It's a struggle to get these thoughts out. I convinced myself I needed to write to get me going again. Since Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, I've been feeling as if I've been in a daze. As if my body and mind has reached it's highest level of excitement and activity that it can't do anymore...at least not at this time. Still I have four more papers to complete before the close the of the semester, plus some editing and writing duties for the publication that is officially launching.. err ummm this week!!! (EEK!)
I didn't realize how busy and how truly drained I have been since August. From writing two to three papers just about every week, to writing creatively for Medina's class and even throwing in some journalism duties PLUS coming home to take care of whatever issues there, I should be half out my mind. Still I'm in tact. A long time ago this would have drowned me. I would have given in to defeat and sat on the sidelines, again prolonging my "college career." But a force stronger than me has kept me afloat. I've just lived up to my end as far as the work goes.
This year I didn't formulate any real thoughts on Thanksgiving. I was just thankful for the second year in a row that the "Ides of November" wasn't looming - death, depression, sickness, over blown drama - and I was able to spend Thanksgiving with the ones I love. The day after met me with an incredible body crash. I managed to get up early with the Snickerdoodle and give her breakfast and watch her favorite shows with her. However, for the most part I stayed on the couch with one eye on the Snickerdoodle as she played and another trying to talk me into a full fledge sleep. Stayed away from my computer and for the most part my Blackberry; though I did send and received a couple of text messages. I did get a couple of cat naps in, but once the Snickerdoodle was in bed for the night, I wasn't far behind.
I slept a deep, dreamless sleep. The best.
Saturday met me with such energy. I knew I still had work to complete, but the computer just didn't appeal to me. I didn't fret over it at all. I spent the day helping my father dig out Christmas decorations and few other items from the storage shed. I did find a few goodies that once belonged to me as a kid that I'm now giving to the Snickerdoodle.
So this red chair was wrapped up and towards the back of the storage shed. Apparently my grandfather gave this to me when I was about 2 or 3 years old. Of course I looked it and said the Snickerdoodle had to have this. She saw it and couldn't wait to sit in it.
Then there was my "Dressy Bessy" doll; the doll that helps you understand how to zip, button, snap and tie. I think this was my favorite find for the Snickerdoodle. After I gave Bessy a good spin around the washing machine, to brighten her up, the Snickerdoodle hasn't been able to put her down. She loves this, which is a bit of shock to me. Usually the Snickerdoodle doesn't play with dolls at her. She's more for toys with actions and that makes noise. Then again, with Bessy there is action as you zip, snap, tie and button.
By the end of the day I was tired. My whole body ached. Energy was gone. I took a bubble bath and headed straight for the bed. I was nearing my deep sleep when the Snickerdoodle awoke in the middle of the night. For whatever reason she wasn't trying to go back to sleep. She wasn't ill, but I knew she too was tired having a long day playing outside. Still she fought sleep and made space in my bed for her, her blankie, and Bessy. I made several attempts for her to go back to sleep, but none was working.
Soooooo.
We had an impromptu slumber party as we watched a couple of movies on OnDemand Shrek and Sesame Street's Follow That Bird (a classic from my generation when I was like... 5) The Snickerdoodle stayed up and watched both movies and still fought to go back to sleep. Nevertheless by 4:30 am she was too tired to fight and my body felt like it wanted to slap the crap out of me for not sleeping. Once I knew for sure the Snickerdoodle was sleep (in her own bed), I collapsed back into my bed, falling into a deep repose until the house phone rang around 8 am. Then my cell phone rang no later than that.
I hit ignore for both calls and went back to sleep.
My body and mind had grown just that tired. Even now.. as it's only inching towards 3:30 in the afternoon, my bed seems to be calling. Just one more day of sleep and I'll be ready to finish out the last week of classes and the next week of a final exam, plus the last two papers that are due.
Within the past few weeks, Medina has been pressing the class to go deeper with our writing. The first couple assignments were reactions pieces or poems/prose we were to construct based on artwork by an African-American artist we individually choose. There was an "I Am From..." assignment where we have to look within and create a piece illustrating where we are from and then there was the one due today; the soundtrack of your life.
When the "soundtrack" assignment was given, immediately I thought back to the tag line I created for my blog years ago.
"A Melody In Search of a Lyric."
How convenient this would come to mind? At the first opportunity I got I wrote down: I'm a melody. Everyone that enters my life one way or another is a lyric...creating a neverending bittersweet symphony.
The whole weekend I pondered over it more. Eventually last evening I sat down and began listening to music. Somehow Alicia Keys' latest single "Doesn't Mean Anything," struck a cord that caused my thoughts to flow. I began writing. What I ended up with I presented in class.
In Search Of….
By: Mahoganie Jade Browne
A melody in search of a lyric.
Deaf to the harmony already rumbling in the background.
