Barbie Perkins-Cooper, Author

Category: Free Writing

  • Smoking Is So Cool…Just Ask the Younger Generation And In the Future…Welcome to the Zipper Club!


    Over the weekend my husband and I went to karaoke at Broadway at the Beach, Myrtle Beach, SC. I must say, it was a mistake for me to assume that Myrtle Beach is non-smoking. Not at Broadway at the Beach Karaoke. Entering, I smelled the familiar scent that burns my nostrils and eyes. “Oh No… They smoke in here.” I said. We sat down and I asked the waitress what area was non-smoking.

    “None,” she replied.

    “Great…this will be a fun night.”

    At first, the ventilation fought the disgusting cigarette plumes. Later in the evening, with every person in their 20’s to 30’s appearing to smoke, the cigarette smoke won. Three guys, obviously drunker than any skunk, continued to walk behind my chair…ALWAYS BUMPING ME. Never apologizing, and oh so quick to blow smoke in my direction. I tapped one on the shoulder. “Could you please move downwind, please?”

    He was so drunk he could not comprehend what I was saying, or maybe he did not care.

    I was under the impression that the younger generation were now educated to understand that smoking is no longer cool. In fact, it is downright dangerous. Second hand smoke is just as dangerous too…but they continued to smoke…and smoke…drink…and smoke…smoke and drink. I suppose you get the picture. No doubt in future years they will learn to regret what smoking does to the lungs and the heart. I hope and pray they comprehend this before it is too late.

    In one word, smoking KILLS! Not only does the smoke radiate throughout the area, the scent of tobacco remains in clothing, shoes, hair and everywhere. I was so happy when we decided to leave Broadway at the Beach. Outside, the younger generation was everywhere — smoking. I had to fan smoke away outside. Talk about pollution!

    I am married to a former smoker. He refused to ever give up smoking until February 2, 1998, when he was rushed to the hospital for tests, suspecting heart disease.

    February 4, 1998 was his last day to smoke. After his admittance to the Cardiac Care area of Roper Hospital in Charleston, he was permitted to smoke, even though the area was non-smoking. A most caring nurse who had the cigarette habit told him “he could crank out the window in his room, to smoke. No one will know,” she said. How considerate of her. I followed her out of the room. “Excuse me, nurse. May I speak with you for a moment…privately?”

    She looked into my eyes. Quickly we moved to a closet. She turned the light on. “While it was extremely thoughtful of you to share how you smoke on this floor, you do realize my husband is a heart patient, probably scheduled for heart surgery…What you said to him I did not appreciate. Would you like me to go to H-R and report your behavior, or will you promise me you will never suggest this again?”

    Her mouth popped open.

    “I will not report this behavior, but don’t you ever do this again to ANY HEART PATIENT. Do you understand?”

    She nodded. I think I got my point across.

    February 4, 1998 my husband joined the “Zipper Club.” To those of you who do not understand the terminology, it is a special club established for anyone who has had cardiac surgery and has a zipper in the chest.

    Thank you cigarettes!

    My wish for you in the younger generation who light up every few minutes is to never receive an invitation to the zipper club. It isn’t a nice club to become familiar with. Please, when you smoke, think about what you are doing to your body, and to those around you who tolerate the disgusting smell of cigarettes. Your friends. Children. Wives and Husbands and Loved Ones. Cigarette smoking is dangerous to your health.

    Instead of smoking, play with your cell phones while realizing that life is short and with every cigarette you light up, smoke and inhale, you are cutting your life even shorter!

    Thank you for NOT SMOKING!

     

  • Ah…Home Sweet Home…”At Last…”


    So nice to arrive home earlier with my babies awaiting our arrival. Over the weekend Phil and I participated in the Murrells Inlet Elks Lodge show, based on the Charleston Elks Lodge, Back Porch Opera Extravaganza. We had a terrific time last night. Phil served as the sound engineer, dj, and of course, I sang. No, I did not sing “At Last,” my signature song. I chose, “When We Make Love,” Alabama style, adding my one little version, of course.

    We drove up on Friday, choosing to go to karaoke on Friday night at Broadway at the Beach. One thing I suggest to the City of Myrtle Beach is to establish a ‘non-smoking ordinance.’ Silly me. I assumed that Myrtle Beach is non-smoking. It is not. The cigarette plumes radiated throughout the bar and I could not wait to leave. Unfortunately, we stayed until midnight. Seems we had a bit of a miscommunication with some friends, hiring a cab driver. Trust me, that will not happen to me again! I will remain the designated driver.

    At Broadway at the Beach, I sang “At Last,” and when I was finally called up to sing again, I chose, “Unchained Melody.” By that time, the audience was truly having, shall I say, a grand time…drinking…doing shots…and all that stuff I do not do. Yes, I do drink occasionally, but I absolutely refuse to drink wine from a plastic cup. It doesn’t taste right so I drank water…But, back to my song. When I sang “Unchained Melody,” I connected with the audience, belting the song out as the crowd hushed to listen.

