95 posts tagged “life”
The real nitty gritty has begun on the house.
Dust covers the heavy duty plastic covering on the furniture in the kitchen and dinning room. New copper pipes replace old rotted ones. Parts of the living room and kitchen have been knocked out to make way for a new bathroom on the main level. Old furniture pieces have been donated.
My back (and even a part of my chest) hurts from all of the packing, moving and even carrying my child around on a daily basis.
Change is here and in a big way.
In the midst of packing up my bedroom I've thrown away a lot things.
A couple of old book bags filled with classwork from my junior and high school years, old and broken trinkets and donated just about my entire closet of clothes and shoes to charity; stuff I hadn't worn since the late 80s and well into the 90s.
I came across old printed out emails, including one from my "Him from New York"; professing his "love" for me. Whatever...
I've come across many pictures and loose change.. I didn't realized I had so many pictures and money scattered about.
In the midst of all of this change I can't help but wonder what is in store for the future.
Indeed I'm in this new phase in life, but I don't know how to describe it. It almost feels as if I'm in the same position I was in during my first brink of real change.... very pivotal.
The urge to write has hit me and I'm a bit frustrated cause within this week alone soooo much had to be done before the walls could be knocked into no time to really write. i just pray that the thoughts retain in my head, even as I dream.
Now that the renovation work has officially begun, it sort of caught everyone in the household a little off guard - even though we've known about this since the planning stages. Yet, to see a drastic change to your HOUSE go on right before your eyes is "a hold your breath" kinda thing.
This is indeed not only a change in my life but in my parents as well. For 28 years all of us have LIVED in this house - a house that was originally built in the 50s(?) by an old white guy - who built it for him and his grown son. His son never moved in, because once the house was finished he had gone to live elsewhere and started a family on his own. This is the story my old Italian (next door) neighbor would tell our family over and over.
Speaking of which I miss Ms. Lovisa dearly. I grew up fascinated by her well kept garden in the backyard and her mini vineyard. Who ever heard of a mini vineyard with grapes growing wildly in Southeast Washington, DC? Ms. Lovisa may have very well left Italy, but Italy didn't leave her. And yes.. she did make wine and didn't hesitate in sharing with my father. She even picked me up from school a couple of times - once with a visiting relative from Italy and I got an earful of spoken Italian as I sat back and smile and nodded as if I understood.
It broke my heart when she was no longer able to care for herself. Her family placed her in a nursing home clear on the other side of town... more so in Montgomery County, MD near her sister. Her house was sold and I was a bit angry at the folks who now live in "Ms. Lovisa's House." How dare they get rid of her garden and dig up her beautiful peonies!
Again.. that was a change I wasn't ready for just yet.
Along with this change that is occurring there's Papi. I find myself haunted by past lovers; with opportunities that I could have jumped on but left alone. I'm definitely not the same girl. Each day I'm wanting Papi more and more. Still it's one day at a time. Just be. Last night we had gone to see The Roots and Erykah Badu perform. What's strange is, I've never been the cuddle in public type, but there I was with my head resting on his shoulder or my arm contently on his leg as Erykah Badu sang her heart out.
Side note: Can I just say I looked and felt sexy. I rarely say this often, even if it is about myself but I was hot! I found a dress at Torrid.. something like this - minus the pockets and mine is a dark gray. My jewelry from the Lalia Rowe store in Tyson's Corner... something like this - my necklace was multi-color with pastels pink, yellow, a mint green and light blue. My black six inch Steve Madden pumps and my black clutch from Aldo. Oh and of course the right touch of MAC make up. I even wore a little eyeshadow which is something I do once is a blue moon. Ironically, I matched Papi who was wearing gray and black; which is something I loathe when I see a couple matching. However, I had no idea he was going to wear such. Too bad we didn't take any pictures.
Change is in the air and I'm not talking about Obama's madness.
I feel like shedding more skin.
Recognize. Accept. Embrace.
Change.. feel it
1. Viewing Kimora Lee Simmons' reality show.
I cried.
Last night's (Sunday) episode was a part two to Kimora and her production team staging the Phat Fashions fashion show for New York's Annual Fashion Week. A segment of the show features Kimora giving her oldest daughter, Ming Lee, a pep talk about her hair. Ming Lee, 8, was about to take part in a rite of passage that all little girls of color (or perhaps any girl) goes through at some point. In prepping for the fashion show, Ming Lee's hair was about to be "blown out" or straightened via the blow dryer. Kimora's pep talk was more of handing out "the law" in how to keep up with such a hair style, plus bumping up Ming Lee's chores around the house - to washing dishes.
After a kiss to seal the hair and chores deal, and Kimora's daughters asking her how old was she when her hair was blown out - to which Kimora responded "at the age of 13 when I was hitting the runways in Paris" - an emotional mommy began to break down and cry. Ironically, I was crying right along with Kimora as she (maybe with a little bit of dramatic overtones) talked through tears of how her babies are growing up before her eyes and it was all too much for her.
