I have come to the realization that I am not a cookout chic, girl, person, woman.. whatever. I just loath cookouts. Though I do enjoy nature and sitting outside to catch a breeze or two in the name of relaxation, I don't enjoy the usual cookout food, getting bit by tiny creatures and perhaps herds of people that may come. I'm shocked that my mother even took the initiative to have people over in the midst of the discombobulation from the continuing renovations. True, we have been having what we call "construction parties," where we invite family, and one or two close friends for an informal cookout/picnic dinner. Those have been fine and dandy, but seriously, today I'm just not feeling it for some reason.
It's the fourth of July and I'm not into all of the fanfare. I never really was. Maybe I was as a kid cause of all the fireworks hype, but as an adult I feel like telling folks to see me another day. Maybe I just don't like holidays much at all, or maybe I'd rather be doing something else today, but what? I just came back from picking up my grandmother and her hubby. Now I'm hiding in the back part of the house until other family members arrive. Then I'll be forced to put a smile on my face and act as if I'm fine and dandy. Don't get me wrong, I love being in the company of my family, but today seems off. I'd rather be off in my own little world somewhere - yanno, tapping into my inner introvert.
For a couple of years I would always head to my friend KC's house for her (somewhat) annual informal get together. The couple of years I've done this have been swell and I actually miss those times. Unfortunately she halted this to pay more attention to her ailing mom coupled with the fact that everyone's schedules seem to be a bit janky lately. Before those years of get togethers, normally I would find myself out of town or even if I was in town I was with a friend or two going to the movies, a bar, etc. Years before that, it was participating in a ritual with my family to camp out in a park on Bolling AFB along the Anacostia River. We, along with hundreds of other families would claim our spot early in the day, cookout and once nightfall hit, enjoy the fireworks from all three jurisdictions going on at the same time; The Washington Monument show and the US Capitol, The Masonic Temple Show in Alexandria, Virginia and from afar a flicker of something from the Maryland side. After a while, those camp outs at Bolling became dull to me...predictable.
Today I do wish to be somewhere other than here. Some place different enjoying something different. Maybe that's what my irritation is about today. I want to indulge in something different and not just the typical local yokal, family cookout stuff. As with anyone who loves their home to the bone, there comes a time when you feel like you wanna holla and throw up both your hands, because of simple daily irritations that pick at you. This when it is time to get out.
Leave.
I need to leave.
Fly Away
By Lenny Kravitz
Album: 5
I wish that I could fly
Into the sky
So very high
Just like a dragonfly
Id fly above the trees
Over the seas in all degrees
To anywhere I please
Oh I want to get away
I want to fly away
Yeah yeah yeah
Oh I want to get away
I want to fly away
Yeah yeah yeah
Lets go and see the stars
The milky way or even mars
Where it could just be ours
Lets fade into the sun
Let your spirit fly
Where we are one
Just for a little fun
Oh oh oh yeah !
I want to get away
I want to fly away
Yeah yeah yeah
I want to get away
I want to fly away
Yeah yeah yeah
I got to get away
Feel I got to get away
Oh oh oh yeah
I want to get away
I want to fly away
Yeah with you yeah yeah
Oh yeah !
I want to get away
I want to fly away
Yeah with you yeah yeah
I got to get away
I want to get away x4
Yeah
I want to get away
I want to fly away
Yeah with you yeah yeah
I got to get away
I want to get away x4
Yeah
I want to get away
I want to fly away
Yeah with you
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
My mother never lied. Having a kid does change your body.
I'm inching closer to 30. It doesn't "snap back" like it use to. Trust, I still have the curves and the strut to match, but it takes me a bit longer to get it together when going out or even getting out of bed.
Though I still feel young and spunky, my mornings and sometimes late nights may suggest otherwise. I really haven't been sleeping well at all. I'm so like my mother or at least how she use to be. I don't function well until late evening into the night. When normal mammal species have sense enough to knock off to bed no later than 11, I'm up as if it is broad daylight. I'm starting to sense the Snickerdoodle is picking up this habit as well. I TRY to keep her on her sleep schedule; basically in bed no later than 9 pm.
What bugs me, I go to bed late and wake up early as if I do have a normal 9 to 5 to rush to. Granted, some days are chock full of errands, motherly things, a couple of writing projects to start or complete and lets not forget whatever duties I have to contribute to these renovations; i.e. more packing and bubble wrapping. Still why do I not like not to sleep or can't sleep?
