A Favorite Thing

Plus eCards 

 “I got a Christmas card this year,” said friend, living alone, now ten years a widower.  I replied, “Of course! I always send you a card.” 

 He agreed and explained it was another card, from a classmate of ours, “from John and his wife”.   No doubt about it, receiving that card brightened his day.   “He sent me one last year.  I’ve got to send them one.”  I’m sure he didn’t and never has.  I would wager, he won’t.  He’s just not that kinda’ guy.   I like that he likes getting the cards, the same as others I know who choose to be off the card-sharing grid.  Their joy in being remembered warms my heart.  

And family photos and letters

Holiday cards are a Christmas favorite of mine.  Mailing cards makes me happy.  Receiving them is just as wonderful.  They are a commercial success and a welcomed gift.  With amazing artwork, lovely composition and script poetic, the cards emotionally inspire.  When time passes and the reason for the thoughtful attention dims, I bundle and store my cards, just in case I want to read them again.

Actually, several weeks ago, eyes averted, I ripped up a bunch.  They were from a bag filled with fifteen to twenty-year-old treasures. Dropping them into our recycling container, it was – yes, liberating! A 2015 goal is to more aggressively discard others received in years past.

Happy New Year to You and Yours.

Peace on Earth Goodwill To All

Waiting 

Christmas Eve and it seems elusive, i.e., peace and goodwill.

Did you hear?  The Mayor of New York City, in a TV interview, told the world he and his wife, essentially caution their son to be careful if he experiences an unexpected encounter with a police officer.  It pleased me that NYC’s Mayor shared their parenting truth.  I’m thinking Mayor and Mrs. de Blasio do what all black parents I know see as necessary. I did it.

A leader of one of the city’s police unions essentially judged the Mayor’s words demeaning to the New York City police force.  Mr. Union Leader took to the microphones to let everyone know his anger – emotionally said, essentially the Mayor was not welcome at future funerals of fallen police personnel.  I was shocked to hear such a divisive outburst from one entrusted with the unbiased, thoughtful leadership of police department personnel who daily put their individual and collective lives on the line to protect the city.    So now, fiery debate centers on considering the Mayor was inappropriate with his statement.   A headline asks the Mayor to resign.   Actually it seems, as I write this, the major concern is how to satisfactorily appease the police union leader.

Well, I applaud Mayor de Blasio for the truth he shared.  Elected the political leader of the city, he’s in a perfect place to confirm just how frightening it is for those of us with black sons.   Mayor de Blasio is not black; his wife, the mother of their son (and daughter) is black.  The children are black.   His personal account is important information if there is ever to be dialogue amongst leaders responsible for bringing critically needed change to law enforcement attitudes and practices.   I am so very, very sorry for the union leaders volatile response that appears to have closed the door on such a dialogue.  

I once attended a seminar in my community, crammed to standing room only.   Parents, guardians and youngsters, middle school through high school and college age were the invited audience.  Speakers leading the program were law enforcement personnel including members of the local police force and lawyers and elected leaders.  Graduate chapter fraternity members, youth counselors, and religious leaders, also brought information to the group, responded to comments, and answered questions.  It was a successful learning session.

The basic instruction given our children is to do exactly as you are told when you are stopped by the police; be and look respectful; answer every question; don’t make any quick moves while retrieving drivers license etc., and don’t resist arrest.   Maintain a patient demeanor for as long as you must, no matter if you feel mistreated.  As a child, I was taught the mantra, “sticks and stones may break your bones, but names will never hurt you”.   I taught my children the officer is in charge; no matter how insulted and wronged you might feel.  Respect that fact.

In closing, I’m thinking peace and good will is neither offered nor encouraged when it’s only heated rhetoric that begs our attention.  When it is heated rhetoric that keeps our attention it’s surely a smoke screen smothering constructive conversation about an issue that continues to demean the lives of innocent people who want police protection also.

I will continue to wait for the world to change.*

                                                  *     *     *      *      *      *      *

*Note:  “Waiting on the World To Change” is a song written by John Mayer.  Anita Antoinette beautifully performed it on The Voice.  The song speaks to me.

