Imagine....

To powerful for words...unless it's these. Do you dare to imagine?

A BITTERSWEET INVITATION

A few days ago, I received an invitation to my brother’s class reunion. I smiled at the thought of seeing people I hadn’t seen in over 20 years, but those happy thoughts were soon overshadowed by the grim reality that my brother would not be in attendance. My only brother died of a massive heart attack two years ago. The reunion committee wanted me to be there to take part in a memorial service for the classmates that had passed away.

Every since my brother’s death, I have been collecting memories like precious treasures, not to be buried, but to be displayed in my heart and mind. All of a sudden, the “little things” generate the greatest memories. The insignificant moments have become more significant than ever before. For me, life has a value that only God can comprehend.

As I prepare to attend the reunion, conflicting emotions war in my mind. It will be hard to see all of his friends and classmates, knowing that he will not be there cracking jokes or making some kind of funny faces.

I’m glad that I was blessed to have a very good relationship with him. There are absolutely no memories that I would want to erase. I am thankful for every moment that he was in my life.

I’m tearing up as I write this….I can just hear my brother saying, “Man up Nancy!”

I would like to say to all of you, “Cherish every moment that you have been given.” Make the most of your time here on Earth. Time is a precious commodity that becomes more valuable to us as the supply diminishes. Time is not a renewable resource…….When it’s gone…It’s gone!

THANKS FOR THE MEMORIES

The Never Ending Dichotomy Between Black and White

When I graduated back in '87 our valedictorian was white. According to the school policy at the time, the salutatorian, therefore had to be black.

In a world where trying to be politically correct or making racist policies such as this to appear not to be racist were replaced by simply doing the right thing, these two honors would be bestowed upon the two people in the graduating class that have the highest averages...period.

This attempt at trying to be inclusive excluded one party in a terribly and completely unfair way - the person with the second highest average. The faculty had to scroll down to about the 5th or 6th graduating senior to find the black graduate with the next highest average.

At 17, and not giving much thought to how or why things are done, we talked about it but didn't create to much of a fuss. Our minds were more focused on the fact that high school was finally over. The policy seemed unfair. But hey, that's just the way it was. We all knew it and in some warped and completely illogical way of thinking, accepted it.

Now that I'm older I wonder why the parents weren't up in arms over such an antiquated and biased way of doing things. Surely I would remember witnessing or hearing about some protest from the family of the person that should have been the salutatorian.

How did that person with the second highest average feel. Their accomplishments blotted out simply because they happened to be the same race as the person with the highest average. How could anyone feel this was right.

I was reminded of this by a post I read the other day over at The Many Shades of Love. Some of these practices still seem to be in place over 20 years later.

I wonder what the outcome would have been had the people with the two highest averages been Asian, Native American, or Hispanic....or even worse what if the top honors were determined by gender. If the person with the highest average was female...then the next highest honor would have to go to a male.

Disney, Princess Jasmine and A Woman in a Hijab

Back when I was growing up I lived down the street from a little girl. She was about my age and we attended school together. She didn't play with the other children nor did she dress like we did. She kept her head covered with a scarf, wore long, thick polyester dresses and dark stockings. Her shoes always looked clunky and her house was on the same lot as the church she attended.

People called her  and her family sanctified. I didn't really know what it meant at the time. I just knew it was some sort of religious thing.  If I had to guess, I'd say her dress and behavior were similar to those exhibited by members of some sort of Pentecostal faith. In studying and hearing that word, it's very reminiscent of what I remember about the little girl and her family.

To me, she always looked so sad.

I mean really...what school age girl wants to dress that way or be alienated from her classmates all for the sake of some religion she's been thrown into. Or maybe she was comfortable in her religious beliefs and accepted that her dress and behavior were different. At any rate, enough peer pressure and needing to "fit in" go along with childhood automatically. As difficult as it was for me, I imagine it was even more so for her.

As we grew older and children became meaner (it's just one of those things), she was taunted unmercifully. The boys on the school bus would snatch her scarf off and throw it around until the bus driver, peering in his big rear-view mirror, would demand that they cut out their foolishness and give her her scarf back.

She sat in solitude without uttering a word most days. She would just gaze out the window, counting the minutes until she was safely home.

I don't know what ever became of this young lady. Many years have passed and life goes on (it's just one of those things). I was reminded of her when I read about Imane Boudlal, a young woman who showed up for work last Sunday at the Storyteller's Café in Disney's Grand Californian Hotel and Spa wearing her hijab. She was promptly given the choice of working in the back of the store, out of public view, or being sent home without pay. She went home.

Disney and all of their rhetoric about cultural diversity has been shattered in one insensitive move.

How many millions has the Disney empire profited from their very own Muslim princess, Jasmine. She's the daughter of a sultan living in the fictional city of Agrabah. I can remember many scenes in the movies about Jasmine where she wore the exact same thing Imane was given such an asinine ultimatum about.

You can stay at work but we'll have to hide you in the stockroom....wouldn't want any of our customers to be made to feel uncomfortable by having a Muslim in our midst. Oh My God. Seriously people?

Incidents like this just reveal how intolerant of differences our world truly is.

It took Disney years to get over the fact that all princesses don't have skin as white as snow or long flowing flaxen locks. But in the case of Imane I guess life doesn't imitate art. A young Muslim girl flying around on a magic carpet helping Disney make more money is acceptable; having one greet your customers is not.

Have Adults Really Gotten That Bad?

I'm probably dating myself here but I think it's safe to say those of you who know me are aware of the fact that I'm forty. It's not like I've tried to make it a secret.

Life's about stages and if you haven't had the opportunity to experience forty, you're either an eye blink away or pushing up daisies. There's no in between. So, embrace your age, whatever it may be and quit clamoring about how you're 21 with 30 years of experience.

But I digress.

Remember how Mike and Carol Brady would sit the kids down and give them one of those speeches that A Very Brady Movie poked so much fun at. Or how Mr. Drummond imparted his words of wisdom about growing up, doing the right thing, and surviving in a world where racism is an ugly part of life on the two little inner-city black kids he was raising on his own. Or even how Mrs. Garrett, in spite of her man hungry ways, was able to give Tootie, Blair and Jo advice that only comes with having been-there-and-done-that-already.

Or how James and Florida Evans managed to instill morals and values into their three children while they suffered through life in the ghetto.

Occasionally, Ward and June Cleaver were even able to make ol' Eddie Haskell straighten up and fly right.

Although I'm not a prepubescent girl that needs to hear someone besides my mother's take on real issues that affect every child growing up, I still miss seeing strong adult role models on television for our kids.

I've watched far too much Hannah Montana, The Suite Life of Zack and Cody, iCarly and that God-awful Drake and Josh! All the adults on these shows seem to have suffered a bad acid trip they never quite recovered from.

They serve as little more than "humans" over the age of 21 which, I guess, by law gives people the right to care for children under the age of 18. The adults are basically the comic relief for shows that are already not very funny....just extremely silly.

Sure these shows are for kids and about kids. Watching parents probably isn't something the show's viewers want to spend a lot of time doing. But watching incompetent adults pose as parents/teachers undermines the value and role the importance of adults have in a child's life in today's society.

Let's just turn the televisions off and let the kids explore life outside, read a book, play a great family board game. Sure those are great ideas but not always practical in a world where both parents work, sometimes untraditional hours and kids are left to their own devices which are rather plentiful these days.

Whatever happened to the ABC after-school specials? Those were some great shows exploring things that were a bit "taboo" back in the day but relevant, just the same.

I'd even take the parents from Charlie Brown over what we're subjected to watching today. You couldn't understand whether the squawk box voices were making any sense. You just assumed that they were based on the reaction of the Peanuts crew.

