Winter Wonderland: Frederick’s Special Hot Cinnamon Chocolate

I am often puzzled that my brain is able to recall certain moments in time and fit them into a story after visualizing a familiar picture. This is what happened again on Wednesday at the United Community Corporation’s “Winter Wonderland” event that took place at Westside Community Center. When I entered the senior room around 2.30pm for the advertised “sip and paint” evening, most of the approximately forty chairs were already taken by anticipating invitees. I immediately noticed a completed winter themed painting positioned on an easel to the right of the room. In front of each chair were blank canvases with a pencil outline of a mug. Makeshift palettes with brightly colored paints arranged in little puddles on plastic plates were already prepared on the trestle tables that were joined together to make a large open square where the instructor could guide the group. Each art station had three paint brushes of different sizes sitting to the right of each setting. After about five minutes I joined the group and listened carefully as the instructor stated that the completed picture was there only as a guide and that we were allowed to create our own painting. By the time I started to paint the red mug and fill in its surface with brown color at the beginning of the art exercise, I could feel emotions rising in the room coming from the original creator as well as the participants, evoking feelings that had probably been submerged for years.

I was taken back to my childhood when my grandmother would make “chocolate tea” from scratch. I witnessed her on a number of occasions going through the process of beating the parched cocoa beans in a wooden mortar until they became a paste, and then rolling them into balls until they dried. I later learned that the process was even longer than what I saw her doing because the beans had to be washed after they were broken from the pods and then they were laid out in the sun for days until they were golden brown. My grandmother’s chocolate was well known all over Georgia Road especially among family members and I believe I even recall people referring to the product as Miss Nellie’s Chocolate. While there were other older women making chocolate at the time, Ma’s had a distinct taste especially on Sunday mornings before church.

Many decades after migrating to the United States I had forgotten everything about my grandmother’s natural chocolate. I started to drink processed versions like Quick and Swiss Miss as well as the varieties that I would get from my workplace cafeterias. There was nothing special about those memories until I experienced an afternoon with Frederick. It was sometime around 2004 when I lived in Decatur, Georgia that I visited the International House of Pancakes on Claremont Road for breakfast with my older son. The flamboyant waiter who introduced himself as Frederick prepared a cup of hot chocolate for me in a way that made an impression that would last for a lifetime. As he delivered the mug to me, I remember that the whipped cream he added was more than usual and it was generously sprinkled with cinnamon. His kind gesture made such an impact on me that I not only returned his smile but I thanked him with a decent tip.

It really does not matter if Frederick’s chocolate was as natural as my grandmother’s or if he made it in a few minutes. What truly mattered was the thought and the care that he placed in making what would have otherwise been a regular cup of hot chocolate. That experience that he shared with me over a simple meal is the only reason why I remembered his name on Wednesday while I was painting.

 

Rosalynn Carter: A Passionate Advocate for Mental Health

I did not know that Rosalynn Carter was an advocate for mental health until she died recently. This I believe is unfortunate because if I was ignorant about her advocacy, so were many other Americans. I knew that she was active in the establishment and implementation of programs at the Carter Center in Atlanta but I never knew the extent of her work and that she continued with mental health advocacy long after she left the White House in the early 1980s. I also knew that Mrs. Carter served beside her husband in Habitat for Humanity because my Facebook page constantly generated stories about the achievements of the organization, often showing the couple in hard hats and holding hammers at construction sites for affordable homes.

It’s probably a coincidence that Mrs. Carter died during the month of November, 2023 when I received a second notice from my case manager that the Integrated Case Management program (ICMS) at Mount Carmel Guild would be terminating my services after I have been with the organization for a year and a half. According to their rules, they only provide referral services for a year. If a client does not have any goals which require referrals, then they are terminated. This is compounded by the fact that the organization is short-staffed so apparently there are not enough case managers to serve clients even when the they are still in need.