Blind to the words facing her.
A Bittersweet Symphony she was escaping.
“We got your sex and your violence. Melody and Silence.”
Being a Soulful Moaner, she wailed.
Most times out of a lustful fit that soothe the pain.
Other times out of the need to be.
Always looking to others to write her song; from Donnie crooning on about A Song For… “Her” to taking on the Shapeshifter’s Theme to Lola and rewriting it Blackveleteen’s Theme knocking off Lenny.
It’s just as Springsteen and Manfred Mann’s Band said, she was Blinded By The Light.
A melody in search of a lyric.
Stumbling onto a blank score.
Unknowingly setting the time signature to a never ending composition.
From six-eight to four-four.
From the blue note to the highest praise pitch.
Perhaps rococo
Never a strophic.
Vivid rhythms conjuring faces.
Attracted to the distinct flow.
Co-writing the symphony of her life.
The room fell silent for a minute and then heads nodded in agreement. I could tell everything was thinking, but didn't know what to say. Medina cut the silence by asking me to read it backwards.....
Co-writing the symphony of her life.
Attracted to the distinct flow.
Vivid rhythms conjuring faces.
Never a strophic.
Perhaps rococo
From the blue note to the highest praise pitch.
From six-eight to four-four.
Unknowingly setting the time signature to a never ending composition.
Stumbling onto a blank score.
A melody in search of a lyric.
It’s just as Springsteen and Manfred Mann’s Band said, she was Blinded By The Light.
Always looking to others to write her song; from Donnie crooning on about A Song For… “Her” to taking on the Shapeshifter’s Theme to Lola and rewriting it Blackveleteen’s Theme knocking off Lenny.
Other times out of the need to be.
Most times out of a lustful fit that soothe the pain.
Being a Soulful Moaner, she wailed.
“We got your sex and your violence. Melody and Silence.”
A Bittersweet Symphony she was escaping.
Blind to the words facing her.
Deaf to the harmony already rumbling in the background.
A melody in search of a lyric.
Almost in unison the class let out whispers of excitement and approval. Even I couldn't hide the fact that the words were more like me... a bit abstract, yet a bit transparent. A living metaphor.
It took everything within me not to cry in their presence. My life.. plain as day...
One of the hardest lessons that I've learned - and still reminding myself of - is that I'm worth it.
It's been on my heart and mind to sit down and talk with my aunt. I love my aunt, even in the midst of her flaws. After all, who am I to judge. Yet, it saddens me that at her age (she's edging closer to 50) somewhere deep down she doesn't feel like she is worth it. Granted, it's not my job to "fix it," but Lord knows I wish I could. I wish I could open her eyes to a lot of things about her self worth. Ironically, some of it is partly what she has inspired on me or shown me.
My own lessons of self worth developed before I had my daughter. I attracted quasi-decent guys; meaning I always looked at their social status, figured in how they would "complete" me (sorta speak) while carrying the "independent woman" sign with the disclaimer "I just want someone to love and be loved in return." Just when I had over extended myself by doing everything for them but jump through a hoop of fire baring a neon sign that says "pick me! I'm the one.." a disconnect would occur. Most of the time I was glutton for punishment and kept trying to force a connection when it was obvious it wasn't even a dial tone on the line.
Since becoming a mom it just seems like the wool has been pulled off my eyes and I see a lot of BS that floats around when it comes to people and relationships. I'm not claiming expert status. Far from that, but just the basic level of obvious bull - who really has time for that? Not I. Still what would it take for my aunt and so many other grown women to see the obvious and not accept it?
I wanna talk now, but things are hot....tense. She won't listen. I need a time to catch her off gaurd. So she has nowhere to hide to and no choice but to listen. Yes, it's time for the aunt to listen to the niece for a change.
All this over a man, that isn't trustworthy and has caused more harm to the FAMILY than good.
Friday Night.
Georgetown...
Opening Night for Foto Week DC. Drinks pouring. Beautiful people around. Me and Kel conversing and bumping to the ecclectic mellow mix of house music. Tasty spread of hor'dorves. Floating from one gallery to the next. Photography on display at five different galleries. New York, Cuba, Uganda, AIDS, 9/11, DC school children, the normal, the interesting. Topics are soft to intense. Chocolate doorman on gaurd. Looking to be Secret Service. Our eyes lock. Smiles exchanged. Ahhhh. I'm taken. Night fall air. I'm without much care. Celebrating Kel's job offer from earlier in the day. Me? Celebrating life and perhaps the realization graduation is closely becoming a reality.
Unknown hours pass. We have to keep it moving.
Adams Morgan...