I know parents have always been an embarrassment to their children once kids reach a certain age. But they were embarrassments because they were our parents....not because they were embarrassments.

WASH Your Vagina Ladies! Words Cannot Convey....

how completely asinine, sexist, abhorrent, tactless and insensitive this Summer's Eve ad is. Jezebel, DailyKos and Change.org have all had their say about it.

To think that the only thing standing in the way of my raise is my less than fresh vagina....hmmph! I wonder if there will ever be an ad warning men to wash their sweaty ball sack before heading in to obtain that promotion society feels they deserve more than I do simply because of their affinity to contract jock itch!

LET ME INFORMALLY GIVE MY FORMAL INTRODUCTION

(Clearing throat) Allow me to introduce myself. I am a reformed Facebook ranter who was just recently introduced to the wonderful world of blogging. After spending the first 20+ years of my life as someone who didn't have an opinion on anything, I decided that I would now form an opinion on everything......even topics that I know nothing about. I am 41 years old and I have been married for almost 20 years. My passions are Jazz, spoken word poetry, photography(even though I am camera-shy) and my family. Having 15 siblings gives me a great pool of inspiration from which to draw.

It is my belief that the only worthwhile pursuit in life, is the pursuit of the truth. Truth exists in every situation........Exposing it is the primary goal of my writings. Once the truth is exposed, it should be wielded like an assassin's sword, cutting and destroying the lies that held it captive.

I invite you to join me on this truth quest. It promises to be a spellbinding journey into the wit and wisdom that is TRUTHQUEST.

Running For My Life

Confession time. I recently dropped $100 bucks for a pair of sneakers. This is no ordinary sneaker, mind you. The shoe is supposedly designed to activate more muscles with each step, which may result in more toning of the leg and buttock muscles and may help tone core muscles as well.

In other words, I bought a super shoe!! Yeah, okay, whatever.

I started getting back into the work out grind a few weeks ago - dvds, change in eating habits, walking and light jogging. Yeah, I'm doing it all, and it feels really good. Like I've said a gazillion times...it isn't even about looking great (which is never a bad thing, in my opinion). It's about improving my health with the hopes of increasing my longevity and having an optimal quality of life throughout the remainder of my life.

There's something so sobering about taking care of patients you played stickball in the streets with, attended dances at the local roller rink with, stirred and baked mud pies with, cheated on your nine weeks history exam with, got your period with, shivered and gazed wide eyed at the girl scout leader who was telling the ghost story with....that makes the frailty and brevity of life all much more of a reality than you sometimes want to grasp.

So me and my handy dandy iPod have been making our 4 mile trek every morning for the past two weeks. Occasionally, coworkers or family members will join me and help pass the time as I wind my way around that 1/3 mile track - counting in my head 3 is 1, 6 is 2, 9 is 3 and 12 is 4.

Every now and then I'll go it alone and during those times when I lose track of the number of laps I've already conquered  I turn this up and don't have to worry about the counting.

There's something to be said about music and exercise...and I fully agree!

Wasn't that a kick ass song?!!

Jonah Goldberg's Delusion That Islamophobia Doesn't Exist

Jonah Goldberg, founding editor of the National Review Online, had a few choice words about the preposterous notion that our nation is in the grips of an anti-Islamic movement and sentiment unparalleled by anything we've ever seen before.

The true victims of hate, according to Mr. Goldberg, are the 70% of Americans opposed to what amounts to an Islamic Niketown two blocks away from where the World Trade Center attack took place. Now how you can compare a cultural center to Niketown or whatever that is is beyond me.

His statistics are some my 4th grade son would have to raise a furrowed brow about.

First off, comparing hate crimes committed against Muslims in America to the terrorist attack carried out by fanatical Muslim extremists is a far stretch. It's like comparing hate crimes against Japanese-Americans to the attack on Pearl Harbor.

The terrorists didn't single out one particular group to inflict their punishment on. They orchestrated an attack against America. Their hatred extended far beyond our religion, our ethnic background, our gender, our political affiliations. They attacked our way of life - our freedoms. One of the very freedoms those who have such a visceral opposition to this "Ground Zero" mosque are spitting in the face of.

You also mention the fact that the number of hate crimes (mostly nonviolent in nature, anyway) have continued to drop since 2001 attempting to validate your denial that Islamophobia exist. The thing is you don't have to commit a crime to hate or fear a certain group.

Islamophobia isn't about breaking the law. It's about fracturing and subjugating a group of people based solely on the religion they choose to practice.

It blows my mind that before anyone that's not a Muslim begins to explain why he/she disagrees with the anti-Muslim climate this country is steeping in feel compelled (almost out of some warped sense of superiority sprinkled with a dash of tolerance) to announce I'm not a Muslim but....

Our own president, who did nothing more than remind all of us about the rights afforded to every American via the First Amendment, has been scrutinized worse than ever. About what? Foreign policy? No. The national debt? No. Ending the war in Iraq? No. The latest tom foolery coming from those on the right and quite a few on the left is the concern about whether our Commander-in-chief is Muslim or not.

His response:

I am not a Muslim. I am a Christian, who takes my faith very seriously. I have daily devotion and yada yada yada 

What he should have said is:

I am not a Muslim. I am a Christian. However, if I were a Muslim, what difference would it make? Does one's religion or lack of make him a wiser leader, more diplomatic in how he handles decisions, less likely to be capable of hating based solely on the actions of a few.

The number of letters I've signed expressing my sympathy to mothers, wives, husbands, and other family members regarding the loss of their loved one, who happened to be a Muslim American, in battle have reinforced many things for me. We live together. Sometimes we die together. But we are always always Americans, first and foremost.

Then Mr. Goldberg, you even attempt to gauge the hate-o-meter by asking why anti-Jewish incidents, which have also been on the rise, have taken a back seat to anti-Muslim incidents.

Everything has taken a back seat to anti-Muslim sentiment. The mob is running the show and the 24 hour news media is eating it up. People seem to love dissension and the havoc it wreaks on a cooperative agenda.

Once decisions start being made based on the actions of those with the mob mentality....the next who-can-we-be-intolerant-of-this-week is just around the bend. Hate breeds hate...and don't you ever forget it!

Muslims today. Jews tomorrow. Gays on Friday. Women after Thanksgiving.

Another point you express:

Americans have shed a lot of blood for Muslims over the last three decades: to end the slaughter of Muslims in the Balkans, to feed Somalis and to liberate Kuwaitis, Iraqis, and Afghanis. Millions of Muslims around the world would desperately like to move to the U.S., this supposed land of intolerance.

I ask you Mr. Goldberg, are some, maybe millions of Americans NOT Muslims too? You speak of America like it's comprised of one group of people. Well it's not. It's the proverbial melting pot of every race, every nation, every culture, every religion - we are unique in the fact that there's no other country like us. E pluribus unum - OUT OF MANY, ONE.

Does that ring a bell? Have we forgotten the reason those wretched, misunderstood pilgrims, sick of religious persecution and weary of intolerance decided to tell the mother country to kiss their ass because they weren't taking it anymore!

There is no denying. Our country, my country, your country indeed has a history of intolerance. That's not to say it's not one of the most desirable places to live. And you know why?

Because even with it's ugly past - racism, slavery, intolerance, etc.; we've still always managed to let cooler heads prevail. We've overcome every obstacle thrown at us so far. And we'll get through this too.

I still have faith in America. That faith might get a little shaky at times. But unwavering.

Getting Hooked On Ebonics Might Land You A Government Job

A few years back I had a discussion with a Speech Language Pathologist. It was during my short stint as a rehabilitation nurse. Our interdisciplinary team consisted of physicians, nurses, physical and occupational therapists, speech therapists, social workers and the family.

