A major downfall in my life is personal organization. A major fear is that I will not get a handle on it and I will become a hoarder. I need assistance in determining what to keep. I also need help in developing systems for keeping track of the 'stuff'. Now I am channeling George Carlin; I do not want to be keeping track of 'stuff' that keeps track of my 'stuff'.
Enough rambling, the points of today's entry are personal and related specifically to this blog; I need to:
1- get organized; within two weeks I will define a regular schedule for blog postings
2- let go of fear, I will release thoughts without fear of your disapproval
3- just write, let the writing flow and sort it out later
okay?
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Friday, October 9, 2009
319 Linwood Avenue
Since my father, William Henry Butler died in July 2000, I make few trips to Lakewood, NJ - the town of my youth. It having grown as far away from me as I had moved away from it. Since his death, I have only passed through town, spending the occasional night with my stepmother, Gloria Butler, on my way to Boston or North Carolina.
On visits before dad's death, I would usually take a ride to Fourth Street to see where I had lived in my early years: 319 Linwood Avenue. It was a two-family house owned by Mr. Cantor, almost at the end of a dead end street. We lived on the right side of the house. There was a dirt street in front, where Karen Cantor and I sometimes played as little girls.
Reggie and I were in Lakewood in July 2009 for Linda and John's 20th wedding anniversary. Because we were in Lakewood for more than an overnight, I found my way to Fourth Street and looked for Linwood Avenue. It was not there! The entire little street was gone.
There is something disquieting about someplace that I do not visit, never being available again - in case I want to drive by. They say “ashes to ashes, dust to dust”. I never thought about that happening to the places of my past.
__________________________________
Here in rural NC, we have a small writing group that meets at the Warren County Library and our facilitator, Arlene S. Bice, gives us writing prompts. In September 2006, the writing prompt was something like: describe how to get to a place you have lived. Well, I wrote about 319 Linwood Avenue and it looks like that will be my last memory of 319 Linwood Avenue.
Directions from Newark Airport to 319 Linwood Avenue:
In 2000, 319 Linwood Avenue in Lakewood, NJ still existed and looked much like it did when I was growing up there in the early fifties.
Leaving Newark Airport, driving south on Route 9, the urban/suburban road congestion continues well past Freehold and then the traffic begins to thin out as you approach Howell, then drive into Lakewood.
Just after you enter Lakewood, the Regent Diner is still on the left of Route 9, with its marquee style sign that glittered like Hollywood in the sixties, but now it is old and dull. Crossing over County Line Road – the cemetery is still at the corner of 14th Street. There’s Temple Beth Am on the right. That brings back memories of the interfaith services held in the mid-60s with Sixth Street Baptist Church and Temple Beth Am. My godfather, Rev. George Crawley and Rabbi Yedwab were leaders that were ahead of their time.
The Post Hotel’s beautiful ceramic mosaic artwork is missing, gone forever. Where the hotel once stood majestic are now apartments. Maybe they are condominiums, but I cannot imagine Lakewood with a condominium lifestyle community.
At Fourth Street, turn left crossing Clifton Avenue, then Lexington Avenue, then Monmouth Avenue, and finally crossing Park Avenue. The old synagogue is still at the intersection of Fourth Street, Park Avenue and Ridge Avenue. On the corner of Park and Fourth there is new construction – new housing, new homes. However, Fourth Street has not changed much since the fifties and sixties.
Not quite the distance of one block after crossing Park Avenue there is Linwood Avenue on the right. It is still a simple, unpaved, dirt street. A few houses back on the left side there is 319.
There is still a porch across the front of the house. There are still two doors leading to the two separate living quarters. Our door was on the right. In the summers, growing up in the early fifties, frequently the door behind the screen door was open. There was no air conditioning, so the front door was left open, along with the back door, to allow natural breezes to flow through the house. God’s air conditioning helped to make the summers bearable.
