REFLECTIONS OF CHANGE: A Work In Progress

A series of essays.....

~~THE CHEERFUL GREEN DOOR~~

.....as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes

There is something so inspiring about returning to a place you always feel comfortable being at. It may be a certain city or town, a landscape that has heightened your senses or, a house where the front door is calling you to insert key and step inside. In this particular instance, perhaps, all of the above? Dot the map with a red-crowned pin. Follow the directions between point A to point B, and feel the enhanced momentum of your heartbeat as this destination appears through the next cloud formation, the final left turn of your rental car, and right up to the cheerful, green door. It stands regal and dignified as if awaiting verbal acknowledgment for a job well done since the last visit here.

For three months, the heart beats out a certain rhythm. It marks time through a steady cadence of notes and chords, dreamlike in many ways, with a gentle foreshadowing of what joy there is to follow. A future based, partially, upon the past as old relationships weave magic into current ones; new relationships propel us along into astronomical heights, the likes we never knew were even possible. The undertones of encouragement from those who have the uncanny ability to open closed eyes and repair broken promises, guide me into a glorious new world that justifies the hard work and effort that has brought me back to this place, after all of these years.

Now.....standing here bathed in a reflection of green, the faux crystal of an Eiffel Tower key fob scrapes my right wrist as I pull the brass key towards the dead bolt. I return to the scene of the crime, a second home to love and take care of. Forgive me Father for I have sinned. It has been three months since I stood in this exact spot, doing this very same thing. Too long? My life has been torn in two directions: The present and the future. Wrapping-up the present will ensure the future. I understand. But, life takes its own sweet time, in its own sweet way. Who am I to judge?

Copyright © 2017 by Jacqueline E. Hughes

All rights reserved

DO I STAND ALONE ON THE SUBJECT OF GARLIC?

 A series of essays.....

NATIONAL GARLIC DAY ~ APRIL 19, 2017

.....as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes

When the English poet, John Donne, composed the poem stating that, "No man is an island, entire of itself, every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main," he was not referring to me. At least, not when it comes down to the growing of, cooking with, or consumption of the garlic plant. 

Evidently, I am that island that stands alone and at a great distance from any and all garlic plants and/or consumers of said plants!

The real reason I bring this up, especially, writing this today, is that it is 'National Garlic Day' around the world and I am forced to attempt to ignore the reality of this celebration.  I, seriously, was never going to mention this minor factoid in public, especially due to my Ukrainian heritage, but here it goes: I hate garlic!

Okay, okay....hate is a strong word and one in which we school our own children never to use. Let's call it a phobia of mine as I do suffer an extreme fear and aversion to.....garlic. 

No. No, I am not a vampire, nor do I claim to own any supernatural or 'black magic' powers that I am aware of.  Thanks to Hollywood and popular literature, we're well aware of the myth that garlic deters all of the above therefore, placing the nugget of possibility into our consciousness that such supernatural powers might exist if garlic happens to be the 'perfect protection' against such things.

Garlic is an onion-like plant (Allium sativum) with a bulb that breaks-up into separable cloves and has a strong and distinct 'odor' and flavor. Garlic isn't dubbed the 'stinking rose' for nothing!!! 

GARLIC PLANT FLOWER HEAD

Even though I own 'Alliumphobia,' (fear of garlic), I will concede to the fact that the flower of this plant is pretty with its white, reds, and various shades of purple that are more than pleasant to the eye. I like flowers. That's where it ends.

America's history with the herb wasn't always a positive one and gourmands frowned on it because it was mainly used in ethnic, working-class neighborhoods. And, they say America doesn't openly show class distinction! Diner slang in the 1920's often called garlic the Bronx halitosis and Italian perfume. It wasn't until the 1940's that America embraced garlic and recognized its (apparent) value.

My aversion to the 'stinking rose' stems from its overpowering taste and smell, how it causes horribly bad breath and, it's odor seeps out from the body's pores days after its consumption. Cooking with it can pervade the air and permeate the vulnerable cloth that succumbs to it, such as kitchen curtains, tablecloths, and clothing, while lingering in them for eons. 