I did enjoy that team approach. Every aspect of the patient's care was covered and the outcomes were usually exceptional.

On this particular day, the SLP and I were discussing an occurrence she'd experienced while working in the public school system. Her higher ups informed her that when testing children for speech problems she should allow black children to enunciate certain words a certain way as this was part of their "culture".

Case and point: if black child A pronounces this like (dis) or they like (dey) or bath like (baf)...it's okay.

I was speechless. It wasn't horrific enough that some completely clueless clown came up with the idea of mapping out a whole deviation from the English language with their Ebony + Phonics = Ebonics crap. Now it's acceptable to allow children (black) children to continue to utilize improper grammar while correction is given to others who may be doing the exact same thing!

I'm sorry but that just doesn't work for me. I spent most of my early childhood being corrected by my mother - don't use double subjects, watch your subject/verb agreement, never put a preposition at the end of a sentence, use an before vowels and a before consonants. These are just a few I can think of. But I'm sure you get the point.

English, proper English, should not be the exception. It should be the rule. I've ruffled quite a few feathers in my home and on the job for correcting people. Blame it on my mother. I just can't stand to hear someone strip language that way.

Now to add fuel to the flame scatx over at Speaker's Corner tells us the Justice Department is trying to hire Ebonics experts!

These linguists, fluent in Ebonics, will help monitor, translate, and transcribe the secretly recorded conversations of subjects of narcotics investigations.

Hang on a second while I use the Bat phone to call God and see what the hell is going on!!

The double standard as far as speech is concerned as it relates to black and white children is bad enough. The need for linguists to help decipher Ebonics is mind boggling.

In a world where, as unfortunate as it may be, your appearance and what comes out of your mouth are ultimately the deciding factors in your success or failure, this type thing is more than a set back. It's a slap in the face for everyone who's trying to do the right thing.

Sometimes my head is so full and my heart is so heavy when I think about the direction our society is going. What gives anyone the right to decide cultural (and I use that term loosely) differences determine whether my child should be allowed to pass through the gates of sub-standard English while your child gets dinged on the head for doing same.

What makes black Americans wrap their arms around something as derogatory as Ebonics claiming it as part of the black experience. It's not part of my experience. So, stop clumping me and mine into your abhorrent and ill-fated reasoning!

I haven't heard anyone admonishing the Justice Department for coming up with this load of B.S. Where are all the activists, "leaders" and voices of reason?

Yeah, that's what I thought...

Opposite Ends of The Spectrum

Bear with me. There is a point to be made.

John Grisham, William Faulkner, Richard Wright, Eudora Welty, Margaret Walker Alexander, Shelby Foote and the great Tennessee Williams are all famous writers with at least one thing in common. They're all native Mississippians.

Realizing that Mississippi has and can produce this type of talent is a stark contrast to our state's current statistics on adult literacy. We are at the very bottom, the underbelly, the last button on the coat with 30% of adults in this state falling into level 1 literacy category or worse.

Although a staggering percentage of Mississippians can't read or write, we sure know what to do on Sunday. We were named the most religious state in the country, ranking first in four categories: importance of religion; frequency of prayer; the attendance at worship services and the certainty of a belief in God. I don't suppose you have to be literate to be religious....especially considering the state of religion these days.

During my years with a local home health agency, the teaching material we utilized for patient education was 8th grade level learning material. Statistically adults in Mississippi, on average, are not expected to grasp information higher than this particular grade level...which brings me to my experience with a patient I cared for recently.

My patient was a 50 year old female admitted with a complaint of chest pain. The physician ordered finger stick blood sugars every six hours. I hadn't noticed any diabetic medications on her chart so why was there a need to check her blood sugar level. I asked the patient if she was diabetic and her response was yes. Next step is figuring out what her diabetic meds are.

The woman began to tell me how much insulin she takes a day: 62 units in the morning and 62 units at night. This was a start. What I needed to know now was what type of insulin - Humulin N, Humulin 70/30, Novolog, Lantus, etc. She told me she didn't know. She kept her insulin in the refrigerator at home and I could call her husband and he'd tell me. Great.

I get the number. make the call. tell the husband who I am and what I need from him. He began to tell me what her insulin dosages were. I explained to him that the patient had already given me that information. I needed to know  what type of insulin.

His reply, "No ma'am, I'm not gonna be able to tell you that....because I can't read or write".

What do you do. What do you say.

I had honestly never experienced this before in my life which is why my next move was an epic fail. I asked him if he could at least spell or identify any of the letters on the vials.

You big dodo bird. If he could spell or identify letters............he could READ!

Unfortunately, he wasn't able to do that either. I thanked him for what he was able to do and hung up.

How does this happen? No...better yet...why does it happen. I was at a loss. As the night went on I realized the patient could either barely read or not read at all. She wasn't as honest as her husband had been but there were clues.

Illiteracy is a tragedy and people who lack basic knowledge of literacy are real victims because most often they suffer shameful silence. They're ashamed that if others find out, their mental abilities might be questioned. Therefore, illiterates have to maneuver, looking for clever tricks maybe, to get by, with the hope that they will be able to continue covering up their problem.

Although our great governor claims he would have voted against the bill were he in Congress, I'm glad he pulled his thumb out of his ass and accepted the federal stimulus money for education.

We could certainly use it.

Sookie and Bill - Anna and Stephen: Life Imitating Immortal Life

Prior to my move I wasn't an HBO subscriber. True Blood and all the hoopla that goes along with Charlaine Harris' Sookie Stackhouse novels was non-existent to me until June of this year. As most of you know, I'm a die hard vampire fan. So, imagine how excited I was when I turned the TV on to find blood, hot steamy vampire sex, more blood and guts, more vampires, zombie orgies, and as an added bonus...all of these irresistably wretched creatures spoke with the same thick twang-y southern accents I hear all day long...ummm...maybe I could do without the accents.

My two favorite characters, Bill (Stephen Moyer, 40) and Sookie (Anna Paquin, 28) tied the knot Saturday. Congratulations y'all! Obviously this Canadian chica loves portraying characters with lots of southern charm.

Rogue, the mutant with the lethal touch from X-Men, hailed from the imaginary county of Caldecott, Mississippi and now she's sweet, vampire loving Sookie from Bon Temps, Louisiana!

The deep south is seldom synonymous with fine living, great opportunities, or characters to write home to mom about. My heartfelt thank you to Anna for adding mutant and kick ass vampire lover/killer to the list of things to love about the South!

Why Men Cheat...

I haven't the foggiest idea! To me the question begs for generalizations, stereotyping and biased personal opinions which is exactly what I'm about to give you.

First of all, get this clear, all men don't cheat and the ones who do cheat for a multitude of reasons.

The worst of which is WOMEN! Oh yeah girl, face the music. It's your fault. Your decision to engage in a relationship with a man you know is married or emotionally/physically/sexually involved with someone else makes you just as vile as him.

I get the part about not being aware of the fact that the guy is a two timing dirt bag. I sincerely believe (and I have the late breaking news clip of my own sorted revelations to prove it) there are some women who are the last to know. But for those who know he's playing footsy with another pair of feet...you are the problem.

About a month ago I was eating lunch at work in the break room. The break  room is the place to be for all the latest gossip, rants, unsolicited advice and other forms of nightly entertainment. On this particular night, the starring role was played by a chick on her cell phone discussing a situation involving herself, "her" man and another woman. 

I can't say that I was eavesdropping. I was just sitting there. She didn't seem bothered by not being alone as she carried on her conversation. 

The more of the conversation I heard, the deeper I sank into my chair. The employee started out by saying the man she's involved with was acting rather strange. To paraphrase her words, she knew he was "up to something". She figured he had someone else. Her suspicion was verified when she called him and another woman answered his cell phone.