So here it is, almost fifteen minutes after four in the afternoon. I'm dragging. My feet are aching from standing on non supportive shoes while packing up the rest of the kitchen. My back aches from lack of sleep or sleeping wrong. My side muscles even ache a bit! I'm yawning, cause I didn't get to spend the required 8 hours in "La La Land." I've had no bath today, so I'm covered in 1970's and 80's dust. My hair is a mess and right now I don't seem to be getting any help from my folks. Mom is out running errands and my dad is on a retired-dad-union-break, which roughly translates to having a cold beer or two while watching that horrid Cleopatra movie on cable with Elizabeth Taylor.
Sorry, can't get down with Liz Taylor playing an Egyptian Queen, a woman of color.
My cousins are asking if the Snickerdoodle and I will make a recital in which another little cousin is performing in. I highly doubt it. I just want to be in my corner of the world for a while. Only the Snickerdoodle is invited.
I lost another cousin a couple of days ago. I keep wanting to call my cousin "J" to see how he is holding up amidst the lost of his grandfather. Hopefully, I'll get around to it tonight. Damn why did this have to happen so close to the family reunion - which is in another month or two.
Right now I long to be with Nisha as she traveled back to her native New Orleans. She went back home to participate in and enjoy the Essence Music Festival. This will be the first year that she has ever gone to a concert during the festival. Even more lucky, she's going to the show in which Jill Scott will be performing - lucky chica.
I haven't been in New Orleans since pre-Katrina; once in 1992 and again in 2002 or 2003? The city never struck me as a must-come-and-stay place, even though there is a certain charm to it. I am curious to see how much progress is being made since Katrina. I still shudder at some thoughts about the whole event.
It's getting close to five and near the time I should be making the Snickerdoodle's dinner.
I need to take her on more play dates as well. Just this past Monday, we spent time with my cousin T and her niece and nephew. T and I took the kids to a nearby park. While the other kids went up and down the slides, the Snickerdoodle held her "court" on the swings. She didn't want to get off. I spent the whole time pushing the Snickerdoodle and watching her giggle herself silly.
On another note, my mother showed me the few pictures from her conference she attended last week. Needless to say, my work I did with her social organization's chapter and the group of 6th grade boys was on display. More reviews. I can't wait to join up with this project again for next year. Maybe I should think about joining this group and stop being a shadow or ghost.... aka consultant of some sort.
I'm seriously dragging today.
Noooooooooo. Not another email.
I am expecting at least one email concerning an article I pitched. I was told it's usually a four week turn around for a response. This has only been like the third week.
Hoe hum.
In a way I'll be glad when the computer and internet is disconnected until the phone lines are moved. I've been too wired lately; literally and figuratively. I'm starving to get get back to basics.
Just me, some paper and a pen.
hoe hum
On a seriously real random note.... I think I've developed a small crush on Keith Olbermann. I REALLY need to stop watching MSNBC.
WOW.. Olbermann is an Aquarius... no wonder.
*big smile*
This Water Barer is ....out.
Here it is, the beginning of July. The major renovations are almost complete. The extension to the house is up, and finishing touches to the added powder room on the main level are being done. Still there is work to do for the big event.
The event...the breaching of the entire back wall of the house.
I was suppose to start packing up some of the dishes in the kitchen, but I've been procrastinating. Now that my folks are back in town, it is time to get to work. We're all saying tomorrow we are going to start packing up the rest of the kitchen as well as what's left to pack in this room (computer room) and in my room. The actual demolition of the wall won't take place until the Monday after the July 4th holiday.....
*looking @ the calendar*
Shucks! That's just this coming Monday!!!!!
We're going to be "living" in cramped quarters of the house, minus the kitchen for a short while. I keep telling myself it's temporary and it will be well worth it in the end. So far everything seems to be shaping up with the house. I'm excited in putting my bedroom together, even though the only thing I have in my head right now is the Tiffany blue painted on the walls. I'm working with that color get any design ideas for a new bed, end tables and so forth.
The Snickerdoodle's room will be pink and purple. While at the Amish Market two weeks ago, my mother and I saw the cutest handmade wooden bench that dubs as a toy chest. It's perfect for the Snickerdoodle's room.
I'm guessing I'll will be offline for a while, until the phone line is relocated to another place in the house. I could pack up the laptop and roll to a wireless spot and drink caffeine drinks until I'm bouncing off the walls. Somehow, I have a feeling I won't have time to or just plain won't be bothered with it. I may have to resort to it when it comes to scoring another freelance gig. I just don't feel comfortable in writing such spots. I feel out of my element.
I like to be surrounded by books, pens and paper. I like to have my music blaring from my computer and glimpsing out of my window every now and then to laugh at my prozac induced neighbors. I like to be around this while sitting in a comfy chair.
