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.

Tolerance Taught By A Tree

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Hello all. The inception of this blog was to always project authenticity and truth. It is for that reason that I am sharing with you that this post is from my former blog, My Punch Line. Illness took me down this week and self care has allowed me to forego writing much. Although this was written during the summer months, I hope the thought of tolerance speaks to you.

I never cared for the red leaf tree in my back yard.  I will admit, although I love to be surrounded by nature, I am not always certain of the name of the vegetation whose company I am keeping.  It’s ironic that after growing up during the era of the Walton’s, and enjoying hearing their Grandfather share the beauty of the mountain’s natural surroundings, nothing was retained.  To this day I am not certain what trailing arbutus is.  Our grandfather lived with us and we too enjoyed having three generations under one roof.  Grandpop could peel an apple with the precision of a surgeon and would lay out a pristine garden every year, but not once do I ever recall him sharing the name of the green growth encircling us.

The red leaf tree in my yard has been more of an annoyance than a pleasure.  Its spindly branches remind me of my curly hair, its growth unruly and uneven.  Its location does not offer welcomed shade.  My main source of aggravation is the fact that it hides the corn field behind my yard from view.  It also makes it difficult to catch a glimpse of the herds of deer that enjoy the freedom of the countryside.  So many times over the past few years I have looked at it with disgust and thought how much nicer my yard would be without it.

This morning I rose early to do some much needed yard work.  Grass had taken over my day lilies and the tenacious thistle was rearing its ugly head.  The cooler temperatures lured me out but the humidity soon sent me packing.  The previous evening brought the typical summer storm.  So much moisture in the atmosphere couldn’t be contained any longer and the rain came and drenched the heat laden land.  As the humidity remained the moisture was visible, especially on me.  Soon I could be found in my kitchen, seeking something cold to drink and a reprieve from the heat.  It was there, standing at my sink and looking out the window that I looked at my red leaf tree with a different set of eyes.

A rain drop, souvenir from the previous night, twinkled in the sun light.  This tiny drop of water was like a beacon.  Its radiance shouted out for attention and the gnarly branches and blushing leaves that held it seemed to disappear.  I thought about how timing played a role in the reveal.  I was mesmerized by this droplet and how its beauty could eliminate the distain I held for the stage from where it appeared. My movement would cause the radiance to subside but returning to the original location would again create the sparkle and brilliance.

I decided to move out to my back porch.  Although the rain drop was no longer evident from this angle the entire tree was my focus.  I have a bird feeder and suet block stationed by the tree.  Long I have watched the birds dart back and forth from the tree to the feeders.  My cats act like privileged souls, enjoying the drama unfold before them.  I caught movement higher in the branches and noted a mother robin feeding her young within the safety of a nest.  New growth on the tree shown as bright red leaves, as bright as the feathers on a male cardinal.

I realized this tree was like other aggravations in my life.  It could be that by changing my location or attitude a new appreciation could be found.  Appreciating the protection the tree offers the feathered population could lead to finding purpose among life’s other challenges.  I believe the tree still could use to be trimmed, but maybe it doesn’t have to disappear from my life completely. The blessing of a rain drop allowed me to literally move and find beauty elsewhere.  Change can be a gift.  Now cognizant that it doesn’t exist for me alone, the tree will remain.  It could be time for me to make a change but I don’t have to eliminate the source of my frustration, just relocate and appreciate it has been there for a reason. 

Quotation

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“To the outside world, we all grow old. But not to brothers and sisters. We know each other as we always were. We know each other’s hearts. We’ve shared private family jokes. We remember family feuds and secrets, family griefs and joys. We live outside the touch of time.” – Clara Ortega

One Is Not Like the Others

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My brothers and I were transplants. When our father left Georgia, as a young man, he was never again to make it his home. He met our mother in Philadelphia. We would live there until Navy recruiting duty would have us move. We left a metropolitan area and moved to a small town whose livelihood was centered more on blue collar employment. It almost felt like we were in our own little bubble. We didn’t live close enough to spend holidays and special occasions with our extended family and our celebrations found us together, as immediate family.

I always thought we were a pretty tight family unit. Although we were not carbon copies of each other, there was still evidence that we were family. Our childhood memories are the same, incorporating the same neighbors and friends. Although we may possess the same facial expressions and laughter, our independent natures eventually did emerge. Two of my brothers are tall and blue eyed. They favor our father’s side and are both talented musicians. My other brother and I favor our mother. He was always the athlete in the family and in later years has developed an eye for photography and other artistic endeavors. It wasn’t until recently that I realized that our lives have led us down different paths and we are far from being the same.