As usual, she and the woman got into a heated argument. She could hear him in the background pleading with the other woman to hang up the phone. Before the conversation ended, the young woman I'm sharing the break room with told the other woman, "That's okay bitch. He'll be with me tomorrow night. Then what?"

Ummm....stop.

He'll be with me tomorrow night? You say this with such conviction. You say this like you don't care that he's with another woman tonight or any other night. Why aren't you walking away slowly....wait! Why aren't you running like Usain Bolt to the nearest emergency exit?

So just as she'd promised she was with this man the next night. Lord have mercy. While she and the guy were enjoying a lovely evening his cell phone rang. Of course, it was his lay from the previous night. He answered and was being given the third degree by the other woman. 

The employee starts ranting in the background, "I told you he was gone be with me. I told ya!". She says the man was making hand motions trying to get her to quiet down. But she was not having it. She wanted to let this woman know....she was with this "man".

The only sane party in this entire fiasco is the man. He's watching/listening/processing these two women fight over him and reaping the benefits of banging them both. Neither one of them are pissed about the fact that there's another woman involved or at least not pissed enough to make it perfectly clear that they won't no parts of him or his extremely busy cell phone. 

They're content with him just not with each other. 

I'm back at work so maybe I'll get to listen in on what's been going on while I've been away!

Suffer For The Sake of His Fragile Ego

Between homework, flag football practice, buying dinner, and preparing to do it all again tomorrow I managed to read a few articles in my new Essence magazine.

Essence isn't a magazine that I read often. To be honest, I don't remember the last time I read an Essence.

As a teenager, I would grab one of my mom's and quickly thumb through it to look at the pictures. The articles were of no interest to me. I just wanted to scan for the latest in fashion and hair styles which still is the only real use I have for the publication.

So why did I buy the September edition today? Simple - 40. I saw the 40, fierce and fabulous printed across the cover and it was a done deal. For me 40 is almost like being 17 again. I want to know what other 40-year-olds are experiencing...whether the commonalities that we hear about day in and day out of the things you should expect as you approach, after you get there and as you're on your way out of this beautiful time in every woman's life are really as predictable as culture would have us think.

Too bad I never made it to any articles about that. I was stopped dead in my tracks by the magazine's relationship expert and his column. After reading that, the magazine has taken it's rightful place in the big magazine basket in the living room.

Essence's relationship expert is none other than Steve Harvey. Don't get me wrong. I like Steve. I think he's a great comedian and actor. But a dude on his third marriage is not someone I want nor need relationship advice from...unless I subscribe to the notion that practice makes perfect even in finding lasting love. Not trying to be to critical of folks like Steve who've loved, lost, loved, lost and loved again but I'd much rather hear from couples like these regarding a near perfect union. People who've been married 20+ years TO THE SAME PERSON.

But hey, I'll try anything once. So I started reading Mr. Harvey's advice column. Without boring you with all the sorted details a young woman wrote in complaining about not wanting to have sex with her husband. She stressed the fact that she loves her husband. She just doesn't desire him sexually. Sex in their home may occur once every two weeks and even then she doesn't enjoy it.

Steve's advice....

1. Figure out why you don't want to have sex - communicate with the man you love

2. Make him be more involved with household chores - since your fatigue level may be hampering your sex drive

3. If hubby steps up to the plate and puts the kids to bed, does a few dishes, reward him with some quality boot knocking that night

4. For God sake, DON'T share with him that you're not pleased sexually. As this will shatter any man's fragile ego.

5. Finally praise him when he gets it right


Now I'll just be damned! Steve has put the entire problem in this woman's lap. She's too stressed, too tired! As if this isn't enough, she must also bear this burden alone because Steve has warned her against sharing her feelings with her spouse.

Initially, he does mention communication which we all know is crucial to any healthy relationship. Then he turns around and urges her not to tell him. Why? A man's ego is too fragile. What about her ego, her professed love for her husband in spite of her lack of desire for him - what about what she needs? What if there are no kids or damn dishes!?

Must she engage in an act that will eventually become repulsive to her if the two of them don't sort this out somehow.

Come on Steve. Even I know problems have to be aired...brought to the table or they wind up becoming the elephant in the bedroom. And you can't very well have passionate love making with a freakin' elephant in the bed with ya!

Maybe his book was a best seller...but I'm not buying it or the advice he's dishing out in a magazine with a predominantly female readership. Steve's taking this I'm an expert because I say I am and I sold a few book, thanks in part to Oprah, just a wee bit too far.

Not that all of this isn't enough to teach me to never listen to Steve's love advice...but the nail in his advice coffin is the news of his new dating website Locate Your Love. Really?

My advice to the unsatisfied wife.... call Dr. Ruth. She'll tell you just how to get your groove back!

The Kidney Transplant

A few years ago I purchased a book  Your Brain: A User's Guide. 127 pages that explore the human brain in an effort to help understand things like how we learn, how we mature, why the brain grows old, why children under 5 learn and retain knowledge faster than adults, mental disorders, memory and morality.

The portion of the book that deals with morality presents you with exercises or scenarios that are referred to as moral dilemmas. The Kidney Transplant is one of those exercises:

The Kidney Transplant

You have two children, both of whom will die tomorrow without a kidney transplant. You are the only possible donor - but assume you can donate only one kidney. You have a crystal ball and can see that Child A will grow up to be a successful surgeon and will save many lives herself. She is so sick now, however, there is only a 50% chance she will survive the transplant.

Child B will grow up to be a gambler, and while she will never hurt anyone, she will never help anyone either. There is a nearly 100% chance she will survive the transplant and live a happy healthy life. To whom would you give your kidney...

Hide Yo Kids, Hide Yo Wife and Hide Yo Husband Cuz They Rapin' Erbody Out Here!

If you haven't heard of Antoine Dodson, you obviously have been under a rock for the last few weeks. Mr. Dodson has sky-rocketed to stardom for being what any girl dreams of having - a brother that comes to your rescue when you need him most. Antoine's sister, Kelly Dodson, was attacked in her home by an unknown male who attempted to rape her.

Antoine was visibly upset during this interview and rightfully so. Some have criticized the news station for airing the piece - claiming Dodson perpetuate stereotypes about black people. Whatever! Antoine is Antoine. He is not a stereotype. His anger and that of his sister's is not without merit.

Society is so caught up in classism until the plight of others is cast aside and discredited if the person affected doesn't look like you, articulate as well as you or behave in a manner you find "socially" acceptable. We all can't be textbook. The world is far too large and each and every one of us is unique.  And to be honest...I don't think Antoine would have it any other way.

As of yet the suspect hasn't been apprehended but Antoine's entrepreneurial spirit has kicked in  high gear. He has a website, a Facebook page with over 75,000 followers, an iTunes single, an online store and probably a reality show in the future. If the Jet Blue flight attendant is rewarded  with his own reality show for being rude, breaking the law, endangering his life and the lives of others...surely, Antoine's heroics and meteoric rise in today's pop culture arena is equally as deserving.

I'm not sure how a hood reality show would work out. Maybe they'll move him and his family to a more convenient location.

With Antoine and the Steven Slater's new found fame nobody can refudiate the idea that any thing is possible in America!!!

Maybe Antoine should give Steven Slater's publicist a call....

I Once Was a Racial Profiler

The subject of racial profiling isn't something any of us should take lightly. Just ask Edwin McFarlane, a 15-year-old 6'3" 270lb black male, accused of "taking" a Latina toddler while shopping in a Burlington Coat Factory in Florida.

As the story goes, the child became separated from her mother and the young man, who had come to the mall with his mother noticed the lost child and was trying to help her find her mother. When the mother realized the child was missing other shoppers told her a black man had taken the child.

