Welcome to Wal-mart!! (and more winter wandering)

Christmas is about Jesus, the baby Jesus' birth to be exact. So why does everyone get into a tizzy shopping for gifts? Why did my daughter's day care teacher confront me about the lack of gifts given unto her by the parents?

I am not a gift giver. My gift to that day care is faithfully paying "tuition" once a week. Besides, I don't generally make a list of Christmas gifts to distribute to people I believe to have been good all year. I try to show appreciation throughout the year in small ways. And this is not the economy to drop blatant hints about gifts. Although she has since made another shameless plea.

It's all just too much. I'm not Scrooge and this isn't a bah humbug to you who enjoy the mayhem or those who plan ahead and make it through the season stress free. But, I just experienced a hellacious holiday shopping spree this weekend that reminded me of how pointless it all is.

I don't know what manner of fever possessed me to enter Wal-mart at high noon on the Saturday before Christmas, but I did. And I wasn't particularly searching for gifts. I was just perusing with my toddler, on a quest to find party favors for her upcoming birthday tea party. So we painstakingly narrowed down choices, then we browsed the toy aisles, the craft aisle...all the while she's chanting "I wan dowa, I wan dowa" [translation:"I want Dora"]

I'm taking deep cleansing breaths as I fight through the traffic jams on every row, barely able to view the merchandise over the back of someone's head. It was chaotic and uncomfortable to say the least.

Then the child's chant changed to "I got pee, I got peee, I got peeeeeee." Since she's a novice potty user, this chant always gets a prompt response. So we abruptly park our cart, that contained some carefully selected goods, and head into the restroom.

No more than 5 minutes later, I emerge to find the cart is missing. It is no where to be found. I confront a sales associate who assures me they are not collecting carts or moving them to the Go Backs area, then she asks me:
"Was it empty?"
No!

If it were empty I wouldn't give a (fill in the blank), but I just spent an hour navigating through this outer rim of hell with a 2-year-old in tow just to have my efforts swiped. Discouraged, we walked hand in hand through the store looking for our cart.
Had I seen it, I fully intended to grab the handle, throw my kid inside and roll away. (even if this meant elbowing some unsuspecting shopper out of my way) I suppose it's best I didn't find it.

We left the Wal-mart empty handed, feeling drained and defeated.
I suppose someone mistakenly pushed the cart away, adding his or her own personal selections atop my own. Maybe he or she didn't even realize it until he or she reached the register. I hope this unattentive person paid for some of that junk that was riding around in my cart to appease the toddler. The thought makes me feel some what vindicated.

Winter Wandering

The tree was released by a Husky bolt cutter courtesy of Home Depot. Yes I did it, and they helped. Especially, when they accepted the return the following day. I consider it a bolt cutter loan, that I paid back in full.

So my house began to look a lot like Christmas about a week ago on Sunday, Dec. 14. I calculated we could enjoy the tree at least 10 full days before the official holiday. That means it was worth the effort. But there was still something missing.

Looking at my tree didn't bring me tidings of comfort and joy. The white lights on a white cord were glaring and awkward. Why hadn't I noticed it before? I went to Walmart to get white lights on a green cord. That helped. Then, I realized I don't like half of my silver and gold ornaments anymore. Only half of them were worthy of the tree so I decorated just one side of the tree. I'll wait till the after-Christmas sales to get new and improved ornaments from the pricey places like Pier 1.

The tree pictured here is similar to mine. I'll take a picture later and update it.

Free the Tree

Christmas time is near.
I love this time of year!
..The nip in the air, the comforting foods, the glow of the tree. But wait! My tree isn't up yet! Traditionally, I prop this dominating figure up the day after Thanksgiving so that we can bask in its glory for at least a month.

But this year, the ritual has been delayed. First, by the fact that I was not geographically present. I was hundreds of miles away from home working on my mother's tree. And it is a fragrant fir - beautifully adorned with blue and silver ornaments.

My artificial, reusable tree; however, is in captivity at the moment. It's trapped in our shed. Much to my dismay, when I went out to recover it, I discovered that someone had closed the combination lock, which we deliberately leave open. The problem is, we don't know the combination. It was written on a piece of paper that is MIA. (This is why people do things like writing their PIN numbers on the back of their ATM cards)

I thought about just buying a real tree for this year, but when I got out there and saw the prices I kept thinking I already have a tree. I am NOT going to pay them $40.

So I've decided that today is the day. I'm on the web studying instructional videos about lock cracking. If I can't get it out, there may be a Charlie Brown tree at my house this year.