I thought about my own daughter. How she is a little over 13 months now. I look at her now and compare pictures I took of her last year when she was a few weeks old. She's definately older. She has her own personality. She is starting her journey of becoming her own unique spirit. I'm anxious, scared and happy at the same time to the different rites of passage she will go through - menstrual cycle, first bra, allowed to have boys call her, wearing stockings, wearing high heels, makeup and of course hair permed/straightened.
I was roughly 12 when my hair was processed. My mother was furious. At the time I didn't understand what the big deal was. I just knew I was tired of the hot comb. I had enough war wounds (hot comb scars) behind my ears to plead my case. My grandmother agreed and "ordered" it done. Aunt P, who worked as a beautician at the time, commenced with the order. PCJ (as it was/is called) or Pressing Comb in a Jar did the trick. Funny thing is, all those years I spent with processed hair, I finally let the chemicals go. It's been eight or nine years as I've returned to my "au natural" roots (which do need some professional work here and there), and began a regime of washing my hair every two weeks and either letting it air dry into a bush or finding the patience of pressing my own hair with the hot comb - only to make it managable to comb and not bone straight.
However, back to Kimora....
It was at that moment of her "breakdown" that I truly gained respect for Kimora as a business woman but more importantly as a mother. Though she is demanding and a bit of a diva with her over the top ways, the love she has for her daughters is not for show for the Style Network cameras. It's real. In all that she does, she always makes it a point that no matter what, when her babies need her she is there.
I can only hope that I am doing just the same for my own daughter. I'm always careful to continue to let my passion for writing and all that I want to do drive me, but making sure it doesn't leave my daughter in the dust somewhere. Whatever I achieve in life I want it to be for us - God, my daughter and myself.
2. Reading Certain Girls
Since I began reading Jennier Weiner's latest novel, I've been happily entralled in Cannie Shapiro's world again AND her daughter, Joy. Ironically, I laugh when I read Joy's thoughts, because like any adolescent in this world what "tween" doesn't think their mother is a little "off." As I've been reading I have noticed that I see myself in both Cannie and Joy this time. Joy represents my "ugly" teen years, but she also represents something new in my life... yes my Snickerdoodle. Though Cannie is a little older than me in this book (she's in her 40's where as in Good In Bed she was right on the bullseye as my current age - late twenties) I still related to her on some level as she flashes back to her twenties to relive some horrid "single mom/writer" moments.
What's funny here.. in keeping with the theme of rite of passages...Joy is obviously about to go through one with her bat mitzvah on the horizon. However, as I keep reading it seems that her rite of passage is coming in another form as well..learning the real truth of how she came to be and beginning to understand her mother's intentions, ways, persona...etc.
Part of Cannie's past deals with a book she wrote that was based on her life. However, she fictionalized it with a hyper/over sexed heroine as she told a tale of how she over came some of her issues with the men in her life; a father that didn't want her and a boyfriend that was a pile of....shit. Not to mention a mother that eventually admitted that she was a lesbian. Naturally Joy ends up reading the book and at the moment is seeking answers, on her own, about her mom and dad's relationship and her existence.
When I initally started blogging (in 2002) and decided that what I wrote would eventually end up in a manuscript or book form, a lot of it did sound like a broken record. That was because it was during the time when I was in my depression and part of my solace or my comfort zone at the time was through sex. As I began to put the pages together, I didn't like what I saw. Granted it was my truth. That shit hurt. Still, I always worried about who would eventually read my truth if in fact it did get as far as being published. Who would it help? Who would it hurt?
My manuscript has been changed so many times because
1) I'm never going to be happy with it until my brain can finally say "STOP!" That's just the writer perfectionist in me.
2) Though I did fictionalized it, those who are close to me will know it's about me. So what will my mother think, especially in some of the mother vs. daughter scenes?
3) Since becoming a mother, I now feel it's my duty to use it (or perhaps anything I write) as a tool to teach my daughter a (few) lessons in life.. for when she is older and is able to comprehend what I went through.
In reading about Cannie and Joy, it's also bringing up a couple of the same issues I had.. umm HAVE... with my mom.... the over protectiveness and the broken communication line. Where I am currently in the story I do feel as if the crap is about to hit the fan. I'm just anxious to read about it and see where the two Shapiro ladies will go from there.
Another rite of passage...being able to face your truths, the whole truths so help you God.
Ten years ago this year I graduated from high school.
My next door neighbor "K" is a senior at my alma mata. Ironically her aunt is the music/choir instructor there - thanks in part to my mom who told her about the opening during my freshman year when the janky instructor at the time was being a bit of a scatter brain.
