BLOG POST FIRST DAY OF KINDERGARTEN

BLOG POST      FIRST DAY OF KINDERGARTEN       

While I grew into loving school you would never have imagined that if you had witnessed the scene when my Daddy dropped me off at kindergarten the first day. Hysterics! Shrieking! Screams! Wailing!

I wrapped my arms and legs around one of my father’s legs and I begged him with tears—real tears—to PLEASE not to leave me there. Mrs. Evans had been through this drill before. She deftly peeled me off my Daddy’s pants leg and freed him so he could go back to work.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Morton, “ Mrs. Evans told him. “She will be fine. We will take good care of her.” Daddy left.

For the first time, I looked around my new environment. The room was below the sidewalk level about three or four steps down. The windows were wooden and were propped open. The door was open as well. We were right on Jeff Davis Avenue a medium traffic street, in a town with 25 mile an hour speed zones. In 1959 cars were not common. There was virtually no traffic during the school morning.

In the back of the big room for the newest kids of whom I was one, there was a HUGE doll house that you could walk into.  There were  windows that were cut out—no panes of glass. There was an opening for a door, but no door attached. There were giant stuffed dolls, some nearly as large as we were at age five.

The main room off to the left led into two other rooms. The one in the back was taught by Miss Lockett. She was tall, slender , brown- skinned: lovely. 

       

She wore glasses. She wore red lipstick;  and, if you needed one, she would give you a kiss. You would have a red lip print on your forehead all day! What a reward! It was bound to dry up tears.

The other room was taught by another teacher whose name escapes me at the moment. She was shorter than Miss Lockett, but taller than Mrs. Evans. Mrs. Evans could be well represented by Mrs. Potts from the Disney animated version of “Beauty and the Beast.”

We learned songs.

This is the way we brush our teeth

Brush our teeth, brush our teeth

This is the way we brush our teeth

Early in the morning.

This is the way we comb our hair

Comb our hair, comb our hair

This is the way we comb our hair

Early in the morning.

Lazy Mary will you get up, will you get up, will you get up?

Lazy Mary will you get up, will you get up in the morning?

No, Mother I won’t get up, I won’t get up, I won’t get up,

No, Mother, I won’t get, I won’t get up in the morning.

He’s got the whole world in His hands

He’s got the whole world in his hands

He’s got the whole world in his hands

He’s got the whole world in his hands.

He’s got the birds of the air                      verse  2

He’s got the fishes of the sea                   verse  3

He’s got you and me sister                       verse  4

He’s got you and me brother                   verse  5

He’s got the little bitty baby                    verse  6

He’s got the whole world in His hands.  verse  7

We had motions and hand movements to accompany each verse.

We had recess. There was an actual manual hand bell that was rung to alert us when recess began and when it ended. We played in a fenced backyard that was blacktopped. There were no climbing things or soft cushioned surface on the ground. There were hopscotch squares drawn in chalk on the black top.

We played dodge ball, and ring games. Ring games are those in which the kids form a circle or ring and hold hands and walk in a circle in one direction and then the other. We would clap and sing, and one person would walk around the outside of the ring carrying a handkerchief*.  

The one walking around the ring would try to drop the handkerchief behind a kid who wasn’t paying attention. But when you found it handkerchief behind you, you got the turn to walk around the outside of the ring of kids, singing and clapping.

After recess we heard the bell ring. We learned to line up single file. We learned to wait. We got to each have a drink of water from the water cooler. Then, we went inside for Orange-Aid and cookies. We didn’t use the term snack. Or you could get white milk or chocolate milk. 

We sat in rows along rectangular tables. We said a blessing over our food before we ate. When did we wash our hands? 

We must have done that. Playing in water is one of really fun things to do as a kid. Oh, yes, after the line up to get water to drink, we went to the bathroom. Then, we washed our hands.

There was nap time. We lay on cots, I think, and rested. The windows were open, and the breezes were cool and fresh. 

There was shady coolness and in the quiet when all the kids were lying down quietly, sleep came easily.

At last, finally, our school morning was over.  My Granny walked up the street to collect me from Kindergarten. She and I walked back home together.