Oh, yes indeed......! I know this first-hand, my friends! 

As a young child, both of my parents worked full time and my dear, Ukrainian Grandmother would watch my older brother, Ronnie, and me until Mom and Dad picked us up after work. Often, however, we would stay for dinner as my Grandmother was never one to cook only 'just enough' and knowing how exhausted my folks were after a long day, prepared ample food to feed a small army.

Grandma had lived and grown-up as a young adult in her homeland, the Ukraine, and, consequently, was taught to cook using 'old world' recipes that were passed down from one generation to another. Garlic, fortunately, was not Grandma's most significant ingredient, as I recall. The distinct aroma of raw and cooked onions pervaded the air at every meal I can remember. Even breakfast consisted of pierogies sautéed in light fat and mixed with slivers of buttery fried onion. These small, dough pouches, filled with a variety of mixtures, had been the boiled pierogies smothered in a combination of cottage cheese and sour cream we had consumed for dinner the night before.

GRANDMA WITH ME ON HER KNEE
AND PAPA BESIDE US

So, I do not have an aversion to onions. Their aroma reminds me of Grandma and all of the long, hard work she would perform every day just to keep many mouths fed and so many people feeling happy and loved.

My afternoons were another story altogether!

Papa Moshak, my Ukrainian Grandpa, would take me on his rounds of the neighborhood when we would check on everyone in their homes to make sure they were not sick or injured, hungry, and most importantly....alone or unhappy. You see, Grandma and Papa were a solid team and absolutely nobody in their neighborhood went without a meal, a friendly face, or a kind word for any reason.

Tucked in Papa's wheelbarrow where containers of Grandma's cooking were stashed around me, we would head-off for the small, durable brick homes that dotted this neighborhood of Mishawaka, Indiana. Papa often packed some of his own tools in the wheelbarrow just in case someone needed something mended or fixed.

Together, we would knock on as many as thirty doors and wait to be let in to say hello and offer food or help. You see, their neighbors were, for the most part, from the 'old country,' too, and I only wish now that I had paid more attention to their jovial conversations. I would love to be able to speak their language today!

As often as Grandma cooked with onions, many of these people preferred cooking with garlic, as they had back home. Their newer, well insulated brick homes in the States were just that and, without opening windows for days on end....the enclosed kitchens (rooms) reeked of stale and recent garlic odors. 

Old Mrs. Stasevich would always give me a huge hug of affection when we entered her back door and, with my nose pressed tightly against her ample bosom covered by a floral, bib apron, the overpowering smell of garlic generously poured from her breath, skin, and the rose-covered cloth. There were no roses, however, to be smelled here!

After visiting with Mrs. Stasevich, we saw Mr. Babikov and presented him with dinner. Later, Papa fixed the kitchen sink of old, Mrs. Mosalev whose red, brick home was close to our last stop for the day and she gave me enough wrapped, hard candies to take home for my brother, as well.

Please don't misunderstand me. I was overjoyed to be treated warmly by so many 'Grandma and Papa' figures as we traveled from house to house. My four-year-old mind and heart recognized and valued the loving nature of these kind souls who often thanked Papa for bringing me around because they were missing their own grandchildren at that moment. You could say that I was kind of a charm for most of them and, in turn, was certainly spoiled because of it.

And, you might think that because of this charmed life I would consider the smell of garlic as a positive and memorable scenario. It was memorable, and I could never get over having to smell so much garlic in so many places almost every day of my young life. I never told Papa this. I never mentioned it to Grandma or my parents, either.

As I grow older myself, I remember with so much joy my wheelbarrow excursions and understand that there must be something said about the apparent longevity of all of these kind, older people who went about their daily lives within their snug, little homes cooking merrily in their kitchens with so much garlic. 

I wish I could have enjoyed learning to love garlic as a child. Just as I wish, as children, we had been taught to speak the old world language of my dear Grandparents and all of their neighbors and friends. 