Lately I've been taking a special notice in K. It's hard to believe she is the same "girl" who would stick up under her aunt during our choir rehearsals. This is same chic that would get a kick out of my father's antics and would bring him a small token back from her family vacation. In a way I've unspokenly called her my little sis, especially since her schooling sorta followed in my foot steps. Aside from high school, she also attended the same elementary/jr high I attended.
Nevertheless, I've taken some joy or delight in watching K grow up before my eyes. I've figured this must be what it felt like for my long time neighbors to watch me grow in front of them. Proud and filled with a sense of pride. I'm even more excited for K as prom time is coming up. By my calculations (and if the school still runs on the same "graduation schedule") prom should either be this weekend or next. Graduation should be three weeks away.
In silently traveling the senior year journey with K, I can't help but to revisit some of my own feelings about my high school experience, especially as my class reunion is set for July. A couple of inquires have been sent to me via email or MySpace asking if I will be in attendance. I answered an old friend back via MySpace by telling her that most likely not. I hope to be doing some traveling around that time. Another old friend, who I was close with back then and reconnected with via the internet, is a part of the committee. She's been keeping me informed of what's what - not to mention the postcard mailer and the reunion package sent to my house. Then just the other day, a third friend sent me an email asking would I be there. I haven't responded.
My feelings about high school are very indifferent. Yes, there are a few people I would love to see again - mainly the few folks that survived high school with me. However, I really didn't like high school. It was a Catholic institution with a diverse group of students but majority Black. We were probably considered the most (or perhaps one of the) ghetto schools in the Archdiocese. I say that in light of some of the "upper crust Catholic schools" I battled with on the tennis court during my time on the varsity tennis team. A lot of us (students) came from a decent background or home life and yet I still didn't like the school. For a while I use to think it was because of the people in the school. Something about everyone urk'd my very nature. I use to think "this one" was too childish or "that one" was spoiled beyond belief. I hated the cliques that presented itself during freshman and sophomore year and believe me by junior year I found myself shaking my head at a lot of dissovled friendships.
No. I wasn't any kind of outcast or some reject that everyone ignored. No, I wasn't popular, but I had friends and I got along with most. I stayed quite, only trusting a couple, and even then I wasn't all that telling. I was active in choir, tennis and was delighted when I did the photography class and helped out with the year book. Being an aspiring writer, I even helped to come up with something (a passage) to be painted on the school's shed (it's a senior tradition to paint the shed reflecting the school and class spirit of the current senior class)
Still I couldn't stomach high school. I now realize I was expriencing a (perhaps) pre mature growing pain... or maybe not. I blame my Aquarius nature - the wise beyond years "fluff" - because I was soooooooo ready to move on to the next phase of my life. By then I was working part-time in the federal government and I was looking forward to college..more so the (so-called) going away part of college. High school, though it had its excitement, bored me and frustrated me. Also, I was partially "home-sick," meaning I was missing my "REAL" classmates that I had literally grown up with from Pre-k to 8th grade and desperately tried to stay in contact with. I managed to hold onto one, who after to all these years she still calls me her best friend and I do the same - even in our time of open space as we grew into adulthood.
It was eneivitable. I was growing up. No turning back.
By my senior year I was in my own world. I still managed to function in school, but slightly talking less to my friends, which prompted some of them to wonder what was up with me and even lightly tease me for being so... "aloof."
After the research paper, finals, prom and graduation I was rid of "them." The class of 1998.
Every once in a while I would bump into someone. On my college campus. At my old OBGYN. At a grocery store. At Ben's Chilli Bowl @ 4 am after a night of clubbing. At the club. Online. On the subway train to work. At the mall.
Then MySpace happened.
(Curse Tom for creating such a daft site)
I won't lie. I was curious to know who turned out to be what and doing what close to ten years later. I sent a couple of request. Virtually befriended some. Some sent a request to me. Perhaps a few I was shocked that they remembered me. I approved their request. Then some time later I began to get a funny feeling. It was almost as if I were back in high school again. However, that feeling wasn't just contained to my old classmates, it was really for the whole site.
Then 2008 rolled in with announcements on the reunion.
When the talks first developed about the reunion, for a minute (just a minute) I contemplated on my attendance. Would I really care to see these folks again? In all honesty, no. Other than the couple of friendships from high school that managed to maintain after, I have no connection to my old classmates.
I feel "aloof" again as the excitement around the reunion builds.
I'm sure it will be a swell time for those involved, but I wish to do other things.
High school is so past tense in my book.
Every family has secrets. I wonder what mine are.
I just got off the phone with my Aunt P. The conversation started out simple enough. She was checking on her son, my lil cuz. Tonight I'm "babysitting" the little cuz and my own little Snickerdoodle. Oddly, she asked me a question that seemed to have come out of left field.
"Are you happy?"
I sheepishly chuckle and tell her yes. I even inquire on why did she ask.