I loved those walks. As a child it seemed far. But I know now that it was perhaps three blocks at the most, and not very long blocks, at that.

BLOG POST HOME DELIVERY

When I was a kid—you know in the dark ages, last century--home delivery was a given, but of certain things that seem far-fetched today. Every morning-- or certain mornings I am not sure which-- the milk man came.

He drove his truck to my Granny Janie’s house and supplied her with milk in a bottle—glass with a cardboard “stopper” from his refrigerated truck.  He had butter, cream, and  I am not sure what else.

Sometimes I think he had, or she bought orange juice, but most of the time she freshly squeezed my juice from an orange that she had cut in half right in front of me. You might think I would have loved that juice, but I did not: it was too tart, and it had pulp in it! But she had strained out the seeds.

The brand of milk was Foremost, and they later changed their name to Farmbest. It was an orange carton, I believe. Milk also came in cartons from the grocery store. We ate Ziegler’s brand bacon and sausage; Colonial Bread;  Jim Dandy grits, and we ate Golden Flake potato chips:  these were all in-state local brands.

Ice came delivered to your home too. Probably, when I was around 5, 1959, some folks still had ice boxes. Those were literally what they sounded like.   A “refrigerator” that did not require electricity but instead held a block of ice, and of course, over time, it melted. That is why the ice man had to come every afternoon. 

My granny had a refrigerator that my mother bought for her. She also had a wringer washer--a washing machine that had two rollers on top to squeeze the water out of your clothes.

Before that I remember that two round tin wash tubs sat on a wooden bench in the back yard under the kitchen window.  One tub held hot soapy water;  the other held the rinse water. 

When the sheets, for example, had been washed and rinsed, they were hung on the line by wooden clothes pins, to dry in the sun and the wind.

Oh, those sheets smelled so good! This was long before fabric softener or deodorizer were dreamed of!

My granddaddy Bill delivered bundles of kindling and firewood to the two rows of apartments making an L-shape near Granny & Bill’s cream-colored little stucco house with the green shingle roof.

The white apartments intersected King Street across a gravel parking lot from Granny’s house. The green apartments made the L-shape and were parallel to King Street. Granny lived at 914 King Street.  As of this writing, the house is still there. You can see an orange line that makes a ring completely around the house. It is the residual of the high-water mark for the floods of 1960 and 1961.

The water came up that high, with red clay dirt to leave the orange line. The water came into Granny’s house and caused the wooden floors to buckle and the linoleum to pucker and raise up.

There were snake skins left when the water receded. That was more than a little scary. It had been an amazing sight for me to see. The Creek was across the street, down the road, behind another row of houses that had been built really RIGHT ON the creek bank.

When the water rose, it came up the hill, crossed the street and swept into Granny’s house. I guess there was at least a foot of creek water in the house. I know they took planks of wood and made little bridges so they could walk into the house to retrieve Granny and her valuables. She came home with us until the creek went back to its bed, across the street down the road, down the hill, behind the houses built right on the creek bank.

I didn’t know those neighbors who lived on the creek. I don’t know what happened to their homes. The area across the street, that road that was heavily lined by trees and bushes was a scary forbidden place. I had my run of the actual street, the houses on both sides for the whole block from Granny’s house all the way to Jeff Davis Avenue. That was my domain. I could go anywhere in that area, but beyond it: no.

Of course, too, one of the reasons that the creek was forbidden, besides snakes, was that I didn’t know how to swim. The trees provided so much shade and the bushes and grass and weeds were right up to the sides of the unpaved gravel road leading to the creek, it was too unappealing. I never ventured anywhere near there.

Bill would push this homemade wheelbarrow with me riding along with him, legs dangling without a care in the world. He would stop at one apartment then the next and they would buy from him the bundle of kindling with which to start the fires in the potbellied stoves on which dinner would be cooked. Or to start the fire in the fireplace to warm the family as they lived… I do not think they would have kept the fire going while they slept: that would have been too dangerous.

Once when I was at Granny’s the adults were in the living room playing cards and drinking too I suppose though they were careful not to let children see such things. I was in Granny’s four poster bed high up off the floor.

