September 11, 2021

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Wisteria Blooms decorating a walkway at the Fort Worth, Texas Botanic Gardens

Dear Readers:

Americans remember exactly what they were doing when the towers crumbled, killing friends, relatives, and first responders in New York. That infamous morning, I was preparing breakfast for me and my husband who was supposed to go to Australia on a business trip when one of his colleagues called. My husband said Carol had told him to turn on the TV.

That’s when I saw the worst news of my life. I watched both towers go down, then I saw where the plane of courageous passengers landed. Until that day, I felt fairly safe in my country. But that feeling dissipated quickly as thoughts that we were being attacked by terrorists filtered through my skull, filling my brain with sorrow and confusion.

I sympathize with the people who lost loved ones. I know what it means to lose a loved one. My Dear Parents are gone. My oldest brother passed away in 2016, and my younger brother passed away last year. I still can’t get used to not having them around. I truly miss them. I’m having a difficult time adjusting to not having them. And I’m slowly losing my sister to Alzheimer’s. Please pray for me. I need to toughen up. I am praying for the folks who lost loved ones. And I pray that our country will prosper and become the powerful nation that it was years ago.

Dear Readers, I hope this day hasn’t been too rough for you. I pray that all those memories will make you and me more resilient. God Bless America!

Labor Day

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Maria resting with Klyban during a fibromyalgia flare-up

Dear Readers:

As usual, I’m behind schedule. I haven’t been able to discuss Labor Day, an important federal holiday, for many reasons, illness and taking care of my sister, who has Alzheimer’s. Fortunately, Labor Day is not over until midnight.

Before I talk about the history of Labor Day, I want to mention that I had a wonderful surprise from my dear neighbors. I was trying to relieve the pain in my back by lying down on cold packs on my bed when the phone rang. It was Jessica Woerner. This afternoon, about 2 p.m. the crew that regularly takes care of her yard was mowing my front lawn, and she called because they needed access to my backyard. I cried while I talked to her on the phone. (My husband hurt his back and hasn’t been able to take care of our yard, shrubs, etc.) What a lovely Labor Day this has been!

It’s almost time for supper, but I need to talk about my childhood and labor. I have mentioned that I grew up in an impoverished neighborhood and participated in the Medicaid program. I’m not sure how old I was when my affluent aunt needed help to pick cotton. Something had happened to the mechanical cotton harvester. That’s what I remember when she asked my family for help. I recall that we worked for a week, maybe more. I’m not sure since I was the youngest kid.

Every morning, mom, and four kids ( 2 boys and 2 girls) got a huge white bag.(Dad couldn’t help. He had to keep his shop running.) I swear it was the size of two large pillow cases. I was okay early morn, but as the day got old, that sack grew heavy, and it became a difficult object to drag through the rows of cotton plants. At the end of the day, the bags were weighed and we were paid a certain amount. I don’t remember how much we earned, though. But I’m sure I earned the least amount since my bag was not very full. What I recall is plucking cotton, from rebellious plants that scratched my delicate hands; being thirsty; and sweating buckets under that hot Rio Grande Valley sun. Plus, I was not dressed appropriately, no hat, no gloves. I sympathize with anybody who had to earn a living in this manner for years.

The following information comes from History.com,

Labor Day 2021 will occur on Monday, September 6. Labor Day pays tribute to the contributions and achievements of American workers and is traditionally observed on the first Monday in September. It was created by the labor movement in the late 19th century and became a federal holiday in 1894. Labor Day weekend also symbolizes the end of summer for many Americans, and is celebrated with parties, street parades and athletic events.

Why Do We Celebrate Labor Day?

Labor Day, an annual celebration of workers and their achievements, originated during one of American labor history’s most dismal chapters.

In the late 1800s, at the height of the Industrial Revolution in the United States, the average American worked 12-hour days and seven-day weeks in order to eke out a basic living. Despite restrictions in some states, children as young as 5 or 6 toiled in mills, factories and mines across the country, earning a fraction of their adult counterparts’ wages.