Posted up at Soussi. Mediterranean feel. Added company. An Andre 3000 twin. Glasses, Suit, criss cross red and white strip shirt. Tie. Socialite, business man, fellow Bison. Good friend of Kel. Old School Hip Hop. Whatcha know about Lords of the Underground? Camp Lo? Tribe Called Quest? Martinis flowing. Paella tasting great. Black, White, Mediterranean, etc. taking hits from choosen hookah. Conversing about politics, current personal biz, straight up business. Pass the business cards to him, him and her. Another epic center or nerve where the bohemians of all backgrounds collab.
Again, unknown hours pass. We have to close tab and keep it moving.
The Triangle...
Andre 3000 Twin leads us to a mini after party. His connects is with Ozios. Club shuts down at 2 am, but a core group of Ethiopians still partying, including the connect. Someone got engaged. Champange flowing. Dancing in full effect. White guy comes over. Introduces himself. Said that he noticed Kel and I come in and thought we were the sexiest ones in the place. A line? Yes. Still, all he wanted was a dance. How could I refuse?
Unknown time passes. We shut it down.
Benning Ridge...
Home. Lured to sleep by the sounds of Papi's voice who called to make sure I got home ok.
I was in the middle of my creative writing class with Medina yesterday when my Blackberry kept vibrating. A couple of times it was just the annoyance of emails coming through, but then came the phone calls. First, a call from home. I didn't answer, figuring if it were something important or something wrong my mom would call right back; otherwise she would leave a message. She left a voicemail but seconds after her call my cousin "T" calls. I picked up thinking something was wrong. Turns out cousin T was inviting me out for the evening to see a fashion presentation she was giving in the midst of DC's Design Week at the Boffi Studio in Georgetown for the PechaKucha event.
We conversed for a few. She sent me the details via email. I read the email over on my Blackberry and contemplated. It's a LOT going on this week... homecoming... work projects I have to indulge in, another paper and another assignment. By the time yesterday (Thursday) came around I was feeling worn out and burnt out. However, I wanted to go and show my support since my cousin personally invited me and was looking for me to attend.
The presentations were slated to start around 6:30 pm with my cousin going on about 8. My classes aren't over until 5 and once I get home after dodging rush hour (and homecoming for this week only) traffic it's nearly an hour later. I came home and immediately felt sluggish as I piddled around doing my "mommy thang" - giving the Snickerdoodle her dinner and her night bath. Once I got the Snickerdoodle straight for the evening, I somehow mustered the energy to shower and get all gussied up to go out.
Nevertheless I was late and missed ALL the presentations. However, what followed after was a reception/networking social that turned into an after party in Level 2 lounge located behind and below the studio in Cady's Alley. I stayed with my cousin, her boyfriend and her friend as we mixed and mingled with Washington's up and coming creative designers in various fields with various backgrounds. For a few moments I felt like a fish out of water. I was a writer amongst architects, interior designers, fashion designers and a little bit of everything creative that falls in between; photographers, graphic designers and design consultants. The more I talked with people the more I began to feel in my element...with my brethren.
Roughly the crowd was in their 30s or that "young and restless" crew, we all at one time had fairly decent jobs but QUIT them to pursue our dreams and to some degree what most of us feel is our calling. Some of us are making out okay with steady income; some of us are still trying to find our footing as we are viewed as "starving artists." The common thing I found was WE LOVE WHAT WE DO, even in the struggle of a tough economy. Even more common, most of us (well at least the folks I spoke with) are originally from the DC area and we are passionate about bringing a diverse creative culture to the city. DC actually has one, but it's so underground and out shadowed by the political fanfare that occurs here. There is more to DC, the city itself, than the federal government.
For the first time in a while I felt like the social butterfly I can be when I'm not being withdrawn or so far into my own work and personal issues that I miss a moment to breathe and experience life...other people. After all I am only a quasi-socialite. I enjoyed the connections and even attention I was receiving via the camera man. Yeah, there were moments when the atmosphere seemed a bit superficial with everyone looking so young professional, or having a bit of the artsy quirky flair sipping on a vodka/champagne punch concoction and later moving to gourmet bar food and martinis. But for some reason I didn't mind the superficial so much as I connected with genuine people. What seemed superficial was just the bling-a-tude or accesory for the evening. Which is to be expected at such a setting...come on... it's Georgetown.
I made it home around 4 in the morning, ready to crash. I honestly don't know how I made it through the day... the evening working on little to no sleep. I was up the previous night working on a paper until 8 am the next morning - just in time for me to get ready to head to campus for the day's classes. Thankfully, my Friday's are free. So I had all day to spend with the Snickerdoodle, conducting a little business from home and taking in catnaps when the window of opportunity was there.
Now I have to brace myself for tomorrow. To attend or not to attend any of the day's homecoming festivities in the rain.
How much of a die-hard Bison am I to do this?
"...a very caring and loving person who is afraid of her own feelings."
