Author Archives: Cindy Blackstock

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About Cindy Blackstock

My life story has been one of opportunity and growth. My professional career has centered on the human element where I have engaged, encouraged and empowered. Navy wife, Red Cross Emergency Service Director and positions within local governments have challenged and strengthened me. The employment experiences compounded with my personal life has allowed my character to be one of determination and independence. My hope is that I am never far from having that offset by an empathetic nature. Before the pandemic I was a brunette but after a year of isolation I decided to show my authentic self and rock my gray hair. It has been a tangible way to signal I am ready for the next stage of my life. I am so much more than what I have projected professionally. I am mother, sister and friend. For years I have also worn the monikers of daughter and wife but they have been relegated to history. I would like to think in recent times that it is my genuine demeanor, and not just the apparent gray hair, that draws people to me. As a result I have been bestowed with several new names: Gate Keeper, The Vault and the Kleenex Lady. Life is short and none of us are promised tomorrow. I have spent decades learning to take that to heart. I might have not realized early on but my focus has been to attempt to leave things better than how I originally found them. This includes myself. I have been sowing seeds for longer than I can remember and now will concentrate on harvesting that crop of a lifetime.

Apologies

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When this blog originated it was done with the promise, to you the reader, and myself that it will be posted every other week. In between, a quotation is offered that is in sync with the previous post. I have kept the promise but I am breaking it tonight.

I have felt fortunate that inspiration has always come easily. That is still the case but due to family circumstances I am unable to pull my thoughts together and offer something that would be cohesive in thought and message. I am asking you for a reprieve this week. I will be back shortly with blogs that most likely will reflect the knowledge and experience I am currently acquiring.

For those who reside in the states, Happy Thanksgiving. Never forget to give thanks for the good that comes your way, no matter the size of the blessing.

Hometown Heroes

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I live in a small town. Banners decorate the street lights downtown showing veterans in uniform and a notation of when they served. I have never looked into participating in the program as it is my understanding that the locale where the banner is hung is within the hometown of the veteran. As I have shared several times, my father was career Navy. What I might not have shared is that he was born in a very rural area where there are still no street lights or sidewalks. Fortunately, my father is enrolled in the US Navy Memorial in Washington DC.  When it was established, he took pride in knowing his time in service would be immortalized. His picture is there, in uniform, smiling for prosperity.

Again, living in a small town doesn’t always give one the opportunity to appreciate the information that is shared on the banners. There are few street lights here and I don’t often have the opportunity to stop at a red light and take in the name and timeframe of service. The subtext varies, but many of them note the individual was missing in action or killed in action. It is hard to believe that a small town could have made so many sacrifices.

Today may be observed as Veteran’s Day but the sacrifice made by our brave service members is something that we should carry with us for more than just one day. I look at those pictures, frozen in time, and think about those same individuals walking down these very same streets. Their clothing may have been different but I imagine their dreams were much the same as ours. For some those dreams were transformed to a greater sacrifice that gives us the opportunity to comfortably walk down these same streets safely and securely.

I imagine the Hometown Heroes program will continue to flourish. I hope it does. It’s a wonderful way to pay tribute to those who served. Our gratitude may be nudged by those banners fluttering in the breeze but I hope that is not the only thing. I also hope that remembrance is a part of us always, and not just one day in November.

The Greatest Generation

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(It is not lost on me that Tuesday, November 11, is Veteran’s Day. I posted this blog over two years ago in lieu of Memorial Day. I have never forgotten the experience, nor the man, and felt strongly about sharing it again. I will pick up my figurative pen and post something more on Tuesday in honor of our veterans.)

An elderly man was pushing his shopping cart through the check out and I didn’t realize that I was blocking his exit. His white hair was neatly trimmed and combed into place. I noticed that although it was spring, he was wearing a flannel shirt. It looked as if the tags had recently been removed as it appeared new. Work pants completed his outfit. His cart contained two boxes of Cheerios and a bag. He politely let me know that he was trying to move around me and I stepped to the side. With a smile I asked him if he had a license to operate his shopping cart.

What I thought was a humorous passing comment opened a conversation that I didn’t anticipate. Not knowing if he misunderstood my remark, he chose to tell me that he was 99 years old and has been able to maintain his driver’s license. I didn’t get a sense that he said it in a condescending way but rather with understated pride. I could see that he was someone that didn’t take his independence for granted.

Although I have played our conversation over in my head several times, I am still unable to remember how he introduced the fact that he was a veteran of WWII. He was an infantry soldier and it has left a mark on him that is evident to this day. Ironically, he was soft spoken, yet his words suggested that during those years he experienced hell on earth. He spoke of the heat and the bugs and how collectively it had played havoc on their health. There was no relief at night as they slept on the ground and the morning dampness only added to the damage to their skin.  However harsh the environment might have been, it played only a small part of what they contended with regularly. His battalion saw heavy fighting and heavy losses. With pride he shared that there was a monument erected as a result of their service.

