Angel 2020

 

Angel heralding my joy for Christmas:

Trumpeting for all to gather

To celebrate Christ’s birth—

Elegantly swaying in the breeze

Waltzing in the wind.

Found one morning in a heap.

The wind knocked out of her.

Pieces scattered.

Rainy and cold, I try to help. . . .

The wind is too strong, too biting.

Brought into the garage, a refuge from the wind,

To re-assemble,

To warm my hands,

to gather my thoughts.

With pliers, zip ties, stakes,

She stands again, but. . . .

She’s changed. 

She has her battle scars, but

She also has changed her attitude.

She is sassy, challenging.

Blown over by the winds,

She leans a little—

her dance has changed , 

her wings outstretched—jazz wings.

Still playing her trumpet, but more Louis Armstrong 

And less Gabriel.

Stand back.

Keep your distance.

Dancing by myself.

Challenging the world,

But, dancing.

Celebrating Christ's birth

Alone,

But, dancing.

Reading on YouTube

 

Several months ago, our daughter asked me to read a book to her children using YouTube.  Since I haven’t spent much time with them this past year, nor can I visit them in their new home, I agreed to give it a try.

First, I needed to buy a tripod for my phone with a halo light—plenty available on Amazon at a reasonable cost.  We also agreed on a book on Eli's reading list— Number the Stars by Lois Lowry—not terrible long and it was one I had previously read.  As a high school student, I had been active in Interpretive reading of poetry and prose—even winning a medal for my reading of William Blake poetry.  I felt like this was a good fit for me since I had also been a secondary reading teacher.

Because my “audience” was grandchildren ages 13-5, I had to explain vocabulary from time to time.  Then, I got the idea to teach them “think-alouds”.  That’s reading a story out loud but also saying the thoughts that run through a person’s head while reading:  making comparisons, asking questions, predicting,  commenting.  Every now and then, I inserted family stories like describing the time I went shopping with my grandmother to look at store-bought dresses.

I had already posted very short videos to YouTube over the years, but this would be my first time recording long pieces.  First thing I had to change was my make up—I had to buy some under eye cover up.  I decided for my first book to record all around the house—I thought the kids would enjoy my constantly changing but familiar chair.  Soon, I realized some places were better than others.  Straight back was better than an easy chair and having the tripod right in front of me was better than across the room.  

My biggest problem was recording in a place which didn’t have the dryer going off, the phone ringing or neighbors walking their dog behind me in the window so the dog could do his “business”.  The halo light has really helped with lighting on cloudy days.  Although I had 3 kinds of light, the soft light seemed to be the most flattering.  But, I needed a controlled environments which I’m still searching for. LOL

While reading Number the Stars to the grandchildren, I was reading Lilac Girls for my own “pleasure” which was too much World War II and the Holocaust.  So, when I finished Number the Stars, I moved on to something lighter—— A Long Way From Chicago by Richard Peck which has a wonderful cast of characters and a lot of humor with main characters being Grandma Dowdle and her two grandchildren visiting from Chicago—Mary Alice and Joey.

I realized by this time, reading to the grandkids was “good” for me.  i dressed carefully for the camera, put make up on each day, and curled my hair.  While reading in other rooms, I realized my husband was listening and chuckling at the right places. So, I moved to the room he was in, so he could listen easier.  It became a part of our daily routine before lunch—something to look forward to.

OK, reading was good for me, entertaining for my husband, but what about the grandkids?  Leah reports listening to me read at lunch has become some of their favorite times of the day.  Click here for all of my videos, or below for the first one.

Covid Season

 Sun snuggling closer to earth,

Nights blanketing the day.

Another season passes

Leaves tumbling from the trees,

Hummingbirds  have packed their bags.

Another season passes

Wearing sweaters in the morning,

Needing another blanket at night.

Another season passes

Still isolating from the plague,

Missing family celebrations.

This season never passes.

Wanting to hug church friends,

Missing smiles on masked faces.

This season never passes.