When I first read that message I took a deep breath. The message was left anonymously via the Honesty Box on my Facebook page. The honesty box allows people to secretly answer whatever question is posed; even though you can bribe them with virtual points in order to uncover their identity. I respond to answers given, but never bribe. I can pretty much can tell who said what, based on the types of answers given.
My current question really isn't one. It' just a simple statement.
"Enlighten me: tell me something you think I should know."
I have a feeling Papi left such an answer. He denied it, but all evidence points to him. Though things are going well between us, I still feel apprehensive emotionally. He knows that I care, but when I start feeling deep, I mean diving real deep into my feelings I hold back....A LOT. Defenses are up and the little jokes served with nervous laughter come out.
I'm not sure what it is I'm actually protecting. I'm pretty much over my bad experiences. My war wounds from my last (so-called) relationship have closed up and are slowly smoothing over. Yet, why do I keep getting reminders, such as the message and the one I've been saying since seeing the message?
Reminder to self: It's ok to feel.
Maybe I'm still leaving that marginal room for error when this three year relationship proves to be not so perfect or just totally wrong. My fear of being presumptuous. Whatever it is, I'm so wide open. I want to run and hide, out of shame and maybe even fear. Yet, I don't hide. I stand there in the middle, in the open, stammering over what to say. When my heart gets too full, I don't express. Choosing instead to change the topic, tell a joke or retreat as if I didn't hear what was said before. I can't get away with it 95 percent of the time. That other 5 percent is when I can't deal and he just can't get it out of me. He doesn't push. Let's me be.
I want to share EVERYTHING that I feel, but stifled and saddened that I don't....
Maybe I'm just waiting for the right day.. the right time...that exactly "ah ha moment" when I know for sure... to say.... I love you.
Last week my school held their annual job fair for those in the communications field. In years before, there has always been a good turn out of both internship/job seekers and recruiters/companies from all sectors of the communications realm. In those years I was always excited to go, especially once I reached the junior and (quasi) senior level, because really that is who the fair is intended for. However freshman and sophomores can attend to browse the exhibit booths and sit-in on the various information sessions lead by a panel.
This year, the closer the date came for the fair, the more disenchanted I had become. Originally I chalked it up to be the so-called "mother hen" on campus, having "been there and done that," here I am a near 30 year old scrambling with 19, 20, 21 year-olds for internship and job possibilities. My energy level for the whole scene seemed...well...low. It couldn't have gotten any lower when I received an email confirming a pre-scheduled interview with a prestigious newspaper that is based in another city and state, but has a DC bureau. Actually I perked up a bit only because I saw a little light of actually doing some work with this paper at their DC bureau, but I was still discouraged that I wasn't pre-scheduled with nearly as many interviews I use to bag from previous fairs.
I honestly felt something was wrong with me and perhaps my resume. Though I've revamped my resume countless times over the past year, my work in the journalism/communications field is so broad. My heaviest concentration is in print/news editorial, but I've had a touch of public relations, technical writing and even creative writing - bios, synopsis writing. Nevertheless, the week caught me in a hectic state as I had four papers to work on and turn in, plus doing preps for the interview. I even worked on changing my attitude about it all and figured that I never know what may come out of this meeting.
The day of the fair was nasty with rain, but people from my school and other HBCUs from near and far came ready in their suits and armed with portfolios. I was in the mix, running back and forth between classes I had mid-term exams in and the fair. When I finally settled in at the fair I noticed how there wasn't really a good number a companies this year. There were big time companies that had uber long lines of folks waiting to be interviewed and other companies with small to non-existent lines. MY prestigious newspaper had no line, but every now and then a person was in the chair being interviewed. When my turn came I sat down and before I could really get into the meat or the crux of what I'm all about, the elderly white man looked at me, my resume and told me that if I were to intern with them I would need more experience with a daily newspaper. Outside of the work I did in 2001 with a local newspaper, anything else has been on a freelance basis and obviously not really daily, though deadlines were tighter.
Surprisingly I didn't feel shot down by his words. I understood, just as I understood later (via our discussion) that any work I would do for them (internship or employment) would be done in their home base office, especially since they are "shaving" their DC bureau staff considerably. Honestly, I don't think it's the right time for me to pick up and move with the kiddo to another state, especially for just an internship. We shared a few little laughs in between, he handed me his business card and that was that. However, what took place after was a little uplifting.
I walked around that ballroom for a fourth time, looking through the program book at the profiles of the various companies. I check marked the ones I thought would be of interest. However, after further inspection I learned that though booths were open, a majority were ONLY open to the ones with pre-scheduled interviews. So that knocked off the main booth I wanted to visit.... DC's local NBC affiliate/NBC Universal. Though I had it check marked, I almost walked by the local ABC affiliate. since I saw someone having an interview. However, there were two people manning the table. My body stopped dead in its tracks before I could even have a conversation with my brain on if I should or shouldn't stop.