If he shared the particular information identifying his battalion or the actual location where he fought, I don’t recall. I do feel I heard what was important. Here was a man who selflessly put his life on the line for what he believed. I had been given the perception that he questions why he was able to survive when so many others didn’t. He has done more than survive as he anticipates celebrating his 100th birthday by the end of summer. He has had many years to reflect upon his life and what his purpose might have been as he made his way on this journey. After our conversation came to an end he smiled and said he was going home to read his Bible.

I don’t know who this man is and I am certain I will never see him again. I know nothing of him other than what he chose to share. I have no name to identify him and no way to congratulate him on his anticipated 100th birthday. He could say the same of me. Yet the universe felt it was necessary for our paths to cross. An elderly man was able to share a part of his life that was traumatic yet deemed necessary. Although I was a receptive audience, I look at myself and wonder what the purpose might have been.

It might be natural to think of the greatest generation during this Memorial Day weekend. How many of that population never had the opportunity to grow old? They experienced the Depression and made it through to the other side. They did their part in the sky, on land and sea. For those not serving, they kept the home fires burning with ration books in hand. They raised families where many of their offspring let their hair grow and questioned the necessity of war. Yet this resilient group of people continued to move forward. Every day their numbers dwindle and their lives full of service and sacrifice go with them. I felt like I was given a gift to have a window into this stranger’s life. By accepting this gift I feel I must pay it forward. I chose to make payment by honoring this individual, those like him, and most importantly, those who gave their lives. This blog doesn’t scratch the surface of recompense for their sacrifice but it comes with a profound sincerity.  

Pride Before the Fall

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Most people that know me well, know that my favorite place to shop is Kohl’s. Much of my wardrobe spent time there before being bagged and making its home with me. I maintain restrictions on what I buy. It must come from the clearance rack and I must be accompanied by a coupon for 30% off. I make no excuses and am proud of how far I can stretch my dollar. I had put my Kohl’s shopping to rest when I retired last year. I was no longer in need of an expansive wardrobe. With my new found freedom, I didn’t miss my shopping extravaganzas. I didn’t miss them one bit until I received a coupon for a $10 savings in an email. Like an addict, I relapsed and found myself headed to Kohl’s.

I have never been one to shop for special designers or specific brand names. If I happen to buy one, that would be considered an added bonus. Since I don’t live under a rock, I am familiar with top of the line clothing, which is why I was proud to pick up this exceptional bargain. I came across a Vera Wang sweater, marked down to a ridiculously low price. It was styled like a cardigan, only longer, and its thickness would carry me into the season of winter. With its neutral shade, it would match a considerable amount of my pieces. I even managed to find yarn in my stash that would make a lovely scarf to go with it. If one could be smitten with a piece of clothing, I believe that best would describe what I was experiencing.

Monday morning came and putting my usual attire aside, I dressed for the continuing education class I was enrolled in at the community college. I put my favorite pair of pants on and a new top that I picked up previously at Kohl’s. The pants are an odd color and hard to match. My new top went with them perfectly. Before heading out the door I picked up my new sweater and wrapped myself in what I felt made a stylish statement. It would have been perfect if I felt better but I am sure my appearance didn’t give away the struggle I felt I was having with my health.

After the two hours of classroom time, I was absolutely ready to return home. Even though I reveled in my new outfit I began to realize it was probably foolish to go out feeling that way. When I reached my driveway, I took time to gather what I had in the car and then stepped out of the vehicle. It felt as if someone pulled me from behind. There was no way to stop the inevitable and I fell backwards. For the most part I thought it was fortunate that I landed on my bottom. It did nothing to erase the embarrassment. There was a slight breeze and I watched my handouts from class escape my grasp and dance upon the lawn. At some point I realized my left elbow felt wet. Initially I thought I had managed to land in such a way my elbow had made contact with my lawn, rather than the driveway. It didn’t take long for me to realize that my elbow took much of the brunt of the fall and it was bleeding profusely. Yes, there were copious amounts of blood on my new top and sweater. After seeking medical assistance and being stitched up I was left to deal with a sore elbow and a bruised ego. As an adult it is embarrassing to fall but ruining a new outfit added insult to injury. The biggest lesson I took from this episode was I should never covet any clothing, even if that clothing bears a designer name. I will put my pride on ice in the future so I don’t have to put any other part of my body on it.

Exploring

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I don’t know why I was there. The house, although still furnished, was no longer inhabited. It was clear that no one continued to call it home. It stood silent, an interior that once must have boasted a vibrant past, one full of life, now stood quiet as dust collected on every surface. Exploring buildings of this nature was not a normal activity for me. Long gone are the days that I provided disaster relief and had to enter impacted homes in order to assess and validate the damage. This house didn’t tell a tale of disaster but rather sadness. I didn’t fear my safety from a compromised structure but I did feel uneasy. The sun didn’t provide much illumination throughout the rooms and apparently there was no electricity.