Our neighbor from the left side of the house, Mrs. Zachary frequently sat in a rocking chair on the porch in the summers. I remember her as big and fat and dark and happy. She had this wonderful smile that showcased her white teeth.
© 2009 Sandra Butler Tubbs
On visits before dad's death, I would usually take a ride to Fourth Street to see where I had lived in my early years: 319 Linwood Avenue. It was a two-family house owned by Mr. Cantor, almost at the end of a dead end street. We lived on the right side of the house. There was a dirt street in front, where Karen Cantor and I sometimes played as little girls.
Reggie and I were in Lakewood in July 2009 for Linda and John's 20th wedding anniversary. Because we were in Lakewood for more than an overnight, I found my way to Fourth Street and looked for Linwood Avenue. It was not there! The entire little street was gone.
There is something disquieting about someplace that I do not visit, never being available again - in case I want to drive by. They say “ashes to ashes, dust to dust”. I never thought about that happening to the places of my past.
__________________________________
Here in rural NC, we have a small writing group that meets at the Warren County Library and our facilitator, Arlene S. Bice, gives us writing prompts. In September 2006, the writing prompt was something like: describe how to get to a place you have lived. Well, I wrote about 319 Linwood Avenue and it looks like that will be my last memory of 319 Linwood Avenue.
Directions from Newark Airport to 319 Linwood Avenue:
In 2000, 319 Linwood Avenue in Lakewood, NJ still existed and looked much like it did when I was growing up there in the early fifties.
Leaving Newark Airport, driving south on Route 9, the urban/suburban road congestion continues well past Freehold and then the traffic begins to thin out as you approach Howell, then drive into Lakewood.
Just after you enter Lakewood, the Regent Diner is still on the left of Route 9, with its marquee style sign that glittered like Hollywood in the sixties, but now it is old and dull. Crossing over County Line Road – the cemetery is still at the corner of 14th Street. There’s Temple Beth Am on the right. That brings back memories of the interfaith services held in the mid-60s with Sixth Street Baptist Church and Temple Beth Am. My godfather, Rev. George Crawley and Rabbi Yedwab were leaders that were ahead of their time.
The Post Hotel’s beautiful ceramic mosaic artwork is missing, gone forever. Where the hotel once stood majestic are now apartments. Maybe they are condominiums, but I cannot imagine Lakewood with a condominium lifestyle community.
At Fourth Street, turn left crossing Clifton Avenue, then Lexington Avenue, then Monmouth Avenue, and finally crossing Park Avenue. The old synagogue is still at the intersection of Fourth Street, Park Avenue and Ridge Avenue. On the corner of Park and Fourth there is new construction – new housing, new homes. However, Fourth Street has not changed much since the fifties and sixties.
Not quite the distance of one block after crossing Park Avenue there is Linwood Avenue on the right. It is still a simple, unpaved, dirt street. A few houses back on the left side there is 319.
There is still a porch across the front of the house. There are still two doors leading to the two separate living quarters. Our door was on the right. In the summers, growing up in the early fifties, frequently the door behind the screen door was open. There was no air conditioning, so the front door was left open, along with the back door, to allow natural breezes to flow through the house. God’s air conditioning helped to make the summers bearable.
Our neighbor from the left side of the house, Mrs. Zachary frequently sat in a rocking chair on the porch in the summers. I remember her as big and fat and dark and happy. She had this wonderful smile that showcased her white teeth.
© 2009 Sandra Butler Tubbs
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
WWJD … A Story of a Mother’s Wisdom
The acronym WWJD has come to mean, ‘What would Jesus do?’ For me it is an instant reminder of Jessie Butler’s wisdom. Jessie Elma Mason Butler was the smartest woman I have ever known, so the question for me is: what would Jessie do? Or more appropriately, what would mommy do?
Born in 1903, she is only remembered today by a handful of people – most of her contemporaries are deceased now, like her. She died in September 1976, but to me it seems like last year because her legacy is so strong.
