Chicken Soup for the Blogger's Soul

Recently I heard from a blogger that had disappeared from the scene for sometime. This was someone I had linked to, but after noticing the page hadn’t been updated for some months, I eliminated it from list of ‘Goodies’ that you see to the right. Thankfully, the blogger has returned and I’m offering a hearty ‘welcome back.’

This writer’s resurfacing on the blogosphere has caused me to peruse my blogging list a bit. It saddens me to learn that quite a few of my virtual peers have either eliminated their blogs, or not updated in so long that they might as well. I won’t mention any names, but I will say that I miss reading about their issues, whether it be paying off a car note, living frugally, balancing a fitness routine with motherhood , adventures in France, blurbs about Battlestar Galactica or any juicy tales they might want to share. (If any of this sounds familiar, I might be talking about you!)

Now, it is not my intention to criticize or embarass anyone, especially since it’s well known that I go through periods of blogger malaise. There have been times when the last thing I wanted to do was blog. There have been times where I’ve considered shutting the blog down completely. But, here are a few things that keep me blogging:

-Growth. I like to look back on some of my experiences and be thankful that I survived. And alot of my issues weren't that serious anyway.

-Outlet. Writing is a good target for my rage. Whether I’m writing on the blog or elsewhere, it is one thing that keeps me from killing someone.

-Discipline. Yes, I’ve had my absences from the blogosphere a time or two. But I’m glad to have great blogging friends who send me firm reminders when I haven’t posted in awhile.

-Humor. I’ve always wondered if there are other people out there aside from my mother who think I’m funny. Now I know that there are at least two of you. =)

-Anonymity. Some of you know me, but for those who don’t, I like to imagine I’m shielded behind an iron curtain that allows me to say whatever I want. That’s what I’d like to think anyway.

And for my absentee bloggers, please read this article and know that you are not alone. But you should also know that S/C/W is out here missing you.

Photo from https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHN4cPojJgvFnh3kShVTFdz9B1nUfKBM_J2pOHQjNj3By6cKN0ayC7BH9zWjME1L2LUhgZXlLmbDcTeArSK0blFqmjrswV8P7ql9fO4-bbT0ifKEXFJm_eMLrXbm9HonSx-7KnoA/s1600/chicken_soup.jpg

The Sunday Spin ('Whereever you go, no matter what the weather, always bring your own sunshine')**

1. It's been so long since I've written a Sunday Spin I've nearly forgotten how to do it

2. If I remember correctly, the purpose is to summarize my happenings in seven brief bullet points

3. And now that I've thrown away two items, I guess now I can mention what a nice relaxing weekend I had

4. I didn't have to work my second job, so that was a plus. I had dinner and drinks with a good friend.

5. We went to a pizza parlor we'd never heard of before and while the pizza was DELICIOUS, we suspect the waitresses were also part of a brothel.

6. But Bambi gave us free wine and free dessert, so who was gonna argue with that?

7. In my efforts to get back into a regular blogging routine, I realize how many blogging heads have done away with their blogs and that makes me sad. Be prepared for me to call you out soon in an upcoming post!

Have a great week everybody!

**Quote from Anthony J. D'Angelo, via Twitter

Hey, Mr (Computer) Man, there's something wrong with my line ....

(week 1)

Dear Dan The Computer Man:

I appreciate all the rearranging you've done to my work area and giving me a new computer monitor. With all the cutbacks at the company, I'm glad you were able to fit my technical needs into your additional tasks of custodian/payroll supervisor/carpenter. When I saw you leveling that desk the other day, you were less than pleased when I told you about my blank computer screen. Nevertheless, I'm glad you got to it.

That being said, you should know that I keep a variety of items at my desk as a source of inspiration. That Method Man picture you saw, taped to the bottom of my screen? Yeah, I'mmma need that back. There is nothing like a gorgeous, thuggish man staring at me with those possessed eyes, silently encouraging me to represent Wu. Yes, I know he wouldn't want me in all my natural glory, but let me have my fantasy. I'll patiently await my picture to be returned.

Best,

Strength

(week 2)

Dear Dan The Computer Man:

First off, I want to apologize for interrupting you while you were plunging that toilet. Apparently, the unisex bathroom isn't enough for us anymore. And poor you, having to fill in for Craig n dem who rolled out on the company earlier this month. I mean, he could've at least left a uniform behind for you to wear. You look so out of place in your suit and tie, fiercely wielding a plunger.

So it breaks my heart to have to share another computer problem with you. I'm not able to retrieve pertinent documents from my hard drive. Now, I can understand the confusion. When you saw a document saved as 'FUCK YA'LL', you probably thought it was nonsense. Actually, that 12-page document is my letter of resignation. Whenever the Powers That Be give me unneeded stress, I whip out this treaty and add to it. When I leave this company, I want them to know each and every reason for my departure. At least count, I reached reason #274. Please locate my document so I can add reasons #275-#312. Yes, it's been that kind of week. I'll wait for you to work your magic.