As with anything else, I'm not ready to finish off the packing. It would be nice to hire some people to do the packing for us, but I feel the same as my mom. I don't want a stranger going through my things, and packing them in such an un-fung-shei-able way.
Renovation or any construction to a house is TOO MUCH WORK.
Still... when you think about the end and see the end.. it's all worth it.
"But as the stars are going out,
And this stage is full of nothing,
And the friends have all but gone,
For my life, my God, I'm singing.
We'll take our hearts outside,
Leave our lives behind,
And watch the stars go out."
- Stars by Dubstar
My neighbor once explained that the term "meridian" means the "highest point." Hence why he gave his eldest daughter the name. She was a high point in his life. Though I assume I will have many high points, Tuesday's high seemed to be natural, wonderful and perhaps spiritual.
Late Tuesday afternoon, I headed for upper Northwest, DC as I needed to take care of something. I'm not sure as to why I waited so late in the day to head in that direction. I was playing with rush hour traffic time. However, I wasn't in a rush. I was practically moving at my own comfortable speed the whole day. After I finished what I needed to do, I was heading back towards my quadrant of the city. As I was driving around something come over me. I can't explain the feeling but it's a feeling I get when I see and notice things...mainly change.
DC is continuously changing and sometimes I feel it's all too fast. Sometimes I feel that I may not get to experience it all; some of that fear is due to gentrification and the rest of it is just me dealing with my own change. My cousin T - the one who is currently living in NY until she finishes up her studies at FIT - is working on her transition back home. The family jokes with her on how she is more so in DC than in NY with every chance she gets. T often tells me,
"I like what is happening in DC. It's my home and I want to be a part of this."
And like T, I too am trying to "get in where I fit in." I don't want to be left behind.
With this unexplainable feeling flowing through me, I was driving down 16th Street - part of the "Gold Coast." As many times as I had driven that route before and even noticing the houses, Tuesday's drive made me notice more. The beautiful houses, the city landscaping, schools and even the churches and temples that line 16th Street. The sun was near setting and traffic was pretty backed up, but moving. I came upon a few stop lights near Meridian Hill Park. Though I am a native, there are still a few places in this city I have never set foot in, Meridian Hill was one.
Growing up, I've heard so many things about this park. I know it used to be called Malcolm X Park, but I'm unsure as to when they actually renamed it. As a kid riding by, I use to envision what it was like inside. What is all green with a few splashes of color? Was it like Rock Creek Park; all rocky? Were there hidden creatures ready to pounce on you?
I would often hear about how beautiful and lush everything was inside, but no one dared to take me inside. Unfortunately, this park has seen it's fair share of hardships; drug deals, prostitutes, wandering homeless, etc. Though some of this may still go on after dark, during the day it seems to illuminate with beauty.
While idle at the stop light, I was beginning to to resonate with the idea of returning another day to catch a few photos. My spontaneity got the better of me. I quickly began to look for a parking space, but I didn't have to go far. I turned off at the foot of the park on Florida Ave. A comfortable parking space was waiting for me only a few steps from the park. I unloaded the Snickerdoodle, made sure my purse/Snicker's diaper bag was secured, checked for my phone and camera and we strolled to the park.
I immediately began to snap away, despite my dying battery. I almost wanted to break down and cry at the beauty of the scenery, but I think looking at all of the steps to the park crushed any plans on tearing up. Thankfully, the bulk of the steps were wide and spacious enough where I didn't have to struggle with the Snickerdoodle's stroller.
I did wonder - What Do The Handicapped Do?
Nevertheless, I took it all in. The luscious green, the refreshing water, the ducks in the water, the sun, the mother and son having a quiet moment on a blanket, the interracial gay couple staring into each others eyes and snuggling and another couple sitting on one of the stone benches taking the scene(s) in as well.
The Snickerdoodle even enjoyed her ride, as she sat up in her stoller and held her hands out as if she were catching a good breeeze.
I really didn't want to make too much of my walk through Meridian Hill, but sometimes I do think it's important to stop and notice divine beauty. Otherwise, appreciating the little things won't come easy. Walking through that park on Tuesday connected me with the beauty of nature and perhaps with God. Once I reached the highest point (the Meridian) of the park (via paved gravel on an incline not the stairs) I was in awe. I looked towards the Florida Ave side and there was this breathtaking view. Granted it was all rooftops with the Washington Monument in a distance in a bit of a summer hazy sky. However, when I looked up; the late evening sun, the clouds, the deep blue sky - I felt at peace...at ease.
