Tag Archives: storytelling

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Nine famous barrier breakers

Have you looked at your life and been dissatisfied with something others might shrug off saying “that’s just how things are.” If you want to fight status quo, it’s going to take courage.

Little Rock Nine monument. ©D.L. Ewbank

Little Rock Nine monument. ©D.L. Ewbank

In September 1957, nine African American students – Minnijean Brown, Elizabeth Eckford, Ernest Green, Thelma Mothershed, Melba Pattillo, Gloria Ray, Terrence Roberts, Jefferson Thomas, and Carlotta Walls – gathered their courage and broke through the invisible barrier to the all-white Little Rock Central High School.

Little Rock Nine monument. ©D.L. Ewbank

Little Rock Nine monument. ©D.L. Ewbank

Their world-rocking efforts are commemorated in a monument by John Deering that stands looking toward the Arkansas State Capitol.

What barriers would you like to break with courage in your life?

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One thing that’s better old

The handyman arrived thirty minutes before he said he would. From my viewpoint, that’s a very good sign. I need a few boards replaced. When you have an older frame home, the routine, at some point, is going to be rot, replace, paint.

Cracked and peeling paint on a house that isn't mine. ©iStockphoto/jhorrocks

Cracked and peeling paint on a house that isn’t mine. ©iStockphoto/jhorrocks

“See that wood,” he said pointing at remaining original boards used ca. 1950 to build my home. I nodded. “It’s better than that wood,” he said pointing to newer boards replaced since I’ve owned the home.

Someone pointing to something older that’s better than something new is music to the ears of a sexy-generian. I clarified the cost again.

“You’ve got the job,” I said.

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A Cigarette Story

Letting Go: Smoking and non-smoking, by David Sedaris and published in the New Yorker May 5, 2008, is bound to strike a universal chord in just about any American. At least it did in me. Smoking played a big part in my youth. My parents both smoked. So did extended family members. As a small child, I hated the smell.

Ashtray. ©D.L. Ewbank

Ashtray. ©D.L. Ewbank

No, this isn’t a piece of 1950’s science fiction inspired, contemporary aluminum art. For those of you born after smoking became taboo on airplanes, in offices, even in bars, this is an ash tray. If you light up that white, pencil-shaped object that contains tobacco, it burns. When it burns, it creates ashes. Flicking ashes on hardwood floors in residential homes was frowned on in polite society in the 1950s.

Ashtray, second view. ©D.L. Ewbank

Ashtray, second view. ©D.L. Ewbank

See the cigarette holder rising from the aluminum dish? How handy!

This ash tray was at my grandmother’s home. It was probably meant to facilitate that smoking habit so popular and sophisticated in the 1950s which was kind of thoughtful since my grandmother didn’t smoke. Nope, Mamaw dipped snuff, but that’s a different story…

Ashtray, third view. ©D.L. Ewbank

Ashtray, third view. ©D.L. Ewbank

At Mamaw’s home, there were no toys. Or were there? For me, playing with the ash tray was as much fun as any toy…because when I was playing with it, four cigarettes didn’t have a resting place!

 

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Shower Massage signals adulthood

Choosing a Father’s Day gift for Daddy was always difficult. The hardest was summer of 1975, the summer doctors discovered Daddy, a life long smoker, had throat cancer and removed his larynx. This could be the last Father’s Day gift my dad received on earth. The gift needed to be special.

 

Showering. ©iStockphoto/Tihis

Showering. ©iStockphoto/Tihis

There are issues associated with voice box removal (other than the inability to speak). The main one is the hole it leaves in your neck. Simple things like showers can become threatening. So, I chose the hottest gift item of 1975 – the Shower Massage by Teledyne Water Pik. Daddy could not only adjust the spray, but also move the shower head below his neck because of the attached hose.

Daddy loved it immediately. If he was shocked it wasn’t another set of cuff links that would sit unused in his jewelry case, he didn’t say so. I was the shocked one when Daddy asked if I could install it for him. While Daddy thought women – or at least me – should be able to do anything in every aspect of life including the workplace, because he spent his youth on a farm he had clear thoughts about things that women shouldn’t have to do – things like home and car repairs, mowing the lawn, and taking out trash.

Never having handled so much as a screw driver, it seemed challenging. But I simple opened the package and following the directions was simple. Daddy seemed as proud of my installation efforts as his new shower device.

Daddy died the following September. The Water Pik Shower Massage stands as a signal-of-adulthood experience in my father’s eyes for me.