It was a startling wake up call to realize that although we were raised with the same values, as adults, our belief systems have gone in different directions. I have come to learn that it can be wise to stay away from the topics that are considered taboo: politics and religion. Although I consider myself independent and one who thinks for herself, I have always felt comfortable following in the footsteps of our parents. It wasn’t forced upon me; it was a natural choice. I will admit that as adults, my brothers and I have led different lives. Professionally, socially and education wise there was nothing cookie-cutter about the paths we followed. I feel rather naïve to admit that it wasn’t until the past few years that I have come to recognize our differences.

Although our mother was a constant in our lives, she must have perceived differences in us. When her time was growing short, there were issues that she felt were important to discuss. She expressed her concerns, that being her only girl, that I was not in a relationship. It would have eased her mind to think that after my divorce there was someone to take care of me. I believe her concern was the result of a generational norm. Ironically, my brothers have all been in relationships and I still bristle at the thought of losing my independence. Her main request was that I would ensure the family stays together. I promised her that would not be an issue. She never shared what she thought could cause a division. Upon her death there were no squabbles about her estate. It is not lost on me that in today’s politically charged environment that families are being torn apart. I would never allow that to happen. I love my brothers too much. We were brought up together on the same foundation and the same blood courses through our veins. I will celebrate our connection and accept our differences. Most of all, I will keep the promise I made to our mother all those years ago.

One and Only

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I have one child, a son. He is a grown man, one that makes me proud. No matter his age, he is still my child. I am fortunate to have him and even more fortunate to enjoy a close relationship with him. Medically, it wasn’t in the picture to have any other children. Granted, I was never one of those women who fell victim to baby fever but it was the reasonable next step. I thought that would be the direction I was headed; it was not to be. I refer to my son as my one and only and there is no one else who walks this earth that I love more.

Growing up with my three brothers I learned that guilt and blame could be shared. I am sure we didn’t fool our parents. As a child it seemed appropriate to blame someone else for a misdeed rather than accept the truth and punishment that would follow. This has made it painfully clear why I feel I let my son down by not providing a sibling. At one point in time, we had a ten gallon aquarium in our living room. It was prominently displayed on the Mission Oak desk by the front windows. I could hear a golf ball being bounced in the room when my son was about six years old. I don’t fully remember but I am sure I must have asked him not to bounce the ball in the house. Shortly afterward, there was a commotion in the room. I came out to see that the aquarium was quickly leaking from a shattered panel. The blame was placed on Dusty. Without a sibling, my son had no one to blame but the cat.

I have never thought about him being spoiled but he did reap the advantages of being an only child. He never had to share a room, his schedule was never compromised by another brother or sister having competing activities and he did have the good fortune of having a car as a new driver. When I speak of him not being spoiled, I recall the other facets of our life. He wore hand-me-downs from his cousin and thrifted clothes. When his father was active duty Navy, there was no sibling to share the loneliness that deployments would create. The car he drove was far from new. I am also aware how my life has been shaped by having an only child. These days I am in receipt of greeting cards that have a beautiful and heartfelt sentiment additionally added, but no signature. My son responds, with a smile, and sees no point to include his signature. Who else would send me a card designated for mother?

Now that he is an adult and I am a senior, is there anything left for me to do as a parent? If there is a surplus of baked goods or casserole, I still have a knee jerk reaction to offer him some. He is accomplished in the kitchen and there is no need to worry that he is going hungry. I am painfully aware that since the divorce, he will now have two estates to deal with when his father and I make our transitions. My goal is to have a plan in place so he can operate on auto-pilot. Even with that consideration I am well aware what important role I must still maintain. Hopefully I have given him a strong foundation and the material items are not as important now but I know my job is not complete. My focus is to continue to pray for my son. As a mother it remains the most important thing I can offer my one and only.

Beyond the Veil

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Sometimes gifts come when you least expect them. I could say that was the case with an addition to our family. My brother had fallen completely head over heels with a pretty cashier at the local department store in which they both worked. He had dated plenty of pretty girls but this was different. I knew she could hold her own with my family the first time I met her. Our home life had always been full of teasing, laughter and banter. Our father was the one who tested the waters. My brother made introductions and my father made a comment, something on the order of her not being as ugly as my brother had stated. Much to her credit, she didn’t run in horror. Obviously, our father didn’t mean it but most would have rethought their situation. She hung in there and passed a test that I am sure she never expected.

She was to become the sister I never had. Our personalities differed yet it never stood in the way of our relationship. We became so close that I often dropped the “in law” portion of her title as my sister-in-law. She felt like blood and it made no difference that she was a girly girl while my roots were that of a tomboy. I was there for her as I knew she was for me. She was my safe confidant.

Realistically, we know that it is natural to lose our parents at some point in life. Hopefully it is later than sooner but we acknowledge that it is natural progression of life. Although I have dreaded the thought, I know that I am at the point in life where contemporaries are making their transition. I would like to bury my head in the sand and say it isn’t so, but it would be a lie. Life progresses and family, friends and their spouses are lost. It is even more heart wrenching when the loss is dealt to someone young.

Though there are many memories of my sister-in-law, one in particular was how every holiday, birthday and anniversary would be celebrated. It could be a card or it could be a gift, her thoughtfulness never failed. I assumed that would all be gone with her death. As I left the hospital upon her transition I noticed a new jet stream in the sky. Looking up I told her to fly high. She was no longer encumbered by illness and it seemed appropriate that she would be soaring heaven ward. I can never view a jet stream without thinking of her. The week of the first anniversary of her death I looked up at the sky as I was leaving the house one morning. I was overcome by the number of jet streams and a cloud that took the shape of an angel.  Even in death it was clear that she was still observing days that held special meaning. I received a gift when I least expected it.

My parents have been gone for some time now but I found love and support in abundance with my sister-in-law’s parents. They would join us at holiday meals and it would make the day complete. Within two years I would lose them as well as my sister-in-law. There are three empty seats now around the table when we gather for holidays. Memories are kept alive and I found that as the recent Christmas season approached, she was often in my thoughts. On Christmas day my brother brought out a bag that he had come across in a closet. It has been two years and he has been in the closet numerous times but this was the first time he noticed the bag. Inside was a gift for me, a necklace, earrings and bracelet. She continues to touch my life. Again, sometimes you receive a gift when you least expect it.

Quotation

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“Time is your most precious gift because you only have a set amount of it. You can make more money, but you can’t make more time. When you give someone your time, you are giving them a portion of your life that you’ll never get back. Your time is your life. That is why the greatest gift you can give someone is your time,”

-Rick Warren

Gifts

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I am fortunate to have a group of friends who I meet with on a regular basis. We gather at least once a month for dinner. We have named our group of five, Sages. Collectively, with several years under our belts, we have learned life’s lessons and feel as if our moniker is justified. My brother kiddingly refers to our events as hen parties but I recognize the importance of our gatherings. In my mind, it feels like we have always been together as a group. I don’t think I am exaggerating when I say we consider each other family. We are there for each other yet our gatherings are also a gift we give ourselves.

It has become routine for one of our group to open their home over the holidays and we enjoy an evening that begins with a delicious pot luck dinner followed by conversation and laughter. Prior to this year we had exchanged both birthday and Christmas gifts. Honestly, we are at the point in our lives that we are not in need of much and no longer exchange material gifts. Tangible items are not as important as the support we freely give one another; it is the best gift of all. It might be a busy time of the year but spending the precious commodity of time with one another makes for an excellent present.

I’m not sure if it is our culture or human nature but it does seem part of our holiday tradition to try to make this time of celebration special. We plan, we purchase, we take the time to find ways to show our love and care for those who mean much to us. There comes a time that those celebrations shift. It could be the result of death, illness or a move out of the area. I took notice of those who were suffering from serious illness, knowing their celebrations would not be like those of the past. Even though preparations weren’t complete at my home, it didn’t seem to matter. I made plans to visit those whose health was challenged. Unfortunately, one individual made her transition prior to Christmas and I didn’t get to see her. Another lesson learned: in giving the gift of time, don’t allow yourself to wait to act upon it.

There have also been sources of happiness that creates the reason for a visit. A friend recently had her fourth baby. The afghan I crocheted was going to be my main offering but I felt I wanted to bring something for the other children. Maybe Dunkin Donuts wasn’t the healthiest choice but it was well received. Planning another trip, closer to Christmas, I again wanted to bring something down for the children. I had the sensation that my company was appreciated as much as my small tangible gift. Not expecting anything in return, I left with a heartwarming token. It appears I might have moved into the role of surrogate grandmother and if that is the case I am filled with joy.

I can recall my mother often saying that our house might not be perfectly clean but she felt she was doing what was more important. She spent time with my three brothers and me. Upon reflection, I was given the gift of a wonderful mother and role model. I will give her the praise for allowing me to realize that the most important gift one can give another is themselves.

Quotation

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“Travel isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes it hurts, it even breaks your heart. But that’s okay. The journey changes you; it should change you. It leaves marks on your memory, on your consciousness, on your heart, and on your body. You take something with you. Hopefully, you leave something good behind.”

– Anthony Bourdain