Barbie Perkins-Cooper, Author

Category: Uncategorized

  • In Memory of Walter W. Perkins, My Father — Mr. Sandpiper 1998


    Dearest Readers:

    Exactly 21 years ago today, Tuesday, July 6, 1999, I lost my father. Rushing to Sandpiper Convalescent Center in the late afternoon, I was pleased to show him his checkbook. He will be so proud of me to know he did not have to ask for his checkbook. Today, I have it balanced and ready for him.

    Parking at the side entrance, I grabbed my bag and rushed inside. It was dinner time at the center so I knew Dad and Dudley would be in their room eating dinner. Dudley was weak. He could not move his arms properly due to Multiple Sclerosis, so a nurse would be feeding him. As for Dad, he would be sitting on the side of his bed, eating. The umbilical cord feeding tube still attached to his body, although not in use. Dad insisted on eating food, not something dripping into his stomach for nutrition. His doctors had told him if he eats food, he will aspirate it and choke to death. “I’ll take that chance,” he said. “After all, most of my independence is gone. I want to eat, and I WILL EAT!”

    Walking carefully along the path to my dad’s room, I knew it was only a matter of time before Dad would breathe his last breath. Medical professionals told me to ‘be prepared.’ To which I responded: Just how can I be prepared? I’ve done everything I’m supposed to do. I don’t want to lose him, but I know soon this nasty, horrifying esophageal cancer will take him away.

    Dad was 84 years old. Once a tall, dignified man who sang gospel songs and quoted scriptures from the Holy Bible, no one would suspect during his marriage to my mother, he was an angry man. He and my mother spat words of hatred daily from their lips. Never did I ever hear them share any love for one another, or for me. In the public eye, no one saw the hatred they shared. The volatile fist fights. Shaking. Screaming. I cringe each time I think about the Domestic Abuse I saw so much within my family. At times, I wanted to run away, but where would I go? I stood as the referee — stretching my arms wide to stop their fights. Fortunately, after their divorce, Dad change his demeanor. He hugged me, and once I heard him say: “I love you.” I looked around. Shocked to hear him say those words of affection directly at me.

    Never did I see his anger after their divorce. Now, my Dad was a calm, loving man. So welcoming and kind! As for my mother. She changed — for the worse!

    Strolling along the corridor of the nursing home, I saw residents in wheel chairs, walkers and canes. One wrinkled gently woman with gray hair held a doll baby wrapped in a pink blanket in her lap. I had been warned if her baby slipped from her lap do not assist her. Let a nurse or a CNA (certified nursing assistant) help her. The woman suffered from Alzheimer’s Disease. She remembered a baby girl she had lost years ago. Now, she was caring for her.

    Such a heart breaking scenario just to walk inside a nursing home. The lonely, isolated residents are trapped inside what once was a productive and perhaps happy lifetime. Working hard to build a good life for their families, suddenly left to either be alone, or unable to care for themselves. Now, alone — many never receive family or familiar visitors. I made certain my father was not one of them. I visited daily, even when Dad would shout at me to “leave. I don’t want you here.” The only dates I missed was whenever my acute bronchial asthma left me weak and ill.

    Regardless how cruel he could be as he shouted for me to leave him, I stood firm. Dudley struggled to tell me he was ‘mean’ to me. I laughed. “Dudley, it’s ok. I can take it. He’s my father.”

    I loved him. I wanted to visit with him, to embrace him and his love for one of his four daughters. I was only one. My sister, Dolores, and her family, came to visit regularly from Georgia. The other two sisters were “Too busy. They had lives to live.” How I wish they could see what I saw after we moved him to Charleston. Gone was the hatred. Violence. Shouting, and anger. Replaced by a man who smiled, laughed and told me He loved me. How I cherished hearing those words.

    He welcomed my oldest sister, Dolores, giving her a hug. This was our father. A new man who was struggling to live as esophageal cancer threatened his body.

    Today Dad will be so proud of me. He won’t ask for his checkbook. I’ll give it to him quickly so he can see, his money is safe. I’ve paid the nursing home. I’m not like my mother. I’ll not spend his money.

    Headed towards his door, I met one of the nurses. She was pushing an oxygen tank in the direction of Dad’s room. “Uh-oh.” I said. “That isn’t good for someone.”

    She didn’t answer me. Placing my hand on Dad’s closed door, I noticed her hand met mine. She shook her head no.

    Oh no. Not today. Please God. Not today. I screamed. Someone placed an arm around my waist forcing me to turn away, leading me to a chair.

    Where’s my phone? Oh. I left it in the car. I need to call Phil. He’s on his way home from New York.

    I placed my face in my hands, to cover the heartbreak of my tears. I knew without a shadow of doubt, my father was dying. I could do nothing to stop it. I prayed. Please God. Give me strength to let him go with dignity. I cannot and will not disobey his wishes. Years ago while we dined at a restaurant, Dad looked at an elderly man walking with a walker, struggling to remain upright.

    Dad told me when the time comes, please let me go with dignity. Do not allow them to resuscitate me. Promise me, you’ll let me go with my dignity.

    I looked at the man. His son helped him to move. A tear danced in my eyes. “Dad, I promise.” I touched his hand, squeezing it with loving gestures.

    Moments seemed like hours as I listened to the nurses begging my father to come back. “Mr. Perkins. Mr. Perkins. Breathe. Your daughter is here. Breathe…”

    Someone touched my shoulder. “Barbie, if you say the words, we can bring him back.”