Trips are cancelled,

Lunch with friends on Zoom.

This season never passes.

Leaders not leading,

Hospitals filling up again.

This season. . . . .please pass.

Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall

A year passes

A Puzzler's Life

 

Usually, I choose a puzzle with a photo that makes me happy—maybe a memory, maybe a pretty place or maybe photos of something that gives me pleasure like books, or buttons or sea shells.  Finding the pieces to recreate that happiness is just one of the goals. 

First, it’s more fun doing a puzzle with a helper—it teaches families to work together on a common goal. An unfinished puzzle on a table invites others to find that elusive piece. Today, my cleaning lady paused in her dusting and found a piece or two.

I love the challenge. I have done puzzles bought at garage sales with no guarantee that all of the pieces are there.  I’ve done puzzles upside down with just the blank side.  I’ve done puzzles with out a box and no picture to guide me.  I’ve also done double sided puzzles.  They’re each a challenge to be conquered.

While puzzles require a lot of concentration, it’s a great activity when you have just a few minutes—waiting for someone to get dressed or waiting for an appointment.  I started doing them again when Dave was having chemo. Puzzling calms me.  It keeps my anxiety at bay.

Jigsaw puzzles have brought me a lot of satisfaction during my life but especially during the winter months and during Covid 19.  While some may point out that they teach delayed satisfaction, I see each piece as bringing me satisfaction. So much time searching. . . searching.  Then, like magic the piece appears.  A little like the lost lamb. . . . .

Researching Childhood Friends

My daughter, Rebecca, is putting together a book for my birthday with photos from my life.  She sent me this photo asking , "who are these children with you (back row left) and Jane (front row right)?"  And thus began several days of Jane and I reminiscing about childhood friends when we lived in Tower Grove South neighborhood.  And that led us to "whatever became of them"?  Jane and I both have great researching skills so we went to work.

First, was Barbara E. whose family had pretty much adopted my grandmother, mother and us as one of their own.  I knew all of Barbara's aunts and grandparents had died, but what happened to Barbara.  I researched her name on ancestry, but nothing but her high school year book photo and a marriage certificate came up (was she REALLY married at 18?).  So, I googled her husband who had a Facebook Account.  I messaged him and he wrote me right back that he and Barbara were divorced, she had re-married and was living in Pacific Northwest, but he had lost touch with her.

Next were this family who shared a "flat" with us.  We lived upstairs and they lived downstairs.  The girl in the middle "D" was older and was always a bit aloof.  Researching her, I found she had been living in Belleville IL but has died.  Jane and I had known that "W", the beautiful red-headed boy had died young.  He had become a hair dresser and was gay.  Jane thought suicide but I thought AIDs.  Neither of us was right---an automobile accident in Illinois that also killed the man who was with him.  Next was "La Wanda", his twin sister who is sitting in front of me and beside Jane.

She and her brother were in the same grade as I was but went to the Catholic school.  She was quiet but friendly and smiled more than this photo shows.  They had a difficult home life as many children did in that neighborhood with parents who drank too much being the common thread.  Although we enjoyed playing with the twins, I don't recall ever playing in each other's flat---just in the yard or on the sidewalk.  Thanks to their father's obituary, I was able to find "LaWanda's" married name.  With that, Jane was able to locate an address in Missouri.  I have tried to contact her on Facebook, but she hasn't responded.  Maybe she doesn't remember us, maybe she does and doesn't want to be re-acquainted, maybe she hasn't received the message.

I have her address and could write her a note, but I don't know if I want to.  There's something so "safe" about Facebook.  It's a great place to catch up on old friendships---no one really knows your e-mail, phone or address.  If you decide this is not a friendship worth having, you can unfriend, unfollow or "snooze".  It's as if you never reached out.  You can't do that with the other means of communication.  (Although I have delegated one friend as "junk mail" after unfriending him on Facebook)

I am grateful that I have my sister Jane to share memories with.  We both have amazing research skills (mine through my genealogy and hers through her job in the insurance business).  This exploration of these two families, brought us together on-line working toward a common goal despite not having seen each other since early March.  There are still a few families we haven't tracked down yet---hey, Jane how about the Ernsts and the Shorts?