Just when I thought it couldn't get any better, I was starting my exit out of the park when I stolled passed "Serenity." As broke up and facially disfigured she was, her pose made my day. Her pose was firm but calm. To think she's been poised enough to maintain her calm for years. As for me, like any other human, I get a little serenity and loose it.
Still, I appreciated her and all of the others I saw perched or standing proudly in the midst of God's great greenery.
I seem to be on a natural high ever since.
More of my photos of Meridian can be viewed on my Flickr album.
My name is Tiffany Browne.
From my mother's side I'm a decedent of Currie and William Camp; my great-great grandparents.
From my father's side I'm a decedent of Florine and George Browne Sr.; my grandparents.
I grew up proud of both families equally. However, it wasn't until I became older that I realized I'm a part of something much larger than me alone. Each relative, dead and alive, has led extraordinary lives. Each has left their own unique imprint in this world, big or small. Though sometimes in my life I feel the weight or pressure to carry on and contribute to the legacy of both my families, and perhaps trying to live up to the same caliber and beyond as those before me, I feel honored to carry such a responsibility.
Yet in recent days I'm learning that the two names I've been taught to respect and honor may be a facade for something that took place in the past. There are family secrets to unlock, that I hunger to know its truth. Who allegedly did what to whom, when, why and how? Not to take anything away from the heritage of my counterparts, but it's pretty known that there are deep rooted scars in the family history of Blacks in America; from slavery to the reconstruction era to Jim Crow to Civil Rights to now. Obviously as I'm learning, my families are no exception.
So what happened?
Pieces of the puzzle are still being put together; at least on my mother's side.
I'll start with my father's side first... The Brownes. I don't know all of the history and I may need to make a couple of phone calls to my Aunt VJ and Aunt J. Both have the bulk of the family history written down or memorized. So honestly at this point I can't tell who is who, just to say that according to my father a patriarch down the family line carried the surname Mitchell. It's unknown what kind of trouble he was in, but it was big enough at the time to change the family name to Browne. I do know that despite some mixed cultures in the family (Irish, Italian and maybe Creole) the name "Browne" is English. Some years ago, a family of Brownes in Australia contacted my father to invite him and the rest of us Brownes to a family reunion "down under." According to the person that sent the letter along with a panoramic photo of the Browne clan there, he had looked up the name Browne in a data base and found my grandfather's name. My grandfather had been deceased for some time and so the next in line to contact was my dad.
Needless to say, we never made the trip to Australia. Maybe that was the first hidden clue then. We aren't really Brownes. We're Mitchells.
On my mother's side the mystery seems to keep unfolding as we are preparing for September's reunion. Growing up I always envisioned a love story to explain my great-great grand's marriage that resulted in 11 children. I always knew that Currie and William Camp originated from the Athens, GA area, but later moved to Washington, DC. My great-grandmother, Jeanette C. Camp, was number 5 (?) in the line of children. She was born in GA, but sometime before she reached the age of 5 that's when her parents made the move to DC.
It's known that the girls of Currie and William knew a big secret. My mother recalls times of when she heard the sisters talking about past dealings, and if you asked any of them about the Camp name they would get very defensive and swear to the Heavens just about that WE ARE CAMPS. No one dared to challenge or question the Camp name.
Knowing how big my Camp family is, anytime I noticed anyone with the last name I had to stop and ask them questions. Sometimes a connection was made and I find that the person is a cousin from another sect of the family. Other times I'm still left scratching my head. The name Camp isn't all that popular, especially in the DC area, so that means the person has to be family; at least that was my way of thinking. When I was about 13 a discovery was made. Someone found out we have a whole clan of cousins, aunts and so forth based in Ohio. The real connection was unknown at the time. Whomever made the discovery was trying to crack a secret code, but it wasn't moving too far.
However, a big reunion was planned that year, and a bus load of cousins made the trek from Cincinnati,OH to DC. Little me was confused at the time. Here we were having a Camp Family Reunion, but the folks from Ohio carried the name Ramsey. Who was related to who? It was a known fact that the folks in Ohio were related to my great-great grand, William Camp. Yet, I still didn't know how. In two or three years time, the Ramsey cousins invited the Camp cousins to a reunion in Ohio. I missed that trip.
Here we are in 2008 and the code starts to crack. A Ramsey found a picture of an unknown man. Something must have been written on the picture, because all they knew was that the man's name was Marlow Ramsey. For the longest time no one in the family could say who Marlow Ramsey was and they assumed he died suddenly at a young age. Meanwhile here in DC, a few of my cousins have been in constant contact with the cousins in Ohio. Sometime later in a barrage of exchanged emails, pictures and phone calls Marlow is also identified as William Camp.
