BLESSED WITH THE DISCIPLINE OF AN ‘OLD SOUL’

 

A series of essays….

OUR GRANDDAUGHTER, LYDIA~
WE ARE VERY BLESSED.

….as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

“I asked an elderly man once what it was like to be old and to know the majority of his life was behind him.

He told me that he has been the same age his entire life. He said the voice inside of his head had never aged. He has always just been the same boy. His mother's son.

He had always wondered when he would grow up and be an old man. He said he watched his body age and his faculties dull but the person he is inside never got tired. 

Never aged. Never changed.

Our spirits are eternal. Our souls are forever. The next time you encounter an elderly person, look at them and know they are still a child, just as you are still a child and children will always need love, attention and purpose.”

~ Author Unknown

My complete fascination with those who have lived long lives and have the wrinkles, dark spots, crepey skin, and stories to show for it has been a part of me for many years. Their personal stories are plentiful and interesting. Wouldn’t you enjoy listening to the truth via those who have experienced it first-hand many years before us? 

When we first began traveling to Europe with our daughters back in 1990, I decided to choose a theme that would encourage me to take intimate pictures from everywhere we visited. My initial theme happened to be highlighting the elderly. I felt that they represented and bolstered the idea of a Europe that was historically much older than the United States and were at the top of the pyramid of family life and relationships. Each person I photographed was like a cherished leather bound storybook waiting to be read; they were all very beautiful with enticing, well-worn smiles that served as unique illustrations for their individual stories.

With my Canon slung over my shoulder while walking around a busy pedestrian shopping area in Munich, I captured a lady who was concentrating on steering her bike around the crowd of international tourists. Her brow-line was deeply furrowed while wisps of white hair escaped her small knit cap. Her stockings were rolled down her thin legs until they actually pooled just at the ankles. Suddenly her beautiful dark eyes found mine as I lifted the camera to capture her image.  

Instantly she became wide eyed and mellow and a smile unfolded across her narrow face like a colorful celebratory banner. Something awoke within her. In an instant, she gave to me far more than I could ever give her in return. She was mine to cherish for as long as I could stare at the image that was created that sunny afternoon in Germany.

During that trip, my Canon captured a sweet child of around three years of age who was unabashedly walking several paces from her mother in Auxerre, France; a lady, white hair swathed in a brightly colored scarf, walking home with several baguettes in hand; in another small village in France, a very fragile lady leaned out of her upper floor window and greeted everyone walking below with a resounding ‘bonjour’; two rather stately older gentlemen walking down a tree lined path who appeared to be working on improving the Irish economy with each sentence spoken; and our own daughter, Corinne, wide-eyed and disbelieving as she witnessed her first French pizza pie sporting an over easy fried egg on top as she took sips from our oversized mugs of frosty bier.

Even when I was young, I never shied away from elderly family members, neighbors, or strangers. I always found them to be charming and with so many stories to tell. Cousins and friends might have felt uncomfortable being in close proximity to the elderly sighting them as  different smelling, awkward to be around, and even a bit frightening. I often thought how happy I would be to have lived, laughed, and loved for so long! With any luck, we would all be there one day ourselves.

I attribute my feelings to my Grandpa Moshak, my mother’s Ukrainien father, who would have me tag along on a hot summer’s day as he would bring food, comfort, and conversation to those who lived in this Ukrainien section of Mishawaka, Indiana. Standing in a darkened kitchen, the sunlight barely drifting through half opened shades, I would observe Papa easing any concerns they may have with his soft spoken words and kind smile. They appreciated his patience and graciously accepted the help he offered them. This helped to make their daily lives tolerable in a country that did not understand their habits and language.

Thank you, Papa!

As we get older, all we truly need is for those younger, less tolerable, to understand and appreciate the years of life experience we have unintentionally allowed to seep into the vital cloth that makes up who we are. If we are lucky, the person we are inside never gets tired or old and the voice inside our heads never ages. The mind remains a sponge absorbing something new each day. Our body might age but the person we are inside continues to be active and vibrant when we allow it to. We are our mother’s daughters and sons; the same children we always were needing love, attention, and a purpose to keep moving forward.

