The Best Day of My Life So Far

Saturday, April 29, 2023

Meal Prep (Frances & Diane)

Coming up next is the thirtieth part to Diane Richardson’s “When I Met My Hubby,” but first let's talk about food.

We all eat to live, and our working days are spent making the money to buy the food or in some cases growing the food we'll eat later. With the modern supermarket and online delivery, it can seem easier than ever to get exactly what we want, when we want. But there's always little hiccups here and there, due to lack of funds, lack of time or lack of options. Today's stories show some creative ways for older buds to go food shopping and to get their square meals.

Frances Bryce
09.07.2021
Detours
The city offers many buses, trains, and the subway. To get from Point A to Point B I have become accustomed to walking out of my door if I needed to go to anywhere on South Street on a plan and hunch to 2nd and Lombard that I planned on. Sunday, the day of the Farmer’s Market is open at the above address- 2nd and Lombard, my intended destination. As we approached 15th and South, the driver alerted the passengers that the route was blocked, and we could wait until SEPTA informed us that the trip could be continued (Detour).
30 minutes later we were informed that the blockage was still in effect, and he would be returning via another route. The driver offered a very sincere apology. I began to think of my options, buses run infrequently on weekends and holidays. 15th and South is quite a distance from 2nd and South. A possible solution, wait on Broad and Lombard and return home.
No buses in sight, I was fortunate to get a bus on Broad and got off at Walnut Street. Still a sit and wait (who knew how long). I began to walk to one of my favorite places, Reading Terminal, with a previous stop in Rittenhouse Square with a book in my bag. The wait was short.
At Reading Terminal I was able to have lunch, purchase a meal for later and all the fruit and produce that I missed at the farmer’s market. A detour can be another way of not letting a bus detour stop me from using another plan to have a great day. There are many other routes that let me achieve a day that I had not planned.
My final bus route ended at 23rd and South. The area has a wonderful yogurt with which I rewarded myself for such a pleasant day. No detour stopped me.

We now return to our continuing story, “When I Met My Hubby, Part 30.”

Diane Richardson
11.08.2022
When I Met My Hubby Part 30
Today I would like to tell you about my Hubby’s cousin Ron. Ron lives across the street from a large church in South Philly that often holds weddings and funerals. Whenever either is held, Ron gets all dressed in a suit & tie and attends the services. He goes to the funeral repass services and the wedding receptions where there is a buffet of food, drink and pastries all homemade from family members.
He goes over to the church early in the month to get a monthly program of what’s going on so he can plan his monthly activities. He shops at Goodwill and Salvation Army for suits and ties. He’s always the one of the sharpest uninvited guests there. After he eats, he always packs up a few platters to take home. Then comes back and packs a few more to go. None the wiser. He’s been doing this for years. Even going so far as volunteering to sometimes clean up so he wont be considered a stranger.
He never has to go food shopping or cook. He always has plenty of homemade food and pastries on hand.

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 any stories of food and how they find it, 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

Thursday, April 20, 2023

Volunteer Appreciation (Elliott & Diane)

Coming up next is the twenty-eighth part to Diane Richardson’s “When I Met My Hubby,” but first some appreciation for our volunteers. Yesterday, I went to The Philadelphia Senior Center's Volunteer Appreciation Ceremony. The most interesting thing about the event was how many older buds were present as volunteers. Of course, there were the older bud representatives of each group, but there were also several older buds and baby boomers volunteering without actually attending the Senior Center...or any senior center necessarily. Apparently, we have a larger percentage of volunteers born between the forties and sixties than we did back in the 2000s. I believe it might be double, but don't quote me on that.

We've been getting in new prospective volunteers to write and read on behalf of older buds with visual impairments, many of whom are older buds themselves. One prospective volunteer was Nancy, who wrote for Elliott. They struck up a friendship over their shred tastes in literature, and Elliott believes she knew exactly how to write and read aloud his story as a result. I'm looking froward to sharing the story Nancy transcribed, but in the meantime, here's a classic story from older bud Elliott.

