"...a very caring and loving person who is afraid of her own feelings."

When I first read that message I took a deep breath. The message was left anonymously via the Honesty Box on my Facebook page. The honesty box allows people to secretly answer whatever question is posed; even though you can bribe them with virtual points in order to uncover their identity. I respond to answers given, but never bribe. I can pretty much can tell who said what, based on the types of answers given.

My current question really isn't one. It' just a simple statement.

"Enlighten me: tell me something you think I should know."

I have a feeling Papi left such an answer. He denied it, but all evidence points to him. Though things are going well between us, I still feel apprehensive emotionally. He knows that I care, but when I start feeling deep, I mean diving real deep into my feelings I hold back....A LOT. Defenses are up and the little jokes served with nervous laughter come out.

I'm not sure what it is I'm actually protecting. I'm pretty much over my bad experiences. My war wounds from my last (so-called) relationship have closed up and are slowly smoothing over. Yet, why do I keep getting reminders, such as the message and the one I've been saying since seeing the message?

Reminder to self: It's ok to feel.

Maybe I'm still leaving that marginal room for error when this three year relationship proves to be not so perfect or just totally wrong. My fear of being presumptuous. Whatever it is, I'm so wide open. I want to run and hide, out of shame and maybe even fear. Yet, I don't hide. I stand there in the middle, in the open, stammering over what to say. When my heart gets too full, I don't express. Choosing instead to change the topic, tell a joke or retreat as if I didn't hear what was said before. I can't get away with it 95 percent of the time. That other 5 percent is when I can't deal and he just can't get it out of me. He doesn't push. Let's me be.

I want to share EVERYTHING that I feel, but stifled and saddened that I don't....

Maybe I'm just waiting for the right day.. the right time...that exactly "ah ha moment" when I know for sure... to say.... I love you.

I'm in an artistic mood but not sure where to start. Ok... maybe I have an idea. I'm working on a creative writing project for my class with Medina. It's our Mid-term. The project is to take about 20 shots (pictures) and create a narrative from the pictures taken. I had so many ideas for this project, but each one foiled. Mainly I wanted to shoot pictures of my grandmother's move. Her life has been my muse lately. Unfortunately, the house she is moving to isn't quite ready yet. The move is postponed.

I pulled out my old (late 80's) Nikon 35mm. Not an automatic, but the professional kind. Back in the day I use to take shots, mainly in black and white, and developed the prints myself. I dabbled in and out of it as I attended different workshops and even on my own. I even went back into it in high school as I spent one school year taking pictures for the yearbook.  I looooove that Nikon better than any digital. For that I'm truly an "Analog Girl In a Digital World."

When my original idea foiled I pondered the idea of another upcoming event. My cousin "T's" fashion line debut. She held a private fashion show and party at the Studio Gallery in Dupont Circle, with invited family, guests and few press folks. It was a hit!! I have never been so proud of my cousin as I was Saturday. Literally, I was moved to tears (which I choked back - I couldn't let my eye makeup give me away).

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I managed to take much needed black and white shots and had them developed the next day. I'm shocked how interesting and nice they turned out; considering I'm still an amature at this and hadn't touched the Nikon in light years. I'm not even gonna get into how it took me a moment or two to figure out how to load the camera. Once I finished a roll I had to remember where the release button was located to allow me to roll the film back in the film canister before opening the back. After one wasted roll of film, a few out of focus pictures and a few pictures with off balance lighting, I forgot how the whole process gives me a rush! I went out and bought more black and white film for more pictures to take - for my own leisure, projects.

Aside from the picture taking A LOT has been placed on my plate and I'm still trying to find a balance in all of the madness. On one hand I love it, because I'm immersing myself in work that I love doing, but the flip side is.. trying my damn hardest not to succomb to my distractions and not neglecting those in my life who are very important and dear to me. Of course the biggest one of all...my daughter. 

I probably shouldn't worry too much about my Snickerdoodle, since she is in good hands while I'm drowning in reading material for classes, writing papers, writing and editing articles and whatever else I have going on. I get a sense that at two years old, my Snickerdoodle has some of my streak of independence. On one hand she's attached to me -she'll crawl in my bed in the middle of the night. However, she is quick to tell me "Buh Bye" - such as Sunday in church when I dropped her off in the in the children's Sunday school and she told me "bye" before I could rush back upstairs to the sanctuary.

So again.. I need not worry too much about the Snickerdoodle.  

But getting back to this artistic aura that has been around me lately.... It's funny. I had been crying about lack of inspiration and motivation and in the last month or so an abundance of what I've been lacking and crying out for has hit me.

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A couple of weeks ago Medina asked us to write a Creed, based on why do we write. I took some time to think about why do I write and tried to form it into a creed. Here's what I came up with.

