2021 DREAMING

 

A series of essays....

TRAVEL GUIDES AND MAPS MAKE-UP 
A LARGE PART OF MY LIBRARY

....as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

A good friend told me how she is managing the ‘no travel’ COVID-19 world we live in today. Her ideas appeal to those of us who believe that the planning for and anticipation of any trip taken is equivalent to at least forty percent of the ultimate joy we receive after actually making it to our travel destination. 

So, with this spirit of the traveling soul within us, we can be assured of feeling the glossy pages of a DK ‘New Edition’ of PROVENCE & THE COTE D’AZUR on our fingertips; tap into The National Geographic Guide to the National Parks of the United States on a gray and rainy afternoon. While perusing the sights, activities, and accommodations offered by your particular source of information, you might be sipping Lucky Irish Breakfast Tea from your favorite mug or indulging in a crystalline glass of private blend Scotch obtained from your last trip to Edinburgh. I say, do whatever it takes in order to conjure up your particular traveling spirits!

Oh, and online perusing is totally acceptable, as well. Immersing ourselves in the pleasant visual of striking ocean blue seascapes, toes slowly sinking into sandy white beaches, and gazing into the colorful spirit of a blood orange sunset all while swiping to the left is a pleasurable experience. Also, this is truly the best way to see what Bed & Breakfast, Airbnb, VRBO, Hostel, Motel, or European Style Hotel your destination might offer. (Please keep in mind that pinpointing a date and actually making a reservation will have to wait a while longer.) 

My friend has virtually booked mini-trips and weekend extravaganzas in Pure Michigan, organized return visits to some of her favorite places in Spain and Ireland, and dreams about what she might see while hiking through one of our National Parks or walking a trail that cuts through the scenic red rock formations of Sedona, Arizona.

Whether making plans to visit with friends along our outstanding coastline of Lake Michigan or organizing a romantic get-a-way with her husband in the Traverse City, Petoskey area, she fills her heart with memories of lovely times from the past. My friend is decidedly preparing herself for what can be in the future. 

What our worldwide traveling future consists of remains to be seen. Simply stated, there are too many variables that apply during and in the aftermath of a pandemic. I do know that having respect for fellow travelers, as well as ourselves, will always be the main ticket. Within the months and even years to come, we need to weigh all of the facts, rearrange our way of thinking, and make important changes where needed in order to feel safe upon entering a post-pandemic reality. As long as we believe in change and we abide by the proper steps to make this change happen, we will help control the unconscionable death of so many innocent people during this pandemic.

LA TOUR EIFFEL

As our world began to shrink and blend one country into another and the continental United States became easier to navigate due to the general affordability of travel due to planes, trains, and automobiles—we were hooked! Ultimately, there was nothing to stop us from taking our own iconic shots of La Tour Eiffel in Paris or capturing smiles of loved ones at a family reunion after having traveled hundreds of miles to get there. The simplicity of travel has been ingrained in us so deeply that it is difficult to change or remove (even temporarily). Coupled with a modern day attitude of owning our individual rights and freedom, no matter what—this is a recipe for disaster when linked with COVID-19. 

Holiday travel this year has become an embarrassment to our well-being and to the well-being of everyone around us. We simply cannot play games with our lives by refusing to acknowledge the deadly effects of this virus—worldwide. Curbing our enthusiasm for travel today may save many lives in the weeks, months, and years ahead.

Let’s take a few reasonable and highly qualified notes from my dear friend and utilize this time to plan for future adventures and put together as many trips as our hearts desire—in memory or on paper. When the time comes, and it will, and it is safe to take the plunge into traveling once again, we will be content to see as many adventures as possible come alive, bringing us joy and satiating our need for roaming the world. Until then, be patient, be smart, be safe, and respect life—your own, as well as others.

Tonight at midnight we will gladly wave goodbye to 2020 and find our 2021 happy place. Most of us have been dreaming 2021 for a long time. Now that it is right around the last corner, enjoy this time to make peace with the world; find peace in your own heart. Have a safe and Happy New Year!