A few weeks ago, I attended a family reunion meeting as I am (partially) on the committee. I listened as stories were flying about Marlow Ramsey. All 11 children of Currie and William aka Marlow are now deceased. They took their daddy's secret to their graves, leaving the rest of us wondering what took place. So far, all we know is that William/Marlow was some kind of outlaw on the run and changed his name. As for the folks in Ohio, that was his family he left behind; the decedents of his brother(s) and sister(s).
Ever since I've learned of this truth I've been feeling a range of things. I'm mostly stunned and curious as to know what was going on in that point in time to force my great-great grandfather to live another life. I look forward to helping my cousins dig further for the truth.
As I said from the beginning.. this is bigger than me. This is my history of how I came to be.
I was pulling into my usual parking space in front the house yesterday after returning home from a late Saturday afternoon outing. Immediately I did notice movement across the street, but it was nothing unusual. I live on a main street so a steady flow of traffic via cars or pedestrian is nothing out of the sort. So when I noticed movement from a single female figure walking along the opposite side of the street, it was nothing more to me than added background "noise."
I went about my business of unloading my car by unloading the Snickerdoodle first. I grabbed her diaper bag/my over sized purse, the Snickerdoodle and marched her into the house. I placed her in the care of my father while I went to retrieve other items from my car. It was during my second trip to the car that the walking female REALLY got my attention.
"Do you live here?"
"That depends."
Female steps off the curb and walks in my direction, with a cell phone up to her ear. Instinctively, I want to hear the woman out. I do believe in being a good Samaritan, especially when I never know when I need the help of strangers. Yet, in this day in age its scary. You don't know who to trust, because not all people in need are really in need. Still I wanted to hear the woman out while keeping my distance. However, with each step back I was taking she was coming closer.
"I wanted to know if you could take me to the gas station to get some gas. My car ran out of gas."
Her cell phone was still stuck in her ear as she pointed in the direction of the bottom of the block. Only thing I saw further down my street was a Metro bus pulling off from its stop and making its usual left turn at the foot of my block. I saw a few cars but they were moving towards their destination. Nothing resembling a car, a truck or even a scooter at a standstill was in sight. The female further explained that she lives further up my street but not saying exactly where. My street runs a long way in this part of the city and I live on one extreme end. I asked her where was her car and she pointed down the street once more, but this time adding that the car was around the corner on the cross street that is at the end of my block.
I began to feel funny.
I told her to wait where she was standing as I began to walk towards the house. She followed me for a few more feet before stopping at the gate in front of the house. Then, as I walked up the stairs she mentioned that her sister was suppose to be on her way to wait by the car.
I really felt funny.
First of all, if her sister was on the way AND she had a cell phone stuck to her ear half talking/half yelling at someone why couldn't the sister or the person she was speaking with help her? Another thing; where was her gas can? I approached my father and asked him if her could assist the lady outside or at least see what she wanted. My father immediately thought a scam was on the horizon. He walked out of the house and the female said nothing to him. My mother went to the door and boldly asked if there was anything that she could do for her. Again, the female didn't have much to say and kept on walking up the street. Moments later, my father spotted the female in a car riding down the street. I guess a ride came through for her to help with her need.
It's sad that in this day in age you can't be as free to help someone in need, because there are lot of predators on the loose. Now there is cause to be smarter in who you choose to help and relying more on your gut instincts. Lately it seems that everyone on my block and perhaps throughout this city is on their guard. It's summer, schools are out and idle hands and thoughts are getting the best of people. Even worse, apparently the 80s ARE back as PCP users are on the rise again. A few known incidents around here have occurred that involved folks on that superficial high, which can put any innocent person on edge.
My folks are going to be out of town for about a week and course my mother is nervous about me and my daughter being home alone, especially in light of a few (isolated) incidents that have occurred with a couple of neighbors. I'm scared to know how she will react when I finally do buy a home on my own. I worry about our safety, but I don't worry. I do have common sense with a bit of street sense. Also, I know this house is watched over by God and the good neighbors we are surrounded by. Thankfully, I live on a block that is like an old school village. We all know one another and therefore we all look out for each other. Even as new folks move in we eventually establish an understanding with them of what this block is all about. We are a block full of working families, retired baby boomers, mobile and disabled elderly people, children, a couple of teenagers and young adults. We don't tolerant foolishness.
After the encounter with the female, I did wonder if she was really in need. I silently prayed that if she was in need, that she received the appropriate help. Then I resided with the thought that it just wasn't my assignment to help her. After an experience back in late January with my Aquarius Brother, I can say I can pretty much take the hint when I am being called to duty to be the good Samaritan. I can't say it enough... what an awesome experience it is to be used in that manner.
