Alice Irene

It's been a while and I apologize. I have let life get the best of me, worrying over important but not the most important things and putting off the time to be quiet and absorb. Well, enough with the philosophical and on to a request or two. READ THE COMMENTS! My dream is that this blog becomes a place to share and in so doing, acts to uplift one's spirit through humor, debate, intrigue or inspiration. 2nd request is that YOU ADD a story, experience or even a thought of your own.

I met a very special 89ish African American woman this week while searching in the hinterlands for a couple of cemeteries and homeplace. Her name is Alice Irene and is a descendent of the family in question; she lives by herself. Her nephew had taken me to see her because one cemetery was located on her farm.

While standing on her front porch, I got the distinct impression that she was highly skeptical and even disapproving of my intentions. After informing me in a rather crotchety manner that her health was not good, she asked if she could go along as we searched for the older grave yard.
She seemed to ramble a lot as she carried on a non-stop monologue from the back seat, disagreeing with the nephew's suggestion of where we needed to go. Without speaking, he and I agreed to follow her directions. She was right on the money every step of the way!

We found the cemetery -with additional guidance from a helpful neighbor- and what we believe to be the chimney from the original house. The search covered a fair amount of ground and Alice Irene chose to ignore her health issues. Despite my admonitions about the uneven terrain, brambles and downed trees, she was not to be detained or dismissed. Standing in the midst of the cemetery damaged by a large fallen tree and covered with at least 8 inches of periwinkle, I was concerned as to how to get Alice I. out of the cemetery. She informed me that "she could do anything I could do," and with that we both crawled over the tree and headed back to the car.

Before we turned for home, she guided us to the remains of a church we needed to identify, confirmed the existence of graves there and pointed out the site of the school she attended in the 1930s. We will return to those sites on another day in hopes of finding the graves and perhaps some sign of the school.

Upon arriving back at her farm, she asked me twice if there were not some other place we could go? I sadly told her, "not today." My heartstrings were stretched to the max as I walked her to the door and waited while she rummaged in her purse for her keys.

I promised to return for another adventure and after a few moments of palpable hesitancy, she put her arms around me anointing me with God's blessing. It doesn't get much better than this.

Until next time, be well.

Resilience comes in all shapes.....

It was too early to get up but I was too restless to sleep, so I lay in bed pondering the challenges in my life. They seem huge: mounting bills, rapidly depleting resources, a deep, deep desire to live in this paradise I call "the farm" until I cross over, and sadly, no solutions on the horizon.

I employ the survival skills learned at the loss of my son only this time, there isn't the gut wrenching pain that caused me to run to the mirror to see if blood had seeped through where my heart lay. Despite the effort, I struggle with the age old conundrum, do I cut my losses and move on or batten down the hatches and hold tight?

For almost 60 years this place has been my home, my rock and a source of spiritual salvation, but I am a woman of resilience and adaptability. I could live somewhere else....I think.

Last week I traveled to the Library of Virginia for a few hours of research. Deciding to seek a bit of sustenance before being locked away in a-no-eat zone, I was enjoying my anonymity when my solitude was interrupted by a very quiet voice inquiring if she could share the table as there was no where else to sit. "Of course," I stated, pulling my boundaries into a tighter circle around my personal space. Together, we ate alone and in silence.

Finally, nosiness, cloaked in a thin veil of "Southern hospitality " got the best of me, and I inquired as to what brought her to the library. "To use the Internet," she said in an accent not of the United States, "but it is not working. There is another library not too far away; I will walk there and hope it is operating."

Mirial, a teacher in NYC from Uganda, possessed two Masters degrees and was well beyond the ABD status toward a PhD when an extraordinary series of events turned her life inside out.

The PhD dissertation was lost: the professor charged with evaluating it died while in flight in international airspace creating massive international entanglement.

Her father developed pneumonia while visiting from Uganda and died. His homeland culture demanded that his body be returned to Uganda for burial at an enormous expense.

She married, moved to Northern Virginia and found government employment. Her new husband cleaned out her bank accounts and left. She was laid off at work.

She now works at a nursing home where she is provided a room shared with others. She uses the Internet at the library to submit resumes for more gainful employment. Most applications are rejected due to a new policy: "if your credit is bad we do not want you."

Now tell me, who needs a job more desperately than someone who credit is in the toilet?

BTW, the courts found in her favor regarding the rogue husband and ordered that he repay allthe money he stole. She cannot afford an attorney and has not been able to find said varmint.

The woman does more than put one foot in front of the other. I was inspired and ashamed for my own self pity. As a token of my respect and gratitude for her example of resilience, I conducted a search and found her despicable ex. I will try harder to maintain my own sense of self esteem.

Until next time, be well.