I read through some of their material and picked up their sheet announcing openings. In that instant the lady behind the table sparked a conversation with me. Turns out she is part of the HR department. I asked her were their any openings for a person like me who has more print experience than broadcast. I would be interested in working in the newsroom writing up the stories. Her exact response,
"Baby we got any kind of position you are looking for."
We talked a little more, I handed her my resume and few other items as we discussed a friend of hers that is head of a non-profit and in need of a writer. I even did the ultimate; name dropped my godsister who works for them in their newsroom; anything for a little edge. She lit up. She knew her. She pulled out a post-it, placed it on my resume and began taking notes. I breathed a little sigh of relief.
By the end of the day as I did a little reflection, I pondered over what exactly has the so-called recession done to the print journalism industry. Newspapers are shutting down or consolidating their staff/resources as there is this shift towards "new media;" really.. all electronic news. Once, my good friend Erin, who is a photojournalist, and I were having a discussion about such. I will never forget her comment.
"[the industry] is only dying if people in the industry aren't willing to change with it."
I thought about her statement in relation to what I had just experienced at the fair. I wondered how open is the industry towards people like me, with such broad experiences. Shouldn't the industry as a whole move to adapt to the change in the climate? One of the most enlightening experiences I had was back in April, when I visited the web operations of the Washington Post. There is a team of people, with a grouping of web design, technical invention, writing and overall creative talent that the publication allowed this team to morph and work together creating a new job (and maybe a new division) of the web version of the paper. I met the team and fell so completely in love with their work. I craved to be on such a team.
A las, going back to the fair, I was shut out with the out of state prestigious newspaper before I could even open my mouth about what I can offer. I figured, their loss and again, not my time to make a sudden move to another state right now anyways. I also wondered was the whole thing about the job fair set up for those of us in the print journalism world to fail. The bulk of the companies present were of marketing and public relations...selling. Maybe it's the present day enrollment of communication schools; maybe there are a higher number of students interested in the marketing, public relations medium. However, where does that leave us who are straight up journalist (broadcast and print)? I actually overheard a young fellow journalism major describe his pre-scheduled interview as just "okay." He too was a little dismayed that the fair seemed to be bit more aimed at the marketing and public relations students. However, like me, he figured he would participate anyways because he didn't know where the opportunities of the day would lead.
As I'm getting older and facing the last days of my undergraduate studies, I can't help but to figure out how to step up my game. Competition is uber fierce. I've been proven this time and time again; even as recent as loosing a freelance bid with a local publication. Graduate school is still on my mind. Yet, I have so much to decipher being a single mother (of one). What is practical? What is economical? What is meant to be?
Lately I've been feeling fatigued, but trying to stay motivated. That's MY hardest challenge; not giving into the slightest fatigue. However, I don't want to become burnt out. It's my fear. I've been there and done that. Not a pretty place to be. Again, for me it's all about balance. Yet in my world, my balance can be easily thrown off with matters outside of school.
A classmate of mine, who is an older lady that is also a former student returning, that hardly knows me, listened to me tell my thoughts on the job fair. Without blinking or missing a beat she said,
"I have complete and utter faith you will be fine. God has something out here for you. "
I usually feel weird when a stranger or a person who doesn't know me fully tells me something like this. It comes off as common rhetoric that has no value. But when that lady spoke those words I didn't feel as such. I found myself agreeing and believing. I guess that's step one of stepping up my game; actually believing.
Step 2?
Work.
I'm in an artistic mood but not sure where to start. Ok... maybe I have an idea. I'm working on a creative writing project for my class with Medina. It's our Mid-term. The project is to take about 20 shots (pictures) and create a narrative from the pictures taken. I had so many ideas for this project, but each one foiled. Mainly I wanted to shoot pictures of my grandmother's move. Her life has been my muse lately. Unfortunately, the house she is moving to isn't quite ready yet. The move is postponed.
I pulled out my old (late 80's) Nikon 35mm. Not an automatic, but the professional kind. Back in the day I use to take shots, mainly in black and white, and developed the prints myself. I dabbled in and out of it as I attended different workshops and even on my own. I even went back into it in high school as I spent one school year taking pictures for the yearbook. I looooove that Nikon better than any digital. For that I'm truly an "Analog Girl In a Digital World."
When my original idea foiled I pondered the idea of another upcoming event. My cousin "T's" fashion line debut. She held a private fashion show and party at the Studio Gallery in Dupont Circle, with invited family, guests and few press folks. It was a hit!! I have never been so proud of my cousin as I was Saturday. Literally, I was moved to tears (which I choked back - I couldn't let my eye makeup give me away).