This is the type of disparity that Mrs. Carter must have seen over her lifetime that propelled her into becoming a fierce mental health advocate. Although I was never aware of any of her books or any of her articles related to mental health until recently when she passed, I now understand why she was a leader in the Mental Health Systems Act of 1980 while her husband was president and even as late as 2010 when she published “Within Our Reach: Ending The Mental Health Crisis.” Even then she tried her best to convince the public that there were still gaps in mental health services in America.

I use this opportunity to thank Mrs Carter for her service and recognize her husband who at 99 years old was able to attended her funeral. Frail in wheelchair with a blanket over his legs, he was supported by his family to bid his last farewell to this remarkable woman. This latest image of the Carters might be the one that most people will remember but I chose to remember her tireless advocacy for mental health until death.

Rosalynn Carter did her part to to reduce stigma and improve services for those of us who suffer from mental illnesses. She started her advocacy in the 1970s when I was a young child, never knowing that I would one day be in need of mental health services or that I would benefit from laws that extend benefits to the mentally ill. She was indeed a First Lady. Her death has created a void that will be hard to fill but hopefully the laws she helped to enact will remain. It’s now up to the rest of us to educate ourselves about her life’s work, recognize her legacy and continue what she started.

 

Love Thriving in Newark’s Westside

While standing at the kitchen window a few weeks ago, I noticed a familiar yellow plant growing on the bushes in the open lot adjoining the property where I live. Although it caught my eye at the time, I did not pay close attention. However, this week the yellow plant seemed to have spread over a wider section and so I decided to go outside and take a look from the fence. Suddenly, I had childhood memories rushing through my mind of the Love Bush we tossed all over the hedges along the roadsides in Cascade where I grew up.

I was surprised to find the Love Bush growing in Newark, NJ because all along I thought this plant was tropical. Furthermore, it’s now October so in my mind it just did not make sense that a tropical plant could be thriving outside. After some consideration, I surmised that someone must have placed the Love Bush there after they cleared the land in the summer. Now that it has taken over a section of the land, I can see clearly that it is in fact the Jamaican Love Bush.

So what is the story of the Jamaican Love Bush? In my rural community, children in the 1970s would search for this parasitic plant, pull handfuls of it, and cast it over another host plant while calling out the name of their secret admirer. Then they would go back to the spot in a few days to see if the Love Bush started growing. If the plant thrived, legend stated that a romantic relationship would develop between the two in the future.

I am not certain why I have been thinking about the Love Bush all week because romance is the farthest thing from my mind these days. Maybe it’s because I have been experiencing small acts of kindness and love from the seniors at Westside Community Center. Last Friday, Daphne gave me a bottle of shampoo that she won in Bingo; she felt I could use it with the conditioner I had won that day. This week Hattie bought me a pair of warm pants for the winter after she learned that I was shopping around for a few. Connie who always has goodies in her bag, shared her honey with us to sweeten our tea. And Ernestine offered to bring me a bottle of aspirin after she learned that I have hypertension. Or how could I forget Blanche who gave me a new journal with the words of the Serenity Prayer on the cover after she heard that I enjoyed writing?

As we sat at the circular table after lunch, I kept thinking about how the simple story I wrote about the Senior Citizen Prom affected Harrison. With his right hand over his heart, he shared how he was touched after reading the words. That is the least that I could do for such a man who had served his country, volunteered on numerous occasions to transport Hattie and I over to Nellie Grier Senior Center, and represented us so well as the Prom King on September 29th. I now take this opportunity to say that I recognize, applaud and honor you Mr. Harrison Judkins!

Whether it is the Jamaican Love Bush growing wild in the vacant lot on 17th Street or the acts of love witnessed at Westside Community Center by the seniors and staff, I believe it is important to pause and learn from the lessons that nature teaches in ecology. Furthermore, we must stop to thank people for their kindness and show appreciation for even the smallest things that they do for us. By doing this, love and kindness become contagious and before you know it everyone is involved in sharing a little piece of themselves. Indeed, I was reminded this week that love can thrive in favourable environments when we do not expect it.