Christmas Eve Evening Documented

Good Morning! 

Didn't go to bed until after mid-night last night. 

Had a relaxing time hanging out with granddaughter in the cozy Christmas festive living room.   She was doing art work.   I was playing mahjong on my small Samsung tablet.   Playing that game is totally relaxing as I diligently work to best my best score, while thinking deeply about self, family, church, and local and world conditions.

I have a new NOOK tablet my daughter gave me for my birthday – the 10.1, BIG one that is almost like a laptop; love it.  The mahjong screen is huge!  I haven’t let myself adjust to that.   New NOOK is fantastic for reading downloaded books – so many more features I didn’t have on the old Nook.

Anyway, granddaughter and I were also watching/listening to TV.    We looked at cable shows; the one about families living 'off-the-grid'.  Fascinating stuff. Fathers and mothers with young children, up to and including teenagers move from their ‘civilized’ communities to rough it, live off the land.  I also tuned to the latest production of “Little People”; then “Bad Girls Club” (this grandmother thinks horrible TV for developing minds, i.e., children, pre-teens, and even younger adults – scary information).  Granddaughter, now a young adult, was thrilled I turned to "Bad Girls Club", said it was one of her favorites.  I was proud of me for hanging with it (and I learned, a lot)!  

Mine had been a busy day – started just after 5 am.  I didn’t stop getting done what I had to do until I was back home from running errands just before 4 pm.   After fixing something to eat, pleased to have passed up the fast-food places, I went to my room planning not to show myself ‘til morning light the next day.  I was exhausted!

However, I ventured down stairs about 9 pm to find our home empty (except for the 4 legged boyz, Buddha, the Rottweiler and Marble, the Pit bull).  Couldn’t resist sending a “Hi” text to all 3 humans (didn't ask, just wondered where were they?) .... only granddaughter and daughter answered...then hour or so later realized grandson (home from WVU for the holidays) was actually HOME – bundled under his quilts soundly sleeping.  

Shortly, granddaughter returned and, well we hung out until I heard, "wake-up", you're snoring.  “Ha ha”, me laughing while I argue, “I was not”.  She made me go up to bed..."get your rest". I told her I was waiting for a call from my cousin who was running around taking care of last minute must-do tasks – needed to know she was safely home.  She’s a grandmother too!   Went to bed though. 

It’s not like me, but yesterday I was so busy, I didn’t take my pills (don’t forget I’m a grandmother).   It won’t happen a 2^nd day!  I’ll close, take meds now, then post this, a morning-before-Christmas Day musing.   

Merry Christmas

Bill Cosby and Me

It was 1972.   

One evening in April my children and I dashed into the Ace Hardware store in Brentwood, Mo.  I needed a pair of pliers.  It would be a quick stop.  Darin, my 10-year-old son, hurried inside ahead of Farah, his almost 12 year old sister and me.  He claimed he could find the small tool; have it at the cash register by the time we got there.

Ours was a single parent household.  My husband (their father) had moved out.  It had been a broken home for more than a couple years.  The divorce was pending. I went to work every day, heartbroken but determined to keep positive auras in our lives.  Nevertheless, it seemed I was always rushing for one reason or another.  

This night our destination was a Junior Basketball Dinner and Awards Program in Maplewood, the next town over. The hardware store was on the way, so I took the risk and added 'buy pliers' to my list.  Those two let me know they didn’t want to be late.  The after-school basketball league was a favorite activity of both of them.  Darin liked the competition and Farah enjoyed watching the games.  Darin’s team had a good season.  He eagerly anticipated the evening.  Too bad their dad wasn’t coming.  I came home earlier than usual so we would not be late.   

So, my daughter and I enter the store and Darin is nowhere in sight.  I hurry to the small hand tools aisle and see my son.  There’s a smiling, puzzled look on his face, as his head says “no”.  Three boys, his age, also smiling, white, not black, seem to be insisting otherwise.  Then one of the three turns to me, “Isn’t he Bill Cosby’s son?”