I managed to take much needed black and white shots and had them developed the next day. I'm shocked how interesting and nice they turned out; considering I'm still an amature at this and hadn't touched the Nikon in light years. I'm not even gonna get into how it took me a moment or two to figure out how to load the camera. Once I finished a roll I had to remember where the release button was located to allow me to roll the film back in the film canister before opening the back. After one wasted roll of film, a few out of focus pictures and a few pictures with off balance lighting, I forgot how the whole process gives me a rush! I went out and bought more black and white film for more pictures to take - for my own leisure, projects.
Aside from the picture taking A LOT has been placed on my plate and I'm still trying to find a balance in all of the madness. On one hand I love it, because I'm immersing myself in work that I love doing, but the flip side is.. trying my damn hardest not to succomb to my distractions and not neglecting those in my life who are very important and dear to me. Of course the biggest one of all...my daughter.
I probably shouldn't worry too much about my Snickerdoodle, since she is in good hands while I'm drowning in reading material for classes, writing papers, writing and editing articles and whatever else I have going on. I get a sense that at two years old, my Snickerdoodle has some of my streak of independence. On one hand she's attached to me -she'll crawl in my bed in the middle of the night. However, she is quick to tell me "Buh Bye" - such as Sunday in church when I dropped her off in the in the children's Sunday school and she told me "bye" before I could rush back upstairs to the sanctuary.
So again.. I need not worry too much about the Snickerdoodle.
But getting back to this artistic aura that has been around me lately.... It's funny. I had been crying about lack of inspiration and motivation and in the last month or so an abundance of what I've been lacking and crying out for has hit me.
A couple of weeks ago Medina asked us to write a Creed, based on why do we write. I took some time to think about why do I write and tried to form it into a creed. Here's what I came up with.
"There's the gift, there's the spirit & there's the work. All three have to come together. If one of those things are off, it can stop you from becoming who you were meant to be" - Jay-Z Oct. 2009 issue of O Magazine
The Gift:
For it was bestowed upon me to carry a tradition. It’s by divine touch to have such a legacy flow through the blood line; from grandparents to grandchildren. This inheritance is rich with vivid imagery, a plush vocabulary and a background harmony singing lullabies helping to see and feel. For the mission is bigger than me and beyond my understanding. For the words entertain, heal, soothe, inspire, liberate, anger, teach, help and captivate. The art of writing is one of power. I shall not take this lightly journalistically or creatively.
The Spirit:
The spirits of pure and evil are there. Yet it’s the pure that I seek and long to keep. For evil uses my voice, the gift, as a weapon sharper than any known to man. For I pray and pledge not to be led astray, to find friend or foe slain or arrested by my hidden weapon. May nothing but positive influence and true conviction bleed ink.
The Work:
It is understood that nothing is handed to me freely and without consequence. For I have received this gift and must make use of idle hands and idle time. For it takes more than just having the gift and letting the passion fester. Passion must be allowed to be the driver. For once it is allowed to drive falling in love with the craft and the tools are comprehensive. The work will deliver unto itself when passion is allowed to live aloud and able to drive.
It can be so easy to write a journal entry when things are sour. It's when I feel most compelled to pour everything out of my soul. My emotions are raw, but it's all out. Released. The end result is (sometimes) a better understanding of the situation or just a feeling of euphoria as feelings and thoughts are inked on record and out of my system. Yet, it's so rare that I actually take time to write about some of the fascinating or brighter spots. Even during the times that I do, I find myself tongue tied and my vox doesn't come out as raw or emotional as I like.
Noneoftheless, after weeks of neglecting my blog I'm finally finding some time to sit down, share and reflect on the latest happenings. What I'm glad to report is, I've been busy and bit happier than "normal." Even though the math class I've been made to repeat after not having algebra in my face for over 10 years has been challenging, but I'm trying to deal; tutor from the math lab and tutorial DVD that came with the text book.
As for what has been going on I'll guess I'll start with....
Home....
Things are fine and calm at home. My schedule at school isn't a bad one, but the time and energy spent on my work is completely draining. Thank God for my mom, for taking care of the Snickerdoodle while I tend to school and other matters. Sometimes I feel guilty for not being able to give the Snickerdoodle my immediate attention, but I do realize it's not the end of the world. I try to squeeze in every ounce of mother/daughter time that I can when I come home, but a lot of times it's not that simple as I have an assignment that needs to be done immediately. I figure my daughter is only 2. She'll forgive me.
Trust me when I say, I do cherish dinner time, bath time and (sometimes) bedtime. Bedtime is the hardest, because she is soooo like me; a night owl. She hates it when she has to retire for the evening. She'll cry and maybe ridiculously scream. I get frustrated as I try to work and she is fighting sleep. Somehow I manage to calm down before it gets too crazy and realize this is just motherhood. EVERY mother has gone through this. So I deal. Reading a bedtime story or maybe lingering in her bed for a moment or two until she is calm enough to drift to sleep.