Elliott Doomes
09.12.2019
Who Am I?
This is a story about two people who seemed to be compatible in every way. With the exception of controversial issues. They can never agree on the correct stand to take. Whichever stand one would take, the other would contradict and take the opposite. They would argue their points almost to the point of verbal hostility. They would even go so far as to judge and condemn the others’ opinions. I think that they could accept the fact that they are different people, and allow each other to be who they are and not judge them for who they think they should be. That’s the key point right there. Perhaps in that understanding and acceptance, they could begin to bond and form a lasting relationship and friendship.
Now this is the third person coming here, and this is what he says: he said “Well, sound and interesting advice, sir. But tell me, how do you stand on controversial issues?”
Well let me say this: I may not always be right, but I’m never wrong.
I’ve met people like that; they’re never wrong. I don’t care what you say, they’ve always got a way to interpret something. There’s a guy here who’s like that. He’s gone everywhere, he’s done everything, he’s even worked on a nuclear submarine if you can believe that! I call him every once in a while, and ask why he doesn’t come to the center. He says, “Most of the days, I’m down at the casino.” Well that wouldn’t be for me. Maybe one day I might go in a group, but he’s going in two, three times a week, but for what? But the stories that he tells me! He’s done everything. Whatever you say, he’s done it. One day he’s going to tell me he was Admiral or something.

We now return to our continuing story, “When I Met My Hubby, Part 28.”

Diane Richardson
10.25.2022
When I Met My Husband Part 28
So at this time I am on assignment at a O.B. GYN practice at H.U.P. I don’t like working O.B. GYN because there is nothing but women all day every day and I need to see some men sometimes. My agency knew I didn’t care to work the practice but not why. They needed a tech to work until they hired someone permanent which who knows how long that could be. So, they made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. I agreed only because they were closed on weekends and holidays. Their regular tech was getting married and leaving the country.
The practice was owned an operated by a husband and wife team. I’ll call them Smith and Jones. The wife Smith, the husband Jones. Smith was white and Jones was black. He loved soul food, and she didn’t know how to cook it so they would go out to eat most nights after work.
After I had been there for a little while I asked if I could make a suggestion. I told them I had a trusted family member that was retired and could cook up a storm. I could talk to her and ask if she would be interested in cooking for you. She could do the grocery shopping and have dinner ready when you get home. They asked if I knew her well and if I trust her.
I answered, “Very well. I wouldn’t recommend her if I didn’t, I wouldn’t put my reputation on the line.” They said they would meet with her, and I talked to her and she agreed to meet with them. They met, loved each other, and agreed she will be their cook. Everybody was happy. I want everyone to know who the cook was,
Pearlie Mae!!!
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 any stories of volunteering or volunteer appreciation, 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.

Curated by Caitlin Cieri

Thursday, April 13, 2023

The Lost Chapters (Diane & Diane)

I have a confession to make. I do not have part 24 of Diane Richardson’s “When I Met My Hubby.” I checked previous weeks, but it’s just not coming up. There’s a few more parts of her story that I also cannot find. However, the next part to her story follows pretty well from Part 23, so that’s what I’m posting. I’ll continue posting chapters of Diane’s story in this way, and I will let you know when I find the lost chapters.

Without further ado, Part 25 of “When I Met My Hubby” by Diane Richardson

Diane Richardson
10/18/2022
When I Met My Hubby Part 25

So Joe and I are enjoying our new home and all is well. But every day I hear knocking on the wall from the right side of the house. It happens almost every day and night. I asked Joe what he thought about it, and he says, “Don’t know.” The knocking continued for a couple of months then stopped.
Then my neighbor on my left asked me if I knew the old lady on my right has passed away? I said I did not. I said I don't know anyone as I am new here. She went on to explain that the mother (the homeowner) was discharged from the hospital to home hospice, care to her daughter Lydia. She said the mother left Lydia the house.
The next thing I know there was all kind of construction going on at the house. A new front and back porch and a new wrap around deck put our deck to shame. Let me not forget the new Mercedes. Lydia was doing it up. I wondered if I should have called the police when I heard the knocking on the wall. What could I say, I hear knocking on the wall? I was new there and if I had known there was and old lady living there, I would have known what to do.
To Be Continued …….