ENJOY THE PROCESS AND JOY
OF VIRTUAL TRIP PLANNING!

Copyright © 2020 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS AND ALL THROUGH THE HOUSE

A series of essays....

ACKNOWLEDGING THE SPIRIT, GRACE AND BEAUTY OF THE CARDINAL

....as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

I am sitting in my favorite spot watching the light slowly peek through and begin to illuminate the world outside the windows. Such a slow process it is this time of year. The new light drags its feet as if it doesn’t care if it makes an appearance this morning or not; challenging the circadian rhythm of my life with its weakness and ineptitude.

But then, everything about our lives this past year has been tested, provoked, and attacked in one way or another. 

Whether or not we are strong enough, well prepared, and hopeful going into this next year is for us to figure out. 2021 is right around the corner and there’s nothing to stop it from rolling into our lives and assisting in making a brand new year flexible enough to accommodate and manipulate what each one of us needs in order to go forward in this lifetime; maintain the rhythm that can make and keep us whole in the future.

Crying when it’s least expected has been an emotional response of mine throughout the past ten months. Tears can be bitter reminders of the loss of better times, the longing for blessed security, and having the option of being able to provide food and protection for the ones you love. Too many families have had these basic rights stripped away from them by a government that was initially established to protect these rights at all costs.

Since the beginning of this worldwide pandemic we have been governed by a person who does everything he can to harm instead of uplift our lives. Even with only a few days left in his one and only term, his appeal for hatred and revenge rates high on his farewell agenda. When you know better, you are supposed to do better. Obviously, no one ever taught him this simple and beautiful rule of being human.

When the spirit of loved ones who have passed take their shape from animal forms and watch over and protect us as our Native Americans have faithfully observed forever, we are truly blessed. Believing in this power of spiritual guidance has gotten me through some of the tears and sadness of the past four years when confronted with hatefulness and greed.

While living in Orlando, Florida, for twenty-three years, I had the good fortune of being loved and watched over by a beautiful cardinal. He had appeared in the corner of a transom window at the front of our home upon three occasions over a period of several years. I instinctively knew whom he represented and would stare back at him, mesmerized but alert to what he was trying to tell me.

After gaining my attention by pecking on the glass, we would stare at one another for a lengthy period of time. The calmness that penetrated every cell of my being remained with me forever after one of these experiences. I have attempted to capture our ‘silent’ conversation in my poem, Breathless:

BREATHLESS

Several sharp taps on the transom’s glass 

pique her curiosity while two obsidian eyes

follow her movements and begin to absorb

any negative energy in the room. The fiery

red plumage and distinctive black mask of

this cardinal exudes familiarity. His quizzical

manor harmless; fixed gaze through the glass 

is steady and comfortably aware.

I have missed you. My garden always welcomes you

with shelter, food, and protection for your young.

I know, he says with a slight tilt of the head.

Where did you go? I longed for your crimson flash

darting into the viburnum shrubs after the hunt. You,

your lady, and open-mouthed babes were safe—for

the time being.

Don’t be so possessive. I’m here for you now, aren’t I?

Truthfully, I’ve never left. But, you have been unmindful

sitting smugly in your air-conditioned palace. I know

my place.

What message do you have for me this time, Mother?

Breathe.

Only to breathe?

I am the hinge that opens your mind between Earth

and Spirit. I do not make this trip without purpose.

Trust in yourself and you will bring clarity out of 

confusion. Love and forgive, my child.

That can be a difficult task.

Life is about being one gesture away from instability

or balance.

In an instant the vibrant creature flies away leaving her transfixed; genuinely—

breathless.