My grandmother....
Since the passing of her husband in July, her life seems to be looking up. Her (pre) dementia hasn't been acting up as much. Though she still has glitches with her memory, she tries so hard to remember. She hasn't been depressed (as much). The only time she gets in a blue mood is when she allows unnecessary worries flood her thoughts. They are mainly concerns about the legalities of her late husband's estate. Some of the worry seems valid as his family wasn't the best of one. The attacks and betrayals against my grandmother were hurting to her, especially when she showed them nothing but love from the very beginning.
Nevertheless, my grandmother has been preparing to move from the late husband's house. While the estate is being worked on it's clear that his family is still trying to dig a hole for her, but in turn the hole will be for them. My grandmother is looking forward to the move and even got more excited the other day when she received a call that the house is just about ready and she can have a walk through next week.
I'm actually looking forward to helping on her moving day. This fresh start is something he truly needs. Maybe it will trickle down a bit into other parts of the family as well.
Freelance Project....
The launch of the magazine is less than a month. There is still much to be done including recruiting more writers. I get the feelings everything will fall into place, but I don't want this to fail. This is essentially a team effort and I don't want to fail in any way on my part. So what's left for me to do? Contact and respond to a few more interested writers, make an announcement on journalism sites, coordinate with other editor to have a budget (journalism term for story ideas/headlines/topics that will make in the publication) meeting and once stories are submitted, edit. It seems simple, but everything will go so fast and hectic, especially the closer it is to launch time.
Yet I love it!
Papi...
Things between us are going soooo well. In the midst of our busy lives, we always find time to go out and have fun. Our latest venture was something on my part. I had two invites for this past Wednesday Congressional Black Caucus reception given by the city council at The Park on 14th. I invited Papi and course he had no idea what I had gotten him into. It was nice to get all dressed up to mix and mingle for a while. Actually we arrived a bit late, so we missed the small presentation, but he still he got to meet some of my political connects except for the biggest one of all....YA. The place was crowded... utter madness. We stayed for like an hour and some change, before we decided to go eat.
We finally made our way to Eatonville and I'm still raving about the shrimp and crawfish ettoufe. LOOOOOOVES IT!
Church, School and Spirituality....
My pastor and I finally did get to talk about the newsletter he wants me to revive. He understood fully that my plate is basically full until December. We concluded we would follow up in December and prepare for a January (re) launch of the church's newsletter.
For the first time in a long while, I've been attending church on the regular. Actually, some of the spiritual lessons from church that I've been receiving I've been incorporating into thought from discussions I have in my creative writing class. I'm so glad I was able to get in another class taught by Tony Medina. Though, I'm the oldest one amongst my classmates, the discussions does make me pause for a moment and ponder amongst the banter between the 19, 20 and 21 year olds that are in the class.
Last week, a simple topic turned really heavy as we discussed an Albert Einstein quote - "Imagination is more valuable than knowledge."
We argued the points imagination verses knowledge and somehow ended up on Christianity. Actually I know how we ended up there, but that's a different journal entry altogether. Yet it perplexed me that within that same week I had a dream that stuck with me until I looked up the symbols that stood out the most.
The dream found me in Egypt where I was with a group lead by another professor of mine (in reality that particular professor takes a group of students to Egypt every year and last week he did mention next years trip in class). Somehow, I and two women who were roughly ten years older than me were drifting away from the group in a raft. The group noticed we were drifting and tried everything in vain to save us, but we were drifting away fast. What perplexed me was how we were surrounded by nothing but water, but I didn't have any fears. I knew we were going to be alright. The dream flipped to where we are being pulled to land, but we don't actually walk on land. We are in water, like in a pool. The water is very light blue and clear enough for me to see tiles at bottom and on the side of the pool. The tiles are white trimmed with gold.
People are talking/interviewing us, asking were we scared about being along at sea. I let the other two women talk about the incident, but someone asked me was I scared and I said no. The dream seems to flip again as folks, especially the people from whatever group I was with, were rushing back to their "hotel" rooms to change for a ceremony. I don't rush back, but what I find is, everyone is staying in this dormitory. Everyone has changed and rushes to this great hall that looks more like a cathedral sanctuary. I arrive to the ceremony and spot a couple of folks I knew from high school. I'm guessing I'm in the balcony section because I'm looking down and the ceremony has started and it's this formal protocol service for a king of some African nation.
I looked up the symbols and began to put the puzzle together.
Egypt: Roots or core of your own emotion/spirituality. May also suggest a simpler time.
Raft drifting/floating: Unsure where you're headed to. Confused on purpose & direction in life.
White (the tiles): Purity, perfection, peace, innocence, dignity, cleanliness, awareness, new beginning. Also may indicate mourning/death.
