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.

Unconditional

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I have often heard if you want unconditional love, get a dog. I am going to ask your indulgence to also include a cat in that statement. Throughout my adult years I have had cats as pets. It’s not that I don’t care for dogs, I do and enjoy their company immensely. I have found my lifestyle was more compatible to sharing my home with feline companions. As I age, I look at my most recent rescue and realistically consider her possibly my last. I have had the good fortune for my cats to live close to two decades on average but I can’t predict what the future holds.

When I rescued Molly, my most recent, I didn’t anticipate any issues. Having multiple cats previously I always took my time to introduce the most recent arrival. This time, as there were no other resident cats, it should have gone easily but that wasn’t the case. Molly could be cantankerous and defensive. In a very short period of time, I learned she has severe arthritis and her front legs are swollen and bowed. She gets a monthly shot and a daily supplement but I think she may still have some discomfort. I have excused her behavior but at times I have referred to her as Miss Cranky Pants. As time passes, she has become loving and loyal. She has made it clear that I am her person and will often let others know she has no time for their presence in her life.

Molly refrains from hissing, growling and swatting unless she feels threatened. I don’t see this behavior but the vet and others have told me it still exists. The other week I fell while at home. As I writhed in pain on the floor, Molly began hissing at me. Recently, I had the need to call for an ambulance. As I struggled to stay on my feet without falling, Molly again hissed at me. When taking the time to think about her unusual reaction, I couldn’t help but put a human emotion to her response. After seven years, her former owner had relinquished Molly to the shelter when her health necessitated a move into a nursing home. It may be a stretch to think that during my times of ill health she might have recalled her former life and it frightened her. I’ll never know as Molly’s not talking. Maybe it was that or it could have been the result of her unpredictable moods. I do know that while I was hospitalized and my son and brother spent time at my home with Molly, she acquired two new nicknames. Calling her Pissy Paws and Molly the Mutilator is not the result of her providing pleasant, affectionate company.

I make light of Molly’s moods but I do take seriously that she has been entrusted to me for the best care I can provide for her. It’s not challenging like motherhood. In the beginning, when you are so tired, you still must find the energy to provide all things to this new little life you have brought into the world. The bond and deep love you possess carries you through a lifetime. Through the years, when my son pushed the envelope, he knew it would never diminish the unconditional love I have for him. It is unrealistic to love and be loved by all who cross our path, but to open our hearts to care and accept others should be something we all strive to do. We may be met with a less than a welcoming response, one that may be the result of previous experiences and disappointments. At least we will know that we tried. Caring for a temperamental cat seems easy in comparison.  I bet Miss Cranky Pants would even agree.

Three Little Words

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I bet you think you know where this blog is going. What usually comes to mind when “three little words” are mentioned? Yes, telling someone you love them is important on so many levels. We should never take for granted that our loved ones know how we feel. Whether it be your significant other, your family or close friends, one should never hesitate to share your feelings. It makes one’s heart feel good to speak it and oh so wonderful to be on the receiving end. I am extremely fortunate that those in my close circle say those three little words often and with meaning.

Now, I will tell you about three other simple little words that can carry empathy and healing. Those you share them with don’t have to be in your intimate circle. That is the beauty it carries with it. To tell someone “I hear you” is the most compassionate and caring response. No judgement, no rehearsed comments, nothing but a sincere acknowledgement to let them know they were heard. Often it takes courage to speak up and share something that is laying heavy on your heart. There might not be a solution and often you are not seeking advice but hoping that your words are received and truly heard to help lighten the load.

Recently I learned that someone I had known decades ago was faced with a life changing challenge. He lives far from where we were as teenagers and without him reaching out, his current situation would be unknown. He didn’t share this information right away and it took courage to finally decide to reach out. I was devastated to hear his news and I knew there was nothing I could say that would change his circumstances but I did let him know that I heard him. It may be best to say I heard what he didn’t say: the frustration and disappointment that was clearly evident and very much understood. When he, in turn replied, said he appreciated being heard.

I have a chronic health condition that is not physically obvious. Those close to me know but many who don’t think I am the picture of health. I have limitations and although I have learned to live with them, I would rather not have to be faced with any of it. I have mentioned my own health but there are so many other obstacles in life that encumber us. If there were ways to cast the problems off we would do it, but in reality, many of them linger. If we carry them for long periods of time they can begin to fester and it only adds to the burden. Sharing them in the hope that someone hears more than your words is like offering a little prayer. Please help me navigate to the other side of this. You don’t have to solve the problem, but accompany me along the way. Hearing, using both your ears and your heart, is the greatest of gifts.

Also Known As

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With the Father’s Day celebrations taking place today I am reminded that it has been 35 years since my father was here to enjoy them. Although I was an adult when he left us and made his transition, I will always feel like I was robbed. When thinking of him, I realize that it’s the little things, so often forgotten, that continue to put a smile on my face.

My father had two careers where he wore a uniform daily: the US Navy and that of a correctional officer at a local prison. He never held a position in law enforcement proper and I shudder to think what might have happened if he had. He had a propensity for giving nicknames to those around him and I am afraid to think of how an All-Points Bulletin might have read if he were given the opportunity to pen one. Criminals would have donned new and distinctive aliases.

His ability to produce unique monikers came to him honestly. His father, Newton Levigger, answered to the name Pat. If there was a story behind the origin of his nickname, my grandfather took it to the grave with him. His sons, my father and his brothers, followed suit by giving each other animal names. My father was named Rooster as his hair was said to resemble the comb sported by the fowl. No photographs exist from his youth so I rely on my imagination to picture his curly hair standing at attention. I am relieved that neither the name nor the hair style remained. My one uncle was not as fortunate and he carried his name throughout his life. I never thought it odd that I had an Uncle Monk. I would have thought it strange if he had kept the full name of Monkey but apparently his nickname was given a nickname.

It is not unusual for a couple to have pet names for one another. I can still hear my father’s lingering southern accent refer to my mother as Sug, short for sugar, of course. Within our home my mother was not the only one to answer to something other than her given name. I bore the name Miss Priss while my youngest brother was referred to as Hambone. No one was safe from my father’s creativity as my brother’s friend, Jeb, would be greeted upon arrival with a boisterous “Jethro”.

You may wonder at this point if my father, whose flair with nicknames was so prolific, had one himself. Indeed he did. As a young man enlisting in the Navy he became Blackie, a name he would carry with him his entire life. Other than his family, I don’t remember anyone calling him anything other than Blackie. His given name, Henon, was unusual and often mispronounced. My mother, in humor, would call him He – non occasionally, but the usual was Blackie.

Although given this fine example from my father, the names bestowed upon my son were seriously lacking in many ways. Once, while on vacation, we saw a bounty of Milkweed plants. His father and I kiddingly began calling him Milkweed. It was a name that made him, as a teenager, cringe upon hearing it.  It has become more of a joke and now brings a smile as opposed to a grimace. There is nothing I can create that rivals the name my father often called my son. It was never meant to offend and was spoken as an endearment. Since my father has been dead for over three decades no one since has uttered the nickname conferred upon my son and it might be for his benefit. I doubt seriously he would want the name Shit Bird to follow him through eternity.

Lessons

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It’s not unusual for me to go to a live performance by myself. I feel I am there to hear and see what is offered onstage. I don’t need company or someone to engage in conversation. There is a college within the region that has an excellent performing arts center. Although there are smaller, historic venues locally, this particular location is my favorite. They bring in high quality acts. I mention that I go solo and there is reason for my choice. Even after the tickets have been on sale for an extended time, I usually can find an open single seat close to the stage. It is so enjoyable to sit close enough that you can almost reach out and touch them and see the expression on their face.

Recently I attended a comedy show. Again, sitting close to the stage allowed me to see them as well as I would while watching television. I laughed so much that often I had tears in my eyes. The show seemed to go by so quickly. As the program ended, the lights went up and the ushers began to go through the aisles, straightening and cleaning. A couple, who had seats in front of me, decided at that time they would start a conversation. Being the social being that I am, I often engage in conversation with strangers. I anticipated a quick exchange that would send us on our way. I was wrong.

The man told me he had attended four Paul McCartney concerts. There was almost a hint of condescension in his voice as he told me that there were no concerts that could compare. I did not have the urge to share my concert history with him. The memory of attending my first concert still brings a smile to my face. I can recall the excitement of seeing Elton John in his purple sequins. I then realized that somehow the conversation turned from concerts to marriage. Did I miss something as a result of my Elton John revery?

He and his wife stood side by side, smiling at me. She appeared to be older, but some people age better than others. It was not my place to judge. I believe he stated they had been married for 25 years. He said he takes her everywhere. Again, his tone annoyed me. In my mind I thought his comment sounded like a pet owner who bragged about taking their well-behaved four-legged companion out with them. I envisioned a Chihuahua tucked in someone’s purse or pocket. I began to bristle when he asked about my status. When I admitted to being divorced, he had the gall to ask how old I was when I married. My gut told me not to answer, but I did. He proceeded to lecture me about the appropriate age to marry. I noticed his wife did nothing but smile and nod. Finally, good fortune smiled upon me and an usher asked if we could take our conversation out to the lobby. Silently I looked at her and mouthed “thank you”. She not only saved me from that situation but lead me to the side of the building where I could exit without having to continue to the lobby and risk any further contact with the couple.

My reaction was not typical for me. I was annoyed that after an evening of comedy this brief conversation robbed me of my light hearted feeling.  I have always enjoyed those random conversations where you can quickly find some commonality with another individual. I was not in the mood for a lecture from a total stranger. I never took my divorce lightly but twenty years after the fact I am settled into a lifestyle where I am content. I don’t fall into the black hole of would of, could of, should of. I questioned why this individual got under my skin and then I realized what the lesson might have been. I commented about his wife and her age. I claimed that I don’t judge, yet I did. Although I kept my thoughts to myself, I was annoyed by his arrogant manner and her appearance of timidity. I adopted the motto of live and let live, yet that evening it appears it escaped me. Rather than carry the aggravation of that encounter I will focus on the positive. I won’t stop talking to strangers but when I come across someone who’s lifestyle is divergent, I will be grateful that I have created a life perfect for me, one of independence and the ability to chart my own course.

When Dad Speaks

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My father has been gone for more than half my life. Every so often my mind wonders what it would have been like to have had him remain longer in our lives. My thoughts don’t allow me to have him age although in reality he would have hit the 100 year old mark by now. In my imagination he would still be able to perform those handy man tasks that were common place. More importantly, I could ask him questions about our family or his youth, things I wasn’t prepared to ask earlier in my life. Once again, I could hear the soft southern accent that he never lost.

Years ago, when traveling to New Orleans, my father came to me in a dream. I recall he was wearing his dress blue Naval uniform and we were at the mobile home where we had spent a summer. We were there only temporarily as he was recruiting in a town far removed from where we called home. At some point in my dream, I became aware that death had robbed me of his presence and I clung to him. With tears in my eyes, I begged him not to go. I soon woke up and realized I was sitting upright in bed with my arms outstretched, tears still flowing. I could feel his arms around me. Although I was more than grateful for the visit, I realized he didn’t speak. Comforted by his presence, I wanted more. I wanted to hear his voice.

I hadn’t given it much thought growing up, but I never heard my parents argue. My mother commented, after his death, he never raised his voice to her the entire time they were married. I am not so naïve to think that they didn’t argue but it wasn’t something that we heard. In reality there could be a deafening silence until things were settled. My mother was the main disciplinarian and you knew when she was angry with us. My father would remain even keeled when he was making a point, advising me when I had done something wrong. He would tell me what he thought and then finish his comment by saying, “you know”. His simple comment would have a devasting affect on me. I felt so very small. I did know, I knew not to repeat the transgression.

Very often, as I share my thoughts in these missives, I don’t hesitate to reveal what lesson I might have learned along the way. With the advent of technology, we now have the capability to record the unusual and exciting to the mundane. I wish I had the opportunity to record some of the ordinary things that my father would say to me. Would I have had the foresight to record him when he would ask me to put my pinky in his glass of ice tea, just to sweeten it a bit? Would I have known that I would miss his rendition of the Shake and Bake commercial when the little girl would say, with a very pronounced southern accent, “And I helped!” I continue to feel the love and the longing for my father and I wish I could have preserved his voice. I would love to hear Dad speak one more time. You know?

A Thought on Mother’s Day

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Mom,

You have been gone for several years now, but that hasn’t lessened the love I continue to feel for you. I can hear your voice in my head, recalling the many lessons you have imparted during my life. You always made me feel that I exceeded the dreams you held for me. I also am cognizant of the worry I caused you. Your concern over the sacrifices that came with being a Navy wife, walking through burnt out buildings with the Red Cross and living solo as a divorced woman. All these life experiences were possible because you taught me to have faith, both in a higher power and also myself.

Although many celebrate today with flowers and other tokens of love, I have no reason to fall victim to the commercial trappings of the day. I can celebrate with my heart and head. I know you are there to receive the thoughts and love I send your way. I will embrace the tangible reminders of you by looking in the mirror and seeing your face, cooking without the benefit a recipe or humming a familiar tune. For nine months you carried me and then continued with support and comfort, always with love. I will continue to carry you with me, in my heart, until the end of my life.

Happy Mother’s Day.

Love, Cindy