Mom rarely displayed explosive outbursts in her lifetime. In fact, for a fiery redhead, this was considered highly unusual and many who loved her wished she had spoken up for herself more often. She did, however, own a genuine demonstrative manner and a great sense of humor. This is why I knew that the gentle creature who tapped on my window pane to look down at me with its volcanic stare was my very own spirit guide. This time around she vowed to be as vibrant as possible, display her brightest plumage, and hoped to be listened to as she continued to look after and protect the people she loves. After all, there is no gender specification when it comes to the guardians of our souls and bodies.

I humbly wish all of you, with special appreciation to all of my faithful readers, a Merry Christmas and very happy and positive life changing New Year! Stay safe and healthy and we’ll get to where we need to be, eventually.

Copyright © 2020 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

THE COOKIE JAR

 

A series of essays....

THE COOKIE JAR PASSES THROUGH
TIME AND GENERATIONS...

....as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

There she sits, in all her glory. The apple-shaped outline keeps teasing my thoughts. Each little crack and crevice oozing  memories of a time and place so far away and long ago that they pull me back into my Grandma’s kitchen on the farm. Once again, I’m a small child seeking approval from the adults and trying so hard to fit in with my siblings and cousins that share with me the joys and freedom that farm life provides.

Even after riding on the tractor fender, holding on for dear life, while Grandpa navigated the furrowed fields, we wanted more and more of everything the farm had to offer. We were never disappointed. I remember how the chickens maddeningly clucked while we collected their precious offerings. Some eggs were cooked and eaten for breakfast. The majority of them, after being flame-checked, were placed in cartons to be taken to the local farmer’s market to sell.

The eggs that made it into the farmhouse kitchen on Grandma’s baking days were the ones that most interested us. Grandma was a consummate baker and the magic she weaved within the old coal-fired cook stove and oven, the coiled handles of the metal grates begging to be lifted to expose the heat source below, was woven around us kids like cotton candy on paper sticks at the county fair.

As rich and crisp as a Poilane biscuit in France, my Grandma’s buttery apple tarts, cream puffs, eclairs, cakes, buttermilk biscuits, and breads could rival any pastry chef’s delights found in Paris, today! 

AN EXAMPLE OF GRANDMA’S
FARM STOVE/OVEN

GRANDMA IS ON THE LEFT SIDE, THIRD PERSON BACK.
YOURS TRULY IS SEATED IN THE FOREFRONT, RIGHT SIDE.
GRANDMA’S COAL-FIRED COOK STOVE AND OVEN
CAN BE SEEN IN THE BACK LEFT OF THE PHOTO.

Photo courtesy of Linda McCombs Williams

Her kitchen was gigantic and spanned the entire depth of the farmhouse and was, probably, fourteen feet wide. It was the heart of the house and Grandma kept it beating in a steady rhythm while feeding family in numbers anywhere from the two of them to twenty-two on Christmas Day. The long, wooden table running down the middle of the room served as her prep bench when we weren’t sitting down at it and enjoying one of her meals. 

For us kids, it was the happiest room in the house! After working hard with Grandpa in the old barn, or having enjoyed a long romp in the apple orchard, we would migrate to the warmth of the kitchen where we knew ‘The Cookie Jar’ would be filled with treats meant for wild and playful grandchildren. Again, we were never disappointed.

CHECK-OUT ‘THE COOKIE JAR’
IN THE BACKGROUND

GRANDMA’S COOKIE JAR KEEPING WATCH

BREAK OUT THE ROYAL ICING

ALL OF MY LITTLE HELPERS WORKING
TOGETHER LIKE A FINE OILED MACHINE

Grandma, a smear of flour highlighting her cheek, would make sure we washed our hands. Then came the joyous sound of ceramic gliding over ceramic as the apple-stemmed lid gently slid away exposing sweet goodies she’d recently extracted from the oven. We had no clue if today meant sugar, peanut butter, chocolate chip, molasses, or oatmeal—but our small hands eagerly reached inside the belly of the apple to find out. Large glasses of milk suddenly appeared on the table to dunk with and create frothy white mustaches on our upper lips after  guzzling down the cold, refreshing beverage.