Pound Cake Withdrawal

I could sure go for a piece of pound cake right now. And not just any pound cake, my mother's homemade Sour Cream Pound Cake. Her mother taught her to make it and she passed the recipe down to me. In fact, during my primitive years I was the designated cake maker. You see we'd get requests, or orders, from family members for cakes. Not slices, mind you, but entire cakes. We'd make one for Granddaddy, one for Deb, Carrie, Mr. Steve, Auntie and so on. I'd spend hours mixing the batter for each one. I'd beat the wet ingredients first: butter, eggs, sour cream, vanilla. Then, I'd add the dry ones: flour, sugar. Me and the mixer would whip it good until the formula was just right. Ma would flour the pan and prep the other side dishes i.e. dressing, ham, collards.

Anyway, there is a reason people want an entire cake to themselves. It's irresistible - light, fluffy, moist and creamy all at the same time. I arrived in S. Florida on Wednesday night (Thanksgiving Eve) and started eating slices of that cake approximately every 4 to 6 hours, sometimes less. You'd think I was suffering from some ailment and was prescribed Sour Cream Pound cake as a remedy. That's just how diligent I was about eating it up until my departure Monday night.

I know it was wrong, I even know just how much sugar, butter and sour cream goes into each one, but it didn't matter. Who cares that I'd been torturing myself with sunrise workouts for the last month. It was all worth it. That cake is nostalgia in my mouth and satisfaction for my soul.

I can't remember when I'd had it last. I haven't been home for Thanksgiving since my first year of college. And a LOT has changed. My elementary school has been razed and replaced with a new massively modern structure. The mail carrier in the all black neighborhood where I was raised is Latino (and the neighborhood is following suit), the movie theatre has been replaced by a gigantic Kohl's department store, my baby cousins have babies now, Grandadddy, Auntie and numerous others are no longer here to celebrate Thanksgiving with us anymore or to place cake orders.

Even I've changed. I'm no longer a pensive coed, I'm a wife and mother now.
But the cake remains the same. Maybe that's why it was so good.

Me-cation

I am in the midst of my inaugural "me-cation". That's a term I've coined to represent taking extended time away from home just for the purpose of relaxing. As a wife and mother time alone is a luxury hardly seen. It doesn't happen without some planning. But it's worth the effort.

I began this weekend of self indulgence on Friday night. Dinner with a friend and girl time afterward at her place.
Saturday morning kicked off with time in the salon, and the shampoo girl had apparently eaten her Wheaties because she gave my hair a thorough scrubbing and my scalp felt brand new by the time she was done.

The next stop on my egotistic journey was a spa where I experienced a first. The masseuse was a man. How awkward to be so nude in front of a stranger of the opposite sex who is getting paid to feel you up! And I don't think this guy was gay so I was anxious to see how this would turn out. I got over the jitters the minute he applied pressure to my aching muscles, the way only a man's hands can. It was divine. From this day forth I will request a man for my massages.

Now, I'm sitting here in the plush bedding of a local Double Tree with a delightful Thai dinner digesting in my belly. I'm alone, free to read, sleep, blog, watch TV or even pick my nose without a soul to interrupt me.

Beyonce, you know I love you but...um...

Of course I bought the Beyonce album yesterday. And I have been trying to figure out how I feel about it ever since. I am a fan. I mean it. I think she is an awesome performer and find her existence quite inspirational.



Because:
1. If she can be fly with big hips and butt, then so can I
2. If she can work hard to get what she wants out of life, I can too.
3. Her songs are empowering and fun -
Irreplaceable:
Don't you ever for a second get to thinking, you're irreplaceable,
Single Ladies:
Now you wanna trip cause another brother noticed me. If you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it.

But this Sasha Fierce has me a bit flummoxed. I completely bought into the idea of having an alter ego and was excited about the double disc. I was, however, less than pleased to learn there are only 11 tracks on the album. To me the word double implies, well, that you're gonna get twice as much! Then media outlets keep reminding us that she acutally recorded about 70 songs, and had to prune them down for this album. Why? It's got two whole discs in the case, sprinkle some more of those songs on there!

Of course she will, just now right now. Give it a few months and there will be a repackaged, limited, extended, "special" edition with more songs (and a DVD) on the shelves. I understand, Beyonce. You have to do what you have to do, but you and Sasha won't get my money again I don't care how many bonus tracks you put on the next version. Wasting all those resources to put one album on two separate discs....

There is just something about him...

Living in Atlanta has short circuited my Gay-dar. When I moved here the gay population was so large and so flamboyant that I would need to be blindfolded to miss it. Then the Down Low lifestyle was revealed to mainstream media leaving me paranoid about every man I saw - from Joe the Plumer on up to celebrity icons. I started to believe all men were switch hitters.

(I think it's a good time to mention that it makes me no never mind what anyone's sexual preference is. I'll leave it up to our maker to judge that matter. Gay or straight, He made us all. )

But as I was saying, my over exposure followed by acute paranoia led to a sudden desensitization. It's to the point now that I have no awareness. Unless a man is over the top with his halter and eyeliner, I seem to miss the subtle clues. And here is why it matters.

I currently have a crush on a gay guy.

I am a married woman, but I do notice a good looking man. So this crush thing isn't going anywhere. But from time to time when a member of the opposite sex, dresses well, speaks well, smells nice and has a "mysterious" air about himself, I tend to notice. I admire those traits. So when my coworkers pointed out the man bag, immaculately groomed hair, and lavender polo being sported by my new found crush, I was left wondering once again: Why are so many gay men such good catches?

Random Acts of Kindness

Recently, I've been buying thank you cards. There was no particular reason other than I liked the cards, I find them on clearance and I believe in keeping some handy. There is nothing like a tangible expression of appreciation.

I think it's a lost art. Most of the time we tell a person "thanks" or send texts and emails, but a card is more lasting and permanent. While on jaunts to this store or that one, I began collecting the drastically marked down and overlooked cards.

I decided that I would personally revive the art of giving thanks and take the time to acknowledge the good deeds that come my way. The next time I had something to be thankful for, I'd be ready.

Then it happened. As if the universe was responding to my challenge, I was showered with random acts of kindness.

Act I
A coworker with a daughter just 6 months older than my own brings in two bags full of gently used hand me downs. These wintery items were right on time, since my toddler was rapidly outgrowing her 2Ts. The 3Ts she passed along are the perfect fit for her legs and this blustery season.

Act II
On Halloween my daughter's daycare had a Fall Festival. But my husband didn't drop her off early enough to enjoy the morning's outdoor activities i.e. bounce house, popcorn, cotton candy. By the time she got to class it was lunch time followed by naptime. Unfortunately, the parents assigned to bring party items neglected to do so. I was pained to think she would have no party activity, especially since she'd been anticipating it for two weeks. I left work, went to Wally World and picked up juice boxes, cupcakes, cookies and chips for their afternoon. Then Mimi the Bee, her honorary godmother ordered Pizza Hut and sent it to my baby's class. She saved the day and turned the 2A class into party central.

Act III
A coworker and I often speak about what we want to be when we grow up. We talk about dreams deferred or partially developed. I told Coworker about an article I read that explained the benefits of writing a bucket list or those things you wish to accomplish before death. Then out of the blue a package arrived at my home. It was the most thoughtful and appropriate gift I've received in a while. It was a Permission to Dream Journal complete with prompts and motivational quotes to help me outline my wildest dreams and plan out more practical goals. It's perfect.

Those thank you cards were put to good use.

Morning Glory

I'm developing a new habit. It's an addiction of sorts. And believe me, I never thought I would fall prey to this kind of activity, but it is so refreshing and exhilarating that I find myself wondering how I stayed away from it for so long.

I'm exercising!

It's not that I've never worked out before. In fact, I've been taking 30-minute walks on a daily basis since the spring. But now...now I'm getting up before the sun to head to a gym and do an hour of the unthinkable. I'm spinning. Let me explain. These spin classes are the most excruciating form of cardio that's been dreamed up to date. This is all in my opinion of course.

To spin, you perch on the narrow and rigid seat of a stationery bicycle and, then you spin the wheel by peddling ferociously. The best part is increasing the tension of the wheel at intervals dictated by the instructor. Turning that wheel to the right makes it more and more difficult to push those pedals in smooth rotations. For fun, the instructor asks you to simultaneously stand and pedal or jump up and down while pedaling. It's an adventure every time, these sixty minutes of sweat.

The most surprising part is how much I enjoy the burn. But more than that I think it's the awareness of becoming fully awake in my body, mind and spirit before starting my day. It's dark when I wake up and dark when I descend into the train station to make my trip to the gym. It's cold and the world is barely turning. The greater population is yawning as I climb out of the station and head for the athletic club. There is never more than a handful of participants in the class, but we're there waking up. Honoring our temples. And it feels precisely like worship when we dismount the bikes and get in a full body stretch. This is the way to start the day. My muscles are elated when I hit the showers and when I head back out toward the train, the sun salutes me and my heart smiles. I feel blessed. I am alive.

M.E.E.T.I.N.G.

Most Egregious Exercise Toward Inefficiency Now Going.

I loathe going to meetings. I sit there thinking of more effective ways my minutes could be used. Then I start giving it to my legal pad. The others may think I'm writing copious notes or they may be too busy fabricating text themselves to notice. I make up grocery lists, to-do lists, budgets,word activities, write short stories and draw geometric images. Then I check the clock, make a comment and dig into writing again. Sometimes I even try to transcribe the dialogue in the room.

Meetings are such a waste of time. By the end, nothing has been accomplished, resolved or discovered. Why bother?

Who's singing that anyway?

Wayne Brady released an album. It's called "A Long Time Coming" I saw it with my own eyes on the racks at Target. I just let out a little puff and kept it moving. I had no faith in the man's ability to produce an entire album about anything anyone could relate to. He's a comedian. I know he has a nice lil voice but I've never heard him sing for real, for real.

On that show Whose Line is it Anyway, he would have the best made up songs and on Don't Forget the Lyrics he's proved he can carry a tune. But those shows are mainstream America. It's slap stick, cornball activity.

My mom is more courageous. She took a chance, went ahead and bought the cd. After listening to it she said it was really nice. She's in her fifties, it's okay for her to like him. But what would be my excuse? I wouldn't be so easily persuaded. But then, I heard someone call in to a radio show giving Wayne some really positive feedback. Humph!

I couldn't take it anymore I had to know. I looked him up on on YouTube. And amidst all the lame, corny sketches of him doing improv comedy I found some songs. I am pleasantly surprised. I still won't buy it but maybe I'll copy my mom's into my iTunes.

Today could be the deadline. Don't miss it.

Good question, but...

she's not gonna answer it. During the vice presidential debate Sarah Palin made it clear that she was not going to follow the rules. Palin refused to answer a few questions and chose instead to "redirect" the dialogue to unrelated topics. Like when she was asked about a mortgage bill and she decided to talk about energy. But I like her swagger. I think I'm going to apply that strategy in my own life.

The next time my supervisor asks me to complete a project I'm going to tell her. "You may not like what I have to say, but no. I'm not going to do that. Now let me tell you about my 8th grade dance. Like many American women, I'm sure you remember your first dance as well"

Ladies Night

Partying like it's 1999!
And I'm not just saying that. I'm a bonafide member of the c/o '99. That's the year I graduated from high school and entered the world of higher education, freedom, parties and well...liberating experiences. I had a flashback to those good times this weekend at the Classic*. My alma mater, FAMU, represented well. The band and the team both left TSU feeling like a step child.
Then, I got my party on with some familiar faces. It was fabulous and I was fierce thanks to my girls who were on makeup and hair detail. We had an authentic ladies' night and there is nothing else like it.

[Classic-when rival black colleges meet on an annual basis to pit football teams and marching bands against each other. These events bring out students and alumni alike to reconnect, reminisce and celebrate. lol]

Jazmine Sullivan

I have a bit of an obsession at the moment. This young lady named Jazmine has hit the music scene with a fury. No! That's an understatement. This singer/song writer just bust the windows out with some hard hitting and universally relatable truths.

And her smoky smooth voice really gets the message under your skin. I get goose bumps when listening to the track "In Love with Another Man." I feel like I'm eavesdropping on a conversation that I wish I'd had the courage to have at some point in my life. She's so gut wrenchingly honest.

With "Lions, Tigers and Bears" it feels like she picked fears right out of our collective and deepest thoughts. The message is much deeper than the title may suggest. "I'm not scared of Lions and Tigers and Bears, but I'm scared of loving you....why do we love love, when love seems to hate us?"

But the lyrics are just amplified by the rich and haunting melodies and that soulful voice. That voice! This is one for the ages, I'm sure we'll be crying, drinking, and (fill in the blank) to Jazmine for some time to come.

Superwoman gets a sidekick

I saw Alicia Keys in concert back in the spring. The tickets were free. Otherwise, I wouldn't have attended. It's not that I don't like Alicia Keys, she's just someone I'd never felt compelled to see in person. I like most of her songs that I hear on mainstream radio and that's as far as it goes.

Well, that's how far it went, until that night in Philips Arena. That's when I became a fan. There is something so real about her, so authentic. And hearing her describe her songs and give us explanations behind the lyrics and inspirations helped me really see that. One song in particular I'd heard on the radio but it went right over my head. I thought it was a bit cliche Superwoman. We've heard that one before, big whoop. The melody didn't grab me, nor did her vocals. It was nice, but that was about it.

Then, on May 21 while impressing me with an awesomely charismatic show, she started talking about something every woman can relate to. The blues. She listed the usual remedies - shopping, calling a girlfriend, partying. But she expressed how one day she felt so blue that none of the above consoled her. So she decided to write some words of encouragement for herself and realized those words could be motivational for all women in all capacities of life: motherhood, matrimony, professionalism, activism...

