Life Isn't a Bowl of Cherries

Covid -19 in 2020

by Alicia Ann Torres

Home invasion by your kid, difficulty navigating through the crowds, panic buying, and empty shelves push those with physical challenges further into social isolation.

An unforgettable day was March 1, 2020. Spring was in full swing. Scented cherry blossoms perfumed the air with blue skies and sunshine. A family celebration for Grandma's 90th birthday was filled with laughter, warm hugs, and Mexican cuisine. A weekend of boutique shopping, dining out, and sipping California wine was memorable.

We had no idea our lives would change forever after this weekend. 

We picked up Grandma from her new nursing home. She was so excited. We met the cheerful staff and shook hands without hesitation. It was a wonderful weekend to mingle with family and friends.

"Breaking news” was announced in the media about some type of virus called the novel COVID-19 that spread and had taken lives from Asia to Northern Italy. We didn't think this was anything for us to worry about here in the bubble of California, USA.

The only thought that crossed my mind was an E-Bay order I placed for my daughter Ana's upcoming birthday. A handmade ceramic planter from Italy, designed like a cat. Ana loved cats. I was concerned that shipping would be impacted. I later reflected on this concern and how selfish I was when lives were being taken rapidly in Italy by some strange virus.

That Sunday evening, we were informed by the nursing home that they had to go on "lockdown--just as a precaution," they said. Lockdown? Why? What did they mean by "lockdown"? Was there a shooting? No, I was told by family it was "shelter in place, for protection.” I still didn't understand.

A couple of days passed, and I received a phone call from my panicked brother. He said, “Get someone to help you go to the store and buy food, now! California is going to go on lockdown!

"What?" I thought I misheard his words. I questioned his source of information. He replied that his wife, Sarah, a Fire Marshall, had just had an emergency staff meeting before it was to go public.

I said, "No worries." I reminded my brother, calmly, that I shop online. He knew I needed help with shopping due to my vision loss. Little did I know that online shopping would become impossible when "shelter in place" became public on March 4, 2020, by California Governor Newsom.

 We heard on the media that a cruise ship in San Francisco Bay was rumored to have infected passengers, and it was to dock and stay at the San Francisco Presidio, a former military base. That is exactly where my daughter lived and worked.

News Report:

"Former passengers of the cruise ship Grand Princess who had tested positive for SARS-CoV-2 were being linked to cruises they had taken on the ship while it traveled between California, Mexico, and Hawaii. After the first confirmed death on March 4, 2020, Grand Princess was rerouted to the San Francisco Bay Area, where it was anchored offshore while test kits were airlifted to the ship. Preliminary testing found 21 positive cases, and the ship later docked in Oakland on March 8, 2020, with over 3,000 people entering quarantine."

This cruise ship was about 6 miles from my house in Oakland. Meanwhile, I could not get through to order my groceries. I tried four different companies. Thank goodness, I’m already enrolled with Meals on Wheels, a federally funded program that delivers prepared meals to the homes of disadvantaged seniors.

I am so grateful for this program to Save Our Seniors. I’ve struggled with cooking because most of my vision has deteriorated, related to Retinitis Pigmentosa. Grocery shopping with a white cane is possible, with store help, but stressful.

I imagined people were in a panic, stressed, and that the potential increase in crime would occur, as we live in a city where this is normalcy. I also imagined anxious crowds and a shortage of staff or available items. This happened in the 1989 Loma Prieta Earthquake in the San Francisco Bay Area. As someone with dual disabilities and heart palpitations, this is not my type of sport.

Meals on Wheels was also experiencing a lack of volunteers due to the fear of the spread of COVID-19. Many of them were in the high-risk category. The demands by more people signing up for this service had put a strain on our already vulnerable community in Oakland.

Another backup resource I could use is Nextdoor.com. This is a social media platform that advertises goods or services for the community. Many people offered to shop or run errands for neighbors who were unable to. My living alone was something I didn't want to publicize. Neighbors are mostly renters, and the turnover is high, so I can't trust anyone at this point.

Scenes on media were masked faces, no smiles, just tears and fears. I called my daughter Ana to inform her of the news of the lockdown. Knowing she was out of town, I left a voicemail. I wasn’t feeling too well myself since the visit with Grandma. I had symptoms of malaise and a persistent sore throat. No fevers or respiratory symptoms. I found myself researching the internet for this unknown virus.