People of all ages, particularly the very poor and recent immigrants, often faced extremely unsafe working conditions, with insufficient access to fresh air, sanitary facilities and breaks.

As manufacturing increasingly supplanted agriculture as the wellspring of American employment, labor unions, which had first appeared in the late 18th century, grew more prominent and vocal. They began organizing strikes and rallies to protest poor conditions and compel employers to renegotiate hours and pay.

READ MORE: How a Deadly Railroad Strike Led to the Labor Day Holiday

Many of these events turned violent during this period, including the infamous Haymarket Riot of 1886, in which several Chicago policemen and workers were killed. Others gave rise to longstanding traditions: On September 5, 1882, 10,000 workers took unpaid time off to march from City Hall to Union Square in New York City, holding the first Labor Day parade in U.S. history.

The idea of a “workingmen’s holiday,” celebrated on the first Monday in September, caught on in other industrial centers across the country, and many states passed legislation recognizing it. Congress would not legalize the holiday until 12 years later, when a watershed moment in American labor history brought workers’ rights squarely into the public’s view. On May 11, 1894, employees of the Pullman Palace Car Company in Chicago went on strike to protest wage cuts and the firing of union representatives.

Wishing you a wonderful time today and forever. I hope we get rid of the Covid-19 Pandemic. Take care of yourselves, Dear Readers. Good Night.

Happy July 4th

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Vase of Flowers and U.S. Flag Celebrate Our Independence

Dear Readers:

Hot dogs and firecrackers have become part of our festivities to celebrate our independence, but let us not forget that friendship, unity, and protecting each other from infectious viruses must be incorporated into our 4th of July festivities. Let freedom ring! Let it ring throughout our United Nation.

Here’s more information from History.com.

A History of Independence Day

When the initial battles in the Revolutionary War broke out in April 1775, few colonists desired complete independence from Great Britain, and those who did were considered radical.

By the middle of the following year, however, many more colonists had come to favor independence, thanks to growing hostility against Britain and the spread of revolutionary sentiments such as those expressed in the bestselling pamphlet “Common Sense,” published by Thomas Paine in early 1776.

On June 7, when the Continental Congress met at the Pennsylvania State House (later Independence Hall) in Philadelphia, the Virginia delegate Richard Henry Lee introduced a motion calling for the colonies’ independence.

Amid heated debate, Congress postponed the vote on Lee’s resolution, but appointed a five-man committee—including Thomas Jefferson of Virginia, John Adams of Massachusetts, Roger Sherman of Connecticut, Benjamin Franklin of Pennsylvania and Robert R. Livingston of New York—to draft a formal statement justifying the break with Great Britain.

Did you know? John Adams believed that July 2nd was the correct date on which to celebrate the birth of American independence, and would reportedly turn down invitations to appear at July 4th events in protest. Adams and Thomas Jefferson both died on July 4, 1826—the 50th anniversary of the adoption of the Declaration of Independence.

READ MORE: 7 Events That Led to the American Revolution

On July 2nd, the Continental Congress voted in favor of Lee’s resolution for independence in a near-unanimous vote (the New York delegation abstained, but later voted affirmatively). On that day, John Adams wrote to his wife Abigail that July 2 “will be celebrated, by succeeding Generations, as the great anniversary Festival” and that the celebration should include “Pomp and Parade…Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and Illuminations from one End of this Continent to the other.”

On July 4th, the Continental Congress formally adopted the Declaration of Independence, which had been written largely by Jefferson. Though the vote for actual independence took place on July 2nd, from then on the 4th became the day that was celebrated as the birth of American independence.

Happy birthday America!

Happy Juneteenth

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Dear Readers,

It is about time that Juneteenth was declared a federal holiday. Today, I celebrate Juneteenth with as much happiness as I can muster. I will explain why. My Readers know that I am a Mexican American who grew up in an impoverished neighborhood. I didn’t suffer as much as my colored friends did, but I was shunned in classrooms, retail stores. and often refused service in restaurants. I didn’t make a big issue out of not being served a meal, but after twenty minutes of waiting for a waitress to bring me and my sister a menu, we just got up and left.