    Only a performer understands the euphoric feeling of having the audience relating and listening. I must say, it was fabulous!

    To all that drove up to Murrells Inlet for the show, and to perform in the show, I say thank you. I am so proud to be a member of this amazing group of local performers from the Charleston, SC Elks Lodge.

    And now, I must get back to work…to feed my children and to share with them how much I’ve missed them. This will be an early night. I am much too tired…At Last I am home…Home Sweet Home!

     

  • A Busy, Busy Week — For A Writer — Insomnia Continues…


    Dearest Readers:

    Such a busy week, with little time to spare, so this will be a brief posting. Working as a writer, I have many deadlines approaching and will meet all of them; meanwhile, I have a proposal to complete, another story to finish, among the other demands of my life.

    People who meet me always appear to be happy to hear that I am a writer. Little do they know what the statement, “I am a writer” means. I start mornings uncluttering a cluttered desk, organizing, or if I am away from my desk, I organize things wherever I might be. Now, if only I could ‘unclutter my mind.’ Today, I watched the dark clouds of midnight or early morning break into another gray, dreary day. I crawled out of bed at 3:45,unable to unclutter my brain. So many thoughts dancing, refusing to allow sleep. After one cup of coffee, I stared out the window, furious that I cannot sleep. There was a velvet-black cloud of darkness in the skies. All I could see were street lights. Nothing more. Insomnia happens to me more than it should and sometimes my head feels so cluttered I wish I could erase it. So far, I do not believe there is ‘an app for that!’ Maybe I should check. On second thought, maybe not!

    Just what is a writer? According to Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary, a ‘writer is one who writes.’ Great definition…Maybe I need a new dictionary, although in all reality, I can Google words now. Nevertheless, I am of the personality type that does not believe EVERYTHING I READ ON THE INTERNET! I suppose this post could be categorized under ‘freewriting.’ After all, I have no notes to revise, no research to review. I am simply attempting to unclutter my brain so I can sleep tonight and write today.

    I don’t know if I agree with the definition of ‘a writer is one who writes.’ If that is true, then everyone is a writer, because during the course of our lifetime, we do write. Letters – or do people actually write letters now? I do – although they are not written in my floppy, cursive handwriting. My husband STILL cannot read my writing. “It’s too curly and loopy,” he says. My reply — ‘You’ve been married to me HOW LONG and you STILL cannot read my writing?” MEN!

    No offense to those who are men. I LOVE men, and always will, but shouldn’t my husband — the man who has been married to me for ALL OF MY LIFE — wouldn’t you think he could read my writing? Maybe that is why when I write a personal letter to my dearest high school friend, Charlotte, it is typed. I do sign it with a personal closing, but if my handwriting is as ‘curly and loopy’ as my husband says — I say — so be it! I am a writer. A writer — WRITES!

    Earlier, I read an article about writer’s platforms. Feeling a bit inspired, I decided I might need to write something on my blog again. Lately, I’ve only written on my blog about once weekly. As a writer, I’ve been negligent with marketing myself, since the demands and deadlines of a writer have dictated what I do, and I’ve allowed the clutter of my desk to discourage me.

    Now, I have a new goal I must achieve, starting within two weeks. I must market myself and find an agent. I have seven screenplays, sitting in file cabinets. Years ago, I got discouraged with rejections and quit marketing screenplays for a while. Now, within two weeks, I will begin the search for an agent. Two, if not three, of my screenplays won awards, but I assure you, they cannot get optioned filed in a cabinet.

    Looks like I have much to do — now, if only the cobwebs of my brain would close, so I could sleep.

    Have a great week, readers. I look forward to reading your comments and thoughts!

  • Fire in Georgetown, SC


    http://www.gtowntimes.com/local/Fire-in-Georgetown–History-up-in-flames

    I awoke to the morning news — breaking news about a fire in Downtown Georgetown, SC, along Front Street. Reportedly, several buildings are completely destroyed. Many of these buildings were historical, some dating back to the early Twentieth Century. There is a historical clock standing, The Clock Tower, and reportedly, it is still standing. Every time I have toured Georgetown, I always look for this tower. It is a great landmark, making for interesting photography and a few good memories.

    Details of the fire are a bit sketchy now but I thought my readers might like to know my thoughts about Georgetown, SC.

    I toured Georgetown for the first time after marrying my husband. Walking along the sidewalks of downtown, I inhaled a strange odor – a combination of odors so strong I could not describe. When I asked about the odor, my husband laughed. “Oh, that’s the Georgetown Steel Mill and the Paper Mill. Smells great, doesn’t it.”

    “Hardly. It stinks!”

    Continuing our walk, I found Georgetown to be unique with wide sidewalks, but not much business, at that time. Holding hands and laughing, my husband shared a few memories of his childhood in Georgetown. As a writer, I’ve written about Georgetown numerous times and I have toured the area, falling in love with the waterfront, the quaint, quirky downtown area, especially the many local shops offering unique items. One particular area I love is the Strand Theater on Front Street and there are many restaurants around. Georgetown is a nice little place to make a day trip to, especially if you are within Myrtle Beach or Charleston; however, after hearing about the fire, it might not be a good idea to visit downtown Georgetown at the moment [September 25, 2013].