And we also have a bonus story from Diane!

Diane Richardson
02/08/2022
My Uncle's Funeral

I come from a very large family. We all live in different states all across the country and we all don’t know or have met one another. The only time we all really got together is at weddings or funerals. My grandmother had thirteen children, four girls, nine boys. My father is one of the boys and I doubt he had any problems in school with bullies.
Our family always used Bakers Funeral Home on North Broad Street. It is the largest funeral home in Philadelphia that has three parlors inside that could hold three services in one day. So, this day I went to attend my Uncle Cecil’s service. So, I walk into the parlor, I see a group of people I think I recognize. I approached them, they embraced me and hugged and cried. We all started talking and crying together and saying how good a person he was and how we all loved him. We all had a good cry together. As I am standing there crying with everyone, I hear my aunt Erma, my father’s baby sister, yell out to me. “Diane get over here. You’re at the wrong funeral!” So I said good bye to everyone I was crying with and went to the correct funeral.

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 any stories of love and/or marriage, 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.

Curated by Caitlin Cieri

Thursday, February 23, 2023

Compare and Contrast (Ann & Ann)

Things change. Perspectives change. The way you see your life now won't be the same as they way you see it ten, twenty, fifty years later. When we're lucky, we can see glimpses of these changes in real time. When we're unlucky, we see these glimpses in real time because of something awful like the COVID lockdowns. Today, we have a story from Ann told in 2019 and retold one year later:

Ann Von Dehsen
01.39.2019
Snow Day
As I sit here watching the snow fall gently outside my window, I think back to the joy of snow days when I was in elementary school. To insure a snow day following a prediction, the kids in my neighborhood all did a version of a snow dance before getting into bed. Once in bed, we would chant ourselves to sleep by praying to the snow Gods, "Please let it snow...please let it snow...please let it snow." At daylight, we would ceremoniously life the shade an inch or two hoping to see snow instead of driveway. If we did, down to the kitchen we would fly, waiting for the magic hour of 8 am. For in my little northern, New Jersey town, with a small elementary school, the fire siren would loudly blare at 8 am signifying... SNOW DAY!! My sister and I would start watching the cock around 8:58, 7:59, hold your breath: 8:00! If heaven for bid that siren did not blare, we still had faith - "Oh, our clock is probably fast" or "maybe the siren is broken," or the very far fetched, "maybe we didn't hear it." Cruel realty hit as we were sent back to our rooms to get dressed and ready for school. But if that siren went off, you could hear the collective cries of joy from neighboring children. Within the hour, most of us were out on the street in full snow gear, pulling our sleds behind us ready for all types of snow fun. Our neighborhood was made up of guilt side streets with minimal traffic. There was one hill that ended on a busier street so we took turns being the watcher. Two watchers stood at the base of the chill and gave the ll clear sign for us to hop on our sleds when the street was free of oncoming cars. Once in a while, we would get a rather terrifying, "Hurry up!" from the watchers as we were midway down the hill. Luckily, the snow Gods get us safe and sleds never met cars. After a midday break for lunch, and perhaps a new pair of dry mittens, back outside we went. We spent most of the afternoon building snowmen, making snow angels, and having intermittent snowball fights. When my toes started to freeze and my finger tips began turning numb, I folded and went into my toasty house. Wet mittens, hats, socks, and scarves were placed on top of the radiator to dry. I can still remember the smell of damp wool on the heat. A strange, but somewhat comforting odor. My mom would appear with 2 mugs of hot chocolate and we sat on the couch watching shows like "Beat the Clock," and the always tear jerking "Queen for a Day." Later at dinner, conversation would turn to the possibility of tomorrow being another snow day. While my parents warned that that was highly unlikely, my sister and I repeated the entire snow ritual just to cover our bases. It wasn't until may years later when I became a teacher did I realize that all teachers also engage in that ritual - often more conviction!