Having been raised a Catholic, I went to church every Sunday to hear mass. Well, I didn’t know that in this town, the churches were divided. I happened to make a mistake and went to Sunday Mass in the “White” Church. I was surprised because the Catholics didn’t tell me to leave. However, I noticed some weird stares. When I mentioned the episode to my friends, they told me that the churches and the town were separated into dark and white areas, and that I wasn’t supposed to attend Mass in the section designated for whites.

I didn’t realize that I was part of a marginalized community until I went to college.  Whenever I filled an application at college, I wrote “other” in the race area because I didn’t qualify for the designated slots. When I got married, my husband could not understand this business of separating folks according to color. Neither he nor I were prejudiced, but an incident in a restaurant in the Northwestern U. S. made him understand how I felt when I was offended throughout my life. For the first time in his life, he was refused service in a major restaurant chain because he was sitting at a table with me. After waiting 40 minutes, I convinced him that it was time to leave because I had observed that people who had entered the restaurant after we did were already eating. Needless to say, he was upset, but I calmed him down. I told him that I was used to being treated like this, that it wasn’t a big deal.

When I started this blog, I mentioned that I wasn’t too excited about celebrating Juneteenth. Why? The answer is simple. I miss my brother. He passed away August 2020. I miss him terribly. Juneteenth was his birthday, and the holiday reminds me that my brother is no longer around me. About all I can do is ask him to pray for me. I need his help to take care of my sister who has Alzheimer’s. I will end my blog by wishing him a Happy Birthday with my parents and my older brother. I’m sure they’re in Heaven.

Happy Birthday Dear brother!

Memorial Day

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U. S. Flag
U. S. Flag

Dear Readers, I find it difficult to write about my feelings regarding this important date in history, particularly this year. It could be due to the fact that we have lost many friends and relatives to Covid-19. In addition, many members of our military have given up the ultimate sacrifice to protect our country, years ago and recently; therefore, I think that veterans should be honored, not only today but every day.

My oldest brother an army veteran passed away in 2016, and probably fought in the Vietnam War. My husband an army veteran also served our country during the Vietnam War. I consider myself very lucky because my husband survived Vietnam. Two days ago, we celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary. My husband’s brother, David was a Marine. He was a kind person and truly cared for his family. Unfortunately, cancer took him away from us too soon. I truly miss him and my brothers. My younger brother was not able to enlist in the Vietnam War because a foot deformity kept him from joining the Army. He passed away August of last year, and I truly miss him. Whenever we chatted, we resembled a pair of comedians performing a comedy sketch. It is difficult to live without recalling those times that made our insides hurt from laughing.

I can’t keep the tears from flowing when I recall losing loved ones. People who have not experienced the loss of a beloved family member or friend in a war might have difficulty figuring out why some of us get emotional and teary-eyed when our country sets days aside to honor our deceased and surviving veterans. This Memorial Day, I truly wish folks, who have lost a loved one in a war or to an illness, a pleasant day full of precious, positive memories.

Where did the “feral attribute” go?

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Marty enjoying a relaxing moment in front of my upright piano.

Dear Readers, We lost our five indoor cats to various illnesses: kidney failure, intestinal cancer, cancerous tumors, and thyroid issues. We suffered along with them, and took care of them as well as we could. A friend of mine used to tell me that animals let you know when it’s time to put them away. She said that they gave us a lot of joy while they were with us, and that now it was our turn to perform that last act of kindness which most animal lovers know as euthanasia. Our last kitty was 19 years old when he passed away comfortably in our doctor’s office. Probably a year went by before we adjusted to his loss. Then the next phase of assuming roles as animal caregivers appeared.

  • Mama Kitty
Mama Kitty

A lifetime ago, my husband and I enjoyed barbecuing chicken breasts, pork chops, baked potatoes, and vegetables of all types. While my husband barbecued, he threw pieces of meat that he didn’t approve of on our patio. Sometimes he barbecued close to nighttime and it was hard to see what was in our backyard. But he still continued to throw the rejected meat onto the patio and the yard. At the time, he thought it was a good idea to do this because hungry animals could feast on the pieces of meat that we were not using.

