From the office:

Our daughter phoned years ago, obviously upset. She said, “You’re not going to believe this. I was watching TV and they showed this guy going to a hypnotist to stop smoking, and there was a spinning wheel with flashing lights and the lady was saying all sing-songy, “You are getting sleepier and sleepier. Soon you will be under my control.” We were shocked at the warped portrayal of hypnosis and Ginny said, “Oh my goodness!” Frank asked, “Was it on the news, or a documentary, or what?” Our daughter said, irate, “It was on my soap opera!”

A client told Frank when she “called around” to find a hypnotherapist to help her lose weight, one of our competitors showed a “license number” in her yellow page ad. Since licensing does not exist for hypnotherapists, it turns out this was her driver’s license number. Adding insult to injury, when she gave the caller directions to her office she said, “There’s no name on the door. I’m so famous that people keep stealing my name plate as a souvenir.” And that is how the caller became our client, not hers.

Ginny had a client years ago who, after commenting on how much he enjoyed his session, started laughing. Ginny said, “Wanna share?” He said, “My wife made me leave my wallet, my watch and my wedding ring in the car before coming in for hypnosis. She thought you’d put me ‘out’ and steal them.

One of Frank’s first clients years ago was a distinguished man in a business suit and tie, who wanted to lose weight. To help him ease into an altered state of consciousness for hypnosis, Frank used detailed imagery of walking on a beach. After his session, as he walked across the room to add his last pack of cigarettes to our collection, he stopped in the middle of the room, looked down at his feet, and rocked back and forth a bit. Puzzled, Frank asked him, “Is something wrong?” He said, “I feel like I have sand in my shoes…”

About horses:

My first horse (more than 30 years ago, in Linden) was named Happy. One Sunday morning my 10-year-old son and I jumped on her and rode bareback to the little country store. Jeff slid down, ran in and bought a bottle of syrup, while I waited on Happy in the empty field next door. When Jeff handed me the mysterious brown bag, Happy spooked, bucked, reared, spun, and threw me. As I landed on the ground looking up at her belly passing over me, I thought, “Oh dear, I hope this doesn’t scare Jeff out of riding again.” I stood and brushed myself off as he ran toward me with a huge grin on his face, saying, “Wow, Mom! You looked just like John Wayne!”

My personal motto: “If my cowboy boots aren’t dusty… it’s nobody’s fault but my own.”

My 3-year-old granddaughter, Annabella, has ridden Brandi with me practically from the time she was born. Recently she has begun to ride “alone” while I walk beside her. Lacking no self-confidence whatsoever, on her last ride Annabella said, “Grandma, I want you.” I said, “Okay” and started to climb up to join her in the saddle. She said, “No, Grandma, I want you… over there!” -- pointing to the fence at the far end of the arena. And as if that were not daring enough, when she caught a glimpse of bull riding recently on TV she said, “Oh, Grandma, I wish I could ride that horse!”

Some advice really stinks. For example, “If flatulence embarrasses you, do not own a horse!”