If U Cared For UR Mother & Now She Is Gone – U Will Like This Post – If U Neglected Her or Conspired To – Go To Hell!

I finished this poem this morning while sitting on the grass in a park, reflecting.  I was Grounding in multiple ways.

I translated the poem in various languages based on website views, by country.   I used Google Translate to convert it from English.  Please let me know if the translation is correct, in any language.

I love my mother very much, in any language.

I wrote the poem in this post on my smartphone so there isn’t much glitz and glamor to offer. 


I don’t expect those who were not willing to be caregivers for their mother to understand why 6 years after my mother transcended, I continue to worship her like she is still here. 

I certainly don’t expect my fake-faithful siblings, family members, and New Orleans’ Metro non-profit deviously-operated senior agencies to appreciate this post.  This is not for them.  But, there is a slight possibility that one or two may be reflective on their deeds and surrender their sins against their mother (or someone else’s) to God.

They have the freedom to not receive these messages by asking me to not send them my post, or they can just ignore them.  Lately, they’ve said nothing and believe in their imaginary innocence. …for six years now.


This post is for those who really love their mothers, who cared for them in their final days, as I did with honor.  This is for those same beautiful children of God who believe that their mother is still with them, protecting and watching over them.


As for the other losers, who neglected their mother when she was near death, for greed, power, or resentment, or those who were complicit in the sabotage of a frail mother’s well-being, may you enjoy your day in hell.  You will meet a lot of your relatives and friends there.   

I am sure that my siblings, family members, and New Orleans agencies that participated in the Terror Against The Caregiver (Me or You) are destined for hell, if not already there on Earth.


I cannot see or talk directly to my mother today.  For that, I have no regrets.  She’s left me with a lot of fond memories.  I can feel her spirit in me, and around me. 

I believe that only those who have shown God’s love to their mothers, when they were frail and dying, get to gain such access to their spirit when they become Guardian Angels, as my mother did.  She was born on October 2, 1918, the day of the Feast of the Guardian Angels day


Thanks, Lil Eunice for granting me access to your spirit.  Thanks for your guidance and protection.  Thanks, God for allowing me to access you, through my dear Lil Eunice!


As for the ungodly ones, in my family circle, and outside of it, I hope it pains you, not having such access, but instead, having access to the pain you caused her before she ascended to heaven. 

I am not being cruel.  Everyone must pay someday for their deeds, I included. 

They too, however, do have access to God, but only in Truth & Surrender to his Truth.  May they open that door, I pray.

…May they change their wicked ways.  Ironically many of my siblings are mothers.  With regard to those for whom this post resonates, I am sure that your caregiving antagonizers are mothers too.  In fact, nearly all of my only siblings that remain on Earth today are mothers.  They all had a mother, a beautifully spiritual and strong one.   Their day of reckoning shall come. 

There is nothing that I must do to facilitate their future or present crisis moment.  God has got that covered.  I only need to remain Truthful and Faithful.  That I am.   Continue reading “If U Cared For UR Mother & Now She Is Gone – U Will Like This Post – If U Neglected Her or Conspired To – Go To Hell!”

Revolution 2020 – Ingredients For A Savory Pot of Rebellion Gumbo – 10 Key Ingredients For Today’s Boiling Pot Revolution

I consider myself to be rather introspective. I spend a great of time analyzing life and Life Seasons daily. I’m constantly searching for a deeper meaning. Sometimes it gets me in trouble, particularly when helping people, thinking that my service is a calling when it ends up becoming a curse.

Obviously, as an African American, I have been doing a lot of self-soul-searching and searching the soul of America, and the world. …The Joe Biden way. I’ve examined myself, friends, family strangers, and “leaders” to draw my own conclusions. I also do quite a bit of research to support my conclusions. I compliment my understanding with my spirituality, fortified through regular prayer and meditation. It is the best that I can do. I may still not always obtain the truth, but at least I don’t take any dish served to me without interrogation.