Klyban and Marty relaxing on top of my sewing machine cabinet.

One morning when we were watering the backyard with hoses and attached sprinklers (We don’t have a sprinkler system.), we noticed a mama cat and her offspring laying on the grass a few feet away from the sprinklers. The cats were enjoying the cool breeze generated by the water droplets and the gentle wind. We did not chase them away, but when we turned off the sprinklers, they sought refuge under our storage shed. It took us a while, days, to decide whether we would take care of them or find them homes through the Humane Society. It was a difficult decision to make, but we chose to take care of them.

Klyban taking a nap on our sofa.

Eventually, a black and white kitty (Klyban) became our first friend. We took him inside, and he never saw the outdoors again. His mother (Mama Kitty) and his brother (Marty) were next. However, there was only one kitty that did not want to become our friend. He was a beautiful, yellow and white cat, unfortunately, we never saw him again. As animal lovers, my husband and I always hoped that the kitty had found himself a good home. Meantime, Mama Kitty, Klyban, and Marty were happy inside our home. Our vet examined them and told us that they were part of the Fort Worth Spay and Release Program. That’s when we realized that our pets were feral cats. Worried that we might attract more needful animals, we quit barbecuing.

Marty resting on my bed.

The years went by. Mama Kitty and Marty were still not very friendly, but Klyban was. He spent a lot of time on my lap and slept with me. Eventually, about 3 years ago, I got Marty to share my lap with Klyban. When we lost Klyban and Mama Kitty, our hearts broke, and tears flowed down our cheeks. They had been our friends for a long time, about 12 years. Three years ago, Marty became extra-friendly. I suspect it’s because he misses Klyban. Now, without any coaxing, he sits on my lap when I eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner on my recliner near a small occasional table. (Fibromyalgia is responsible for this eating procedure.) When it’s time for me to go to bed, Marty hops on the bed to be by me and gives me a bunch of gentle head-butts. I give him a bunch of pats, and tell him that I love him. However, I don’t let him sleep with me because Marty has not learned that his claws are retractable. I know he means well, but I have a few scratches on my arms and legs.

Marty is probably 16 years old, and in good health. Unfortunately, he has had dental problems. In a few days, he will have a dental consult. Depending on the findings, he might undergo dental surgery or a teeth cleaning. I pray that if he needs anesthesia, he will be okay because he is a senior Kitty. Even though, it took him a long time to show us that he loves us, he has become a lovable, friendly Kitty. And I often wonder: “Where did his ‘feral attribute’ go?”

Dear readers, please pray that Marty’s dental visit is successful and that the blood work shows that he is well. Thank you for reading my blog. Stay healthy and have a wonderful day! Maria E. Murray

A Special Day

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San Charbel

Dear Readers,

I would like to introduce you to Saint Charbel. Pope Paul VI declared him a saint on October 9, 1977. Saint Charbel has performed many miracles. The people he has helped have placed ribbons (relics from the saint) with messages expressing gratitude for his help on his statue located at the Immaculate Conception Cathedral of Brownsville, Texas.

In general, his followers celebrate him on the 3rd Sunday of July, May 8, and October 9 (the anniversary of his canonization). Also, on the 8th day of each month, at noon, a special mass and procession with his relic are held at the parish of Nuestra Señora De Libano in Mexico City for parishioners, dead or alive, for the spiritual and physical health of the sick, and for all of Saint Charbel’s friends and followers.

Today is April 8. I will be present in Mexico City in spirit at the celebratory mass and procession to ask my dear friend, Saint Charbel, to take care of my husband and my sister, and to help me cope with fibromyalgia and a new painful medical diagnosis. Today, I ask him for help, and I ask my readers and followers to pray for me and anybody who needs help. I hope to be one of the folks that Saint Charbel helps, so I can express my gratitude in writing on ribbons that I will place on his statue at the Immaculate Conception Cathedral. Dear Jesus and Saint Charbel, thank you for being by my side for so many years.