    “No.” I said. “I promised him. He’s a DNR. I cannot let you resuscitate him. Just let him go. He’s at peace. Let him go!”

    “Your husband just landed. He’s on his way here.”

    When Phil arrived, I fell into his arms. A nurse wanted to know if I wanted to say goodbye to my father.

    “Yes,” I muttered.

    I remember walking into the room. Dudley mumbled, “I’m so sorry.” Dudley and I had developed a way to communicate. I walked over to him. Dad’s curtain was pulled so his body would not be seen.

    I patted Dudley’s bare head. “Thank you,” I said, tears pouring from my face. “You were such a great roommate and friend. Truly the odd couple. Thank you.” I kissed him on the forehead. He laughed.

    Dad’s body felt like dry ice. Clammy. Cold, almost frozen to the touch. I kissed his bald head and his cheek. I love you, Dad. I will never forget you. Go in peace to see your family and your identical twin brother Lewis. I love you. I love you and I will miss you, but you will always be in my heart. Always.

    Exactly 21 years ago to the date, July 6, 1999, I recall everything on that date as if it was yesterday. Words cannot describe how much I miss him. His laughter. His Shakespearean, boisterous voice. His singing, and trying to teach me to harmonize and yodel. The compliments he gave me during the holidays. He enjoyed our “fancy dinners” and fun. I focus on the good times. The times he and I traveled to Georgia to see family. The moments he shared with me about how much he missed his identical twin brother, Lewis. Until Lewis’ death, both of them were inseparable.

    Such good memories. Yes, I could focus on the domestic abuse I listened to in fear, serving as the referee, telling both of my parents If you want to hit someone, or hurt someone, just do it to me. Not each other.

    Years ago, Dad and I talked about those times. He hoped I would forgive him. And forgive him, I did. After all, I loved my father. He was the one who gave me strength. He taught me courage, and he always said for me to stand tall and voice my concerns about the world. “Don’t look back on life,” he said. “Move forward!”

    One thing I will always remember is the day he was on TV, being interviewed after he was elected Mr. Sandpiper. The TV announcer asked him if he was a writer. Yes, he was. He was a poet and biographer. He laughed. “No. I’m not the writer in our family. My daughter, Barbara…now she’s the writer!”

    Walter W. Perkins, my father, although today is the 21st year of you leaving this earth, I want you to know, you are still in my heart, even with the tears pouring down my face. I love you and miss you terribly.

    In memory of my father, Walter W. Perkins, December 19, 1914 – July 6, 1999.

  • Equality – Not Racism!


    Dearest Readers:

    I imagine a few of my friends will be totally unhappy with what I might say here, but here goes — I have many opinions I will not share here on social medias regarding the racism issues. I’ve read about the riots in downtown Charleston and many of those rioters were arrested for destroying property, burning police cars, etc. Good! If you destroy property, burn it just because you are angry about the racial issues in America, well you are not alone. I was so pleased when the Confederate flag was removed. I’ve always believed the Confederacy stands for racism. But — there have been Too many situations to share and discuss over and over again. One thing I will say to my friends who have said to me, “well if you ain’t happy with Confederacy, then why don’t you move?”

    I laugh! Let me just say, this is the United States of America. Lately, we are the divided States of America. I believe we need equality, hopefully to end the racism angers.

    To those of you who are not aware, the South, especially Georgia and South Carolina, are managed by a system called the “Good ole Boys!”

    Those Good ole Boys do not like it whenever someone disagrees. They want us to agree with them. Recently I saw the Good ole boys system in the works when I filed a complaint of sexual harassment and threats to my life at one of those ‘private good ole boys’ organizations. After doing all I could to get the situation resolved, I was told to have a ‘mediation’. Agreeing to this was my mistake.

    At the mediation, I was belittled, degraded, and made to feel weak, especially after the person who touched me where he shouldn’t, was allowed to verbally abuse me during the ‘mediation.’ Never did anyone with any authority reprimand him! I was told to let this end tonight. After all, “ending this is good for the order….”

    To those of you who’ve never been treated this way, you are fortunate! Seeing how the ‘good ole boys’ are allowed to do things for the ‘good of the order,’ is such an antiquated way to operate. I lost respect for this ‘good ole boys club’ that night!

    I’ve held my head high. No, I didn’t fight it anymore. I was exhausted. I had the bulk of gossip because the issues were shared. I was told it would be confidential. It wasn’t! Many times, I had women approach me, asking my name. Then, quickly they walked away! No doubt, they were only a portion of the gossip clique. I refused to allow them to intimidate me. Trust me, if this situation ever happens to me again, I will call law enforcement. I will not go quietly into the night!

    This is only one example of the ‘good ole boys’ club operation! They cover each other and don’t care when someone files a complaint that could embarrass them.

    And now, here in Charleston, we have protests. Demands to ‘take it down,’ including the John Calhoun statue. I’m certain others will be removed too. Where will they go? Personally, I don’t care. I think it’s time for us to move forward — not look back.

    Many historical issues are embarrassing. Yes, I’m from the South, but I’ve never been proud of the Civil War. Slavery. How women were treated. We were told we couldn’t vote. What women should do is – and I’ve heard this TOO MANY TIMES – “Women should stay at home. That’s where decent women belong. They shouldn’t complain. After all, men will take care of us, IF we OBEY them. We must keep the house. Have the babies, and keep our mouths shut!”