From my experience with the radical homeless lady a couple of years ago to the young guy roaming the local Giant grocery store looking for change to get a hot plate from the hot bar a month ago, I can pretty much tell when a person is in need. Still there are some tricky, clever ones out there. Those are the ones that scare me. Those are the ones that have turned me into a picky Samaritan.
As I listen to my Hooverphonic station that I've created at Pandora, I can't help but feel a lil sly and coaxed into an admission state of mind. Mellow, hypnotic and electric sounds from "Hoover," Goldfrapp, Dot Allison, Massive Attack and others of this genre seem to make my mind trip and my other persona seems to come through - a persona I thought I had ditched or maybe just forgot about.
I have no name for her. Just that she is a bit flirty and perhaps more of a mystery than my normal self. Maybe it was her that made me put on pair of jeans that hug my curves, a white tank, some heels and little make up yesterday. In recent days I've been a bit flirty with one of the construction workers working on the house. It wasn't intentional. It sorta just happened. It's harmless. After all, he started it.
He's a scruny fella with muscular arms. Cute in the face and barely can speak English. I can understand Spanish, but not fluent. I know when he sees me he calls me "Mami," and he has seen me at my worse phsyically; sweats, tank tops or tattered tees, no makeup and a a scrungy scarf around my hair. Yet he stares, flashes smiles and make little pleasant conversations - sometimes in English. Somes Spanish. Sometimes both - Spanglish.
Earlier yesterday, I called myself doing the girly thing of walking by just to get his attention. Subtle flirting or just plain tease? Unfortunately, he wasn't outside yesterday - he came by later. I caught the attention of the other Spanish speaking workers. They hammered and looked as I walked by. They drilled and looked as I walked by. They climbed the ladder and stopped as I walked by. I strutted pass them, dodging nails and discarded lumber and such. I reached my destination, the garbage can, and tossed the small bag of trash. As I walked back, one began singing.
Damn I wish I knew all that he was singing.
Hmmm Maybe I'll give this persona a name anyway.
Annie Mae?
Naaaaah. Georgia Brown(e) - I was told that was a possible name for me anyway. Named after my father. However, I think my mother had objections to it after thinking about Lena Horne's character of the same name in Cabin In The Sky - one of my favorite B&W movies.
Anyways - it's just harmless flirting. As they say "I got something better at home." My own Papi and he speaks English. (smile)
Speaking of things at home and mysterious ways, I have a (bad) habit.
I have a tendency to eat while standing up. There's an old (southern?) saying that has floated around.
"You make the house look poor when you eat standing up."
If I had a dollar or just a nickle for everytime someone has told me this I'd be a rich woman. I don't know where I picked up this habit from. It's gotten a bit worse now since I seem to be on the go. I barely leave out the house with anything on my stomach. When I do manage to get something in my system as I'm on my way out the door it's a quick sandwhich, a quick leftover warm up or some fruit and a cup of juice. When I do manage to eat dinner, I do sit (sometimes) to eat a plate. Even then I find myself rushing through it so I can tend to the Snickerdoodle.
All this barely not eating is taking a toll on me. Funny thing is, I've still managed to gain a few inches. Okay, that may be from the Oreos, the quick and grab on the go snack. If I didn't have digestive issue before baby, I'm sure I'm headed that way now. Eating and actually swallowing is like a priviledge.. a luxury to me.
Eating standing up is just me in standby mode for.......whatever is bound to happen.
*gently closing laptop and letting the breeze hit me from the rooftop until I'm interrupted by the workers*
Of writers they (whomever they are) say, once you find and claim a spot of your own you can successfully sit down and let your thoughts flow. Most of the time I find this to be true, but lately it seems that every corner or spot I claim it's cluttered with boxes of stuff or furniture that has been covered with heavy duty construction plastic. No sooner then I claim it, the whole family claims it as well as we are pushed to one corner to the next in the midst of the renovation. Normally I'm able to push pass such disturbances, especially when I can't contain my thoughts. I just let it spill. However, lately I've been letting the noise win. Perhaps it's the procrastinator in me or that small inner insecure voice whispering doubtful lines.
I gotta get rid of him...it...that doubtful voice.
The drilling, banging, sawing, Spanish conversations flying loud and fast, the Snickerdoodle discovering things, the parents needing me to do something, the electricity tripping on and off - overload, the telephone ringing, the thunder storms.....the need for quiet.
It's no wonder I end up with dull headaches by the end of the day.
