Dishing it Out

Discover Prompts Day 5: Dish

Usually, on a Sunday, I prepare meals and “healthy” snacks for the week. I work part-time a few towns away, and during the tourist season in SW Florida, the commute at peak hours is a nightmare. On days that I have to work, I like to make sure I don’t have to fuss over what I’m going to eat. On days that I don’t work, I still don’t like planning and preparing elaborate meals. I’ve taken to making one pot and one-dish meals, such as soups, casseroles, pizza, or pasta. Keep it Simple is my motto.

This is the second week where I’ve not planned out my week partly because I have not been to work for three weeks because of COVID 19. It has been challenging to plan, mainly because the supermarket has been hit or miss with what is available. I make it up as I go along. I managed to find ground turkey at the end of last week and promptly prepared my version of “sloppy joes” on mini French rolls with a side of oven-fries and a cucumber salad.

In preparing my meal, I noticed that I was running low on “recaito.” Recaito is a homemade seasoning, basic to just about all my recipes. Some people call it sofrito, which means “gently fried” or sautéed. Growing up, I used to watch my grandmother and mother chop up all the vegetables each time for every meal. The onions, pepper garlic, and sometimes tomatoes are sautéed in a heavy pan before adding to the dish. Every day, for every meal…chop, chop! On rare occasions, I’ll take the time to do to chop up everything fresh, but in general, I thank goodness for blenders, food processors, and Magic bullets!

Recaito. consists of onion, garlic, peppers (I prefer cubanelle or Italian pepper), aji dulce -small sweet peppers (don’t confuse with the Scotch bonnets), add cilantro and culantro/coriander leaves (culantro has a more robust flavor, use sparingly.)

As you know, supermarkets have limited supplies, and since I didn’t feel like traveling to a specialty supermarket, I decided to make the Lazy -Lindi version of recaito. These are, after all, unprecedented times of basic survival. The newscasts continue to say that things will get worse or peak in the coming weeks. I don’t want to be without recaito in the middle of a pandemic. We all have our limits.

Usually, I make a big batch to share. See my attempt at a still-life of my ingredients and tools. You may recognize a Ninja blender, extra-large measuring cup, ice cube trays, pre-cut green peppers and onions, peeled garlic, a small bunch of cilantro, and small packaged culantro. The ice cube trays are for easy storage. After the ingredients are blended, I pour the mixture in Ice cube trays and then in a freezer bag or container. When I’m cooking, it’s easy to pop an ice cube or two into my soups, sauces, Spanish rice, or beans. If you are not feeling exotic, leave out the cilantro and culantro. It’s still a tasty and convenient way to have condiments on hand.

So with my magic ingredient past down from generations, I am ready to survive our COVID 19 Pandemic. Be safe.

Oh coffee, dear coffee

Friday RDP: Coffee

I like to say I’m a social drinker when it comes to coffee. My favorite is espresso, and I have such weakness for its aroma. The taste must not be bitter or harsh as it goes down the throat and lands warm in one’s belly. It’s not unlike a fine brandy that goes down smooth and velvety but then can burn a hole in your stomach when

it hits bottom.

Lately, tea sits better in my stomach. Black English tea with oatmeal cakes for breakfast is part of my morning ritual and green tea infused with fruits for during the day. Sometimes, an herbal tea gets me through the night. When I’m visiting with a coffee drinker, however, I can’t resist the smell, the heavenly fragrance of a good cup of coffee; the intoxicating aroma of espresso does make me a bit tipsy, and I struggle with the temptation knowing I will regret it later.

Although you can get a great coffee smell and of course good coffee from the single cup pods, I prefer an authentic espresso maker. To be clear, I’m not talking about the big digitalized models that take up half one’s counter space; I’m speaking of a small pot on the stove top. It brews coffee by passing boiling water pressurized by steam through ground coffee. I’ve concluded, that the secret to both good tea and coffee is in the boiling water – a hot running boil. Sometimes if I’m feeling really daring, I will have my espresso with milk, steamed and made foamy with a handheld frother. I know I’m going to lie awake thinking about it tonight, then I can say “ I couldn’t sleep last night because of the coffee.”

Seriously though, besides the physical pleasure from the coffee, I also have an emotional attachment. I don’t have to taste the coffee to feel I’m at my mother’s or grandmother’s kitchen table feeling safe and loved. When we were young, we would have a cup of hot milk with a couple of drops of coffee. We felt so grown up when we were able to participate in having a “café con leche” with the elders.