In honor of that exceptional childhood spent around so many hard working, generous, and kind individuals, I gladly step aside from my solitary, tiny island today and cheer National Garlic Day, April 19, 2017, and pay respect to those families who migrated to this country seeking a better life for themselves, their children, and their grandchildren. 

You see....no man is, truly, an island. And, no man stands alone. Even something you can dislike as much as I do garlic, can bring you together with others in so many remarkable and unforgettable ways. 

A FRENCH MARKET 
SELLING MOUNDS OF GARLIC
Photo: The Good Life France

Copyright © 2017 by Jacqueline E. Hughes

All rights reserved

TRIPLE THE LOVE

A series of essays.....

'PINK MOON RISING'

.....as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes

A PARIS FLOWER MARKET 

Having recently returned from the guest bedroom making certain that sheets were stripped from the bed and all towels that had been used were now in my possession to be washed, I sat down holding the envelope in my hands with a smile beaming across my face. Our guests, our good friends, our link with the past, present, and future...had left us a priceless gift, secretly allowing it to nestle among the four pillows that reside on the Queen-sized bed, in the yellow-striped room with purple accents, specifically for us to discover after their departure.

A self proclaimed lover of beautiful gift cards, she decorated the envelope with our names and miniature hearts and I proceeded to slit open the cream colored paper with surgical precision, preserving its integrity as much as possible, as memories of our time together danced in my head. Sliding the card from its temporary confinement, a Parisian flower market began to emerge as French blue pots filled with bright purple blooms were encompassed by similar sized beige pots bursting with thick, green ferns along with an ancient, curlicued iron bench weathered in rust and sporting white paint chips as if it were wearing fish scale accessories in order to impress the potted plants that regally sat upon it.

After successfully releasing the garden, inch by inch, from its captivity, I opened the 'tiny book' anxious to discover the collection of handcrafted words composing the message I was to savour, appreciate, delight in for several moments before extending the joy I felt by rereading the words a second and third time. Personal sentiments addressed from the heart, adorning paper with affirmative expressions, coinciding with our own identical feelings, with the hope of capturing similar moments in the near future...thus proclaimed the dark blue swirls. Until next time, sweet friends, this Parisian flower market will continue to remind us of you and forever connect us with your thoughtfulness, kindness, and love.

Expressly dedicated to Michael and Marsha.

PARIS FLOWER MARKET

                                       Photo Credit Marilyn A. Roofner 

  

FOR THE LOVE OF PROSE POETRY

CHARLES
BAUDELAIRE

My hat (beret?) off to those remarkable men of Nineteenth-century France, originators and practitioners of Prose Poetry, with their musical names such as Mallarmé, Bertrand, Rimbaud, and Baudelaire that seem to sing and dance right off of the tongue when said aloud. Not to be confused with short short stories or micro-stories, Prose Poetry, a hybrid genre showing attributes of both prose and poetry, may be indistinguishable from them in the end. Frequently misinterpreted as a modern concept, the style and appeal of Prose Poetry can be as light and mystifying as a full-moon rising over the River Seine at a time when Impressionistic painters, the likes of Monet, Renoir, and Pissarro, walked the streets of Paris in search of backers for their monumental works of art. 

Prose Poems can be tender little morsels of life presented Tapas style, each small, savory bite richly concentrated with unique flavors and spices waiting to burst open in your mouth, providing satisfaction through extreme intensity. Although each poem tells a story in itself....often transitioning one story smoothly into the next allows an author to connect the emotional dots between birth to death, beginning to end, while each curvaceous puzzle piece awaits its turn in assisting to complete the larger picture.

Soul searching. Concentrating on a common theme. Evoking emotions in others by means of example and personal recall. With styles as variable as the ingredients it would take to produce each story, creators of Prose Poetry offer their own interpretations of life based upon experiences and long-term beliefs that served to shape them into the individuals they had become by the time their first thoughts were ever transcribed. Location, interaction with others, religious beliefs, joy and sorrow, and economic status become power sources for those seeking this concentrated form of personal expression. From the works of Charles Baudelaire to Bob Dylan, and all of the many modern day writers who are accomplished in writing Prose Poems, I salute you!

