Health and Safety (Gloria and Diane)

Coming up next is the fourth part to Diane Richardson's story "When I Met My Hubby." But first, a message about health and safety.

The good news is that when it comes to COVID, the deaths, hospitalizations and new cases are fairly low right now. Low enough for businesses, restaurants, venues and other public places to relax their safety restrictions. The bad news is that the nororvirus/stomach virus is spreading due to those relaxed guidelines. This spread resulted in me hosting Best Day from home this Tuesday out of safety, and it has me thinking of health related stories in general. I personally am always interested in hospital stories, not for the medical details, but because the reasons why people end up in hospitals (surgeries, pregnancies, fevers, broken leg) and how their hospital stays were can tell you a lot about a person. For instance, here's older bud Gloria's gallbladder story

Gloria Nhambiu

05.24.2022

My All-Day Surgery

On August 28, 1997, my friend Aliyya and I had lunch at the Jamaican Jerk Hut on South Street near 15th Street. The food is wonderfully spicy. My friend and I would often splurge on lunches. As a working mother of four I had few splurges until there were out of the house. But my lunches on pay days was one of them. After eating that spicy meal, I felt really bad for the rest of the day and all night.
On Friday 8/29 I went to work and survived the day. After I got home, I told my husband that I had to go to the hospital. St. Agnes at Broad and McKean Streets was the closest (only 5 blocks from my home.) I thought this was a small problem. They would give me a prescription and I would be right back home. I was seen by a person in the Emergency Room and then Dr. James Tayoun. He said I would be admitted for a few days before my gall bladder surgery. He said he “did not operate on them while they were hot.”
I felt like a prisoner. I had expected a prescription and a few days rest at home. I was admitted and placed on a liquid diet. I was visited by my doctor and his students (there must have been six of them) every day. My fever came down and I felt better. On the night before my surgery, I asked a nurse for permission to take a bath. I lounged in the tub for what seemed like a half hour before the nurse came to get me out.
My surgery was scheduled for the morning of September 3, 1997. One of the student doctors came in and asked for permission to witness my surgery. I said yes. A short time later a young man came and asked the same thing. I said yes. And then after maybe six “visitors” my doctor came to say his students had asked to observe. I asked, “will you be there?” He answered, “I never leave the OR during surgery.” I said, “I don’t care who watches, I’ll be asleep.”
Surgery went well, after 6 hours on the table. My doctor did keyhole surgery. He said he didn’t open me up because he had said he would not (my request since I didn’t want a scar). I should have been opened up, but the students learned a lot. My sister Joan and my niece Eileen were really pissed. They had spent the whole day worrying because of the time it took.

We now return to our continuing story, "When I Met My Hubby" by Diane Richardson:

Diane Richardson 

03.08.2022

When I Met My Hubby Part 4

So, our first date at the cabaret went well. I enjoyed being able to teach his co-worker how to dance. We had a great time. Shortly after the Cabaret he invited me to his aunt’s surprise party (his mother’s sister). I accepted and attended; it was a very nice affair.
I met a lot of his family members including his mother. His mother said I must be very special to him for him to bring me to a family affair. I said I’d like to think so. We conversed and got to know each other a little. She told me her and two of her sisters went to A.C. twice a week to gamble, and would I like to come along some time. I explained to her that I don’t gamble, she said no problem. Just come along and enjoy my comps. She said free suites, free room service, free shows, free everything. She was indeed a high roller.
So, she picked me up the next Saturday with two of her sisters who were also high rollers. She has a nice new van, and we had a nice comfortable ride to A.C. We arrived at the Casino Valet Parking where the valet attendants rushed over to her car saying, “Good Afternoon, Pearlie Mae. How are you today, Pearlie Mae?” Then the doorman says the same.
She goes to the check in counter and the same thing. “How may I help you today, Pearlie Mae?” She says, “I’ll have a suite for my daughter in law.” She says, “Of course Pearlie Mae, how long will her stay be?” She says, “Indefinitely an also tickets to any shows.” So, she gives me the key to the suite along with the coupons and vouchers to everything. “Would you like me to make reservations for you next week?” She looked at me, I said “Not at this time.” So, Pearlie Mae went off to gamble and I went to my suite.
I ordered everything from room service then went to a couple of restaurants to order a bunch of take out when it was time to leave I had so many bags to take home it was a good thing she had a van. I had cakes, pies, seafood platters, surf and turf, lobster, shrimp, scallops, bottled champagne, bottled cognac, everything. After that day Joe and I would go to the casino often to enjoy the perks. He didn’t gamble either.
Pearlie would pick me up every Saturday and take me with her and her sisters. I started bringing large shopping bags with me for all my stuff. She would say “It’s free so you might as well get it.” I’m so glad I met her.
To Be Continued…