Our only ginger grandchild, Lydia, will be celebrating her fourteenth birthday next week. Her great grandmothers, Olga and Beverly, would take pride in her thick, beautiful locks considering they were both gingers themselves. Lydia’s special day got me thinking about how precious and complex the life process is and how she has always accepted others at any age; already written her own stories about growing-up and respecting those around her. She is an ‘old soul’ in every sense of the term and has always had a very wise air about her. 

Turning fourteen must be the standard gauge used to quantify the precise moment we ‘younger souls’ can evaluate an ‘older soul’ within a young body. If this is the case, our precious Lydia, we acknowledge the many lifetimes that have contributed to your kindness and understanding throughout the years. You, like your great great grandfather, hold the wisdom, kindness, and truth that you so graciously project on all of us who know you.

Happy Birthday sweet young lady. I love you with all of my being!

May we never age or change within our hearts as our bodies grow older. May we only become wiser with the attitude and outlook of the child we were always meant to be. Our spirits are eternal. Our souls are forever. After all, we are only children who will always require love, attention, and a raison d’être.

Copyright © 2021 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

A SERIES OF ESSAYS AS SEEN THROUGH MY EYES!

 

A series of essays….

FINDING MY HAPPY PLACES THROUGH ARTWORK.
ORIGINAL PAINTING BY KATHLEEN KALINOWSKI AND ENTITLED:
~TRISH’S CHICKENS~
OIL ON LINEN PANEL - 9 X 12

….as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

Life continues on in its ‘bits and pieces’ format day after day until the fuzzy borders of actions become more fluid and less blurred. I still can’t figure out if this is a good thing or not. I try to remember what life was like before COVID-19. I try to recall day-to-day actions before drumpt entered our lives on a full time basis. Oops! There go the blurry outlines once again. 

I try to remember when life started to become less sacred to some and pulling out a weapon to engage in the bodily harm of another human being became more and more commonplace. In other words, when did the sanctity of life begin to breakdown, tumble, and collide with the sharp edges of reality until life itself became meaningless and petty to so many people? At least, when did I begin to feel the menacing cuts, stabs, bruises, and sorrow associated with the world we live in today?

I know, the world has not been altered or changed that much after all of the wars we acknowledge from the past or the inequality between whites and people of color.  Many high school and college friends either died in Vietnam or came back home suffering from PTSD and the hatred of those who could only accept a win and despised our government and servicemen and women for bringing home a loss. So, the shallowness began for many of us fairly early in life.

Bits and pieces can add up quickly in one’s lifetime. Some would chastise others for proclaiming their choice to not bring children into a world so full of hatred and pain. Others won’t allow the negative side of life to affect them and tune out the news altogether keeping a false, mostly sunny aspect of life to guide them through the day while ignoring negativity and truth.

There are many good parts of life that draw me in, make me feel happy and graciously human and it’s good to always line them up like golden stars in the night sky and allow them to twinkle and shine for all they are worth! Marriage, children, job promotions, comfortable homes, my writing career, and cherished family and friends have become the chapters of a nonfiction book I continue to write and will share with my readers whenever possible. Travel experiences became its preface while each chapter highlights an individual experience or place that helps to make my life healthy, unique—and, sometimes, very sad.

Writing is a way to lay it all out on the counter for everyone to see. It is the freedom to move about the cabin as we see fit. It helps me blow off steam when life becomes too compressed and then praise the gods for spectacular events that change my life forever—having grandchildren always comes to mind.

Every single day we experience our own vulnerability; yet, we must find time to enjoy the act of being our own superhero in order to bolster any setbacks we and those around us might be experiencing.

Thinking back over eight years ago to before the creation of Moving On….2021, my Website, while living in Orlando, Florida, to just how naive I had been; how all of the small things affected me. How empty-nesting and leaving Michigan punctuated my vulnerability and sent me into a sad decline of self-worth all while bringing about a serious bout of depression. I fought through it, got a good job I thoroughly enjoyed, and, eventually, climbed out of the hole I had created for myself. 