"Something in your presence," she responds.
She's reluctant to tell me the reason why she asked. She starts out by breaking down her feelings on how she believes we have a special bond. Despite her flaws, her mistakes, her bad choices in life, she appreciates how I never seem to judge her. Actually I don't. True, I get upset or a little disappointed at times when she does something that would make anyone go "What the flip?!?!?!" However, I always try to look at the bigger picture of the situation. Why should I judge? No one is perfect.
However, in that same token, while I am understanding of a majority of my aunt's ways, I still have a fear of becoming like her in some ways. Mainly my fear is more of my mother seeing me the same way she does my aunt. Yes, my aunt and I are two different people, but in some complex emotional way we are the same. Ironically, my aunt mentioned how at 46 she is seeing more clearly now that she can't live her life by my grandmother's standards or anyone else's. She must live for her. Through all her drama and goodness it's all her.
I mainly let my aunt vent or just speak freeling about what has been on her mind. It's probably rare that she gets to do that without being judge or chastised. What has piqued my interest a bit is the mention of my mother and how my aunt told me I only know half the real story behind my mother and grandmother. This I won't deny. I'm sure I'm spared a good decade of drama that doesn't concern me. However, if someone were to ask me what is something I would want in this world more than anything, it would be to learn or know more about my mother and to be closer to my mom whereas I can feel comfortable about talking to her about my life.
Tragically, this portion of my life is deeply scarred. Pain lies there, but I do feel it's getting a bit better. A mild stroke and a new baby girl later, we talk like adults, but still bump heads every now and then. Just the other day, I had received a phone call from the University of Phoenix. It was a courtesy call since I was referred to them for a continuing education program and blah blah. My mother began inquiring about why were they calling me. Sorry to say, when speaking to my mother about school it's a painful matter and yes I do put up a wall immediately. My college years were the worse in my life (thus far). It also brought up some issues I had with my mother; as far as control, her over protectiveness, money and trying to live by her standards. Naturally my mother took up a minor 'tude with me for brushing off the phone call.
"Everything is a secret. This is why your life falls a part. You don't talk to the elders."
*No. I just don't talk to you...much.*
A few hours later, the same thing she spoke against me she admitted doing herself. It was later that evening when we were in Forestville, MD (a hop, skip, jump, from the DC line). We were heading home when some police action was going down at the mall across from where we were. I was amazed by the number of flashing lights and cruisers wizzing by my car. I just shook my head and chuckled.
"Only my mother," I said as if to say only-my-mother-would-have-me-out-late-in-the-midst-of-police-action.
I was making a joke, but my mother seemed to have eased it into another direction.
"You just know the half of it. You only know what I choose to tell you."
I drove in silence for a while down Marlboro Pike, unsure what to say. So when my aunt briefly mentioned how my mother's life was similar to hers back in the day, a chord was struck. What was my mother really like? My aunt never went into details, but made bref mentions on certain things. So now, at least one thing does make sense to me; how my mother and my aunt ended up living with my great-grandmother for a while.
I'm sort of reminded of one of my favorite films: The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. I'm Sandra Bullock, a writer who has all these notions and ideas about her mother based on negative (and some good) experiences. Yet, I don't know what makes my mother tick. Yet, I never seem to understand her ways because she has never let me in or trusted me enough to let me in. So, I turn out to be like her and perhaps like her mother and so on.
Like Bullock's character, I use to have a fear of my children having the same negative traits that I seem to have inherited - "secret keeping." I use to always pledge that I will be as open about my life as I can be and my child will never feel uncomfortable about approaching me to talk. I still pledge this as as I continue to bond with my Snickerdoodle. I want that fine balance of yes-I-am-the-mom-and-I-have-the-last-say with I-am-your-mother-the-listener-and-i-will-hear-what-you-have-to-say-and-i-will-repect-you.
Since I was a teenager I use to wonder if my mother ever respected me. Yes parents are the authority, but I also feel that parents should have a level of respect for their children, especially when you are teaching them about it.
Back to my aunt's question to me at hand....
After I let her speak her mind, she eventually got around to saying how because of the special spiritual bond we have she takes notice of me from afar. I have to admit sometime she is a bit off the mark in her observing, but maybe she wasn't too far off this time. She said something about my presence just seems like something is bothering me. Still I confirmed that I was fine, but she kept going.
"Something in my spirit just moved me to ask you. 'are you happy?'"
I stopped talking.
I felt tears forming.
I didn't let them drop.
She kept talking...rambling on the same point.
My floodgates never open.
The topic quickly changes to the Snickerdoodle.
We say our "I love yous" and hang up.
Moments later I realized.....
I'm not completely happy. I'm content, but this contentness feels too confortable. Things in my life can ALWAYS be better, especially with my mother and me.
A drawn out "To Do" list that I'm sure will have add-ons.