In this post, I thoughtfully examine why we are in Revolution 2020, right now. I’ll get all introspective with it too.

I have listed all of the ingredients that I believe contribute to today’s outrage. Some of my findings are strictly opinionated. But most are supported by fact and commonly accepted morals and beliefs. Common sense enters the room too in this evaluation.

I find that the fixings that created such an unprecedented outrage around the world were the perfect components for creating the toxic soup in which we now boil.

The New Orleans in me led me to see this recipe for Revolution 2020 as a metaphor for the ingredients that go into the perfect pot of New Orleans Creole gumbo. I included a reliable recipe at the end of this post. Remember, I am a New Orleans River Rat. I grew up 2 blocks from the river Tchoupitoulas Street
Tchoupitoulas Pronunciation

Photo - Leftover Turkey Gumbo - Amy In The Kitchen
Photo – Leftover Turkey Gumbo – Amy In The Kitchen

Like gumbo, adding only the right ingredients, letting them stew for hours, makes it pop.

America and the rest of the world have been stewing too, in a boiling pot of disparity, racism, and disregard for humanity. Adding George Floyd’s killing to the pot of other ingredients is now making this rebellion gumbo boil over.

“Revolution 2020 is an appropriate name because it is in this year 2020 that the world’s vision of humanity will become crystal clear to everyone”. – Kevy

Continue reading “Revolution 2020 – Ingredients For A Savory Pot of Rebellion Gumbo – 10 Key Ingredients For Today’s Boiling Pot Revolution”

Calling All New Orleanians – It Is Gumbo Season! – Filé Gumbo Is In The Air

“Humility is the solid foundation of all virtues.” – Confucius

Just as in Thanksgiving kicking off the mirliton season, the Christmas holidays kick off the gumbo season in New Orleans, especially for Black Creole families.

Mirliton is also referred to as chayote squash.  It is a summer squash that has a taste of melon and pecan.  During the holidays traditional creole families half, boil, scrape the fiber out of the shell, thensauté it with onion, garlic, bell pepper, celery, parsley, and spices, then adding Italian breadcrumbs, ham, and shrimp.  We then stuff the mixture into the hollow mirliton shells and bake, topped with butter.  This is very delicious and one of my all-time favorite Creole dishes.  

Gumbo is New Orleans’ most popular dish.  This is a traditional meal all over the state of Louisiana but is especially popular among black families, especially roles.  The ingredients may vary from family to family, neighborhood to neighborhood, and in various parts of the state.  But we do tend to agree that either the gumbo is going to be filé Gumbo or Okra Gumbo.

Filé Gumbo is thickened by filé (dried and ground sassafras leaves) and pan-roasted flour, called a roux.  Okra Gumbo is more popular among roles.  It obviously contains okra, tomatoes, ham, shrimp, and crab, but typically does not contain the variety of ingredients that file gumbo does.

Gumbo is New Orleans’s melting pot dish.  The name is derived from a West African word for okra.  Filé comes from the Choctaw NativeAmerican Indians.  And roux is a much darker version of the French sauce base.

Continue reading “Calling All New Orleanians – It Is Gumbo Season! – Filé Gumbo Is In The Air”

Gumbo in the Air (Part 1)

May 19, 2018

“Humility is the solid foundation of all virtues.” – Confucius

Gumbo in the Air (Part 1) – In memory of my dear mother – 10/2/1918 – 5/14/2014

She and our close-knit family knew when the first cold draft blew through the floorboards of her historic home, gumbo season had arrived. Though a modest home, you could sense from the gallery-side rose garden that she kept, the hallway piano and furniture aligned with photos of grandchildren, to the floors clean enough to eat from, her home and family reigned supreme, even above herself. She delighted now in beginning to prepare the season’s first Creole file gumbo. With the opportunity for her to illuminate much brighter stolen from her as a domestic servant, she gladly surrendered to servitude to please everyone, especially her family. She had surrendered and accepted her humble station in life with pride.