It always amazed me how Grandma could soothe the pain of scraped elbows and knees by merely opening that lid to our exploring hands. The simple presence of that blushing, ceramic vessel championed sudden impulses and often we were caught, literally, with a hand in the cookie jar. 

Now that we’ve moved back up to Michigan and close to our own grandchildren, standard traditions dictate Christmas cookie bake-offs and hours spent in my own kitchen. Last Saturday my daughter, grands, and I pulled-off a baking marathon with the scent of ginger, cloves, and cinnamon wafting throughout the house. There she sits, in all of her glory. Dusted with wayward flour and sporting more hairline cracks than ever before, ‘The Cookie Jar’ watches over us. Her splendid apple form and stemmed lid reminding me that what goes around comes around.

I inherited from my Grandparents the one and only item that means so many things to me. As it pleasantly evokes my own childhood memories of long, playful times on the farm, running between the tall corn stalks with my cousin, Vicki, and picking wild raspberries along the one-lane entrance path, I am grateful for the opportunity of showcasing it in my own kitchen. What pure joy to be filling it up with sweet, baked treats with our grandchildren!

Even though I’m not one hundred percent sure that Grandma was turning a blind eye (ear) to our sneak attacks into cookie heaven, I do know that when I hear the faint rubbing sounds of a ceramic lid sliding out of position, life is good and is how it was always meant to be. It is so satisfying to think that ‘The Cookie Jar’ continues to create new memories for the little ones that mean so much to us.

CHRISTMAS MUSIC FOR THE SOUL

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year 2021 to everyone! 

Copyright © 2020 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

SPACES

 

A series of essays....

French artist, Henri Matisse, used flat colors to create
spaces in his Red Room (Harmony in Red)1908.

   

....as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

Spaces can be beautiful things. They were created to calm the weary soul between bouts of upheaval; before the spirit can be crushed under the pressure of tempestuousness storms. Spaces offer relief and respite from ourselves. We can be grateful for this downtime. It is meditation for the soul and sanity for the mind and allows us the freedom to gulp fresh air and new ideas before carrying on. As humans, we can perform at our greatest potential if we offer ourselves time-outs, spaces for reflection, as we contemplate our next move, solve the next problem—recreate the world. A space in time is our sigh of relief when we exhale audibly in one long, deep breath releasing collected sorrow and weariness; a whispered exhalation suggesting the sound of trees sighing in the wind while we’re on a walk through a forest. The spaces between the trees define the paths that we follow while the space high above us offers an azure blue sky drifting between the bundles of broad leaves forming the crown of the tall, majestic trees. Our collective sighs surround the bracts and catkins, the likes of the Trembling Aspen whose leaves vibrate and quiver in the wind.

Wherewouldawriterbewithoutspaces?

Spaces define perimeters denoting boundaries that we have chosen to respect and abide by. Giving our neighbor his own ‘space’ in which to function as he sees fit is akin to respecting the fence he has installed to secure his property believing that he will respect our own private spaces in return. As some spaces deal with ownership and free will, others imply colloquial and basic parameters of daily life: A parking space, a space between your front teeth, the space between residential housing, spacing plantings a certain distance apart, the wide, open spaces of the Great Plains, the space of time between one action to be followed by a similar action, and the three-dimensional area around us, including the universe where stars and planets exist. Space, as one of the classic ‘seven elements of art’ refers to the distances or areas around, between, and within components of a piece. In art, the use of space can even be used to distort reality. One of the best ways to explain the use of space in art might be: Painters imply space, photographers capture space, sculptors rely on space and form, and architects build space. 

The use of space within an artistic format is sometimes nothing but an illusion; magic for the eyes.