Many years later when I lived alone in an apartment building in an old mill city in New England, there lived an older gentleman at the end of the hall near the exit door. Every morning as I set out to go to work, I would be assaulted with the smell of freshly brewed espresso. I knew he was making it like my grandmother and I was often tempted to knock on the door and invite myself in. He didn’t seem like a friendly fellow; I wonder what would have happened if we were to share a cup of coffee and a piece of warm homemade bread with real butter. What stories would he have to tell? What stories would we have in common?

What’s your relationship with coffee? Is it just a way to make it through the day? Does the smell of coffee connect you with a memory of a loved one? An old friend perhaps?

My first week at #RagTag Daily Prompt. #coffee

This was fun! Is the format OK? Not sure about pingbacks.

The fragrance of our lives

I wonder how the month of May compares with Christmas for the retail industry. It seems there are people out shopping for Mother’s Day, Graduations and let’s not forget Father’s Day and June weddings.

On the weekend right after Mother’s Day, as Blaise walked into a major department store, he found himself accosted by a beautiful young woman who was dressed as if she was on her way to a night on the town. She blocked his path and with a coquettish smile asked “wanna try?” He froze as he took her in. Her makeup was perfect- her lips just the right shade of red; her long black gown was open to show her long legs and she smelled wonderful. As he regained his composure he realized she had a bottle of cologne in her hand, she was a fragrance model. “It’s called ENOUGH, its debuting today and it’s guaranteed to make your girlfriend realize you’re all she’ll ever need.” She smiled again and winked at him and said, “Hi, my name is Marcy”

Blaise didn’t come in shopping for cologne but when Marcy wearing that big smile, pointed at him with a spritzer bottle, he responded: “sure, why not.” He found that he did like the fragrance. Smells like a man, he thought. He enjoyed feeling fresh, clean and masculine with a touch of cologne or aftershave. It reminded him of his dad. On Sunday morning his dad told them that a man needs to clean up and be ready to stand before God. He would wear his best shirt and use his best cologne. During the week he would head straight for the shower when he came home from the shop. After a while his dad would come down with nails clean, hair combed back and smelling like a dandy just to please Mom. That’s what a family man does his dad had taught him, always come clean to the dinner table. Without a second thought, Blaise had Marcy ring it up. The fragrance would be his present for Camille, his wife.

On Monday Blaise had to be up early for work. After he showered and dressed, he remembered the new cologne he’d bought over the weekend. Because he was going to the office, he sprayed himself lightly, just ENOUGH he smirked to himself at the clever play on words.

In the bedroom, Camille was getting a whiff of something powerful coming from the bathroom, and she felt her stomach turn. What on earth?! When she sensed Blaise coming into the room, she closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. She still had another hour before the alarm rang for her. Blaise stood over the bed trying to decide whether or not to wake her so that she could enjoy him and his new cologne. Camille wishing for him to go away with that smell, kept her eyes closed and pretended to roll away from him in her sleep. Blaise tiptoed out of the room and headed to work.

Blaise was greeted by Mrs. Meddles at the front desk like any other morning. She was an older woman who reminded him of his mom. She was always ready with a smile and a cheerful good morning as everyone came in. “Don’t you look dapper today?” Blaise gave her a shy smile “just as I do every day” he told her and continued on his way down the hall. She stared after him a little longer as he walked out of sight and then it hit her, it was the fragrance that made him look different. He was wearing cologne today and she could swear he had a spring in his step. Or did he? She asked herself. She remembered Bill when he was that age. He would get playful whenever he wore cologne. She loved that clean fresh shaven smell. It was like the chicken or the egg. Did he get frisky because he was wearing cologne or because of her reaction to him? It was so long ago, she felt lonely all of a sudden. It had been years since she and Bill….. The last heart attack took her Bill away. The stranger in her house just stared at her when she got home each evening. Did he remember? Fragrance is a powerful thing. She wondered if she were to buy his old cologne or her perfume would he have a reaction? Would there be at least a flicker, a bit of recognition in his gray eyes? “Good morning, don’t you look nice today?” she was grateful for the interruption. “Good morning, Mrs. Meddles. It’s always nice to see your smiling face in the morning.” said Mary Grey. Mrs. Meddles was glad to have people streaming in regularly now as she greeted each one with a smile and a cheerful comment.