Peace and blessings,

Strength

(week 3)

Hey Dan:

Fine, I'll stop calling you at home. But what else am I supposed to do when you don't return my emails or work IMs? I know I scared you when I was sitting at your desk yesterday morning, but desperate times call for desperate measures. If you hadn't called security on me, I would've explained this.

Anyway, my latest computer problem is with my music. In the nearly six years I've been here, I've taken the time to load inspirational music onto my computer. But ever since you did your extreme makeover, I can't find any of my old tunes. I'm a woman who needs to be fed with copious amounts of Eminem/Jay-Z/Me'shell N'degeoHoweverYouSpellIt/Amel Larrieux. And I'm talking DAILY. If I seemed especially aggressive, that was because I didn't get my dose of 'Dead Nigga Boulevard' or 'Way I Am' or 'Kill You.' These are my lullabyes. Once the security guards let me go, I hope to return to a musical computer.

Thanks,

Strength

(week 4)

Hi Dan:

Fine, leave if you want to. You should know that the rumor mill is blazing with tales of your departure. Did you really just erupt when you learned that my latest computer monitor had failed me, and you'd have to get me another one? Did you really storm out of the building shrieking 'FUCK YA'LL!!'? If so, that's copyright infringement, and I hope my check is in the mail.

You'll be happy to know that your replacement is handling my needs. Leo is not disturbed by my bobbleheads, or my Avenging Unicorns. He also has the same musical interests as me. Just the other night at karaoke, we entertained the audience with our duet of 'Renegade.' He did Jay-Z's verses, and I did Eminem's. It was a great time. But I do believe I scared the audience when I jumped up on the table and shrieked 'What did I do (huh)/I'm just a kid from the gutter/makin this butter off these bloodsuckers/cuz I'm a muh'fuckin RENEGADE.' I can't begin to emphasize the sexiness of a man who is strong enough to carry his drunken/deranged colleague off the table, yet gentle enough to hand her another beer and tell her to get back on that stage. I do believe I'm in love.

Anyway, it was great working with you Dan. I heard that a going away party is being planned. Expect Leo and I to be there, carrying microphones and a karaoke machine.

Best wishes,

MC Strength

(Photo from www.digitaljournal.com/img/5/6/48/9/8/i/4/6/2/o/love.jpg

My 5th Blog Day!!!

Poems for a Thursday

I once said I'd start reading more poetry. And now that I've started, I'm also sharing. I didn't write any of these, so follow the links to read the poems in their entirety.

In the old age black was not counted fair,
Or if it were it bore not beauty's name:
But now is black beauty's successive heir,
And beauty slandered with a bastard shame

every woman before or after you
is doused in your name
you fill his mouth
his teeth ache with memory of taste
his body just a long shadow seeking yours
but you are always too intense
frightening in the way you want him


you get yours
and i'll get mine
if i learn
to sit and wait
you got yours
i want mine
and i'm gonna get it
cause i gotta get it
cause i need to get it
if i learn how

Is it my turn to hold you by your hands
Tell you I love you and you hear me
Is it my turn to totally understand
To watch you walk out of my life
And not do a damn thing

Photo from http://www.nathanielturner.com/images/New_Folder/360cover.jpg

My First Wedding

There was a time when I was terribly young and terribly cute, which meant I wanted to be neither. My mother liked to put me in frilly dresses, despite the fact that I lived in an all boy environment, which meant that I needed to dig up worms and play with GIJoes in order to get any street cred. She fought as hard as she could, putting me in ballet, tap and even baton lessons, while I was content to sit in my Wranglers and watch Dukes of Hazzard with my cousins.

In one of these battles for girlishness, I became a flower girl. The Bride and Groom were were more like a surrogate aunt and uncle. She was a petite, perky professional cheerleader with gorgeous high cheekbones. He was a handsome weatherman and we all liked to brag that we knew him whenever he was on television. I wasn’t happy on their wedding day, because I was suffocating in layers and layers of flowers and frilly misery. The only thing I remember about the wedding was the Bride telling me I looked nice. When I frowned, she said “you might as well get used to it, because people are gonna tell you that all day.”

Fast forward many decades and mom and I moved away. I grew up and even though I was not a so-called Girly Girl, I was not the militant tomboy I once was. I decided to attend college in another state and dabble in journalism. I liked my first class, but I was concerned about my professor and the way I’d catch him eyeing me. Then he’d interrupt my class questions with inquiries of his own, like “where are you from, originally?” Eventually, he stopped me before class and revealed himself as The Weatherman aka The Groom that I’d known so many years before. He and The Bride were doing well, had two young boys and lived in a suburb near the college.