    Once, I heard my husband actually say of those statements to me. Believe me, the Julia Sugarbaker and the Women’s Suffrage Movement kicked in to change his tune. I thank God I wasn’t born during the 1900’s time. I’m certain some ‘good ole boy’ would have done something to ‘shut me up!’

    Incidentally, if you do not know about the women’s suffrage movement I would like to share a bit about the women’s suffrage movement, ‘a decades-long fight to win the right to vote for women in the United States. It took activists and reformers nearly 100 years to win that right!’

    Yes, 100 years! The 19th Amendment to the United States Constitution granted women in America the right to vote, a right known as women’s suffrage, and was ratified on August 18, 1920, ending almost a century of protest.’

    Nevertheless, women still have to stand up and ask why when we see the lack of equality we still have. I’ve had friends ask me why I’m “still a feminist.”

    Trust me. I will never stand down or shut my mouth! My father encouraged me to stand up and voice my concerns. Yes. I. Am. A. Woman! And damned proud of it!

    And now, I shall get off of my soapbox and get busy with a few things I must do — for me!

  • The Time is Now — Equality For All!


    Dearest Readers:

    Lately, every time I open a newspaper to read the local and world news, EVERY PAGE has something pertaining to the recent movements in the USA. For example — events for blacks. Events and discussions regarding abolishing law enforcement. Events. Subjects….While I understand the black community is finally having a voice regarding their recent movements, actions from law enforcement, protests and riots, I am curious. Maybe a bit angry too, but it isn’t an anger where I will go to the property or event and shoot into the audience. I’m not angry at the black communities. My anger is the type of emotion where I ask why. Why? WHY?

    Why has it taken so long for the black communities to be heard? Why has the USA (especially the South) always chosen to sweep these issues under the rug? Why is it always an issue of: “he was black. She was black.” And so on???

    Why? Isn’t it past the time to roll up the rug where these subjects of racism have been swept. I say it is too little too late.

    Understand, I am not a racist. I am the one who stood tall when, as a teenager, I could not dance with ‘black soldiers.’ I didn’t understand. I was ridiculed and told if I returned to the USO, I must tell the ‘black soldiers’ no!

    WHAT??? I questioned the President of the USO organization. After dancing with an amazingly courteous ‘black soldier’ the President tapped me on the shoulder. He requested that I meet him in his office. So, being the courteous young lady I was (and still am — up to a point) I knocked on his door. He sat behind his desk. I sat in a chair.

    Clearing his throat he said: “It’s come to my attention that you were dancing with a ‘black soldier.’ ” He coughed.

    I sat up taller. Perplexed.

    “I danced with a soldier. He asked me to dance. I’ve been told black girls are not permitted to join the USO. I’ve never seen a black girl here. He wanted to dance. What’s the problem here?”

    He cleared his throat. “He’s black. White girls in the South never dance with a black.”

    I exhaled a deep breath. “Well. I did. I don’t see a problem. This gentleman who is a soldier is black. He wanted to dance. He conducted himself as a gentleman soldier. Let me get this straight? It is OK for him to fight for our country. And it’s OK for him to pay the five dollar fee to attend the dance; however, if he wants to dance, just who should he ask?”

    “We do not allow white girls to dance with a black soldier. This is the deep South. We don’t allow this. Not while I’m the President here. You’ve disgraced us.”

    I sat quietly for a moment. “Disgraced you? I disgraced No One! All I did was dance! And the dance wasn’t a dirty dance, nor did he get fresh with me.”

    I did not like the descriptions of ‘black soldier’ or ‘white girl,’ but I was alone in his office defending my actions which shouldn’t need defending. By now, I was shaking.

    “I never want to watch you dancing with a ‘black soldier’ again. Do you understand?”

    I exhaled a long breath. “Then don’t watch me,” I said. “I will not say no to dancing with anyone.”

    I excused myself. My hands were shaking like a leaf. Still, I didn’t understand what I did wrong. Little did I know what was happening outside of his office.

    When I left, I went to get my handbag. I was leaving. Three soldiers (all white) followed me. They saw everything, they said. The dancing with the soldier. How he held me gently and respectfully. And they watched me being called into the President’s office after the music ended.

    Without a doubt, they knew what happened. Larry, a soldier from Louisiana, spoke up: “What was the problem?” He asked. “Are you in trouble?”

    I burst into tears, rushing out of the dance I said, “I’m all right.”

    Larry knew me better! He and the other soldiers standing next to him followed me outside. “Did he reprimand you for dancing with Scott?”

    Wiping tears from my eyes, I said Yes. “How did you know?”

    “Don’t you worry. You’ve got lots of friends here who respect you. We know you will not go out with us. We’ll take care of this.”

    The next afternoon, Larry phoned me, letting me know I would be getting a phone call from the President of the USO. Four soldiers met with him after I left. All of them were white, not that it mattered to me.

    “Let’s just say, we demanded the President to make a few changes!”

    I was shocked. Never have I had someone stand up for me after I asked why. I suppose I’ve always had the courage to stand up, never anticipating someone else would back my beliefs. Most people simply walk away. They ‘don’t want to get involved.’

    I lost respect for the USO and their dances after that issue. The President phoned me, wanting me to return. He said I had lots of friends there. Little did he know I heard about the soldiers meeting with him. I attended a few more dances and at one of the dances, I met my husband. Shameful, aren’t I!