An intermission placed in the middle of a performance offers the audience a space of time in order to contemplate and process the meaning of the first half so that they can more informedly approach the final act. If this intermission is applied to our own life span, might it be labeled ‘middle-age’ as in one’s prime, mature adulthood, seasoned, educated, and more reasonable than one’s undisciplined and often reckless youthful self? If we solemnly believe this, our second act should be driven by the mature lead of past examples, lessons learned via our mistakes, and the culmination of wisdom and truth that only the passing of time can provide. Keeping all of this in mind makes growing older a means of creating assets of great importance from each of us and being able to share this wealth of knowledge and experience with others of all ages. Even though, given the relatively short scale of existence one person has on this Earth we call home, this space of time may seem trivial compared to the span of history. But, it is long enough to capture in memory the heart and soul of every person and pass their ethereal existence down through the passage of time.

Researchers describe the interpersonal distances of man (the relative distances between people) in four distinct zones: intimate, personal, social, and public space. The implication of the importance of social spacing has impacted us today with great force, its reverberation can be felt around the world. From the largest cities to the smallest villages, remaining at least six feet apart from others during social and public settings may bring us one step closer to eliminating the deadly impact of Coronavirus.

Wear a mask, social distance outside of your home, and please regard the life of those around you as you would your own—with respect and love. Give everyone the ‘space’ they require to move forward!

Copyright © 2020 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

REMINISCENCES

 

A series of essays....

EACH GENERATION RECORDS ITS
CHERISHED MEMORIES VIA CURRENT TECHNOLOGY 

....as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

Our mission, as we chose to accept it, was to bring the boxes of video tapes upstairs from their two-year long isolation period in the basement to be played, scrutinized, and labeled. And, I know what you’re thinking—yes, we do have a VCR player, kept in good condition, just for this very purpose.

You see, we are the protectors of the bulky, Hollywood-style, VCR movie camera that all of these tapes were derived from. And, if truth be told, along the time we were starting our little family, 8mm reels originally captured the images of our celebrated life-changing events and marking time together. Most of these reels have been transferred to VHS tapes. Overwhelmed by the daunting task of modernization (transferring the VHS tapes onto DVDs), these tapes have remained ‘as is’ for years. I don’t think the iCloud is remotely prepared for all of the ‘stuff’ Baby Boomers have saved for future generations!

With our oldest daughter and family, the other portion of our ‘little bubble’ these days of pandemic and self-preservation, coming over for Thanksgiving last week, we decided to sort through miles of tapes a few weeks earlier and precisely mark what lives on each one.

It’s interesting what retirement, a major move back to Michigan, cautiously existing through Covid-19 with long spans of time to utilize, and the inevitable march forward into a new decade of life (both of us turning seventy in November)—will produce from us. Considering our recent journey back into some of the most remarkable/memorable times of our lives via long neglected VHS tapes, this adventure turned out to be one of the best trips we’ve taken in a long, long time!  

Taking the plunge into the deep, dark waters of reminiscence, we found ourselves consumed by our emotions as we wound our way through the thick sea grasses of mental impressions retained and revived. We remained in this state for nearly one week, nourishing ourselves with food and sleep as needed, and coming-up for air only long enough to label each viewed tape with its timely contents; each precious recollection a superimposed image brought to life on our flatscreen television.

Instantly, our grown children appeared as toddlers and adolescents and looking almost identical to their own children as toddlers and adolescents in real time. Even their clothing and hairstyles back then only slightly blurred the margins of time that surround our grandchildren, today. This experience was as irrational and surreal as a dream while having the disorienting, hallucinatory quality of turning the world upside down and then right side up again in a matter of moments.

I guess that’s how it should feel when you ram so many years of life and circumstances into a condensed period of time. The protective walls that surround logic and reality began to shake as innumerable visions passed through us and clouded our present from our past and projected possibilities far into the future. I don’t think we were quite ready for all of this.

The shredded pastels of birthday wrappings commingled with a thousand images of reflective Christmas papered packages bedecked with ribbon and bows being ripped open and tossed about by two adorable blond girls over the years. We rewatched important celebrations and milestones in our lives over and over again with daughters aging from birth to late teens all in the span of this one week.