And here's the same story, retold in 2020:

Ann von Dehsen
12.17.2020
Snow Day (2020 Revision)
As I sit here watching the snow fall gently out side of the window,I think back to the joy of snow days when I was in elementary school. To ensure a snow day following a prediction
the kids in my neighborhood all did a version of a snow dance before getting into bed. Once in bed we would chant ourselves to sleep with the mantra, “Please let it snow, please let snow, please let it snow.”
At day break we would ceremoniously lift the shade an inch or two, hoping to see snow instead of asphalt. if we did, down to the kitchen we would fly, waiting for the magic hour
of 8 AM for in my little northern New Jersey town with a small elementary school the fire siren would loudly blare at 8 AM signifying SNOW DAY!!! My sister and I would start watching the clock around 7:57, 7:58, 7:59—hold your breath—8 o'clock. If heaven forbid that siren did not blare we still had faith. “Oh, our clock is probably faster,” “Maybe the siren is broken,” or the very far fetched “Maybe we didn't hear it.” Cruel reality hit, as we were sent back to our rooms to get dressed and ready for school.
But if that siren went off you could hear the collective cries of joy from neighboring children. Within the hour most of us were out in the snow in full snow gear, pulling our sleds behind us, ready for all types of fun. Our neighborhood was made up of quiet side streets with minimal traffic. There was one hill that ended on a busier street, so we took turns being watchers. Two watchers stood at the base of the hill and gave the all clear sign for us to hop on our sleds when the street was free of all oncoming cars. Once in awhile we would get a rather terrifying, “Hurry Up!” from the watchers as we were halfway down the hill. Luckily the snow gods kept us safe and sleds never quite met cars.
After a midday break for lunch and perhaps a new pair of dry mittens, back outside we went. We spent most of the afternoon making snow angels, building snowmen, and having intermittent snowball fights. When my toes started to frees and my fingertips began turning numb, I folded and went into my toasty house eventually followed by sister. Wet mittens, hats, socks, and scarves were placed on top of the radiator to dry. I can still remember the smell of damp wool on the heat, a strange but somewhat comforting odor. While we changed into dry clothes, our mom made us mugs of dry chocolate which my sister and I constantly refreshed with numerous squirts of Reddi-Wip whipped cream.
Later after my snow-weary father made it safely home from an icy commute we asked our parents about the chances for another consecutive snow day. Though they highly doubted it we did another snow dance and chant to cover our bases.
It wasn't until many years later when I became a teacher that I realized that all teachers also engaged in that ritual, often with much more conviction. Unfortunately for both children and teachers this year virtual learning does not allow for snow days.

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 any stories about how the way you see life has changed, 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.

Curated by Caitlin Cieri

Thursday, February 16, 2023

Valentine's Day (Diane and Gloria)

It's been a heck of a month, but I'm back on the blog! And in honor of Valentine's Day, I want to share some stories of love and marriage to all the readers, including one from the dedicated older bud Diane:

Diane Richardson
05.24.2022
Wedding on a Beach
This is a picture of my oldest daughter Tara and her husband Christian. They were married on the beach in the Bahamas. You can see in the picture what a beautiful day it was. They have now been married for ten years with one child named Chase. You remember Chase. He’s the grandson who said the little boy across the hall came and got the bag of candy. Tara is a Harvard graduate and Chris is a retired military police officer who is now the head of the probation and parole department of PA. His office is in Harrisburg in the state building. They purchased an apartment building in Harrisburg near the state building, so he won’t have to commute from their home in Voorhees, NJ to Harrisburg. The purchase of the apartment building is an investment property as they own several properties (rental.) Tara enjoys going to Harrisburg to stay with Chris. She says it’s like having a “bunch of mini honeymoons.” She flies back and forth on a regular basis as she flies for free. Tia, her sister, works as a flight attendant for US Air so she flies for free as I do. The flight is only twenty minutes. She sits in first class, eats, drinks, and she’s there. When Chase is not in school, she will take him, and they would stay for a few days. We stayed in the Bahamas for a week for the wedding at an all-inclusive resort. We had a blast. Next time, I’ll tell y’all about my other daughter Tia’s wedding.