I remember listening to the news before work one morning when a local newscaster, shock and despair apparent in her voice, detailed a fatal road rage shooting that took place behind a Walgreens store just a mile from our apartment. One man took another man’s life while they were both driving to work. There was no forethought as to if the victim had a wife and children. It was strictly a matter of I have a gun, he cut me off on busy Semoran Boulevard, and that gives me the right to shoot him! That was the beginning of the fear and distrust that was planted in my gut like small seeds waiting to grow. 

Unfortunately, they did grow. Not just in Orlando or even in Florida for that matter, but around the entire country. People were edgier and becoming more emboldened, less tolerant of people around them, and ready to light the fuse within themselves at any cost. Subsequently, Stand Your Ground laws (shoot first) were introduced seven years before George Zimmerman shot and killed Trayvon Martin, allegedly under self defense. These laws have helped promote the hatred that is growing exponentially while ignoring the mentally ill who often take advantage of them.

Guns. Guns. Guns. 

The mass shooting in Jacksonville in 2018 along with the massacres at Orlando's Pulse Nightclub, Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood International Airport, and Parkland's Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School, sent shivers down our spines. With assault rifles in many homes and gun laws weak or, practically, nonexistent, Florida residents were becoming hardened by how easy it was to have a gun in their possession and then plan ahead to use it on innocent people.

Lies. Lies. Lies.

We’ve barely survived four years with a narcissistic president and are working hard to change the backlash and damage of a tsunami that has led to massive destruction of personal lives and healthy mental well being. We are still battling a pandemic both scientifically and emotionally that has led one group to claim that their right of choice will always take precedence over everyone else’s right to be healthy and alive. And, there are the horrific ramifications from the acts of those who feel absolutely no remorse in exhibiting their obvious hatred of all people of color while believing in the power of white supremacy.

I will take the bits and pieces that make-up my life and turn them this way and that, making them fit together to the best of my ability, creating a majestic collage so colorful and sparkling it will ‘hurt your eyes beautiful.’ I will add love, one of the most effective drugs known to humankind, to this powerful mixture and fill in all of the cracks and holes with it like ‘magical grout’ keeping everything solid and secure. 

Believing in the goodness within all of us will take me above and beyond all of the evil I have already witnessed in this lifetime. Love is the ticket. Patience is a virtue. They must prevail.

Copyright © 2021 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

 

NOVEMBER: THANKSGIVING MULTITASKING

A series of essays….

AGING GRACEFULLY BY
ACCEPTING WHAT COMES NATURALLY

Photograph: Daphne, Channel 4

….as seen through my eyes!

 

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

As a child, no sooner would I be finished brushing every last calorie from my teeth and mouth after a victorious night out begging for sweet treats from strangers in our neighborhood, when my concentration turned to even more exciting celebrations! Halloween itself was a treat and delight to look forward to but, for me, it ushered in the ultimate annual celebration of early November — my birthday! 

November is my birthday month! Yes, I share it now with my husband who celebrates his birthday later in the month, with my granddaughter, Lydia, soon to be fourteen, even our son-in-law, Matt, as well as everyone exercising their right to vote on Election Day, the first Tuesday in November. Let’s not forget giving thanks and celebrating with friends and loved ones on Thanksgiving Day with delicious food, reminiscences, and good cheer. 

Even though November was such an impactful month for most of us in so many different ways, I always felt it was my month; my birthday ushered it into prominence with its promise of friends coming over, gifts to be opened, and cake and ice cream to be devoured once the candles were properly blown out. 

If my birthday happened to fall in the middle of the week (Tuesday through Thursday), it almost always guaranteed a longer course of celebratory bliss by extending the fun for me both in school and at home. A particular bonus would be if any one of my friends were celebrating their birthday on or around my own. Maybe I couldn’t have that summer beach party birthday I always wanted, but sharing the happiness, especially at school, was an extra special treat!

Today, I sit here before you with multiple wrinkles, dark spots and scars, every laugh line or weary look of despair and sorrow I’ve ever lived with, recounting the good times (and the not so good) right before my next birthday; marking the beginning of my very own month of November. The anticipation of joy and excitement remains a part of the process waiting to unfold…just like in my younger days when I was bedazzled by boxes wrapped in gaily colored paper and decked out with shiny ribbon and bows.