With the directorial precision of Lana and Lilly Wachowski in Cloud Atlas, a philosophical take on a soul’s journey into different timelines, with each timeline being altered with certain actions of the humans it goes through, we rediscovered our family’s existence through a sci-fi take on our own innocent souls. As we observed time’s passing, Dan and I agonized over the fleeting stages of youth, but were energized by the numerous triumphs displayed by maintaining a positive family coexistence.

We sat plugging tape after tape into the black box as we ate meals and drank mugs of rich, black coffee in the comfort of our living room; one hand nourishing a different machine all while linking the past to the present.

Countless birthdays; Christmas mornings; first walks through kindergarten classroom doors and then celebrating a momentous collection of academic achievements; basketballs, golf balls, volleyballs, and tennis balls kept rhythm with parental heartbeats as they bounced across the screen; a procession of piano and guitar recitals; numerous improvised plays performed in the grand foyer of our Victorian home, all worthy of a Tony presentation; parade after parade of elaborate dance recitals; trips from tent camping in the Upper Peninsula to our condo years on Sanibel Island, Florida, to European adventures with a fourteen and an eleven-year-old, and the bright, shining faces of grandparents, aunts and uncles, and close friends, many who are long lost to us in life but will never be forgotten in our hearts and memories.

Here, I must tell of having almost lost our youngest daughter due to a ruptured appendix when she was only three-years-old. The tapes failed  to show our agony and frustration after three surgeries and nearly four weeks of hospitalization. Instead, they revealed our various degrees of joy as this tiny person began to recover and flourish once again.

Even though their ‘interest timespan’ can be one TikTok video long, our grandchildren had fun seeing  their Mom and Aunt as children about their own age. Their reactions to the past were interesting to observe.

Dan and I exceeded the patience of most people that week or these video tapes would still be buried in the dark recesses of our basement. Now that we know what we’re looking for, we can separate the family segments from old television programs and full-length movies recorded off of HBO and Showtime. Seeing their murky quality compared to HD today makes me realize that we did the best we could with what technology had to offer back then.

Just as I have been moving and filing the thousands of photos I’ve taken over the years onto USB flash drives with high gigabyte counts, I should be able to do the same with our video memories. Unharmed by surface scratches, unlike a CD, this might be the ticket to transporting them to our children and grandchildren for safe keeping.

Dan and I enjoyed our daily reminiscing parties complete with ooh’s and aah’s, some tears, soft  laughter and wonder, and oodles of heartfelt commentary. It feels good to take the time to sort out our life together after so long. Refreshing the memories of living life day-by-day opens all options going into our future. Maybe it is time to pick-out a lite-weight travel trailer built for two and decide on where to go, with whom to visit, and how long we wish to be gone. You know—the possibilities are endless!

Take good care of yourselves and others as we ride out the coronavirus. It’s important to be smart in order to stay healthy. Wear a mask for goodness sakes!

Copyright © 2020 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

BLESSINGS AND GIVING THANKS FOR THE SIMPLE THINGS IN LIFE

 

A series of essays....

LET’S KEEP THE TURKEYS MARCHING ALONG
THIS THANKSGIVING!

....as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

When I look back on my many Thanksgiving memories, I recall the hours my Mother spent chopping cup after cup of celery, carrots, and onions. She would peel mounds of potatoes before cutting and boiling them in a large, heavy pot of salted water. Skill, yes, but endurance, mainly. This all began around four o’clock in the morning when the hour was dark and the rest of us were snuggled deep under our bedsheets and blankets dreaming of the feast to follow.

Interestingly, I still use the same potato peeler that Mom did so many years ago. It continues to work better than any peeler I’ve had since then.

My brothers and I had already named the huge bird the day before while trying to recall his name from last season to avoid repetition. But, somehow, I remember him being called Tom more often than not.