    Over the years, I’ve stood tall for other issues regarding racism. While I do not understand why the protests happening on a daily basis become violent riots, I do believe in the freedom we in America have to voice our opinions. To those who’ve told me to simply walk away, I refuse. I find a way for my voice to be heard. I’ve written letters to my Congress, Mayors and the President. Happy to say, all of those letters received a reply. Not that it did anything to help the situations, but my voice was heard.

    Whenever I’ve seen a man and woman in a domestic situation, I do not turn my head to look away. I speak up! This drives my husband a bit nuts, wondering just when I’ll ‘learn to keep my mouth shut.’

    I suppose the answer to that comment is a simple – when I die!

    I’ve seen changes happen, and I’ve held my head high while knowing we in America should be equal. During the feminist movement, I worked to vocalize my beliefs and when I asked a former employer why a guy doing the same job as I was performing was being paid more, the employer said: “He has a family to care for.”

    My fingers tightened along with my body. “And so do I!”

    Equality, that is truly what these movements are about. We want equality.

    Incidentally, if you’re wondering if I’ve been a part of the protests, I will answer a big NO. For me, I find my strength in writing what I believe. I still remember what I felt like on the evening when I ‘disgraced the USO while dancing with a ‘black soldier.’

    Never did I imagine a group of soldiers watched in awe what was happening after I was called into the President’s office. Never did I expect anyone to back me. I simply did not see an issue. I was dancing gracefully with a soldier, not disgracing ANYONE!

    Sometimes I am curious if the guy I danced with ever thinks about that night in Columbus, Georgia. The night I recognized racism is not about the color of skin. Racism is about people. Beliefs. And most of all, equality.

    I was hopeful all of these issues would be put to rest; nevertheless, it is now the year of 2020. The year of anger. The year of Corona virus quarantine. The year of fear that we are losing our rights if we don’t fight. The year of change. 2020 is a year of burning buildings. Shootings. Police brutality. Demolishing restaurants, and so much more. I pray nightly 2020 will become a year where we are all able to stand tall and see change in ourselves and our communities. Like the cliche says: “We are all in this together,” referring to the Corona Virus. I say: “Really? Are we all in this together?”

    The subjects I read about in the newspaper shares stories of Black Lives Matter. Yes. That is true; however, I truly believe ALL LIVES MATTER. Yes, it is time to change some things within law enforcement. It is time to acknowledge our history records reveal too much about leaders who really did not deserve to become leaders, or monuments. It is time for all of us to pray and to learn we must improve our beliefs. Our lives. We must change what we learned in church and our communities. We need to love one another. We need EQUALITY!

    The time is now. Equality. Respect. Dignity. Pride. And most of all to believe not only do BLACK LIVES MATTER. ALL LIVES MATTER!

  • Compression Fracture – The Worst Pain — EVER!


    Dearest Readers:

    Good morning, or perhaps I should also say, Good afternoon! If you are a regular fan of my blog, you might remember during the morning of our move from suburbia to the country — December 23, 2019 — I fell off a three step ladder, fracturing my back. The pain I’ve endured is truly indescribable! At times, my back pain felt as if a train was rushing along the left side of my spine in such a hurry I could scream. Another description would be imagine an electrical fire inside your body, storms of electricity firing away, creating the most excruciating burning pain you could ever imagine. Labor pain is just a cramp compared to back fractures. Finally, on December 27, I asked Phil to please take me to ER or Doctor’s Care.

    At Doctor’s Care, x-rays were taken. The x-ray tech wanted me to twist and turn into positions I felt were almost impossible to tolerate. I moaned and groaned, and prayed. Somehow I knew my back was seriously injured. When the physicians assistant entered the exam room, she informed me I had a compression fracture of the Lumbar, L-1. She encouraged me to rest and not lift anything heavy. (She was too late. While moving, I carried heavy boxes while screaming in pain.) She referred me to a spine specialist.

    For a couple of weeks, I rested on the couch. Lumbar pillows tucked beside the aching back helped a bit. Still, the pain was so unbearable, when Phil was at work, I cried. Sometimes like a baby. I tried to unpack, attempting to bend down. Every time, I screamed in pain. I still have many boxes to unpack. All. In. Time.

    In January, 2020, I went to a spinal surgeon. All he wanted to discuss was spinal surgery. I had researched spinal surgery of L-1. The information I read on Web MD, and Mayo Clinic horrified me. I refused to discuss or schedule spinal surgery. The surgeon referred me to a back brace specialist.

    Later that afternoon, I was fitted for a back brace. Tightly hugging my broken spine, the pain decreased just a bit. I was prescribed Ibuprofen, when needed. The specialist said I would need to wear the back brace every day for at least three months.

    Today is June 18, 2020. In five days, my compression fracture will be a six-month recovery period. On that date, I have scheduled a bone density test. Still, I am having pain; however, I am getting physical therapy now. I must say, it appears to be working!

    Yesterday at PT, I decided to put my back to the test. I rode a stationary exercise bike for 10 minutes as fast as my legs would allow. Yes, it hurt. I’m determined to work this pain away! For one hour, my back was massaged, twisted into exercises including legs, sides and back. Over this time frame my back felt better. The knots located by L-1 disappeared!