Yeah I could pack up the laptop and take a breather at a coffee shop, but there is still the very active Snickerdoodle and the fact that both my folks are tied up some kind of the way during the day. So the little one would have to roll with me. She's a busy 1 year old. How come no one REALLY warned me about this stage?
Maybe I'm making up excuses. After all I haven't even asked if my parents could watch her for a few hours nor tried such. I still managed to complete a few things I needed done via writing, including a pitch to a magazine. I've been attempting to take another "gander" at my manuscript. This time I'm more determine to have it completed by the end of August. After some searching, I believe I have found a literary agent, but of course I have to complete the manuscript before any soliciting.
Not much else has been on my mind lately.
I'm excited about next Saturday as Papi and I are going to see Rahsaan Patterson and Kindred - The Family Soul at the Carter Barron. One thing I love about summers in DC since I was kid, concerts at the Carter Barron and at Fort Dupont Park. Sitting under the stars and listening to good music still feels like I'm part of a hidden gem or secret in the city. Though people come to these shows, still a LOT don't know about such. I sorta like it that way.
One thing that has been ruffling my feathers lately is the growing trend of people claiming to be Washingtonians and are implants from another city. Even worse (to me) they make such a claim and have lived here less than ten years OR they really been living on the outskirts in the neighboring suburbs still claiming to be Washingtonians. I noticed that a lot as I've read through this month's issue of Washingtonian Magazine, DCist, Living Penn Quarters blog site and other so-called DC sites that happened to be founded and started by implants to the city.
It makes me wonder about people like me, true DC natives who were born, raised and are still here. We take pride in our city no matter what quadrant we're from, but where are we? How come we weren't bold or creative enough to have these sites about DC that the implants have?
Maybe I should seek to start one. Maybe I should raid DCist and other sites like it to let folks know.. you aren't writing about the REAL Washington.
I'm not sure when, why or how I ended up with so much love for my city. As ass backwards as the leaders in charge can be, there's still a lot of good and beauty to this city mixed with the distasteful and bad. Sometimes, I'm afraid that the implants may not get the whole picture. No, I'm not a hater towards non-DC natives. I just hate how some act as if they have been here their whole lives and don't have a clue about the old DC vs. the new and ever changing DC.
Surely, this city isn't "Chocolate City" anymore.
I wonder if this is how a true New Yorker feels about the millions of implants in their city?
How many years should constitute you as a "native" of a place?
In other news, I've been contemplating about joining a social networking group for mothers of color. It's a national organization with a few chapters in DC. Though the organization as a whole focuses on the principle of sisterhood and community activism, each chapter is sort of tailored with its own added concepts to the circle of sisterhood. The particular chapter I've been mulling over intertwines an alternative motherhood lifestyle with the main principles of the organization. By alternative, I mean; breastfeeding over formula, home schooling over mainstream schooling, holistic healing over medication (drugs), organic and vegan diets over the carnivorous and/or unhealthy diet.
As Brandon often teases me about - the "SELAH" kind of life (Think Erykah Badu or afro-centricity)
I've been communicating with the president of the chapter via email. After reading through the introduction letter and some other materials it is made clear that while they do promote and advocate the alternative, it's not mandatory. I even had a chance to read over the blog the president has kept on the birth of her pre-mature son. It was very insightful to say the least.
I never knew such things as a milk bank or donating your breastmilk even existed.
Nevertheless, based on what I've read from her blog, I can see that the members of this chapter are very thoughtful and supportive. I feel like I need that in my life right now. Not that there is anything wrong with my personal circle. I just feel I need a little more support from people who are more like me at this stage in my life. However, I'm just not sure how open (if at all) to the idea of an alternative motherhood lifestyle I can be. I'll admit, I was a bit selfish with the decision about breastfeeding vs formula. At the time I was more concerned about me returning to a full time job. I couldn't see that with leaking boobs; pump or no pump.
As for home school, I would rather have my child socialize and experience everything there is to in a classroom and a school setting. While I do deem education as highly important, I want her to participate in school activities and socialize with children her age as she develops and is able to problem solve life situations. I'm not knocking anyone who does homeschool their child(-ren). My sister is currently doing this and my nieces are beautiful and intelligent little women. I just don't think it's the right fit for what I want for my child.
Granted, the introduction letter did mention that the lifestyle isn't mandatory, I just worry about sticking out like a sore thumb at a meeting or potluck gathering. I'm the mom in heels that loves a good martini. I occassionally sport a curly 'fro, but lately a more straight look so I may not always come off as afro-centric as some of the other members. I'm not that much of a meat eater, but I will tear up some salmon, chicken and a good steak if you slide it my way. I do cook fresh foods, especially FRESH GREENS - I HATE the frozen or can stuff. I just can't do organic or sugar free chocolate. That's outright inhumane to me.