To most people, there was nothing special about her. She was a housewife, who did her laundry on Mondays, her ironing on Tuesdays, etc. At church she was a deaconess, missionary and choir member. Everyone loved her homemade rolls and three-layer coconut cakes. Before I was born in 1949, she did days-work by cleaning other people’s homes and helping care for their children. Before that she did boring factory work.
In her life she fell in love at least twice, getting married both times. The first time was to a man that I did not know, not even his name. In the pre-Roots fifties and sixties, people did not tell their children their history. He died long before William Butler, tall and handsome in his World War II uniforms, came into her life and certainly before I was born.
I only knew of Jessie’s first husband by an occasional overheard conversation of the grown-ups and from one story she shared with me when I was in middle school.
It seems that Jessie and her first husband lived in the country of Ocean County, near Whitesville, New Jersey in the 1930’s. Jessie worked, but did not drive. She received rides to work with friends that worked with her.
When Jessie needed to go to the store she had to wait for her husband to take her. When Jessie needed to see the doctor or dentist or ophthalmologist, she had to schedule appointments for when her husband could take her. So there were definitely no free moments to window-shop or explore anything new or to chat with shopkeepers or friends. Jessie felt stifled. Stuck in the country with no car, she had no opportunities to visit friends for a cup of tea or to visit an ailing church member. Jessie’s first husband was going to teach her how to drive, but somehow he never found the time to teach her. It was not his priority.
So what’s a woman to do?
Jessie knew that if she learned to drive, the quality of her life would improve tremendously. Encouraged by her co-workers, Jessie set upon a plan to learn to drive. She got home before her husband and she used that time for her co-workers to teach her how to work the brakes, the clutch, shift gears and all the other things she needed to know in order to drive a stick-shift car, in the days before automatic transmissions. They used the land around Jessie’s house as a training ground. Jessie practiced backing up and u-turns and k-turns. And then one day she was comfortable driving a car by herself. It was time for her to get her driver’s license.
The three conspirators picked a day when they would go to work late and they took Jessie to get her driver’s license. She passed both the written and driving portions of the test and got her New Jersey driver's license. She went on to work that day and came home that evening, as if nothing had happened. She cooked dinner. She and her husband ate dinner. She washed the dishes.
Then she calmly asked her husband for the keys to the car so that she could visit her friend Marie. He asked her why she wanted the car keys when she did not know how to drive. She pulled her new driver’s license from her pocket, proof that not only did she know how to drive but also that the state of New Jersey had approved of her driving.
He was so shocked and stunned that he had nothing to say and he handed her the car keys, without any argument or discussion. Jessie drove cars for the rest of her life, nearly forty years.
This story was told to me in the late fifties, early sixties when there was little encouragement for ‘colored’ girls to find themselves. Jessie shared this story to let me know that women and especially Negro women did not have to be stifled by someone else’s ideas of what they could and could not do.
As human beings we are responsible for finding our own destiny. It is in the simple things that people get lost and trapped into lives they do not want. To Jessie, driving was an important piece of defining her destiny. Once she knew how to drive, she could change her work from mindless and meaningless in some sweatshop to day’s work. In the twenty-first century that does not seem like much, but it allowed her to be her own boss – to work for who she wanted. It allowed her to deal as an adult with two families, who in spite of their racial difference, treated her with respect and friendship. A friendship that lasted beyond the years that she worked for them.
Jessie’s first husband would have died content if she had never learned to drive, but instead he was able to die content that she had learned to drive. She was a better partner, able to share in the tasks and carry her own weight by bringing more income into the household.
Jessie’s legacy to me is to not be trapped by my circumstances. ... use my mind and whatever God-given talents I have and work my problems out.
Jessie taught me that some situations do not require a heated argument or debate. She could have spent years fighting and fussing about when her husband was going to teach her to drive and they would have grown to hate each other. He did not say she could not drive; he just did not have the time to teach her.