Gloria Nhambiu
05.10.2022
On Keeping My Maiden Name
I started my employment with the Philadelphia Department of Public Welfare on March 3, 1964. I was dating my husband to be. We were married on September 13, 1964. I continued my employment there but never made a name change. My supervisor at the time was a wonderful older lady who felt she must bring me the forms for a “name change.” I told her I had not planned to change my name.
Several of my girlfriends and I had decided that we would keep using our maiden names. Well my supervisor mentioned several times that I should fill out the name change forms. I didn’t think much about this. I kept calling myself Miss Purnell. In fact I was saying Mrs. Purnell. My coworkers (many of whom had been at my wedding) and my clients knew I had married and still called me Miss Purnell.
Finally one pay day in the spring I got a paycheck with my married name on it. When I questioned this I was told that I had sent the forms in. When I checked further I learned that my supervisor had taken it upon herself to change my name. During the spat that followed my supervisor told me what she had done. Then told me I should be proud to be married. After some arguments I let it go but I did ask that management speak to my supervisor about overstepping her boundaries. I also learned that she had never been married.
Our relationship was never the same as before. After talking to my husband about it he kind of liked that I would carry his name.

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 any stories of love and/or marriage, 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.

Curated by Caitlin Cieri

Thursday, December 22, 2022

Christmas Come Early (Gloria, Ann, Frances, Norman, José, Elliott, & Diane)

Happy Holidays, everyone! Best Day's present to you is a big haul of stories from older buds Gloria, Ann, Frances, Norman, José, Elliott, and Diane! I wasn't at Best Day this week, but Deborah ran the workshop in person, and she finally got to meet Elliott, who I'd reunited with last week! So please enjoy all these holiday stories and stories of family and charity to celebrate!

Gloria Nhambiu
11/09/2021
Untitled
Each year the Hallmark TV stations offer Christmas movies for over a month in mid-summer encompassing July. The company does this to introduce its newer Christmas ornaments.
In mid-October the Christmas movies start again to usher in the holiday season. Christmas movies in mid-October, Wow! That’s before Halloween. But I find myself watching a few old favorites again and again. I wonder how many others do the same. I’m sure there must be many viewers, or the stations wouldn’t do this year after year.
During the last two years I’ve noticed that along with the traditional white families there are Black, Asian, and Jewish families and a few mixed marriages or dating couples in each group. Hallmark seems to be keeping up with the times.
The movies are wholesome so when I can’t sleep or when my eyes aren’t ready for the morning news shows I watch the Hallmark movies.