On the other side of town, Camille was arriving at work. As she got in the elevator, she heard Winnie Madison call out “hold it for us!” Winnie came running to catch the elevator to their office, followed closely by her boyfriend, Randall. Camille had heard all about Randall who worked on the same floor of their office building. Winnie and Randall started saying their goodbyes, and Camille tried to focus on the numbers above the door in front of her as the elevator made its way up to the 22^nd floor. Winnie told her it was difficult for her to be apart from him during the day. “Doesn’t he smell wonderful?” Winnie asked “I can just eat him up” Camille didn’t know where to look, but she had noticed a smooth, wood and musk fragrance as the elevator doors closed. She was feeling lightheaded as she got off the elevator. Camille didn’t want to remember all the intimate details Winnie had shared but found herself wondering if it was true what they said about fragrances and pheromones. She thought of Blaise.

During the coffee break, Camille asked about Randall’s fragrance. She admitted it was pleasant and told Winnie that she was thinking of getting new cologne for Blaise for Father’s Day. She told her of the incident that morning with whatever cheap, awful smelly thing that he wore after he showered. “Of course, I know what kind it is; I bought it for him this weekend. They were presenting it to the public at the mall. It was a little pricey, but I think it’s worth it. It’s called ENOUGH but be careful, it may be too much for you and Blaise.” They shared understanding giggles. Camille decided to go after work to pick up a bottle, but Winnie teased, “Fragrances don’t have the same reaction on everyone you know.” Camille smiled; she didn’t think she would wait for Father’s Day to find out.

Day Eighteen: Compose a Series of Anecdotes; the same narrative from a different point of view. #everydayinspiration