Secretly, I know Mom rather enjoyed the time alone, those special hours before the songbird’s initial chirrup beyond the kitchen window and her family sound asleep above her head. She had time to be alone with her thoughts. There were no immediate distractions interrupting her internal rhythm. Mom could do most everything that needed to be done during those wee hours of Thanksgiving morning, alone, in the dark....if need be.

I would like to think that while chopping and dicing, Mom had time to dream about walking on a sandy, sun-dappled, Hawaiian beach with the sound of waves breaking and distant palm fronds flapping as the tropical trees swayed in the salty breezes. She loved the thought of being in Hawaii, but never cared much for having to fly in order to get there. Dreaming about it might have been as good as being there for her. Once, when I asked her about it, she just smiled as if to say that it would, in all likelihood, never happen. Sadly, it never did.

Eventually, the mouthwatering aroma of the baking bird would slither up the staircase calling my name like the aromatic curlicues that the characters from a black and white Saturday morning cartoon delightfully inhaled through their enlarged nostrils before devouring a substantial feast. Entering the kitchen with bare feet, I knew that by her side would be the warmest spot in the house. The uncomplicated act of hugging and kissing her was a simple but marvelous gift for me. While inhaling the freshness of the cut vegetables and the variety of  cooking spices that mingled with the roasting turkey and dressing, I noticed the slight sheen of perspiration glistening above her brow-line even though her skin felt cool to the touch. These scents and images will touch my life forever. Despite being so young, I knew how blessed I was even then.

Mom always cooked way too much food for Thanksgiving. It was her way of giving a large part of herself to everyone she loved so much. Also, I believe it was her way of letting off steam that had accumulated throughout the year.

Women give vent to their frustration in various ways. For many women living in the 1950’s, the silent release of repressed emotions was particularly important for them. They should just have been happy to have a roof over their heads and children to take care of, and a husband who (hopefully) brought home his paycheck each week in order to pay the bills and keep that roof right where it belonged. The lifestyle and social norms of the middle-class during the 1950’s quickly lost any appeal it might have had for me and helped to pave the path for the surge of the women’s liberation movement in the ‘60’s.

Two generations later, after raising two daughters of my own and still fighting for equal pay in the workplace and the right to manage our own body, we are suddenly embroiled in a battle against the unknown: A deadly virus that has already taken the lives of 258,846 innocent souls in the United States alone. We exist in so-called tiny bubbles consisting of immediate family and close friends and know to monitor our comings and goings at all times in order to remain in this precious bubble.

As I wait to begin preparing my Thanksgiving meal on Thursday for our daughter Ali and her family, our own little bubble, I think about all of the families who will be missing one or more loved ones from their own bubble this year. Yet the thankfulness and the feasting will continue because...it must. We thank the scientists who are stepping up to create a vaccine to stop the spread of the coronavirus. We thank the medical staff and first responders for being there for us and risking their own lives everyday. We thank all of the critical retail and trade workers for supplying us with all of our basic essentials in life. Despite many setbacks, we have much to be thankful for this year.

Even though the times may have taken on a different public façade, I will always make time to reflect on the past while promoting the present and future by safely sharing precious time with my family during the holidays.  Now, our daughters have families of their own with five little ones between them. I know they are creating their own traditions every holiday that will be merged with those from both sides of their families that have been handed down throughout the years. The turkey may be deep fried instead of baked and vegetables such as kale substituted for creamed corn, but life goes on and sharing the simple things together as a family will always remain the backbone of our existence.

If I could share, once again, those precious hours alone with my Mother in the dawn of a crisp Thanksgiving morning,  I don't think I would change a single thing. What’s even more important to me is that I don’t think she would either.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO EVERYONE!

Stay safe inside your own little bubble this week so that you and your loved ones will stay healthy and be able to enjoy many more Thanksgivings in the years to come. Wear a mask when out in public. Be kind.

TURKEYS ON PARADE

Copyright © 2020 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved