MY son hurt my feelings last night. Deeply. He didn't do or say anything really mean, I just got struck with the realization that no matter how hard I try to be a good parent, he, they, will find fault. My coworker and I were talking about this today - if I am strong, they will prefer soft. If I am aggressive, they will prefer demure. There is no winning.
So, my son expressed his frustration with the way I give orders. See, in an attempt to seem understanding, I don't say - Son, do the dishes. Instead, I say, Sweetie, can you do the dishes please? Now - this is a rhetorical question, no is not an answer. And that is his big pet peeve - why ask him when he doesn't have a choice anyway? So, as I tried to understandingly appear to listen, he went on to give examples. Like the time I "asked" him to go to the G'Town v. Syracuse game in my absence.
Now, this is where he blew my mind and my chest kinda hurt. His logic was that I waited too late to request he wake from his nap to go to the game - it was 30 min before the game. SO when he said he couldn't go, and I couldn't find a substitute, I told him that he and a friend would have to go so the tix wouldn't be wasted. So the money wouldn't be wasted. I had just washed my daughter's hair, they were running around with conditioner and plastic caps, I couldn't disappear for 3 hours. I couldn't go.
Let me stop right there - b4 I go any further. To be so spoiled and self absorbed as to somehow become the victim in a scenario in which you are "forced" to attend a Big East rivalry game and sit in the 2nd row and watch your friends - whom you grew up with- play, blows my mind. Can someone say - time for a reality check? In no scenario is this a negative, other than in his eyes.
SO, I felt a sinking feeling in my chest as every selfish word formed and dropped from his lips, a direct stab to the balloon of humility. Thankfulness. Appreciation. I haven't really heard him like this b4. And I didn't want to crush him with my verbal response, because it was going to be mean, bad and raw, so I didn't say much. I think I am going to have to let him work his way through this phase - through how unreasonable and bragadoccia and ungrateful it is.
Here is the kicker, after his rant he asked if he could have the season finale home game tix to see Gtwon play Louisville, which are both tied for 1st place. He told his lil girlfriend of the week he would take her. You know the answer to that one was an easy "hell no."
Friday, February 29, 2008
Monday, February 25, 2008
A Raisin
I turned the television to a Raisin in the Sun and watched the first several minutes. I turned the other televisions to the station, so we could properly support, although I have decided I am not going to watch. Not that it is not great, and not that I don't enjoy this particular cast immentsely. But, I don't want to replace the memory of the production of Broadway. I don't wnat to tamper with a rare a specail moment for me. So this time I will pass.
When the show on Broadway, I took my son to see it. It was the spring before he began highschool, it had been a difficult year. My husband and I were just reuniting, my son had just successfully completed homeschool, my daughters were readjusting to family. I was shaken to the core - everything I had ever believed in and relied upon had been sorely tested, destroyed, ripped apart, and used to disembody me.
My son and I stayed at the Belvedere and walked the streets of NY. We shopped, went to the Natural Science and History Museum, admired street vendors and musicians, visted the park. This was pre Broadway sterilization. MY son had the tarot cards read and we both went from skeptics to noncritics as she discussed his past in detail and gave insite into one of his future dreams. We watched the mimes put on the corniest celebration. We stomped 5th Ave, checked out the NBA store and watched a taping of an live interview with Kareem Abdul Jabar. We walked past the wax museum and, I told my son to go inside, but he passed, swearing that it was corny and I was treating him like a child. Turns out, Beyonce was in their signing autographs. Anyway, the day, the trip was perect. Then we made our way to the theatre to see the show.
Mind you, my son was still young, 14 or so, he was awed by Diddy. Wasn't it something to walk along the street along side his car, watching him on the phone in the front seat, just minutes before the show? As if that wasn't enough, we were in the second row, but on the two center aisle seats, meaning no one was in fron tof us. Without distortion, with clear view, and close enough to touch, I watched my personal idol - Phylicia Rashad light up the stage. I witnessed Sanaa's talent and beauty and sat amazed at Audra's depth. While Diddy was the focus of the young, I realized that Bill Nunn and cast were a unique and rare opportunity to see those who have shaped black theater, television and movies into reality. I was overwhelmed. I still am. I made eye contact wiht Phylicia and, I know this is very "fan"atic of me, but she saw me. I watched her for years, but I couldn't believe she saw me, smiled at me. The fact that I was clapping and smiling like I was crazy probably had a little something to do with that, but still. Here, the woman who embodied legal and family success in a way that I had never seen, and that I totally believed (now I am a lawyer with 5 kids - go figure) was right in front of me. I was enamored.
So, the television can't quite capture that performance, that night, that entire weekend for my son and I. And, while I am supporting the telecast, I am selfishly preserving my memory.
When the show on Broadway, I took my son to see it. It was the spring before he began highschool, it had been a difficult year. My husband and I were just reuniting, my son had just successfully completed homeschool, my daughters were readjusting to family. I was shaken to the core - everything I had ever believed in and relied upon had been sorely tested, destroyed, ripped apart, and used to disembody me.
My son and I stayed at the Belvedere and walked the streets of NY. We shopped, went to the Natural Science and History Museum, admired street vendors and musicians, visted the park. This was pre Broadway sterilization. MY son had the tarot cards read and we both went from skeptics to noncritics as she discussed his past in detail and gave insite into one of his future dreams. We watched the mimes put on the corniest celebration. We stomped 5th Ave, checked out the NBA store and watched a taping of an live interview with Kareem Abdul Jabar. We walked past the wax museum and, I told my son to go inside, but he passed, swearing that it was corny and I was treating him like a child. Turns out, Beyonce was in their signing autographs. Anyway, the day, the trip was perect. Then we made our way to the theatre to see the show.
Mind you, my son was still young, 14 or so, he was awed by Diddy. Wasn't it something to walk along the street along side his car, watching him on the phone in the front seat, just minutes before the show? As if that wasn't enough, we were in the second row, but on the two center aisle seats, meaning no one was in fron tof us. Without distortion, with clear view, and close enough to touch, I watched my personal idol - Phylicia Rashad light up the stage. I witnessed Sanaa's talent and beauty and sat amazed at Audra's depth. While Diddy was the focus of the young, I realized that Bill Nunn and cast were a unique and rare opportunity to see those who have shaped black theater, television and movies into reality. I was overwhelmed. I still am. I made eye contact wiht Phylicia and, I know this is very "fan"atic of me, but she saw me. I watched her for years, but I couldn't believe she saw me, smiled at me. The fact that I was clapping and smiling like I was crazy probably had a little something to do with that, but still. Here, the woman who embodied legal and family success in a way that I had never seen, and that I totally believed (now I am a lawyer with 5 kids - go figure) was right in front of me. I was enamored.
So, the television can't quite capture that performance, that night, that entire weekend for my son and I. And, while I am supporting the telecast, I am selfishly preserving my memory.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Poetic Prose
The interest, freeing thing about poetry is that it is short enough to be a snapshot, a glimpse at a particular moment. And it can be limited to that moment. An emotional caption. Minutes later, the emotions may change, the perspective different. That's what I try to do - I try to capture how I felt at the time the events occurred. Was I correct, justified, right in how I felt - well that's irrelevant. It isn't about whats right and wrong, its just about captureing it and reflecting upon it.
I posted a poem about an argument I had with a group of young ladies when I was in my late teens, early twenties. I was the girlfriend who spent the most time at the house with my man. Subsequently, I spent the most time with their boyfriends. The long and short of it is that one of the boyfriends started kickin it to my homegirl. I was uncomfortable with it, I hadn't expected it. I didn't like it. I didn't think he was that much of a dog, but he proved me wrong. So, when his girlfriend found out, guess who she was upset with. Me. She said I should have told her, I should have brought an end to it. A few months later something similar happened with another guy (although he wasn't cheating with a friend of mine). But when his official girlfriend showed up at the house unannounced he requested I take the new girlfriend home, so she wouldn't be in the middle of the drama. Not taking sides, I agreed to get her out of there and drive her home. Oh boy, did that cause a stink. The next thing I knew, I was the traitor, the girl with no respect for womanhood and woman bonds.
I posted a poem about it called The Traitor. At the time, I remember feeling oblivious to their emotion. I liked them well enough, but I am not the type to get all in peoples business or go on a moral rant about what someone else should be doing. I am too busy trying to make sure my life is right, my business is in order, I am living by some code of deceny.
So the poem I wrote sounds flippant, dismissive. Although, after the immediate confrontation, and some years later, I didn't feel so blase about it. I actually felt very bad that I was perceived that way, that I chose the boys friendship over their girlfriends. But, in the moment the poem attempted to capture, I didn't feel that I owed those girls anything....
I posted a poem about an argument I had with a group of young ladies when I was in my late teens, early twenties. I was the girlfriend who spent the most time at the house with my man. Subsequently, I spent the most time with their boyfriends. The long and short of it is that one of the boyfriends started kickin it to my homegirl. I was uncomfortable with it, I hadn't expected it. I didn't like it. I didn't think he was that much of a dog, but he proved me wrong. So, when his girlfriend found out, guess who she was upset with. Me. She said I should have told her, I should have brought an end to it. A few months later something similar happened with another guy (although he wasn't cheating with a friend of mine). But when his official girlfriend showed up at the house unannounced he requested I take the new girlfriend home, so she wouldn't be in the middle of the drama. Not taking sides, I agreed to get her out of there and drive her home. Oh boy, did that cause a stink. The next thing I knew, I was the traitor, the girl with no respect for womanhood and woman bonds.
I posted a poem about it called The Traitor. At the time, I remember feeling oblivious to their emotion. I liked them well enough, but I am not the type to get all in peoples business or go on a moral rant about what someone else should be doing. I am too busy trying to make sure my life is right, my business is in order, I am living by some code of deceny.
So the poem I wrote sounds flippant, dismissive. Although, after the immediate confrontation, and some years later, I didn't feel so blase about it. I actually felt very bad that I was perceived that way, that I chose the boys friendship over their girlfriends. But, in the moment the poem attempted to capture, I didn't feel that I owed those girls anything....
Review Angst
I enjoy writing reviews - gives me a chance to read books I might pick up in the store, keep my pulse on the industry, the type of writing and the direction of our authors. I like seeing the different writing styles, noticing authors strengths, identifying most of our weakness, the things both I and other writers do. I like it. I actually love it. But I screwed up a review something awful.
The first time I read it, I actually laughed out loud (which is why I won't mention the book here). Something about the intro vibe and prologue had me expecting something deep and reflective. Instead I encountered this sing song, rhyming simplistic stuff. Sucking my teeth, I closed the book. Disgusted, I shook my head, sick of the easy out that erotica has become. "If I wanted to read Dr. Suess, I would dig through the kids book shelf" I thought.
A few days later, I tried to read it again. I skipped some of the intro stuff and found a few of the short stories to be decent reads. With noticeable flaws. Keep in mind, for some reason it was impressed upon my psyche that the book was a reflective narrative of love, not "I want to jump on your lap and screw you" stories. I read a few of the pieces to my husband, demonstrating how tired I am of the slipping standard of creativity. I closed the book again, revisiting a deeper, more literary and complicated effort. That novel, entitled Mpire was so stimulating to my fantasy/sci fi fiction starved mind that nothing, really, could compare.
But the review on the first book was due. By then I had the flu, my husband was beginning his losing battle with pnuemonia. I didn't even start from the beginning. I just finished up the book, having picked it up midway through in a crestfallen manner, and wrote a lackluster review. I gave it a horrible rating, which I thought, at the time, was still decent, considering. How do you lead a reader into what should be inciteful and inquisitive reflection and write about whip cream dreams?
But then, I received another collection of poems to read. And while the writer had a good idea - the book was really bad. I mean, I didn't want to blast that author, but there was no getting around it. The book wasn't complete, the time hadn't been taken to develop it and his reflections were a little too blah. The book club for who I provide reviews asked that I be more definitive in the review, because I attempted to write something nice while giving him a low rating. The rating is what it is and the review should justify it. I reread that collection and felt certain that I had made the write call - the book wasn't ready to be a book. I updated the review to clarify my position.
But, in the back of my mind was this nagging thing. The first book hadn't been anywhere near as poorly written as the final one that certainly deserved the lower rating ( I had actually given them the same rating). Whether I personally liked it or not, the author had done a much better overall job, at least. To appease my mind, I bumped the rating up a notch.
Last night, when the book club finalized my review, they went to the first one and asked whether I wanted to thicken it up a little. Remember, in my disgust, I had left the review a little thin. This time, I printed out the text, and reread it from cover to cover. I released the preconceived notions I had and just read it. While I still had some complaints about the beginning stuff and some of the stories, the substance was good - a few of the stories were deep. Deeper than I remembered. Actually, I felt like I was reading it for the first time. I closed it and started again. Funny, how I had missed that poem, and why didn't get the point of that story? Had I done a literary snob thing, so convinced of moral superiorty that I hadn't given the book a proper chance. No longer held to the restriction of woman enlightenment that I initially placed on it, it was an enjoyable read. SO then I compared it to other erotic pieces and trust me, it was better written than some other books I have read that received an equivalent review.
So, at 3 oclock this morning, I drafted a new review and bumped the rating one more notch. I am sure the book club will find questionable, and I can't really explain myself. I read did read this thing over and over again. And I really did believe in the first review at the time I wrote it. I think I just had to realign my expectations, readjust my reading caliber. And while I felt ambivalent about the first rating and subsequent rating bump, this time I believe I got it right. The significant change calls into question my judgment, which is why I did some reserach before admitting that I had gotten it wrong by giving it a fair bump. It would be wrong, wouldn't it, to leave the review low just to save face? I messed up, I know, but every now and then we have to have the nerve to say we made a mistake and fix it. This time, I did just that.
The first time I read it, I actually laughed out loud (which is why I won't mention the book here). Something about the intro vibe and prologue had me expecting something deep and reflective. Instead I encountered this sing song, rhyming simplistic stuff. Sucking my teeth, I closed the book. Disgusted, I shook my head, sick of the easy out that erotica has become. "If I wanted to read Dr. Suess, I would dig through the kids book shelf" I thought.
A few days later, I tried to read it again. I skipped some of the intro stuff and found a few of the short stories to be decent reads. With noticeable flaws. Keep in mind, for some reason it was impressed upon my psyche that the book was a reflective narrative of love, not "I want to jump on your lap and screw you" stories. I read a few of the pieces to my husband, demonstrating how tired I am of the slipping standard of creativity. I closed the book again, revisiting a deeper, more literary and complicated effort. That novel, entitled Mpire was so stimulating to my fantasy/sci fi fiction starved mind that nothing, really, could compare.
But the review on the first book was due. By then I had the flu, my husband was beginning his losing battle with pnuemonia. I didn't even start from the beginning. I just finished up the book, having picked it up midway through in a crestfallen manner, and wrote a lackluster review. I gave it a horrible rating, which I thought, at the time, was still decent, considering. How do you lead a reader into what should be inciteful and inquisitive reflection and write about whip cream dreams?
But then, I received another collection of poems to read. And while the writer had a good idea - the book was really bad. I mean, I didn't want to blast that author, but there was no getting around it. The book wasn't complete, the time hadn't been taken to develop it and his reflections were a little too blah. The book club for who I provide reviews asked that I be more definitive in the review, because I attempted to write something nice while giving him a low rating. The rating is what it is and the review should justify it. I reread that collection and felt certain that I had made the write call - the book wasn't ready to be a book. I updated the review to clarify my position.
But, in the back of my mind was this nagging thing. The first book hadn't been anywhere near as poorly written as the final one that certainly deserved the lower rating ( I had actually given them the same rating). Whether I personally liked it or not, the author had done a much better overall job, at least. To appease my mind, I bumped the rating up a notch.
Last night, when the book club finalized my review, they went to the first one and asked whether I wanted to thicken it up a little. Remember, in my disgust, I had left the review a little thin. This time, I printed out the text, and reread it from cover to cover. I released the preconceived notions I had and just read it. While I still had some complaints about the beginning stuff and some of the stories, the substance was good - a few of the stories were deep. Deeper than I remembered. Actually, I felt like I was reading it for the first time. I closed it and started again. Funny, how I had missed that poem, and why didn't get the point of that story? Had I done a literary snob thing, so convinced of moral superiorty that I hadn't given the book a proper chance. No longer held to the restriction of woman enlightenment that I initially placed on it, it was an enjoyable read. SO then I compared it to other erotic pieces and trust me, it was better written than some other books I have read that received an equivalent review.
So, at 3 oclock this morning, I drafted a new review and bumped the rating one more notch. I am sure the book club will find questionable, and I can't really explain myself. I read did read this thing over and over again. And I really did believe in the first review at the time I wrote it. I think I just had to realign my expectations, readjust my reading caliber. And while I felt ambivalent about the first rating and subsequent rating bump, this time I believe I got it right. The significant change calls into question my judgment, which is why I did some reserach before admitting that I had gotten it wrong by giving it a fair bump. It would be wrong, wouldn't it, to leave the review low just to save face? I messed up, I know, but every now and then we have to have the nerve to say we made a mistake and fix it. This time, I did just that.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Reclaiming Me
SO - I got into size 14 reg denims today. whewww! Now, for those of you with smaller girths, you might not understand. But I have always been "thick" size 12-14. But comfortably so, I could just pick up the 14, because it was kinda loose and I hate trying on clothes, and I would know that I was good in a 14. Pre-baby.
Now, I know its pathetic to blame the pregnancies - but oh well! Ill be pathtic. Baby 1 - 7lbs 3oz, 13 months Baby 2 9lbs 12 oz, 18 months later Baby 3 - 7lbs 2ozs AND Baby 4 8lbs 10 oz. And did I exercise immediately after having anyof them. Nope. Well to be fair, the first baby doesnt really change your body anyone - it was the last three that did it. And I was too tired, overwhelmed, suffering postpartum, to even think about exercise. Not when the twins woke up every night and played from 1-4 am. Which was, for me, ice cream time. Trying to stay fit was the last thing on my mind, I was trying to stay awake and be a good mommy.
But then, 18 months ago, I reentered the workforce. And realized I enjoy being a woman. I like feeling good, sexy, cute, alluring - if I want to. So the struggle to love myself and treat myself a little better began.
I havent been going full out with exercise. And I still eat a little too much. But I am walking and Metroing it - taking the stairs whenever I can. Cooking healthy, stocking up on veggies and healthy snacks (trying to maintain healthy kids too). And while I would love to lose the weight it hasnt been my main focus.
But the last month I have been feeling frumpy. Like my clothes are swallowing me. My best friends mother asked what size I wore - a 10 or 12? she estimated. I laughed out right - "Try a 16 W" I replied. But she looked me up and down and her face let me know that she thought I was crazy. I remember when I went shopping for the first time after the twins. I had never been in the Womens section - I didnt even know thats what the W meant. "What is this, a 16 Wide?" I asked my girlfriend. She scoffed, "You can call yourself Wide if you want to, the rest of us call it Womens size."
Yes, I was that clueless. For some reason, it had never occurred to me to go past a 14 Reg. I just fell into a depression, convinced I no longer fit any clothes any where. Post partum is a trip, let me tell you.
So anyway, I went to the store today for supplies and found myself in the clothing section. True to form, I didnt feel like trying the clothes on, so i bought the 14R jeans, prepared to throw them in the back of the closet in defeat when they didnt fit. I gave them a try. a perfect fit. I am slowly reclaiming my body!!!
Now, I know its pathetic to blame the pregnancies - but oh well! Ill be pathtic. Baby 1 - 7lbs 3oz, 13 months Baby 2 9lbs 12 oz, 18 months later Baby 3 - 7lbs 2ozs AND Baby 4 8lbs 10 oz. And did I exercise immediately after having anyof them. Nope. Well to be fair, the first baby doesnt really change your body anyone - it was the last three that did it. And I was too tired, overwhelmed, suffering postpartum, to even think about exercise. Not when the twins woke up every night and played from 1-4 am. Which was, for me, ice cream time. Trying to stay fit was the last thing on my mind, I was trying to stay awake and be a good mommy.
But then, 18 months ago, I reentered the workforce. And realized I enjoy being a woman. I like feeling good, sexy, cute, alluring - if I want to. So the struggle to love myself and treat myself a little better began.
I havent been going full out with exercise. And I still eat a little too much. But I am walking and Metroing it - taking the stairs whenever I can. Cooking healthy, stocking up on veggies and healthy snacks (trying to maintain healthy kids too). And while I would love to lose the weight it hasnt been my main focus.
But the last month I have been feeling frumpy. Like my clothes are swallowing me. My best friends mother asked what size I wore - a 10 or 12? she estimated. I laughed out right - "Try a 16 W" I replied. But she looked me up and down and her face let me know that she thought I was crazy. I remember when I went shopping for the first time after the twins. I had never been in the Womens section - I didnt even know thats what the W meant. "What is this, a 16 Wide?" I asked my girlfriend. She scoffed, "You can call yourself Wide if you want to, the rest of us call it Womens size."
Yes, I was that clueless. For some reason, it had never occurred to me to go past a 14 Reg. I just fell into a depression, convinced I no longer fit any clothes any where. Post partum is a trip, let me tell you.
So anyway, I went to the store today for supplies and found myself in the clothing section. True to form, I didnt feel like trying the clothes on, so i bought the 14R jeans, prepared to throw them in the back of the closet in defeat when they didnt fit. I gave them a try. a perfect fit. I am slowly reclaiming my body!!!
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Writer's Panic
HOw does a writer save her work - from herself. That seems to be the question tonight. Everything I read needs substantial changes, monumental editing. I have tweaked whole paragraphs down to five word sentence only to become frustrated and erase the whole thing. Only to find that I liked it best before I started fooling with it in the first place.
How does an author back away and let go? The word is definite. Forever recorded. MY meaning so different from how someone read it. I have to make it read the way I intended, the way I had in mind. I have to keep tweaking, editing, searching the thesaurus, pluggin in different ideas until exhaustion sets in. Im beoming obsessive, which means I need to either take a match to the entire thing or walk away.
Two years ago I wrote a Young adult fiction character. The story was ingenius, or so I thought. When I began shipping it to puiblsiher I received a high amount of interest from mainstream publishers (insert: white) and completely lack of enthusiasm from black folks. Never mind, it didn't phase me, I knew the book was good. I shopped it - got terrific response (in hindsight), but it needed editing , finalizing, something a little more. Well, someone has asked me for the manuscript again. A possible agent. I need it shopped to scholastic or someother major. In my excitement I began reading, and my doubt turned every page into a catastrophy. Where was my beautiful story? Before me was just a group of boring garbled words. Thus began my breakdown.
I am signing off and going to bed. That may be the only way to preserve what is left of my sanity. Then I will try my hardest to return all the peices to the story that I slashed away in a true moment of writer's panic.
How does an author back away and let go? The word is definite. Forever recorded. MY meaning so different from how someone read it. I have to make it read the way I intended, the way I had in mind. I have to keep tweaking, editing, searching the thesaurus, pluggin in different ideas until exhaustion sets in. Im beoming obsessive, which means I need to either take a match to the entire thing or walk away.
Two years ago I wrote a Young adult fiction character. The story was ingenius, or so I thought. When I began shipping it to puiblsiher I received a high amount of interest from mainstream publishers (insert: white) and completely lack of enthusiasm from black folks. Never mind, it didn't phase me, I knew the book was good. I shopped it - got terrific response (in hindsight), but it needed editing , finalizing, something a little more. Well, someone has asked me for the manuscript again. A possible agent. I need it shopped to scholastic or someother major. In my excitement I began reading, and my doubt turned every page into a catastrophy. Where was my beautiful story? Before me was just a group of boring garbled words. Thus began my breakdown.
I am signing off and going to bed. That may be the only way to preserve what is left of my sanity. Then I will try my hardest to return all the peices to the story that I slashed away in a true moment of writer's panic.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
In Treatment
Have you seen In Treatment on HBO? Not the entire week, of course, because I don't have time to watch that much television. So, I had to narrow it down and I selected....Tuesday night. Ha. If you know the show, then you know why I smirk. I chose Blair Underwood night.
I am amazed by Blair Underwood. Always have been. Watched him faithfully on LA Law, watched him when he went through his different phases. But, the scary thing is how well he plays the roles of psychopaths. He has this very personable handsome thing going on and then, with a mere blink or direct look, he seems so distant and removed. Unattached. It is actually scary. That is why Just Cause was so terrifying. That is also why watching him on Sex in the City was electrifying. Although my instinct didn't want him with Miranda, although she was the only one, out of all of them, that I could tolerate him being with, I wanted to believe in his love. In the great black man - successful and caring. Then, at the end, when Steve saw him in an apartment with two woman, there was an odd detachment about him. Yeah, he recovered from his "broken heart," but in that moment, he didn't seem cpable of a broken heart, a love, a relationship at all.
The same for In Treatment. I don't want to give it away, but this show is good yall. He plays a mental game with the audience for a half an hour, it is an emotional tug of war. He is soooooo talented. Check the show out on Tuesday nights and tell me what you think....
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Exhaustion - Flu - WTF
This weekends was busy - running behind my crew, cooking and cleaning, doing hair and moving furniture, washing dishes and vacuuming. On and on it went. This morning my stomach hurt a little, but I sucked it up, got the family dressed and loaded into the car. It was down hill from there. On the way to their school I was praying I wouldn' throw up. Then my throat began hurting. So much so that I couldn't swallow. My husband still dropped me off at the Metro (no sympathy there). As I trudged toward the train my steps became slower and slower, my limbs feeling heavier and heavier. I couldn't lift the paper on the train, my arm muscles ached, so I sat there slumped over, somewhere between sleep and coma.
I walked slowly to my building - a 10 minute trek became a 20 minute tortutre path. By the time I got to work my thighs were burning, my hips ached, it hurt to stand and to sit. WTF? Besides my sore throat, I was also freezing. My limbs were ice cold. Some tea, 4 MOtrin and a few prayers later, I was slouched against my desk - asleep -trying to read two reports.
That was my day. The medicine finally kicked in. So did the Vitamin C tablets and the Green Tea. I am tired of being sick. I am tired of being tired. I felt good enough to make it home and get my family together for the next day. Another 4 Motrin and I sit at the computer typing this. I refuse to use anymore leave, so tomorrow may be more of the same....But I need a Vacation!
I walked slowly to my building - a 10 minute trek became a 20 minute tortutre path. By the time I got to work my thighs were burning, my hips ached, it hurt to stand and to sit. WTF? Besides my sore throat, I was also freezing. My limbs were ice cold. Some tea, 4 MOtrin and a few prayers later, I was slouched against my desk - asleep -trying to read two reports.
That was my day. The medicine finally kicked in. So did the Vitamin C tablets and the Green Tea. I am tired of being sick. I am tired of being tired. I felt good enough to make it home and get my family together for the next day. Another 4 Motrin and I sit at the computer typing this. I refuse to use anymore leave, so tomorrow may be more of the same....But I need a Vacation!
Hillary Desperate?
This is not a political site, so I promise not too many more of these Obama posts. BUT, what the hell are the Clinton's thinking? They have lost more composure and class trying to "out"Obama than they did during the Monica Lewisky nightmare. I am actually disappointed in Hillary - I get it, this was her time. No question, if Obama hadn't stepped into this thing she would have nailed it. Noone is arguing her qualifications or even her ability to hit the ground running. But, I thought she was above finger pointing and squabbling. I mean this is the woman whose husband's affair was splashed across the world, and she stiffened her chin and took it like a champ.
Instead of that type of gumption, or some type of clever political manuevering - like planning for the next election and simply using this one to broaden her base or gearing up for a VP/Pres ticket - she is making crass statements and cheap indictments. Her latest smear on Obama was to hand out You Tube copies of his latest speech and compare them to this homeboy up in Massachusetts speech. OK - does anyone not see the basic flaw here? IF THEY CAMPAIGNED TOGETHER, AND ARE FRIENDS, THEN THEY WILL JOIN FORCES TO REFUTE THIS CHARGE. What is Hillary thinking? This might have worked if she were contradicting Obama or had proof he stole info from an adversary. But a cocampaigner? And what was the response - "I am flattered he used some of my speech, just like I used Abraham Lincoln, JFK , and MLK." Poorly underestimated, Hllary. And you have managed to piss off folks like me who, in any other circumstance (or another election) might have had your back.
I don't expect the Clinton's to pack it up and give up, never. That's why I like them. But Obama is too highly favored - save the slander for the Repulbican's, Hillary. Puleeze....
Instead of that type of gumption, or some type of clever political manuevering - like planning for the next election and simply using this one to broaden her base or gearing up for a VP/Pres ticket - she is making crass statements and cheap indictments. Her latest smear on Obama was to hand out You Tube copies of his latest speech and compare them to this homeboy up in Massachusetts speech. OK - does anyone not see the basic flaw here? IF THEY CAMPAIGNED TOGETHER, AND ARE FRIENDS, THEN THEY WILL JOIN FORCES TO REFUTE THIS CHARGE. What is Hillary thinking? This might have worked if she were contradicting Obama or had proof he stole info from an adversary. But a cocampaigner? And what was the response - "I am flattered he used some of my speech, just like I used Abraham Lincoln, JFK , and MLK." Poorly underestimated, Hllary. And you have managed to piss off folks like me who, in any other circumstance (or another election) might have had your back.
I don't expect the Clinton's to pack it up and give up, never. That's why I like them. But Obama is too highly favored - save the slander for the Repulbican's, Hillary. Puleeze....
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Dropped The Ball
Reflecting and realizing life is too short. Relationships must be cherished, not loosely discarded. Bonds must be strenghtened. I have dropped the ball on many loves in my life. I don't keep in touch with my family like I should, don't let them know how often I think about them. How much I miss them. Same with my girlfriends. My male friends. The silent loves of my life.
I discovered, about a year and a half ago, when I began posting, that I have this space inside of me in which all true emotions go. Kind of tlike a dark hole, or a vat. I feel for people, but never tell them. I want to help, but never say anything. I just seal my emotion inside that inner chamber and keep on rolling. On some level, I think I am afraid of emotion. So much happened in my child hood that I developed some type of resistant thing to actually touching my own emotion. I remember my son told me a few years agothat whenever he tried to hug me I would move back and when he would try to kiss me I would scrunch up my face. He said I didn't used to do it, only when he got older. I thought he was joking - adamantly denied it, so he demonstrated it right there on the spot. He puckered up and spread his arms and, reflexively, without even realizing it, I took three steps back, wrapped my arms around my body and scrunched up my face.
But for kids, we change. So I have worked that out. All my kids can squeeze, kiss, hug me now and I force my self to stand still and appear natural. BUt the question is, why do I have to force myself to do that? Why is that an overt action on my part. Similarly, I can go for weeks without thinking about my parents at all. Isn't that crazy? One of my best friends had surgery last week. It was the same type of surgery my father had over a year ago. I remember them telling me he needed surgery. I took in the information - then .....blank. Never thought of it again, until sitting in the hospital visiting my girlfirend. Then, the thought of my father slapped me upside the head. Oh shixxx, my father had this surgery! I wonder how it went? How is he doing? Did he have any problems healing? I probably need to call his wife. That's right, I meant to thank her for the gifts she sent the babies. Now when did she send them....last year? Have I really gone an entire year without sending her a thank you note? On and on and on, as if I had suddenly opened a vein and the memories and thoughts were gushing and gurgling through.
What causes that? And what are the ramifications? There are people who I keep in my normal emotional space, my kids, husband, friends, so on...But why does it taking puting pen to pad to remember some people, or some things, or events, or my childhood. I don't have the thousands of dollars necessary for a shrink to tell me, so , for now, I will just keep writing and posting...
I discovered, about a year and a half ago, when I began posting, that I have this space inside of me in which all true emotions go. Kind of tlike a dark hole, or a vat. I feel for people, but never tell them. I want to help, but never say anything. I just seal my emotion inside that inner chamber and keep on rolling. On some level, I think I am afraid of emotion. So much happened in my child hood that I developed some type of resistant thing to actually touching my own emotion. I remember my son told me a few years agothat whenever he tried to hug me I would move back and when he would try to kiss me I would scrunch up my face. He said I didn't used to do it, only when he got older. I thought he was joking - adamantly denied it, so he demonstrated it right there on the spot. He puckered up and spread his arms and, reflexively, without even realizing it, I took three steps back, wrapped my arms around my body and scrunched up my face.
But for kids, we change. So I have worked that out. All my kids can squeeze, kiss, hug me now and I force my self to stand still and appear natural. BUt the question is, why do I have to force myself to do that? Why is that an overt action on my part. Similarly, I can go for weeks without thinking about my parents at all. Isn't that crazy? One of my best friends had surgery last week. It was the same type of surgery my father had over a year ago. I remember them telling me he needed surgery. I took in the information - then .....blank. Never thought of it again, until sitting in the hospital visiting my girlfirend. Then, the thought of my father slapped me upside the head. Oh shixxx, my father had this surgery! I wonder how it went? How is he doing? Did he have any problems healing? I probably need to call his wife. That's right, I meant to thank her for the gifts she sent the babies. Now when did she send them....last year? Have I really gone an entire year without sending her a thank you note? On and on and on, as if I had suddenly opened a vein and the memories and thoughts were gushing and gurgling through.
What causes that? And what are the ramifications? There are people who I keep in my normal emotional space, my kids, husband, friends, so on...But why does it taking puting pen to pad to remember some people, or some things, or events, or my childhood. I don't have the thousands of dollars necessary for a shrink to tell me, so , for now, I will just keep writing and posting...
My Hoyas
My Hoyas lost to Syracuse yesterday and I had to bite my pillow to keep from screaming. Damn!! I was so upset. I want Georgetown to stay number one, not tie up with Louisville and definitely not lose to the pompous arrogant Orange. Now, this is a decade long thing for me. I grew up in Rochester, expecting to cheer for the Orange. You know how that goes - its like a longtime DC native cheering for the Cowboys. The Orange represented everything I wanted to escape from, and the Hoyas, with their black coach and big man dynasty was like looking into the future.
Every Hoya Orange game has been a must watch. I had tickets to the home game a few weeks back but had some type of mental lapse and miscalculated the days. In hindsight, I might have done it subconciously, cuz, I didn't want to be in the arena screaming a the top of my lungs, or balled up in a knot refusing to watch the crucial seconds of the game in case of defeat. Better to do that at home. Which is what I did yetserday. And the Orange came on fire. It was actually something to behold. Impressive, if I didn't hate them. Well, I can't completely hate them anymore, my son's teammate is going there in the fall. So, I will have to cheer for their football team next year through clenched teeth - cuz I am wishing him well. But basketball, well, they will always be my number on basketball nemsis - my Hoyas can't go down like this to them again!