Home to where I’d never been

I came across this quote from North 20°54, West 156°14, a personal essay by Maggie Messitt on Bending Genre. “Maps are about boundaries and perception. They are about recognizing and being recognized.”
It is a beautiful place
One summer as soon as school was out, our parents took us to their little island in the Caribbean. It was the late 1960’s; it was the year my paternal grandfather died. It was unexpected. I don’t remember him, and I don’t think he ever met the twins. That’s probably why they made an effort to get us over there to meet the family now. I was apprehensive at first. My Dad was staying home, but we were going for the whole summer! I was starting my teenage years, which is a big deal in itself but on top of that, all I knew about Puerto Rico were the stories my parents had told me. Whenever they got together with my aunts, uncles and older cousins, they would tell the stories of the “good old days.” According to my parents, “It is a beautiful place! Just wait and see.”
Who are we?
The teen years are confusing. It’s a time when we are trying to figure out who we are. We had moved to this neighborhood a couple of years ago. At first, we were told that we could not speak Spanish outside of our new apartment. Should I be ashamed to speak Spanish? Is there something wrong with speaking Spanish? In order to get this apartment in a “better neighborhood” (read white, blue-collar), my dad had lied and told the landlord that we were Italian. My parents were afraid if she found out we were Puerto Ricans, she could kick us out. Should I be ashamed to be Puerto Rican? We are a light-skinned bunch, and my mother had blue-green eyes. We were able to pull it off – we “passed.” The Fair Housing Act was signed in 1968. In Current Events class, we briefly touched upon the Civil Rights movement, but I didn’t make a connection to what was happening to us. When my parents thought it was safe to do so, they told her the truth. We lived there for many years after.
Puerto Rico had been a United States territory since 1898, and the people were granted United States citizenship one month before we entered World War I in 1917. Wilson signed the compulsory military service act two months later. Puerto Ricans have been serving in the military ever since. In school, we just briefly touched on its history. All I remembered from history class was that it was an island that Spain gave to the United States after they lost the Spanish-American war. Should I tell my friends I was going to Puerto Rico? I don’t know if they knew. I was born and raised in the North East. I looked and sounded just like them. How would they know?
What a beach!
As our plane approached the island, I began to feel excited. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea after all. The colors were the first thing that amazed me. My siblings and I strained to catch a glimpse through the tiny windows. From the sky, we could see the crystal clear turquoise waters and sandy beaches like superfine white sugar. I remembered during my aunt’s visit, she was so disappointed to see the beaches in New York. “You call this a beach? You have to come and see what a real beach looks like.” She laughed. Now I understood what she was talking about. Compared to this, Manhattan Beach, Brighten Beach, Coney Island looked gray and dirty. There were no boardwalks and no amusement park rides, but it was breathtaking. Beyond the water, we could see the vibrant greens and browns of the mountains with ribbons of rivers running through them. I decided then; I was going to enjoy this adventure.
My mother’s youngest sister, “Asore” still lived at home with her parents. She had taken time off from work to show us around. Our first trip was to the beach of course. I couldn’t get over how clear and warm the water was. The waves didn’t crash on shore; they gently rolled in and quietly rolled out. We didn’t need a beach umbrella; we had put our things between two palm trees and hung a hammock. To this day that is my mental go-to place; effortlessly rocking in the hammock and listening to the sounds of that beach. Afterward, she took us to the thatch-covered eateries that lined the road by the beach as we headed home. We each tried something different rellenos-de-papas, (deep fried meat filled potato balls), alcapurias de jueyes (root vegetables filled with crab meat), and meat-filled turnovers, just to name a few. We were in heaven! Everything was delicious.
Spaceships in the mountains, crawlers in the water
The next stop was El Yunque National Forest, the only tropical rainforest in the United States. My aunt said that many believed spaceships regularly landed on very top of the mountain. We explored the mountain and the waterfalls. Before we left, we swam in one of the pools that form along the river. I had never been swimming in a river! The water was cold, and I was afraid of what else might be swimming there. On the way back we bought tropical fruit on the side of the road. During that summer we traveled with my aunt and crisscrossed the island at least a couple of times visiting many beautiful places. There are plenty of travel blogs and magazines that talk about the wonders of Puerto Rico. This blog is about perception, awareness, and self-discovery. It’s about a young girl recognizing that there are no boundaries.
Who are these people?
As we visited and got to know family and friends across the island, I began to see Puerto Rico different from what I had imagined. We spent time with cousins our age; boys and girls who laughed and played like our friends in New York City. They used dried palm tree shafts like sleds to go down the grassy hills in the countryside just outside of town. They confidently walked right by the cows and pigs as we stared and walked cautiously slow, afraid that any sound or fast movement might call attention to us. Our cousins fished in the creek and showed us how to collect tadpoles in a glass jar. I don’t usually like tadpoles, but at the time I thought it was all fun and so exciting.
In New York, I didn’t know any Puerto Ricans outside of my family. The ones I saw depicted in movies or on television did not reflect my reality. No one in my family had been to jail or belonged to gangs or sold drugs on the street corners. We went to school and church. My family in New York was tight-knit and made up of all hard working folks, trying to survive all the challenges that came their way. They were printers, handymen, electricians, seamstress, and clerks. I didn’t know of any Puerto Ricans who were doctors or lawyers. In school, we didn’t learn about the artists, poets, musicians, actors, comedians, songwriters and authors. Here we learned that my grandfather’s brother had been the Mayor of their hometown. Our great-grandfather had been a well-known troubadour. Other family members were respected members of the community. It was a life I had seen on TV, but here the characters were real, and they were Puerto Rican.
For the love of art, music, and literature
I was glad my aunts took the time to take us to museums and talk to us about our history. We got to listen to some of waltzes and ballads that were written by Spanish and Puerto Rican composers. There was a Symphonic Orchestra! We saw the folk dancers in streets of San Juan and heard traditional music, played on instruments that originated on the island.

I fell in love with Old San Juan and the fort that protected it El Morro (Castillo San Felipe del Morro). It’s still picturesque and quaint, something that you would think of finding in Europe. It was old Spanish Colonial architecture painted in pastels and cobblestone streets where I imagined the Spanish senoritas walking with parasols. I was amazed at all the cultural richness that I found. Yes, I was already a nerd back then, and at the end of the trip, I wanted to twirl on the lawn of El Morro and down the streets of Old San Juan like one of the protagonists of a Roger’s and Hammerstein musical. Picture Julie Andrews as Maria VonTrapp singing “the hills are alive with the sound of music.”

A new me
When school started, I had been excited to share all this with my friends back home. My aunts had given me books and souvenirs that told our story, and I brought these things to school. My friends were not interested, not even the pictures of cute Puerto Rican pop stars made them look. They were still in seventh and eighth grade, and the world didn’t matter much beyond the cute boys in the next class.
I was hurt at first, but no one could take away what I had learned that summer. I wrote about it in my English class and had a piece published in the school yearbook. I argued with my history teacher and told him whatever he was teaching had nothing to do with me. (He was great though. He became one of my favorite teachers, and I Aced his class). In Orchestra class, I played my cello as if I was playing at the Pablo Casals Festival in San Juan.
I was glad we made that trip. I’m pleased with this assignment. Though not a typical road map, it took me on a fabulous journey. “Maps are about boundaries and perception. They are about recognizing and being recognized.” Maggie Messitt
How about you? Have you ever been “home” at a place you’ve never been before?
Day Seventeen: A Map as Your Muse #everydayinspiration