    Moments ago, I made an appointment for my bone density test. I remember having a bone density test in 2016. Much to my surprise, the hospitals, imaging specialists have no records of such a test. I remember going to Roper St. Francis for this test, although it appears my records have disappeared. If you are reading this, please note – when and if you have any medical tests, please get a copy of it for your records! A big mistake on my part.

    Today, the back feels better. Later, I shall get on my stationary exercise bike for at least ten minutes! I must keep this compression fracture exercised so I will not ‘need surgery.’

    Due to this injury, I am ever-so-slowly learning to ask others to help me. I’ve always been stubborn. Head strong. Hard headed. INDEPENDENT. All of those describe me! It hurts my dignity to ask for help, but —!

    More later, Readers. Have a great day and please stay safe. As for me, I shall NEVER step onto a ladder again. EVER! When I need something I cannot reach, I will call my husband to get it. Yes, he is short too, although he knows how to stay balanced on a step ladder. Obviously, I do not. Silly. Dangerous. Clumsy. Accident Prone. Yes. That is Me!

    Please stay safe. Healthy. And remember to wash your hands ALL THE TIME. When in public wear a mask. I have two masks now. Still looking for a mask that is stylish and has a bit of bling!

    https://www.webmd.com/osteoporosis/guide/spinal-compression-fractures-symptoms

  • 2020…Corona Virus Spreading, and Now Racism

    2020…Corona Virus Spreading, and Now Racism


    Dearest Readers:

    Brace Yourselves, Readers. Yes. I admit it. Barbie Perkins-Cooper is stepping gently on her soap box once again, only this time with compassion, heartache and opinions that all of my regular readers {and those who know me personally} have been curious as to WHEN I would write about the subject at hand. It is true. I’ve been described as “an intense woman…opinionated and head-strong.” Yes, indeed, that is me — only Julia Sugarbaker style! Not a Southern Belle!

    I’ve been quiet for a bit too long now due to the circumstances and issues steaming within our country, The United States of America. First, we have the quarantine with the Corona Virus, Covid-19. Now, after staying inside for much too long, tempers are flaring. People are angry. Angrier than I’ve seen them in a long time! Anger brews hatred.

    After Memorial Day, 2020, I watched the video of George Floyd of Minnesota and the four police officers. I’m certain you’ve seen it too. Reportedly, the police officer placed his knee on Floyd’s neck for 8 minutes and 46 seconds. Are we certain? Are there videos of the situation during the entire conflict? I saw one video where Floyd was handcuffed – hands behind his back like police officers do during the arresting process. I ask all of you — just WHEN did Mr. Floyd end up on the ground? Were his hands still handcuffed? I don’t believe I’ve seen any video indicating that while the police officer was holding his neck down with his knee Floyd was still handcuffed? When did he hit the ground?

    Another question I have is this — why didn’t the three white police officers with the other officer stop this process? They had to know placing a knee on someone’s neck could result in severe injuries, choking or death. I don’t need a medical degree to have common sense.

    Here’s another question I have. Yes, I’m full of them and ready to share a few. I will go on record again at this moment to say I am not a racist. Yes, I grew up in the Deep South of Georgia, but I have not, nor shall I ever be – racist.

    To those who were recording the videos, I thank you; nevertheless, I cannot understand why someone didn’t approach one of the police officers to ask them not to hurt him, but to arrest him! Believe me, had I been there in Minneapolis, I would’ve walked over to the police officers and ask them to please stop. He’s handcuffed. What harm can he do now?

    As a young girl, I lived in a mill village. One Saturday morning while I shopped with my grandmother, I saw two water fountains. One had a sign reading Colored People.

    I walked over to it. My grammy called me to come back but I was curious! I wanted to know if the water fountains were different and if it was a colored fountain, why was it the same color as the other one?

    Grammy placed her finger on her lips. She whispered, “Sh-hh, child. That’s for colored people. They’re not the same as us.”

    “But the woman who cleans the homes in the village is black,” I said. I do not recall ever saying “colored.”

    I shook my head. “No, Grammy. God loves all of us. We learn that in church.”

    Grammy reached for my hand, turning me away.

    I admired Rosa Parks, and Dr. Martin Luther King. I listened to his speech, “I HAVE A DREAM,” and cried. When Rosa Parks refused to give up her front seat on the bus, I applauded her. I didn’t understand why she couldn’t sit next to me if I met her!

    To clarify, I’ve seen racism all of my life, and I’ve stood up to say something, even when I was a little girl. When rumors filled a high school declaring no colored people could attend high school there, I ask why. They deserve and need an education too!

    My mother described me as a “trouble maker, too curious for your own good.”

    My father said I was “quite the chatty child. She loves to be the center of attention and she’s always asking why!” Humph! Even as a toddler I liked to be remembered!

    My husband says “I step into other people’s business and I should keep my opinions to myself.”

    I laugh. I proudly say — Isn’t this the United States of America?

    Mr. Floyd had a criminal record, serving time for pulling a weapon on a pregnant woman when he and other guys with him broke into her home. There were other police records too, including drugs, etc. He was not the martyr the recent riots and political movements are making him out to be. No one is perfect! We’ve had protests/riots here in Charleston. Downtown Charleston was attacked like a warzone — knocking windows out. Breaking into the Apple Store, restaurants, grocery stores and more looting. The anger and hatred was horrifying for a city known as the Holy City. I believe the protests are peaceful now, protesters chanting: “Say his name…George Floyd…Black Lives Matter, Silence is Violence,” over and over again while they walk along the pedestrian sidewalk of Arthur Ravenel, Jr. Bridge, downtown Charleston, North Charleston and other suburbs.