After hearing the news, I thought I had better "self-isolate." New terminology surfaced in conversations about this pandemic. My doctor's office called to check on me, which I thought was very kind, yet worrisome. They agreed I should "self-isolate.”

Ana finally returned my call and revealed that she was possibly exposed to COVID -19. The work-study housing facility she shared with others, at the San Francisco Presidio, informed them to vacate, for liability reasons, within 1 week. "Per Safety Spokesperson from the CDC." My daughter said.

The former military facility was near a homeless encampment, and my fears worsened by the moment. A drape of trepidation weighed on my shoulders. Ana’s fear spilled over my heart and mind. I remember her statement and the look of fear on her face when she said, “People are dying everywhere.” Ana also saw someone who may have attempted to jump off the San Francisco Bridge.

My heart sank, and I felt my gut wrenched. I prayed persistently, calling my prayer warriors to add prayers for those who were contemplating suicide. I could sense Ana was scared and angry. The fear of the unknown cast a dark shadow over our spirits. News reports of chaos echoed across the media like uncontrollable wildfires with this novel virus. Death was in the air.

I felt grateful at that moment in time that I had a safe home to live in, as I thought of those who are homeless, cold, and perhaps dying on the streets of our city. I suggested Ana come home, but she declined because she may have been infected, and I was considered high risk.

Perhaps it would be difficult to come back home to live with parents after living independently for a few years. Being hearing impaired since childhood, I am sensitive to the fact that living with someone who is almost deaf can be a challenge. My voice penetrates through walls. One must face me when talking to me so I can read lips. No soft voices or whispering. Also, one cannot talk to me from another room, for I would not hear them despite wearing hearing aids.

Impatience is something I face all the time, from myself and others. People often must repeat themselves more than once or twice. They also must get out of their comfort zone if they are in another room and come to me or vice versa to talk. My siblings can tell you more about how that works. Loud voices are something we all lived with growing up with two hearing-impaired siblings in a family of seven.

So, now that Covid -19 was here, we were required to be 6 feet apart and wear a mask. One can only imagine how a hearing-impaired person would communicate. It would be better to be deaf and use sign language.

Living with someone who is visually and hearing impaired can be difficult. Perhaps, I thought, Ana doesn't want to see her mother with these challenges, and she feels helpless, so it is best to avoid the situation.

Life isn't a bowl of cherries.

So, how could a high-risk, almost deaf, almost blind mother and potential COVID-19-infected young daughter maintain social distance in a small 1-bathroom bungalow?

Prayer. High-powered hearing aids and clear communication skills. And respect.

 

Mindset Makes a Difference

It is common knowledge that anything worthwhile comes from hard work. But do we realize this also pertains to our inner emotional life? “Tremendous determination or willpower” is essential to have “infinite love and compassion,” says the Dalai Lama.

Barry and Glenda married 40 years at the time of the photo

I find myself working hard these days learning to control my mindset. For over a year, I have fought giving in to negative thoughts, wondering if my life is still relevant. 

Since the pandemic changed everything for me in drastic ways, I find myself asking who am I now? As I did when Barry died in 2009, I felt rootless. Thanks to COVID-19, my health became an issue in various ways and I realized I needed to sell my home in the mountains and move close to family. 

Moving is only second to losing a spouse as the most stressful event we ever experience. In July 2009, when I lost my beloved husband, I was floundering trying to find a way to make my life worthwhile. 

In 2010 I opened Writers Circle Around the Table, my writing studio in my house on Chatuge Lane in Hayesville, NC. With dear friends, Jeff and Wanda Shue, my daylight basement was painted. Mary Mike Keller made curtains and helped me in any way I needed. Others pitched in to make a big empty space a warm and workable room for writers to gather and learn. My dear friend, John Buckley enlarged and created a bathroom that my students often complimented. I put in cabinets and shelves, bulletin boards, bought tables and chairs, and fell in love with my studio. It became my favorite plaice in my house. In remembrance of Barry, I hung his musical instruments on the walls.

That happened because I was able to change my mindset. Instead of feeling it was all over, I began a new way of thinking. From the darkness, came the light.

I was recently a Beta reader for an excellent author of a book about mindset. I am truly enjoying learning what this man has to offer. Today I decided I will start anew here in the city, meet my kind of people, join a community or start a community of writers. I will continue to share my wisdom learned from my experiences and all the people I have known and loved. 