Every Hoya Orange game has been a must watch. I had tickets to the home game a few weeks back but had some type of mental lapse and miscalculated the days. In hindsight, I might have done it subconciously, cuz, I didn't want to be in the arena screaming a the top of my lungs, or balled up in a knot refusing to watch the crucial seconds of the game in case of defeat. Better to do that at home. Which is what I did yetserday. And the Orange came on fire. It was actually something to behold. Impressive, if I didn't hate them. Well, I can't completely hate them anymore, my son's teammate is going there in the fall. So, I will have to cheer for their football team next year through clenched teeth - cuz I am wishing him well. But basketball, well, they will always be my number on basketball nemsis - my Hoyas can't go down like this to them again!
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
I Voted - Obama
I voted for Obama. I guess that isn't a shock to most folks, giving my vitals. Black woman. Black person. But, trust me, I had no intention on voting for Obama. None. I have argued with many strangers, shielded my fellow Hillary supporters from criticism, and been attacked in every way. My best friends mother stopped short of going off on me on Sunday for supporting the Clintons, by email I have been called a "sell out," a symbol of what's wrong with "high falutin" blacks (imagine that- me, high falutin), proof that black folks are going to hell. It's been rough ya'll. And I was never anti Obama. I just supported Hillary. I don't have to like her (although I don't dislike her). I don't give a damn if she seems cold. I want someone who already has the mechanism in place to affect change. Of course Hillary does. And I love how she maintained her own platform as the first lady. And I love that she is a Senator. And I think that, without Obama, this was her time. And she is from Arkansas - where my people are from for generations ( I am related to the entire town of Kato, Ark) And I adore Bill. So, how could I not vote for her.
Keep in mind, all of that has nothing to do with Obama. He wasn't in my precalculations. His name is a bit distracting after the whole Osama thing, but, besides that, I don't have anything bad to say about him. He is handsome, charismatic. Beautiful family. Married a sista. Good for him. But, I had decided on Hillary 2 years ago.
So, what happened you may ask? Well, let me say that I love black folks. I guess thats really where it starts. I understood my folks and the emotional component to voting for Obama, I just made up my mind. And I wasn't even that offended as folks went off on me. I understood their point of view. I was still voting for Hillary. But, this morning I went to the poll. In Prince Georges County (majority black folks) - at Kingsford Elementary in Mithcellville Md. It is why I moved here in the first place. Say what you want, but going to a community event in Mitchellville is something of a blessing. You just have never seen so many good looking black folks, trying to positively do their thing, attain that dream, etc... I have been here 10 years now and still, I love days like today.
So, I am at the polling place with my beautiful black kinfolk. And mothers were standing in line beaming with their children. Handsome brothers are waiting patiently, grinning. People were nodding at each other, winking. Folks were excited. You could feel it. As voters exited past the line they were grinning, a couple were teary eyes, one woman remarked - "that felt so good."
Then Mr. Handsome walked in. Older gentleman, late 50's. Dress coat, scarf, hat, suit pants. "This the end of the line?" He asked pointing. Someone nodded. He walked straight ahead, patting other black men on the back, smiling at the sistahs. He clapped his hands together. "This is a day of days, people. A day of days."
That did it. In that instant, everything fell away for me. I felt it, the movement that is Obama, the emotion that he represents, the pride that he projects. I haven't had that feelin since....1991 when I first heard Farrakhan preach. This is different than Al or Jesse - this is an unlikely leader an unsung hero. And he is someone I would love to see succeed, I would love to give him a chance.
There is a picture of Obama leaning against his wife, she is hugging him from behind, his eyes are closed as the crowd around him cheers. His wife is making an odd face, as if she is unsure. But there is nothing unsure about him. In that moment he seemed to believe in love, in faith, in people, in goodness. I had never seen a black man allow himself to appear in love, in life, humble, mortal, flawed. Yet, there he stood, nothing more than a man, enjoying the moment, cherishing the second. And that picture came to mind while I stared at the poll. I looked at Hillary's name. I reached for the touch screen. And I couldn't do it. I thought about the black man that closed his eyes and allowed his wifes love to cover him in front of a nation, allowed an audience to see where his strength and his beliefs lie without apology, and suddenly my reasons for supporting Hillary just weren't enough. In any normal election on any normal day against any normal candidate they would have been. But not today, not against Obama. They just weren't enough. He means more. For what he has already done, he deserves more. And I wouldn't, under any circumstances, have to admit to myself or generations to come that I had an opportunity to make my mark to support his brotha, and didn't take it.
I stared at the screen and then I pressed the box for Obama. And I deeply exhaled. And I thanked God for the opportunity to vote. And for overwhelming me at that moment with that sense to come to that conclusion. And I thanked God for the beautiful black man who stepped into the hallway and clapped his hands, snapping me back into reality. He was right- today was a day of days.
Keep in mind, all of that has nothing to do with Obama. He wasn't in my precalculations. His name is a bit distracting after the whole Osama thing, but, besides that, I don't have anything bad to say about him. He is handsome, charismatic. Beautiful family. Married a sista. Good for him. But, I had decided on Hillary 2 years ago.
So, what happened you may ask? Well, let me say that I love black folks. I guess thats really where it starts. I understood my folks and the emotional component to voting for Obama, I just made up my mind. And I wasn't even that offended as folks went off on me. I understood their point of view. I was still voting for Hillary. But, this morning I went to the poll. In Prince Georges County (majority black folks) - at Kingsford Elementary in Mithcellville Md. It is why I moved here in the first place. Say what you want, but going to a community event in Mitchellville is something of a blessing. You just have never seen so many good looking black folks, trying to positively do their thing, attain that dream, etc... I have been here 10 years now and still, I love days like today.
So, I am at the polling place with my beautiful black kinfolk. And mothers were standing in line beaming with their children. Handsome brothers are waiting patiently, grinning. People were nodding at each other, winking. Folks were excited. You could feel it. As voters exited past the line they were grinning, a couple were teary eyes, one woman remarked - "that felt so good."