    Some of the chanting and demands include the abolishment of the police departments. I pray that WE, THE CITIZENS OF AMERICA, truly have a voice/statement via elections if this does happen. I do not agree that all police officers are good. Some are crooked. Some are probably racists, but I’ve known several police officers. I cannot comprehend how the USA could be a great society if we lost law enforcement. Wouldn’t that be a prime time for terrorists to attack us again?

    Yes, I agree the protests are making statements. At first, a statement to spread violence. Hatred. Racism. Now, they appear to be a bit more organized. Less hatred. I do not understand the “Silence is Violence,” signs. I believe when people are silent they do not know a way to communicate what they are feeling. Perhaps they are afraid.

    As for me? Afraid to speak up? Never! I’ve ALWAYS vocalized my opinions; however, most of the time I will vocalize with resources to back up what I am saying. I believe “Silence is Fear.” Fear of the unknown.

    Racism is not a new emotion/hatred/whatever. Racism is negligence. I’ve always had friends of every color in the world. I’ve always stood up when they needed help of any kind. That is who I am.

    I can’t help being a bit curious to this idea I’ve had for a long time. Whenever someone is critically ill and needing a blood transfusion does the family or the patient dare to ask “What color of blood am I getting?”

    I’ve given blood before. I’ve never seen the nurse write “white” on the blood. To my knowledge I don’t believe it matters. Blood is blood! Red! It helps keep life going!

    According to the Holy Bible: The Bible says “for the life of the flesh is in the blood (Leviticus 17:11); for it is the life of all flesh (Leviticus 17:14); …for the blood is the life (Deuteronomy 12:23).”

    There are no descriptions regarding the color of blood in the Bible. While I do not claim to be an expert about religion, I believe God loves all of us, regardless of the color of our skins. We should treat others with respect. Love. Dignity. And now since we cannot give hugs (Yes, I’m definitely a HUGGER, and proud of it!) I send virtual hugs to anyone reading my blog.

    I pray all of you will open your hearts and minds to help the United States of America end racism. Racism has been occurring since the 1600’s when slaves were brought to America along the landings and ports of Charleston. There is much history to be shared regarding slavery here in the port city. I’ve attended many events and I always ask why? Why did slavery happen? Why was it necessary to sell people simply because the color of their skin. I’m thankful it ended; however, in many ways, the racism of slavery left emotional scars that may never heal.

    I pray our country will unite again soon as a country filled with LOVE AND RESPECT FOR HUMANITY!

  • The Life of Barbie During Social Distancing


    Dearest Readers:

    I have a funny Friday experience to share. Are you ready? Here goes:

    Friday afternoon, our pedal boat arrived. Excited to finally do something on the pond, we hopped in and started riding around our pond. Such fun seeing the turtles watching us as we glided softly around our beautiful pond. I left my phone inside (thank goodness). You must remember I fractured my back on December 23, wore a back brace for three months and chose to take a spin around the pond. It was easy to slide into the boat. Not so easy getting out!

    We docked the boat, wrapping a rope around a tree for me to get out easier. Phil was worried I might hurt myself again. Imagine that! Struggling to get out, the boat decided to move while I’m stepping out. I had one foot on the bank. The other in the boat. The boat continues to move while Phil struggles to keep the boat still. Silly boat – it has a mind of its own! I grabbed the tree, holding on to it while the boat continues moving and Barbie is doing an ungraceful split!

    This scenario is definitely a Lucy and Ethel moment, with one exception – I am starring as Lucy!

    My back is hurting so I move my right foot off the bank and splash! Now I’m in the water with one leg still in the boat. Moving it as quickly as I can, I discover I’ve had my first initiation in our pond. I am soaking wet, struggling to get on shore. Phil doesn’t think I’ll be able to pull myself out due to my back injury.

    “You just watch me,” I said. “Nothing stops me!”

    Silly guy. He just doesn’t know me when someone says I cannot do something. You just watch me. No. It wasn’t graceful, but ever so slowly I slid my body out of the pond, doing a graceful low crawl I wasn’t aware I could do! The water wasn’t deep. Only to my waist. When I am finally out of the pond, I am covered with mud!

    “Excuse me,” I say to Phil. “I must take a bath and get this mud off of me!”

    He’s laughing and so am I. As he struggles to get out of the little pedal boat, he slips and gets a bit of his body into the pond!

    Finally, both of us are out, safe, headed straight to the back porch. I peel the muddy clothes off, knowing no one will see me! I live on five acres! I glance at my wrist. I’m missing my activity tracker. Oh well. Maybe the turtles will find it and play with it!

    So, what did you do on Friday during this “social distancing” quarantine?
    I imagine it wasn’t as exciting as our Friday!

    Sorry I can’t provide photographs! My phone was inside – charging!

    Just another funny moment during the quarantine. If this quarantine doesn’t end soon, I can only imagine what my next scenario will be. Maybe swimming in the pond to find my activity tracker? I doubt it!

    Remember – stay safe and healthy. Covid-19 is out there and I pray soon it will disappear – never to return – just like my athletic tracker!