Police were called, the teenager was charged at the mother's request (charges that were later dropped) and all is well in the world again. McFarlane had no record. He was doing what any of us would have done - being a good samaritan. Unfortunately, the young teen may never do that again which is sad. But hey, that's life. McFarlane fit the profile of a criminal not a young man doing a good deed.

The story reminded me of the one time my own racial profiling almost threw me into full blown cardiac arrest on a long stretch of highway between where I was and where I lived.

It happened on a Sunday afternoon over 20 years ago. I'd decided to skip college and live off love. My sister wasn't quite as foolish as I. So, she enrolled at a university about two and a half hours from where we lived.

I had just recently purchased a car which made me her back to school on Sunday evenings chauffeur.

On the way back home, I heard that sound and felt that sinking feeling. The one you get when you know one of your tires just died an untimely death. As I coasted to the side of the road, I became painfully aware that the sun was close to setting.

I hopped out of the car to look at the tire. What else could I do but look? I didn't even know whether I had a spare, a jack, a Louisville slugger...nothing. An 18-year-old woman standing beside I car that wasn't going anywhere.

I watched as several people drove past. Some slowed down slightly. I could see their brown faces looking at me...then turning their eyes back to the road and proceeding on to their destinations.

Several black men, women, families passed me on the highway that Sunday evening - not one of them stopped. Cell phones weren't even heard of in 1988...at least not in my neck of the woods. So, I was truly alone. I decided to get back in my car and turn on my hazard lights. What good was standing out in the cool evening air going to do me? Besides I felt more protected in the car.

I started listening to a cassette that was in the deck and almost forgot what a jam I was in. Then I saw them!

Two white guys in a muddy jeep drove past me. I noticed a shotgun or rifle mounted in the back window of the jeep. The jeep was an older model (even for 1988) and was muddy as hell. Where in God's name had they been and more importantly, where were they going.

The jeep started to slow. My heart started to race. Oh no, they're stopping. Sweet Baby Jesus, they're backing up. Heaven help me they're getting out. Two tall, big burly white dudes in full hunting gear with a BIG gun mounted in the window of their muddy jeep.

Lord, will anyone ever find my body!!?

I composed myself and gripped my butt cheeks tight in an attempt to prevent the need for more than a tire change.

The guys made it to my car door and asked if I needed help. I can remember crying a bit. I was scared, alone and .....well just scared and alone.

I managed to point to my tire. They asked if I had a spare and a jack. I didn't know. I remembered some hard little doughnut looking tire under the carpeting in the trunk. I stepped out of the car and headed to the trunk. The guys got to work right away. Had that spare on and the torn up tire thrown in my trunk in all of ten to fifteen minutes at the most.

They asked me where I was headed. I told them. The two good samaritans then told me they would trail me into the city limits to make sure nothing went wrong with the spare. I was only able to drive about 45 miles per hour. I glanced up every now and then to see their jeep following closely behind me.

As we entered the city, the two lane highway stretched into four. The guys pulled along beside me....gave me a thumbs up and a wave and drove on into the night.

I never learned who they were, where they'd been or where they were going. All I know is I made a terrible assumption about those two hunters. The people I thought would help me...those I didn't feel threatened by at all...passed me like a was just a mirage.

The men I feared turned out to be my knights in shining armor. Hopefully, the mother of the lost child learned two things - #1 keep a closer eye on her kid and #2 never make assumptions.

Help doesn't have a color - only a heart and a conscience.

Say Hello to My Little Friend

I think an introduction is in order. This is Larry the lizard. The previous owners of my new to me home left him right outside the front door. I love Larry and was praying they'd leave him and his cousin Cletus the hound dog (he sits on the opposite side) right where I found them when I first viewed the house.

In their haste to get themselves moved out and me moved in, the lovely couple accidentally left Larry and Cletus. I wanted to do the right thing so, I phoned them to let them know. Good news for me....they were not offended about having left these cute little bouncy creatures. Thus, they now belong to me.

Since my informal greeters to all who enter my home do such a great job, I wanted to use this pic of Larry to tell you about something new I've been working on.

A Thousand Words is a photo blog I started about a week ago. I didn't want to saturate this blog with all my unprofessional shots. I'm having so much fun I just had to have somewhere neat to showcase my work.

Make sure to click through and take a look at what I've been up to. Larry, Cletus and I thank you very much!

Due Process and Equal Protection - Prop 8 Bites The Dust

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Last week the Family Research Council took Judge Vaughn Walker to task - citing his own sexual orientation as the primary reason he lay in wait like a predator for the day the Proposition 8 ruling would fall in his hands. The institution of marriage has been ruined...ruined I tell you is what the Council would have people to believe:

"The right to marry is granted by the U.S. Constitution- but not the right to redefine marriage. Everyone in America--including homosexuals--is free to tie the knot. Our laws simply require them to marry someone of the opposite sex--just as they require us not to marry children, blood relatives, multiple partners, or people who are already married. There is no discrimination, because these restrictions apply equally to every person". - Family Research Council

The first sentence in this barrage of words sums up what the GLBT community and those supporting their cause have been screaming from the roof tops - The right to marry is granted by the U.S. Constitution.

Now who's trying to define it or why it needs defining is a totally different picture. What's most disturbing is the continued attempt to equate same sex marriage to pedophilia, incest and polygamy - all of which, by the way, can be found in the same bible they use so fervently to trod on others with.

Even if the constitution was "changed" or amended to give a definition of marriage - who's left to determine, interpret or decide whether that definition is inclusive enough, exclusionary enough, broad enough, narrow enough (I'm sure you get the point).

And more importantly, would it be right, just, fair? Our history is seasoned with despicable and discriminatory practices all done in the name and under the guise of the law.

State laws that classified miscegenation (interracial marriage) as a felony - punishable by a prison sentence between one and five years weren't determined to be unconstitutional until 1967 in the Loving v. Virginia United States Supreme Court ruling.

Richard and Mildred Loving, a white man and black woman, married in D.C in June of 1958. The couple were residents of Virginia. Honest, law abiding citizens - so much so that marrying in a state where their marriage was viewed as unconstitional and a felony offense was out of the question.

This couple was yanked from their bed in the middle of the night by a gang of cops, charged, plead guilty and sentenced to one year in prison, with the sentence suspended for 25 years IF they left the state.

After several of their appeals were denied based on the constitutionality of the anti-miscegenation statutes, the Supreme Court finally rendered their decision.  A blow to every filthy hate mongering white supremacist everywhere!

People with their prejudiced and bigoted views have used and twisted the laws of this land for years to subjugate those they feel aren't worthy of the same freedoms and liberties that they enjoy.

Walker didn't redefine marriage. He did his job and upheld the law of the land without prejudice.

What's Wrong With YOU People?!

Their eyes were dark brown with olive colored skin. Their features resembled anything but what some view as an all American. They loved this country and died on it's soil in one of the worst terrorists attacks in United States history.

Salman Hamdani, a 23-year-old NYC police cadet and part-time ambulance driver, killed helping others.  Baraheen Ashrafi, 9 months pregnant with her second child, prayed with her husband, Mohammad Chowdhury, the salaat-l-fajr (the pre-dawn prayer) before he left for work. She never saw him again. Or consider Rahma Salie, a passenger on American Airlines #11 that crashed into the North Tower. Rahma, a Muslim of Sri Lankan origin, was traveling with her husband Michael (a convert to Islam) to attend a friend's wedding in California. Rahma was 7 months pregnant with their first child. All Muslims. All Americans. All martyred on 9/11/2001.


Let's not even start counting the Muslim Americans who've died in Iraq and Afghanistan. Will you forever punish an entire group/religion for the acts of terrorists? If so, grab your pitchforks and head for the Irish Catholics! Timothy McVeigh was one of THEM!!

So many people have come to this country in an attempt to escape religious persecution. Cherishing the ability to practice whatever religion they chose without fear of reprisal, prejudice or intolerance.

And here we are almost a decade after 9/11 and those left behind should hang their heads in shame and bewilderment at what this nation has become.

In just a few weeks, a church is planning a Koran burning ceremony scheduled to take place on the anniversary that Americans from all backgrounds, all ethnic groups, all faiths (including Islamic) were killed in a terrorist attack on our country - a site remembered today as 'Ground Zero'.

The very country that vowed no terrorist or act of terrorism would change our way of life. America would remain a beacon of hope in the midst of the storm - a place, a land, a home - to be proud of claiming as our own.

The latest, in what seems like and unending episode of  'Fear Factor', is the opposition against a Muslim community center and mosque that is to be built two blocks away from where the Towers stood. Those opposed claim the new facility arouses acute emotion and total unity among relatives of 9/11 victims, first responders, Tea party members, Republican office holders and anyone remotely affiliated with Fox News. Unity based on what?!

There's even a rift in Democratic party leadership. It seems that Sen. Harry Reid is separating himself from President Obama on this one. Y'all remember Harry, right?

It's like a bad nightmare and no matter how hard you try....you just can't seem to wake up. Our country....them....us....patriots....real America. WTF!

I caught the end of a movie earlier today. Focus with William H. Macy. It's about a husband and wife that are mistakenly identified as Jews in their anti-Semitic Brooklyn neighborhood. The time period is early to mid 1940s. I was speechless. Some of the same hateful rhetoric spewing from the mouth of one of the religious leaders in this movie sounded just like....well, I'm sure you have an idea who. Heck, you actually have an assortment of I'm-more-American-than-you's to choose from.

The winds of change are upon us and I don't like the direction it's blowing. Changing the 14th amendment, deciding who can build a religious center where. Sometimes I feel we are so undeserving of the many freedoms we enjoy. A nation driven by hatred, fear, prejudice, intolerance, ignorance, and a war monger-ers mentality. It's only the beginning folks. And if you don't take a stand....this is going to wind up in all our backyards.

Twitter Bird Been In The Sun Too Long?

This cute little avian guy was the illustration used in one of the silliest articles I've read in a long time How Black People Use Twitter. With over 100 million registered users singling out a subset of black people and using a title that implies that this is the way  I use Twitter is reckless. The author attempts to defend a few of the points in the article by citing opinions of other black social media gurus and a bunch of other verbiage.

How do you determine the color of Twitter users. You're not asked when you sign up and if your profile pic is not of a person of color (I'm seriously thinking about using Jason Voorhies for mine) ....how would you know what color a Twitterer is....seriously?

But it's not just the article that has me slightly miffed. Check out the bird....this little brown side cap wearing, smart phone toting bird IS brown.

Just when did Twitter decide to change the color of the follow me phenom?

My Nature Pics - Sort of....

So the plan was to venture out today and start snapping away.

Morning, in all it's magnificent splendor, came much too soon. I was awakened by my yard guy's loud lawn equipment. The bed just would not let me go. I did my best corpse impersonation ever when he began to ring my doorbell. I'll pay him later He finally got the message and gave up. After another hour or two of dozing in and out of consciousness, I willed myself out of bed, showered, dressed and headed out to get reacquainted with the great outdoors.

Jake and I made an attempt to take in some nature in hopes of capturing photos to remind us of the scorching hot summer we've had to endure. After watching a squirrel wipe sweat from his brow with a red bandana, a big brown dog collapse on the curb and pop the top on an ice cold Miller High Life and insects literally sauteeing on the pavement, we gave up and made a beeline to the mall. The temperature today was around 100 with a heat index of 110!

Never miss out on an opportunity to shop stay cool. All wasn't lost. I took a pic of one of my many purchases today. I managed to play around a bit with Photoshop. I brightened the green apples and finally figured out how to tag my photos. Now I'm pooped.

Time for a nice relaxing bath.

Somebody Slit My Wrists. It's That Damn N-word Again!

Dr. Laura Schlessinger is ridiculous. That’s about the only relatively decent word I can use to describe her. Just remember two things: don't marry out of your race if you're hypersensitive about race and DON'T NAACP her! Period!

The good doctor was abrasive, defensive and hyper-insensitive to the caller. She should be flogged!!

But...

With regard to the infamous N-word, I’ve blogged about it, talked about it, had discussions at work about it, denounced it’s use in the black community, denounced it’s use by racists…but that 6 letter word keeps cropping up.

I’m a black woman. I’m a Negro. I don’t find the term African-American very useful to me. I’ve never asked white coworkers their ethnic origin. If I did, I’m sure I’d find that I’m working with Italian-Americans, French-Americans, German-Americans, Polish-Americans…and so on.

(*cringing) I can relate to any non-black person’s protest of the big deal made of the word with the black-people-use-it-all-the-time argument.

Just a few nights ago at work a young black male coworker was called a nigger by an old white male patient. Coworker was enraged. He had to be taken outside to “cool off”. This is the same male coworker that spews this word continuously when he’s in a group of his peers. That’s hypocrisy!

You can’t have it both ways. You can’t view it as a word that was designed to subjugate an entire race of people one minute and a term of endearment the next.

I’ve heard the “word” all my life. I choose not to use it and never allowed any of my children or family members to use it in my presence. As peculiar as this may sound, I’ve even asked my fellow coworkers of color not to use it around me. So much so that when they accidentally say it…they’re quick to look at me and say “I’m sorry Roschelle”. Now what sense does that make?

My own race apologizing to me for using a word they’d almost be driven to commit murder over…depending on who’s using it…

Stumbled across a post outlining Al Sharpton's response to the good doctor's interview. That's another subject I'd like to slit my wrists over...ugh!

Photography 101 - Day 1

Okay, so I'm finally off work with seven long days to devote to rest, relaxation and testing out my handy dandy Nikon. I had a pretty eventful Friday the 13th. With that in mind I decided to opt for in house subjects to photograph

i promised myself i would stock my bar. this bottle won't be making it to the bar but I have others!

reading the D5000 manual is almost worse than studying Calculus...maybe it's the wine!

playing with the focus...only i wanted the manual to be in focus and the wine glass to be fuzzy...

I certainly have lots to learn. Any tips would be cherished....

Hell, Fire, Brimstone and Blowing Smoke

I don't know a lot about Anne Rice other than her book that was later turned into a movie totally satisfied my obsession with vampires. I love those soul-less, seductive creatures to no end. But enough about one of my many fetishes.

Ms. Rice has been in the headlines lately for giving up on Christianity. As a recovering atheist who finally saw the light, her departure back into darkness is significant. All isn't completely lost. Ms. Rice says she will continue to follow Christ...just not that group that's following along with her.

The famous author cites Christianity's anti-gay, anti-feminist, anti-science and anti-Democrat ideologies as her reasons for separating herself from Christianity not Christ.

I can honestly say I understand where Ms. Rice is coming from. I have my own views about the church, as I'm sure we all do. My personal experiences have left a pretty sour taste in my mouth about the whole thing.

We've all given the side eyed stare when you hear or read things like ministers praying for another person's death or religions casting out faithful followers for the heinous act of saving another human being's life.

My encounter wasn't as harsh or faith-shattering as these but it's not something I expected either.

One of the things my X and I decided to do was try a bit of marriage counseling in hopes of saving our shaky union. We scheduled an appointment with the minister of our church.

I had worked the night before and the meeting was to take place around 10:30 or 11:00 that following morning. In hindsight, that may have been a big mistake. I was sleepy, cranky and not up for a long lecturous preaching to about the virtues of a good wife and all that other yada yada.