Of course I assured them he was not Bill Cosby’s son.   I understood why they made the connection.  Television had made Bill Cosby appreciated and well known in every community.  Those little white guys easily saw my little black guy in his sneakers, pinstriped suit and with his Afro, as a miniature Bill Cosby, maybe - just maybe his son.  

 

Darin receiving his award 

Through the years, I've been grateful to Bill Cosby for what his multi-faceted talent and intellect did to share other cultures with others, particularly – bridging the gap between the races.  That evening, Bill Cosby’s stellar contributions to our universe put a smile in my heart and on the faces of my children and the other children as well.  Those boys must have gone home and told their parents.  What a fabulous discussion to imagine. 

“Bill Cosby, I’m forever grateful to you.”

                     

Darin and his proud team that night
_________________________________________

Reacting to a query directed to me in a Facebook post, I’ve encouraged myself to share the personal perspective you just read.  

Refreshing my knowledge of Bill Cosby’s career, I found myself in tears, reading about all he has done.  A writer, actor, performance comedian, director, producer, musician and so much more, I pray for his survival. 

Bill Cosby is a man of my generation.  In fact we were both born in 1937.   I try to make a positive difference for others in this life I’ve been blessed to live.  For sure, I thank Bill Cosby for doing exactly that.  His magnificent accomplishments have served all humanity.

Hopefully, I’ve sufficiently answered the Facebook questioner.   

12/14/1991 7:35 AM

            

 Driving in mid-Manhattan – destination, Park Avenue.   Heading across 54^th Street.  Bumper to bumper traffic.  

 Several vehicles in front of me, police car going up 54^th from 11^th Ave., lights flashing! Why?   It’s not moving  fast, at all. 

  Now, up ahead police car stopped,  between 9^th and Broadway! Red roof lights still flashing.  Why?  Get closer.  Can’t. 

Now I’m stopped!  54th is blocked in front of the Police Station. 

Officer is taking his time, slowly gets out of the police car – front seat, passenger’s door. Red lights still flashing.  The casually emerging officer just as casually puts on his hat, adjusts his belt. 

Street still blocked. Why are they taking MY time? Red lights still flashing. Other Police Officers mill around Station entrance, seemingly no interest in the signaling police car. 

 I sit  ... wait, puzzled, appearing patient.   Not Feeling Patient At All.  

Ah hah!    Mystery is solved. 

A handcuffed man edges himself out of the Cruiser’s right back door. The Officer calmly ushers him into the Station. 

The revolving red lights go off.   Traffic is permitted to move on its way.

The city is safer.

                                _   _   _   _   _   _  _              _   _  _  _  _  _  _

And, I'm thinking, "Patience is a Virtue", as offered by the old Chinese (or Irish) proverb.   Driving my car to work in New York City, those many years ago, my patience was challenged more times than this experience I made note of twenty-three years ago. 

CHRISTMAS TIME ONCE AGAIN

Remembering yesterday’s robust snow flurries, offered is a personal and nostalgic post from the past. 

Saturday, December 29, 2012

Winter Magic

Snow fell.   Doorman elegant in long coat, warm gold with red braid trim, opened the brass-framed door for the smiling pair and they exited the hotel.   

He was strong yet caring as he took her arm coupling them against the weather. “Do we want a cab?”  His tone drew her eyes up to his.

No, she didn’t want a cab invading their privacy.  Nothing should keep them from being alone together.  Not yet.  All she said was, “No, let’s walk.”  

Snowflakes flurried from the night sky, a beautiful sight in the headlights of traffic trying to rush along Park Avenue. The flakes, cold on her face and lingering on her hair and coat, melted as soon as they hit the warm New York City pavement. She was quite comfortable.

Too soon they were in the garage claiming their cars.

“Good night”, he said.  “I always hate these dinner business meetings.  Glad you were at my table.  It was nice meeting you. You be careful driving home.”

“Good night”, she said.  “Good meeting you also.  What luck it’s not a genuine snow storm, just flurries.  You be careful too.”

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In recognition of this “Season of Love”, I’ve enjoyed sharing the above, a love story that never was.