I transferred to another college, but The Groom and his family became active participants in my life. We both were involved in the same professional organization, and I’d see the Bride and Groom at various summer getaways that the organization hosted. And if I didn’t run into them, they were sure to find me. I was young and naïve back then, so I was grateful to have The Groom’s career advice and The Bride’s efforts to steer me away from the Dirty Old Men that tended to dwell at these affairs.

Life went on, and my pockets started to thin. I could no longer afford these getaways around the country, but I’d always drop a note to the Bride and Groom come summertime. There was an event in California that I couldn’t attend, and neither could they. The Groom explained that it was because the Bride had been diagnosed with breast cancer and was undergoing treatments. He mentioned this in his normal upbeat way and I said I’d keep them in my prayers.

That was the last time we spoke. The organization’s summer event seems like it could be in my financial future this year, so I looked forward to catching up to the Bride and Groom and their kids. I was on Facebook the other night and saw that an aunt seemed to be thinking about them as well and posted several 1980s era pictures of the happy couple. I clicked on a particularly stunning picture of The Bride, one where her cheekbones were at their finest, and saw several comments of “rest in peace” and “my deepest condolences.” Online investigator that I am, I learned that The Bride was undergoing brain surgery to remove tumors that were a result of the cancer when she suddenly died.

To say that I am sad about it would be the understatement of the year. But sometime soon I’ll get it together enough to send my own condolences and figure out the funeral arrangements. Then maybe, just maybe, I will go to the summertime getaway and remember the good ole days.

Don't Ask My Neighbor

I was going to the gym in the cover of darkness when I hear this whisper, “Strength, can I talk to you for a minute?” It was my buddy Jen, my exercise partner in crime. We talk all the time, but this time I was concerned about the cryptic nature of our conversation. Did she want to sell me drugs? If so, was she giving me a good deal? But then she pulled me aside and asked me if I was seeing anyone. Then she told me that someone at the gym is interested in me.



And this where I get into what is becoming a pet peeve of mine. If you are interested in me, could you let me know? Don’t leave notes on my desk and don’t send a third party. That was good and fine in high school, but that is a time I put behind me long ago. When I’m approached this way it makes me uncomfortable for a number of reasons, including the fact that I now have this third party involved in aspects of my life that I’d rather not put him/her.



At first, I thought Jen was sent just to test the waters, to see if I was in a relationship, and then this guy would approach me himself. But no. Jen identifed the guy to me, then asked for my number to pass it to him. Odd. And the guy in question is someone I’ve seen quite often at the gym and we’ve had several face to face conversations, so he is not a complete stranger. But no, I’m not interested. So now I have to find a polite way to tell Jen that I’m in a deep sleep having my little dreams, this guy's face is not the one that hovers above me even in my most absurd fantasies. And trust, dude is MUCH too old to be playing the he say/she say phone number game. The fact that he reminds me of my uncle doesn't help, especially since there's a possibility that he could even be a distant relative. I hemmed and I hawed, then I just told Jen something about how I'm just taking a break from men and therefore I'm not going to give him my phone number.

She said she understood and planned to pass that message on to him. And who do I see as I'm leaving the gym? Dude. We spoke and that was it. I told some folks about the situation and they said dude did that because I'm intimidating. Seriously? Interesting. Anyway, it made me think of this old school song. I hope you enjoy it!

The DNA Detective

Growing up I always looked forward to those times when Grandpop would visit. He always watched the Muppets with me and enjoyed playing with my pet parakeets. He often told me about the parakeet he once had – Pretty Boy – and how he was so well trained that he was allowed to roam freely around the house. His life was a mystery. I knew he was an amazing piano player, but I didn’t know why nobody in the family took up lessons from him. He and my grandma married and had five kids together, but I didn’t know why he lived on one end of town and he on another, and both had significant others.

Of course, kids can’t ask these kinds of things without being brushed off or being told to stop being grown. So I just relied on my instincts to piece things together. Grandma never cracked a smile when he was around. My mom treated him as politely as she would any guest. My aunts and uncle smirked whenever he told one of his stories. And then my older cousin – who often played the role of Evil Older Brother in my life – told me that no one liked Grandpop and that half of the stories he told were lies. I told him to shut up, which was pretty much all I had to say to him in those days.

Years went by and I saw Grandpop less and less. When I did see him, he was the same happy man, just smaller and older. It was easier to distinguish his tall tales from the truth. The whisperings among my mom’s siblings got louder. I concluded that Grandpop had a way with the ladies. He left a trail of broken hearts, and in some cases, he also left babies.

So, I wasn’t surprised when my aunt got a phone call alerting her to an adult brother who lives down south. She confronted Grandpop, who admitted this guy was his son. Then auntie noticed a picture of a young woman with our trademark nose. Grandpop reluctantly admitted that was her sister. She stormed off. Another cousin visited Grandpop and he was in full confession mode, with his version of the truth. From that, we learned that there is another daughter in the Midwest.