APRIL 2017 IS POETRY MONTH

'PINK MOON RISING' 

I stepped outside last night to take a picture of the Pink Moon. Our neighbor saw me and called over to say hello and ask how we were doing. It took only a few minutes, but well spent time, for sure. Turning back to my task at hand, I was pleasantly surprised to see how you can say hello to your neighbor, talk for a moment or two and, instantly, the night sky changes colors on you as if the 'filter wheel' has suddenly rotated, red, green, yellow, and blue light....continually illuminating the silver, aluminum tree. In this case, pale pink sky outlined by dusky, gray clouds transitioned into shades of French blue capped-off by a misty crown of pale lavender. The Pink Moon came alive amidst the myriad of colors.

THE 'PINK MOON' SHROUDED
IN A VEIL OF MISTY LAVENDER

The full moon tonight will reach its peak at 2:08 a.m. The moon will be on the opposite side of the Earth and the sun will be illuminating it, making it extra bright. I can assure you that I won't be experiencing its peak and, neither will our neighbor. I did make it outside for a few more photo ops, however....while the night was still young. The white hot sphere, by this time, had positioned itself between the branches of our live oak tree simulating a large, bright ball that had been recently flung from a giant's slingshot and cast out into the depths of the deep blue sky.

A GIANT'S SLINGSHOT

But why is it called the 'Pink Moon' if, in actuality, it is so white and bright? I discovered a reason behind the lovely name.

As with most stories surrounding the titles and reasoning behind the naming of the full moons throughout the year, it has to do with our Native Americans. They named this April moon after an outrageously pink wildflower known as phlox. This wild ground flower blossoms prolifically early-on in the month of April in North America. No pink colored moon tonight. Instead we honor the rights of Spring and all of the beautiful delights it has to offer us. I can certainly handle and celebrate that!

A FIELD OF PINK PHLOX

Surprise! I woke up early enough this morning to say goodbye to the 'Pink Moon' in the Western sky while just in time to welcome the rising sun peeking its glorious head out from the treetops to the East as it was slowly rising over the Atlantic coastline. What a wonderful and amazing world this is!

Copyright © 2017 by Jacqueline E. Hughes

All rights reserved

ORLANDO 'BLOOM~ING'

A series of essays.....

.....as seen through my eyes!

"Home. Home tastes like the first bite you take of your favorite dish. You, then, open your eyes to see that family and friends are all seated at your same table."  JEH

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes

Living and working within the sun-drenched, palm trees swaying, culinary delightful, and culturally diverse area that comprises my adopted city of Orlando, Florida, does not come without its many daily challenges, as well as some amazing rewards!

Yes, we have our own 'growing pains' and they can sting us with a preponderance of furor that can be unsettling to the faint of heart yet, curiously, encouraging to those who learn to thrive on overcoming adversity in an attempt to make our tiny 'dot on the map' a better place to live in.

Sitting here in my home office, i-Pad at hand and in the pleasantness of my own home, I feel safe and comfortable. For years I had been what I call a 'commuter warrior!' Joining the thousands of others, I would set-off each morning armed to the teeth with, what I hoped was, armor plating set on wheels, four rubber tires to assist in absorbing the shock of minor road moguls and ruts, tinted glass helping to protect me from the sun's heat and glare, and plenty of hot, black coffee to fortify me until I reached my office. Oh, and did I mention with plenty of A.C. pouring out of the vents with the intent of avoiding possible heat exhaustion while attempting to keep my hairstyle fresh and perky during the forty minute drive into work?

My saving grace: I really, really liked my job!

'THE I-4 CORRIDOR' INTERSECTS CENTRAL
FLORIDA FROM TAMPA TO DAYTONA BEACH

I consider my alternate 'saving grace' was not having to spend too much time along the I-4 Corridor, affectionately known to locals as the I-4 parking lot. Often considered the bane of motorists driving through Orlando, Interstate 4 stretches from I-275 in Tampa to I-95 at Daytona Beach and can be a bit confusing to our out-of-town guests as it maintains a diagonal, northeast-southwest route for much of its length, although it is signed east-west.

