HOW DO YOU WANT TO BE REMEMBERED?

 

A series of essays….

FLOURISH LIKE A TREE AND
GROW BIGGER, STRONGER, BETTER 
AS YOU DANCE INTO YOUR FUTURE…

                                        Courtesy of Darius Bashar

….as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

Have you ever asked yourself how you would like to be remembered by those people whom you have touched here on earth in one way or another throughout the years? I’m certain there are many of you who believe this is a silly question based on the fact that it really wouldn’t matter considering you might never truly know or care about it one way or another after you’ve passed on. At any rate, some of you may care and, if you do, these reflections are for you.

From little children on most of us are taught how to be polite, coordinate our outfits for school, groom our hair, brush our teeth and keep them healthy and white, smile don’t frown, and, in general…look and do our very best in this lifetime. The world is constantly looking at us and judging us on the outside believing that our human veneer should, generally, correspond with our core values. 

I think about the cartoons I’d watch on Saturday mornings as a child and remember, specifically, the one about the wolf in sheep’s clothing. This concept of skullduggery was ingrained within my memory for years to follow and led me to mistrust the obvious and research the unknown before making any final decisions about how to react to strangers and many questionable circumstances. But, it made me wary about others even more than I probably should have been. Innocence be damned; the joy and delight of spontaneous discovery in new faces and situations was left dormant for a few years.

The goodness and kindness of others began to far outweigh any negativity around the age of six or seven after entering my second (with six more to follow before my eighth grade year) parochial elementary school. With dad having to relocate often for his job, we moved with him and my brothers and I became dependent upon the Catholic nuns and new friendships we made along with each one of our moves. 

Fortunately, the schools I attended offered stimulating diversity with students from various regions of the United States in attendance. This is when my love for travel reached new heights. Friendships with these students, conversations about their lifestyles, culture, and customs, gave me purpose and wanting more. 

Throughout my first fifteen years of living, skin color did not impact my life. I understood that all human beings are created equal in every sense of the word. And, it wasn’t until the mid to late ‘60’s that it became apparent that not everyone felt this way.

My heroes became authors who wrote about and described other lands and their people, teachers and professors who went far and beyond a traditional schedule or routine, foreign students (especially at university) who shared their world with fellow students, and politicians willing to take that extra step required to draw everyone together and make the world a better place for all! This group of mine included activists, singing artists, musicians, and so many more. It was an age that stimulated minds, tempted fragile egos, and taught us the importance of diversity in all of its shapes and forms. 

Harper Lee. D. H. Lawrence. Henry Miller. V. S. Naipaul. Robert Ruark. Doris Lessing. Abbie Hoffman. Cesar Chavez. Gloria Steinem. Bob Dylan. Joan Baez. Richie Havens. 

The more I read, the more specifics I learned and yearned for.

The 1963 novel, The Feminine Mystique, by Betty Friedan introduced many young women and housewives to the possibilities of living a fuller, more creative life inside and outside of the home. The book became a battle cry for young women all over the western world and permanently transformed the social fabric of the United States and countries around the world. 

Many of us were stunned to learn about the ‘lack of response’ decision by the Supreme Court of the United States regarding the Texas abortion law in December of 2021 and the killing of Roe v. Wade in Texas in the process. After hearing the court’s weak  arguments on the constitutionality of the Mississippi abortion  law shortly afterwards, I wrote my own poem in rebuttal to these dangerous decisions made by this conservative court:

             Sisterhood Is Powerful

                          By Jacqueline E Hughes

I made it out of bed this morning and

stepped into a time capsule. It felt like I was 

eighteen again. I dressed under the scrutiny 

of Betty Friedan, Gloria Steinem, Toni Cade, and 

“Battling Bella” Abzug. It felt like I was eighteen 

again. We (women) were spitting out slogans

like “Sisterhood is Powerful.” Fighting for 

equality and the right to be free. It felt like I was 

eighteen again. Ideals we fought for as 

young women were dissolving. Sugar in 

the waters of subjugation.

“The government does not belong in our 

bedrooms.” “My body, my choice.” It felt like 

I was eighteen again. Discovering that men are 

oppressors; understanding that women are, too.

Always fighting for what should have already 

been ours: positive self-image, respect, equality. 