And now the plot thickens. There are three camps. Camp A is through with Grandpa and his rollin’ stone ways. Camp B doesn’t see how this is different from anything else he’s done and learning about these other siblings doesn’t take them by surprise. And then there’s me and the next generation who are in Camp C. We’d like to know how many other children there are, their ages (new uncle is only four years older than me) and their current location. I’m tempted to go over to Grandpop’s with a map and have him tell me all the places he visited. I will dispatch all of my cousins to each location and have them be on the lookout for anyone who could be family. I’m trying to prevent incest before it happens. That is not a good look for the 21st century.

She's Baaaack

I mentioned before how I’d been avoiding my good friend “Sheila”, because all of our outings tend to revolve around me sitting in on various kid-friendly events. Yes it may sound cruel from the outside, but picture yourself as a single, 30 something eager to spend time with a friend who only invites you to Chuck E Cheese and kindergarten singalongs. This was not a good look for me in the 21st century.

While I didn’t let go of our friendship, but I scaled it back to ‘see as needed’ levels. I must admit, the last time we hung out, she made every attempt to make things adult. We decided to go to dinner, so she picked me up. Somehow, our plans evolved into going to a restaurant where her friend was having a “party.” It was in this restaurant’s tiny room where I endured 67 minutes of the most boring, foodless pyramid scheme I had ever endured. My stomach growled so loud that it sounded like a cell phone with a dying battery. When they finally unveiled the food, it was a bunch of teeny-tiny appetizers, not even enough to feed everyone who gathered there. I remember leaving there a bitter, hungry wretch, then racing home to eat everything in sight.

Sheila and I exchanged a few halfhearted emails and texts after that. I’ve been keeping up with her from a distance. Her older child – the attitudinal daughter – has gone off to college. Her younger son – my road dog, who has the best dimples I’ve ever seen – is in all sorts of activities and is often on the honor roll. And this week I had the pleasure of receiving a message from her, inviting me to her birthday party next month. I hope her definition of “party” has changed since the last time we hung out. **FINGERS CROSSED**

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Catching Up 2011

Happy new year! I, for one, am happy to give 2010 a big ole kiss goodbye. The year started out wonderfully, then it got a little bad, then it got ugly, and then things started to turn around. So its onward and upward for 2011, and I’m looking forward to it. Here’s a few things that have been going on.

-Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner? My new uncle, that’s who. It’s never been a secret that my granddaddy got around (my grandparents’ marriage was null and void a loooong time ago), and there were rumors of other children circulating for YEARS. So some of us weren’t so surprised when my auntie got a call saying she had an adult brother living in another state who would like to meet the family and get to know us. Said uncle is about four years older than me. Gramps, you got some ‘splaining to do.

-Whip My Hair Back and Forth. In 2010, I decided I needed to make a few changes in my life. One of those changes was getting rid of my locs. I sat in my aunt/hairdresser/therapist’s chair and watched with dry eyes as she cut off my nearly butt length hair. I kept going back repeatedly as she combed and conditioned then press n curled me into someone I hadn’t seen in about five years. I was calm as I placed one of my locs in a plastic baggie and inserted it into my diary. My resolve started to break as I tried to get back in the routine of maintaining my own hair. I did NOT miss the burnt smell of curling irons and flat irons, constantly freaking out every time it rains and keeping a ponytail holder nearby in case of emergencies. Then there was a day I was sitting at my desk listening to Bob Marley’s ‘Buffalo Soldier’ and I ran to the bathroom in tears. Oh, how I miss my dreads.

-Hey, Young World. Because 2010 has been so challenging for me, I decided to relaign the universe by making it better for other people. Well, just my younger cousin. I mentioned before how I wanted to fix him up with a girl at my gym. I eventually told him about her, but I was worried about how he would react. I imagined a variety of responses: “Stay outta my business.” “Why should I trust you?” “Does she have a big booty?” But he gave me a simple, three word answer. “Hook it up.” I worked my magic, did a little Facebook picture exchange and now they are flirting in the social networking realm. I hope they name their first child after me.

-Goals. I don’t have any New Year’s traditions, but writer Tayari Jones gave me a cool idea. So I took a sheet of paper and listed 10 things from 2010 that I’m letting out of my life, and 10 things that I’m letting in for 2011. Some of the left behinds include self doubt, depressing people and negative thoughts. I’m trading those in for an effort to surround myself with positive people, running a 5K, re-commit to guitar, and completion of novel #2.

That’s about it. I wish you a well 2011. I hope to return to a more normal blogging schedule very soon.