Wow, the last time I had an actual "To Do" list (before my trip to Myrtle Beach back in Sept.) was when I worked in the federal government and needed to keep up with my boss.
Oh wait! Item 1 is done.
There aren't enough hours in a day to accomplish what I need to do.
I try to squeeze in a little time to write, but I only end up distracted by one thing or another.
I try to squeeze in time to read a chapter of The Purpose Driven Life. Yet, I only end up putting the book down to tend to the Snickerdoodle. Screw this reading one chapter a day for 40 days straight. It's just not working. The information was retaining and allowing me to marinate on the thoughts I just read - as the author intended and suggested in doing. However, didn't he know I'm in the midst of developing ADD? I gotta read all that I can, otherwise I'll put it down and it will just collect dust.
I need to actually finish my laundry... as in I need to empty the laundry basket. Yet, thanks to a janky washing machine that doesn't fully wring out the clothes, it takes forever for the clothes to dry in the dryer. Washing is a 2 to 3 day project...a week tops. Figure that with both my laundry and the Snickerdoodle's. Everyone's laundry basket hasn't been fully emptied since pre-messed up spin cycle.
I did manage to finish gathering Snickerdoodle's old clothes, bag them and run them to the Mission of Love charity. I'm sure that won't be my last trip there.
I've been wanting to blog for days. Thoughts swirl in my head. However, I'm dealing with distractions. Wow, maybe I DO have ADD?!?!?!?!
Contractors drilling, banging and clanking...Snickerdoodle needing me....running errands with my mother...helping my mother with my grandmother's errands/needs......helping the little cuz with his homework...cooking dinner for the family....
I still need to fit time to respond/pitch to postings for freelance gigs. I managed to do one this week. I need more.
Tomorrow I head to settlement with my mom so we can take care of the paperwork with the condo.
There are things I need to mail...people I need to call and check on....
Mother's Day and birthday cards I need to shop for.....
Health insurance I need to check on...
Student Loan status I need to check......PLUS my (so called) re-enrollment back to school. So called because, I haven't heard a peep out of my school since I submitted my Former Student Returning application via online. Oye! HBCUs.. gotta love them.
My head feels as if it's all over the place, but I still feel some focus. Yet, it wasn't until I had left Wal-Mart today that I realized I forgot the main item I went there to get - facial/pore cleanser.
Yeah.. "I'm Focused Maaaaan!"
In catching the premiere of the new season of Kimora Lee Simmon's Life in the Fab Lane, I totally feel and felt for Sandra during the episode. Sandra, Kimora's former personal assistant, was promoted to brand manager of Phat Farm Fashions. However, in the midst of trying to focus on her new responsibilities, Kimora needed her help in planning a birthday party for her oldest daughter. At one point, I saw the frustration or stress in Sandra's face. As much as like watching Kimora's team work - as they give me creative inspiration - I have to wonder if any of them ever felt or got so close to the edge of just leaving their "good job" for good, because of the stress levels.
*Flash backing to James' meltdown in LA during last season*
All in all...in all of the latest "craze" going on in my life...
I'm just coasting along really.
I wonder if this is how I'm suppose to feel?!?!?!??!?!?!?
Maybe... minus the lack of focus....
"kick.push.kick.push.kick.push.kick.push. cooooooast!"
*Ironic I wanted to make this a confessional in light of The Pope being in town*
Field trip day for me and the Snickerdoodle.
Where?
Columbia, MD to hunt for bargains at Columbia Mall (Town Center)
By the way.. I get the feeling that town centers are the new malls like pink is the new black.
Aside from the Snickerdoodle racking up on spring/pre-summer wardrobe - thanks to sales at Macy's and JC Penny's (looove their Penny's children's department) - I did some heavy thinking on the way there.
For the past few days I've been wrestling with a thought.. or thoughts. I finally broke down and did some "girl talking" with Nisha - my bud/business partner in Miami. It helped a little, because I was finally able to verbalize my "confusion."
The deal?
I've been going back and forth in head about my future as far as a relationship goes and just dating period.
*deep breath*
It started a week or so ago. I started to have the usual bored feelings I get when I'm seeing someone - hence how I ended up with my epiphany last week. Things with Papi are moving along, but I can't help but wonder if this is it? I'm already comfortable and I don't feel like being bothered with the dating world. Yet, part of me is wondering if there is something better. I'm beginning to believe this is me; this is how I operate when it comes to anything in life. I always have to ask "Is there anything better?" I think a lot of that has to do with my feelings about "settling." I don't like to just "settle" on anything or for anyone.
Then there was the dream I had a few nights ago. The dream included my mother proclaiming she didn't like Papi after looking at his hands. His cuticles were rough and skin was ashy. Eventually I left my mother and Papi talking to each other as I stepped outside and ended up at some festival. Mr. S was also in the dream in which he came running after me, but I snapped (in a way) and told him that "I couldn't do this anymore." I'm leaving a lot of the details of the dream out because what baffled me the most were those key moments. I haven't spoken with Mr. S since October and I pretty much scrapped the idea of anything between us, especially as things move right along with Papi. Yet, I still can't shake Mr. S.