    I will keep you posted about the fire in Georgetown. My thoughts and prayers are with the many merchants, and the locals within Georgetown. My husband has family that live nearby, so I am hoping they are fine. For now, let us pray for safety for the firefighters, merchants, residents, and all within the sweet little town that some people describe as a smelly town. Years ago, it did have a significant odor, due to pollution from the factories, but now, the smell isn’t as pungent.

    I suppose I will have to make a day trip — to Georgetown real soon — just to take photographs and reminisce about this quaint little sea-side town with smells, foods, and residents that love Georgetown. Today, history is being made – along with much of the history that is destroyed from the fires. It is such a shame that during an important time of revitalization, a fire is quickly destroying the history of this sweet little fishing community known as Georgetown, SC.

    Let us hope the fire will not destroy the revitalization and charm of Georgetown, a city reminiscent and charming, filled with Southern hospitality and most of the time, a pleasant scent.

  • Lightning, The Roaring Thunders – And Inner Storms for Charleston, SC And A Child of the Chattahoochee


    Storming outside — reminding me of the many storms I have endured, especially as a child. Still, these storms, especially when I see lightning, take me back to the sadness and pain I hid away for much too long. Perhaps the torrential rains are tears – the tears I cried as a child, then — refused to cry as an adult. Today is a day to go on record…effective next week, I will start a new challenge…

    This is my announcement to my fans, readers, and close friends. Many of you know how long I have played with the story idea I started many years ago. Now, I have convinced myself it is time — time for me to finish “Chattahoochee Child.”

    The story is a complicated one that at first, I had no concept of what it should be about. I kept changing it, basing it on life in the Chattahoochee, within the mill village of Bibb City. Nevertheless, after the death of my mother, I realized I have more material, plot points and characters to bring to life.

    And so, effective next Monday, I will set a new goal — to WRITE! I confess, I have not touched “Chattahoochee Child” in months. While reading about writing today, I realize the subjects in the materials I am reading today are written about me! I can so relate to the inner voice and the inner critic. A dialogue keeps playing with my mind, telling me — “You silly girl. You are NOT a writer.” Another critic shouts, “You’re too stupid to be a writer…Stupid is as stupid does…and YOU, are STUPID!”

    Sometimes at night, while fighting sleep, I hear these words, recognizing they are the words I heard as a child – for much too long. The cold, cruel, ridiculing words from my mother’s lips…And now, I know…I must complete this story. I must write it…shout it…scream it, if necessary, because I am a writer!

    Effective Monday, August 19, 2013, I will write 500 words daily – based on five working days. My goal is to complete “Chattahoochee Child” within six months and begin the marketing aspect of getting this story published.

    I am sharing this with my reading public to force me to complete this story. I must confront my inner critics, inner voices and WRITE!

  • George Zimmerman — Not Guilty


    Dearest Readers:

    I confess to all of you, I did not glue myself to the George Zimmerman trial. After listening to the case of Casey Anthony, I promised myself I would not sit and watch those types of cases again, nor would I listen to another “not guilty” verdict.

    When I heard the story about Trayvon Martin, his murder and the story of George Zimmerman, I decided I had a bit too many compassionate thoughts about this case and it was in my best interest NOT to listen to it, especially after I discovered that the jurors were six white females. As a juror on a few cases in Charleston, SC, I could not imagine how the attorneys chose only white females. Didn’t they need a male and one or two jurors of a different color? Please understand, I am not a racist. I am a white female, but that description of me does not make me a racist. Growing up in the deep South during the Civil Rights Movement, I chose not to be a racist. I believed in the goodness of people, not the color of skin. As a mother, I struggled with this case. The life was taken away of a seventeen-year-old young black man, and I do refer to him as a young man because he was. No, I did not Google Trayvon Martin, to see if he had a criminal record, and I did not Google George Zimmerman. There was enough on the news about him to last for his lifetime.

    Nevertheless, there was a life taken during the questionable behavior of George Zimmerman. In my neighborhood, I am a Crime Watch volunteer. I feel blessed that I’ve never had to call 911 – yet, and I pray that in my neighborhood that will continue. I have seen kids, the age of Trayvon Martin, roaming the neighborhood at times…these kids were mostly white, and I recognized them, so I told them they needed to go home, not to get into something that could lead to trouble and heartache for their parents. I ask myself, what would I do in that situation? I have an answer. There was an occasion a few years ago where I heard sirens and noise. My dogs were barking, warning me that something was happening within my community. When the sirens got closer, I heard the gate to my back yard slam hard so, I opened the back door. Much to my horror, there was a police officer next to the back gate, grabbing a bag and a ‘suspect’ — a Latino in my yard. I was told to get back inside. For a few minutes, I was horrified, but the police had the suspect, so I prayed that I would be safe. I phoned the police dispatcher. When she realized, I lived at the premises, she shared the story that a Latino suspect had stolen something and the police were arresting him. I locked the back door. Would I have done something differently if the suspect had entered my home? The back door, at the time, was unlocked. It isn’t unlocked now. And, I have asked myself repeatedly just why George Zimmerman pulled a weapon. Was it necessary to take the life of Trayvon Martin? If he had to shoot, to preserve his own life, why couldn’t he shoot him in a different part of the body? I am not an advocate for guns, so maybe I am not the right person to ask that question, but, as a mother — I cannot imagine losing your child.