Ann von Dehsen
11/30/2021
The Santa Secret
This year my 7-year-old grandson Max is having serious doubts about Santa’s existence. Back in October, he questioned me about the actual mail service to the North Pole and the likelihood of Santa ever really receiving his letter. Apparently, he’s been testing his theory out by writing to Santa 5x’s addressed simply: to Santa, North Pole, and putting them in the corner mailbox.
Last week he came downstairs after playing in his room and said to his mom, “I don’t think Santa’s real- I was looking at my toys and games and they all say, ‘made in China.’” At this writing he has not actually asked his parents if Santa is real, but I’m sure he’s still doing his own undercover detective work.
His mother, my daughter Kerry, was much more blunt about the Santa question when she was in 2nd grade. And it was asked one of the most stressful days of my life. It was moving day to a bigger house. The forecasted snow flurries turned into a major snowstorm, my then husband ended up in the hospital with kidney stones, the movers were 5 hours late and quite drunk as they slipped and slided on the icy, now dark driveway and laughed as we all watched my dryer slide down the hill into the woods.
With the help of my brother-in-law and his wife we unpacked the essentials and put the beds together. Finally, I was able to get the kids to bed and had just plopped down on my own bed when Kerry came down the hall and announced, “I don’t think there is a Santa and I want you to tell me the truth right now.” And so, I did, then I cried thinking I probably should have discussed this more. But Kerry was fine and said, “Thanks! I knew it” with a smile. Then she climbed in my bed, and we fell asleep together.
My daughter Rachel’s sons are 5 and 2. Both are all in for Christmas. However, last year, Paul, the 5-year-old had a temporary lack of faith. No in person visit with Santa were possible during COVID, but Macy’s offered a 1-1 visit with Santa and 2 elves over Zoom, so Rachel scheduled a visit. Paul was very quiet but eventually told Santa and the elves that he wanted a cement mixer truck. After the visit he turned to his mom and said, “I don’t think those guys were real.” Rachel assured him that they were, suggesting that maybe they just looked different on the computer. Paul seemed to forget about it, but on Christmas morning, the first toy he opened was the cement mixer truck and he joyfully exclaimed, “They were real, those guys were really real!”
Rachel found out about Santa courtesy of her older sister who told her the tooth fairy wasn’t real. My future statistician/math specialist daughter used her powers of deduction to realize there was no Santa or Easter Bunny either. She recovered quickly when we assured her that yes, there would still be presents.
As for me, my overly sophisticated 1st grade friend told me point blank there was no Santa and I was a baby if I still believed. But even today I still believe in the magic of Santa as witnessed by the chills and smiles I experience when Santa appears at the end of the Macy’s Thanksgiving parade. I’m convinced he is the real Santa.

Frances Bryce
12/17/2020
Missing the Season
I have written about the weather in California and Philadelphia. When I lived in California I remembered and loved the sunshine
and I did not miss the gray clouds, but what I found after awhile I really missed the changing of the seasons and the snow whenever we had it. I miss the season, the changing of the trees and and the leaves in the yard and everything was just wonderful. But when we got snow in Philadelphia, it was like magic. The earth was covered with beauty before the shoveling and before people started walking and making the ice into a solid mass and hard for shoveling. The snow reminds me of when I celebrated with my family and friends during Thanksgiving and much like I will be during Christmas. For Thanksgiving what I did I used my children's pictures as guests and set them on the table around me. And I made part of my dinner and bought the other part, but what I did was to incorporate all those things we usually had on Thanksgiving day. The Covid stayed at home.
I also got an invitation from my nephew to join them for dinner, but I was not comfortable and I said I would stay home and I also had another invitation and it worked out fine. I got calls from friends and family and because I had been staying in so much I really didn't
miss it that much. I dressed and then I plated my meal and I ate and then I enjoyed most of the things that we had during the holidays. And so I will be doing the same during Christmas making part of the food, I bought a turkey breast and I'll do stuffing and some sides and I'll add my kids' pictures back on the table as my guests.