  • Corona Virus vs. Cabin Fever


    Dearest Readers:

    Like you I have cabin fever. Sitting at home, unable to see friends, have luncheons, and just fun ‘girlfriend time,’ leaves me depressed and about ready to scream. However, after our move to the country, I don’t think anyone would hear a scream. I’m not missing suburbia at all. When I feel at my breaking point, I go outside and sit on a bench by the pond.

    After we moved, I didn’t know we had turtles. Now, I do. So far, I’ve counted at least ten turtles. On sunny days, I see them sunbathing. Other times, I watch their little heads pop up and down in the water. Much to my surprise, I’ve discovered they like when I sing to them. I’ve named one Myrtle the Turtle and when I sing “Myrtle the turtle – where are you,” I am able to see them swimming towards me. This give me such pleasure at a time in our lives when Corona Virus is captivating the world.

    The turtles are trusting me and they enjoy hearing me song. Yes. People, for those of you who’ve never heard me singing, I’ve been told I have a great voice. I think the turtles agree!

    Since I live in the Charleston, SC community where travel tourism and hospitality are truly suffering after the stay-at-home order and before, my heart breaks to learn how our economy is suffering. According to the Post and Courier newspaper this morning, tourism is about a $24 billion industry for the State, including Charleston.

    Funny, I haven’t heard about traffic congestion lately although when Phil and I go to the grocery store, we still have lots of traffic on the roads. For those who are wondering IF Charleston is allowing tourism now, I would say, you will be restricted. All parks are closed. Hotels and restaurants closed. Some hotels are open, and if you want to come to Charleston to enjoy our amazing culinary cuisine and hotels, or to party — well, you might consider visiting at another time. Take out orders only! No dining inside and forget meeting others. The City is closed!

    Downtown is not permitting the carriage tours. I haven’t driven downtown to see exactly what is going on. Some people compare this to a hurricane. I disagree. With hurricanes, Charleston becomes a ghost town. The city goes dark. No traffic, especially if we are told we must leave. After Hurricane Floyd, I promised myself I would never fight the traffic again just to get out of Charleston! So, I say, there is no comparison for hurricanes and Corona Virus.

    Yesterday, my husband and I were snapping at each other. I told him I need space! Later, we had a small discussion, agreeing that we are on each other’s nerves. I had another talk with God, apologizing and telling Him I would stop. Breathe. Inhale. Breathe again, and thank God for our health.

    I think I’m hearing another press conference from our President, Donald Trump now, so perhaps I will close this free writing episode and listen to the latest. It is so depressing!

    Please pray for us, our Nation and the World. We need this Corona Virus to fade away. Never to return. I pray for all who are sick around the world. I am considered a high-risk due to asthma, so I cope by staying inside. Washing my hands repeatedly and when I go to the grocery store, I pray I find Lysol, hand sanitizers and other necessary products. I haven’t found any of them. I’m careful using my last bottle of Lysol. I’ll be so happy when this crisis is over. Easter is just around the corner. We need miracles, please dear God. Give the world a miracle!

    Cypress Gardens. A beautiful location to photograph and to have family fun, except when Corona Virus is sickening the entire world.

  • Our First Wildlife Loss On Golden Serenity Oasis Pond


    Dearest Readers:

    Earlier, I walked down my long winding road to the mailbox. As I walk, I always stroll a bit by the pond, then take my time headed to the mailbox. I saw something in the pond. Something I’ve never seen before. Its head looked the shape of an alligator. I threw a stick, to see if it would move to realize that if it was a gator, he might chase me and I can’t run now. Not with the back fracture! The “gator” didn’t come after me! After collecting the mail, I returned to the animal in my pond. Phil was taking a nap, so I waited until he woke up, telling him I think we might have an alligator in the pond.


    We walked towards the pond. Phil, as always, directing me not to get too close. I laughed. “Heck, you’re late. I threw a stick by it when walking.”


    He grabbed a stick and tapped the “gator.” It didn’t move, so he chose to move it.
    No. It wasn’t an alligator. We’ve had our first wildlife loss. At first, we thought it was a cat. Of course, the soft-hearted Barbie found tears slipping down her face. “We must bury it and have a service for it.”


    We found a spot underneath a tree. Phil gathered the “gator/cat” and we buried it recognizing it was not a cat, but a raccoon. A male raccoon. You don’t want to know how I know it was a male. Ladies, just use your imagination! Maybe I was a bit too curious!


    At least he will rest underneath a tree. I suspect he drowned in the pond. So sad.
    Rest in peace, little Racy Raccoon.

  • Coronavirus Updates


    Dearest Readers:

    Do you find yourself constantly watching social media for the latest information regarding the Coronavirus?

    If so, maybe you should train your brain to think of something else. Although I am a participant on social media (Facebook) I do not participate on Twitter or other devices. Understand, I am not criticizing any of these sites; nevertheless, I have spoken to acquaintances who were convinced, and I quote: “I read it on Facebook, so it’s got to be true.”

    Wrong answer!

    Do yourselves a favor. Focus your attention on the best sites regarding Coronavirus. For example, the CDC, Center for Disease Control at https://www.cdc.gov/

    or

    WHO, the World Health Organization — https://www.who.int/emergencies/diseases/novel-coronavirus-2019

    Other sites I am familiar with and research their links are:

    Mayo Clinic — https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/coronavirus/symptoms-causes/syc-20479963

    WebMD — https://www.webmd.com/lung/news/20200310/know-the-symptoms-of-covid19

    President Trump is conducting daily press conferences regarding the Coronavirus. Perhaps you should listen to his information too.

