perpetrator – the one can be so insidious, so disguised, that Covid-19 virus – is a smart, sneaky little suckidentifying it as a root cause of suffering, of er. The medical and scientific communities anger, of shame, can be tricky, if not nigh im are trying to nail its behavior patterns so possible. Fear can govern our lives without those experts can inform the public what to be our knowing it. Did you realize that the three on the lookout for. My heartfelt wishes go out aforementioned emotional states all can be to them. May they find solutions soon. But unborn from fear? til that time, each of us is making decisions

I believe that two forms of fear exist. The based on what we feel is right for us and for first roars in as the result of perceived danger, our families . . . and hopefully, for our fellow and can evoke the fight or flight response. The man, i.e. mask-wearing in public. standard example of that type of fear is the on What I find personally during these uncoming train, and if you should find yourself certain times is that my fear level can change in that situation, by all means, take flight. Get from day to day. Not a follower of hard news, I off those tracks pronto. avoid major stories and incessant pundit

Just this morning, I was about to turn speculations about political, economic and right onto Ribaut Road at the Bay Street/Depandemic issues. Yep. Just call me Ostrich. pot Road/Ribaut stoplight on a green signal. However, occasionally, a piece of news will

sneak past my don’t-tell-me-unless-a-hurricane’s-on-the-way radar, and I can fall right into fear. Which can get big. Often much larger than the issue deserves. Not unlike a dog when its hackles rise to make it look bigger or a bear when it stands up to threaten. Once my mind gloms onto it, fear can take time and focus to shrink back to size.

To quote visionary pioneer in women’s health, Dr. Christiane Northrup, “Your mind can be a dangerous neighborhood where you shouldn’t go alone at night.” Meditating, reading or listening to a soul-soothing book or music, chatting with a friend, walking or biking on the Spanish Moss Trail can return my brain to a far-safer neighborhood.

That said, however, most days, living in the Lowcountry is enough to counteract any fear that comes my way. Good heavens, all you have to do is walk outside and look around at the exquisite vistas. What an up – mighty, graceful live oaks with icicles of Spanish moss and rain-fed clumps of resurrection fern; glorious expanses of marshlands that reflect every vivid hue in VanGogh’s palette at sunset; the ever-changing skies just as wide as those in Big Sky Country; fascinating wildlife . . . magnificent wood storks and pelicans, skulking gators, elusive marsh hens, Gullah “shrimps;” and then, the water. Ah, the water. If you ever have the opportunity to fly over our Lowcountry, jump on it. Veins of salty water thread through the land like blue highways across a map.

The second kind of fear is the kind that may seem massive, that may make you want to run from it and/or stick your head in the sand. It’s Ostrich again. Essentially, it’s the fear of change, the fear of trying something new, of testing out a new behavior, of breaking a habit or addiction that you may have been escaping behind for years, perhaps even the fear of succeeding at something you really want.

Confronting these fears, standing toe-totoe with them head on can start you on the road to new behavior. Identify the fear, claim it and call it out. Then choose a method to resolve the issue. Above all, don’t hesitate to get help if you need it. During my last move – this one across town from one house to a smaller one – I found myself so overwhelmed by the amount of packing and pitching I still had left to do before the movers arrived in four days

WHOLLY HOLISTICS by Katherine Tandy Brown

that I was in a complete panic. Pure fear that I’d never get it all done in time. So I called a friend who’s a professional organizer, and she gave me the name of a woman who could help. The minute this efficient lady walked in my door each day, I’d feel calmer. I dubbed her my “packing coach,” and we worked together under her directions. I swear I could never have moved without her.

As I was leaving home for my freshman year in college, my mom gave me a spot-on piece of advice that I still use when needed. “You’ll always be fine if you have an alternative.” Words to remember, as there usually is one.

As for the other F word, perhaps someone near and dear to you has gently – or firmly – “suggested” that you cut that expression out of your collection of frequent go-to swearwords. Maybe Covid isolation has led to introspection, and you’d like to clean up a few things in your life that aren’t working for you anymore, that make you feel bad about yourself and/or waste time – overeating, not exercising, staying up too late and not getting enough sleep. If excessive cursing happens to be one of those habits you want to break, you have two choices, both the brainchildren of swearing expert (Who knew?) James V. O’Connor. You can attend The Cuss Control Academy in Northbrook IL. Or pour yourself a stiff one and snuggle up to Cuss Control: The Complete Book on How to Curb Your Cursing. Really. The book has been featured and reviewed on hundreds of media outlets the likes of TIME magazine, The Oprah Show, the New York Times, and the O’Reilly Factor.

If you try either of the above and the pro cess works, we want you as a Wholly Holistics guest columnist for the download on your experience!

Waking Up Dead

Ryan Copeland’s new memoir chronicles the weird life of a funeral director’s son.

If you've ever met anyone who grew up in the funeral industry, you'll know that they're weird. Author/columnist Ryan Copeland, the son of Beaufort’s longtime coroner/funeral director, the late Curt Copeland, reflects on his unusual upbringing in his new memoir Waking Up Dead, available at amazon.com. For this issue of Lowcountry Weekly, Ryan interviewed himself. (We told you these people are weird.)

May I start by asking why you chose to interview yourself?

Yes, you may start that way.