If you want to transcribe for Best Day, then email us at info@bestdayofmylifesofar.org. You can also share our older buds' adventures by donating to Best Day, subscribing to our newsletter, sending a note to our older buds, or following us on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. And if you or the older buds have hospital or health stories, then you or they can submit stories through our portal right here. We're especially interested to stories from Black older buds, but we're always looking for stories from older buds of color, older buds with disabilities, LGBTQIA+ older buds, older buds of any gender or sex, older buds of any religion, and older buds who just plain break the mold.

And don't forget to maintain contact with the older buds in your life. If you can't be there in person, please call them, email them, or message them on social media. And if they're using teleconferencing or remote events for the first time, give them a call and help them set things up. Check in on them to see how well they're getting used to these programs. Buy them a computer or an internet package if they don't have one of their own. It's a human right, after all.

Curated by Caitlin Cieri

Pride Month (Eleanor and Diane)

Coming up next is the third part to Diane Richardson's story "When I Met My Hubby." But first, it's LGBTQ Pride month, a celebration of the lesbian, gay, bi, trans and queer people in our lives. Pride isn't just about being LGBTQ, it's about the love you have for yourself as an LGBTQ person, and the love you have for your LGBTQ friends and family. We're still fighting hate and prejudice, but we've come far and we're seeing more and more LGBTQ people in the media, and out of the closets. Today's story is by older bud Eleanor and how proud she is of her granddaughter:

Eleanor Kazdan

09.17.2020

My Princess

Sometimes life throws a curveball. Gary and I could never have predicted what life has thrown at us out of left field. It was a gradual awakening that has now fully blossomed. We have been blessed with three extraordinary grandchildren, all born with male parts. I called them my three rowdy grandsons.
From the age of 18-months, the youngest, LuAyin, showed a passionate interest in all things girly: Beautiful scarves, dresses, jewelry, makeup, and all things sparkly. As soon as LuAyin could talk, he declared that his favorite colors were pink and purple. For his birthday he wanted Barbie dolls with fancy clothing and princess costumes. To no avail, we tried to steer LuAyin towards the boy’s section at target. He stood as stiff as a board in the middle of black T-shirts with pictures of cars and superheroes, lips pursed in a pouty frown. Next door in the girl’s section, he came to life, transformed by the sparkly dresses and fairy headbands. Movies with superheroes were out. He declared that only movies with beautiful princesses were acceptable.
When LuAyin was three years-old, we were chatting one day about his growing up, and as I said “becoming a man.” He looked me straight in the eye and said, “Grandma, when I grow up, I’m going to be a woman.” It was as clear as day, right in front of our eyes that LuAyin was a girl, but this reality was too daunting. We continued to use the pronoun “he.” LuAyin’s parents insisted that he wear his dresses and princess costumes only in the house, presenting himself as a boy to the outside world. An adult neighbor snatched his doll from him one day, refusing to give it back. “You can’t play with dolls, you’re a boy!”
About a year ago, with the reality sinking in, LuAyin was allowed to wear dresses and other girl’s clothing out in the world. She turned four in June and has definitively declared that she is a girl and wants to be referred to as such. It is astounding to us that such a young child can be so self-aware. We are trying to remember to use feminine pronouns. She has, at such a young age, fully transitioned to be who she truly is.
I always wanted a granddaughter, but I didn’t think it would happen this way. Life has sure thrown us a curveball, and it will be a challenging journey. But life has brought us a beautiful granddaughter; we couldn’t be more proud and happy.