So we make it to the pastor's study. His wife is there. I guess since this was "marriage counseling" the pastor felt having his wife there would be a plus. It wasn't

I start talking about things that I have issues with my X frowning and running to the cabinet to anoint me with olive oil every time I pour a glass of wine, pop the top on a beer or cool off with one of those B&J wine coolers. Drinking wasn't and isn't an every day thing for me. But I occasionally enjoy a nice alcoholic beverage.

His refusal to listen to or allow any type music other than gospel to be played in the car, house or on television. Music is my thing. I love the greats: Coltrane, Miles, Luther, Marvin, The O'Jays, Gladys...stuff like that. I mean come on. Who can help a husband serenade his wife better than Luther Vandross?

His total disowning of his own daughter, my step daughter when she had a baby out of wedlock at the age of 21! I drove 2 hours to be with her the morning she had the baby, who by the way, looks exactly like my X. When I called to tell him he had a grandson his response was "I don't have anything!"

After I finished, the pastor looked at me and smiled. He asked me if I had prayed to God to change my husband. My answer was yes. When he was a drunk, an abuser and spent little time with his family yes, I asked God to deliver him from alcohol which always made him violent and kept him away from home.

My prayers, in that respect, had been answered. So, pastor insisted that alcohol was a bad thing.

You have to know me to know that he wasn't about to get away with that one! I pipe in and inform him that I agree and disagree. Anything that consumes you can be viewed as bad - food, gambling, sex, and yes, drinking. X is an alcoholic. For him, drinking alcohol is something he should never do again. X had already made it clear that my drinking didn't make him want to drink. He had completely lost the taste for the stuff. Good. So, I don't see how me drinking a glass of wine is a bad thing.

Wasn't Jesus' first miracle turning water to wine? *side-eyed stare

Pastor's reply: Yes, it was but that wine was unfermented. *matter-of-fact stare

Now I'm really confused. I'm thinking unfermented? Isn't that kind of like grape juice? I've never seen any mention of unfermented wine being served at the wedding in Cana were Jesus performed this miracle...

With that answer I knew where the rest of this was going. He preached about how music can put your mind in places it shouldn't be and can fuel lustful desires and thoughts. Man, I'm talking about listening to love songs with my husband not the mailman!!

He discussed how hurt father's can be sometimes especially regarding bad decisions their daughters make. Disowning your child and grandchild for any reason is a no-no in this mama's book. Our kids won't be perfect and neither are we. Guidance, understanding, and unconditional love is supposed to be what it's all about, right?

He twisted and contorted the word of God so badly that day all I could do to not be disrespectful in the confines of a church house was hold my peace.

So, when I tell ya I can understand where Anne Rice is coming from. I mean that.

When we left the pastor's study that day I was angry - not with X but with this man who was revered by so many people. His power of persuasion over them was frightening. There's no doubt in my mind that pastor had studied the bible. He knew it front and back. And used it as HE saw fit.

It's a sin for children to attend a prom. It's a sin for families to celebrate Halloween. It's a sin to drink beer while watching the football game on Sunday. It's a sin for you and I to share a glass of wine over dinner. It's a sin not to give him 10% of your gross salary every month.

If God, Christ, Allah, Muhammad, Buddha, and Brahma all came back today and saw the state the world was in in the name of religion, I don't think they'd even bother to unpack their luggage....just catch the red eye back to where ever.

Mommy Issues

We were all sitting around at work the other night and one of my coworkers struck up a conversation about how she and her 32 year old daughter haven't spoken in almost two weeks. For some, this might seem like no time at all but to me it's an eternity...considering the fact that my mom and I talk almost every day.

As the story goes, her grandchildren spent a few days with her this summer. During their visit one of their outings was a trip to a farmer's market. She bought the usual, fresh fruit and vegetables.

The kids seemed to have enjoyed their stay and when it was time to head home my coworker's son drove his nieces and nephews back to their mother's.

Later that afternoon my coworker received a call from her daughter that went something like this.

Daughter: So you bought fresh apples for the kids while  they were there?

Coworker: Yeah, we went to a farmer's market the other day.

Daughter: What kind of fucking idiot are you to allow a seven year old to use a knife by himself!!!??

The conversation deteriorated from there.

I was as white faced as I can possibly be. This woman isn't my mother but it cut me to the bone hearing that anyone would speak to their mother in this manner. Coworker didn't seem to bothered by it....maybe there's a history there...I don't know.

She refuses to speak to her daughter until she apologizes. Daughter hasn't called again either. For her, the worst part was the daughter not asking her what happened. The child obtained the knife with the help of one of the older siblings, unbeknownst to coworker.

A few other coworkers chimed in about not having very good relationships with their moms. One went so far as to say she was glad her mother was dead (or maybe she said relieved) so she didn't have to be talked down to or chastised or insulted or watch her play favorites with the grandkids anymore....there's definitely a  history there.

I was blessed with a beautiful mother....inside and out. I have bouts of anxiety just imagining my life without her. She has enriched my life in too many ways to speak of. All that I am or ever hope to be is owed to this woman.

My heart is broken knowing everyone couldn't, didn't or won't experience that same type bond.

Coming To Terms With My Own Phobias

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The argument continues over whether Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt are exercising good judgment by allowing their daughter, Shiloh to have such a strong say in how she chooses to dress and wear her hair.

Long before little Shiloh's appearance began to create a buzz I'd noticed how unique her style of dress was.

She prefers track suits to twirly skirts, swim trunks to bikinis, and cropped hair to long tresses.

I must admit my first reaction was that these Hollywood elites were obviously not thinking clearly.

What responsible parent would allow their 4-year old to decide that she wants to dress like a boy! They're only setting this poor kid up for years of ridicule and condemnation.

I even commented on a post several weeks ago over at HuffPo with:

"I don't think anyone's judging this sweet child. She's innocent. People are questioning the mother's judgment. She wants to BE a boy. So, we've decided to help our daughter BE a boy - cutting her hair, buying ALL male clothing, and allowing her to THINK that she is.



I was a tomboy too. But I knew I was a GIRL. Sexual identity starts developing around pre-school. Let them be who they want. But don't confuse them about who they are.”

But in order to allow a child to be who they want to be...you have to let them be WHO THEY ARE.

My opinion regarding this child's parents was a total contradiction to my stance on making gender stereotyping a thing of the past. How can I admonish the behavior of others and not realize I harbor some of the same ideals.

Shiloh, like all other children, is exploring and going through the many phases that encompass growing up. Allowing her to cut her hair or wear the clothes she likes best is not stunting or harming her.

Often denying children and forcing them to comply with society's gender identity standards can cause a greater level of confusion and pain in the long run.


Is it wrong for parents to make children conform to a single gender identity?

Reducing a Disparity is More Important Than Saving a Life

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So Congress and our president, in their infinite wisdom, have decided to close the gap on the disparity between crack cocaine and powder cocaine mandatory sentencing.

Congress believes this will save millions of dollars it takes to house inmates in federal prisons and levels the playing field, so to speak, between black and white cocaine offenders.

According to statistics, more blacks are charged/convicted of crimes associated with crack cocaine and more whites are charged/convicted of crimes associated with powder cocaine.

In an effort to adjust a law some viewed as racist, Congress and the president decided to increase the amount of crack cocaine you must be in possession of from 5 grams to 28 grams before the mandatory five year minimum prison sentence can be applied. The powder cocaine amount remained 500 grams.

The original law, first passed in 1986, was 100 times more severe for crack cocaine offenses than powder cocaine.

Now what my little brain tells me is this means more crack  dealers on the street which means our children are more at risk of being introduced to this poison which means there will be more crack addicts which means there will be more crimes committed in an attempt to obtain more crack.