Then Mr. Handsome walked in. Older gentleman, late 50's. Dress coat, scarf, hat, suit pants. "This the end of the line?" He asked pointing. Someone nodded. He walked straight ahead, patting other black men on the back, smiling at the sistahs. He clapped his hands together. "This is a day of days, people. A day of days."
That did it. In that instant, everything fell away for me. I felt it, the movement that is Obama, the emotion that he represents, the pride that he projects. I haven't had that feelin since....1991 when I first heard Farrakhan preach. This is different than Al or Jesse - this is an unlikely leader an unsung hero. And he is someone I would love to see succeed, I would love to give him a chance.
There is a picture of Obama leaning against his wife, she is hugging him from behind, his eyes are closed as the crowd around him cheers. His wife is making an odd face, as if she is unsure. But there is nothing unsure about him. In that moment he seemed to believe in love, in faith, in people, in goodness. I had never seen a black man allow himself to appear in love, in life, humble, mortal, flawed. Yet, there he stood, nothing more than a man, enjoying the moment, cherishing the second. And that picture came to mind while I stared at the poll. I looked at Hillary's name. I reached for the touch screen. And I couldn't do it. I thought about the black man that closed his eyes and allowed his wifes love to cover him in front of a nation, allowed an audience to see where his strength and his beliefs lie without apology, and suddenly my reasons for supporting Hillary just weren't enough. In any normal election on any normal day against any normal candidate they would have been. But not today, not against Obama. They just weren't enough. He means more. For what he has already done, he deserves more. And I wouldn't, under any circumstances, have to admit to myself or generations to come that I had an opportunity to make my mark to support his brotha, and didn't take it.
I stared at the screen and then I pressed the box for Obama. And I deeply exhaled. And I thanked God for the opportunity to vote. And for overwhelming me at that moment with that sense to come to that conclusion. And I thanked God for the beautiful black man who stepped into the hallway and clapped his hands, snapping me back into reality. He was right- today was a day of days.
Life updates
I have been sick. Very sick. Can barely move, so tired I want to sleep but can't get my eyes closed, out of breath climbing the stairs, why oh why won't these kids let me rest - sick. My husband had pneumonia, but he refused to go to a doctor. His reason " they will just give me antibiotics." sigh. Alright, to be fair, he didn't know he had pneumonia, just kept coughing up a lung and damn near passing out with any physical activity. So finally, on his birthday, he admitted that he couldn't breathe. A visit to ER led to 2 days hospitalization. In the meantime, flu overtook me, and my kids had temperatures up to 104 (rectal). So, after getting the hubby out of the hospital and everyones fevers down, I became exhausted. Literally. But, it wasn't over. Yesterday my oldest girl started coughing up mucas, just like her daddy. Another run to the ER - where she vomited all over the lobby. The ER didn't have a pediatrics on staff and wanted us to sit in the lobby and wait, in the wet sticky clothes. When I complained, they gave me a robe to put on her, while she waited in the lobby. Huh? So, back home we came until I could squeeze into a doctors appt - they were booked. So I loaded up the entire family. Might as well get it out of the way in one shot. Now we are all filled with antibiotics - and everyone is doing better, but I am soooooooo tired.
In other news, my son got a full athletic scholarship to play football for Ohio University. Yeah! A smaller school thna we were hoping for, initially, but after dealing with these schools and the mounds of bullshit they shovel, Ohio was a welcome relief. Up front and devoted. A helluva head coach. Genuine interest in our son. The opportunity is there for the taking, which is a rare opportunity. So I am happy and relieved. And thankful.
Finally got the contract for my first novel - Discovering Love. It is a passionate fiction novel about a wife who reunites with an intimate love. Let me give it a better summary than that - I have to get used to selling it, right? OK - Trina and James are bored with marriage, disappointed by life. James philandering has been his band aid, but has led to a costly legal battle that may cost his career and his marriage. If his wife ever finds out. While juggling his affairs, his career and litigation he begins to notice that Trina is an absentee wife. Trina has discovered love in an unlikely place. She doesn't want to cheat, she struggles with the idea of herself and her life, but passion, lust and love have overtaken her. While James and Trina try to tap dance around each other, life unravels at the seems, exposing their flaw and fears, shattering both their hearts.
OK - sounds a little soap operish. But it isn't. It's a very clean honest read, I am proud of it. The sex scenes are a little steamy - alrite, a few are downright erotic, but it definitely adds to the book, it is not a collection of sex with a corny plot tying it together. So anyway, I got the contract - so this book is a go! I am excited. I will post an excerpt soon (once I get permission from the publisher (smile))
In other news, my son got a full athletic scholarship to play football for Ohio University. Yeah! A smaller school thna we were hoping for, initially, but after dealing with these schools and the mounds of bullshit they shovel, Ohio was a welcome relief. Up front and devoted. A helluva head coach. Genuine interest in our son. The opportunity is there for the taking, which is a rare opportunity. So I am happy and relieved. And thankful.
Finally got the contract for my first novel - Discovering Love. It is a passionate fiction novel about a wife who reunites with an intimate love. Let me give it a better summary than that - I have to get used to selling it, right? OK - Trina and James are bored with marriage, disappointed by life. James philandering has been his band aid, but has led to a costly legal battle that may cost his career and his marriage. If his wife ever finds out. While juggling his affairs, his career and litigation he begins to notice that Trina is an absentee wife. Trina has discovered love in an unlikely place. She doesn't want to cheat, she struggles with the idea of herself and her life, but passion, lust and love have overtaken her. While James and Trina try to tap dance around each other, life unravels at the seems, exposing their flaw and fears, shattering both their hearts.
OK - sounds a little soap operish. But it isn't. It's a very clean honest read, I am proud of it. The sex scenes are a little steamy - alrite, a few are downright erotic, but it definitely adds to the book, it is not a collection of sex with a corny plot tying it together. So anyway, I got the contract - so this book is a go! I am excited. I will post an excerpt soon (once I get permission from the publisher (smile))
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