    I understand there was some discussion during the case about child abuse. Perhaps one of the attorneys was playing the ‘child abuse’ card, but this case was NOT about child abuse…it was about murder…

    Now, George Zimmerman is a free man. His freedom has come at a price. I doubt he will ever have FREEDOM. His name is probably mentioned in every household in America. I certainly know the case was a discussion every where I went. I stated on several occasions that I did not believe he would be found guilty.

    “Why would you say that?”

    “I’ve been on several cases within the court systems of South Carolina. I am one of the jurors that takes lots of notes and when we go into deliberation, I am one who truly voices her opinions about the case.”

    Fortunately, I do not live in Sanford, Florida. I was blessed not to be on this case. My heart breaks for the Martin family, and I am curious as to how many jurors will become rich, just from their stories. When the books and movies are scheduled, I do not believe I will purchase, read, or watch. I’ve heard the name George Zimmerman enough. He’s a celebrity of sorts. Personally, I would like him to just fade away into the distance now, and live his life quietly, but I truly doubt that will happen. Just the name “George Zimmerman” gets a reaction.

    I haven’t listened to the reactions this morning, and I am hopeful that nothing happens due to the ending of the trial and the words, “Not guilty.”

    I said he would be found Not Guilty…basing my beliefs similar to the O. J. Simpson case, and we all know he was found “Not guilty…” but inside of my heart, as I think of Trayvon Martin, and I put myself into the life of a young seventeen-year-old, I believe the situation could be handled a different way. Didn’t the dispatcher of 911 tell Zimmerman not to follow him?

    As for George Zimmerman, the free man, I cannot help thinking about how he sleeps at night. Will he continue to be a volunteer for crime? I hope not. I do know he has gained a considerable amount of weight during this trial. Perhaps the stress was a bit much…just think of the Martin Family. They lost a son. Was he innocent? Why was he walking in the neighborhood? I’ve heard these questions over and over again. Why was he wearing a hoodie? The answers — he lived in the neighborhood…it was raining… I do not believe he deserved to die.

    Was this a racist situation? In my opinion, I haven’t followed the entire story to answer that question, but I do know that even in the Twenty-first century, racism still exists.

    I have no comments for the Trayvon Martin family because I do not understand what they must be experiencing now. Grief? As a parent, I try to place myself in their shoes…What it must be like to lose your child, but I cannot relate. I pray they will find closure now, but how — just how does a parent stop grieving over the loss a child?

    George Zimmerman –Not Guilty, I do hope he learned a valuable lesson from this trial, and I hope he will sleep at night and not wander around the neighborhood — looking for trouble — but I doubt it.

  • Antique Shopping — Melissa’s First Shoes


    Last week while running errands, my husband wanted to know if I had additional errands in mind. Occasionally I enjoy walking through antique shops. A few years ago, one of my favorite shops was Hungry Neck Antique Mall, but it closed and now is Trader Joe’s. Driving along Coleman Blvd. in Mt. Pleasant, I’ve noticed a sign for Six Mile Antique Shop. I dropped by once, noticing many, and I do mean many, venues of antiques, trinkets and interesting items. Since I have a birthday this summer, I suggested dropping by Six Mile Antiques, just to see what they had. I’m interested in an antique mantel clock, one that chimes.

    Years ago, I considered shopping in an antique mall a form of shopping for junk. Not anymore. Walking along the booths, my mind grew curious. To many people, antiques are simply junk that no one wanted anymore; however, to someone who appreciates treasures from years past, ‘junk’ and antiques are a silent story form that writers cherish. I glanced at tiny trinkets, glassware, silver, plates, cups, pictures and art. One person’s junk is another person’s treasure. How I wish I had the room, or the financial freedom to purchase so many of these treasures.

    Shopping at an antique mall takes me back to the history of my grandparents, maternal and paternal. My mother’s parents I knew well, since I lived with them as a teenager. Grandma had many trinkets I loved, especially her ‘what not’ shelves, placed gently in the corner by the front door. Every Saturday, I polished it, removing the ceramic ladies, dressed in antebellum Southern attire, shining them with a toothbrush to keep them clean. Then, I polished the wood, hoping that someday I would have the what not shelves in my home — in memory of Grandma. Never did I get them, after her death.