Standing on top of the mountain

I've been thinking about my grandmother alot lately. She died when I was in seventh grade, but my family often talks about her whenever we get together. I've spent the last month constantly visiting my aunt/hairdresser/therapist as I began my journey of getting my dreadlocks out. (Yeah, I did it, more on that in another post) We shared lots of stories about my grandmom. She was a sweet woman who didn't like to hug and kiss. If you tried to offer either one to her, she'd laugh and say "Go'on girl!"

Through my aforementioned AHT, I learned some stories about her that I didn't know. Grandmom was a woman who had simple needs, like listening to the Phillies' play on her very old decrepit radio. Around Christmas or birthday time, she'd tell you what she wanted. If you got her something not on the list -- say a nicer radio -- she would scream "Oh girl, What'd you get me this stupid thing for?? I don't need this!" But there were some gifts she treasured, like when she got her first nice winter coat from another aunt, or that time she cried (a rare occasion) when she was given her first rocking chair, one that I'll always picture her in. My AHT told me about a time when she was a teenager and learned that one of her friends had been murdered. She plopped her big ole self in Grandmom's lap and cried and cried as Grandmom just held her and rocked her in that chair.

So I was at TJ Maxx awhile ago searching for Christmas gifts. I reached for a book about being thrifty at the same time as an older black woman. I mentioned that this would be perfect for my stepdad, since he's the cheapest person I know. The woman perked up and told me that she was cheap too, and that she learned all of her money saving skills from her mother in law, who she is in the process of writing a book about.

We stood in that aisle, and she told me that everyone calls her Mama Bee. She is a cancer survivor, lost her job a few years ago and had to start all over. She's in her 70s now and is studying all kinds of things, including martial arts. I gave her my business card and she was in shock, because she realized my last name is very similar to her maiden name. She was filled with great one liners, I wish I had a pen and paper to write down everything she said during our conversation. She mentioned how her husband lives with his girlfriend now, and was having children with his girlfriend at the same time as she was giving birth to his kids. She said she's moved past it, and has a good relationship with her husband's other children. When I asked her if this scenario doesn't bother her, she gave me this ancient proverb: "Sit by a river long enough, and eventually you'll see your enemies floating by."

We were talking forever, and when I told her it was time to go, she told me I was an inspiration. that was weird, since she was the one who had been doing all of the talking. I told her I was 33 when she asked and she said that it was clear I lived a good life. "Whatever you're going through, you're handling it well. You don't have any frown lines, or any worry lines. You're standing on top of the mountain, and I want you to keep doing that." I almost cried, because that was exactly what I needed to hear. Thanks, Mama Bee. And thanks, grandmom.

Firsts: Twootles vs Uncle Charlie

(To break me out of my occasional writer’s block, I’m creating a series of posts called Firsts. This is where I’ll explore various Firsts in my life. In today’s Firsts, I’ll talk about my first death)

I learned about death through a parakeet and my uncle. I grieved the passing of one, and was morbidly fascinated with that of another. I’ll explain.

Up until I was 9, I lived in my grandmother’s house with her, my mother and my aunt. I never thought about the benefits of an all-girl household until Uncle Charlie moved in and changed everything. Uncle Charlie was grandmom’s brother and he was the oldest person I ever saw. He was everything I thought about old people – bald, wrinkled, gray – wrapped up in a pair of dingy white pajamas. His health was failing, so he came to live with us. He took over grandmom’s room and she slept elsewhere, if she even slept at all. All I remember is her spending every waking minute taking care of him.

Well, I couldn’t stand Uncle Charlie. Before he came, grandmom’s moth-scented bedroom was my personal haven. It was where I went to watch Three’s Company, while everyone else watched Sanford and Son. It was where I toyed with her dentures and, because I just started to read and barely had any books of my own, I’d read her collection of Our Daily Breads.

Uncle Charlie turned her room into a hospital, with his medicine bottles everywhere. He never smiled, never spoke. He was satisfied just to lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. A few times, I tickled his feet and he didn’t budge. Then I heard him whisper to grandmom what I’d been doing and that he’d smack me if I ever did that again. I was banished from the room, forced to listen to his hacking coughs and vomit from outside a closed door. That was just fine by me. But I missed Three’s Company.

Eventually, Uncle Charlie died, right there in grandmom’s bed. I don’t know who was more upset, my grandmom – this was one of the few times I remember her crying – or my aunt, who became a screaming fit after discovering his body. I didn’t know much about death then, but I was morbidly curious. My older cousin, aka My Tormentor, once told me that dead people had worms coming out of their noses. He also said that once you die, your arms and legs stretch out so long that you become a giant. I tried to sneak a peak of his body, but nobody would let that happen. And my aunt, scared to her core, never went inside grandmom’s bedroom again. (With the exception of the times my mom tried to push her in)

Fast forward a year or two and my dad bought me a parakeet, which I named Twootles. It was the typical Your Mom and I Are Finished And Getting You A Pet Will Really Piss Her Off So Here You Go gift, but I loved Twootles anyway. The pet store people told me he was a parakeet, but he was light yellow and everyone always asked if he were a canary. I was determined to teach him to talk, so I’d spend evenings next to the cage enunciating “hello.” He tried, but he just didn’t get it.