A huge coal jumped out of the fireplace and caught the linoleum floor covering on fire! I screamed to alert them. They came running and put the fire out and they called me brave and said I had saved the house from burning down. I was probably five.

BLOG POST FRAMED!

BLOG POST      FRAMED!

            From June 2017 to April 15^th, 2019, I enjoyed an incredible and rare gift. If your offspring live in a different town or a different state,  grandparents and grandkids don’t have the profoundly valuable experience of seeing each other every day.

  My beloved Owen and his mom came to live with us for twenty-two months. For all that time, I got to see Owen every day.

    Three days a week I picked him up from preschool and got to see and hear the world thorough his eyes on the way home. Then we got to play and do after school activities.

      We raced Lighting McQueen and Cruz cars. We blew bubbles. We kicked a soccer ball.

   He got to ride his tricycle with Gram hovering close by. We did table activities, for example, using tongs to pick up cotton balls and putting them into plastic Easter eggs. We played hide and seek with those eggs: I would hide a little item in one and scramble them to see if Owen could find the prize.

We had story time. I read to him Shel Silverstein’s books of poetry for kids. We had fun! 

        With my own children –last century—we did similar things, but different. For example, we made placemats for every season for every holiday. With my almost twin daughters (ages 3 and 4) each strapped into their highchairs around the dining room table, I put the craft stuff out.

       We had finger paint, cut outs from magazines, water-based markers, crayons, glitter, glue and whatever other items were handy in our Family Craft  Box.  My son who was 8 and I – all of us—created to our hearts content.

    For Fourth of July, we had flag stickers along with red, white, and blue markers and paints. Easter: well you can imagine, eggs, crosses, baskets, bunnies. For fall, leaves ; for Advent, candles three purple and one pink and one white … and so on.

            With the Coronavirus Pause, you parents, family members to young kids, have a unique opportunity. It will most likely never happen again. You have TIME. You have time to have creative activity time with your kids or grandkids.

      The array of options for afternoon activities is limited only by your own imagination or what you can Google. After kids have done their classes by ZOOM or FaceTime, kids need a completely different outlet.

       They need the reassurance of time with family that is calm and focused on what is in front of them. They need to do something with their hands.

      They need the opportunity to create, to accomplish, to produce something they can give to you or another loved one, that they can hang up on the refrigerator or in their rooms. Even better, they can send these unique creations to far away Grams and Grandpas to keep those vital relationships strong.

   This morning, I was about to toss an empty Corn Flakes box, when I asked myself, “What else might I do besides consign the box to the trash or even recycling?” I came up with the following options.

Bookmarks

Cut the box into strips about two inches or so wide. Decorate them to your hearts content. Seal them with tape when you are done. You have something you can use; a gift you or your kids can give or display.

Bible Bookmarks

Don’t ever throw away real ribbons. Using a piece of the box that is narrow enough to fit into the space between the pages of your Bible and the cover. Take several ribbons and attach them to the cardboard. You can staple them, or glue them, and seal the connections with mailing tape—or not.

Insert the cardboard piece into that space on the back of your Bible and then you can use the ribbons to mark passages in your Bible or your child’s or grandchild’s favorite story pages in their Bibles or Bible story books, for example.

Photo Frames

    Using scissors or a utility knife, cut out a rectangle and then cut a rectangle within it, so what you have left is frame. Taking a

4” X 6” photograph or a Mother’s Day Postcard and adjust the cut-out rectangle to fit.

        I used a gold marker, a red pen, and heart stickers to decorate my frame. And, viola!

      I have a picture of my older daughter that she made in first grade in a frame that she made at school. That frame is based on a cardboard rectangle which was then covered with fabric, stuffed with cotton, and glued on the back.

        A slip of ribbon was attached to make a hanger. The corners were decorated with eyelet border.

   You can do this with your child or grandchild.  You can do this solo,  for fun, for your own peace of mind. 

              You can let your creative juices flow. Creating something causes the release of  endorphins, natural “feel-good hormones”, just like you get when you work out—only, with these creative adventures, you don’t have to break a sweat!

If you decide to make a frame, let me know. Add a photo to  your comment if you like.

        Like me and follow me on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter. Kindly sign up to get an email alert when a new blog posts.