    My paternal grandmother had many antiques. Tiffany lamps, statues, porcelain vases, china, depression glass and silver. I did not have the pleasure to get to know my Dad’s mother well, since our family situation was dreadful. After her death, I managed to smuggle three pieces of depression glass, and a few pieces of silverware, dating back to the 1800’s. My mother busied herself with placing these inherited items into boxes, in route to the pawn and antique shops. When she turned to answer the phone, I found several items and rushed to my bedroom with them. Today, I still have those items. After my dad died, I kept his secretary desk that has been in his family since the early 1900’s and a beautiful wooden library table. These cherishable pieces have taught me to appreciate antiques.

    Leaving my IPhone in the car, I walked along more booths, following the entrances to additional interesting areas. Glancing at china, cherishable depression glass, which I collect, dolls, jewelry, trinkets, or ‘what nots’ — stopping to look at an interesting pair of baby shoes.

    Remembering when my son was little, there was a scuffed, well used white pair of baby shoes. The price was $18.00. I still had my son’s first baby shoes, somewhere, boxed up for preservation. I picked up the scuffed shoes. The leather was soft from little baby steps moving, bumping, falling, stumbling, and finally, walking, taking that first little baby step to independence. I turned the shoes over. Written in blue ink were the words, “Melissa’s First Shoes.”

    The wheels of my curiosity began to race. Who is Melissa? Is she someone local? And why did someone give the shoes away? Why didn’t Melissa keep the shoes? Her first shoes. Melissa. Just who is Melissa?

    My husband’s voice broke my trance. “I found a clock.”

    “I’ll be there in a moment,” I said. “Look at these shoes.”

    “Baby shoes. Who cares!”

    “They’re Melissa’s baby shoes.”

    “Whatever. Are you interested in seeing the clock?”

    Hastily, I followed my husband. The clock is a steeple clock that chimes at the hour. It is beautiful. We tested it to make certain it worked and after a few minutes of bartering, we purchased the clock, for my birthday.

    While boxing the clock, I went back to look at Melissa’s Baby Shoes once more. I showed them to the clerk. “Do you know anything about these shoes?” I asked.

    “No…but look how scuffed they are.”

    “Yes. Melissa obviously took her first steps to independence in these precious shoes. Someone actually took the time to write on the back of them, ‘Melissa’s Baby Shoes.’ Her first shoes. Why would someone give them away?”

    The attractive, mature woman glanced at the back of the shoes, smiled and nodded.

    “Poor Melissa.”

    Thinking about those shoes and the name, Melissa, this week my curiosity continues. Someone actually cared enough to scribble, “Melissa’s Baby Shoes,” in blue ink on the bottom of the shoes. Now, those historical shoes rest on a shelf, in an antique shop. Where is Melissa? What happened to her, and why didn’t she, or a family member, keep those shoes, in her memory? Why would someone take the time to scribble her name on the bottom of her shoes — in memory of ‘Melissa’s first steps,’ only to have the shoes end up on a shelf, in an antique store?

    Perhaps the title, “Melissa’s Baby Shoes,” is a metaphor for me, teaching me that to many shoppers, items in an antique shop are junk; but for me, these items are historical trinkets, taken from the life and memory of someone. Perhaps a clock, such as the steeple clock now sitting on my mantel, was a clock that a family had in their home for many years. Now, it will reside in my home, chiming on the hour, and I will cherish this clock for the rest of my life.

    Still, the inscription, “Melissa’s Baby Shoes,” plays in my mind. Perhaps today Melissa is grown, with a family of her own. The shoes did not have a date, so my imagination can create a story about Melissa. Maybe she’s a dancer. Maybe she is someone, like me, who had precious items from her childhood tossed away, because no one cared. But for Melissa, I believe that someone did care enough to write “Melissa’s Baby Shoes” on the bottom, perhaps to remember Melissa and her first baby steps. Her first, unstable, but steady steps into the future. Maybe today, someone suffers from Alzheimer’s, forgetting the significance of Melissa’s first steps. I’d like to believe that Melissa was cherished enough to have the significant first steps of her childhood recorded in history, for others to know. Those tiny white shoes, with all the scuff marks and indentations of a child’s first steps will remain for someone to treasure. Melissa’s Baby Steps. So precious. So significant. Baby steps, leading to independence and freedom. Someone loved Melissa enough to preserve these moments. I hope Melissa’s Baby Shoes find a proper home. Melissa, if you are looking for your first shoes, contact me and I will be happy to share, “Melissa’s First Baby Shoes.”

  • Happy Fourth of July, America’s Independence Day!


    Dearest Readers,

    Happy Fourth of July…America’s Independence Day! Today, America will celebrate this tradition by grilling burgers, drinking beer, and other alcoholic beverages, because it is a tradition. Many will overeat, or gorge themselves with unhealthy foods and such. While it is true, I will celebrate, I will be careful what I intake, because, as you all know, I am actively involved with my Weight Watchers.

    Today America celebrates our freedoms. While it is a true statement that many of our freedoms are questionable…negotiable…and…a bit controversial, we do have freedom to do what we choose. Let us hope we make the right decisions on this date, and every day.