We now return to our continuing story "When I Met My Hubby" by Diane Richardson:

Diane Richardson

03.01.2022

When I Met My Husband Part 3

Shortly after Joe and I had our first lunch together he invited me to a Cabaret one of his co-workers were giving. A cabaret for those who don’t know is a large affair, a gathering of people dressed up where there is music, eating, drinking, and dancing. It takes place in very large room. There are tables set up such as these in the Philadelphia Senior Center are and a dance floor in the middle.
So, at the affair everyone was drinking, dancing, and having a good time. Joe wasn’t much of a dancer, only danced slow and I had to force him to do that. So, I danced with others, I love to dance. There was one single white guy at our table. I noticed he hadn’t danced. I asked him, “Why aren’t you dancing?” He replied, “I don’t know how.” I said, “Come on, I’ll teach you.” He said, “I can’t in front of all these people.” I said O.K. let’s go over there to the side.
We went over to the side, and I taught him a few moves. He got pretty good and was ready to hit the dance floor. We danced a good while and he was so proud of himself. He started asking other women to dance with him. At the end of the evening, he thanked me and said, “That’s the most fun I’ve ever had. I really appreciate what you’ve done. I’ve always wanted to learn to dance. I hope I’ll see you again.”
I said “Don’t ya’ll have affairs once a month?” He said “We do but Joe never brings the same woman twice.” I said, “I bet you won’t see him with anyone but me from now on.” He said excitedly “BET?” I said “BET!!!”
To Be Continued

If you want to transcribe for Best Day, then email us at info@bestdayofmylifesofar.org. You can also share our older buds' adventures by donating to Best Day, subscribing to our newsletter, sending a note to our older buds, or following us on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. And if you or the older buds have incredible stories for Pride Month, then you or they can submit stories through our portal right here. We're especially interested to stories from Black older buds, but we're always looking for stories from older buds of color, older buds with disabilities, LGBTQIA+ older buds, older buds of any gender or sex, older buds of any religion, and older buds who just plain break the mold.

And don't forget to maintain contact with the older buds in your life. If you can't be there in person, please call them, email them, or message them on social media. And if they're using teleconferencing or remote events for the first time, give them a call and help them set things up. Check in on them to see how well they're getting used to these programs. Buy them a computer or an internet package if they don't have one of their own. It's a human right, after all.

Curated by Caitlin Cieri

Arts and Leisure (José and Diane)

Coming up next is the second part to Diane Richardson's story "When I Met My Hubby." But first, an update on José's art show. 

I had a great time at the show, and I loved seeing José's artwork on display. The best part was listening to José give the backstory to his illustration, and seeing how much his friends appreciated his work. I don't have the backstory to his shoe painting now, but I do have a story of him appreciating a friend's creativity back in school:

José Dominguez

04.21.2021

To Cheat During an Exam: a curiosidad mató al gato addendum

Each teacher has a different idea about educational evaluation; for example, many years ago I asked to my dear Philosophy professor Federico Ferro Gay his opinion about cheating during written examinations. After several seconds of spontaneous laugh he told me: “In my case, in the courses that I teach, the student is the total responsible of his learning process. The general idea of the philosophical studies is to inspire student to have an encounter with themselves. If we all are ignorants as Socrates asserted, who is the person to judge who knows and who doesn’t. But this essay is not to write about to copy or not during written exams. I’m writing about what happened one Spring morning of 1959 during a monthly test when I was studying my third year of Secondary education at the Instituto Regional de Chihuahua under the supervision of our teacher Mr. Medina. My group was identified as 3A and our classroom was located in the main floor just in front of the subdirector’s office. Crossing the room at the end was located the black board; to both sides our chairs were symmetrically distributed in rows. Entering to our class room my chair was to the left and near to me was seated my buddy Federico Garcia Terrasaz. He was a real pal and very often we shared our playtime together. Our teacher, Mr. Medina in those times was a celebrity in our school. Of all the Jesuit teachers no one surpassed him in severity. With him there was no middle grounds; so, it was impossible to act with him with imprecision. Added to that, he was always in a state of alert. That morning Mr. medina was in charge of the application of the test. The alternatives were scarce, the only possible thing was to answerer with how little or how much one knew. After delivering the questionaries he assumed his vigilant posture as always, scrutinizing with his eagle sight each corner of the classroom and each movement of our adolescent existences. Suddenly I was astonished to see Federico, who cold-blooded opened his left hand and began to read something he had written on his palm. I never had imagined Federico copying in one test, but now looking at him I was amassed how with out dismay was cheating in front of the wrong teacher. I guess I began to tremble feeling that a thunder storm was going to start, and it did. Abruptly in front of him Mr. medina appeared and sharply asked Federico: ”Show what you have written in your palm!” Not losing control, Federico answered calmly:” “It’s nothing related to this class”, “I will determine that,” said the teacher and at the same time he took Federico’s arm to read the text. Mr. Medina’s face become transformed by rage and boldly commanded: “Go out and find me later to speak to you” I was really intrigued about everything… how come my friend being a good student was cheating… and how come Mr. Medina did not disclosed Federico fault… Once I finished my test went directly looking for Federico and when I found him he told me: “Oh, that professor does not have any sense of humor.” I asked: “ What happen Federico show me your hand” There in his palm was written the Mexican saying “La curiosidad mató al gato” equivalent in English: “ Curiosity killed the cat”; so Mr. Medina did find funny to be call “cat” or either that curiosity killed him.
Conclusion: Too much solemnity can be uncreative and, remember, curiosity doesn’t kill creative people but to some other people is a deadly dangerous.