I felt like I was eighteen again. So tired of 

making coffee, not policy. It was the Freedom Trash

Can that collected our bras. I felt like I was 

eighteen again. Enslaved within skin colored black,

white, brown, red, yellow. Charging forward, the 

Staff of Determination clenched tightly in our hands.

Why would we stand down, give up, go home unsatisfied after all of these years? I feel like I am eighteen again. Making the world a better place for all generations. Believing in justice. I feel like I am eighteen again. Surviving the stench of the current political fervor that’s bent on dismantling the past. This, too, shall pass. Good people, women and men, continue to lead, wisely. And one day, I know, our struggles will be…otherwise. 

We were so proud to have lived in the colorful Sixties: the decade of the pill, Black Power, the Stonewall riots, Vietnam, and Flower Power. “It was the decade that The Beatles got bigger than Jesus!” It launched second wave feminism, and the time when pro-choice found its voice. We became the ‘Baby Boomer Generation’ who was rebellious, experimental, and loaded with self-confidence. Sadly, we were made to witness major political assassinations that, through the death of our heroes, brought about social change. 

President John Kennedy, Martin Luther King, Senator Robert Kennedy, and many more had no choice in their final legacy once their productivity was so abruptly taken from them. But, their life stories do live on through the work they unselfishly accomplished while living a shortened but generous life, as well as through their spouses and children determined to keep their memory (legacy) alive. For the most part, they will be remembered for the goodness they espoused during their time here on earth.

If our own life is slated to be taken away as abruptly, how would we be remembered by those we leave behind? If we are lucky enough to live a healthy life long into our 90’s or even 100’s, will we be happy that we’ve traveled enough, worked hard enough, helped others less fortunate than ourselves, and made good changes in this world that reflect a better life for ourselves and others? How will we be remembered after time spent among our fellow human beings?

If we are satisfied with the answers to all of the above questions, facing our own death should not bother us, otherwise. Preparing for the inevitable by living a lifestyle worthy of ourselves and being human along the way is a noble way of living. We should strive for and humbly appreciate being forever remembered in this way.

“The scholar fashioned wings
of his design
and leapt from the citadel,
drifting amid radiance
toward injury and fame.
What bondage is weight?
Even in burial
we ascend.”

Copyright © 2022 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

A GENTLE PROTEST

A series of essays.....

HOLDING OUR FUTURE
IN MY ARMS

.....as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes

Sitting alone in my work space, otherwise known as snuggling in a corner of the living room couch, i-Pad on lap, I luxuriate in the comforting household sounds that surround me.

Sometimes we hear the sounds that make-up our daily life. More often than we'd like to admit, we do not. Call it being   preoccupied, in deep concentration, or simply oblivious to what transpires around us....life is happening in many forms with each breath we take.

On this day, especially, I am taking the time to examine my life, my personal surroundings, and make note of each slight degree of difference that makes up my days of writing. After all, life is a rich artistic performance, full of nuance.

Today is particularly important because it is International Women's Day.....but, with a twist! "A Day Without a Woman" march and protest coincides with the celebration of women in general as it rallies for equal rights for women all over the world. The action is aimed at showing the economic importance and impact of women on society. And, yes....I'm ashamed that in the year 2017, women must continue the fight to be seen and treated as 'equals' alongside of men!

So, I am doing my part.

Today we are between guests staying here with us at our home in Florida. Part of living in this amazingly comfortable climate in Florida is celebrating the warm, non-humid days and cool, 'windows opened' nights that give us so much sleeping pleasure. Moving here from Michigan nearly twenty years ago, I know how blessed I am each time I think about all of the brutal winters spent up north.

Always having wanted to run my own Bed & Breakfast out of our Victorian home in Eaton Rapids, Michigan, I find the next best thing is to have as many relatives and friends stay down here with us whenever and as often as they can. This winter has been the fulfillment of this dream and, somehow, sharing the comforts of a home you've stockpiled with so much hard work and care with those you love, makes me happy. I, deliciously, compare it to enjoying the rich cream that floats up to the top of the glass milk bottle.

I began paying attention to the 'sounds of my day' while getting out of bed this morning and making a note of each one, beginning with the gentle drip, drip of freshly brewing coffee filling the carafe. I color most of my activities for the day in a 'gentle protest' that coincides with each and every woman who is actively marching her way into history along the streets of New York City, Washington D.C., Chicago, and Los Angeles and so many more places near and far. And, I am praying that 'she' is treated kindly by 'her' employer and/or manager if 'she' has had to call in sick or has bravely announced that 'she' will be marching instead of working at her job today.