 

What did you do during Covid 19, Great-grandmother?

 I've been an avid genealogist for over 40 years, but the family tree doesn't interest me as much as the

family stories which give me a tiny glimpse into the past.  One of my dad's cousins (David Long) once told me that his grandfather (Thomas Henry Long) talked about living during the Civil War.  The family was living in the stone house (on Stone House Road in Jefferson County) when soldiers stopped by their house.   I don't know why, I don't know which side, I don't know if they stayed, if they threatened them. That's all of the story. The stone house was originally built as a stage coach stop  between De Soto and Hillsboro so it could have had something to do with that.  It's hard to keep stories alive that are 3rd or 4th hand.  For more on the Old Stone House click here.

So, for my great grandchildren, this is a first hand account of living during Covid 19.  I feel bad for the families that have to juggle work and supervising their children's schooling.  I feel bad for the teachers having to revamp their entire teaching method for virtual learning.  I feel bad for the health care workers who are on the front lines for this virus.  I feel bad for my friends in senior living who are often confined to their rooms for quarantine.  I feel bad for the college students who are at the most social time of their lives but are virtual learning and having to stay in small groups.  I do not feel sorry for those who refuse to socially distance themselves, refuse to wear masks, demand in person learning and believe in the politicians who say it's not a big deal, that it is a hoax or it's up to the individual. It is worse in the United States than anywhere in the world because of the failure of our leadership at the state and national level.

I have auto-immune hepatitis and must take drugs to keep my body from rejecting my liver.  The drugs keep me alive but also make me get very sick if I catch anything.  For the past 5 years, I retreat into self-imposed isolation just before Christmas and come out again in March.  Sadly, this March began Covid 19 and I never got to "come out" again.  Instead, we pushed doctor's appointments to the summer because, "it will all be over by the summer." This is August and it's worse than it was in March.  We have had to go to some doctor's appointments and testing but we have had some virtually via the computer or telephone.  In addition to being immune-suppressed, we are both in our 70's which makes it likely that we would not get a "mild case" according to authorities.

I haven't been in a store since early March when I went to Schnucks grocery to shop at 5 AM.  We have everything delivered.  I order our groceries on-line and they are delivered to the door by Instacart.  Other items are delivered by Amazon also to our front door.  We had begun meal delivery service several years ago---the groceries are delivered with menus for me to fix the meals (Hello Fresh and Blue Apron).  Most of our prescription medicines are also delivered.  

Our daughters Rebecca, Rachel and Leah take turns coming to town to help out with chores or shopping that can't be delivered.  They also helped me get Dave (great-grandpa) to the doctor before we had the ramp and lift into the van for his wheel chairs.  I miss not seeing our family members probably the most---no family reunions, no family gatherings, no meet-ups in Columbia, MO, no celebrations for graduations or birthdays.  I am very grateful that I got to at least see all of the grandchildren this summer even if I couldn't hug them or be with them without a mask.

The second thing I miss is going to church where most of our friends are.  I'm very thankful for zoom for small groups, Bible Study, Coffee Klatch, meetings, writing group.  There have been several occasions where people have gotten together "safely" but I had to pass---"getting together safely" is not  possible for me. For many the jazz evening and the drive-in worship  services were healing, but for me it just tears open the wounds.  I am so social that it would break my heart to see people and not be able to hug them, talk to them, see them smile. Several have begun walking together and hiking, but it's still too risky for me. We have worship on Sunday which we watch on the television and can "chat" in a box on the screen.  And that will have to do for now.

The third thing I miss is traveling.  We have been on 19 cruises and I had one scheduled for November 2020 which I've already cancelled.  We have been on a Baltic cruise, a Mediterranean cruise, a trans-Atlantic cruise, a Panama Canal cruise and an Alaskan cruise in addition to the Caribbean and Mexico.  They worked so well after Dave's accident in 2001.  Lately, we rarely got off the ship since he was in a wheel chair, but I could be social while he read on the balcony. I had meals prepared for me and served. and often help with the wheel chair.  In recent years, we often travelled with my brother Jim and his wife Deb or with one of the daughters and families.  Our favorites were the Disney cruises because I felt safer from germs---smaller ships, smaller elevators, fewer people and lots of great help from the staff.

The fourth thing I miss is just shopping---mostly thrift stores where I loved the hunt for a bargain, a collectible or a shirt at a fraction of the cost retail.  But, I also just miss walking up and down the aisles of Target, Ace Hardware or CVS drug store.

So, what am I doing with my time?  Dave needs a lot of help.  We have purchased ramps and motorized wheel chairs, but he still needs help.  I was very sick a few weeks ago with a digestive virus and couldn't come downstairs for almost 24 hours---I was too weak and didn't want him to catch it.  He only ate a granola bar and nuts---never fixed a meal although plenty of food was in the refrigerator.  He was able to get out of bed, into his wheelchair to get to the recliner in the family room.  But, no coffee, no breakfast, no daily pills. 

And what does Dave do with his time?  First, he is quiet and introverted and doesn't need people as much as I do.   He reads the newspaper, spy novels, works crossword puzzles and Sudoko.  He has chores he can do while sitting:  folding laundry, putting silverware in the drawer, paying bills, putting the dirty dishes on the island for me to grab and put in the dishwasher. He also drives to pick up our prescriptions from CVS pharmacy.  I try to have him drive several times a week to keep him sharp.  In the evening we like to watch television---mostly British mysteries from PBS or Acorn streaming service.

I still volunteer for church:  sending cards to shut-ins for the Deacons, selling items on Ebay donated by church members, maintaining the church blog, administrating our church Facebook and Twitter pages, and participating in small group and a Bible study.  I also make phone calls to those who need to hear from church friends.  We reach out to different people each week.  So unlike some, I am not bored.

I also enjoy puzzles:  jigsaw puzzles, Words with Friends and Acrostic puzzles.  As a former reading and English teacher, reading novels are one of the ways I unwind.   According to Good Reads, I've read 22 books in 8 months.  My favorites were Circe, The Dutch House, Before We Were Yours,  All the Ways We Say Goodbye, and a new series by Victoria Thompson which takes place in New York City in the early 1900's. And, of course, there's always genealogy.  My goal was once to trace my ancestry to the "old country" which I now realize is pretty unattainable with all of my mother's family being here in the 1600's.  My new goal is to trace all lines to 5 greats.  As a former teacher, attainable goals are important!

My exercise schedule had taken a real set back 2 years ago when our health club Wellbridge closed.  I never found another club even close to what we had.  We had settled for going to many places to get the services we got there.  Dave went to his personal trainer's house, I went to JCA for pilates, Ballwin Pointe for Zumba, Lifetime Fitness for spa, and Anytime Fitness for Stretch.   Then Covid 19 shut everything down.  My only exercise is Stretch on Zoom 2-3 times a week.  Dave's personal trainer moved to another location and we just started back with her after home health care for several months.

All in all, we have fared better than many.  Because so many were out of work, we have had a lot of work done to our house.  We have had landscaping, a new patio put in, new handrails out the back.  The house has been power washed and the sunroom painted. We had a ramp put in the garage and a new step to the sunroom (to help my knees).  We will be READY to go places and see people when Covid-19 isolation is over.  I am hoping some virtual programs will still be around:  church worship, exercise, doctor's visits because I don't think I'll ever feel comfortable in large groups and waiting rooms.  I am very thankful for the development of these virtual programs, but look forward to the day when I can again hug family and friends and see the smiles on their faces even if I have to remain masked.