Norman Cain
01/02/2020
Love Anguish- Holiday Season Story Revisited
Several weeks ago at Center in the Park I wrote a story about the hardships and the joy that people go through during the holiday period. Well during this particular holiday period, I kind of thought that perhaps I was too hard and I would take a different stance. So, I had at least 10 or 12 activities during the holiday period that I had to attend.
And the first activity took place in this very room with the W.E.B. Dubois group that meets every other Friday, and we have a flyer on the board about that. It was a great affair because we had 13 people attend. Table clothes, cocktail glasses for the non-alcoholic beverages and the food, it was like gourmet. That’s what started it.
And then, being a line-dancer, I attended two -line dancing affairs, one on City Line Avenue and one at the Carousel House at 41st and Parkside Avenue. The line-dance class that I have on Monday nights in Southwest Philly, we had a big party and a lot of gifts were given out. Then there was the annual Senior Holiday Gala at the Marriott Hotel in Center City. We had up to 600 people attend. The live band, dancing and you got a chance to see people that you hadn’t seen for a while.
Right here at this center, 509, I attended the Christmas and New Year’s affair. And then I also attended an affair at the Martin Luther King Center at 22nd and Cecil B. Moore. And then I went to a Kwanzaa affair on a Saturday at West Philadelphia High School. Sometimes these affairs overlap so I had to miss an affair at my Best Day class at Center in the Park.
My holiday started with, like I said, a Dubois activity at the room we are in now and it ended last night, Sunday, in West Philadelphia, at a family gathering on each New Year’s Day that started before I was born and I’m 77 years old. I remember when I was a kid going and now, I’m the eldest person there, and we get a chance to go back and talk about our experiences down south and here in Philadelphia. Initially I said that I would have a brand-new outlook about the holiday season. That it wouldn’t just be a love anguish holiday season revisited, but it was. I enjoyed it but I am tired.

José Dominguez
05/27/2021
My Last Christmas in Mexico
My last Christmas time that I spent in Juarez was in 2011. That particular December my wife and I knew that it was our last season, our last opportunity to sell the remaining souvenir inventory before leaving for America. On December the 25th, after taking my lunch in home returned to our store to help Maria. The streets were deserted but the mall, where our little business was located, was an attraction for many who wanted to have a good time with a certain level of security because crime and violence were a real factor in our lives. Driving my old and ragged Oldsmobile Cutlass I felt not endangered by any kidnapper or robber since the appearance of my car published an obvious low level of income, in case that some delinquent tried to do business at my expense. I had to drive by Avenue Tecnologico that happened to be the main road, the same that I have crossed for thousands of times. After passing in front of the Instituto Tecnologico de Ciudad Juarez where I used to work for 19 years I noticed something out of routine. A police officer on a motorcycle was following me and in a certain moment flashing light indicated his cruel intention to give me a ticket for sure. Immediately I figured that I was in a serious problem. In that moment I did not have my driving license and no money in case that I wanted to make a contribution for the officer’s personal welfare. Alas! The officer’s usual choice would be to take my car as a collateral for the payment of a large fine, I knew it clearly. Yes sure the fine will include: driving with an old sticker, not having driving license, car hosting and I don’t what any other bureaucratic nonsense and all because of this misfortunate encounter. Nevertheless, I acted as natural as I was able. “Good afternoon, officer. How come that you are working in holidays?
“My family eats all days of the year!” he answered.
Faking innocence and perplexity I asked, “What is the problem? What is my fault?”
He calmly asked: “Where is your new sticker? You are driving with a old sticker.”
“Yes indeed,” I answered, “But on this day I have to work too. My family eats also 365 days a year as you mentioned, I have to take advantage of the season to obtain a little more income, I’m so sorry.”
He responded, “Every one has to comply with the proper legal documentation, independently if it’s holiday or not.” I did not want to contradict his argumentation and go on saying: ”You are right, and I recognize my fault, and I know you are not in a position to put yourself in my shoes because you are compelled to apply the law, but I have to tell you….. my situation is more desperate. Additionally to my old sticker I have not my driver license; I left in my house my wallet with my documents, identifications, money… everything…and now I depend on your humanitarian decision.”
“What do you want to tell me?” he questioned.
I responded: “If I had my wallet with pleasure I will show you my documents…and with no purpose of offense… now I’m not able to offer you an economical compensation for you community work…but since I live with a limited income had to take the risk to appeal to your humanitarian feelings. Today is Christmas day and we have to bring peace to everybody, to our family, neighbors, citizens, etc. So I’m asking you to give me a chance and allow me to continue my way…if you don’t …you will have to give me a huge ticket and take my car as collateral, I know…that’s why I’m asking for your compassion, as if it were a Christmas present given from you to a stranger, a simple fellow citizen.”
“Ok, that’s my Christmas present to you. Go away and don’t forget the regulations,” he left with his motorcycle and I felt happy to found a compassionate soul.