    I worry about our country, simply because we have a Congress that is hesitant to make decisions..that is — until they recognize that those decisions might affect their life, or pocketbook. Recent actions only prove that statement. Years ago, I respected our Congress…today, I’d love to have a deep discussion with them, to perhaps open their eyes to how their decisions, or LACK of decisions are affecting our country. Nevertheless, today is a day to celebrate while we still have soldiers in war zones, fighting for our freedom. On this date, let us hope we do not lose any troops in Afghanistan, Iran, or other war zones. Let us lift our hands to give thanks to our troops, wherever they are stationed. Let us pray that they will return to our Nation and to recognize that they have the respect and love of our Nation, so unlike our precious Vietnam Veterans had. Let us embrace them while recognizing that they are forever changed and will never be the same soldiers they were before serving in a war zone.

    May God bless our troops and keep them safe on the Fourth of July. May God bring them home safely so we can say “Thank you for your service.” Then, may we embrace them and celebrate their safe return, just like we celebrate on Independence Day. Happy Fourth of July, let freedom ring!

  • Losing, the Weight Watchers Way!


    Dearest Readers:

    Today is always the day — for my ‘weigh in’ with Weight Watchers. How did it go? I suppose since I am totally exhausted from lack of sleep — again — awakening at 2:00am, turning the television on, thankful that I can now record “Designing Women” and the “Golden Girls,” I watch several episodes while Father Time ever so slowly ticks, ticks, tick-tocks, the night away. Last week I did not go to the meeting. I was much too tired due to lack of sleep and another migraine headache. Let’s just say, I’m not a fun person to be around when I have a headache.

    Recognizing that if I do not get myself to the meeting I will have the tendency to slack off, I force myself to get to the meeting. This has been a good week, not just because I anticipated a good weight loss. It’s been a good week because I am working out more often, walking on the Arthur Ravenel, Jr. Bridge and I am using the treadmill. So, this week, life has been good.

    Arriving at the meeting, I hop on the scale. Minus 1.8 pounds this week, and I have finally broken that silly plateau that I was on — for seven months. Those seven months were a true test for me. Was I really determined to stick it out and continue following Weight Watchers?

    The answer is Yes! Even when I didn’t lose, or gained a bit, I kept telling myself —
    This I Do For Me!
    Even If I Gain, I’m Still Following Weight Watchers
    I Am Making New Friends – All to the Credit of Weight Watchers
    Healthy Eating, the Weight Watchers Way is The Only Way!
    Just Move – Walk…Use The Treadmill, Work Out…Simply Because — IT WORKS!

    This week, while cleaning my husband was home. As he watched me doing the household chores, he kept looking at a part of my body – only this time it wasn’t my chest. “You know,” He said, “Your butt is getting smaller!”

    I placed the dust cloth on the table. “You mean, you’ve actually noticed?”

    Coming from him that is truly a compliment. He is quick to look at other women, especially when their booties, or boobs attract his eyes.

    Turning back to the housework while my husband continued to be a couch potato, I was pleased that he noticed, a bit annoyed that he never offered to help with housework. Yes, my husband is from the old school — the Archie Bunker school, I might add!

    No wonder I am such a feminist!

    I have come to terms with the reality and pride of what I am accomplishing with Weight Watchers, and my Thursday morning meetings really start my day (and weekend) off with a bit of strength and newfound confidence! I am proud that I practice a completely new lifestyle now, and I’ve discovered that when I share with others that I am doing Weight Watchers, they are supportive. That was another reality check for me.

    When I joined Weight Watchers, I did not share the news with others. Two weeks after joining, I finally announced it to some friends, and they are always asking me how it is going…am I still doing Weight Watchers…how much have I lost…and does it really help to join Weight Watchers?

    I have had a couple of friends who joined after I did. One lost weight quickly, but then she lost interest. I haven’t asked her if she has put the weight back on. I strive to be sensitive to those issues, recalling the many, many years when I was so sensitive about my weight gains…losses…gains…haven’t we all struggled in that respect. Another friend joined Weight Watchers On Line. At first, she lost quickly, then she stopped. She confessed to me that she had given up and was cancelling her membership.

    Perhaps I persuaded her to go to a meeting. At first, she was apprehensive. “I don’t want others to know how much I weigh.”

    The meetings are confidential. No one can read the scales. You don’t have to be ashamed…we have all been there!

    She went to a meeting, and I do believe she is still going to the meetings. She lives miles away from me, so we don’t get to see each other in person.

    Today, it felt good to return to Weight Watchers after missing last week. Soon, I will tip the scales with a 40 pound weight loss. I’ll be so happy when that day arrives. I will probably meet with the leader then to decide what my goal is. I have a number dancing inside my head, but I’ll not share it — yet! Just know, for me — and perhaps for others, Weight Watchers is truly the key to losing weight and keeping it off. “Weight Watchers, because it works,” Jennifer Hudson says, and for me, I can truly relate to those words. As I watch the pounds, inches and clothing sizes decreasing, I finally gave myself a gift I haven’t shared with anyone.