My Evolving Views on Race , Part III

My first year of teaching was at McCluer High School teaching Sophomore English and first year German.  The theme for Sophomore English was "Confinement" and we kicked off the year with "Raisin in the Sun".  As an English major at Southeast Missouri State College, I had primarily taken classes in language, Greek and British literature with only the required classes in American Literature.  Suddenly I'm teaching "Raisin in the Sun".  It was wonderful---I loved the language and the symbolism of the play, but it was the raw emotion that gripped me like a band around my heart.

The family was struggling with this new life of "freedom" and opportunity, wanting to buy a home.  But a generational divide within the family is one of the main themes.  "

Mama: Oh—So now it’s life. Money is life. Once upon a time freedom used to be life—now it’s money. I guess the world really do change . . .
Walter: No—it was always money, Mama. We just didn’t know about it.
Mama: No . . . something has changed. You something new, boy. In my time we was worried about not being lynched . . . You ain’t satisfied or proud of nothing we done. I mean that you had a home; that we kept you out of trouble till you was grown; that you don’t have to ride to work on the back of nobody’s streetcar—You my children—but how different we done become.

MAMA …Big Walter used to say, he’d get right wet in the eyes sometimes, lean his head back with the water standing in his eyes and say, “Seem like God didn’t see fit to give the black man nothing but dreams – but He did give us children to make them dreams seem worth while. (Act I, scene i)

And of course, this lead me to Langston Hughes and his wonderful poetry, one of which was the basis of the title of "Raisin in the Sun".

Harlem

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore-
And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over-
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

I was hooked.  From Langston Hughes, I moved on to James Weldon Johnson, Claude McKay and Countee Cullen:  the Harlem Renaissance Poets.

Teaching in the late 1960's, I also worked under the influence of the protest songs of Joan Baez, Bob Dylan, Aretha Franklin.  I taught that also as poetry and moved on to spirituals to show my students that protest music was nothing new.

In addition to teaching, I started thinking about graduate school.  I really wanted to study Black Literature, but I looked in the mirror and realized that was not in my future.  Even some of my Black students questioned my love of "their" literature.  What did I know of "dreams deferred"?  What did I know about the Black experience?

So, I dutifully signed up for classes in Shakespeare, Romantic Poets and Eugene O'Neill.  But, I was never happy and eventually stopped working on that graduate degree.  

 

The French Doll

****This was written to be fiction, but it's more historical fiction, since some of it is true****

Before Roy had shipped off to France to fight in World War I, he’d finally focused on one girl—the boss’s daughter.  Vivian Maupin wasn’t as pretty as the other girls but she was kind, fun to be with and came from one of the best families in DeSoto, Missouri, a small town outside of St. Louis.  DeSoto had two industries—the shoe factories and the round house for Missouri Pacific Railroad where the engines came for repairs.  Vivian’s father was the superintendent of the round house where Roy had worked as a boiler maker.

Private first class Roy Long had just arrived in France and was looking for something to send Vivian whose ancestors had been French.  He walked through the market and wondered what he could send her to let her know he was thinking of her.  She was just a few years older than his sisters—what would they like? 

He felt drawn to a  booth with trinkets and dolls.  His sisters would love a doll from France, maybe Vivian would, too.  He picked up one with red hair, pouting lips and big flirty eyes that seem to be beckoning him. Her hat tilted to the side was certainly different from the bonnets worn by his sisters.  He hoped Vivian would know by this gift that he loved her and would stay by her side.

“How much is this doll?” he asked the small, mustached merchant.

“Parlez vous Francais?” 

Roy spoke English and a little German but no French. He repeated, "How much is the doll?"

The merchant shrugged his shoulders, unable to understand.

Roy then heard a small voice speaking to the merchant.  The merchant listened, smiled and nodded.  Roy looked around for a child but didn’t see one.  The merchant held up a coin and indicated with his hands that was what Roy needed to pay for the doll.

Roy found the coin in his pocket and paid the merchant.  As the merchant began wrapping the doll in paper, Roy asked, “What is her name?”  He had forgotten the merchant couldn't speak English.  The merchant leaned toward the package, listening to a muffled murmur before he responded, “Vivienne.”