School Ratings, Beyond the Number

abc books chalk chalkboard — Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

The task for this assignment was to “mine” material, or story ideas from the web, old drafts, social media, etc. the inspiration came at me from Discover on Reader. The post is https://integratedschools.org/2018/05/30/the-problem-with-great-schools/comment-page-1/?blogsub=confirming#blog_subscription-6 Author Ali McKay from Integrated Schools.org, wrote an article which addressed questions that had been on my mind for some time. I understood the piece was encouraging parents to look beyond the numbers published by the GreatSchools.org rating systems. She explained that based on her own experience, she was pleasantly surprised that although the school she chose for her family was not in the top percentile, the school has been a good match for her children of different ages and skill level. The system does not give a complete picture of whether or not that school is a good fit for your child as it doesn’t take into account other tangibles such as the human factor. Ms. Mckay also notes there appears to be a correlation between racial percentages and the number indicators. The author notes that GreatSchools’ president, Mathew Nelson, encourages parents to visit the school and talk to parents in the community before making the decision that’s right for them. Where I come from that is called CYA on the part of Mr. Nelson. Check out the article attached for more.

There are many aspects of the public education debate that cause me to have concerns. As I was doing additional research to substantiate my post, I went down the proverbial rabbit hole. I found more unsettling articles about where our political leaders are taking public education, and as I have said before, these problems did not start with the 2016 elections but at least back to the Reagan area. I decided to leave a good portion of my findings to dole out in smaller increments and will publish them over the summer.

Questions about the future of public education have been swirling in my head for decades; since I sat on School Improvement and Education Reform meetings when my own kids were in school. However, now that I have a granddaughter who just finished Kindergarten in a Public School system this year, I’m forced to look at the question that I’ve been avoiding – “now what?” On a personal level, we are grateful that she had an uneventful year, considering that active shooter drills are now part of the school experience. Some liken them to fire drills or duck and cover drills in my era – but not quite. She’s a bright, resourceful and caring child but she is not a fan of going to school because she hates just sitting around for long hours (paraphrasing). She enjoys learning, and her parents make sure she and her sister have plenty of resources at home to complement their education.

The school, my granddaughter, attended last year was about a couple of miles from her home and was rated an overall 7 and 8 for test scores by GreatSchools.org. According to the report on the site, the student body is 85% white, 4% mixed race/ethnicity, 3% black and 12% are considered low-income families. For the most part, her parents heard good things about the school and yet at the beginning of the school year, they worried about the choice to send her public schools. Both parents are college grads, volunteer on a once or twice a month on a regular basis. They find the administrative support staff is pleasant and the teachers that they have encountered seem interested in the success of the students. The school has one principal, no assistant, and one counselor hour for every one hundred students. There is one nurse and one art teacher that come to the school two days a week and work at another school two days a week. They have a resource room to watch pre-recorded lessons, a library and they have a computer room. It appears that this school’s focus is teaching to test scores.

By comparison, a friend of the family has children in public schools within the city limits approximately ten miles from the other school. On GreatSchools.org that school has an overall rating of 5 and for test scores a 6. The student body makes up is 43% white, 36% black, 10% mixed ethnic/race, 67% low-income families. Both parents also college grads and both parents also volunteer in the school. The school has a more interactive educational approach and a fine arts and recreation program which include music and art lessons after school. The kids seem to have a more enjoyable experience, but l may be projecting.

When this family wanted to move, they tried to find an affordable house within that school district. With the fluctuation of the housing market, they did not find what they were looking for. The other option was to move out of the city limits, which would put the kids in the County’s School system and they could then apply for the School Choice Option. If accepted the parents had to pay fees comparable the city’s cost per child rate. On paper the idea sounds great, at least if they don’t live in the district, they can take still take advantage of the school’s programs, without using tax dollars. Keep in mind this is a “low rated” school.

I worked Real Estate for several years and more often than not, I would meet young families with corporate transfers who had researched schools online and would not consider anything outside of the recommendations of the school rating system, often these homes had bigger price tags. Interesting to note is that many of the ads on these sites are sponsors by real estate companies. Ali McKay’s article presents this as an example of modern segregation in today’s education system and consequently the Real Estate market.