 

I Love You To The Moon And Back

So many people will never be able to understand how severe mental illnesses like major depression affect others. These diseases are so disabling that they adversely affect one’s ability to function in the basic aspects of life. Despite all the available literature on how mental illnesses change individuals and despite the widespread prevalence in places like the United States, so many of those unaffected lack knowledge and also compassion.

Family and close friends of the mentally ill are encouraged to support them to function but this is not always easy. This is partly because those who are mentally ill often lack motivation and lose their basic abilities. It is especially frustrating for everyone involved when the mentally ill individual looks physically well and is intelligent.

As I spoke to my psychiatric nurse practitioner this morning, she stated that I was coherent. I am not sure why she felt the need to remind me but I suspect that she was puzzled as I am that I was still able to have a conversation with her after suffering for over two years with severe insomnia (associated with major depression and anxiety disorder). Before she ended the call, she asked me if I had recently spoken to my children and encouraged me to do so. Following her suggestions, I decided to reach out to my sons as well as a few of my other favorite people while I sat on the park bench on this October afternoon.

How could I let my sons and others know that I was thinking about them and that they were very special to me today? I reflected on the craft work that I participated in at the senior center this morning and thought it would be a perfect message to send to my loved ones. When I chose the stencil with the words “I love you to the moon and back” I had the intention of sharing it with them and I did.

To my surprise, I received an unexpected response from a relative implying that I had cut him off. He probably arrived at that conclusion because I no longer call him as often as I did before my diagnoses. I had to take the time to remind him about how severe mental illnesses affect people. These diseases destroy the spirit, cause isolation and lack of interest in doing things once enjoyed. I honestly thought my close relative (one I consider my brother) would understand and appreciate the picture I sent him with words “I love you…” but his reaction reminded me that he wanted to hear from me more often. He wanted more than words. He wanted me to love him to the moon and back which really means (according to Google) love without borders and unconditionally.

I truly hope my brother-in-law understands how much he means to me. I had to push through all the adversities of another day in order to paint that tote bag especially for him and my other loved ones. And I was only able to do it with the help and support of the seniors at Westside Community Center as well as the resources from United Community Corporation.

 

Finding Purpose in Disability

How do I find purpose in my disability? After almost ten years living with severe mental illnesses and after two years with co-morbid physical illnesses, I am trying to understand what is the reason for my being.

Mental illnesses literally destroyed Ann Marie by taking away my ability to earn a living and afford a decent life. For the last eight years I have had to cut my expenses in order to survive on a modest income from the Social Security Administration that’s about a third of what I used to earn in 2015. For example, I have had to rent rooms instead of apartments or homes.

These diseases forced me into unpleasant and uncomfortable places like psychiatric hospitals to experience what others have suffered for centuries. I’ll never forget how the healthcare worker at Ridgeview Institute in Smyrna, Georgia asked me to remove my underwear so she could search it as a part of their admissions protocol. At the time I tried to understand what she was doing but after four subsequent admissions to other psychiatric hospitals, I eventually realized that the behavior of the healthcare worker at Ridgeview was inappropriate.

The stigma of these diseases also remind me that according to a former colleague, there is nothing good about mental illnesses. However, because I am here and still have my intellect, I am trying to find a glimmer of hope to hold on to something: That purpose in disability, even if it is just to write about how I feel and possibly touch another person who is suffering and struggling on a daily basis from major depression, lost income and challenges with basic activities of daily living.

 

Insomnia

i developed insomnia around the same time I was diagnosed with my mental illnesses seven years ago. Sometimes, the insomnia is worse than the depression and I wish I could find a cure for it. I’ve tried prescription drugs as well as melatonin that’s available over-the-counter but nothing helps.

I’m lucky if I get a couple hours of sleep each night and this I know is very unhealthy. I can only pray for some relief and ask those of you here for some tips that could help me to stay asleep a little longer.

Note that I’ve lost my inspiration to write over the last few years but my insomnia is so bad that I had to do this blog post to see if my readers have any suggestions for me. Let me know if you also have this problem. Maybe together we can find a solution.