And, How Was Your Day?

Dastardly disappointing, going to the cupboard finding the cupboard is bare.  Well, it might as well be, if what you need to fix a dish you’re craving is not there!  Stella wanted Tuna Noodle Salad. She had several cans of tuna.          She had a large jar of mayonnaise.  She had oodles of dry noodles.  She put the water on to boil.  Happily she proceeded to make tuna-noodle salad.  As usual, not certain of all the ingredients necessary for her tuna noodle salad, once the water began to boil, Stella gave her brain a task.  “Think!” she mused.   “Let’s see”, responded her silently churning mind, “what else do you need for a tasty high protein salad to comfort your next feeding frenzy?”  Sweet pickle relish?  Got it, on the pantry shelf.  Apple cider vinegar?  Saw it, on another shelf wedged in a storage basket with other bottles of vinegar - distilled white, balsamic, rice vinegar and red wine vinegar.  

            Hmmm, what about eggs?  In the refrigerator, a large egg carton against the wall, third rack, so for sure got eggs!  Got everything!          

           When the noodles were cooked, not quite enough, from the kitchen sink Stella comfortably filled a glass saucepan with water and set the pot of water on the burner, flame turned low to begin hard boiling the eggs. 

          She nonchalantly pulled the egg box from the fridge.  Lifting the lid, she delightfully discovered eleven lovely white eggs tucked into their individual nests.  She needed two for her salad.  That was all.  

          Not seeing a crack on a single one of the picture perfect eggs, Stella plucked one from the carton to drop into the still cool water.   Letting it gingerly slip from her fingers, she reached for the second lucky egg…but wait…the first one was bobbing in the water.  Oops!  It was floating, like a cork!   Out it came.  In went a new ‘first’ egg.  It bobbed too!  One after another, nine more times, each egg floated, proving it had met its expiration date – all were rotten.

Rotten eggs ruined Stella’s day.     Happy New Year   

Sunday Morning Lessons

        It was Sunday, she told me, and waking up that morning, or even the night before when she lay down, she worried over the fact that she had a life-consuming dream to write a book.  It wasn’t happening.  There was something missing, or perhaps something present, keeping her from realizing that objective. What could it be?    Racking her brain through the night and into the morning finally the word ‘courage’ beamed into her mind.  “I need courage.  I’m afraid.  Yes, it’s lack of courage that keeps me from working toward fulfilling my dream!”    She accepted the dredged up revelation and vowed to bury her fears in positivity - to be constant in her writing effort no matter her lack of self-confidence.
      Then an hour later, she was sitting in the pew at Galilee, and lo and behold Rev. Martin was in the pulpit preaching these words, “Have your dreams but they are likely to remain only dreams if you do not have . . . FAITH.   "Yes!"                                                         __    __    __    __    __    __    __

         

The next week, again Sunday morning, she returned to the house after the mornings walk with Pugslee, her bulldog. Instead of the pet following her down the driveway, where she would put his bagged business in the trashcan, he ambled up the steps onto the porch.  As she came alongside he stood there at the wrought iron railing peering down at her.  For a moment, she says they were looking directly into each other’s eyes through the black railing.  Pugslee’s solemn big brown eyes in his uniquely beautiful face touched her heart. 

      “Stay”, she said to her four-legged friend, “I’ll be back. God willing we will get to look into each other’s face again in a few minutes. God willing”, she repeated. At the same time, her thoughts darkened, considered the possibility she could have a stroke or heart attack and never know his face again, or him hers.  She says she shook off the negativity, quickly reminding herself  “you are aware now, not dead right now.  Enjoy this and each moment.”

      Two hours later, she was in the pew at Galilee listening to Rev. Martin’s morning sermon, “And Yet Are We Alive”.  She froze as she heard her Pastor, “We are alive, because of God’s mercy. We can look into each other’s face today because of His grace.”

WOW! For the second consecutive week, a current heartfelt personal conflict was explored in the Sunday sermon, strengthening her through a spiritual perspective. 

       I’m thinking it would be a good thing for her to be in church every Sunday.

Color - Again

Tonight’s essay, though, is not about America’s  ‘people of color’ problem.

Simply for fun, I’m sharing information found in an old marketing brochure.  It’s about the color of your vehicle and what that color selection says about your personality.  

Red – You crave excitement and dynamic situations.

Blue – You are calm, sedate and maybe shy and introverted.

Gray – You’re traditional, conservative and reliable.