YOURS TRULY…

My regrets are few. Life has been pretty good so far. Giving back to others has always awakened my sense of purpose and catapulted good vibes all around reminding me that I’ve made it this far! The best is yet to come! But, when blowing out my candles today, there is one wish that overpowers all others. Some say that if we verbalize our wishes they will not come true. I will only tell you that our youngest daughter and three amazing grandchildren are involved in a large portion of my current hopes and dreams. 

Wonderful friends, my forever adopted sister, my husband and oldest daughter and family, all keep me grounded these days. They help control the glow from way too many candles that dazzle the senses while offering the opportunity to blow out the past and seek enlightenment from the here and now — along with my imagination and projected dreams. Living in the present while looking towards the future is the key. No matter how old we are, there will be a tomorrow to look forward to. All too often we forget this and stop dreaming altogether while abandoning our tomorrows like fine sand particles tossed into the wind.

The icing on the cake, so to speak, can be any flavor, color, or type; I have no particular favorite and never have. With it being an additional benefit to something already good, the cake and frosting are sweet receptacles that serve to hold the flame upright so that we may easily extinguish it in the hopes that our dreams will come true. Superstitious and pandering to our weaknesses or base desires — perhaps. Is this the reason we are told to keep silent about our particular wishes or they may not come true? How often have we kept a spreadsheet recording the outcome of our birthday wishes regarding success or failure? 

When I blow my candles out this year (more than likely composed of two numerical wax digits), I will look on the bright side of life and concentrate on making a wish and hoping it is fulfilled. If it isn’t satisfied immediately, I will work exceptionally hard during this next year to make it happen; each tiny flame pushing me harder and harder to complete a task successfully within the next 365 days. They are a  push we require to dream and make that dream come true.

After all, isn’t this really why we blow out the candles in the first place? 

Remember: If you don’t tell your own story, someone else may write it for you.

Copyright © 2021 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

WHO IS CONTROLLING THE STORY?

 

A series of essays….

THE POWER OF TRUTH WILL ALWAYS LEAD
US DOWN THE PATH OF KNOWLEDGE AND CONNECTIVITY!

     Photo courtesy of: tabacs.net

….as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

The world is round.

The Donald lost the election.

Vaccines really do work.

Facts, Jack!

It always amazes me when simple, provable facts get twisted and turned around until people begin to believe they are false and unrecognizable. Hence, the big lie! What on earth ever happened to individual thinking, independence, and common sense? 

I know, I know — the disappearance of common sense within the world has been a running theme of mine for a very long time. It’s difficult to let go of the fact that during my short time here on earth, (Everything is relative, people!), what I learned as a child seems to have drifted through the cracks and become lost to the majority of the population. Or, it was never taught to or understood by them in the first place!

You see, I look at the January 6 insurrection as what it truly was: a blatant attempt to overthrow our government and turn a blind eye to our Constitution, all with the idea of keeping the Donald in office.This came about because of a lie touted by an ignorant, old, white man born with a silver spoon in his mouth who was afraid he’d look bad for losing and wasn’t man (human) enough to accept his loss in a gracious and intelligent manner. Fair enough?

The problem with this is that his fabricated lies have been unleashed for so long, with Pandora’s Box wide open and its demons unleashed for all to see, that, much like Christianity’s idea of biting the forbidden fruit, many of us have gotten into a situation in which one has very little control over. The most gullible among us wish to believe the lies no matter what the consequences may be for them or others. Perhaps the lies make them feel better about themselves and give them something to cling to where there was only a dark void before. 

As a society on a whole, why were we so naive as to believe that white supremacy, the KKK, and neo-Nazi groups such as the Proud Boys were ideas locked away in an old closet never to be heard of in polite society again? Now, because of a President who happens to agree with their philosophies and approves of their methods by legitimizing them, they are unabashedly showing their faces and liberally walking the streets, heads held high! Shame on us for letting our guard down in the hope that empathy and love were finally conquering hate and tyranny within our society. It’s the year 2021 already and we still can’t get it right!

Who is controlling the story?