That song, "Superwoman" has been my anthem ever since. Because I feel tired most days from working 8 hours at the office, then coming home to work another 4 to 6 of overtime with my toddler, in my kitchen, the bedroom, on my laptop, on the phone. It's exhausting, but most women maintain similar schedules.

I, too, am a super woman. But thankfully I'm getting a sidekick, a nanny/sitter, to pick up the slack on a regular basis so that I can devote just a little more time to being myself, writing, working on freelance projects and studying design, which will ultimately earn me a few more titles. And that's just, well.. super!

Petroleum Problem

There is a gas shortage in the metro-Atlanta area and it's pretty frightening. I am nervous, uneasy and not altogether confident about this situation. And it's not the risk of being trapped at home unable to commute. It's the thought of being attacked by other consumers in mass hysteria.

Hurricane Ike hit Texas two weeks ago. At the time, I refused to buy gas because I felt stations were price gouging. It took a week for it to catch up to me when my gas light came on this weekend. The prices were still too high, but I had to submit. 

To my chagrin my trusty BP was sold out, the Shell down the street was also out and the Chevron, all the Mom & Pops...

The QT up ahead was my last hope. As I approached, I saw that not only was gas available, but that there were about 100 or more cars also in need. Horns were blaring, curse words and fists were flying in the air. I was nervous. I in no way intended to get attacked over some unleaded.

I took a deep breath and pulled in. My car is extremely compact so I had no trouble squeezing up behind a Chevy Malibu to wait my turn. Other cars were creating a bottle neck in an attempt to circle the other fully-occupied pumps. I waited in the madness. 

When my turn arrived I got out and patiently pumped my gas. Then one crafty lady backed her bumper right up to mine. She was waiting her turn, then she did the unthinkable and left her car unattended to enter the station. 

Did I mention my car is compact? It was full before she reached the doors! I imagined the maniacs ramming her car out of the way or forming a mob to lift and toss that emerald green Corolla. So I moved as slowly as possible, taking my time to put the pump back, pull out my receipt and recap my tank. She reappeared to ask me if I was finished. I told her yes and she made the unbelievable decision to reenter the station. 

I'd had enough!  The horns were blowing incessantly, growing to a crescendo. I decided it was her or me and got back inside my car. Thankfully, for the sake of her little Toyota, she returned as I turned on the engine and drove safely away. I hope the shortage ends soon, my nerves can't handle much more of this.  

Sol-Angel and the Hadley Street Dreams

 I Decided to take a chance and spend the 9.99 at Target on the sophomore album from Beyonce's lil sister. After seeing her perform the single on Fashion Rocks last week, I couldn't stop singing the tune. It's so retro, which is just right for me. 

I am delighted to have discovered that Solange stands far apart from her iconic big sister.  And she declares that point right away in the opening interlude. "I'm not her and never will be....Let my starlight shine on it's own. I'm no sister. I'm just my God-given name." 

 Solange departs down a more nostalgic path full of Motown-inspired rhythms. The track "Ode to Marvin" is a clear tribute to Marvin Gaye's classic "What's Going On" in topic and tune. And the bulk of the tracks are fueled by real instruments instead of synthesizers and sound machines used by many artists today.

Her lyrics are edgy and her voice is a bit raw, but in a good way. It's a refreshing redux of the funkadelic past. I visualize people roller skating around a rink in bell bottoms to this one. 

Recuperating and it feels so good

What day is it anyway? I missed a week's worth of activity. I was hit, stricken, downtrodden and  blind sided. The culprit is yet unidentified. However, the prime suspect is Strep throat. Labor Day weekend I had a fun-filled Saturday full of shopping, family, friends and a kids' party. I even bounced around in a moon walk. So the exhaustion I felt by night fall seemed reasonable. 

Then, some time down in the evening, as I sat enjoying a comedy show with friends, the jokes stopped being funny. The food was excruciatingly painful to consume and I was freezing. Wasn't anybody else cold? Just like that - I was feverish and slightly delirious. I spent the next 48 hours in bed - too weak to move. 

On Monday, while the country was observing a national holiday, eating barbecue, relaxing and such. I longed for the return to business as usual. I was waiting for the blasted holiday to pass so I could go see a doctor. 

As soon as the sun rose, I hit Park Central Family Practice. Then, I waited for a diagnosis and a cure, some relief. After some poking, x-rays and prodding, Dr. Manlove-Simmons surmised I have strep and prescribed some antibiotics. I'm on the road to recovery.

 

I'm in love

Annointed, Chosen, Destined - he's all of the above. Call it what you want, this man was made to bring this change, at this time, to this country. I couldn't imagine the United States getting this wrong or watching it be stolen or taken away. 