Green – You’re an environmentalist – or an entrepreneur.

Yellow/Orange – You’re warm, friendly, happy and outgoing.

Black – You’re sophisticated, self-confident, power oriented.

Brown – You’re down-to-earth and you drive a hard bargain.

White – You’re noncommittal.  To the color experts, white/beige is a non-choice (an “I don’t care choice, hmmmm?).  I'm thinking I do not agree with this.  

I think every color connected personality trait is neat.  Maybe that’s because I’ve called a car or SUV of each color my own and loved being behind the wheel!  Now I'm having fun driving this apple green vehicle!

Color and Santa

Christmastime and the black/white color thing is an issue.

Color makes a difference?  Color makes a difference. 

Yes, on this planet, both the query and the statement are valid considerations.  But why must color adversely affect our concept of others as it does?  Why do we let the media, the television networks ignite us; get away with programming to produce conflict? 

Recently I read news personality, Megyn Kelly, dumped the color controversy into Christmas, reporting Santa Claus was white.  My first thoughts were, “of course he is.  What’s the issue?”  

Santa was white throughout my childhood.  He’s a white fellow now.  No one can change that perception for me.

Hold it!  When I was a child, many Christmases the jolly and generous bearded fat man didn’t come to our house.  I never thought it was because we were black and he was white. Did I miss something?  Would he have stopped by our house every Christmas, had he been black?  Nope.  He didn’t come to us because, as my father told us, “Santa Claus doesn’t always go to every single home.”  I believed my dad.

For sure though, when my own children were young, Christmas morning, without fail, they found something from Santa Claus under our Christmas tree.  He was white; they were black and color did not make a difference to him.  I like that.

Merry Christmas.    

50 Years Ago on That Day

We Were Here

        November 22, 1963, I remember what I was doing - beginning to sew the dress I would wear to Earline and Tom's wedding.

        Working at the dining room table, picking out patterns and determining the fabric needed, the TV was on.  Abruptly, a news bulletin interrupted programming.

        Shocked disbelief/miserable belief intertwined, jumbling my emotions. Acceptance of the completeness of the tragedy was almost immediate for me, considering even the earliest details.

        My two toddlers, Farah and John Darin played nearby. Looking at them, tears welled up in my eyes, grieving for the loss to those other toddlers, Caroline and John-John.  And, with every beat of my heart, my sadness for “Jackie” grew until I let prayer and common sense take over.         

        However, serious concern for the security of our Nation just wouldn’t leave my mind.  “What’s next?”  “What was the total plan for carrying out this unfathomable action?”  President John Fitzgerald Kennedy had been mortally wounded while riding in a motorcade in Dallas, Texas. Why? I was scared.

         Such a terrible, terrible tragedy but surely God has blessed America.  May He continue to do so.

A Mother's Poem

 

          Remembering with Gratitude 
    Our War Veterans and Their Families.

This yellowed newspaper* clipping is in the shoebox of family pictures and memorabilia my Mother treasured.  She loved poetry.  (Read the award winning memoir Black Star Girl.)

                                           -Title Unknown
                                   -Author Unknown

                                                                          

Today a letter came for me

 From one who’s far away.

 T’was neither long nor newsy

 There wasn’t much to say.

 It failed to tell of battleships

 Or planes high up above,

 It simply started out, “Dear Mom”  
 And ended up “With Love”.

                                       No mention of the weather,

                                       That’s all ruled out, you know;

                                      Descriptions of the scenery there

                                      Might get to Tokyo.

                                      “There isn’t much to write about”

                                      “Remember me to Guv”

                                      “Don’t let the moths get at my 
                                           clothes”

                                      “Be seeing you” and “Love.”

                                       It asks “Can my old bus still run?”

                                      “Does Butch still bark at night?”

                                      “What shows have you been seeing?”

                                      “My, I’ll bet that yard’s a sight.”

                                      “All’s peaceful as a dove”

                                      “Just keep your chin up, I’ll be back”

                                      “That’s all for now” and “Love.”

                                       I read and reread the letter

                                       Vainly seeking a clue

                                       To tell me where he’s stationed

                                       And what he’s going through.

                                       But he’s dreaming of tomorrow

                                       It’s home he’s thinking of

                                       When he pens to me this letter

                                        And seals it with his “Love”.

                                                  

                                                                               The End

                             --------------          ------------------          ------------

·          *Sports page news on the reverse side of this old clipping 

            indicates the poem was published in 1944