Mahoganie: The Chronicals of a Komplex Phemale

Random Changes

nobody@vox.com(Mahoganie) — Thu, 03 Jul 2008 17:13:37 -0400

Stiff by Natalie Dee 7032008

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.

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Confessions From a Rooftop Near Ft. Dupont

nobody@vox.com(Mahoganie) — Fri, 20 Jun 2008 12:16:56 -0400

That Girl?

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*

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Claim and Support

nobody@vox.com(Mahoganie) — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 21:38:11 -0400

Tadoodles for the Snickerdoodle

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.

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I Got The Memo

nobody@vox.com(Mahoganie) — Sun, 11 May 2008 22:12:23 -0400

The day is done. I'm phsyically tired, but I'm emotionally charged. Mentally... I'm 90% there.

Divine messages have once again interjected into my life. Perhaps in the most usual form, but I believe I got the memo.

I finally finished Jennifer Weiner's Certain Girls late last night. Again, my hats off to her for such an excellent work. I will admit it was in a bit of shock towards the end when she decided to write off a character. Honestly, I pretty much grieved last night with Cannie Shapiro, because like her, I too had grown accustom to the character that was killed off. The person was a permanent fixture in the fictional world of Cannie - so I thought.

Nevertheless, my revelation didn't come with the character's death as it served as an culminating event to the plot. It was more so Cannie's reclaiming herself in the aftermath of everything - her true purpose in life... her Divine purpose in life. What was it? Naturally it was to write. The calling was there ... been there... for Cannie to write something sincere from the heart. From her gut. Not out of anger as she did with the first novel that eventually caused her shame and made her hide under a psuedo. Though she was good at it (apparently) and found her comfort zone in writing under another name, it wasn't the REAL Cannie.

The way Weiner summed up Cannie's fears on writing again or just writing a book in general hit home for me. It was all about protecting the ones she loves in the midst of her own madness (true or made up) and releasing in order to let go..or maybe just coast along in a comfort zone. Yet deep within, because of whatever insecurities her real life's work or purpose in life was obscure of foggy.

This morning I arose with thoughts in my head on finishing my work/manuscript as I scrambled around prepping my daughter for her big day in church. She was dedicated today and for a time I felt as if I were going to cry. Actually I did most of my crying last night as I read through Joy's bat miztvah and her message and even made some comparisons of my own daughter's life. Like a bar/bat miztvah a dedication is very much indeed an important milestone. It's a process or MY commitment as a mother... a parent... to "offer" my child's life back to God. It's up to me to guide her through life and raise her in the light of God until she is old enough to say "Mother I want to fully commit to Him."

As I listened to my pastor's words today during the dedication and during the sermon (from which he preached on the widow in debt with her empty vessels and filled it with oil as Elisha instructed her to do and further told her to sell the oil in order to repay her debt - 2 Kings 4:1-11) the tears filled the corners of my eyes. Today, I was not only being charged with the duty of motherhood, but also my purpose. my writing...my oil.

Are my vessels (of life) empty?

I probably still have some cleaning to do, which is something that I may need to serious sit down think and pray on.

If anyone who reads my blog doesn't hear from me in a while.. don't worry... more than likely... I'm behind closed doors working with my oil to fulfill something that I do feel is calling me.

I have a story to tell... somebody's needs to hear it.

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A Funny Thing Happened While...

nobody@vox.com(Mahoganie) — Tue, 06 May 2008 01:12:05 -0400

Kimora and daughters fashion week 2008

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.

Certain Girls: A Novel

Jennifer Weiner

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.

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Confessions of a Stationary Magazine Book Whore

nobody@vox.com(Mahoganie) — Tue, 29 Apr 2008 22:48:23 -0400

Forgive me "father" for I have sinned it has been several days, maybe weeks, since my last confession.

I've been on a slight mission ever since I purchased a dress a week or so ago.

My mission...finding the perfect black patent leather clutch purse.