To emphasize Ms. MacKay’s point about GreatSchools.org ratings, I found just by comparing these two schools; the score is not necessarily a reflection of how good or bad a school is. The school in the city with a more varied student body was rated 2 points lower than the other school. I find it ironic that the school with the better test scores and higher rating has limited resources in some essential areas. Is it that the school has not requested additional funds or it is overlooked in the budget because the school with the better scores has already tested well? What are we missing? What is the X factor?

Day Sixteen: Mine Your Own Material #everydayinspiration

True story in One Hundred Words

black and white hand raining — Photo by Tookapic on Pexels.com

“I love the summer rain!” I shouted in my head. It was because of him. I stood there for a moment in the pouring rain; long enough for the video to replay in my mind.

He was fiftyish, receding gray hair, twinkling eyes, and crooked smile. He had lost his shoes on the porch. He skipped and twirled as his granddaughters joined him.

I wished him here today to hold him tight like I couldn’t do on his last night. I am grateful for all he was and all he left behind including that little bit of him in me.

Day Thirteen: Play with Word Count #everydayinspiration

Roseanne, Samantha and Free Speech

Critique does not come easy for me. I try to be careful but truthful with my words. I don’t like to be rude. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I consider myself a moderate in many things. I prefer to look at both sides of an issue, as I know that circumstances can appear different to each of us. We all have experiences that color our perception of the world around us. I’m one of those who believes in “being nice to someone no matter what because you don’t know what they’ve been through.” When there is a bizarre statement trending on social media, I try to look it up before I pass judgment or share inaccurate or misleading information. I have voted for political candidates on both sides of the aisle, taking into consideration which person I feel is best for the job. That being said, when push comes to shove, I lean to the left. My reasons? That’s for another blog post-stay tuned.

Today let’s talk First Amendment, specifically regarding Freedom of Speech, Roseanne Barr, Samantha Bee and Colin Kaepernick. I have never been a fan of Roseanne Barr or Samantha Bee, and I have had a passionate dislike for reality television since its inception. I don’t care much for professional sports where the tickets are financially out of reach for the average family. In my opinion, both women are the type of comedian who does or say anything outrageous just for laughs. Reality stars are a peculiar bunch whose behavior is motivated less by real emotion than by the drive to affect the ratings and stand out from the rest by being dramatic or outlandish.

Samantha Bee’s statement about Ivanka Trump falls into the comedic arts category. I think there were other ways she could have addressed Ms. Trump’s apparent lack of empathy for the families separated at the border. The offensive word Samantha Bee used was not funny and did not advance her message, but the “wow factor” did get her media attention. Should she have been fired? I suppose some might argue that foul language and off-color remarks are acceptable as part of a comedy routine. In the general population, some people use swear words like others use punctuation marks. I have been known to unnecessarily spice up my language to make a point, but I am never in favor of anyone using disparaging statements to describe another person or to lash out at someone.

Roseanne Barr, also a comedian, woke up in the middle of the night, sent out a racist tweet and tried to backpedal by saying she was under the influence of prescribed medication. There is an old expression that says, “a drunken man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts.” Is that comparable to a woman on Ambien? I called out a colleague at work once for a scornful comment he made. He apologized saying that he said it without thinking; this admission on his part told me that derogatory thoughts were part of his belief system. Had he been thinking, he would have filtered his words. I don’t believe medication, alcohol or Bipolar Disorder makes a person racist. It is something taught early in life, and some people never learn anything else. Should Roseanne Barr have been fired? I’m sure she is not the only racist in Hollywood, but because she does not hold political office, she does not have the right to call people apes or fat or ugly or cowards or losers or sons-of-bitches. Ms. Barr doesn’t have the right to change the facts or make fun of disabled people or ethnic groups or even to say white supremacist and neo-Nazi groups are made up of good people. Although she is a celebrity, she is not the President of the United States and does not have the same rights sanctioned by conservative groups that the President has. Instead, Roseanne Barr is an actor who worked for a family oriented business, and an angry racist is not kind of image Disney wants to be associated with their brand.

Since some in the media have linked Roseanne Barr, Samantha Bee, and Colin Kaepernick, in the same First Amendment debate, I will address it here as well. Colin Kaepernick, a young athlete of African-American descent, decided to use his position, his celebrity status if you will, to advocate for change in the justice system, specifically concerning racial profiling and use excessive force often leading to death. We teach our children that one person; one small act can make a difference. One NFL player “took a knee” to bring awareness to an ongoing problem in our country. He lost his job and was blacklisted from the sport.