We now return to our continuing story "When I Met My Hubby" by Diane Richardson

Diane Richardson

02.22.2022

When I Met My Husband Part 2

So, after meeting him and giving him my number, he finally called. So you can get a mental picture of him, he is 6 foot 2, two hundred fifty pounds and sort of chocolate. No pretty boys for me. We talked on the phone a few times. Getting to know him I found out he worked most all the time. Didn’t smoke, or drink, didn’t do drugs or hang out. His hobby was going to the Supermarket and buying whatever was on sale and give it away. Much as I do now but with online shopping.
His Aunt Lorene lived directly across the street from me. Her and Joe’s mother Pearl housed and took care of mentally handicapped adults. They would cook them three meals a day and take very good care of them. They loved it there. Joe would drop the food off to them that he would purchase after work. When I told him where I lived, he told me about his aunt across the street. So, I said, “The next time you drop off the food to your aunt, come have lunch with me.” That next week we had a date for lunch.
I had a three room third floor apartment. It was small, nice, and clean and just right for me. He came for lunch, and we had a nice time. I liked how shy he was. I love shy guys. He said he had to go to work and would call me soon. He mostly worked the evening shift. When he would get off work, he would to the Pathmark to shop for whatever was on sale to give away to his family members.
He had a co-worked that his car broke down and wouldn’t be repaired for a few days. Joe offered to pick him up and drive him home until his car was repaired. So, on this first day on the way home from work Joe stopped at Pathmark. The co-worker complained, “When I work all day, I’m tired and want to get home and don’t want to be going shopping.” Joe said “I’m sorry” and drove him back to the job where he waited to catch his buses at 1AM.
To Be Continued...

If you want to transcribe for Best Day, then email us at info@bestdayofmylifesofar.org. You can also share our older buds' adventures by donating to Best Day, subscribing to our newsletter, sending a note to our older buds, or following us on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. And if you or the older buds have incredible stories in multiple parts, then you or they can submit stories through our portal right here. We're especially interested to stories from Black older buds, but we're always looking for stories from older buds of color, older buds with disabilities, LGBTQIA+ older buds, older buds of any gender or sex, older buds of any religion, and older buds who just plain break the mold.

And don't forget to maintain contact with the older buds in your life. If you can't be there in person, please call them, email them, or message them on social media. And if they're using teleconferencing or remote events for the first time, give them a call and help them set things up. Check in on them to see how well they're getting used to these programs. Buy them a computer or an internet package if they don't have one of their own. It's a human right, after all.

Curated by Caitlin Cieri

Slow Burn Romance (Diane)

On Tuesday, we had Best Day in the auditorium of the Philadelphia Senior Center instead of our usual room. They were doing some work on the ceilings, so this was the only safe spot for us to do our workshop this week. And due to the setting, I'm turning this week's blog entry into something of a show.

The day after Valentine’s Day, older bud Diane wrote the story of how she met her husband; part one. It’s very common for older buds to write a story into parts, but Diane’s story goes on for a little bit longer. As of last Tuesday, Diane is up to part 11. With each part the story is growing more and more complex with more and more twists and turns, like the old serialized radio dramas and magazine stories. So I thought it would be fun to present her story as a weekly installment. And here is part one:

Diane Richardson

02.15.2022

When I Met My Husband Part 1

When I met my hubby, I gave him my phone and asked him to give me a call sometime. I knew who he was. He was in Ebony magazine as one of the most eligible bachelors in Philadelphia. He was an automotive engineer that worked at the B.U.D.D Company. They make the car parts for the “Big Three”, General Motors, Chrysler and Ford, then ship the parts to them where they make the cars. B.U.D.D is or was the highest paying job in Philadelphia. It was a great job and you had to have connections to get in. Once hired there, that would be your job for life, He got hired at the age of nineteen and worked there until they closed. He was there thirty-five years. While all my girlfriends were interested in men who were handsome, I was always interested in a man who had a great job and what kind of pension he would receive. So, after giving him my number I crossed fingers and hoped he would call. It took him two weeks to call after I almost started to lose hope. I asked him what took him so long to call. He responded, “I was on my way out of a relationship. I didn’t want to start anything new until I closed that chapter of my life. I only do one woman at a time.” That’s when I knew he would no longer be one of the Philly’s most eligible Bachelors.
To be Continued…