To make things clear, Mr.S and I never had anything going. We talked about it and perhaps flirted with the idea, but he kept pulling away answering to the call of his work and traveling all the time. Meanwhile, I was having emotional flashbacks of past experiences that was similar to our situation. So in the dream it was really no big shock that I came across as mean towards him. Yet he kept running after me.
In reality it's Papi who has been pursuing me and making time for me. Whereas, Mr. S ACTS or acted rather...as if he is interested in something more only to do opposite actions. It's pretty much a no brainer here, but I wish my subconscious would let it go. As for my mother not liking Papi in the dream just by looking at his hands, I'm not sure what that is about. If I remember and understand correctly, hands in dreams deal with responsibility. So maybe by his hands being rough and ashy he isn't owning up to something?
I have to look into the interpretation a bit more.
Eventually all of that led to thoughts about dating as a single parent in general.
Being a mother is a honor and blessing in itself. However, being a SINGLE mother is a bit scary. Being a SINGLE mother of a DAUGHTER is scarier. I verbalized this to Nisha and added that I don't want to be the naive mother you hear on the news whose boyfriend or new husband got to her child.
Nisha was quick to silence me in assuring me that I have enough God given sense to not attract such an element. Though I knew Nisha was right, all my brain saw were flashbacks of close friends of mine who were molested by their step fathers. What hurt them, hurt me. What hurt the most was realizing their mothers - who I had respect for and knew they had all of their God given senses in tact - turned a blind eye. They either were in deep denial because they were too in love with the man or just honestly didn't know. Again, I know that Nisha was right and I know myself; that I would not attract such an element, but still I wonder if this is every single mother's fear for her child(ren) or is it just me. After all, molesters/predators come in all cloths.
That's what scares me about dating. I can't just let any man interact with my daughter let alone come close to her. With Papi I do have some sense of trust. Mainly because he has two (quasi-former) stepsons (his ex-wife's children) whose lives he is still involved in. Based on the stories he and his sister shares about the boys, it's pretty clear that Papi does have some parenting sense. When it comes to the Snickerdoodle, Papi has only interacted with her a few times and was when she was a few months old.
So yes.. right now I feel comfortable.. but still wondering... is this it?
Curse this restless spirit of mine.
In not so recent days, a couple of people, actually one, has been wondering if I will ever hold a full fledge conversation with them again. I won't lie, there have been a few people I quasi-cut from my life. I don't have much (if any at all) contact with them anymore. I just choose to remain silent to each of them for different reasons. My silence has been worrisome on their part. I never really fully explained my silence just to say I was tired of explaining myself to them and/or they just never saw where I was coming from no matter how many times and how many angles I tried to get my point across. Their skull was just to thick to absorb the information.
I will admit, one person I randomly thought of so much that he contacted me out of the blue to pick up his stalkerish ways. I think I deserved that, since my mind was always wondering what happen to.....
Nevertheless he hasn't contacted me since that random day in January.
In my thinking and listening to the song "Never (Past Tense)" sung by Tina Arena, I was able to shoot some thoughts down in a matter of minutes. It's still a rough draft. I may tweak it a bit later on. However, I just felt like writing to those that I have chosen to remain silent to.
Maybe they will understand, especially one particular person.... he knows.
Silence
By Mahoganie
April 3, 2008
Washington, DC
My Silence
Itself
Is not for you to understand
Yet it is for you and I to stop
Where there is nothing left
To say
To give
To take
To love or live for
Each other
My Silence
Itself
Is not a signal of hate
It is my shield
For the rampart conceals me from
What is left of you
You still hide nearby
My Silence
Itself
Is my exhaust
For it is me working and seeking
My own existence
That was lost in you
My Silence
Itself
Is part me learning on
Loving me more
Is part you
Still haunted by what was
And What Became
My Silence
Itself
Is learning to listen
To a voice
Other than yours & my own
Living without noise
My Silence
Itself
May hurt
Yet it can never bare the many thorns
Which you secretly used against me
My scars ran deep
Causing utter blindness
My reality became a fallacy
We were a fairytale
My Silence
Is mine
Self-inflicted
So,
With no excuses
With no shame
With no blame
Silent I shall remain.
Lately I've come to conclusion that no one can talk to me about love unless they have been marred for 50 PLUS years.
This thinking has been generated through observations and listening to others in my family who have been divorced, are going through one or are considering one. One of the things I have noticed has been... the men in my family choosing bi-polar chics or chics with bi-polar traits as their wives.