This question begs for a coalition of interest where we see ourselves in other people instead of concentrating solely on our own individual pursuits. If we see ourselves within the stories of others, we are more likely to see ourselves as connected to other people. This allows all of us to participate in the story while we keep our hearts and minds open to every imaginable possibility. 

Seeing ourselves in the stories of others allows us to see ourselves being connected to other people — developing and adapting to change with the support and understanding of everyone who shares the same ground we walk on, the same air we breathe, with the innate knowledge that all humans are connected and equal in all respects.

So, who is controlling the story?

We should not be the puppets and pawns of the powerful who believe that their wealth controls everything and laugh behind the backs of those who do worship them. Their story is controlled by the power they seek while worshiping any means to find it. Their eyesight is limited by greed and they choose to ignore anything or anyone who’s story does not coincide with their own.

The insurrection on January 6 outlined a story we have come to know only too well within the Donald years in the White House when Americans, sucked in by his every lie, have become his puppets and pawns. They have been programmed to hang-on to every word in his story; conditioned to making predictable and automatic responses without thought in knee-jerk support of a man they deem a demi-god.

When we experience control over our own story and decide to see ourselves as being connected to other people by being involved in their stories, we all will become richer for the experience. We will then feel included as a person of color or a white person and begin to understand that by embracing all of our stories collectively, no one feels like or becomes the victim. When we say ‘yes’ to inclusivity, we are truly saying ‘yes’ to what it means to be an American.

Copyright © 2021 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

FROM BALLOON TIRES TO PLUG-IN VEHICLES

 

A series of essays….

A SCENE THAT IS BECOMING MORE FAMILIAR EVERY DAY:
PUBLICLY CHARGING OUR ELECTRIC VEHICLES.

                  COURTESY OF DRIVESOCIETY.COM

….as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

At an early age, I wanted a dark green Jeep! So much so that I called my first two wheeler, with training wheels, painted a light blue, and salvaged from someplace other than Sears and Roebuck, my ‘Little Jeep.’  A shout out to Roy Rogers, Pat Brady, and Nellybelle, Pat’s Jeep. I was as rugged and terrifying on that bike (sans training wheels, eventually) as any little boy on our block! After all — it was my Jeep and I could blaze a new dirt trail with the best of them. Simply conquering a city sidewalk, complete with uneven concrete slabs pushed up at odd angles by the roots of mature maple trees lining the block, was a feat to behold. Affixing a playing card to a spoke with a spring loaded clothespin brought life to my Jeep each time I went out to conquer the rugged terrain of suburban Mishawaka, Indiana.

I was what many people who knew me well called a tomboy. Being rough and tumbled put me in my comfort zone; having an older brother solidified the deal. 

Ronnie got a bike that year, too. It arrived in a huge, flat box that hung out from the trunk of my dad’s powder blue Chevy. My mother’s face beamed with joy when Ronnie first saw the box and realized its contents. Dad looked a bit perplexed as he pulled piece after piece out of the cardboard container until he found the instruction booklet. Saving the assembly fee offered by Sears and doing it himself wasn’t the option dad particularly preferred right about then. But, with a little time, a few swear words whispered under his breath, and mom’s help, the job got done and Ronnie was the proud owner of a very fancy new bike.

MY BALLOON TIRE “LITTLE JEEP”

MY OLDER BROTHER’S ENGLISH RACER

And there it was, parked in our driveway, an ‘English Racer’ — a maroon Schwinn with 3-speeds and handbrakes, a small basket on each side of the back tire, and the skinniest, white walled, 26-inch tires I could ever imagine! Thin, gray wires protruded from the low profile, racing handlebars to each tire and small switches and levers lined the sleek curvature of the bars themselves. It all looked so futuristic and exotic to this five-year old kid. My big brother was going to be able to fly through our neighborhood like an Indy race car on its Memorial Day run, all revved-up and powered by fine-tuned mechanics and super human adrenaline. 

All I wanted to see right then was Ronnie up on that narrow seat and balanced on those skinny tires that made my balloon tires look like my grandmother’s ankles after working on her feet all day. Of course, he managed, although there was a learning curve when it came to adjusting to the three speed positions and use of the handbrakes. Everyone called these 3-speed bikes English Racers referring to the riders in Europe who rode the Super Dome bike tracks for speed and fame. Funny, our English Racers weren’t really racing bikes, but they sure looked like it to all of us. And, I don’t know where Ronnie’s ended up, but I’m certain he got his mileage out of that beautiful bike.