    Nevertheless, we all should stay informed – not freaking out to the point we rush to the grocery store, WalMart, Target, or other retail stores – just to stockpile toilet tissue, paper towels, tissues, handwipes, antiseptic wipes — and on and on.

    I understand some people may have several people (or families) living within their home, and some might be older or fragile. They could use these items. Some of us, including our family, do not need to stockpile. The only item we are missing within this household is antiseptic wipes. I confess, Saturday night at WalMart, antiseptic handwipes were out of stock, so I marched over to the baby aisles. There, I found Huggies handwipes. I bought one for each of our three bathrooms, leaving the remainder for other people to purchase. None of us had babies. Yes, I asked, please, if any of you have little infants, you need these handwipes more than we do.

    “No, we decided to follow you over and get whatever we could find. No babies within our homes.”

    These are frightening times, and the news media is really jumping on the bandwagon, after all, they believe “If it bleeds, it leads!”

    I want to stay abreast of the latest facts and information due to the fact that Coronavirus appears to be a virus that includes the respiratory system. I have asthma. A couple of weeks ago, I stayed inside my home due to a slight wheezing. I used my nebulizer. Now, I’m fine. I did not have a temp, nor did I feel ill, I simply did not want to share my coughing germs with others. I try to be considerate!

    As a writer, I prefer to check my research, resources, and confirm all of the information before I publish. I’m definitely NOT a fake journalist or media!

    Please, during this Coronavirus epidemic, if you are sick, stay at home. If you have fever, you might consider contacting your doctor. If you have a cough or sneeze, PLEASE cover your mouth, nose, etc. and stay home. Yes, germs are everywhere, so we must be proactive!

    Maybe we should all visit an online bookstore, or watch TV, after all, DirecTV has movies available 24/7. Entertain yourselves and your family by remaining isolated if you are sick. Meanwhile, enjoy your life. Get to know your family members and let us all remain healthy!

    Remember:

    Wash your hands frequently!

    If coughing – cough into your elbow. If you sneeze, use a tissue. Discard!

    If you have a temp – stay home and call your doctor.

    May we all remain healthy. We have the methods to practice to keep us healthy. God bless us, Everyone!

  • On Golden Pond – My Golden Pond! Have You Missed Me?

    On Golden Pond – My Golden Pond! Have You Missed Me?


    Dearest Readers:

    Yes. I understand. I’ve been silent for much too long. When I started my blog, I posted regularly. Thrilled to finally be writing again

    Unfortunately, since at least 2015 my life has been unpredictable, stressed, and I lost my confidence in my abilities as a writer. Every time I attempted to write, life would interrupt me. Again. And again…!

    Now, my goal for 2020 is to keep this blog busy. Last year, I had the same goal, but life knocked on my door endlessly. In late August, Phil and I decided to possibly place our home in Mount Pleasant on the market. After all, many in our neighborhood were doing it. They said the time is right. The market. You should consider doing the same.

    My home is old. Built in 1954. We’ve done many renovations to it, but the bathrooms are still too small. We don’t have the popular “open concept” and I don’t want strangers coming into my home touring.

    Long story short – we met a realtor who became a great friend we could trust. We staged what we could. Packed items – actually, pre-packing to move and started looking for a home. In the country. Away from the suburbs. Away from noise. Away from neighbors and congested traffic!

    We found one such home in Hollywood, SC. Unfortunately, it sold before we could complete pre-packing. Our realtor assured us we would find another home. “A better home to meet your needs. I believe in making clients dreams come true.”

    I suppose you could say I didn’t believe him. Immediately I responded — “I told you. No B-S with me!” I felt like Scrooge!

    Five days passed. I searched on Zillow.com and Realtor.com. I found an interesting property. Complete with five acres and a pond. A nice yellow farm house. I clicked on to the site, only to have my computer bomb. I was so disappointed. Rebooting the computer, I researched Zillow.com and Realtor.com again only to realize I could not locate them. Later in the day, I received an email from another realtor. Deciding to click on the link of current homes for sale, I found the yellow house.

    The doorbell rang. Our realtor was here to discuss more homes and opportunities. I rushed him over to see the yellow house.

    He knew about the house but thought it was out of our price range.

    “We’ve got an approved loan for the full amount,” I said. “Of course it’s contingent upon selling this house, so you’ve got homework to do!”

    On Wednesday of that week we drove to see our yellow farm house. I remember as a child I said I would one day have a home on waterfront property! This beautiful home was that opportunity of a lifetime. Never did I believe my dream would come true. Why? Life! Disappointments and lack of confidence!

    Now, readers, perhaps you can understand what has been happening within our former home and our new home. Now, we have waterfront property. A pond filled with big fish, including catfish, bream and big mouth bass. Yesterday I counted 10 large turtles in the pond too. Some were sun bathing. Others were swimming in my direction, only to bop their little heads under water!

    Finally, one of my dreams has come true! Now, I must pursue another dream – the completion of CHATTAHOOCHEE CHILD!

    Will I complete that story? You betcha! And now, I’m off to feed my fish and watch them jump in the water to eat their dinner while Phil and I eat my famous homemade chili.

    Introducing – My Golden Pond. Yes, Virginia, some dreams do come true!