What Congress SHOULD have done was decreased the amount you must be in possession of to even less on both sides of the equation powder and crack!

Get these bastards off the street! Period.

And who viewed the original law as racist?

1) The elderly woman I took care of while working home health several years ago whose grandson beat her to death with a hammer because she wouldn't give him money for crack. The attack occurred the day I was scheduled to see her. But I decided to see her a day earlier instead. The last day full day of her life!

2) The little girls who are whored out by their mothers so she can get more money for crack.

3) The mother's of sons and daughters who were members of the honor's society with full academic scholarships to universities all over the state but were introduced to a rock by someone wanting to have a little fun. Now they're enrolled in the University of  Homeless Addicts staggering up and down the street searching for cigarette shorts, food and begging for spare change to buy their next rock.

4) Or maybe it's my mother's baby sister. The life of the party. The aunt we always loved to be around. The one who changed into someone almost unrecognizable to us after crack cocaine finished stealing her away. The one who was murdered in front of her daughters 10 years ago.

Until you've lived it, experienced the pain caused by it, lost someone because of it, you could never understand.  Laws are laws and if they're instituted to protect society as a whole, so be it.

An Open Letter to My Period!

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Inspired by a post over at Raising My Boychick!

Dear Period,

     It was a chilly January afternoon in 1981 when you arrived. I had only been eleven years old for one month. One DAMN month! You never bothered to tip me off about your plans to visit. No no, you just showed up out of the blue and BAM!...my life was changed forever.
    
     How is a 6th grade girl supposed to explain that big ironing board pad wedged in her purse to a room full of giggling 6th grade boys, one being the creep who violated my privacy by going in my purse and snatching it out...waving it for the whole class to see. And then you sneak up on me when I'm least expecting. Thank goodness my windbreaker was available to be worn with the arms tied neatly around my waist to conceal your treachery until I made it safely home.

     Over the last 30 years, you've ruined sleepovers, vacations, last minute rendezvous, underwear, sheets and a couple of kick ass outfits! You'd think by now a little reprieve from your everflowing torment would be in order. Oh but no, your dastardly ways issue forth like clockwork.

     But alas, I'm on to you. I've found ways to keep you confined to the very walls you yearn to slough away from. Now I decide when you come and when you go. And with the arsenal I've acquired for dealing with you during those times you manage to breakthrough your powers over me seem to wane a little bit more every 27 days you attempt to show your little sanguineous face!

     I find great solace in the realization that your days are numbered....and I don't mean on my calendar. Your crimson soul will soon wallow in the underbelly of a place where you will once again be reunited with Aunt Flo, Cousin Red and all those who've been sequistered there before you by the great change of life.

     It's just a matter of time.


Signed,
Tired of Riding the Cotton Pony!


Write a letter to your period or lack of in the comment section or on your blog and link here. I had a blast coming up with this one :)

Keeping My Qi Positive

Learning, growing, evolving...exploring all the possibilites for positive lifestyle changes is my thing.

When I inadvertently purchased some new pieces to decorate the house the clerk at the counter commented on how pretty the butterflies were in the design. Butterflies? I didn't remember seeing any butterflies. I just liked the way the items looked and thought the colors would work well with the room's color scheme. So, I say yeah, those are actually pretty neat which they were.

She went on to share how'd she'd recently heard that butterflies are symbolic of one's resurrection...transformation and/or transition into a new being...a new place...a new beginning. I thought to myself this sounds like me.

Transitioning into the role of a divorcee....a new home owner...middle age... I'm claiming this as my time....my season!

Now I'm all excited!

You see, for me, everything means something...nothing just happens. Like Newton's laws of motion for every action there's an equal and opposite reaction. In other words, Every. Thing. Happens. For. A. Reason. 

As a dear friend put it -

....We view the world through narrative structures (viewing the world through stories) which gives us a framework in which to interpret events and experiences. If we change the narrative, we change the experience.

For example, if I say I am a blogger, people will believe that. I've made this declaration. Therefore, I practice my craft - I blog. I'm viewed by those I've shared this knowledge with as a blogger. I've created a new story and a new way to view the world. And thanks to the store clerk....now I'm viewing life as a butterfly because I am a new me.

Kim's much better at explaining the narrative thing than I am. Check out his post here.


Lessons I've learned from the butterfly -

1) To accept the changes in my life as casually as she does

2) To understand that toiling, fretting and anger are useless against the turning tides of nature

3) Unwavering acceptance of her metamorphosis is also symbolic of faith...inspiring us to keep the faith as we go through transitions in our own lives.

Following the example of the butterfly and understanding and implementing the true realm of control are lessons well learned.


After reading this, there shouldn't be much guess worked required in trying to figure out what #31 is going to be!

Do We Really Have To Go There?

Source

I hate those conversations that you know are about to go south before they even get started. You try to skirt the issue/topic but you just know there's really no way around it.

Yesterday a friend and I were talking - just casual small talk about life, love, sex - you know the good stuff. For the sake of full disclosure, let me just say this person and I are very well acquainted and I think he's the best thing since the discovery of fire - warm, affectionate, attentive, intelligent, sexy, and super hot!

Anyway, during the conversation he asked me how much I weighed (pause). (replay) he asked me how much I weighed. I know. That IS the cardinal no-no! But I wasn't insulted because we do this all the time. He tells me about how much he's gained or lost and I used to tell him about my weight. I lost 3 more pounds or I weighed blah blah blah this morning - just part of our daily small talk, I guess.

Lately I haven't been as forthcoming with him about my weight. Even when he would share his routine weigh-in results with me I remained silent. Silence born out of the knowledge that I've gained about 10 pounds since we met.

At first I didn't think he'd notice. My clothes are a bit snugger but I'll just wear this blouse on the outside instead of shoving it in my jeans like a normally do - or I'll hold my tummy in when he wraps his arms around me so he won't feel this little kangaroo pouch that's taken up residence around my mid section. Stupid little ol' me didn't consider what to do on the occasions that I'm in my birthday suit - STOP BREATHING - THINK SMALL WHILE CHANTING: LIGHT AS A FEATHER ... LIGHT AS A FEATHER ... OVER AND OVER IN MY HEAD?!

Well guess what? He noticed and as soon as he finally summoned the courage to ask me the question...I knew where he was headed.

So, I reply casually "I don't know. I gave my mom my scale and I haven't weighed since". Next silly question out of my mouth .... "why?"

Can you believe it!? I know I'm about to be told I look bigger or I noticed your kangaroo pouch while you were asleep or it took your ass 10 minutes to make it in the room after you! Still the only thing I can think of in response is why!

In his defense, he was much kinder than I was expecting. He said "I was just curious. I know you haven't been walking as much as you usually do. You just need to stay on course and don't get too soft. You're not as toned as you used to be".

Toned. Oh what a nice way to say your ass is fat!!! Because that's really all I heard. I impulsively got defensive and ranted about how hurt my feelings were and yada yada yada.

But truth be known - I'm glad he did it. Of course, I knew! I mean if you look at your body day in and day out, see that your clothes are shrinking, or happen to catch a few dimples smiling at you that haven't been there before - YOU KNOW.

Denial is funny though. You blame it on water weight, hormonal changes, clothes shrinking trolls that attack your wardrobe when you're not looking or any other delusional reason to keep shoveling in those burgers, fries, cookies and sodas. Usually it's my own observations and a decision to start getting things in gear that jolt me back to reality.

This time it came from someone that's almost as important to me as me, not quite, but close.

So, if you look for me and can't find me, I'll be hitting the neighborhood, feet first or riding my bike with Jacob or in the fruit and vegetable section instead of down the Hostess cupcake and Twinkie aisle. Time to make life list #27 a reality.