I just watched his acceptance speech and I'm amazed, energized and elated. There is something fascinating about watching history in the making. It's a feeling that for the rest of my life, I will remember this. What I was doing and where I was the moment this country - that once considered Blacks to be property - elected a Black man as the candidate of a major political party. 

It's like Martin Luther King Jr. said in his I Have a Dream speech: "America has written a promissory note that has come back marked insufficient funds." For that reason, 45 years ago, Americans marched to cash in that bad check and we may have received some of the funds but clearly there was still a balance remaining to be satisfied. 

Obama is the reconciler of that account. What I love the most is that he is so much like all of us. He truly represents the majority of Americans and is not ashamed to say so. 

So I pray for Obama lately more than I pray for myself. I'm proud of my country lately, more than I've been since 9-11 and I am hopeful and ready for Change. 

 

Whoa! What happened to JoJo?

In case you missed it. K-ci and JoJo of Jodeci fame are apparently on drugs. Why are celebrities so prone to addictions? It's making me reconsider auditioning for American Idol, if I make it to Hollywood I may never come back. I may end up strung out on the 101, telling Diane Sawyer, "crack is whack," or just whacking my head on the stage in the middle of a performance.

That's what happens to JoJo in this YouTube video. He just falls out. It's shocking, yet hilarious. This is sad. But I can't stop laughing at it. Maybe I'm laughing because of the absurdity. It's almost like something comedians would do in a parody or some slap stick physical comedy movie. 

Poor JoJo. He always came off as the grounded, "good" brother. Maybe their former producers will step in and do an intervention. Clive is getting Whitney back on track. I hope someone gets to these brothers before it's too late. 

Watch it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RVjLN8mFYTI

Kenmore I need you!

Somethings not right. I don't know if it's the full moon or weather conditions, but my oven stopped working. I am borderline distraught. The range still works on my gas stove, but that oven is out of order. 

Where will I roast all these vegetables I just bought from the market? How will I bake my signature crab dip for this weekend's get together? Who should I even call to fix this problem?

Of course, I'm going the do-it-yourself route first.  According to the internet boards, this could be a case of an extinguished pilot light. Four years and now the pilot wants to go out! I may be able to climb under there somewhere and reset it. But I'm deathly afraid of having the gas line get ruptured and blow up in my face. If anyone is out there just pray for me, and my Kenmore. But most of all pray for my husband that he is not injured while following my web-based instructions.  

I just want to cook. 

Toe-mented

My husband has a habit of kicking me right in the shins while we're in bed. He'll turn to face me and curl his body into a semi-fetal position then swing his legs out until his feet dead end on my shins. 

Ouch! 

This time, I'm actually cut. His talons broke the skin and I have a wound. I had to spring from bed,  interrupting my restful state, to douse it with peroxide and apply Neosporin. And here I sit hours later with it stinging like a paper cut.

He's taking the denial stance saying things like, "My nails aren't even that long ...I just trimmed them...I don't know how you got cut" I'll tell you how. You sliced me with your overgrown keratin. I know you're reading this, Husband. 

Get the clippers!

Walkin' it out

I'm at it again. Walking the streets of Midtown in my work clothes and sneakers. Whatever! 

I don't care what you think. I even do squats and crunch my side obliques at the stop lights. 

When I have a six pack and buns of steel, we'll see if I still look "crazy"

I'll admit. I used to judge.  I'd think, "No way! What is she doing?" whenever I saw a woman power walking in the middle of the day in her good clothes. But now I am so down for the cause - with the exception of walking in my work clothes. I bring a change. 

Early in the spring, the ladies in my department made a pact - no pregnancies required! We agreed to get focused about getting fit. That meant no one would bring in Krispy Kreme or bags of chocolate for the candy dish. We were all unhappy with our physiques. It was time to act.

Accountability ensued. So now, when someone expresses a desire to eat Dunkin Donuts we lovingly discourage her. And, together, we walk about 1-mile each day. It's group mentality at its finest. 

In the food court: "Are you sure you want fries with that?"

In the break room: "You know coffee isn't fattening until you add all that cream and sugar"

After some time off: "Did you work out this weekend?"

Before a walk: "That's no excuse! I have extra socks."

Vacation Mojo

My office mate and coworker is eagerly anticipating her vacation. It's so obvious, there she is working like a cyclone to empty every inbox. Files that have been sitting on the shelf for nearly a year have disappeared. She even brought in a Dustbuster!

Coworker over there is experiencing something I survived just one week ago. It's Vacation Mojo - the fury and fervor we all find for our work just before we embark on an anticipated absence. We're prompted to tie up loose ends and address everything that's urgent and outstanding. 