It takes tremendous determination to let love and compassion grow again when you are at rock's bottom. I have that determination now to share my love, compassion and empathy through my writing and my teaching but it will be here where I now live. 

More books and hope for tomorrow

Book party Dec. 2018

Today I picked up a proof of Paws, Claws, Hooves, Feathers, and Fins from BookLogix in Alpharetta, GA. They did a terrific job, and I can purchase fewer than 100 copies at a reasonable price. That is important to me. Plus, I don't pay shipping. I can pick up the books when they are ready.

Estelle Rice and I sold two printings of our book about our beloved pets and other animals. I had not planned to print more books, but as I create a new life in the city, I will do a book signing at a local bookstore soon.

And more will follow, I'm sure. I also enjoy giving this book to my new friends who come and help me here at home. Dog and cat people are most comfortable with Lexie and me. One of them brings Lexie healthy treats and offers them three times while she is here. Then she takes my sweet pup for a walk.

Spring holds promise for more, for an outlet for my creativity, for meeting new people, and finding purpose in my life. 

As my health improves and my mobility is better, I look forward to getting out and doing more. It is amazing how just getting dressed and going out can lift my spirits. 

In a world that seems to be falling apart, acceptance of cruelty is on the rise, and fear is molding our outlook, I will not give in. I do what I can to support those who work to make things better. But it is hard to know what I can do.

  

I have hope because I meet wonderful, caring, and kind people everywhere. Because I am grateful for all that makes my life good, I make sure that others know I appreciate them. How easy it is to say thank you for all you do for me. How easy it is to make sure I am friendly to all I meet. Sometimes, a smile is all it takes to improve a person's day. 

My mother was my example of kindness and empathy.

She was my role model. When she had no funds to give, she gave what she had to those who were less fortunate than she was. 

She was a good listener. That is a wonderful gift. When we listen, we give more than we know.

My Georgia Robison Family

Seven of the eight children of 

William Henry Robison and Lula Jones Robison

Back row left:  Dewey Robison, Avon Robison, Rudolph Robison

Front Row: Left, Mildred Robison Whitley, (youngest girl), Edith Robison Blitch, Lois Robison Council,(my mother), Berma Robison Blitch.  Missing from the picture is Eva May Robison Green.  Two siblings died as babies.

The family of William Henry Robison and his wife, Malula Jones Robison, originated in Decatur County, Georgia, near Whigham, Georgia.

Like many rural families at that time, they heard of the cotton mill in Pelham, GA, and moved the family because Willie and his older children could work there. At that time, even young children could work and earn a small amount. In 1870, around 600 children worked in the Georiga mills. That was 22% of the employees. By 1900, that number had grown to more than 4400, 24% of the mill operatives. The children made 10 cents to 50 Cents per day, while the mills were declaring 60 - 95% dividends. 

Finally, bills regarding the end of child labor were passed. 

The 1920 census recorded a decline in child labor, a trend that would continue into the 1930s with the passage of the Fair Labor Standards Act of 1938, which established minimum wage and hour standards nationwide, thereby discouraging the employment of minors. By setting minimum wages, it decreased incentives to hire children.

By 1940, child labor laws were in force, and in October of 1940, the Fair Labor Standards Act went into effect, making life a little easier on the mill worker.

Telling My Story

Today, in the twenty-first century, in a world of technology changing so quickly even the youngsters can't keep up, a ten-year-old can't imagine the lifestyle of people, urban or rural, born in the twentieth century.

By telling life stories we fill in those gaps in history left out of the textbooks. Write or record on video or audio the memories you can't forget and the reason you remember them.

Your story is unique. No one else owns your life experiences or what you learned from those experiences. You can sign up for my next memoir writing classes at https://www.iclyhc.org/Events

This is the beginning of one of my stories. It needs work and will be edited and revised, but want to show you how you can write about a time in your life that only you can tell.

The Way We Began

By Glenda Council Beall

I met Barry, tall, blond with eyes that turned from hazel to blue, depending on the color shirt he wore, on July 4, 1963. He was a blind date. A mutual friend had given him my number. My number was also my sister’s number, and he said that he called for either of us since he knew neither of us. I lucked out. Gay, my sister, was out of town.

Our day together at the lake house where Barry lived with two other men eventually became enjoyable, but at first, he paid little attention to me at all. I quickly became aware that he was popular with his friends, especially the women. As soon as we arrived, they insisted he play his guitar and sing.