    Stein Mart recently had a full-length mirror at a special price. All of my life I have wanted a full-length mirror. Each time I thought about buying one, I talked myself out of it, because I had too many bumps on my body…I didn’t want to see myself in a full-length mirror, but this time, I found the courage to buy it. One afternoon while dressing to go to karaoke, I tried a new short skirt on. I looked in the floor-length mirror. Much to my surprise, I heard a voice say, “Girl…you’re looking good!”

    Is that really me in the mirror? For the first time since losing my father in July, 1999, I felt proud of myself and the image looking in the mirror. I cannot wait to reach goal and see the image again!

    For me, Weight Watchers is my new lifestyle change. I am eating healthier now. I actually enjoy fresh fruit again, and I have learned that when I am fulfilled, I stop eating. My husband says I eat like a bird now…compared to his appetite, I suppose that is true.

    Next Thursday is the Fourth of July, Independence Day. Regardless what I eat on that date, I will enjoy every taste of the delicious foods and fruit I eat. Weight Watchers will be closed on that date, and I doubt that I will attend a different meeting. I’ve gotten to know the people at our meeting and I enjoy chatting with them. Who cares if I don’t attend a meeting next week. I’ll still be loyal to Weight Watchers.

    “Why?”

    Simple…because Weight Watchers Works, for me…and for millions! And now, I’m off to attempt a nap. If sleep fails to captivate me, I’ll just hop on the treadmill, and fight with my mini-Schnauzer, Hank. He totally believes the treadmill is his big toy.

    Enjoy your week, readers and remember — “Weight Watchers, because it works.”

  • So…You’ve Got an Opinion — Paula Deen


    Dearest Readers:

    This has truly been a melancholic week for me, first with the loss of a classmate and friend, Becki Vinson Matthews. Circular thinking has danced inside of my head, remembering how happy, energetic and full of life Becki was at our class reunion in April. Gone too soon, much too soon. I confess, I do have a difficult time with death. One moment we are laughing with a friend, making plans to ‘do lunch or shopping,’ only to awaken to the reality that the friend is no longer with us. Poof. In the blink of an eye…gone too soon.

    Yesterday, while listening to the morning news, I hear about Paula Deen. “What’s going on with Paula Deen now?” I ask, clicking on Google to read. By now almost everyone has an opinion about Paula Deen and her dreadful comments. Some of the reports on the Internet expressed that Deen said the N-word in 1986. Of course, I am not a believer of “if it’s on the Internet, it must be true.” Everyone can post things on the Internet, and sometimes they are hurtful and damaging, especially to a celebrity; nevertheless, I believe that IF you are a celebrity, you must conduct yourself in a respectful, moralistic manner. Celebrity status takes a while to achieve, and when reached, there must be a commitment to treat the public with respect and decency, not with disrespect.

    If you are one of my regular readers, you understand I grew up in the South, during a time when separation and segregation existed. I recall seeing two water fountains and separate entrances in many locations in the State of Georgia. Once, when I was extremely thirsty, I rushed towards the “colored” fountain. Quickly, my grandmother grabbed my hand, moving me back to the line. “But, I’m thirsty and don’t want to wait in line…”

    Grandma was persistent, so I reluctantly went to the other line. Later, I wanted an answer to the question still rushing in my mind. “Grandma, why couldn’t I drink water from the ‘colored’ fountain?”

    “You never mind…you just follow the rules and stand in the proper line.”

    “Rules are made to be broken,” I whispered, under my breath.

    So began my life in a racially separated, but definitely not equal mill town. Bibb City was a lovely little mill village in Columbus, Georgia. A tiny town where everyone knew everything! Many times people shared with my grandfather that I was questioning things. I didn’t understand how the mill workers could hire beautiful black women to clean their homes, but the black men who worked in maintenance could not live in Bibb City with their families, simply because — they were black. Many of the people did not describe them as black, African-American and such. They used the “N” word in a tone and demeanor that left me cringing.

    On one occasion I stood firm. I was a little child, but I could still place my hands on hips and share in the belief that I had…that we are all created equal, regardless of our skin color. After all, I believed that God was representative of all of the colors of the rainbow – not white!

    During one summer while I stayed with my grandparents in Bibb City, I was ‘caught — playing with that little colored girl — the one who cleans the houses in Bibb City…’ Shameful, wasn’t it! There I was, playing with someone who did not say the “N” word and did not care about the color of skin. We had so much in common, until that afternoon when my papa came home from his shift at the Bibb Mill. He called me into the house and I knew I was in BIG TROUBLE this time. Papa had a switch waiting for me. When I walked inside, he swatted that switch on my bare legs, telling me over and over again that I had shamed him again. “You are not to play with that colored girl again…ever…not while you’re in my house.”

    My leg was bleeding. I rushed outside, screaming, crying, refusing to understand what I had done that was so bad. Didn’t Papa want me to have friends…good “Christian” friends?