As I listen to situations of my relatives, from every angle possible, I can't help but wonder what attracted them to such females in the first place. I also wonder... are we (the family) being too rash in using the term "bi-polar" to describe these wayward females, because the term does seem more convenient and easily acceptable in today's society?
Honestly, in light of some things that I've experienced or witnessed I'm realizing everyone in this world is messed up in their own way and is hurting deep within.
...Well it seems like it.
How messed up can a man be to threaten his children lives to spite his wife and eventually drowning them in a tub, but too chicken to kill himself afterwards? (thinking of the man from Silver Spring, MD who killed his kids in a Baltimore Hotel)
How messed up can a grown woman be to not want to come to the aid of her mom, who has Alzheimer's, because of how she treated you when you were growing up? (thinking of a distant cousin here)
Sometimes I think of Seal's "Crazy" song and even quote some of the lyrics
"We're never gonna survive unless we get a little crazy."
Yet, how "crazy" is too crazy? Is being crazy the only way to survive this life?
Imagine the great force of things (positive or negative) when defense mechanisms are unmasked.
WOW!
To think...some folks think I'm crazy because I hate and most of the time don't wear a coat in the winter, I do the same with stockings, wear high heels all the time, will bus out with the "Spider Pig" song at any given moment and will mix anything in a bowl like cabbage, rice, a cheese egg and scrambled salmon.
Some might even call me crazy cause I had a slight breakdown a few years back. They called Brandy and Mariah Carey "crazy" when they had theirs and not wanting to understand that it was just as simple as self-inflicted exhaustion.
When did this world get to be so over baring causing all these "bi-polar" or depression disorders and almost making it hip to be declared such? Think: Bobby Brown trying to use bi-polar as an excuse to escape a marijuana charge a few years back.
I'm not exactly sure where I'm going with this post. Just that my mind has been wondering lately about all this bi-polar talk amongst my family, friends and society.
So really... is it "safe" to say that EVERYONE walking this earth needs some kind of mood stabilizer just to make it through the day? Would this world function a lot better with everyone taking "the happy pill"?
Granted, bi-polar disorder is a serious issue as the ramifications from it can be devastating. Still maybe this term is just a little convenient to use, especially if no one understands "the strange and abnormal," of even if the "strange" doesn't want to help themselves to be seen in another light - if that makes any sense...
Tired...
In awe...
Blessed...
I'm not sure where to begin to talking about what has taken place this weekend. Today's climax with TWO church services was the icing on the proverbial cake.
Though I basically write my blog reflections for myself - providing that years later I will look back on these virtual pages and go "What was I thinking?" - I doubt that my visible and invisible readers are interested in knowing how the renovations have started.. well just some wiring work. The electricity was shut off for much of the day on Saturday while the electrician toiled away. Everyone was out and about running their errands in the midst of crazy traffic. DC had a lot going on this weekend and I was caught in it.. from the National Marathon, to the Cherry Blossom festival and later on when I dropped my folks off at the National's exhibition baseball game in the opening of the new ballpark.
Yet.. all of that is not the real crux of my thought.
My agenda for this weekend was to mainly celebrate life.. my Snickerdoodle's life.
Today she is a year old.
However, in the midst of my daughter's birthday, a life suddenly was taken by the grace of God.
My immediate cousin Richard... whom we affectionately called "Cuz."
In other journals that I've kept, I've referred to Cuz in reference to 9/11. He was a pilot for American Airlines and everyone was concerned about him in the midst of the horrific events of that day. His plane was destined for California. However, he was already up in the air when the hijackings and crashings were taking place. He was grounded in Texas, which was good for him since he has relatives there.
While it is obvious that his time to leave this life wasn't during 9/11, it is painful to know this time was the right time. As the "story" goes. He was diagnosed with cancer this past Nov. I'm not sure what type or how far advanced it was. All I know is, he apparently took a turn for the worse this past week and quietly passed away yesterday morning at the age of 41, leaving behind one 13 year old son we call "Penta."
Yesterday, I was pretty much in shock about the news. 1) I hadn't seen Cuz in a couple of years and I wasn't sure how to feel since I wasn't THAT close to him, he was....is still family. 2) I didn't know he had cancer.
Needless to say I pressed on with today.
It was already on my agenda to go with my family to hear my Aunt VJ preach. She has been a minister in training at her church and today was her initial sermon with a presentation for her to received her license. The whole thing about my Aunt VJ preaching wasn't a total shock because I knew that she has been working on this for a while. However, after today I see my aunt in a different light now. As of recent I would joke about Aunt VJ being a "Battle Ax," and how going to her house was like suburbia hell for me since becoming an adult with all my married and family oriented cousins around me... the single still in school.. (the sorta) gone astray chic.