I'm still considering giving the group a go. I do think it would be a refreshing change. I'm in need of one.
Still... we'll see.
*deep inhale and exhale*
I'm a bit in shock. I received the news after returning home from running some quick errands. The computer was on and I logged onto my email and a blog site. It was part of the headline in someone's blog.
Tim Russert 1950 - 2008.
I didn't want to believe it. I informed my parents and we quickly to turned to MSNBC, where we usually stay tuned in for all of the political hub blub.
There it was. Confirmed. Brian Williams. David Gregory. Andrea Mitchell. The whole gang was on paying their respects with thoughtful remarks on their colleague.
To the ordinary person, his passing may not mean much; just another sad case of a sudden death by heart attack. However, I can't be the ordinary person, especially since I spent many a Sunday mornings getting my fill of "Meet The Press" and since the hype of the Presidential Primaries I've been glued to MSNBC. Being in the journalism realm (partially) I do stay in tuned to who is who and who I do admire and respect in the business. There are a handful of people I do admire in this business, and thankfully I've had the opportunity to meet some of them. Tim Russert was one I've admired. I have an even greater admiration now in light of what has been said about him more on the personal side. Especially in regards to kids and his father.
His death is also a reminder of how things could have been for my mother. It wasn't until her mild stroke, that she learned because of her stress level at work and continuous fatigue, she may or could have suffered a heart attack and gone without any notice. I can't help but wonder if Russert's stress level killed him. He was on air almost every night. He was the Washington Bureau Chief, doing what he loved. Still it had to be stressful. The Presidential Primaries were just too much. Was it really worth it? I feel like how my mother feels; I want to wake him up and tell him that he should have gotten checked out earlier - anything to save his life.
Then again, that might be selfish. Maybe it was his time.
No ifs, ands or buts about it.
Nevertheless, he will certainly be missed.
I'm a wuss. I'm blaming it on whatever blocked estrogen I had before I had my baby.
Before I became a mom I was told that my estrogen levels were off and if I wanted to start a family 9x's out of 10 I would have to seek some type of fertility solution. Obviously I defied the odds. Yet the aftermath seems to be leaving me a hormonal wreck.
Before baby, my menstrual cycle was practically nonexistent. So I really didn't have to suffer through the aches of PMS, the actual menstrual, and post menstrual. When it did occur, the cramping was pretty bad and I was a bit irritable but that only lasted for a day or two.
After baby, everything seems to have regulated on its own. The estrogen floodgates seem to have opened. The cramping is pretty low key before and during. However, the PMS is bad. The irritability is there. My appetite increases. Then the tears.
I cry at just about anything.
For the past week I've been crying while writing, listening to music and watching movies.... children's movies. This week I managed to catch the Disney movie "Meet The Robinsons" on cable (cute movie by the way). I sat back on the couch with the Snickerdoodle and laughed pretty much through the whole thing, until Lewis (the main character) discovers who he really is. My tears start rolling towards the end as Lewis gets a chance to revisit his past and ops not to disturb it. What made this a bit funny was me trying to quickly wipe away my tears before the Snickerdoodle looked back at me. Children do sense these things. Still I was too late. She saw me in my tears and I started to chuckle only making my chuckle turn into more tears.
My tears continued rolling as Lewis got to redo his present and pretty much lived happily ever after. I cried at the song that was playing during the whole closing scene and as the screen faded to an interesting quote about "moving forward" by Walt Disney.
Then I laughed at myself for crying.
Oh gawd I sound crazy.
Later that same night I ended up looking at "Waiting to Exhale" for the umteenth time. I've NEVER cried while looking at this movie before, but all of the sudden I was practically ready to boo hoo at the whole Angela Basset and Wesley Snipes scene as they bared their souls to one another. Then I cried as Lela Rochan bared her soul to Whitney Houston at the water park.
By then I wished that this crying spell would break.
I cried as I found old baby pictures of myself and realized that the Snickerdoodle IS my carbon copy. It's almost erie that when I look at her I DO see me and vice versa.
I cry when I think, which has been hindering me a bit in finishing up a project that I'm working on.
I'm just a big wuss right now.
I feel like crying now, but the only thing that is stopping me is writing about it.
Why couldn't PMS be more of a happy thing? Instead of your hormones getting the best of you they should work with you and for you. Make you feel energized. Happy. Basically the extreme opposite of what it currently does.
I know this wussy phase won't last long.
I just hate to see it come and sit.