Sitting here in my favorite work spot and sipping hot coffee from my preferred ceramic mug, I take pleasure in hearing the slightly grinding rumble of the dryer on the other side of the kitchen as it tumbles dry the pristine white sheets I will soon be making-up the guest bed with. Listening to the gentle tapping of my fingers on the keyboard as I type away is as comforting and natural as caressing my pet's head while snuggling on the couch watching television.

You might be thinking to yourself, "What is she talking about? She's working right now cleaning the house after the departure of yesterday's guests and before tomorrow's guests arrive and, she's been working on her writing since waking-up at six-thirty in the morning! She hasn't stopped working as a form of protest today!" And, from the looks of it, you would be right.

Sitting here alone today without the pleasant ring of friendly laughter emanating from the stories that resurfaced by virtue of free-flowing memories of long ago pleasures and good times shared....I have vowed to be more aware of this down time between guests. I am listening to the melodic clicking sounds of two 'battery fed' clocks that hang on the walls surrounding me and wonder if any two clocks actually tick in unison with one another. Surprisingly, right as this thought enters my head, the mantle clock in my husband's office chimes the half-hour.

The early afternoon scheduled flights of various carriers, are dropping their landing gear just north of our home as their pilots prepare to guide them gently down onto the tarmac at Orlando International Airport. They continue to float above me in intervals of two to three minutes and I listen to the variances in their engine sounds and wonder how many different passengers in these particular planes have observed our rooftop before landing for business or pleasure on the ground.

My uncle Louie was a pilot in WWII and used to enjoy sitting out on our lanai listening for the planes to float by while petting our dog, Brûlée, as they snuggled together on a comfy lounge chair.  By the time he could see them, he had determined what make and size of engine each plane had just by being so attuned to the particular sounds made by each one. I miss this visual these past five years as I miss my uncle and his pleasant companionship.

Wednesday is yard day for us and I can feel the presence of the crew in our front yard before the edgers, mowers, and blowers even begin their gasoline infused parade up the driveway. Their rhythmic roars have drowned-out the fact that my dryer has stopped. I am too comfortable to get up right now! Besides, as I recall, I am still gently protesting throughout this fine day. 

Have I ever taken notice of the humanlike sounds coming from the French door refrigerator before? Its low rumble sounds like the 'hunger pangs' of people with a strong desire for food. And, tying the two together would make perfect sense when I stop to think about it. This reminds me that I should make a decision as to what to have for dinner later. Or, should I not care about dinner today of all days?

I am so bad-ass, aren't I?

Right as I am thinking about my 'Nasty Woman' behavior, a squad, herd, group, horde of squirrels charge across the roof like there is no tomorrow, their tiny rodent paws with their elongated nails scratching the shingles the entire width of the house as they charge their way to the outstretched limbs of the live oak tree in the back yard. I know that dinner for them tonight will be the sweet buds of young leaves waiting to make their debut into the unknown world. Many of them will become squirrel food tonight.

It's already five o'clock because the mechanical whirl of our garage door opening-up reaches my ears. How long have I been sitting here writing this afternoon? How long have I taken the time to just listen to the world around me? 

The husband enters the back door as the ping, ping, ping of the alarm system announces his presence before I can even see him walk into the kitchen. I will greet him now. He will ask me about my 'gentle protest' today because he is a gentle soul who has voluntarily become fined-tuned to women in general; me in particular. A huge smile spreads across my face.

Happiness has its own sounds, too. Spreading smiles sound so sweet in the dimming light of this familiar room. I know he will gladly help me make-up the guest bed tonight after I extract the sheets from the gaping mouth of the dryer. Tomorrow evening we will welcome our guests with open arms and a home cooked meal. And wine, plenty of good wine and cheers. 

I'm pleased to have aligned myself with every other woman in the world today. My 'gentle protest' will be felt in waves of camaraderie and solidarity with each one of them. Our strength in numbers and strong will is something to be reckoned with because the Power of Women is the new chapter being written, not with the idea of overpowering men in general, or the men in our own, personal lives.... Rather, by standing tall and strong right alongside of them in unity and equality.

Copyright © 2017 by Jacqueline E. Hughes

All rights reserved