Thank you. Happy creating!

BLOG POST A NEW MOTHER’S DAY TRADITION

BLOG POST      A NEW MOTHER’S DAY TRADITION

        I am starting a new Mother’s Day tradition, and I thought I would share my idea, in case you want to join me.  I am a memorabilia saver. My love language is words of affirmation.

When I get cards, letters, and notes that bring me lovely sweet memories, thoughts, and feelings, I keep them.  I am a writer-- since childhood. Words are my friends. I LOVE words.

So, yesterday, when I was missing my Mom and my Granny, I pulled out my memorabilia album and I read and re-read my Mother’s Day cards-- and other cards-- from my beloved daughters and sons, and a super precious one from Owen.

“Knock! Knock!”  

“Who’s there?”  (Repeat: you know the drill)

“Knock! Knock!”

“Who’s there?”

“Orange.”

“Orange who?”

“Orange you glad you’re my grandma?”

Signed in 4-year-old letters: OWEN.

They will find this card among my effects when I pass away! That’s what tells, really, what you treasure: what you choose to keep.   As I treasure the apple of my eye, Beloved Son’s Beloved son,  his card, his wishes for me are priceless.

Last fall, when his school held a gift fair, Owen shopped there for me. He chose a gift for me: a globe, made of some bouncy material, a ball.

 It is prominently displayed on my worktable. When I look at it, and I see it hundreds of times a day, I think of my precious Owen and I smile, and I thank God for him.

I had a really special gift for 22 months, that, in this day and age, many Gram’s don’t get. Owen and his mom lived with me.

I got to see him every day. I got to pick him up from pre-school. As we drove home, we read signs, picked out words he could recognize. We looked at trees and flowers and cars.

Owen is a whiz with recognizing models of cars. I am not. I know cars by COLOR, with few exceptions.

But he would point out to me Ford Escape (his mom’s car); Chevy Tahoe (his dad’s car); Toyota truck ( his Grampa’s truck); and Toyota Highlander ( Gram’s car.)

He was four. I don’t know if you are impressed, but I was.

 I am.

I got to give him his dinner and read or talk while he ate. Some evenings we were able to FaceTime with his Daddy.

Bath time was both hectic and, at times, quite sweet.

He liked for me to wrap him completely in a large towel, forming a hood over his head. He called this making an “ Owen burrito”.

We got to take him on his first Halloween outing. He was Bob the Minion.   We looked at the full moon. We walked down the hill in the dark and he rang the doorbell of a couple of our neighbors. They “oohed” and “ahhed” over him.  He collected candy and treats and practiced saying “thank you.”

When we got home, he rang our bell too, and we came in the front door, not our usual entrance.   I interviewed him (on video)  about our adventure. Thank You, Jesus, for technology at my fingertips to photograph and record.

He answered, when prompted, but he was enjoying munching on  goldfish, one of the treats. He was aware though, of the brightness of the moon, saying “trick or treat”, and  “getting candy”. He was 35 months old.

For his second Halloween with us,  he was a character from Lightning McQueen. His mom was able to come on this adventure.

We had decorated and painted and carved a pumpkin. We had visited a farm so he could pick blackberries  and blueberries.

 We walked across the fields, enjoyed a sunny breezy day on a farm. We went home with buckets of berries. I went home with a heart full of joy.

Bedtime was my favorite. He got his pjs and socks from the drawers and put he them on. I sat on his bed, while he picked the three books or stories that we would read.

I taught him the prayer I had taught his Daddy and his aunts when they were his age. We prayed for “ Mommy, Daddy, Gram and Grampa , Mimi, Auntie C. , Avery and Owen.”

Some nights he wanted songs. I taught him the songs I had learned in kindergarten: “He’s got the whole world in His hands”; “This little light of mine”;  “Jesus loves me.”

Last April 15^th was his last day living under my roof.

We  had an Owen Play Day.  I kept him home from preschool.

      He chose our itinerary and our agenda. We went to the mall so he could ride the moving plane, and car, and animals.

When he  had come to us at age 2 and a half, he liked seeing the cars and helicopter. He liked SITTING in them or on them. But-- he did not want them to MOVE.

On Owen Play ,Day he rode until all the coins were gone. He remined we could get more coins-- if I had CASH.

“Do you have cash, Gram?”

“We have spent all our cash, Owen.”

We read books, sang songs and finally he – “I don’t need a nap, Gram,”-- sat in my lap, in the big blue chair, and fell asleep. I took a picture of that, too.

It has been a year now that Owen has been a New Yorker. Just before the Coronavirus shutdown, I visited him.

As we were saying prayers, he stopped me. “Wait, Gram, wait.” He had more people to pray for :” Miss Donahue, Mr. ___ , Emilia, and AJ”.

He had chosen the story of Sampson. He wanted me to read it twice. Then, he made the sign of the cross, put his palms together in front of his heart, and  he prayed:

“ God, please make me as strong as earth. Amen.”

“Do  you think He will do that, Gram?”

“Absolutely, Owen.”

Oh, the Mother’s Day Tradition? Reading, savoring, remembering my Mother’s Day cards. To keep it going, I put my card collection on the photograph table, just as I do when cards for other occasions arrive. I keep them on display for a while.

I reason, we put up Christmas decorations year after year, don’t we? Well, I am admiring my crop of Mother’s Day cards, past and present.

Happy Mother’s Day.

BLOG POST MOTHER'S DAY BLACKBERRY PEACH COBBLER

BLOG POST      

MOTHER'S DAY BLACKBERRY PEACH COBBLER 

It is Mother’s Day Weekend. To feel closer to my Mom when I miss her, I cook something.

My grandmother, Janie, whom I called Granny, is my namesake. Or am I hers? I am named for her.

Granny taught me to bake my first cake. I was five or six.

I still remember the recipe:

1 cup of butter

2 cups of sugar

3 cups of flour

4 eggs

Add a little milk, but not too much and do not beat the batter too long: it would make the cake tough.

We mixed the items one by one and we beat the mixture with a big spoon and …woman power. This was 1959 in the summer. We had electricity, but no luxuries like mixers or AC. Even if we had had such things, it would have been too expensive to use them.

While the batter was resting a bit, we prepared the pan. We applied Crisco – white lard—and then sprinkled flour and turned the pan around and shook it so that it the Crisco was well coated with the flour. Then, we put the batter into, what I now know, is an angel cake pan.

The pan had a cylinder in the center attached  to a bottom that was removable. I used to marvel that the batter did not leak out: it did not.

Then, we put the cake in the oven and went out on the front porch for coffee. Granny drank her coffee. But I had coffee too. She had these lovely tiny teacups. They held, perhaps 2 ounces, if that. 

My "coffee" was evaporated milk with spoonsful of sugar and drops of coffee. However, my coffee looked like hers: café au lait. 

She was café au lait, and so am I.

As I write this I am wondering: is that why I am a coffee drinker? My mom did not drink coffee. 

I am not sure if any of my siblings drink coffee. But I am a daily at least one cup and most often two cups. I do not use sugar anymore, but I want my coffee to look… café au lait.

This morning, I wanted one of my comfort foods that Granny used to make for me: blackberry cobbler. But... I had no blackberries. 

Last year-- or even three months ago--I would have just jumped in the car, gone to the 24-hour grocery store and bought frozen blackberries. But this is the Coronavirus Pause.

So, no 24-hour grocery store and since I am on self-quarantine, no blackberries for me. Then, it occurred to me: I have peaches!

Mama made peach cobbler. Now THAT was comfort food too.

 Mama’s peach cobbler combined the best of both worlds.

Granny’s blackberry cobbler was made with three simple ingredients: blackberries, sugar, and water, with dumplings added. 

      The blackberries were freshly picked from Granny’s garden. Oh, what fun that was! 

Sunshine light breeze and singing birds while Granny and I – just us two—picked blackberries VERY CAREFULLY to avoid the tiny sharp fine briers that come along with the berries. 

When we had perhaps 3 or 4 cups of berries, we washed them. Into the large pot they went.  We added sugar, probably 2 cups, and just enough water to cover them, and to allow the sugar to turn to syrup. 

Granny made biscuits from scratch. I am not the patient type so that is not something I learned to do. 

But my mother’s idea was to do some things from scratch and then enhance them. So, I use canned biscuits for my dumplings.

So, this morning,  I poured canned peaches into the big pot; I think you would call it a Dutch oven. I poured a cup of sugar into a Pyrex measuring cup, added water and heated it in the microwave for 2 minutes, 30 seconds at a time, checking it in between.

     I had not done it that way before. But I am a scientist, so I knew it would work. I did not know how long it would take; so, in this , I took my time. I am working on developing patience, see?

     While the sugar water was turning to syrup, I put the canned biscuits in a layer on my cutting board. I cut each one into six pieces. 

     I started out flattening them and rounding them into thin dumplings by hand. I like doing that sometimes. 

And moms,  and Grams, this is something that small CLEAN hands would delight to do, to help you cook.

But, my patience today only goes so far. So, I used my metal cylindrical water bottle as a rolling pin . 

I flattened the rest of the cut up biscuit pieces and put them into the pot with the peaches, along with the simple syrup that the sugar water cooked in the microwave had turned into. I added some butter, perhaps one fourth of a stick of butter. 

I started out cooking the mixture in the Dutch oven. But I have more experience with and much prefer cooking with gas. You have heard that expression?  "Cooking with gas"?  

If you were born in the 1950’s you have. But it means, for you younger readers,  NOW you are COOKING! 

Gas is preferred; but you use what you have. Twice I had to remove the pot and allow it to cool a little  because it was “cooking too fast.” 

I let it cool a bit and then I put it back on the burner.  But I was not going to do that every 15 minutes, so plan B. 

I lined a baking pan with aluminum foil and poured—yes, poured—the hot mixture into the pan. I used a large spoon for the first spoonful, but here again, impatience. 

I, carefully ,with mitts,  poured the mixture AWAY from myself into the pan. I added butter, cut into pats, to the bottom of the pan.  Then, I put the pan into the, oven set at 350 degrees. I baked it for 45 minutes, or as Mama would say, "till it was lightly browned"

.

Now, if you like cobbler the way Mama made it, you would need a pre-made pie crust. Not the ones that come with pans but the kind that is next to the canned biscuits and comes in a roll.

Here is what I do:  I take the first roll and lay it into half the baking pan. Repeat with the other one. 

Using a butter knife cut off the excess dough. That is what you do if you are using an oblong baking pan. 

If you are using a pie pan, prep the pan by using flour plus spray cooking oil.  In this case, you use only one crust on the bottom of the pan.

     Put the crust in the prepared pan. DON’T cut off the excess crust. 

     Instead crimp it using your fingers into ridges all around the pan. When you do that,  your guests will marvel at your delicious “home-made pie”,  because,  it will look so much better than the crusts that come frozen in the aluminum pie pans. Your crust will also taste better.

By the way: your pie is home-made. You made it, right? You made it at home, right? Well, there you go.

You could also, if you like two crust pies, use the second pie crust to place on top of the pie pan containing your peaches and dumpling mixture over the bottom pie crust. Press the two crusts together crimping them around the edge of the pie pan.  

Finally, as another alternative, you can eliminate the dumplings and use the peaches and sugar as the filling between two pie crusts. 

OR, you can, for the top of the pie, get real fancy (looking). Put  the top crust  on your cutting board, and using a sharp knife cut  it into strips about an inch or so wide.   With these strips of dough, you can make a cross hatch top crust.  

I have done that occasionally, but generally speaking the generous crimping around the pie pan edge makes enough of a “home-made” impression.  Bake uncovered in a 350-degree oven for 45 minutes or until lightly browned. 

Allow to cool … it will be VERY HOT, even  if it does not appear so.  So, allow it cool thoroughly. No point in spoiling your treat with scalded lips!

You can always warm it more if you like.  And, of course, some of us will be topping it with ice cream, or Redi Whip.

Thank you for walking down memory lane with me. Thank you, Mama. 

Thank you Granny. Miss you both.  Love you both.