If you want to transcribe for Best Day, then email us at info@bestdayofmylifesofar.org. You can also share our older buds' adventures by donating to Best Day, subscribing to our newsletter, sending a note to our older buds, or following us on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. And if you or the older buds have Cinco de Mayo stories and art to display, then you or they can submit stories through our portal right here. We're especially interested to stories from Black older buds, but we're always looking for stories from older buds of color, older buds with disabilities, LGBTQIA+ older buds, older buds of any gender or sex, older buds of any religion, and older buds who just plain break the mold.

And don't forget to maintain contact with the older buds in your life. If you can't be there in person, please call them, email them, or message them on social media. And if they're using teleconferencing or remote events for the first time, give them a call and help them set things up. Check in on them to see how well they're getting used to these programs. Buy them a computer or an internet package if they don't have one of their own. It's a human right, after all.

Curated by Caitlin Cieri

An Art Show for Cinco De Mayo (José)

Feliz Cinco de Mayo a todos. We have some good news from Mexican older bud José. He's in an art show celebrating the art and works of older adults. His reception will be on Friday, May 6th, 1:30-2:30 P.M. at Parkway Central Library, West Gallery First Floor, 1901 Vine Street. There will be another reception on Thursday, May 26, 4:00-5:00PM at Center on the Hill, 8855 Germantown Avenue behind the Presbyterian Church in Chestnut Hill. To view the entire show, go to www.pcaCares.org/Celebrate for their virtual showcase.

In honor of José's show, we have a story featuring one of his other great talents: philosophizing and questioning organized religion.

