Welcome … grab a cup of coffee, hot chocolate or a cup of my new favorite chai tea.
Now, sit in a comfy chair and let’s chat.
A little music might be nice … enjoy my selection …
I hope your weather has been good. It seems the temps have been a lot colder than usual. Do leave from where you’re visiting in the comments; if, you haven’t told me before. If you have a cafe post leave your link in the comments. For the past few days, we’ve had glorious 70’s during the day and 50’s at night. It feels like spring. The birds have been snging again. The doors and windows are open letting in warmth Mother Nature is gifiting us here. I hope it stays like this for a long time.
Warmer temperatures energize me to go outdoors. I’ve been walking my neighborhood. There are many new homes being built in the area. It looks like the construction industry is on the rise. Northerners trying to retire or get away from those brutal cold temps are building for future moves. I suppose many are thinking about the difficulties winters can be when aging. I can honestly say I don’t miss walking in sloshy snow or driving in it.
Along with formulating gardening plans, its’ time for spring cleaning.
My car is first on that list. Normally, my hubby does car wash duty. Unfortunately, this being his busy art show season he hasn’t had the time. I decided it was a job I could do.
I like bargain hunting and using coupons. I like the challenge. Anyway, Tuesday’s is Ladies Day at the car wash with $5.00 dollars off a full car wash. I have a classic car I plan on keeping forever. I get the works so nothing is left undone. The hubs sparkle and as does the car.
After telling the gal I wanted the works with a new car scent, she gave me my cost ticket.
Then, I went into the office to pay and wait for my little gem to travel under the spigits of soapy water and wax.
There was a woman in front of me in a bit of a tither. The insides of her purse were all over the counter, her tote on the floor was half folding like it was going to take a nap, and her wallet with a charge card peeking out was in her hand.
She handed the clerk her cost ticket and waited for her total with tax.
The clerk gave her the total price.
She, irately, shouted out, “Impossible.”
In a very calm and nice voice the clerk – BTW, an older woman, said, “What did you want done to your car?”
“Just a wash, nothing else,” she growled.
“Well, you’ll have to go out and tell the gal to give you a ticket with wash only written on it,” she said politely.
“Can’t you do that?” “Don’t you have a microphone to call her in so she can do that?”
“No. I don’t have microphone connection with those employees.”
“You mean I have to go out and get another ticket?” she said elevating her attitude and body.
I think she may have grown 2″ with every word she spoke.
“Yes, you do have to go outside and get it.”
She grabbed her belongings and threw them in her purse. She plucked her tote into the small of her arm and with wallet in hand, twirled around and grumbled that – “People should learn to speak English” and left to get her new ticket.
The clerk looked at me snickered and chuckled as she pointed out something I already knew.
“What on earth is wrong with this woman?” “All of the employees are American.” “They all speak English.” “ And why is she so angry?”
Bewildered she went about checking me out to the major dismay of the grumbling woman who had returned dressed in her red stressed face.
As I walked away, the clerk said to her, “Those teens who are outside giving people tickets are my nieces and nephews who, incidentally, were born and raised in Florida. None of them speaks a foreign language. I think you have a bad attitude that in the future we can do without. Please discontinue coming here to have your car washed.”
A smile crossed my face. I was happy that the clerk wasn’t willing to be mistreated just for money.
As I sat waiting for my car to go through the washing process, I thought about the unnecessary anger this woman had spread.
Was she angry because she’s feeling that immigrants are arriving and taking jobs from Americans?
Is she a part of a warrior mentally that wants to fight and get angry about what’s being said in the news about foreigners; such as those that are crossing the borders?
I think we’ve been growing less patient about the people crossing the borders. First and foremost they’re human beings. Then, from there, we should think about what America stands for. “Land of the free, home of the brave”.
I’m sure these immigrants want to do the right thing when it comes to entering the US. Some may not know what the rules and regulations are for entering. But, we have to have compassion and understand why they’re doing what they’re doing, not fight everyone; especially, the innocent children and people who aren’t criminals.
I’m not trying to discuss the politics of all of this. I want to know why a person would stand there and say, “People should learn English” when these teens were American born citizens. I thought she may have been making the disparaging remark to me as she was staring at me when she said it. But, I don’t have a persecution complex. For me, she was a barking dog that needed to be ignored or walked away from.
I was born in America – Brooklyn, New York … I AM an American … If you are Puerto Rican you ARE American the moment you’re born because Puerto Rico is a commonwealth of the United States. I was taught English language before I was taught Spanish.
So … no, I’m not talking politics I’m talking about judging other people. If you live in a glass house then be the first to throw the stone. Otherwise, have some decency to not judge.
What do you think?
Has something like this happened somewhere in your life?
Mrs. Goodman cleaned her home and windows all the time; a cleaning cloth always in her hand.
Ella and I played on the floor with our barbie dolls. If we didn’t wake William, we could have candy. The colorful candy was tempting. I couldn’t believe Ella never took one.
When Ella left to get her dollhouse, Mr. Goodman walked into the room.
He was tall, thin with a chalky wry face.
“Do you like candy?” he asked.
I just stared.
He pointed to his zipper saying, “I have candy, if you’d like.”
On Hayward Street, everyone walked on the opposite street when passing ‘The Seidel’s’.
Wille lived there with his mother. He had mental and physical abnormalities. His head would tilt just so as he dragged his club foot and balanced his deformed hand on his chest.
Mrs. Seidel would raise her fist and yell at the boys who’d tease him. Everyone wondered where he’d go if something happened to her.
In time, he was taken to a psychiatric facility; his mother taken to a senior home.
When the ambulance arrived they rushed him straight to the operating room.
We paced outside the coffee lounge waiting area.
It seemed like hours but only minutes had passed.
No one dared speak for fear of causing a deluge of emotions in the nervous mother.
Her woeful cries, when she first heard of her sons accident, rang in Isadora’s ears. She wasn’t sure she could bring comfort to her mother if anything happened to her brother, Vincent.
Hours passed.
It didn’t seem possible, they hadn’t heard anything.
Finally, Dr. Ramundi, approached. “I’m sorry. We did all we could.”
Manuel scurried, as he readied the room for the new priests arrival on Saturday, his limp more obvious when he was tired.
Recently, baffling thoughts had begun confusing him. There’d been five priests transferred from this parish. He wondered why.
~~~~~~~~~
Lourdes worked tirelessly to prepare the special welcome dinner for the new priest. Her job security helped calm her concerns about her son, Manuel’s, future.
~~~~~~~~~
Father Karavalez was reverent and handsome. The nuns giddily whispered about him.
He graciously accepted Manuel as his houseboy; one assigned to each priest.
Shortly after dinner, claiming exhaustion, he asked Manuel to assist him.
