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