No one wants to risk being found out when they're away. It would be horrifying for our bosses to need something done and realize you haven't done it. Because, inevitably the minute you're out the door and out of touch, someone will need something from your desk. Then, they'll be riffling through your stuff and, if necessary, IT will be called in to unlock your desktop. God forbid! 

They may open your internet browser and see your favorites menu: Amazon, YouTube, Yahoo. The company intranet? That's not even in your history. 

So my friends, it's in our best interests to have everything in order. And all deadlines met because you won't be around to defend yourself if they're not.

If your desk is a mess and crumbs are sprinkled between the QWERTYUIOP of your keyboard, anyone who stops by will notice how you squander company property. You won't be there as a distraction, so they'll see your disregard in all it's glory. 

That is why we all catch a case of Vacation Mojo before departing for an absence. That's why Coworker over there is on her knees with that DustBuster. 

Hey Mister

There was a man in the food court today who was clearly smitten. As I approached, he stood there dumbfounded with a smile he couldn't contain and offered me his place in line. 

I declined. I needed time to figure out if my $5 would be enough to cover my lunch. I calculated then confirmed with one of the regulars. She assured me it would be $4.60. Good, now I can order something with confidence. But there he stood. I could see him in my peripheral, watching me and stalling his transaction. It's okay. I get it. I'm jazzy today. 

I did just remix my look. I'd started to hate my hair. It just hung there mocking me, looking so plain and vacillating between medium and short lengths. I'd cut it from shoulder length into a long bob around Christmas. And true to it's name, it kept bobbing up and down a couple of inches every six weeks. I'd get it trimmed and six weeks later need to trim it again. 

Enough! I told my stylist to just kick it up a notch. Then BAM! -  just like Emeril, she chopped that hair away from my head like she was trimming fat from a ribeye. Now, the back of my neck can breathe. It feels grreat and I'm so liberated. 

I'm more attractive, thinner and my posture has improved. Isn't that amazing? I have more swagger in my strut and a brighter twinkle in my eye. I feel good, so that makes me look better. It's true. 

Don't believe me?

Ask the man in the food court who waited lingering over the condiments, just so he could smile at me again and offer his assistance. But it's okay. I can get my own napkins. You just keep standing there looking as I walk away. I didn't even look back. 

Haagen Heaven

This may sound a bit sacrilegious but eating Haagen Dazs ice cream bars is a spiritual experience for me. When I need a hiatus from the hustle - mothering, working, cooking, cleaning, laundering, etc. I drive myself to the gas station, as unassuming as it may seem, and pick out an almond and milk chocolate bar. 

It's so rich and indulgent. I usually don't make the 1-mile drive back to my house. I crack open that box and inner wrapper before I'm even out of the QuickTrip parking lot.

Then, gingerly I bite into the milk chocolate shell. I must be delicate because a forceful bite might crumble the coating and corrupt the experience. This needs to be savored, slowly. With that said, it shouldn't be surprising that I'm still working on it when I pull into my driveway. I sit in the car, this is too euphoric to interrupt by going inside. There is a 2-year-old and a husband in there, who will either expect me to share, or disturb my peace by talking to me. 

I can wait. 

I sit in the car. 

Alone. 

Nibbling.

The windows are rolled down, the engine is off and the seat is reclined. I'm elated and the breeze wafts through the car. The family doesn't even know I'm home, because deliberately I haven't opened the garage door. This is my time. Honestly, I'm not home. I'm enjoying a little piece of heaven. 

Boyz II Men

I saw them in concert this weekend. Mike is missing so we didn't get the baritone breakdowns, i.e. "Girl I'm sorry, please forgive me for all the wrong I've done."

But it was still utterly delightful! Husband and I both enjoyed them so. It begs the question "What ever happened to Boyz II Men?" They are still amazing singers and their songs are exceptionally romantic and touching. Once, around about 2001, Vibe magazine did a feature article on the boyz and the long and short of it was, that people were over R&B - just done listening to the harmonies and crooning. It was (and has been for some time now) the year of Hip Hop, a lot of bass, cursing and percussion. Didn't Lil' Wayne just beat Mariah Carey to platinum record sales? Whitney abandoned us for more street-inspired activities. Even Janet is on the hip hop bandwagon.

It doesn't matter. People like me and the hundreds who were gathered under the stars listening to the Water Run Dry, will maintain our support and appreciation for songs about love and heartbreak. The boyz haven't come to the end of the road yet. 

Purple is beautiful

I saw The Color Purple stage play last night. Look what God has done! Alice Walker's novel confirmed for me at age seventeen that I wanted to be a writer. I remember sitting in my bedroom one summer day and reading the entire book. I don't remember leaving the space. For hours, I read about Celie, her sister Netty and Mister. It was disturbing, amazing and inspiring. 