I-4 PARKING LOT THROUGH
DOWNTOWN ORLANDO

Throughout my twenty years of living here, I have often believed that my beloved Orlando is as quirky as quirky can be and I don't think I would have it any other way. I truly enjoy living here.

However, as with the changing times happening in our world (our country) today, I liken them to the struggles of our very own Interstate 4: No matter how many engineering improvements take place today, you can count on each one of them being outdated by tomorrow! Whether the excuse is politics, power struggles, lack of insightfulness or funding, we always seem to be one step behind and a day late instead of well ahead of the game.

UNIVERSAL STUDIOS
~BLUE MAN GROUP~

For an area that depends on the reliance of imagination (imagineering) and the enormous amount of tourists it can attract in order to keep our 'La La Land' attractions lucrative, Orlando and the surrounding areas have never been able to keep up with the high-traffic demands placed on our roads and highways. 

It's as though Orlando continues to operate ten years in the past with regards to its infrastructure in ratio to the permanent residents it has attracted via employment opportunities, especially within the medical profession. Add in the influx of tourism in this area, and you now have a recipe for transportation chaos and ongoing nightmares.

GAVIN & BRENNA ABOUT TO BOARD
ORLANDO'S SUNRAIL

Adding SunRail, Orlando's commuter rail line, several years ago, represents exciting new travel for locals traveling to and from work, dining, and shopping. SunRail now runs from the town of DeBary north of Orlando to Sand Lake Road and the attractions of International Drive located on the south-west side of the city, with expansions of the rail projected in the near future.

Despite everything in its way, the Orlando area has certainly bounced back with a flourish after the economic recession beginning in 2008. She keeps attracting tourists from all over the world as judged by the air traffic associated with the Orlando International Airport (MCO) as being not only the busiest airport in Florida, but the thirteenth-busiest airport in the United States.

FOUNTAIN LOCATED IN ORLANDO'S BEAUTIFUL
HARRY P. LEU GARDENS

Speaking as a local, I will be the first to tell you that I agree with the fact that the, nothing less than, sketchy driving rituals of many of our tourists leave numerous safety habits to be desired! From International Drive to all of the attractions on the west-side of Orlando and heading east towards Cocoa Beach and the Kennedy Space Center, tourists abound, twelve months out of the year. So, we locals do learn to adjust, look out for the 'other guy,' and hope for the best while navigating to and from work, shopping, or play.

Now, let's get off of the streets, park our vehicles, and have a look around at our fair city dubbed, The City Beautiful. 

We are a good-sized city with a population of around 1,998,000 souls living within close proximity to one another and, like all major cities, we have our share of crime, homeless citizens, and (sadly) a terrorist act that devastated the world let alone our close-knit community. Pulse Nightclub was horrendously attacked last year on June12, 2016, and was the scene of a mass shooting killing forty-nine people and injuring fifty-three.

I apologize. That was not the 'upper' story I had intended to tell. However, the event at Pulse Nightclub is a fact and has been written down in the history books as the scene of the deadliest mass shooting by a single gunman in U.S. history. We will never forget our fallen heroes.....

THE CITY BEAUTIFUL

Fun history fact: According to Neil J. Young in his blog entitled, Public Seminar, the nickname of The City Beautiful dates back to at least 1908 when local officials borrowed it from the "City Beautiful" urban planning movement transforming places like Cleveland, Detroit, and Denver. In those cities, progressive city planners designed parks, museums, and public plazas to beautify and organize the urban landscape. In Orlando, a rural cow town at the time, City Beautiful represented something different, an aspiration rather than a reality. A hope that the small assortment of ranchers and citrus growers could one day develop into a full-fledged city.