It’s just an odd format.

Everything I do is odd, have you not read my book, Waking Up Dead?

Yes, let’s talk about that for a moment. Why this book, why now?

It’s something that’s always stirred inside of me. People have come up to me for what’s felt like generations now to ask why I’m not in the funeral business like my dad. That’s those who don’t start by asking if I’m related to my dad because they’d never heard of me. I have a million stories from growing up in this town with everyone knowing my dad and few knowing me because we were so different in personality. I just considered my stories some what unique. The curiosity of people around me were always piqued when I related what my dad did for a living as a funeral director and county coroner, so I thought I’d compile the stories from my perspective and share.

That’s nice and all, but why now?

My dad passed away ten years ago and it finally seems safe to talk about some of this. But also, we’re in the middle of a pandemic and I had nothing else to do. If I were smart I’d have used the time to work on inventing a new medication, or writing a software pro gram or basically anything useful to humanity. Writing, though, is the only thing that’s ever come naturally to me. That, and throwing a baseball, but who wants to sit around and watch me throw baseballs to myself?

Katherine Tandy Brown has traveled the world as a Is that why you self-published instead of going through the traditional route? Look, self-publishing (rightly) has a stigma freelance writer for 25 years. She teaches memoir, travel writing and writing practice in USCB’s OLLI Continuing Ed program and in her downtown cottage. A certified writing attached to it, but I promise you this was the coach, she is penning her first novel, One to Go: An Equine quickest and easiest way to get this done during federal, state and local quarantine. I also had an editor graciously comb through and I can assure you this isn’t a dime-store novel. It’s also not going to end up at a yard sale. Yet.

What kind of audience are you hoping to capture for this book?

Obviously anyone in Beaufort who knew my dad could read the book and understand my perspective. Unlike me, my dad seemed to generate a strong reaction in people. He was always in the public eye and people seemed to really love him or . . . a different reaction. Aside from the public, however, he was a normal guy with a family and none of his six grandchildren remember a ton about him, so I wrote some of the stories down for them. I think it also speaks maybe to a larger audience about how parents and children relate to each other when they’re so different. Maybe some fans of true crime and non-fiction will also enjoy. Basically, I asked myself what type of book I’d like to read, and this was it. This is not War and Peace but it’s not exactly summer beach reading either. It’s hopefully something with a little for everyone.

Yes, you’ve described yourself before as both “exceptionally average” and “radically moderate.” Your dad, meanwhile, was a larger than life character.

Is there a question there?

No, just pointing out that you're not unique.

My stories are, I think. I’d never make a comparison to Frank McCourt in Angela’s Ashes, but that’s maybe the best modern memoir available, and the story of an Irish immigrant who becomes a teacher grabs your attention because of the writing of the author. My story is not heartbreaking and I’m not profound like McCourt, but I tried to cross the sensitive nature of my topic with lightheartedness.

Let’s talk about that – you know death is a serious topic.

It is, but when you’re around it a lot the normal human emotions become more and more difficult to tamp down. No one can live equably with doom and gloom all the time. I was at a funeral in Bluffton a few years ago where a bagpiper went to play “Amazing Grace” at the end. Only he either hadn’t warmed up the pipes sufficiently or he’d never actually played the instrument before. What came out was something closer to a clarinet being played by a walrus. I know that sounds ridiculous but so did that bagpipe. I almost had to leave the pew because it struck me as so absurd and funny. I think Dad would have had a hard time with that, too. These are the kinds of things we have to acknowledge. I wrote in the book about how I gradually moved from cutting the grass at the cemetery to driving a family in the limo for services to driving bodies in the hearse. That wasn’t a natural progression but when you’re dealing with people in a time of grief, all sorts of emotions will come out of them. I learned that I’d rather be with the ones who couldn’t talk.

So the humor in the book is intended?

Absolutely. Right now, with deaths being tallied and reported daily, it’s important to remember that even if death happens to us all, we can and should still find humor in life. There’s nothing inherently funny about a statistic, but if you dig into the stories of the people behind the statistics you’ll find something funny and relatable.

What do you miss most about not being in the funeral business?

All the money I could have made had I not turned it down. No, I’m kidding – I’m a high school librarian so obviously money isn’t an issue. Kidding again! I would have to say the smells. Not the embalming fluid smell, which is so hard to get out. I miss the smell of walking into the building when the carpet was just vacuumed. The flowers were always fragrant and the coffee maker always had a pot on and the toner in the copier was always full. It’s that odd mix – half church sanctuary and half office space – that I miss. There are people who always seem to “hang out” at a funeral home. They just go and sit and wait to see who turns up next on the stretcher. I always found it odd, but there’s a comfort in it, too, I guess. I miss being able to go to my dad’s office, sit down and shoot the breeze for a good ten minutes. That’s all the time we’d need.

You’ve had a column in the local newspa per for several years now. You have also written two or three local history books and now this memoir. Are people tired of you?

Only the people in my own home. Possi bly some neighbors.

So what’s next, then?

Beaufort is full of flavor and character. I said in the book that Beaufort was the smaller-scale envy of both Charleston and Savannah. Things are accessible here. We’ve also had, historically, a slightly larger proportion of eccentricity than either of those two fine cities. I’ll find something or someone to write about.