Was it fiction? Naw! The story was too good, you can't make that stuff up! I ended the day spent and ironically refreshed. The women - black women - in the story endured physical and sexual abuse, colonization, racism, incest, infidelity and remained strong. 

It makes me wonder about all the untold stories of our grandmothers and great grandmothers and their mothers. I think about the ones who were just as talented, if not more talented, than we are today. The ones who were smart enough to be engineers or astronauts, but unfortunately not privileged enough to be born into a time period and society that acknowledged them at all. 

Purple really gets me thinking that the tensions and stresses I face pale in comparison. I've never been enslaved, beaten or forbidden to learn. No one forced me to marry and my marriage doesn't require me to submit my will, passions or self-respect. 

In much of Walker's writing she refers to black women as the mules of the world, the ones who everyone rides on. The ones who carry the weight of everything, the bulk of the work. I'm not sure I believe that philosophy whole heartedly applies to today's black woman.  

However, I do understand it. 

I'm vividly aware of how we rank in society, the stereotypes, the misconceptions the errant perceptions and the accurate ones. Some of us are marginalized and misguided. Others fall at the opposite end of the spectrum. We've been educated, enlightened - and as such, elevated to a new ranking. One that often garners respect. Look what God has done.

Oh sister!

I have a kid sister.
She may be 6' 2'' but she is still the youngest, the baby.
Yes, she is my little sister.

Since infancy, she's had a way about her - a determination and proclivity to be wreckless, wild and live with astonishing abandon. As a baby, they defined her refusal to be calm or quiet as cholic. Then, as a toddler she set into disregarding the constructs and tradition of bed time. Regularly, we would find Sister sprawled out on the sofa in the morning with juice boxes strewn about and Barney or KidSongs VHS cassettes jutting from the VCR.

Occasionally a family member making a 3 a.m. run to the restroom would spot her there on the sofa engrossed and delighting in children's programming. She was left uninterrupted. It was her way.


During the elementary years, her school attendance became an issue. Sister forfeited as many school days as possible. One night I found a letter on the dining room table. It read:

Please, don't wake me up!

I am not planning to go to school today!

I woke up earlier (around 4:12) feeling very sick! So leave me B! PLEASE!

I'll go tomorrow. 

This note may have worked if I wasn't home from college to discover her proposal. It was about midnight when I spotted the decree, and showed it to my mother. Sister was 10 at the time.

Mother mastered the art of parent-teacher negotiations and streamlined the process of completing science fair projects - whatever it took to get Sister to the next semester, grade level, milestone. There were moments of promise. Once, Sister did take up basketball as an extracurricular. But during practice she asked the coach to be excused to drink some water. That was the last he saw of Sister.

Sister is 19 now, she's graduated from high school but her determination has not diminished. It's currently focused on doing precisely what makes her feel good instead of anything that will make her better. To my knowledge, her days are spent sleeping and the nights are full of shenanigans, i.e street fights, shoplifting, parties. If you ask her what she's doing with herself she will accurately tell you "Nothing." I wonder if that will ever will change.

Bleeding Love

I love reality TV shows. They're addictive. You're probably hooked on at least one of them too. How can we avoid it? They're on every network. And we get multiple versions of the same concept. Each station has a dance show, a talent competition and some form of game show.

I'm more into the performance variety, myself. I got it bad too.

If someone is dancing or singing. I'm watching it. Fox is where I get my best fixes.

I'm so fascinated. I think it's because I have an inner performer. I really admire people who have the audacity to use their gifts to make a living. It's not very practical if you think about it. It's rather courageous. I mean, I'd be hard pressed to get anyone to pay me for singing and dancing...although I love to do both. I'm still trying to find some people to pay me to write!

American Idol, Season 7 totally derailed my Bible study attendance. It's shameful. I know it, but I repented and God forgives me. I don't care what you think. Right now I'm devoted to So You Think You Can Dance. Can you blame me? Look at these children!

This is it!

I tried this blogging thing 2 years ago. I made about 3 entries and stopped. I didn't know what to write about, why I was doing it or really who would care. But I have a plan this time. 

I will keep my stories here. 

And do I have stories, good stories about having a toddler, being a woman, a wife and working for a faith-based organization that promulgates beliefs very different from my own. In this organization, I spent time as a receptionist. That's how I came to know a man named Jesus, and I'm not being spiritual. There is a gentlemen who identifies himself as "Christ" and visits my employer regularly. I'll tell his story later. 

Oh yes. I have stories to tell and a variety of other things I just need to get out of my head. 

At some point, I plan to drive potential employers here to sample my writing voice, my style, flow and grammatically correct copy. Publications don't live by faith, they believe only in those things that can be seen. 

See me write.