Orlando is the home of the University of Central Florida, UCF, an American metropolitan public research university. It's diverse student enrollment currently stands at over 63,000. The university opened the UCF College of Medicine in 2006 and it is one of the first U.S. medical schools in decades to be built from the ground up. The college is a founding member of Orlando's growing Medical City at Lake Nona.

Rollins College, located in Winter Park, is the alma mater of Fred Rogers, the noted figure on the Public Broadcasting Station (PBS) who is best known for creating the educational preschool television series, Mister Rogers' Neighborhood, which featured his kindhearted, gentle, soft-spoken personality. 

STROLLING AROUND ROLLINS COLLEGE

Rollins College is a private, coeducational liberal arts college in Winter Park, situated along the shores of Lake Virginia. The small campus defines Southern charm between its architecture and moss-draped live oak trees, to the boardwalk that meanders the shoreline of the lake. This has been a special place for us to take our own visitors to for a slow-paced afternoon walk, a visit to the Cornell Fine Arts Museum, or a current production by students and staff being performed at the Annie Russell Theatre on campus.

Ethnic restaurants abound in Orlando, the surrounding area, as well as in the theme parks themselves. With our current emphasis on eating fresh, eating healthy, many local chefs gear their menus toward seasonal choices of locally grown fruits and vegetables, grass-fed meats, fresh non-farmed fish, and desserts that guarantee not to enlarge the waistline. Season's 52 is a prime example of eating well, eating healthy.

HEALTHY SELECTIONS AT SEASONS 52

In addition to the many themed attractions located on International Drive, such as WonderWorks (the upside down building) to Ripley's Believe It Or Not, eating tapas delights at Cafe Tu Tu Tango to juicy steaks at Charley's Steak House, this is a great spot to spend time at. Comedy Clubs, shopping, and catching your favorite movie are adventures available along this very busy, exceptionally touristy, location.

Yes! We do have our very own Orlando Eye that was completed in 2015! We have yet to venture high above the maddening crowd in one of its suspended, swinging boxcars....by choice. This may be something we will gladly scootch over and allow the tourists to enjoy all on their own!

THE ORLANDO EYE

I haven't even gotten to the topic of sports and entertainment yet. What was I thinking? In addition to our football stadium, which tends to change its name every few years or so, Orlando is proud of its new soccer team, Orlando City Soccer Club, who recently opened their brand new stadium located downtown. Nearby, The Orlando Magic live and play basketball in their own 'new house,' the Amway Center, which often hosts live entertainment performances, as well.

My favorite addition to the newly blossoming Orlando scene is located just across I-4 from the Amway Center and, in my estimation, is the crown jewel of the entire City Beautiful. Dr. Phillips Center for the Performing Arts looks as stunning in the mid-day Floridian sunshine as it does all dressed-up in a myriad of bright lights in the nighttime! Stage, acoustics, lighting, sound....all based on perfection on the inside. I was fortunate to have experienced the amazing sounds of Joe Bonamassa, the great American Blues and Rock guitarist, here within the first year of the Center's Grand Opening which was on November 6, 2014.

A 'GEM' IN THE HEART OF ORLANDO
DR. PHILLIPS CENTER FOR THE PERFORMING ARTS

Well, there you have it, my home in this moment and time. A place I have grown to love, hate, feel sad for, happy to be a part of, and always, always, delighted to have my own, small niche in for the past twenty years. 

Sure, we've been scared as hell by numerous hurricanes along the way. We've had to say good-bye to our daughter and her beautiful family when the four of them moved up to Michigan a few years ago to begin a new life. In our forty-three years of marriage, this has been the longest time Dan and I have settled down in any one location. Orlando has, truly, become 'Home' to us.

Since our future appears to be heading back up north to be closer to family and friends, my life will be changing once again. Will I be ready for the change? I certainly hope so. Until then, I will continue to enjoy every aspect of my adopted hometown of Orlando and, like observing a small child, continue to marvel at how it has grown-up these past twenty years.....right before my very eyes!

Copyright © 2017 by Jacqueline E. Hughes

All rights reserved