Eunice had a hard life but somehow sustained through unimaginable challenges. Her Black Catholic faith gave her determination and kept her going. Having endured through the black plague as a child, the Great Depression, the birth of 11 children, the death of 2, as well as, marriage to my violent and alcoholic father, she proudly told her survival stories as family members attentively listened. With certainty this occurred as she worked on one of her many tedious seasonal projects, such as when preparing crayfish bisque, washing and changing curtains on her home’s 35 windows, and at gumbo time.

Though she led most work on these major undertakings, she made use of having such a large family, and carefully took advantage of the free labor, but only on simple tasks. Maybe tasks like peeling shrimp, but never deveining them. Chopping the ‘holy trinity’ seasoning (onion, celery, and bell pepper), but never browning the roux. There were details in this recipe that only she knew how to ‘do right’. As kids, she told us many times that if she wanted something ‘done right’ she’d do it her damn self. We would hear this line often, especially when we didn’t make our beds to perfection.

A feisty woman with passions for Catholic saints, especially for St. Anthony, ‘for he’s never failed her’, hard work, and her gumbo recipe. Though her determination seemed special, she was not the only one. Many humble New Orleans Creole women also felt the gumbo breeze of each season.

Before surrendering her passion for preparing gumbo to old age and frailty, she once again prepared this culinary delight to the attraction of her family, friends, and neighbors for weeks to come. She grew up during The Depression and told stories to us as she went through this methodical and lengthy process. At a vibrant 80 years young, she had prepared nearly 150 batches. I calculated it for she prepared gumbo only at Thanksgiving, Christmas, and perhaps on one additional special Sunday, say for a birthday or even for a funeral. …About 3-4 times a year. She started cooking at age 10. Now you do the math.

She actually started preparing the dish months in advance, storing ham bones, turkey parts, crabs, and shrimp in preparation for this day. She never bought the frozen seafood, no siree! She only used the fresh shrimp from the fisherman on the side of Claiborne Avenue, where most black mothers did bargain shopping at neighborhood meat, super, and dollar store markets. Sometimes when the timing synchronized, the Seafood man or ‘Okra Man’ rode through the impoverished Uptown neighborhood in an old pickup and parked it on a corner with his wares to sell. From his megaphone he shouted, “I got, Okra, Blue Crabs, Shrimp, and anything else gumbo, which is nearly everything, until Eunice and many black mothers sent their kids out to the street corner to get a pound of ‘this or that’.

She carefully pulled bite-sized meat from thawed carcasses and placed them in bowls, boiling the bones for broth. Shrimps and crabs were cleaned and prepared, but put in the fridge, for they were added last. She used to add oysters but stopped altogether because they could spoil the gumbo, not allowing her to freeze some for future Sunday dinner surprises. Frugality ran through her veins. She did not believe in waste. She knew how to stretch a dollar; she could ‘make it holla’ too.

We had limited tasks to perform, such as bringing items to her or cleaning up after her, and of course eating 2-3 bowls when ready. By the time Eunice brought all the preparation together, bowls covered the kitchen table and inside the fridge. With the ‘trinity’, seafood, chopped meats, sausages, broths all prepped, she stood over the stove with a cup of all-purpose flour in her hand aimed and ready to start the roux.

As the roux browned everyone took a bit of a breather, namely her. We all knew that after the roux, broth, spices, and other ingredients were combined, the gumbo would make itself, and only required stirring and an attentive eye on the stove. We could not mistake the nutty smell of roux browning to the color of perfection. That smell signaled to me, and the rest of the household, that we could go out and play. To her, it called her to the next domestic chore, likely already in the making. She would say, ‘a man can work from sun to sun, but a woman’s work is never done.’ Her work never seemed to end.

Continue reading “Gumbo in the Air (Part 1)”