He parked me alone on a stool and took his place on the hearth of the large stone fireplace. The women sat around him on the floor. At this time folk music had taken the country and Barry, who had just come from California where the Kingston Trio was the rage, engaged the entire crowd with Tom Dooley, House of the Rising Sun, and his excellent rendition of Freight Train, showing off his guitar skills. His Goya classical guitar still sits on a stand in my living room with his note to have the crack fixed.

 At the lake house in Dougherty County, Georgia that July 4th, I decided to leave my date with his adoring audience and walk down to the water. I regretted coming to this party where I didn’t know a soul. My self-esteem was not at its best in those days. A year after graduating from the University of Georgia with an elementary education degree, I lived at home on the farm with my folks. I spent most of my spare time riding horseback and writing in my journal. Men had disappointed me. I thought I would be better off if I just avoided them for now. 

Although my family was musical, none of us played an instrument, except Mother who played piano by ear. I had taken piano with Mrs. Bland, but never made much progress. Sometimes now, I wish I had continued with those lessons, as Mother wanted me to do. I wish she had taken the piano lessons herself because she loved playing and had never had the chance to study music.

At the lake house in Dougherty County, Georgia that July 4th, I decided to leave my date with his adoring audience and walk down to the water. I regretted coming to this party where I didn’t know a soul. My self-esteem was not at its best in those days. A year after graduating from the University of Georgia with an elementary education degree, I lived at home on the farm with my folks. I spent most of my spare time riding horseback and writing in my journal. Men had disappointed me. I thought I would be better off if I just avoided them for now.

          There is more to the story, and I can share it another day if you want.

Looking Back

Today I am reposting from 2019

https://profilesandpedigrees.blogspot.com/2019/12/grief-mourning-and-going-on-with-life.html

It was December 2019.

Thankful for the life I had growing up on the farm.

https://leemartinauthor.com/2025/11/24/berryville-illinois-i-was-listening-to-your-lessons-on-love/#comment-12799       

Author Lee Martin offers a thought for Thanksgiving.

Author Lee Martin's post today sparked memories of my life when neighbors and family helped each other just because they cared.

My father who had worked in a cotton mill since he was a child, was finally able to buy 125 acres at the age of 41. 

My brother Max said, "We moved during school holidays at Christmas when we boys were there to load everything on a pickup truck; tools, animals and all. Ray drove and we made lots of trips across town and out to the new place."

My father was always a farmer at heart. He was born on the family farm in Wakulla County, Florida. The land was given to his daddy, Tom, by John Cecil Council, who was among the early residents of that county in the 1800s.

Because of a government loan available during Franklin Roosevelt's administration, my father and his future neighbors could buy land that had once been a large plantation but was divided into small farms.  Mr. womble bought 125 acres adjoining ours. He was living in the house on my family's land when my brothers and my father arrived to move in.

The land Mr. Womble had purchased had no house on it, so he moved into the one that he thought was available. Daddy evicted him quickly, but gave him, his wife, and his little girl permission to live in the tenant house on our farm until he could build a house on his property. Mr. Debary, a neighbor who bought land behind our farm was also a good carpenter. He built Womble's house.

Our old farm house was rustic, almost unlivable, but Mother made it home. She was surely disappointed to find herself with no bathroom, no running water and no electricity. I was a toddler, and she was seven months pregnant. 

A fireplace located in the front room was the only heat. In the kitchen was a wood burning stove and it warmed things up when it was in use.

My baby sister was born in February. Neighbor women were there for the birth on that day. Mrs. Womble had kept me during the labor and birth. My brothers were in school.

I still remember my joy when I rode into the backyard astride Max's shoulders. 

"You have a baby sister," called out a neighbor lady from the back porch. My mother was so happy to have a girl so she and I could grow up together.

Neighbors were important to the families that lived in the rural area of Fleming Road and County Line Road, Dougherty County, Georgia. Mother was close friends with all the women.

I remember people, black and white, working on the farm during peanut picking time, bringing in hay to store in the barn daddy had built near the house. Two of our neighbor farmers were black people and my family had only praise for their work ethics, and their cooperation with their neighbors. I think my father bought the first peanut picker in the area and it was used on several farms each fall. Peanuts and cotton were grown on all the farms at that time.

None of these people were perfect. Mr. Womble had a drinking problem. They had flaws and so did my father. Daddy had a quick temper. They had disagreements at times, but always got along together. They respected each other and were empathetic when hard times came. 