Jessie taught me to figure out what is the true problem and then solve it. In the situation with Jessie’s driver’s license, the true problem was learning to drive and not that her husband had to teach her how to drive.
Jessie taught me to never settle. She encouraged me to not become content with where I was. She encouraged me to seek out and learn new things. In my twenties and early thirties, I worked for United Airlines and used my travel benefits to visit Hawaii, Europe, South America and the Caribbean. When I returned to visit Lakewood, NJ, the mothers at Sixth St Baptist Church always looked for an engagement ring and asked when I was going to settle down and marry? And Jessie would always tell them “leave her alone, she has plenty of time to settle down - she’s traveling and seeing and learning new things.”
Jessie’s wisdom was the strong foundation that I needed to go forth into a world that would present many challenges to a young, intelligent, black woman. I believe that I have faced them and that I have conquered them because of Jessie’s wisdom.
As I face challenges in the future, I believe that I will conquer them because of Jessie’s powerful legacy of wisdom, encouragement and love.
© 2009 Sandra Butler Tubbs
Born in 1903, she is only remembered today by a handful of people – most of her contemporaries are deceased now, like her. She died in September 1976, but to me it seems like last year because her legacy is so strong.
To most people, there was nothing special about her. She was a housewife, who did her laundry on Mondays, her ironing on Tuesdays, etc. At church she was a deaconess, missionary and choir member. Everyone loved her homemade rolls and three-layer coconut cakes. Before I was born in 1949, she did days-work by cleaning other people’s homes and helping care for their children. Before that she did boring factory work.
In her life she fell in love at least twice, getting married both times. The first time was to a man that I did not know, not even his name. In the pre-Roots fifties and sixties, people did not tell their children their history. He died long before William Butler, tall and handsome in his World War II uniforms, came into her life and certainly before I was born.
I only knew of Jessie’s first husband by an occasional overheard conversation of the grown-ups and from one story she shared with me when I was in middle school.
It seems that Jessie and her first husband lived in the country of Ocean County, near Whitesville, New Jersey in the 1930’s. Jessie worked, but did not drive. She received rides to work with friends that worked with her.
When Jessie needed to go to the store she had to wait for her husband to take her. When Jessie needed to see the doctor or dentist or ophthalmologist, she had to schedule appointments for when her husband could take her. So there were definitely no free moments to window-shop or explore anything new or to chat with shopkeepers or friends. Jessie felt stifled. Stuck in the country with no car, she had no opportunities to visit friends for a cup of tea or to visit an ailing church member. Jessie’s first husband was going to teach her how to drive, but somehow he never found the time to teach her. It was not his priority.
So what’s a woman to do?
Jessie knew that if she learned to drive, the quality of her life would improve tremendously. Encouraged by her co-workers, Jessie set upon a plan to learn to drive. She got home before her husband and she used that time for her co-workers to teach her how to work the brakes, the clutch, shift gears and all the other things she needed to know in order to drive a stick-shift car, in the days before automatic transmissions. They used the land around Jessie’s house as a training ground. Jessie practiced backing up and u-turns and k-turns. And then one day she was comfortable driving a car by herself. It was time for her to get her driver’s license.
The three conspirators picked a day when they would go to work late and they took Jessie to get her driver’s license. She passed both the written and driving portions of the test and got her New Jersey driver's license. She went on to work that day and came home that evening, as if nothing had happened. She cooked dinner. She and her husband ate dinner. She washed the dishes.
Then she calmly asked her husband for the keys to the car so that she could visit her friend Marie. He asked her why she wanted the car keys when she did not know how to drive. She pulled her new driver’s license from her pocket, proof that not only did she know how to drive but also that the state of New Jersey had approved of her driving.
He was so shocked and stunned that he had nothing to say and he handed her the car keys, without any argument or discussion. Jessie drove cars for the rest of her life, nearly forty years.