Rough Terrain

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A Pair of old roller skates

Dear Readers, around 1897, Mark Twain wrote, “Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.” I mention his quotation because it’s been a while since I’ve blogged. But I have experienced some rough times last year, and now it seems that 2021 has started on that same treacherous 2020 road. I hope there is a fork in the road, and that choosing the correct one will lead to better times. Those folks who follow me already know that I am taking care of my sister, and that I suffer from a wicked illness, fibromyalgia, so I won’t discuss it. Please don’t misunderstand me. In spite of the horrible pain, I’m happy to be alive! I also don’t want to bore you to death with my 24/7 ailments. Instead, I’ll tell you why I chose to write about a pair of old roller skates.

When I was a child, probably 12 years old, Dad bought a pair of well-used roller skates, similar to the ones depicted in the picture. I’m assuming he got them at an auction; he always got us second hand items because he couldn’t afford to buy us new ones. Well, my siblings didn’t try the roller skates. The straps were broken. But I used some rope I found in our home and managed to tie the skates to my ill-clad feet. Our front porch had wooden railings that I could cling to, so the porch became my trying out ground. Every day, wearing the skates, I clung to the wooden railings, and for a few minutes I rolled back and forth on the left side of the porch where a bench sat.

One day, I got brave enough to tackle the sidewalk. There was nothing to cling to, so I lost my balance and landed in my mother’s flower bed. That was definitely not a good place to fall. I squashed mom’s favorite plants and scraped my knees, legs, and elbows. Luckily, I didn’t break break any bones, only my ego. I did my best to fix mom’s plants, but still got a mild reprimand. When I recovered from the scratches and soreness garnered from the unexpected landing in Mom’s garden, I shifted my skating routine to the driveway. But I wasn’t skating. I was walking with skates. (Yes. You may laugh.) It took me a while to learn how to skate on the rough surfaces of the driveway and the sidewalk. I say, ‘a while’ because it took some time for Mom’s plants to recover. Yes! The plants survived. I earned Mom’s forgiveness, and I learned how to skate on rough terrain with an old pair of dilapidated skates. Yay!

So, why did I write about a pair of old roller skates? The skates remind of ‘the good old times’, those days when family and friends enjoyed each other’s company, even though, we lived in an impoverished neighborhood. I miss the ‘good old days’, especially now because I’m losing the last of my siblings to alzheimer’s.

Twenty-twenty

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Peaceful Sunset

Dear readers:

It’s been a while since I blogged. It’s time to talk about twenty-twenty, the year, not eye problems; even though, I have dry eye. Who knows? Maybe I even have cataracts, no telling. Anyway, I’m talking about 2020. Please pray that 2021 will not be a repeat of last year.

January 2020, fibromyalgia my stubborn friend paid me a visit. My muscles painfully tightened, so my doctor prescribed physical therapy. It was at this time that I heard about the first few cases of coronavirus entering the US and the ridiculous comments made by the president. In spite of the fear of contracting Covid-19, I went to the physical therapy sessions. Late February, I still had not recovered from my fibromyalgia flare-up. I needed another month of physical therapy, but being a scientist, I considered Covid-19 a real threat and did not continue therapy.

March came around and things around the world exploded with comments about how to deal with the coronavirus, so my husband, my sister, and I immediately followed the physicians’s and scientists’s recommendations. Soon we found ourselves under strict lockdown. My husband shopped on the Internet for food and ordered curbside service while I cared for my sister and pets. I worried about my husband contracting the virus when he went for our food supplies and other staples, such as toilet paper (hard to find), hand sanitizers, and bacterial sprays.

During these days, I did not attend any massage therapy sessions. I requested help from The National Massage Chain, who helped me by freezing my account for a few months. This was nice of them. I had been a member for many years, but I was worried about contracting Covid-19 and transmitting it to my husband and sister; therefore, I discussed my concerns with the national group and the local massage managers. They offered me a special deal; however, I did not approve the terms, so I canceled my membership and lost six paid massages. That’s a lot of money to throw away, especially from a person who grew up in an impoverished neighborhood, but life happens. About all I can do is to pray that these folks will reconsider and give me an opportunity to use the massages that I’ve already paid for.