After my free oil change (thank you Mazda), I ended up at Target today and was very disappointed in their selection. Really... how hard can it be to find a nice black patent leather clutch bag without big silly bows? I know I'm a child of the 80s but DAMN!

COOOOOME OOOOOON!

I steered the cart away from that department, picked up a few items for the Snickerdoodle and landed in heaven.

My eyes lit up when I saw the stationary/card section.

Greeting Card Whore

Okay, I don't know what it is about me and greeting cards or stationary exactly. I don't even know when this addiction started. I have a fetish for pretty paper thingys. I literally have a collection of greeting cards that I have not given to anyone, because they are too pretty to give to just anyone.

Hey some people collect stamps.

Me....

I'm a pretty paper person.

I did manage to pick up a couple of Mother's Day cards that I will be giving to my mother and grandmother. I still have May birthday cards to pick up. oye!

Eventually the cards I have in my collection will go to someone... well.. I'm not too sure about the card with the glamour high heel (as pictured above). I simply adore that one. So if anyone gets it, they better damn sure appreciate it.

Anywho....

Needless to say, I caved to my greeting card addiction right there in the middle of Target. To hell with the clutch purse...for now.

On to Barnes & Noble.

My original mission with B&N was to pick up the May issue of Allure Magazine (I actually got the last copy! Did everyone know this was the annual "naked" issue?)

Again, I was in heaven.

1. I was in a freaking bookstore. I miss buying a book or two.

2. B&N has just about any pop culture and sub pop culture magazine you can think of. I'm a straight up glossy, airbrush, feature writing, artistic photography, quirky article, inspirational and motivational, 1,000 word count..... WHORE!

Today's Picks from the Newsstand aka Barnes & Noble (4/29/08)

Along with Allure, I picked up two of my favs.

Black Book and Fader (oh I missed reading Fader!)

I also picked up the 2008 edition of Writer's Market! Oh how I NEED this as I scope out who to query for freelance projects and even further my search for a literary agent!

(Big Score for me!)

Also, I could not resist another Jennifer Weiner book.

Gnb cover

OK! Stop! Hold it! The last book by Weiner that I actually own, read and loved was her first, Good In Bed. I could relate to that book on so many levels - and probably even more so now. Ironically I thought about that book last night. I had the urge to re-read it, but my butt was too lazy to get out of bed to hunt for it in my maze of boxes and such thanks to renovation inconvenience. I never got around to reading In Her Shoes, which I'm mad at myself for - since I wanted to read the book before seeing the movie. I didn't bother picking up Little Earthquakes, because after reading the synopsis I wasn't interested. However, today I just couldn't refuse her latest, Certain Girls. The story picks up where Good in Bed left off. So yes... if you are a Jennifer Weiner reader... Cannie Shapiro is back!

With nothing much more to say I would like to be excused now from today's confession. I'm eager to do some self assigned homework in drumming up some ideas, reading a chapter or two in The Purpose Driven Life and skim through my magazines while drinking some ice tea and wiggling my toes under my covers.

If there shall be a penance for my addictive ways let it be the Snickerdoodle refusing to sleep unless she curls up with me. I can handle that.

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Twisted Happiness Or Ignorance Is Bliss

nobody@vox.com(Mahoganie) — Fri, 25 Apr 2008 22:15:46 -0400

Gerber Daisies

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.

Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood (Full Screen)

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.

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This Is Crazy...

nobody@vox.com(Mahoganie) — Thu, 24 Apr 2008 01:37:40 -0400

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!"

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Confessions On The Baltimore/Washington Parkway

nobody@vox.com(Mahoganie) — Fri, 18 Apr 2008 03:28:48 -0400

Looking @ U Through Patient Eyes

*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.

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Pro-Life

nobody@vox.com(Mahoganie) — Sun, 30 Mar 2008 23:09:02 -0400

Snickerdoodle's Party Hat!

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.

One

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.

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