Elliott Doomes
02/06/2020
Experience Is the Best Teacher
I really wasn’t trying to write today because I knew I only had a half hour to write. I guess most people who live in these high-rise projects are making the best of a bad situation. They have a shelter and a place to sleep but that’s it. I’ve seen parents have kids in the projects and those kids grow up in the projects and so on and so forth. The job market is no conducive to helping these people get out and if the kid’s lucky enough to live in a two-person household then both parents are working. It feels even worse than when I was growing up
My education started even before I was even in school. In house there was the golden rule, “Do not lie, do not steal, do not kill.” But on the street, it was “Do it to them before they do it to you. They hit you, you hit back harder.” If we broke one of these rules, corporal punishment was induced. We were taught to respect our elders, it was always “yes ma’am” and “no sir”. And that’ what we were judged by when it came to our elders. But among ourselves as young people anything goes.
My mother and father both worked, I hardly ever had a conversation with my dad. I remember him coming home from work tired out from a hard day. By the time he got himself washed and ready for dinner he had a few minutes with my mother, he ate and went straight to bed because he was tired from his day. So he never had time to really discipline me. That was mostly done by my older brother who I always thought hated me. I really did because he was a harsh taskmaster. My brother used to whoop my butt if I did something wrong or disrespected the elderly. And I couldn’t lie because everybody knows everybody. I thought that it was so hard growing up when I was young. My brother was always like a shadow. He always told me where I could go, how late I could stay out, when to come home for bed. He always knew when I was about to do something I wasn’t supposed to be doing. He’s always go, “What you doing? Get your ass out of there.”
And only now do I realize that he was trying to keep me from making the mistakes he made. I realize now that the things he taught me and the values that I learned from my mother are the ones that I hold most dear today.

Diane Richardson
12/28/2021
P.A.L.M. Ardmore Senior Center
A few years ago I used to live in Ardmore and went to the Senior Center there named P.A.L.M. Positive Aging Lower Merion. They have nice activities there as we do here. One of my favorites I enjoyed was the weekly shopping trip. There would be a van that tool the members who wanted to go. We would go to ShopRite where I could get all my shopping done. There was an older member named Ms. Mary that was blind and she would do her shopping with her guide dog. She would encounter difficulties, and no one seemed to want to help her.
I introduced myself the first time I saw her. I helped her go through each aisle explaining to her whatever was on the shelves, and we got what she wanted. Every week we would shop together, and she told me since meeting me this was the first time she was able to get everything she needed and wanted. It was funny when we went through the aisle that had the dog food. She had to tug her dog away from the food. He seemed to like the smell of one particular brand, so that’s the brand she started buying him. She said he wouldn’t eat the old brand anymore and had to throw it out what was left of it.
After we all did our shopping Mike (the driver) would take us all home with our groceries instead of back to the enter. So that was great, especially for Ms. Mary. I was always concerned that the dog would have to relieve himself. But he was always ok. Mike gave us one hour once a week so we could get all we needed a little at a time as opposed to a big once a month trip where it would be difficult to carry so many packages. But as I helped Ms. Mary shop, I had no time to do my shopping. After a while the driver noticed this and increased our shopping time to two hours. So after we did Ms. Mary’s shopping I’d put her dog and her groceries on the van and went back in and did mine. She was so appreciative and happy for the help and I was glad to do it.
I’ve always done volunteer work; it is very rewarding. I remember she told me her watch was broken and she asked me if I could take it to be repaired. I did and she was so happy I helped her. I helped her until she died. I moved to Center City and joined this center. But before I left, I gave them a nice a donation. The Executive Director sent me a nice thank you letter. Here’s the letter she sent.

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Curated by Caitlin Cieri