According to a Snopes fact-check published September 28, 2017, former Green Beret and NFL player Nate Boyer, educated and advised Kaepernick and former teammate, Eric Reid to “take a knee” instead of sitting out the National Anthem in objection to current civil liberty violations. The three agreed this was more respectful, “Soldiers take a knee in front of a fallen brother’s grave, you know, to show respect…” Eric Reid is quoted as saying “We chose to kneel because it’s a respectful gesture. I remember thinking our posture was like a flag flown at half-mast to mark a tragedy.” The “take a knee” demonstration was a thoughtful form of silent protest. It is protesting social injustice, not the flag, not the military or the country or whatever other theories are out there in the media.

Divisive politics and fear-mongering have tried to skew the facts and turn the story around to question the integrity or validity of the complaint; to question the patriotism of protests in general. It is sad to me that the government has stepped in to coerce private companies to make employees behave in a way that is acceptable to the Administration’s agenda. The NFL’s new policy about the etiquette during the national anthem is an example of this. Last year it was indirectly suggested that perhaps the Administration should look into the tax breaks the NFL teams were getting since they were disrespectful to the flag and country. Why these teams need “tax breaks” is beyond me, but that’s a topic for another post. The point is the suggestive language worked.

According to Britanica.com “In the broadest sense, totalitarianism is characterized by strong central rule that attempts to control and direct all aspects of individual life through coercion and repression.” I find it upsetting to think this is happening in our country. People complained about political correctness, an idea that attempted to invoke fairness and open-mindedness but what I see now; is an agenda to make sure everyone is behaving and thinking in the same way. This plan is based on one group’s interpretation of Judeo-Christian traditions or the Constitution or whatever else they can use to manipulate the masses.

How does this change? It changes when everyone takes an interest in being well informed and challenging the ideas that limit our freedoms. It is disheartening to know that a significant number of people in this country stop at the headlines they see in social media. They don’t read entire articles nor do they cross-reference sources. That’s why it is easy for foreign powers to influence our politics or how we look at the world around us. It changes when citizens of this great nation stand-up and give a damn to research the candidates beyond the sound bites. It changes when well-informed citizens get out to vote.

Day Twelve: Critique a Piece of Work or Write an Opinion Piece #everydayinspiration

If we were having coffee right now

two brown and black ceramic teacups filled on black saucers — Photo by Jana on Pexels.com

If we were having coffee right now, it would indeed be a special event. You see I consider myself a social drinker. I don’t drink coffee on a regular basis, only on occasion. Every morning I drink hot black tea in round bags with boiled water from my teapot. I let it sit for several minutes so that the caffeine is extracted and then I add a drop or two of milk. During the day I reach for green tea –hot or cold, sometimes I pop in some raspberries for a different flavor.

If we were having coffee right now, I would have been tempted by the rich aroma of the Arabica beans filling the air. I love the smell of coffee brewing, especially the espresso method that seems to squeeze out every bit of flavor from the finely ground beans. Coffee fills my senses and reminds me of home; of my mother and both grandmothers who sometimes had sweet bread or pastry with coffee or café con leche in the afternoon.

If we were having coffee right now, we would be sitting in your kitchen as we had many years before. We would catch up with stories about our children, siblings and rest of the family. You would have shown me that you’ve started working on your garden after the harsh winter. I would tell you I’m still trying to get my orchid to bloom after all these years. We would reminisce about the fun times we had as a group of women getting together to laugh and share our personal philosophies of faith, love and the quest for happiness in our lives. How I’ve missed that camaraderie with like-minded women! I consider it one of the blessings in my life to have you all when in time of need.

If we were having coffee right now, we would talk about our busy week. You would tell me about your travels and the interesting people you’ve met. I would tell you that I’m writing a blog for fun and sharing of ideas. It’s a journal sprinkled with creative writing, poetry, and essays. You’ll tell me you’re working on another book about the program you’ve developed with your longtime colleague at the Institute. It will undoubtedly be just as successful as the first one. I still have my autographed copy.

If we were having coffee right now, I would tell you that I’ve started going to town meetings and focus groups in preparation for the coming elections in August and November. I have found people and politics so different in my new city in the southeastern part of the country. We would both agree that it is never too early to start examining the candidates, there is too much at stake. You would get me up to date on the issues in your city, which in large part have not changed much since I was here. Politics usually leads us to religion. It’s so refreshing to talk to someone with the same values and level of empathy for our fellow compatriots.

