Tag Archives: Pandemic

Running from 999 Happy Haunts

A few years back, in a fit of what I can only describe as pandemic-induced entrepreneurial optimism (or possibly a sugar high), I started a cookie company. I’d love to say it was a calculated business move, but really, it was just me, a mixer, and a vague hope that if I baked enough cookies, I could distract myself from the world falling apart outside my window. I launched the business the year before the “pandy” (as my kids call it), and by 2020, I was happily decorating cookies and shipping them off to rich moms across the USA—women who, I imagine, have never once eaten a cookie in their car while hiding from their children.

Then life, as it does, threw me a few plot twists: a baby, a stroke, and a move to Ohio—because apparently, I like my stress served in a sampler platter. The cookie business went on hiatus, tucked away like a favorite pair of running shoes you keep meaning to break out again. I always hoped I’d pick it back up someday, but between the kids’ schedules, my AFib, and wrestling season (which, if you haven’t experienced it, is like running a marathon in a gym that smells faintly of feet), it just kept slipping down the to-do list.

But I never lost my love for Disney, or for the Haunted Mansion in particular. When it came time to rebrand, I wanted something that captured my passion for all things Disney and my slightly offbeat sense of humor. Thus, Foolish Morsels was born—a nod to the Haunted Mansion’s famous greeting, “Welcome, foolish mortals.” It’s the perfect name for a business that combines the whimsy of Disney with the undeniable truth that cookies are, in fact, the best kind of foolishness.

I’ve done quite a few Haunted Mansion cookie sets now, along with other Disney-inspired treats. And while the business has had its stops and starts (much like my running), my connection to the Haunted Mansion has never faded. It’s a must-do every time we visit the Magic Kingdom. The story is captivating, the details are endless, and every ride in a Doom Buggy reveals something new—sort of like running a familiar route and suddenly noticing a house you’ve passed a hundred times but never really seen.

Now, because I can’t resist a good trivia tangent (and because Len Testa would never forgive me if I didn’t), here are a few delightful tidbits about the Haunted Mansion:

  • It’s older than most of us admit to being. The Haunted Mansion opened in Disneyland in 1969, and in Walt Disney World in 1971. That means it’s been delighting (and mildly spooking) generations of guests for over half a century.
  • There are 999 happy haunts. But there’s always room for one more. (And if you’ve ever run a marathon, you know the feeling of being haunted by at least 999 regrets at mile 20.)
  • The stretching room isn’t actually an elevator in Florida. In Disneyland, the stretching room lowers you into the ride. In Disney World, the ceiling rises instead. Either way, it’s a good metaphor for running: sometimes you go down, sometimes you go up, but you always end up somewhere new.
  • Madame Leota’s head is real. Well, sort of. The face in the crystal ball is that of Leota Toombs, a Disney Imagineer. Her name alone would make a great running team mascot.
  • The ballroom scene uses 19th-century magic. The dancing ghosts are created with a trick called “Pepper’s Ghost,” which uses angled glass and lighting. It’s the same technique magicians used in Victorian times—proof that sometimes the old ways are still the best, whether you’re conjuring ghosts or lacing up your well-worn running shoes.

Much like running, my cookie business has had its ups, downs, and unexpected detours. Some days, I’m sprinting toward a new idea, fueled by inspiration (and maybe a little caffeine). Other days, I’m plodding along, just trying to keep moving. And sometimes, I’m just standing still, admiring the scenery (or the cookies) and reminding myself that even the slowest miles—and the messiest kitchens—are part of the journey.

So here’s to foolish morsels, haunted mansions, and running from everything (except maybe the cookie jar). May your runs be smooth, your cookies be sweet, and your Doom Buggy always have room for one more.

Running from Volleyball

In the summer of 2020, during what I like to call the “Tiger King Era”—a time when the world collectively decided that binge-watching eccentric zoo owners was the best way to cope with a pandemic—I made a monumental decision. I left my volleyball coaching job at Fort Hays State University. To be clear, I hated every thought of leaving, but Covid had done something strange to our family’s perspective. It was as if the virus had snuck into our comfort zone and whispered, “Time to shake things up.” And so, we did.

Since then, life has been a bit like a carnival ride operated by someone with a questionable grasp of mechanics. Baby? Check. Stroke? Check. Cross-country move? Oh, absolutely. Any one of these events could have been enough to send us spiraling, but we managed to survive all of them—barely—and emerged stronger and more resilient than ever. Problems that once seemed enormous were suddenly reduced to mere inconveniences. It’s amazing how life-altering chaos can recalibrate your sense of scale.

Fast forward to Ohio in the spring of 2023, where I found myself presented with an opportunity to coach volleyball at my high school alma mater. Nostalgia aside, I knew I wasn’t ready—not physically, not mentally, not even logistically. My job demanded too much of me, and my family needed even more. So I shelved the idea and carried on.

Then came 2024, and with it another twist: a co-worker asked me if I’d consider coaching a boys’ volleyball team in spring 2025. I hesitated but said I’d think about it. My new job required far less brainpower (a blessing), and for the first time in years, the timing felt right to get back on the court.

But fate had other plans—or perhaps it just enjoys being dramatic. On December 28th, my mom woke up with a shattered scapula for no apparent reason (a condition I’ve dubbed “spontaneous broken wing syndrome”). A week later, my dad decided to test his snow blower’s blade sharpness with his fingertip—a decision that ended predictably poorly. As if that weren’t enough, my husband Chas tore his calf muscle while skipping in a preschool gym class (yes, skipping). By January 19th, my own heart joined the rebellion, landing me in the hospital for three days with AFib/Atrial Flutter. At this point, quitting seemed like the most logical option—but somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to say no.

And thank goodness for that stubborn streak. Once I started coaching again, it was as if my brain had rediscovered an old friend it didn’t know it missed. The rhythm of practices, the camaraderie of the team—it all felt wonderfully familiar. Boys are easier to coach than girls (as anyone who’s read my other posts will know), but they require persistence—a trait I’ve learned is key both on and off the court. We’re not great yet; we’re young and learning. But every day brings progress that makes the effort worthwhile.

The moral of this chaotic tale? Sometimes you have to dive into something you’re convinced you can’t do—post-stroke or otherwise—and prove yourself wrong. It’s terrifying but deeply satisfying to discover what you’re still capable of achieving. And who knows? Maybe persistence really is the secret ingredient for surviving life’s carnival ride—even when it feels like it’s spinning out of control.