Our relatives in town had all the modern conveniences available in the forties, and I was impressed as a child when we visited Aunt Mildred and Uncle Lawson who lived near the mill but had a nice house. He was not a lowly mill worker, but a supervisor. 

Mr. Debary, who also bought his farm when my father did, built our "new house" that was erected in the front yard of the old house. I was still a small child. It was a three bedroom house with one bedroom for the three girls and one for the four boys. At first there was no running water so the space for a bathroom became a storage room. The men in the family took cold showers outside. Mother heated water on the stove for us little ones.

My brothers used battery power for radio to listen to music.

They had been given a record player and it, too, was battery operated. All of them loved to sing as did Mother who eventually had a piano. 

Electricity reached our area in 1947. Poles were erected across fields and down the roadside. Single light bulbs hung from farm house ceilings. Mother no longer used a wood stove. I grew up in that house and talked on a party line telephone, took baths in a bathtub with hot running water and used a sink and mirror with overhead lights. We became a pretty modern household.

 In 1960, the brothers, married and with their own nice homes, felt it was time for Mother to have one, too. Although it was difficult to persuade my father, a pretty brick house with a new electric stove, big refrigerator, and even a dishwasher in the kitchen was built where our home had been. That made the third house built on the same spot. The house where I grew up was sold and moved away.

We lived in a tenant house on the farm during construction.  We roughed it, but I was away at college during most of the building. 

The new house had an attached garage, and it eventually became home to Mother's big car.  Daddy had his own private bathroom and he liked that.

The new house became the home he enjoyed for the rest of his 88 years.

As Thanksgiving is approaching, those days growing up on a farm in southwest Georgia linger in my memory. 

The seven children and their families gathered at my parents' home every year until, in 1975, Mother suffered an aneurysm that left her unable to cook. She was seventy years old. We were devastated.

My life changed drastically after that.

2023 has begun and I think it will be good!

Looking back on my blog and reading what I said some years ago is interesting and surprising sometimes.

This is what I wrote at the beginning of 2023.

Recently I read my words written back in 1990 and 1991. Those were fairly traumatic years for my family and for me. I kept my diaries filled with all the angst I felt as our family had to take back the family business we had sold because the buyer couldn't pay for it. It reminded me how troubled I was at the time and how worried I was about my brother, Ray, the oldest, who had begun to have health issues. 

No one wanted to take back a failing business but we had to. In my diary, I said there was a recession going on and no one was making any money. In one place I wrote, "Ray said the company must make four million dollars in the next four years." 

Looking back now I realized again, how grateful I should be, and I am, for having brothers and Barry turn that business around and sell it again. I don't know if they made the four million goal, but they did sell the plant a second time and all seven of us Council kids were saved from bankruptcy. One thing my father did well - raised his offspring to work hard and never give up.

However, that stress took a toll and in a couple of years, Ray was diagnosed with cancer. 

But, we are going into a new year now -War is raging, politics is rotten and mean, the government is a place where infighting seems to be the new way to govern, and our society is divided while wanting the same things. We all want freedom, we want peace, we want our families to be safe and secure, and we want to be united. But someone or some people keep stirring the pot doing all they can to scare us into believing our way of life is disappearing and we must blame our neighbors and friends. 

I don't believe that because I see kindness and caring every day. If I didn't see the news or read the headlines, I would be as happy as a lark because I seem to only see good and kind people. Cynicism and nasty comments on social media seem to have disappeared from the pages I see on Facebook. I see hope and faith and joy on the pages I read. Even some of the news programs are showing more kindness and love than they used to. 

I want to believe that others see this, too. I plan to have a good year -- right after I recover from a complete knee replacement. 

How about you? Do you look forward with hope or fear? Let me know what you think.

Dancing won't make you old. You get old when you stop dancing

Happiness !! Gay dancing with Chris Stone

When Gay and I were teens, we loved to dance and took every opportunity to do so.

Today, while Gay dances several times each week, I write. That brings me happiness. 

I am delighted that Brooke, at NARRATIVE BOOKS, in Murphy NC is carrying my books now. I hope you will drop by and meet Brooke, the nice young woman who owns this unique store.

NARRATIVE BOOKS -104 Tennessee St. Suite C, Murphy NC - find my books on the shelf with local writers.

Paws, Claws, Hooves, Feathers and Fins

City Lights Bookstore, Sylva, NC - order my books from City Lights

Now Might as Well be Then - poetry, published in 2009.