If we were having coffee right now, I would treasure the moment and file the memory like a snapshot in my mind. I would save it and document it until we can make it a reality again. Social media, phone calls, and emails can’t replace the joy of sitting to have coffee with an old friend.

Day Eleven: A Cup of Coffee #everydayinspiration

Beach after the Storm

Beach and rain — a hint of sunlight in the distance in an otherwise gray and dismal day.

Even though we have had severe weather warnings and plenty of rain, I decided to take the scenic route this afternoon. Rather than go a short ride up the Interstate, I decided to drive along the shore to one of the only beaches in the area where I can go with my Baby Girl. She’s not a fan of the beach or too much sun and heat. It doesn’t matter that she was just groomed and her hair is short. She hates getting her feet wet or walking for too long on the hardened sand that still manages to get in between her toes and stuck to her.

I have to excuse her; she is a mixed-breed, and her identified ancestral lineages were designed and destined to be lap dogs for royalty. She likes to play catch and tug-of-war, but she is perfectly content if she is cuddling with a human on the couch or in bed. I don’t usually take her to the beach, but if the weather is right, she doesn’t mind the outdoors and is happy to sit quietly with me to people watch.

We saw the black clouds hanging in the sky at a distance as we crossed the bridge to the island. It’s always a treat to look over the bay and inlets as we drive over. We noticed that water was starting to accumulate on some of the front lawns and gardens. I was wondering if any streets were going to be a problem, although it was probably too soon for any roads to be underwater. I was hoping we were driving just behind the rainstorm so that we could stop in at the beach and sit for a bit. We opened the windows to smell the ocean air and minimize the wet-dog smell.

The beach was gray today. On the far end of the shore, the clouds parted to let the sun peek through, but here the sky and the water, even the sand took on the gray tinge. The wind was steady and strong; it seemed to have rummaged through the depths of the sea to bring up the pungent smells of musty seaweed and briny marine life. My Baby Girl didn’t like that either; she squinted her eyes when the wind picked up around her and sniffed the air. Not far away another dog barked excitedly when he saw her, but she prefers to play with people. She looked up but ignored him and continued on her way examining all the smells along the shoreline as we walked.

Except for the wind and crashing waves of the unusually turbulent surf, the beach was quiet. Snowbird season is over, lawn furniture was put away, and many houses looked vacant. There were people sprinkled about on blankets and a few walkers near the water. There was not the usual laughter, the noisy buzzing of conversations or music playing. A group of young people talked among themselves trying to decide if it was worth it to put up the volleyball net. They seemed to have decided it was. Baby Girl and I sat on a bench for a little bit longer but she was getting restless, and it was getting late. We could hear the traffic start to form on the road, so we packed our things and headed home.

Day Ten: Let the Scene Write Itself #everydayinspiration
Please remember that I am looking for ideas for my assignment #15. What do you think I should write about and how? Add a comment to this post or go to Contact Me at the top of the page. Thanks, much appreciated.

My life while writing – what life?

I admit that it seems that since I started writing a couple of months ago, I’ve done nothing else. I’ve taken courses at Blogging U and joined a twenty-six-day writing challenge, all with the sole purpose to get me to write every day. Between writing, editing and reading other blogs, this has become my life. I do get out to socialize a bit or to club meetings, and of course to spend time with family but I have been extremely pre-occupied; afraid to fall off the writing wagon again.

Over the past few days, I have been giving thought to structuring my days differently to make room for things I enjoy. I know daily posting is not something I can sustain indefinitely. I have great sensory awareness; I write best when I am directly affected by life around me. I need to get out to experience different things first hand. I need the smells, the visuals, the sounds to transport me to another time and place when I write. I like to feel a connection to a story.

I know I need to get back to the walks on the beach in the early morning where I can stop to watch the pelicans fishing. Getting back to yoga and the gym would be nice for health reasons. I also want to laugh with friends at karaoke or a comedy club or a movie. I’d like to people watch at outdoor festivals while listening to a cover band. I like to dance like no one is watching, think Elaine Benes on Seinfeld. I am aware that I need to live to write about life. A personal challenge for me in a new city is to get out there, “just do it.”

P. S.- Please remember that I need I ideas from my readers for my Day Fifteen assignment. Please let me know what you think I should write about. What type of post would you like to see me write; poem, an essay? Is there a particular topic you would like me to address? Please share your ideas in the comment section of this post, or you can go to my Contact Me page. https://rosalind.life/contact-me/

I look forward to hearing from you. Thanks for your help.

Day Nine: Writing and Not Writing #everydayinspiration

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