    Flash forward many years later. America has grown to accept that everyone is equal. OK, we still need work on accepting that women are equal, and it is my belief that all men AND WOMEN are CREATED EQUAL, regardless of the color of skin.

    We have an African-American President. Women and blacks are in Congress, the Senate, and South Carolina actually elected a woman for Governor — Governor Haley. That was a total surprise to me, and I admit, she appears to be strong-minded and a good governor. Living in South Carolina, and growing up in the South, I still hear people whispering about the color of skin, and how ‘women belong in the home, taking care of the children.’ In many ways, the South is still stuck in 1950! Yes, I hear people in the South say the “N” word. Many times I have stepped up, reminding them that we are all equal, regardless of the color of our skin. We should not judge others, just because their genes or skin colors are different from ours.

    I recall on one occasion when I was in high school. I had joined the USO group and was active. The soldiers at Fort Benning in Columbus visited our events on weekends. I was broken-hearted from a recent engagement break up so I decided I could heal my wounds by dancing. My weekends were spent at the dances at the USO. On one occasion, two black soldiers asked me to dance. The GSO would not permit black girls to join, but they were quick to allow soldiers, of all colors, to attend the dances.

    I danced a slow dance with both soldiers. Never did we move together bonded tightly as one. Their hands were in their proper places. Never did they make a play for me.

    After dancing, the President of the USO tapped me on the shoulder. “Follow me to my office, please,” he said. “I need to speak with you.”

    Reluctantly, I followed him. He closed the door. “We do not allow our girls to dance with the black soldiers. Don’t do it again!”

    I shook my head. “What?” I shrieked. “You’re telling me that it’s OK for you to take their money, but as a white girl, I cannot dance with them? They can fight our wars in Vietnam, but a white girl and a black soldier who is brave and ready to fight for our country and treats me respectfully — you are forbidding me to dance with them?”

    “That’s not the way I would put it, but yes. I forbid you to dance with the black soldiers ever again!”

    I burst into tears…so stern and cold, just like my grandfather and mother. I rushed out of the room. Five soldiers were standing near the doorway. I knew every one of them. I suppose they knew that I was in trouble. I rushed by, opened the front door and left. I called my mother at the pay phone.

    Someone tapped me on the shoulder, dressed in military uniform. “What happened in there,” Larry asked.

    “Nothing.”

    “I can see it on your face. Did they tell you that you cannot dance with a black soldier?”

    “How did you know? It’s not right,” I said, wiping my tears. “They can go off to fight our wars and we cannot dance with them. You know they don’t allow black girls to join, but they certainly don’t mind collecting a black soldier’s money.”

    My mother arrived and I left.

    Days later I had made the decision to resign from the GSO girls. Larry phoned me at home, telling me that he and five of the soldiers had met with the President. “You’ll be getting a phone call from him this week.”

    “Why? I don’t want to talk to him.”

    “They’ve changed the policy and they are not accepting your resignation.”

    Sometimes being an advocate has just rewards, even at the age of seventeen!

    Now, it is 2013, and we still hear people being so judgmental and prejudice. One would think our world, along with the citizens, would not be prejudice. No longer do we see ‘colored’ written on water fountains or entrances. No longer are blacks required to ‘move to the back of the bus.’ We have Rosa Parks to thank for her courage to stand alone and be heard.

    As for Paula Deen? I lost respect in her when she announced she was Diabetic. She was still cooking with all of that butter, and sugar and such fattening ingredients. I quit watching her show. My belief is we must step forward to be an example, and she was not.

    Now, I hear that Food Network has cancelled her contract…not renewing her contract…http://www.cbsnews.com/8301-207_162-57590532/paula-deens-food-network-contract-wont-be-renewed/

    Much of this controversy occurred after Paula Deen flew to New York to appear on the Today Show, only to cancel due to ‘exhaustion.’ Please, Paula Deen and her staff, do you actually believe America is naive enough to believe that?

    Perhaps Paula Deen has simply forgotten where she came from and how she became a star, all to the credit of the Food Network.

    Yes, she made a video with an ‘apology.’ I’m not believing it at all. Last night I unsubscribed from her e-mail newsletters. I suppose I am taking a stand to vocalize that we in America need to stop the segregation we are still living in many ways. We must recognize that while it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a country to fight bigotry, racism, segregation, and downright hatred.

    This week was a reminder to me that life is short. Today, we awaken to life. Let us all pay our life forward, to give back to those who we might have judged, ridiculed or hurt. We must not back away or criticize simply due to the color of skin. I’ve had many friends in my lifetime who are black, Latino, or gay. All different but precious. I still cherish each and every one of them. Life is to be lived in the fullest every day. Let us conduct ourselves in a manner where we can look in the mirror in the morning, smile and look into who we truly are. Don’t let us judge, just because we are different, or our skin color is of a different color.

    As for Paula Deen? She has a lot to learn about living her life as a celebrity!