#EasyQuickDeliciousPeachCobbler

#GrannysPeachCobbler

#MamasFamousDeliciousPeachCobbler

#BlackberryCobbler

#Mother’sDayEasyQuickPeachcobbler

#Mother’sDayComfortFood

#MissingMyMomSoIamBakingComfortFood

#PeachCobblerForTheImpatientCook

BLOG POST RETURNING TO NORMAL: HOW GOOD WAS “NORMAL” FOR YOU?

BLOG POST      RETURNING TO NORMAL:      

HOW GOOD WAS “NORMAL” FOR YOU?

The people who want things to return to “normal”:  are you one of those?  Let me guess. Let me tell you about you.

You are able to work from home.

You are tired of staying inside:  you are “suffering” from “cabin fever”.

You miss your hair stylist.

You miss your nail salon.

You miss your massage therapist.

You miss your housekeeping service.

You miss having dinner at nice restaurants.

You miss going to the movies.

You miss shopping at Macy’s, Bloomingdale’s, Neiman Marcus, outlet malls

You miss going to your gym.

You miss your kids going to school.

You miss your afternoon free time when your kids are going to:

Soccer practice

Choir practice

Football practice

Swim team practice

Music lessons

College SAT or ACT prep course classes

You miss birthday parties at bars

You miss your sports: baseball, basketball, football, cricket, soccer, golf – the sports that you play

You miss Broadway or off-Broadway theater performances

You miss rooftop parties

You miss weddings, receptions, bridal showers, baby showers

You miss browsing at bookstores

You miss Sunday Brunch with your friends

You miss going to your church

You miss band practice, choir practice, play practice

You miss parades: Mardi Gras, St. Patrick’s Day, Gay Pride Day

You miss Disney World, Busch Gardens , Six Flags

You miss planning your vacation

You miss traveling on your vacation

You miss hanging out with friends

You miss family reunions

You miss weekend trips to the vineyards, the apple orchards, the wineries

You miss … you miss…you miss… your former life.

Is that you? Is that right?

You may not miss your pre Covid 19 life if…

You ride the subway, the El, the Marta, the bus to work.

You are an “essential worker”.

You did not know you were an “essential worker” till Coronavirus Pause.

You work for $1.80 an hour … and tips…if you get them.

You wait tables, wash dishes in a restaurant kitchen.

You deliver pizza.

You are a hospital cafeteria worker, a caretaker in a nursing home, a guard in a federal prison.

You are an EMT, a paramedic and you work without health insurance for you and your family.

You are food insecure: you do not know where your next meal is coming from.

You are worried that your child is sick, but, since you work two or three part time jobs you do not have medical insurance or health benefits. Because you work two or three part time jobs,  your child does not qualify for Medicaid.

You live in  a state that refused the Medicaid expansion.

You were stopped and frisked and given a ticket for jaywalking, but since you could not afford your bail, you have been sitting on Riker’s Island for 2 years…without a hearing… without a trial…you have NOT BEEN CONVICTED OF ANY CRIME, but now your life is in danger—not just because you are a juvenile high school student who had a B average and close to perfect attendance before your incarceration, but because you have no PPE, or ability to social distance or physical distance in your cell designed for four men which houses five men.

Besides, you do not have hand sanitizer, masks, face coverings. You have had asthma since childhood, making you at high risk for contracting COVID 19. You have not been tested but the guards have tested positive, 75 of them.

You are a hairstylist, a nail tech, and you pay rent for your station in the salon, only now, you do not have any clients due to COVID 19. 

Your boss could not get the PPP, so you have no income.  You have stood in line for hours at a food bank to feed yourself and your children only to find, that just before you reached the entrance to the Food Bank store, they announce they are sorry: they are out of food.

You are a cleaner, of the gym, the hospital ER, patient rooms, ICU, nurses’ stations.  You have to reuse your mask and you do not have PPE enough. 

You do not work for the hospital as a hospital employee.  So, you  don’t have a pension, health insurance, or benefits.

You work as a contract worker for a company that charges the hospital $100 and hour for your work.  The company provides no health insurance, or benefits for you.  You feel sick, but if you do not come in to work, you will be fired. You have to work sick. Someone said the other day, you are a part of the “Work Sick Culture.” Huh?

You are paid $20.00 an hour.  If you miss work , since you have no sick days, you go to work sick. You hope there will be PPE today. There was none yesterday.