This story was told to me in the late fifties, early sixties when there was little encouragement for ‘colored’ girls to find themselves. Jessie shared this story to let me know that women and especially Negro women did not have to be stifled by someone else’s ideas of what they could and could not do.
As human beings we are responsible for finding our own destiny. It is in the simple things that people get lost and trapped into lives they do not want. To Jessie, driving was an important piece of defining her destiny. Once she knew how to drive, she could change her work from mindless and meaningless in some sweatshop to day’s work. In the twenty-first century that does not seem like much, but it allowed her to be her own boss – to work for who she wanted. It allowed her to deal as an adult with two families, who in spite of their racial difference, treated her with respect and friendship. A friendship that lasted beyond the years that she worked for them.
Jessie’s first husband would have died content if she had never learned to drive, but instead he was able to die content that she had learned to drive. She was a better partner, able to share in the tasks and carry her own weight by bringing more income into the household.
Jessie’s legacy to me is to not be trapped by my circumstances. ... use my mind and whatever God-given talents I have and work my problems out.
Jessie taught me that some situations do not require a heated argument or debate. She could have spent years fighting and fussing about when her husband was going to teach her to drive and they would have grown to hate each other. He did not say she could not drive; he just did not have the time to teach her.
Jessie taught me to figure out what is the true problem and then solve it. In the situation with Jessie’s driver’s license, the true problem was learning to drive and not that her husband had to teach her how to drive.
Jessie taught me to never settle. She encouraged me to not become content with where I was. She encouraged me to seek out and learn new things. In my twenties and early thirties, I worked for United Airlines and used my travel benefits to visit Hawaii, Europe, South America and the Caribbean. When I returned to visit Lakewood, NJ, the mothers at Sixth St Baptist Church always looked for an engagement ring and asked when I was going to settle down and marry? And Jessie would always tell them “leave her alone, she has plenty of time to settle down - she’s traveling and seeing and learning new things.”
Jessie’s wisdom was the strong foundation that I needed to go forth into a world that would present many challenges to a young, intelligent, black woman. I believe that I have faced them and that I have conquered them because of Jessie’s wisdom.
As I face challenges in the future, I believe that I will conquer them because of Jessie’s powerful legacy of wisdom, encouragement and love.
© 2009 Sandra Butler Tubbs
Beginning the Journey
A private person with lots of thoughts, I have decided to use this venue to express them.
NOW I live in rural North Carolina and I do not have many outlets for casual chit-chat about hot topics, current or past; heated, passionate discussions on political or social issues; or just general, rambling conversation over tea. I moved here in 2005 to deal with aging-parent-with-Alzheimer's issues. The parent (more later) died December 15, 2008 and up to then I was kept busy with the endless challenges and resultant decision-making of being in that situation.
BEFORE I lived in the Boston area, the San Francisco bay area, the Chicago neighborhoods and its suburbs, and small town New Jersey, with lots of friends, acquaintances, organizations and activities along the way. My brain was always stimulated.
After four years here I do not want to go back to BEFORE, but I long for more then NOW. Watching the ladies of The View is no longer enough, I need more!
© 2009 Sandra Butler Tubbs
NOW I live in rural North Carolina and I do not have many outlets for casual chit-chat about hot topics, current or past; heated, passionate discussions on political or social issues; or just general, rambling conversation over tea. I moved here in 2005 to deal with aging-parent-with-Alzheimer's issues. The parent (more later) died December 15, 2008 and up to then I was kept busy with the endless challenges and resultant decision-making of being in that situation.
BEFORE I lived in the Boston area, the San Francisco bay area, the Chicago neighborhoods and its suburbs, and small town New Jersey, with lots of friends, acquaintances, organizations and activities along the way. My brain was always stimulated.
After four years here I do not want to go back to BEFORE, but I long for more then NOW. Watching the ladies of The View is no longer enough, I need more!
© 2009 Sandra Butler Tubbs
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