My Evolving Views on Race, Part 2

In the mid-1950s, we moved from our South St. Louis City flat  to a new North County house in a subdivision where all of the houses looked alike.  It was a great place to grow up because I had 4 sets of aunts and uncles that lived in the same subdivision.  My school was very new with a real cafeteria which served hot lunches and everything was very clean and white:  the houses, the class rooms, the people.  I no longer "rubbed shoulders" with people of color, but that didn't mean I wasn't influenced by the Black culture.

When I was in junior high school, I began to discover Black entertainers.  Harry Belafonte, Nat King Cole and Johnny Mathis were favorite singers of mine.  They opened the door for me to spend many hours listening to The Temptations, The Supremes and other Black singing, syncopated groups. I spent hours singing and imitating that dancing style in front o the television.   I also loved musicals with two of my favorite songs from Showboat:  "Old Man River" and "Fish Got to Swim and Birds Got to Fly". I even translated Porgy and Bess's  "Summertime" into German for fun. The depths of sadness in those songs reached out to my teenage angst.

Television and Films were also beginning to feature Black performers--- Bill Cosby in "I Spy" and Sidney Poitier in "Lillies of the Fields" a role which earned him an Academy Award.  Locally, we had several wonderful Black broadcasters:  Julius Hunter and Fred Porterfield.  But we were especially proud of Dianne White who was the first Black female weather broadcaster in the country.

Riverview High School in the 1960's was mostly white, but we did have several Black students---2 were siblings Lois and Morris.  Morris played football and was often seen laughing and socializing with the other football players.  His yearbook photo shows a confident and happy young man.  His sister Lois had a more difficult time without the athletic connections opening the social doors.  Her yearbook photo shows an anxiety I don't recall her having or maybe I am better at interpreting facial expressions, now.  I would have said, she was stand offish, but now I see what a difficult role she had as a Black female teen in an almost all white school.

We also had a Black teacher---Mrs. Neal.  Technically she didn't teach any of us and the yearbook calls her a "visiting teacher" which was usually more like a substitute.  She had a degree from Sam Houston College but worked more as a truant officer.  She worked all day in a small windowless room on the phone, calling to see why each student was absent.  I volunteered in the office as a runner who collected the attendance and she was on my regular run.  She was always friendly, cordial and took lots of notes with each phone call.  I didn't think it was odd that we had a Black woman on the staff, nor did I think it odd that she was hidden away in a windowless room.

I could now see that some Blacks could be successful through entertainment or athletics.  The most successful were often those of lighter skin, had special talents or those who were well educated.  But, the vast majority of the Black population still weren't accepted by  everyone or were hidden away in windowless rooms working at jobs below their level of education like Lois or Mrs. Neal.  Athletes like Morris had some social doors opened for them.  He was friends with those on the football team but wasn't selected as an escort for the Homecoming Court, an honor for the Senior football players.  With an all white court, a black male escort was still unthinkable.  But there was a crack in the door.

Battles

Like a knight going to battle,

Each piece to protect me from the enemy,

Each piece to equip me for the fight.

Teeth in.

Hearing aids in.

Glasses on.

Bandage on knee.

Mask on.

I am ready for my day.

I am ready for my life.

Photo by Artur Tumasjan on Unsplash

My Evolving Views on Race, Part 1

My first memory of people being different from me and all of my friends and family, was going shopping with my mother and grandmother.  I would see Black people in the store and was very curious about them.  On several occasions I would leave my mother's side to get closer to them.  What I really wanted to do was touch them to see if the color would come off.

I was a very curious child asking lots of questions and I'm sure my parents and grandparents tired of my questions and just gave me random answers.  Once, on a car trip to DeSoto, I saw a man with a fishing pole near a pile of rocks, "What's he doing?"  "Catching rock fish".  Another time on a city bus, I asked, "Who makes curbs?"  "Negroes".  I can remember I was constantly on the look out for black people making curbs---until a few years ago, I had never seen anyone make curb.  I can now report I saw them being made on Henry Rd. by white men.