Twootles started getting sick. He’d ruffle his feathers and march back and forth on his bar like a crazy bird. Then one day, I lifted the towel off of his cage and found Twootles on the bottom. He was on his back, tiny clawed feet in the air, sprawled out on the funny papers that held his excrement.

Oh, I screamed and screamed. Hot tears fell from my face and I screamed at the injustice of it all. Mom comforted me as best she could, but that was a distant memory when I ran into my older cousin, aka The Tormentor. He pointed at me and screamed – “THAT’S WHY YOUR BIRD KICKED THE BUCKET!” – and my grieving process started all over again.

I became depressed. My schoolwork started to suffer. When my teacher asked me what was wrong, I told her about Twootles. She sent me to the priest, who told me that when animals and people die, there’s something beautiful inside them that starts to grow. Or something like that. I don’t remember what he said, but I do know they cheered me up. Later, my mom told me she contacted the pet store and learned that Twootles had a breathing problem. Because we had his cage by the window, that aggravated it, leading to his death.

Eventually, I got over it. But for years, whenever we drove past that pet shop, I’d scream that they were liars and thieves. I can hold a grudge, so I kept this up for years. Even now that the store is closed down and another business is in its place, I have to catch myself from raising my fist and shouting about my injustice.

Photo from http://www.parakeets.net/PARAKEET-YELLOW.jpg

The Spin (**The Devil want me as is/But God/He want more)

1. This weekend was too busy to even recap

2. Let’s just say I got my hair done

3. Went to an 80s party, where I was ooohed and aahhhed in my one-shouldered, waist-tied New Edition tshirt, leggings and scrunchie on my wrist

4. Then I got my hair done again

5. I also went to a friend’s church for a singles ministry she started. That was actually a lot of fun

6. And then I got my hair done again

7. At this point, you might be wondering why I was getting my hair done three different times (and I’m still not done!!) in such a short period of time. More on that later.

Until then… have a good week everybody!

(**Lyrics from The Roots’ ‘Walk Alone’)

For Colored Girls Who Considered Janet's Cough When The Credits Started To Roll

I mentioned previously that I saw For Colored Girls. And rather than join into the neverending debate about all things Tyler Perry, I thought I’d talk about one of the parts that stuck with me. Janet Jackson plays a woman with a … dare I say it??? ….. FOINE as all get out husband. Her character is a cold, wealthy careerwoman. Her husband also has a successful career, but it pales in comparison to the prestige and money of his wife’s. Oh, and by the way, her husband is on the Down Low, or gay, has sex with men, etc. This is later addressed by a cough, a low point in the movie.

The scenario had me thinking back to the past. There was a dude I was once involved in that I believe si gay. When our paths first crossed, we were volunteering for a similar organization. My immediate thoughts of him were -- “He’s cute. It’s a shame he’s gay.” I don’t know what it was … maybe the vibe he emitted or the slightly high tilt in his voice …. But something knocked at my conscience’s door. I didn’t listen.

Fast forward some time and that initial thought was erased. He asked me out, and I was on the moon. He held my hand and I had to tame my heartbeat. He kissed me and I danced a jig. (I did it later and privately, of course) Then he kissed me again. And again. And again. And again. And soon, I began to think: Well hell, is kissing all we’re gonna do?

I addressed all of this with him, and he said he was just waiting for the right time. He wanted things to happen naturally. I said I understood, but still I wondered. What’s more natural than the fact that I’ve slept beside you? But whatever, I put it out of my mind. For awhile, it was nice to be with someone who only wanted one thing. My nose was wide open. He could do no wrong.

We went out pretty regularly – dinners, plays, outdoor festivals, etc. There was a time I was at his parents’ house for a cookout and his childhood friend, D, showed up. I was eager to meet D, because I heard so much about him. But when dude introudced me to D, he did so rather reluctantly. I remember thinking – “awww, that’s sweet, he doesn’t want D to interrupt our time together.” Looking back, I think I may have been the interrupter.

Things ended and I was pretty broken up about it. But I moved on, cause ain’t nobody gonna walk away with all my stuff. (Again, a For Colored Girls reference) Once, after he became a distant memory, I had lunch with a friend who started a new job, the same place Dude worked. Without knowing much of our history, she told me she suspected he was gay. I changed the subject.

After I saw For Colored Girls, I wondered about Dude. I wondered if everything was alright in his world, and if he had gotten comfortable enough to live his life as a gay man. I found him online, and saw that he is still identifying himself as a heterosexual. Well, maybe he is. But the truth is for him to know, and for some other woman to find out.