You work in a hospital, but you cannot see a doctor or get a test for COVID 19. You have no health insurance or benefits.

You are a teacher with 35 kids in your class. You have been using your own personal funds to buy paper, art supplies, pencils, notebooks, books, software for your students whom you love.  You miss seeing your  students.  You are teleteaching.

You have not had a raise in 5 years. Before COVID you had to moonlight, taking tickets at a movie theater to make ends meet.  Only now, the theater is closed, and that source of income has evaporated.

You  have been running  out of food stamps before the month ends.  Now, you have to find the food bank and you are worried there may not be food there for your family.

You live in a nursing home on Medicare and your social security. You  were a smoker. You have COPD, emphysema, diabetes and arthritis.

You are at high risk for contracting COVID 19. You have not been tested.

The nursing home staff does not have masks, PPE, and there is not much hand sanitizer. You are unable to socially distance.

You are lonely because your family cannot visit. You do not own a smart phone or laptop so you cannot FaceTime, or Skype, or ZOOM, or Duo.

 You are really scared that you will get COVID 19 and you will wind up suffering on a ventilator for 3 or 4 weeks before you lose your life to COVID 19.

You are a firefighter, police officer, transit cop, public school educator. You are paid by local and state governments, only since the State and the City have had to spend all their money to support hospitals treating COVID 19 patients, you are being laid off.

You do not qualify for food stamps. The unemployment office is backlogged. 

You do not know how you are going to feed your kids. You have a cough and you feel feverish.

You are worried that if you go to the ER, you might endanger your family by contracting COVID 19. You worry about that all the time.

You are unhomed. You live on the streets of New York City. Since Covid 19, you have been able to sleep on the subways.

Only now, the trains and the  subway stations will be closed from 1:00 a.m. till 5:00 a.m. so the trains and stations can be deep cleaned.   You have no water, or soap, or hand sanitizer.

You have no fixed address.  Your income is from coins you pick up from selling aluminum cans. 

You have no health insurance. So, you have not seen a doctor, dentist, psychologist, psychiatrist in 16 years.

You are afraid you will not be safe in the shelters. You eat from the neighborhood church soup kitchen , but now the lines are so long, they have run out of food. They say they are sorry; you have to come back tomorrow.

That is normal for you. You would rather not have things return to normal.

Governor Cuomo said, something like, “We don’t want to go back to “normal”. We can do better than this.

The introduction to the  TV show “Six Million Dollar Man”, the voice-over said: “ We can rebuild him. We can make him better than he was.”

I do not want us to go back to “normal”. “Normal” was great for some of us, but not for all of us. 

 I am not condemning anyone for enjoying the fruit of your labors. 

But this is America. America is not perfect, but American can be better than this.

I was born in 1954, five months after The U.S. Supreme Court ruled in Brown vs. the Board of Education of Topeka Kansas . Kansas Board of Education lost their lawsuit to keep Kansas schools white only.

I grew up in Selma, Alabama , the city that made it possible for you to go to McDonald’s and eat inside any restaurant in America, and won for you – through the blood of martyrs—the right to exercise your right to vote.

I went to the back door at a dentist’s office. I rode in the Colored section – the back-- of the bus in Selma Alabama.

I was spat at and called “nigger” while walking alone in broad daylight on Broad Street when I was twelve years old.

I went to the University Of Alabama. I decided to do that the day I saw and heard Governor George C. Wallace’s “stand in the schoolhouse door”. He said, “Segregation Today. Segregation Tomorrow. Segregation Forever.”

I graduated from the University of Alabama.

I was the second Black woman to earn the Doctor of Medicine Degree from the University Of South Alabama College of Medicine in 1981.  I  completed a three -year Residency in Family Medicine at the University of South Alabama College of Medicine. I am a Diplomate of the American Board of Family Practice.

My life experience tells me that America can be better. America, in some respects, is  better now than when I began my life. But this is not the best America can be.

Each generation has its own mark to make. Each generation has its time to fight, to work, to earn, to advance the American Dream.

The American Dream is not for us alone. It HAS TO BE for the least of us… too.  If not, what good is it?