I will be the first say, I'm EXTREMELY proud of my Aunt VJ and how well she preached today, especially in light of Cuz's death who is her (step) son. When I saw my family today, we were all in good spirits, but we were mostly concerned about Uncle Rich (Cuz's father/ Aunt VJ's husband). Uncle Rich is a strong, proud man. A wonderful father! I've always admired him..dispite the fact he is republican (hehehe). Uncle Rich gets emotional and he isn't too proud to show it. So even at the mention of Cuz during service today... and even during Uncle Rich's dedication and Aunt VJ giving her praise thanks to Cuz...
The family broke down.
My tears broke loose.
Cuz's presence was felt.
Yet, in the midst of his death... we still celebrated life.
Aunt VJ preached form the Old Testament.. Deuteronomy Chapter 30 --- mainly focusing on verse 19.
"I call heaven and earth to record this day against you, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing: therefore choose life, that both thou and thy seed (your children) may live." - KJV
Aunt VJ preached from the perspective of how folks can be the walking dead - living a life under the wrong spirit and allowing unnecessary suffering to enter. Choosing God allows life and light to come into your life and bring an unfounded peace. Life is different when you have divine peace. For me, her message actually coincided with my pastor's message from today - about unlikely candidates of being used/blessed by God. Earlier in the day I attended my own church and was hit with a reaffirming message that my life does have a purpose. Also, that pain is a part of life and the blessing in pain or hitting a deeper low is being built up. He used the analogy of tall buildings having a deeper foundation in order for it to be supported properly and able to withstand the strength it is built upon.
With the two sermons today, I was able to knock down some discouraging thoughts I had earlier in the week about my life. I had allowed some unsettling thoughts come in and I began to question some overall decisions I've made and perhaps having regrets. Yet, in that particular time I didn't stop to think about the blessings that have been delivered unto me, especially in regards to my daughter. I'll admit, sometimes I'm quick to forget how much of a blessing she is to me , because all I see were mistakes I've made in which she became the end result. Even though my daughter, in all of her beauty and innocence, is the love of my life and really can't imagine myself without her since her arrival, I still have a hard time forgetting and forgiving myself and even her father for what WAS, because situations could have been avoided altogether.
It's a process that I've been working on resolving from within. However I can go "would've, could've should've" all I want, but maybe this whole experience of being a single mom was in the cards for me all along. Hearing my cousin LaJaun (who is also studying to become a minister) giving her thanks to her mom, Aunt VJ and small testimony about being the "product" of a 16 year old mother, I felt encouraged. So, despite the blues I felt during the past week or so, I choose to live.
Being around my family today (or any other time) I’m always filled with some sense of being whole. Even with this side of my family – my father’s side – we’re close, but not close. There is a broken connection somewhere and I use to get on everyone for not calling from time to time to say hello. Ironically it was my Uncle Mike who did that this time around. However, as he criticized my father for not being in touch, in the same token he hasn’t been, nor Aunt VJ. From the looks of things, it seems as if Uncle Mike and Aunt VJ’s clans have gelled together in the past couple of years; and still only calling my father and Aunt J in Seattle when something “special” is going on.
Honestly, I’ll admit, while the desire is there for me to draw my family closer, I haven’t made any attempts myself. My dream has always been to buy a house and have regular gatherings with my family (from both sides) in my house, even being a host to Aunt J when she comes to DC to visit so she won’t have to worry about staying with my cousin LaJuan all the time or in a hotel.
Work with the connection still needs to be done.
Aside from the "shadow of death" and other feelings, the Snickerdoodle had a very good first birthday. It may seem a bit unconventional to forego a birthday party and just spend time with the family and in church all day, but she enjoyed it. Just before leaving the house to see Aunt VJ, I iced up a cupcake that I made with chocolate frosting, lit her candle, and the family gathered to sing “Happy Birthday.” She dug into her cupcake…with a little help from me and of course got chocolate all over her face and hands – thankfully not on her “Sunday Best!!!!”
During Aunt VJ service, I was nervous because I didn’t know how the Snickerdoodle would hold up; being that it was close to her dinner time. She was a bit busy or fidgety, but she handled it well. Thankfully, all of us went to a nearby Old Country Buffet for dinner and the Snickerdoodle was started to get fussy then, but her food shut her up. The birthday wasn’t quite over, as my Aunt Edith and my mother told the staff that today was the Snickerdoodle birthday.
Soooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Ten minutes later the staff made a big announcement and everyone in the place was singing happy birthday to the Snickerdoodle.
Note: I wish my camera was working properly at the time to catch the Snickerdoodle’s face. The look she gave was hilarious as if to say “Why is everyone singing and looking at me?” My camera briefly went on the brink as some of the Snickerdoodle’s milk got in between lens and made it sticky. It started working properly again once I got home.
It’s after ten in the evening and it sounds as if the Snickerdoodle is tuckered out.
*Pause to check*
The party girl hasn’t crashed just yet, but it is coming.
I think I feel my crash coming too.