The Spin (** “A (writer) is somebody who has got to be out of his or her mind”)

1. I’d apologize for not posting in awhile, but that would give the impression that it won’t happen again

2. And no matter how hard I try, I can’t promise that

3. The next few weeks will be pretty busy, including an 80s party, a writer’s workshop and turning in my thesis (guess which of these activities I’ll enjoy the least??)

4. I got to see a free screening of For Colored Girls, where I remain riveted by Janet Jackson’s cough (insider for anyone who’s seen it)

5. The movie had some powerful parts and inspired me to read the book

6. I’m continuing to make revisions to my novel in progress. There’s a character that I really love, that really cracks me up

7. Too bad I’m gonna have to kill her.

Have a good week everybody

**Quote from Sonia Sanchez. She actually said “A poet is somebody who has got to be out out of his or her mind”

Pretty Girl Swag

I’m slowly but surely getting out of the funk that has plagued me for quite sometime. One of the things that has helped me get through it is just thinking about things that make me laugh or smile.

Whenever my mind turns to the dreaded subject of XXXX, I fight it with all might. I whip out my Happy Arsenal, which contains the lyrics to Willow Smith’s ‘Whip My Hair’, the screams of a relative who was prancing around her home naked when a maintenance man walked in, and images of my friend’s 2-year-old daughter placing a maxi pad in her diaper. ( True story, the child does everything her mama does. Thankfully there were no tampons around)

I’m always looking for new things to put in my Happy Arsenal. I think I found the perfect addition recently when I was flipping through the newspaper. This ran as a letter to the editor:

‘You’re pretty’
Recently I was assured that there are beautiful people in our world.
I was at Trader Joe’s, sitting near the exit door waiting for my daughter to complete her shopping. Many people passed by – some smiling, some deep in thought or talking to friends and family members.
A young woman with her three children approached the exit. One was a little girl about 8 or 9 years of age. I smiled at her and asked how she was. She smiled back and then commented, “You’re pretty.”
Those two words were so precious to this 90-year-old grandma. Not the fact that she gave me a lovely compliment, but that she had the love in her heart to make someone feel good. I will never forget that moment and that little girl. She has lovely parents. May God bless her and her family.

- H.S.

We all could use a Happy Arsenal from time to time. Feel free to take anything of mine, until you can create your own.

(Photo from http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTICEPqMviHIQqSTLQSPVfh-m5J0MfHufQmVcwjYO4GEzKilso&t=1&h=158&w=236&usg=__0usf_nJuzvZHLahy1fqlJRZjTbY= )

Productive, That's Me

I've been off the last two days and I actually got a lot accomplished. I mean, I did get some extra sleep in and did my fair share of TV watching, but I will say I was more productive than I have been on past days off.

It all started Monday. I woke up and made it to my 6 a.m. spin class. Yes, I did that, on my day off. Serious dedication over here! I came home, showered and slept a little. Then I did some revisions on the new novel in progress. (Draft 5 is really making me pull my hair out) I watched an episode of Friday Night Lights and Curb Your Enthusiasm.

And just when I was beginning to feel like a real couch potato, I got up and went to the mall. Can I just tell you there's no greater joy than going to the mall when it's empty?? And by empty, I mean no teenagers!!! No screaming kids!!! No disgruntled moms pushing in curlers pushing strollers! I tried on some new clothes and found that my spin class is really paying off. Thank goodness I was alone in the fitting room, because someone would've called mental services on me if they heard me back there jumping for joy. Because these clothes were fitting right, I just had to buy them. Then I went to a store with various collectibles and found the first part of my mother's Christmas gift. That's three people I've gotten Christmas gifts for so far. I'm on a roll!

Today, I was up early because maintenance needed to get inside to check my filter and change my smoke detector batteries. While I was awake, I did laundry, more revisions to the NIP (Novel In Progress) and a quick clean up of the kitchen. Then, of course, I fit in Friday Night Lights and Curb Your Enthusiasm. I did all of this before I had to go to campus to meet with my professor for our 2 p.m. appointment.

And it was there, at that university that I love to hate, that I learned some good news. Dr. L was pleased with my latest revisions to my thesis. In fact, she said I put too much research into the introductory section and some of that material can be used in the 'findings' sections. So all that's left for me to do is my findings and methodology portions of the paper, which, combined, shouldn't be more than 10 pages. After that, I'll put in the last chapter of my research, which is literally novel #1. Overall, I still have work to do, but not as much as I anticipated.

It was with great pride that I went to the bursar's office and applied for graduation. Sure, it cost me $75 (gulp) and a run around campus on a humid day. But inside, I keep thinking .... 'THE END IS NIGH!!!' Which will soon lead to thoughts of 'Hmmm....what's next?'