Gold (the tiles): Wealth, riches, natural healing, illumination and/or spirituality.
Dorm: Value placed on knowledge and education. Believe that you are always learning, and not just in a classroom.
Ceremony: Sacrifice and devotion necessary for success. Maybe going through a crucial moment in life that requires commitment. It's a time for introspection, self discovery and inner changes.
Last night as I caught the rerun of Oprah's interview with rapper Jay-Z, one thing that stood out was how Oprah made the comment that neither of their paths of "fame and fortune" were something they foresaw. There was no clear vision for it all. Of course Jay agreed and pretty much said that it was all about the passion and hard work he was willing to put in to making music - which of course opened doors for his business to spread into the fashion, restaurant/club and sports industries.
Not to sound redundant or like plenty of others who have said this, but I absolutely believe I was not meant to be the so-called average or ordinary person - as I see it. However, the reality of finally being done with my undergraduate studies is drawing near and it's a bit scary, because again I feel as if I'm faced with I don't know where I'm going to land; which could explain the drifting away from the group on a raft. Yet, the interesting thing is I'm not as scared as I was when I left the federal government five years ago. I do feel some ease but what has me on edge are the journalism tasks I have before me.
Last semester was the ultimate boot camp I needed to refresh my skills. However, this current project, launching a NATIONAL publication, IS my ceremony. I feel this is the moment that will truly make or break me. Even still, as I'm finding myself falling in love with journalism all over again I've been giving some serious thought about attending graduate school for it. Before my attitude has been that you really don't need a masters in journalism, since it has always been believed that everything about the field you learn, you learn by being hands on with it. However, the industry has changed sooooooooo much! A lot of old journalism standards are being chucked away to make room for "new media."
So with that.. it wouldn't hurt to have a masters... would it? I'm guessing this is why the dorm was in my dream and actually before the ceremony. Ah! Maybe it's my big hint that I should go to graduate school!
Though I'm into the journalism world, I also consider myself an artist as I do write creatively and have shared my work and been published. Yet, in some of what I write I see a constant struggle to write with a connection to my spirituality verses writing for the sake of writing. When I write for the sake of it I loose focus, find myself imbalanced and uninterested.. which leads to droughts. I hate it in every sense because I feel lost. There have been times when I've been so connected that when after I had written something, reread it and have others look at it.. every immediate reaction has been a speechless or one word of utter shock.
It's a "Where did THAT come from moment?"
I haven't had that moment in a really long time and I yearn for it, because those are the moments when I feel so connected to God. I think in a lot of ways this creative writing class is helping me to get to the core of it all. After all, the assignment due for Tuesday is to write a writer's creed based on why I write. This, perhaps, is my Egypt; this time and space. This is helping me get to the core of my emotion and spirituality.
Yesterday while on my way to campus I played my Madonna "Ray of Light" cd. I forgot how much I loved that album, especially the song "Swim." Since having those dreams nearly a year ago about swimming, I've been comparing this part of my journey to swimming, immersing myself in all the untouched emotions I either brushed away or totally blocked to avoid some kind of hurt and just dealing with them and washing myself clean from them. For the most part I have, which why I can only believe there is a strong meaning behind the Egypt dream with me ending up in a clear bluish pool of water looking at the tiles on the bottom and the side.
In a way I do feel as if I represent both meaning of the white tiles. There is this sense of new awareness, but there is also this sense of mourning as a couple of folks I thought would be in this part of my life aren't. But it's okay. It's all about growth. The meaning behind the gold tiles is interesting. How deep will this richness go?
All I ask is that the Lord doesn't stop blessing me and sticking with me. May I stay focused and able see my work through
I created this “scene” in response to a piece read during my creative writing class with poet Tony Medina. The poem was called Mermaid Song by Kim Addionizio
www.poemhunter.com/poem/mermaid-song/
Our assignment was to create the scene via snapping a photo or drawing one - based on the poem.
Though my own child likes to pose for a photo, I wanted to do something a lil bit more than to have try and recreat the picture presented in the poem.
I thought the shot was rather cute, so did a few of my classmates, one of which had to create a poem from my photo.
My Groups
-
The Thinking Woman Updated: A moment ago
-
African American by association Updated: 11 minutes ago
-
Music = Life Updated: 11 minutes ago
Neighborhood
Explore friends, family, friends & family, or entire neighborhood.
Recent Comments
-
-
Jenn said:
You are not only worthy but you are more that deserving. Once we have ourselves, the world can be our... read more
on The Hardest Lesson -
-
Flamingo Dancer said:
[this is good]You are so right. One of life's most important lessons for a woman is that no man is going to... read more
on The Hardest Lesson
It sounds like you are on adrenalin overload - take care of yourself - balance in all things read more
on Winter Wonderland or La petite mort