Entering the hallway, I saw a large opening into a room. I took notice of the wooden pocket doors at the entrance. They were tall, thick and still in working order. I didn’t attempt to close them but someone I was with took steps to pull them together. Just as the doors were closing, I noticed a figure move inside the room. It had the shape of a human but with the swift movement I couldn’t tell if it was a shadow or an actual person. Either way I believe we were given proof that we weren’t alone in the house. The movement startled me. As the pocket doors were coming together, I was conscious that I held something in my hand. I chose to ward off any harm that might beset me by throwing it into the room. There was no time to aim with precision but my gut instinct was to show that I was aware of their presence and I would take steps needed to protect myself. As the doors were within a foot of closing all the way, I threw the object toward the doors and heard a crash.

It was then that I woke up, safely tucked in bed. There was a soft illumination in the room as the television was on. It gave me enough light to notice that the noise in the room not only startled me but also woke my cat. Her head was up, staring in the direction where we heard the crash. Instantly I knew that I had been dreaming. It was obvious that I had quickly fallen asleep while checking out whether there might be a program that I wanted to watch. I still had my glasses on and they were propped up on the tip of my nose to allow my focus from that angle. What was missing was the remote. My right hand was empty and I swiftly recalled it was the same arm I used to throw the item in my dream, the one I used to keep myself safe. I would check for damage in the morning and locate the remote. The cat and I both settled back into a peaceful sleep. If I explored any other houses in my dreams, I don’t recall.

Dreams have always held an interest for me. I have understood that they exist so your unconscious mind can explore solutions for various issues while you sleep. I have yet to explore what the frightening exploration of that house might mean. No matter how many times I have checked into the meaning of my dreams, I have yet to find a resource that gives me a definitive explanation. Upon retrospect, I imagine that is the way it should be. We are all individuals, exquisite and special in our own right. No interpretation would suit everyone. I will continue to question the meaning of my night time visions but revel in the dreams I enjoy during my waking hours. Those are the ones I plan to fully explore, the dreams that provide my guidance to the future.

See You, Hubbell

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Lately I have noticed that entertainers that I grew up watching and listening to, are making their transition. Their names catch my attention and depending on my attachment I usually let out a slight gasp or sigh. The level of my connection usually matches the level of my vocalization, never anything loud or close to a shriek. I can’t think of anyone, outside my family and friends, whose death would truly impact me. That being said, when we lose entertainers in the future, the like of Alan Alda or Elton John, I will bemoan the loss of their talented offerings. I will remember the years of enjoyment they gave me. That is much of what I felt with the recent loss of Robert Redford. Although he was up in years, he like the others, appeared immortal to me.

I mentioned in a previous blog that I recently joined with my former classmates for a reunion. It was a landmark occasion and it has been decades since we gathered to accept our diplomas and embarked upon our adult adventures. We shared stories and laughter over the weekend. I was surprised that Robert Redford was highlighted in a few of these stories. I’m not proud but will admit we would regularly sneak into the drive in theater. We would maneuver through a farmer’s field, adjacent to the theater’s lot. I can remember going that route to see The Way We Were more times than I could count. It was worth it to see Robert Redford on the big screen. The farmer became wise to our bad habit and one night he sprang up out of his crops and pointed a rifle at us. I was just happy it came after the run of The Way We Were was complete.

That was not the only exposure we had to Robert Redford. In our senior year we traveled to New York City for a conference. Although our school won an award, none of us were present to accept it. We were making merry in the Big Apple. One of the most outstanding memories was the night we crashed the premier of the Great Waldo Pepper. What possessed us as unruly teenagers to walk into a New York theater as a premier showing was letting out, is beyond me. It net us quite the reward for being so brash. We found ourselves up close and personal with Robert Redford, Paul Newman and John Denver. Seared into my memory is how Redford flashed that famous and charming smile. So much time has passed that all three of the celebrities are now gone yet at the time of our reunion we would still have Redford for three more days.

I offer this as a remembrance of a talented individual and how I had the good fortune to have a brief experience when my life intersected with his. He doesn’t need my accolades yet in his lifetime he realized he was in a position to make contributions to aid others. Redford initiated the Sundance Film Festival to give those lesser-known film artisans an opportunity to explore and highlight their talent. Why not follow his lead? Maybe we can offer brightness and optimism to others not by Sundance but by Dancing in the Sun. It can be our way of lifting others by acknowledging them and offering praise. It won’t cost us a thing other than taking the time to share a positive thought. It would be a wonderful habit to establish. There will be no awards and no one will look at us and say we remind them of Robert Redford. Wouldn’t it be wonderful though, at the end of our lives, we could smile and say that was The Way We Were?