Photo of Zora Neale Hurston from http://i218.photobucket.com/albums/cc275/thehousenextdoor/2008/TV%20Reviews/Zora%20Neale%20Hurston%20PBS%20Schenker/Zora1loc3.jpg

The Sunday Spin (**A woman is like a teabag. You never know how strong she is, until she gets in hot water.")

1. The weather was so beautiful this weekend that I couldn't possibly stay inside

2. I was so glad that I didn't have to spend it working at my part time job

3. I decided to get a jump on my Christmas shopping, so I went to an art gallery that is selling vintage posters through Nov. 1

4. There were a few posters I fell madly in love with, but they cost $450 *shakes fist*

5. Then I went to a museum that was doing it's last day of free admission, so you know I couldn't turn that down

6. And it's a good thing I didn't, because I wound up getting two Christmas gifts there

7. Well, I actually got three gifts, but I haven't decided if the third is a gift for me or someone else yet. Shrug.

Have a good week everybody!

(**Quote from a curator at the museum, 10/23/10)

The Second Time Around

I’ve never been one of those people who reads the same book twice. I go through it, I either enjoy it -- which means I’ll inflict it on my friends before going on my bookshelf -- or I hate it – which means I’m going to donate it to the library/give it away/sell to my local used bookstore. I rarely reread books. The most I’ll do is revisit an interesting chapter or scene, and that’s that. Sure, I have my favorite books, but they are usually books I’ve read ONCE.

My thesis researched has forced me to pick up an old favorite, Nathan McCall’s “Makes Me Wanna Holla.” It’s an autobiography where McCall talks about growing up in Portsmouth, Va, a prison stint, and eventually turning his life around to become a reporter at The Washingotn Post. I cited a chapter, “Native Son”, where he talks about how he read that novel when he was doing time. He related so much to Bigger Thomas that he cried when Bigger was sentenced to death.



It was such a good chapter that I started flipping through the book again. I remember being a teenager when I read it. Back then, I was so naïve that I thought one chapter – “Trains” – was going to be about his fascination for locomotives. (It’s soooo not) I couldn’t understand his trouble adjusting to the corporate world, and I was especially pleased with his confrontation with a coworker that caused the offending man to break down and cry.



Now that I read it again, I notice stuff like the book cover -- with its graffiti on the wall and the beat up chair he’s sitting on. I can easily relate to his workplace adjustment problems. He didn’t have the best taste in women, but sheesh, his life would’ve been easier if he treated them better.



Anyway, I’m not re-reading the whole book, just from the middle on. I like to revisit how he decided to change his life while in prison and how the outside world worked out for him. I learned from an old interview that there had been plans to turn this book into a movie. Nothing ever became of that, fortunately. I wouldn’t want to see a scaled-back/squeaky clean/hero gets the girl/Hollywood version of this story anyway. If you’ve never read this book, I highly recommend it.

Chaka Khan & Cleaning Out My Closet

I mentioned before that when times geet tough, I get in my bed. Well, the Sleep Olympics have launched in my bedroom again and I’m well in the midst of getting a gold medal. Lately, when my mind is heavy, and I’m stressed out about something I can’t control, I just hop into bed and hope that things will be better in the morning. It had worked in the past. I was able to get up early, get some writing done and get to work early, or right on time, which is quite a feat for me.

But things aren’t that way anymore. Yeah, I’ve been stressed, yeah I’ve had some stuff on my mind, and yeah I’ve been escaping it with my bed. All this sleep I’m getting, is just making me want to sleep more, not less, and there is no refreshment in sight. It is always my goal twice a week to wake up just before 5 a.m., work on my novel for about an hour or so, then start getting ready for work. (I spend the rest of the week at my 6 am spin class) Last night, I went to bed at 10 and still struggled to wake up at 7:30. Mind you, I’m supposed to be at work at 8. Sigh.

So I’ve been finding other ways to channel my energy, or lack thereof. Cleaning is a good counterpart to sleep. For the first time in my life, I have a vacuum cleaner that is actually worth something. It gives me so much joy that I have given it a name – Chaka Khan. Whenever I’m stressed, or my mind goes into the dark place, I just chant “Chaka Khan! Chaka Khan!” and I start vacuuming my woes away. It’s not just vacuuming that’s been keeping me sane. I recently dusted and rearranged my bookshelves. (If you knew how many books I had, you’d understand that this was quite a feat) I’ve also made a list of other cleaning projects to take on. Look out bedroom closet! I’m coming your way, bathroom cabinet! Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, computer desk!

With all of these tasks, my place should be SPOTLESS by the end of the year. That should keep me out of the bed for awhile. That’s what I hope anyway. If anyone has any other suggestions, please let me know. And hey, I might even be willing to load up Chaka Khan and clean your house.

Photo from http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:gtwsEnShXlaFOM:http://funkyou.squarespace.com/storage/CHAKA%20KHAN%20same%20LP.jpg?__SQUARESPACE_CACHEVERSION=1245726123364&t=1