When I was a little older, my mother got black women to come to our house to iron.  I remember one I liked really well---Beulah, a large woman who laughed a lot, but then there was one I was not so fond of, Lizzie, who was very tiny.  We had a lot of friends in St. Louis and De Soto who worked for the shoe factories.  The sample size shoes were very small and I had them in my "dress-up" clothes, clothes for me to play with. Lizzie spotted those brand new shoes and suddenly I didn't have any of them in my dress up clothes.  I don't know if she asked Mother if she could have them, but I was indignant that she had "stolen" my shoes.  That resulted in my mother explaining that Lizzy was poor and didn't have nice things and wasn't it better that the shoes were being used and not just sitting in my play clothes?  NO, I wanted my shoes back!

Another event I recall was going with my dad to the Mill Creek Valley in St. Louis (click here for

For more maps of the area, click here.

more on this area---home to 20,000 Black people).  I don't know if this was after my discussion with mother about Lizzy and my shoes or if it just happened.  It seems to me Dad was going there to pay the rent on our South St. Louis flat.  I had never seen such poverty before or so many black people in one place. It was dark everywhere:  the buildings, the people, the streets, the yards.  I was afraid and I couldn't put my finger on what made me so afraid---just the darkness of it all.

One year, I went to Memphis with my grandparents to visit my great aunt Ruth.  While driving around, I saw the zoo and asked if we could go there. Uncle Everett said, "We can't go today, it's Negro Day at the zoo.  You have to be a Negro to go to the zoo on Fridays.  Whites can go all of the other days."

So, by the time I was 8, I had a pretty good idea of what black people were:  poor, worked for white people, were to be feared, lived in horrible places called slums, are to be segregated  and they steal. It was better to be white with green grass, shoes, having black people work for you and getting to go to the zoo 6 days a week.  Sadly, this is where many white people stop.  But I continued to evolve..  . ..

One Day At A Time

To worry about the future,
"How long can we stay in our 2 -story house?"

means less satisfaction and joy today.

To worry about the future,
"what will happen if I get sick?"
paralyzes me from living life today.

To worry about the future,
"what if we have to isolate for a year?"
 challenges my faith that God knows the way.

We have had many challenges—brain injury, heart infection, cancer, pain.

When the challenges tried to bury me, I knew what to do.

Standing eye to eye, I have confronted life’s obstacles;
I have made compromises.

“You can slow me down, you can block my way,  

I must live my life . . ..with God’s grace and guidance. . .. 

One day at a time.”

Landscaping changes

 Our project was 4-fold:  the back patio, the stone wall in the front, the stone wall in the back and the foundation plantings in the front.  The upkeep on the brick patio was just too intensive and it turns out, we needed to re-grade the entire area.  Also a large percentage of the bricks were broken or damaged, so re-laying them would have been pointless.

First, the bricks were removed (many going to a friend's house to outline a new garden), the area was raised, regraded and laid with new stone steps and pavers with a ramp from the sunroom.

 After several weeks, it was all done and I'm very happy with it all.

Hearing Louise

"I’m wearing pastels, now—my skin tones have changed."

"I’m feeling a little weak this morning."

"I hold on when going up and down the stairs."

"My mouth is just so dry."

"I watch what I eat, but I’m being tested for diabetes."

"If my knee didn’t hurt, I’d exercise more."

"I want to hear my granddaughters’ voices again."

"Your dad isn’t strong enough for her graduation."

"Your dad is sleeping a lot."

"Don’t worry about Mother’s Day—you’re a mother, too.."

Words meant to inform me that they were getting older, 

      but now remind me of my own aging.

Words spoken one on one,
     not at a family gathering

Words said in face to face conversation, 

     not in a text.

Words I thought were to re-assure me,

    but were they cries for help?