April came around with a fury. My sister fell at her home, twice. The second time, she broke her shoulder and had surgery. She spent some time at a rehab center, and I tried to get her up here to Fort Worth. That didn’t happen. My sister-in-law wanted to take care of her. Why? I don’t know. After much discussion and retaining a lawyer, we lost. My sister was released to my in-laws. Later, my sister-in-law changed her mind. One day she called to tell me that she could not take care of my sister, and that she was placing her in a nursing home. “During a pandemic?” I asked myself. I didn’t want the person who took care of me, as a kid, and my parents, to contract Covid-19, so Memorial Day weekend, my husband and I drove to Brownsville, and picked up my sister. In Fort Worth, a psychiatrist determined that she has Alzheimer’s. (In 2016, when I was finally able to travel after breaking a hip from a fall, I visited her. I noticed that she had a memory problem, but I was not able to take her to see a doctor.) May and September, my husband and I spent a lot of time trying to recover the medical information that my sister lost or had not updated. We are still working on this in 2021.

August came around, and my dear brother, Hector, passed away during this horrible Covid-19 pandemic. I miss him, but I know he’s happy in Heaven with my older brother, and my parents. I’m losing my sister little by little. Her short term memory is declining. I truly sympathize and pray for the folks who have lost loved ones through Covid-19, medical problems, and careless police officers. I can only wonder how these people must feel since I haven’t recovered from losing my brothers!

September through December, my husband and I are still dealing with the government so my sister can acquire benefits that she deserves. We filled out a form so she could get her 2020 stimulus check, but so far she hasn’t received it. Why? I have no clues!

By now, dear readers, your eyesight is suffering from reading my blog, so I better end my griping (negativity). “Think positively,” I tell myself. I’m alive. My sister is at home. At the moment, she’s watching the “Twilight Zone” marathon. (I’ve seen a few episodes. I loved seeing the show when I was a kid.) I’m thankful that she’s healthy’ It’s her brain that is causing her problems. Fortunately, she loves my cat and foxhound, gets along with friends, my husband, and the neighbors, especially their pets. Moreover, she’s here where we can help her if she needs anything. I’m also grateful that my husband and I are well. I’m thankful that I have friends who have helped us in so many ways.

Today is the Feast of the Wise Men, those pious men who took the Baby Jesus gifts that winter when he was born in a manger. Today marks the end of the Christmas Season, full of festivities and Mexican customs, especially eating roscas (bread) and tamales. As I looked forward to a new year free of all the atrocities Americans had endured for 4 years, I was taken aback when the president’s supporters attacked the White House this morning. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect anarchy to take place in America. This occurrence made sad, but it also made me feel proud that I am an American; therefore, I am ending my blog with a patriotic song that I love.

I wish you the best of times in 2021. May this year be a successful delight for all of us!

 

America the Beautiful

 

O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!

America! America!
God shed His grace on thee,
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!

O beautiful for pilgrim feet
Whose stern impassion’d stress
A thorough fare for freedom beat
Across the wilderness.

America! America!
God mend thine ev’ry flaw,
Confirm thy soul in self-control,
Thy liberty in law.

O beautiful for heroes prov’d
In liberating strife,
Who more than self their country loved,
And mercy more than life.

America! America!
May God thy gold refine
Till all success be nobleness,
And ev’ry gain divine.

O beautiful for patriot dream
That sees beyond the years
Thine alabster cities gleam
Undimmed by human tears.

America! America!
God shed his grace on thee,
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea.

 

Veteran’s Day

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Waving the American Flag to Honor All Veterans

Today, I respectfully thank all veterans for protecting our country.

My beloved husband, Bob, served in the Army during the Vietnam war. Thank God he survived. I am sure that my older brother, Victor F. Solis, also served during this terrifying war; however, he never spoke about it. He passed away October 6, 2016, and I dearly miss him. I also miss my brother-in-law, David Murray, who was a marine. I’m sure he’s in Heaven chatting with his parents, friends, relatives, and Victor.

I’m ending this blog with a special prayer: “Dear God, please bless and protect our armed forces!”