NELLYBELLE THE JEEP
FROM THE ROY ROGER’S TV SHOW

Ronnie, when not off on a wild adventure of his own, soon became our Uber Driver, Shipt Shopper, and GrubHub delivery service while dad was traveling around the Midwest for his job. Since mom never had a license to drive, his role during the week on that speedy English Racer made life a bit less hectic for the three of us left at home.

With the influence of my dad leading the way, my love of bikes eventually turned into a love affair with the automobile. Keeping the memory of the green Jeep close to my heart, Dan and I contemplated purchasing a Jeep Wrangler shortly after we were married in the autumn of ‘73 after he’d applied for construction jobs in Eugene, Oregon. We had hoped to blaze our own trails out on the West Coast but never made it out there and did not invest in a Wrangler, either. Instead, our first vehicle together was a midnight blue, stick shift, Pontiac Firebird Esprit with white interior. The purchase price was somewhere in the range of $3,500 and quite a bargain for two twenty-three year olds.

I had to wait a little while for my very own ‘English Racer,’ but, it was well worth it. I loved that car.

Eventually, after our two daughters were old enough to appreciate the ride, we purchased a 1984 Pontiac Trans Am with T-Tops and built-in roll bar. With its V-8 engine and super easy maneuverability, we spent many sunny road trips with the wind blowing our hair into a frenzy and having no particular destination in mind. We would just follow the broken white lines and take pleasure in the scenery and the ride.

Dad always told us to enjoy every vehicle we had by taking good care of it no matter what model or year it was. Our car was the ticket we needed to explore any road we wanted and would lead us to places we never knew existed. In this regard, he was a very wise man. Where dad lacked patience in other fields, we knew that when it came to driving the family car on vacation road trips at sixteen, he was the one who allowed us to take charge and do the right thing without fear of repercussions. In other words, he trusted us being in charge and that gave us the confidence we needed to sit behind the wheel.

The self-assurance dad instilled in all four of us kids created our respect and love of the automobile. He really should have owned his own dealership. He would have been an amazing salesman with such passion and determination to back him up. Although, working for the Sinclair Oil Corporation and Quaker State Motor Oil Company placed him as close to his beloved cars as possible. We would move as a family at least once a year in order to keep his dream alive and soon became ‘nomads for the cause’ and learned to adjust out of necessity.

I don’t know how dad would have reacted to the latest venture of helping to save the world via the electric car complete with its rechargeable batteries and multiple charging stations throughout the country. This concept would seem to go against every principle he ever stood for or believed in. This was a man who enjoyed getting dirty while changing the oil in his car; who used to chide about Ethyl octane gas and jokingly ask who was Ethyl, anyway?; wash his hands raw with Lava Soap after a weekend of working on the car, and made a decent living for his family by selling the very products, gas and oil, that electric cars are eliminating. 

Respecting change is what it’s all about and dad was of the generation that ran away from change; embraced the attitude that if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. I think he might have tried to talk me out of what I know and believe I should do in order to create as small of a footprint on this earth as possible. As an adult, I have wanted an electric car for a long time. Now, living up in Michigan again, there are certain prerequisites that slide into the ‘must have’ category when thinking of purchasing any new vehicle and having 4-wheel drive marks the number one slot. 

2021 FORD BRONCO

For now, I am seriously looking at the new and modernized Ford Bronco this time around, but waiting for the premier of their electric model slated for 2022. I know dad must be rolling over in his grave right about now having been a Chevrolet (at least a General Motors) man most of his life. However, I’m finding a huge likeness between my ‘Little Jeep’ from many years ago and the Ford Bronco. It has just enough ruggedness built into it along with plenty of panache to match a sleek English Racer, any day — all while keeping an intelligent outlook towards the future of clean driving. 

On second thought, I think my dad would be proud of my decision. 

ALL EYES TO THE FUTURE!

Copyright © 2021 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved