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.

Going, Going, Gone

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In an ironic twist, I recently found myself making purchases at both a flea market and an auction. After my last post, More or Less, bringing items into my home appears to be a hypocritical choice. As much as I find it necessary to simplify my life and lessen the load I have collected over the years, I have never lost a certain level of sentimentality for certain items. Our mother, Rita, lived for twenty two years after the death of our father. Her home was filled with items acquired over time, permeated with copious amounts of love and memories. When she gave up housekeeping, I brought many of her items over to my home. I continue to call my style Rita Revisited.

I go through stages when I invest my time in auctions. I can remember the first one I attended. I tagged along with our father to one being held very close to our home. I don’t think I caught the main purpose of the event and I don’t recall if our father bid on anything. I do remember, being a child short in stature, I couldn’t see over the people standing in front of us. Our mother was much more a fan of yard sales as auctions made her nervous. She and Dad would spend Saturday morning scouting through others’ junk to find their treasures. They would pass items along to us that they thought might be helpful or needed. Maybe it was their hobby that now has me discern if I truly need something prior to bringing it home.

I have enjoyed auctions, although historically I am outbid. Many of them today are buyer friendly as you can review the items and place your bids online. The last time I attended an auction in person, I came home with sore feet and a sunburn. Recently I had picked up my online high bid items from an auction in my old neighborhood. I was aware of the house from living in the area. Being that it is well over a century old, I suspected it held character within its walls. I was right, it was apparent that the house had aged with charm. I had the opportunity to speak with the family on that bittersweet day. They lamented that they couldn’t keep all of their late uncle’s possessions but they would keep the memories of him and all the special occasions that they gathered there for holidays and events.

You might be curious about what items I am allowing into my home after sharing my battle cry about purging. I have begun collecting vintage handiwork: quilts, embroidered pieces and crocheted doilies. My plan is to repurpose them which pays homage to the time and talent it took to produce them and also gives them a new life that makes them available for daily use. I have a collection of these pieces from my maternal grandmother and her sister. I never had the opportunity to know them but I currently find it difficult to repurpose these pieces that they lovingly toiled over. My paternal grandmother was also very talented with needle, thread and crochet. In my own way I honor them. No longer present in this world, their legacy is very much a part of my life, but I am just not ready to take scissors to those items.

As I pay tribute to my ancestors, I question what legacy I may leave. I believe that each and every one of us is put on this earth for a reason. The majority of us will never know fame or fortune but within our small and personal realm there must be something that is left. I think of it as a ripple in a pond. Those concentric circles can continue on and reach farther than we might have intended or realized. For a long time I worked within my community. My hope was to make a difference in my small corner of the world. Now that I am beyond work and retirement is my reality, I revel in the fact that my time is my own. Satisfied with what I have achieved professionally I don’t want to drop the ball now. In the future, if there is a handcrafted item that brings joy to someone, than it was worth the effort. Putting words to paper brings me great joy and if there is something I have shared and it touches just one soul my time has not been spent in vain. Who could possibly be the proverbial high bidder on what is behind? I don’t mean our household goods and property but rather something we personally created. We have this one life, before it is going, going, gone, let’s not squander it.

More or Less

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I recently began a new stage in life. I crossed the great divide and am now retired. As in all life changes, this prompted an introspective look. Am I content with my accomplishments? Are there things I have left undone? Are there important items on my bucket list that I feel I must accomplish? Like life, the answers to these questions present an ebb and tide in my mind. Depending on the day, the answers, contentment and resolve can often change. I do recognize there is a thought that seems rather pronounced. This transition has brought a personal perspective that others, my contemporaries, might have also come to realize.

When I was young, I wanted more. I had my whole life ahead of me. As cliché as it sounds, I truly did feel that the sky was the limit. My aspirations where not far from others in my age group. My plans for a higher education didn’t pan out exactly the way I would have liked but a bright future appeared to be within reach. My contemporaries and I might have shared the same checklist which had marriage, home and children. Looking back I can say: check, check and check. I wanted my professional life to be a reflection of who I was. I wanted responsibilities and programs that I could build with foundations that would remain strong and exist well into the future. I wanted to leave my mark. I would say I also desired more money but my career in nonprofit work would not ordinarily allow for it.

I have never considered myself materialistic, yet I still wanted more. A closet full of clothes was an acceptable quest. Vacations were something that were planned and enjoyed yearly. My home was filled with décor I enjoyed, trinkets and souvenirs. It was the normal and acceptable way of life. Again, it didn’t mean I wallowed in shallowness as this drive was even a part of my faith life. It was not enough to attend services on Sunday, I felt it necessary to be part of the church leadership. This also extended to other volunteer activities. I didn’t dare be a hypocrite. How could I ask someone to give their time if I didn’t do it myself?

I am not clear if this is an observation or a confession. Either way, it invokes exhaustion. I thought I was going with the flow but in retrospect it looks like there were times that rivaled what felt more like white water rapids. There were moves and new starts in different communities. A divorce and two professional positions that were eliminated had me muster both perseverance and flexibility. Those might have been the times that my original drive and passion for more began to chip away. I might have even accepted the realization that the status quo was something I could live with and still be content.

Now my retirement looms brightly before me. I laugh and say the losses in life gave me the gift of frugality, which will be helpful as I navigate the years ahead. I am content in the little home that I share with my quirky cat. I now find the need to clear out the items that I thought were once so important to acquire. I still enjoy a change of scenery but souvenirs are not nearly as important as the memories. I recognize time spent with family and close friends is priceless. Once consumed with “more”, a lifestyle of “less’ is what I now most desire. Would I change anything in the years that are now history? I don’t lose sleep even questioning it. What has taken me a lifetime to realize is that I am grateful for currently being enriched by less.

Quotation

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“After eating an entire bull, a mountain lion felt so good he started roaring. He kept it up until a hunter came along and shot him…The moral: When you’re full of bull, keep your mouth shut.”

– Will Rogers

Bull

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When our career Navy father was traveling the world, he did so with an 8mm camera. Upon his return, all those glimpses into faraway places would be captured on reels and then spliced into one long travelogue. Although it was the latest technology for the time, there was no sound. Every so often we would gather as a family in what we called our TV room and our father would set up the projector, close the curtains and we would explore the world through his eyes. His narration would cover the foreign locations and traditions. We learned the difference between Asian and African elephants, saw how Geishas looked with their makeup and costumes and experienced the excitement of bull fights. I remember how the matadors were dressed in brightly colored outfits. I can recall the stadium being full with cheering crowds yet we heard nothing. I don’t know if my conscience was developed enough at the time to become upset by the treatment of the bulls. Those mighty animals were aggravated for sport and at this point in time I don’t see the entertainment value in the activity.

In reality, I was aware of the strength and power that bulls possessed. I didn’t grow up on a farm but I had friends who did. I recall one afternoon two of us found ourselves in a barnyard with the resident bull. We took our plight seriously. I remember inching toward the fence in a painfully slow manner as not to trigger the bull. We made our way out safely but obviously the memory remained. The reality was frightening and it was a far cry from watching the humorous cartoons featuring Ferdinand the Bull.

All these memories came to me as I recently made an observation. Those of you who follow me know that I live in a rural area. I am comfortable living among crops and livestock. Recently I noticed a bull had taken up residence in a nearby pasture. What I found so unusual was that, although there was plenty of acreage available to him, he chose to stand at the corner of the field which runs alongside the road. He appears to remain there for extended periods of time. It has become the norm to ride by and see him stoically standing there with little evidence of movement. I questioned the strength of the fencing if he would become agitated by something on the other side from where he was confined. I also question why this creature, the epitome of strength, has a title that is likened to lies or untruths or anything negative that falls under the category of bull.

I have often read articles admonishing people who apply human emotions to animals. Those of us who live with domesticated pets often fall into that habit. We can’t read a pet’s mind but their reaction to events and activities do give us a clue to their mood.  There is no argument that they all possess different personalities. Yet they have no cause to defend or be offended by the random descriptions that are added to their name. If we attached human feelings to the animal world would they be upset by the fearful being called a “scaredy cat” or a “chicken”, an unbearable hot day considered a “dog day’ or something bordering on the side of falsehood labeled as “bull”?

The majority of us find it easy to care for animals as they have no voice and are reliant on us to meet their needs. The affection our pets return show us the purest form of unconditional love. I tend to believe that even livestock would choose not to bite the hand that feeds them. Animals don’t possess the ability to spread lies or slander and it is easy to have a soft spot in our heart for them. So much misinformation is perpetuated these days that I find I am offended on behalf of the bulls. The production of manure is a necessary commodity for fertilization but I have yet to see any reason to spread bull.

Bull

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When our career Navy father was traveling the world, he did so with an 8mm camera. Upon his return, all those glimpses into faraway places would be captured on reels and then spliced into one long travelogue. Although it was the latest technology for the time, there was no sound. Every so often we would gather as a family in what we called our TV room and our father would set up the projector, close the curtains and we would explore the world through his eyes. His narration would cover the foreign locations and traditions. We learned the difference between Asian and African elephants, saw how Geishas looked with their makeup and costumes and experienced the excitement of bull fights. I remember how the matadors were dressed in brightly colored outfits. I can recall the stadium being full with cheering crowds yet we heard nothing. I don’t know if my conscience was developed enough at the time to become upset by the treatment of the bulls. Those mighty animals were aggravated for sport and at this point in time I don’t see the entertainment value in the activity.

In reality, I was aware of the strength and power that bulls possessed. I didn’t grow up on a farm but I had friends who did. I recall one afternoon two of us found ourselves in a barnyard with the resident bull. We took our plight seriously. I remember inching toward the fence in a painfully slow manner as not to trigger the bull. We made our way out safely but obviously the memory remained. The reality was frightening and it was a far cry from watching the humorous cartoons featuring Ferdinand the Bull.

All these memories came to me as I recently made an observation. Those of you who follow me know that I live in a rural area. I am comfortable living among crops and livestock. Recently I noticed a bull had taken up residence in a nearby pasture. What I found so unusual was that, although there was plenty of acreage available to him, he chose to stand at the corner of the field which runs alongside the road. He appears to remain there for extended periods of time. It has become the norm to ride by and see him stoically standing there with little evidence of movement. I questioned the strength of the fencing if he would become agitated by something on the other side from where he was confined. I also question why this creature, the epitome of strength, has a title that is likened to lies or untruths or anything negative that falls under the category of bull.

I have often read articles admonishing people who apply human emotions to animals. Those of us who live with domesticated pets often fall into that habit. We can’t read a pet’s mind but their reaction to events and activities do give us a clue to their mood.  There is no argument that they all possess different personalities. Yet they have no cause to defend or be offended by the random descriptions that are added to their name. If we attached human feelings to the animal world would they be upset by the fearful being called a “scaredy cat” or a “chicken”, an unbearable hot day considered a “dog day’ or something bordering on the side of falsehood labeled as “bull”?

The majority of us find it easy to care for animals as they have no voice and are reliant on us to meet their needs. The affection our pets return show us the purest form of unconditional love. I tend to believe that even livestock would choose not to bite the hand that feeds them. Animals don’t possess the ability to spread lies or slander and it is easy to have a soft spot in our heart for them. So much misinformation is perpetuated these days that I find I am offended on behalf of the bulls. The production of manure is a necessary commodity for fertilization but I have yet to see any reason to spread bull.

A Father’s Day Post

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As I mentioned Mom in a Mother’s Day post, I would be remiss if I didn’t share some recollections of Dad on Father’s Day. It has been well over thirty years since he walked this earth. I miss that soft southern accent that never left him or his routine of pipe smoking and the scent of tobacco that would linger in the air. There are stories that he told which I hold onto with bittersweet emotion. They are just a small portion of the man he was. I would like to be a fly on the wall and observe, one more time, what a typical day would be like. What non important matters were covered by conversations no longer committed to memory? Why is it human nature to take so much of our daily lives for granted?

I was destined to be a Daddy’s Girl. My father, career Navy, made the trek from Norfolk, VA to Pennsylvania in a snow storm to greet me at the time of my birth. My three brothers and I were the recipients of many of his life stories. Being from southern GA, our father’s upbringing was so different to the one we knew. Hardship very much comprised his youth. It might have never been spoken out loud but I know in his heart, his desire was to provide a better life for us.

My father would recount the stories of his youth. He and his one brother, tried jumping off the barn roof with springs on their feet and once they pushed a winged crate out of a chinaberry tree to see if they could fly. One of them would hatch the plan to tie tin cans to the tail of their cow. The clattering sounds spooked the cow and she jumped over the fence, leaving her tail behind. I imagined that the cow wasn’t the only one with a sore bottom that evening. He would relish telling these stories. He didn’t dwell on the fact that he and his brother, as youngsters, would be the ones to find their father on the porch after suffering a heart attack. They struggled to get my grandfather into the house but his death was imminent.

Growing up in rural south GA, without a father, couldn’t have been easy. Dad was an avid fisherman. He never cared for hunting. He said he had to hunt to help provide meat for the table and it held no charm for him as an adult. He enlisted in the Navy with the theory that there was more to life than picking cotton. Dad would tell us about the good times he experienced in the Navy. I’m sure as a young boy he never thought he would have the opportunity to travel the world. His enthusiasm for the Navy rubbed off on me. My one high school term paper focused on Admiral Chester Nimitz, Commander in Chief, Pacific Fleet during WWII. I got carried away with my research and read several accounts of battles at sea. I remember one graphic description shared by a sailor.  He stated that during battle you could see your shipmate die a horrible death, next to you, which would cause you to vomit. There was barely time for that human reaction as you would have to quickly return to your gun. I disclosed what I had read to Dad. He listened and quietly replied that yes he was aware as he was there. That was the only somber admission that I ever heard about his Navy career.

Dad managed to get two full careers under his belt before retiring at the age of 62. He was never at a loss of how to fill a day. He and our mother had raised the four of us and opened our home to our maternal grandfather who suffered a stroke later in life. He remained at home with our mother being his caretaker. Finally, after a life of hard work and providing for all of us, it was Dad’s turn to slow down and enjoy the freedom that retirement would provide. It was not to be. He was diagnosed with cancer, a result of being exposed to asbestos during his years in the Navy. Although he was willing to follow recommendations and treatment he was resigned to his accept his diagnosis. If he was afraid of what the future held, he never showed it. Upon reflection he said that those were the cards that were dealt him. He died one month short of his 66th birthday.

I thank you for indulging me and my reminiscence of our father. We should all have stories to reflect upon for those of us who no longer have a reason to celebrate the day. For those who are fortunate to still have their father, I would suggest you listen to those stories and commit them to memory. You don’t know when that voice will be silenced. Let’s not squander the opportunity to keep them alive for the next generation.

Lost

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I was looking forward to the day. It would be the last time I would be meeting with this group of colleagues. I wasn’t concerned about the drive that would take one hour and a half. Our agency is spread over several locations and I was used to driving. Virtual meetings have increased greatly since COVID made them a necessity and I now gladly accept the opportunity to meet face to face as it has become the exception rather than the norm. My clothes were set out and my lunch was packed the night before. I was set.

The morning came and I was ready to leave as I took one last look at myself in the mirror. How did I not notice that something had bled on my blouse in a previous wash? It was much too noticeable at that time and I scrambled to decide what to wear. It put me a little bit behind but not by much as I had given myself an extra half hour for travel. Translated: I gave myself time to access the drive thru at Dunkin Donuts and treat myself to the companionship of coffee and a donut on the trip. Once my purchase was made I put my coordinates in my phone and was ready to let GPS take control. It had been well over a year since I drove to this location and it was not committed to memory. I soon learned my phone was offline and there was no cajoling it to bring up the appropriate directions. I pulled out the cell phone provided from work and realized I couldn’t come up with the correct password. One attempt warned me that it would take five minutes before I could try again. Subsequent attempts pushed the time limit set for new efforts further out by fifteen minutes each. All of a sudden I felt I was trying to climb a mountain of shifting sand. It was the previous day that a conversation led me to state that I could read a map, but who carries them in their car anymore, even though my car doesn’t come equipped with GPS? If it wasn’t my last time, meeting with this team, I would have decided to change my plans and drive to my office. It didn’t seem like much of a choice as I enjoy the company of these people and knew I had to make the trip.

It was time for an executive decision. I would return home, a ten minute drive, and access maps on my laptop and go old school. I reached out to my manager to share my situation and that most likely I would be late, but eventually would be there to join them. I texted my son, who happens to be an IT guru, and asked for his input. This is a good time to let you know that my printer at home didn’t work and I jotted down the directions. I thought at the time it was enough to jog my memory and ensure me a successful drive to the location. I was wrong.

It is difficult to read directions when you are on a road whose speed limit is over 50 mph. I inadvertently turned down a road that was evidently incorrect. I believe the route number was correct but I couldn’t locate the connecting road. I was deep in God’s country. I never realized how many orchards there are in the area. Again, reaching out to my son by text, he suggested that I find a fast food business that would allow me to use their Wi-Fi and get back on track. I had to let him know that there was nothing like that for miles. I was in a location that remained untouched by progress for decades. He tried texting me directions with the sketchy information I was providing him. I was beginning to feel a bit frantic.

It was at this point that I noticed that the programed oldies station had dissipated and a Christian station had taken its place. I was not familiar with the songs but I didn’t need to be. It was the nudge I needed to fall back on the well-known: Jesus is my copilot. Additionally, I realized that I had a sign from my late sister in law. It made me laugh. I don’t know if I really trusted her directions in life and wasn’t sure if I was safe doing it in death. I pictured her in the passenger seat. It seemed so natural as I happen to be driving her former car. With these observations I made others. I was driving through some beautiful countryside. It was a gorgeous day with a bright blue sky and my gas tank was full. The backdrop was a luscious green from the vast amount of rain we had received and colorful beds of flowers could be found in every direction. I located a road whose name was familiar. Thank goodness I enjoy Civil War history as I recognized the road, knowing it would take me to the battlefield. I could easily find my way to the office once I had made it to this neighboring town.

When I reached the office, it was much later than I anticipated. I had missed a good portion of the business but it didn’t matter. I made a grand entrance with a joyful countenance. I had a story to tell and a lesson learned. Although I was physically alone in the car, I didn’t feel like I was driving solo. It took me a little longer than I would have liked but the realization that prayer is always an important option calmed me. Although I am still not sure I would trust directions from my sister in law, it was a pleasant reminder that the love continues once someone has transitioned to the other side. My son will always be my life line and I will think of him as my greatest blessing for so many reasons. I continue to trust that I am where I am supposed to be, when I am supposed to be there, regardless of my plans. As I enter a new stage in life, I am reminded I am not alone. There might be some unexpected detours along the way but I will reach my destination. I need to acknowledge that I have support, appreciate the scenery and enjoy the ride.