José Dominguez

12.28.2021

Doctrina

Literacy is not enough: it’s necessary to have the proper belief association and belief repertoire. It was a must to function in a decent society as I was going to discover. After my overwhelming entrance experience to Elementary School with all the authority struggles that it involved, now I had to accept another requirement to function in the grown up world. My Elementary Education will furnish me with literacy but I guess that my real outcome was to follow authority instructions with the minimal expression of rejection and the maximum of performance. Now my mother decided that I had to be Catholic – Christian, one of those submitted to the Vatican, meaning that included the liturgical and recitation of creeds and fixed prayers that it implied. By my tender neurons circulated questions as phantoms: Why there was a temple? Why we had to hear mass? How those enormous figurines of saints that hanged from the walls can help us to obtain what we want? Why a priest can represent God? Why we have to kneel and act as if we have done something wrong? Why money is asked to parrochians in each mass as if God was in poverty? Why people have to recite memorized prayers to be good and go to heaven? Of course the formulation of those questions evolved until they become part of my non-answered questions and later my non important questions embed in my life. But at the age of 7, my mother’s criteria was undisputed if she said that I needed to go to heaven it was so, if she said I needed to recite our fathers and Hail Maries, then I suppose I had to, and repeat them until new order.
So I had to attend to particular Christian education with Mrs. Claudia. She was a gentle old lady that smiled frequently but was very solemn when assumed its role. She was in charge of our Catholic indoctrination, my brother Victor and myself were the only “souls to be saved” that attended at her home that by the way was located at only 20 meters or less from my school. She wore long dark dresses, spoke in a convincing Spanish, and created a gentle-grave atmosphere around her, so I thought she was an under covered angel disguised as an old lady to prevent the Devil to turn us into his slaves. We started each session with the ritual of making the sign of the Holy Cross, for that purpose with the right hand simulated a cross and with it we did three little crosses: one in our front, the second in the mouth and the third over our heart and at the end a big cross from the head to the belly, from the left shoulder to the right shoulder. To dismiss the cross formed with our fingers we ended kissing our own hand as a farewell. Our conversation was unilateral and she pointed clearly what was truth beyond any doubt. How I had two mothers, my physical mother and Mary my spiritual mother, two fathers, my physical father and God. I had inside of me, something strange as a phantom, or a swirl of wind, or a divine light that had to be saved because the ever present Devil was always wandering around sneaking in my life trying to take me to his side by an unknown reason; well, not immediately. The Devil will work with me during my life and later when I pass away, if I don’t repent, he will torture me in a humongous oven where I’ll be cooked with the disadvantage that the cooking will never be done and my mom nor nobody will help me…..wow! Mrs. Claudia said those horrible things in such calmed way that created an infantile dissonance in my poor head… but I decided well she is a friend of God and in the worst scenario surely she will help me.
One day she told us that we were going to receive our first communion. She explained we will live in that moment the happiest day of our lives because in those moments God was going to be there and we will have the chance to eat it. Her voice was so convincing and trustful that I thought, “Well if she say so it will happen…” but believe me I could not imagine how God was to be collapsed into a piece of bread, then I will eat it and later I will fall in such a joy that nothing in the world can be compared to. But could it be more joyful than playing with my ball? Can it be better than eating a strawberry ice cream? If she says so I will do it but, I was wondering that she was creating a reality that my innocence could not grasp. The first communion preparation involved teaching me that I was dirty. “But each day I take a bath,” I commented timidly…
“Not that kind of dirt Pepe it’s the soul’s dirt you know?”
“What? A soul can be covered of mud, or dust, or trash?” I asked surprised. She controlled herself and with infinite patience explained that our first ancestors Adan and Eve disobeyed God’s Will and from that moment each of us fall in disgrace. But we were lucky, Jesus saved all humanity with his death. I never understood the meaning and veracity of that but for a frightened and sensitive introverted, Mrs. Claudia dictum was enough. But something was missing: I had to be prepared to confess my sins. Since I could not imagine myself offending God I had to focus in what way I offended my fellow world inhabitants, even my dog, our home canaries and a talking parrot that never learned other word than “Papá, Papa.” So I thought, well sometimes I don’t eat all my food and it was payed by my father’s hard work so it’s a strike. The previous culinary omission implied that someone in some place could be living, longing for the food I disdained; second strike. In another vein, I indulged so much the strawberry ice cream consequently I was so absent that I could not think in eating spinach or vegetables and was ruining my health and falling into gluttony…..three strikes. My Sunday allowance that I used to buy one Superman comic each Sunday was an offense against so many poor people, so I accumulated so many strikes that didn’t know what to do with them…. But wait a minute, there where a twilight zone integrated by those impressive behaviors, not totally definite and I created the proper category for them I called them wrong thoughts. Those included all my mundane weakness, potential offenses, and all the deviant ideas I could not define. I ended with a large sin list, perhaps I did a little of to multiply its amount, perhaps I did a little of dramatization of its ugliness. So finally I was prepared; I knew the main litanies, I had a list of incontestable truths, and most importantly had a long and decent list of wrongdoings that will make me appear close to a serial criminal, more dangerous than Al Capone. I was sure that when I confessed my crimes this priest, God representative, will be impressed by my high level of criminality, so well documented and will give me a huge penitence.
I don’t remember what happened in the moment of confession. I guess what happened was under the level of my imaginative expectations. What I remember is that when I finished ended saying to myself: “Well here I am leaving the sinner world and entering in the path to heaven. Hope not to fall in temptation, hope I have the strength to continue my righteous way with not falling even when I found a creamy strawberry ice-creams in my path or a Superman comic.”

If you want to transcribe for Best Day, then email us at info@bestdayofmylifesofar.org. You can also share our older buds' adventures by donating to Best Day, subscribing to our newsletter, sending a note to our older buds, or following us on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. And if you or the older buds have Cinco de Mayo stories and art to display, then you or they can submit stories through our portal right here. We're especially interested to stories from Black older buds, but we're always looking for stories from older buds of color, older buds with disabilities, LGBTQIA+ older buds, older buds of any gender or sex, older buds of any religion, and older buds who just plain break the mold.

And don't forget to maintain contact with the older buds in your life. If you can't be there in person, please call them, email them, or message them on social media. And if they're using teleconferencing or remote events for the first time, give them a call and help them set things up. Check in on them to see how well they're getting used to these programs. Buy them a computer or an internet package if they don't have one of their own. It's a human right, after all.

Curated by Caitlin Cieri

A Visit from Benita (Gloria, Liz and Norman)

Two days ago we got a visit from Benita, the founder of The Best Day of My Life So Far. Longtime readers know that the first ever Best Day workshop was hosted in the Philadelphia Senior Center’s basement; after twelve years it’s a part of the center itself! It was great for us all to see her in person for the first time in years, but the best part was introducing her to new older buds (like Gloria) and older buds who just never crossed paths with her (like Liz.)

So today’s post is devoted to the new friends Benita made, and the OG older bud Norman, who knew Benita from the very beginning.

Gloria Nhambiu

03/29/2022

Untitled

Ten years ago, one of my doctors suggested that I should use a cane because my balance was off due to my left leg being shorter than the other. The buffer under the left kneecap was wearing thin. And of course, I ignored that suggestion. Canes are for old, crippled people, I thought, and I thought I was neither then and never expected to be. Fast forward ten years.
Today I went shopping on Marked East (the gallery and other stores). After walking one block and then entering the Gallery I found that stores are miles apart and I can no longer walk the long mall corridors with ease. The one block walk to the parking lot has lengthened. It felt like 2 miles each way.
So, I have decided that using a cane is not so bad after all. Funny, my friends have been telling me this for years.

Liz Abrams

11/23/2021

The Mutt

My favorite pet, besides my German Shepard, security dog Pal who was on the job during the day when Grandmom babysat me (that story was submitted some time ago titled The 3 Musketeers). The Mutt became a family member when, mom waling home to 19th and Diamond from Broad and Lehigh factory job—Cohen Bros—the Mutt decided to be an unpaid escort. During those days my mother attracted many males who offered to walk her home. She shunned them, but for some reason she allowed Mutt to act as escort that day.
Mutt walked her home to the door and went away. The next day and following days he became my mother’s official escort. My dad said, “Why you let that smelly mutt walk with you? He is dingy.” From that day on my mother brough the mutt inside, bathes him in our bathtub and fed him scraps from our table. Me, my sister and dad accepted him as a family member since Mutt was so loyal to all family members, especially me, since I was a poor eater of nourishing food prepared mostly at dinner.
After several scoldings from my parents to “clean my plate,” the Mutt and I became partners in crime. I secretly fed the Mutt my dinner. All was happy, especially the Mutt and I became the Mutt’s official Mistress. And the Mutt never gave our secret away. I hope to see you in Heaven, Mutt. You were the only real friend I had in my adolescence.
With Love,
Liz

Norman Cain

01/16/202

The Pending Migrations of Friends and Family Members

Recently, a dear friend and two relatives in my immediate family have decided to move from their localities. Moves that they have contemplated for some time, moves they feel will benefit them both spiritually and financially.
Several weeks ago, a friend (a male) of 50 years informed me that he and his wife were going to relocate to an area outside of Atlanta Georgia. They had visited the area and as a result decided that the natural beauty and tranquility would create a harmonious blend with their senior years. Since they will not sell their Phila home (which they will leave under the care of another daughter) they will periodically return to Phila for visits. I will see them on these occasions. I will also be able to connect in Georgia during my visits to Atlanta to see my sister and her extended family.
Several weeks ago, my oldest granddaughter, who had spent 5 years in Houston Texas, and a 3 month visit with her parents moved to Charlotte, North Carolina. The downside of the situation is that she will be missed; however, she will not be so far away as Houston; thereby making trips to see her easier. Also, she has family in Charlotte.
I was shocked when my daughter who lived in Orlando Florida told me that she, her husband, and daughter would be relocating to Germany at the beginning of 2022. She and her husband also lived there for several years when her husband was in the army. When I would visit them each year they fondly spoke of their time and expressed eventually moving there. They made up their minds. The time had come.
My Orlando daughter is not immune to traveling and relocating. She left Phila at the age of 19 to live with my stepdaughter who was a soldier residing in Hawaii. She traveled from post to post with my stepdaughter and eventually married her now husband after his “tours of duty.” They settled in Jackson, Mississippi and eventually Orlando, Florida. Like my friend that is moving to Georgia, they will not be selling their home, so I will see them on their rare visits to Orlando. Also, she and her husband have extended an invitation to visit them in Germany.
I will miss my friend and family members, but I reluctantly understand their wanting to migrate to other areas of the country and the world.

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And don't forget to maintain contact with the older buds in your life. If you can't be there in person, please call them, email them, or message them on social media. And if they're using teleconferencing or remote events for the first time, give them a call and help them set things up. Check in on them to see how well they're getting used to these programs. Buy them a computer or an internet package if they don't have one of their own. It's a human right, after all.

Curated by Caitlin Cieri