"There's the gift, there's the spirit & there's the work. All three have to come together. If one of those things are off, it can stop you from becoming who you were meant to be" - Jay-Z Oct. 2009 issue of O Magazine

The Gift:

For it was bestowed upon me to carry a tradition. It’s by divine touch to have such a legacy flow through the blood line; from grandparents to grandchildren. This inheritance is rich with vivid imagery, a plush vocabulary and a background harmony singing lullabies helping to see and feel. For the mission is bigger than me and beyond my understanding. For the words entertain, heal, soothe, inspire, liberate, anger, teach, help and captivate.  The art of writing is one of power. I shall not take this lightly journalistically or creatively.

The Spirit:

The spirits of pure and evil are there. Yet it’s the pure that I seek and long to keep. For evil uses my voice, the gift, as a weapon sharper than any known to man. For I pray and pledge not to be led astray, to find friend or foe slain or arrested by my hidden weapon. May nothing but positive influence and true conviction bleed ink.

The Work:

It is understood that nothing is handed to me freely and without consequence. For I have received this gift and must make use of idle hands and idle time. For it takes more than just having the gift and letting the passion fester. Passion must be allowed to be the driver. For once it is allowed to drive falling in love with the craft and the tools are comprehensive. The work will deliver unto itself when passion is allowed to live aloud and able to drive.

I think I had a Tula Portokalos moment over the weekend.

Sometimes I find myself keeping myself in check. Saturday, in the aftermath of Friday evening, was one of those times. You see, using my connects, I had long ago put in a requests for a two baseball tickets for a Washington Nationals game. Granted I'm not all that thrilled about baseball, but I still love going to the games as it is a nice outing, or something to do. I thought it would be something cool for Papi and I to do for a date since he's never been to a game, especially now that the new stadium has been built. For the record he's not a baseball buff neither. We're both pretty much into football.

Well I got the call Thursday eve, that I have my tickets for the game happening the next day, plus an extra one. The extra was to go to my mother because our political friend wanted her to participate in a special ceremony during the game. I wasn't too disturbed by this, because though my mother has always been there for our political friend, she wasn't feeling the idea of tagging along with Papi and I on what was suppose to be a date. By the end of the night my mother said the only way she would go would be to catch a ride with our friend and then she can leave early or stay late with her.

Then there was a slight change in plans just before I went to bed Thursday night. My mother had mentioned something that my father would likely take her place and that another ticket would be added so my lil cuz could go as well (since my father was picking him up anyways.) Even still I wasn't all that disturbed, because I just knew that none of my folks would want to go through the motions of getting to a baseball for a five minute ceremony at the beginning and then leaving.

My dream told me different. I awoke Friday morning feeling terribly drained. For a moment I couldn't figure out why until my dream instantly played back in my mind. The dream was fresh so I remembered all of it. Basically within the dream I was in a bedroom with the man of my affection. It wasn't actually Papi, but the man's form took on the appearance of Mr. S. (sigh - why won't he go away). In the dream I was getting ready for bed with Mr. S and he ran off into another bedroom. In the room there were people from my family and some of our mutual friends. Before I knew it EVERYONE was sharing the bed. I remembered in the dream I was growing frustrated because I wanted "my man" to myself. Then I found myself concerned with "Does he mind sharing a bed with my family?" Then I had this feeling of I needed to escape and that my man is for me and not for my family.

When I woke up, I was a little perplexed that I would dream such. I did have a slight feeling it had something to do with the baseball tickets situation, but I instantly brushed it off. I concentrated more on the sense that a crowded bed (pertaining to my relationship with Papi) must mean that one of us or both of us are carrying our past around with us whenever we're together.

After shaking off the dream, the day went on smoothly and as productive as possible until the moments leading up for me to get ready. At the last minute the word came through that EVERYONE was going to the game; my mom, dad, my Snickerdoodle and my lil cuz. My attitude fluctuated between extremes. I went from being pissed that my whole family was coming to feeling panic for some reason. The thing is, within our two year (and some change) relationship Papi has met my immediate family with a few extended relatives. He gets along fine with my father. The Snickerdoodle adores him like a big play toy.  My mother is still warming up to him, but so far no problems and so on. We're both family people, but at the same time we both crave our space away from them for just us. Because, really.. we're both up under our families so it's a constant. The other thing is, since we only just STARTED to acknowledge to everyone around us that we are in a relationship. Granted nothing hasn't changed much for us, but in a way it feels as if it has since family and friends (from both sides) want to know "Who is he/she?" "How long?" "Do he/she have kids?" What do he/she do?" and etc. etc.

The more I thought about what the special ceremony was for, the more I thought about how some of the political connects that do have close ties to our family would be there, on top of my family going. My body temperature rose and my breath quickened. The phone kept ringing back to back with my mother changing transportation plans. I ended up letting out a loud scream by the end of one conversation. It was the worse. I couldn't go through with it. I picked up the phone and called Papi on both house and cell phones. No answered. I figured he was in the midst of getting dressed. After my family came by to pick up the Snickerdodle, Papi called.

After I gave him the rundown of what was going on, he calmly asked "What do you want to do?"

I suggested we go out to eat instead. So, we drove out of DC and ended up at a nice resturant not far from Baltimore. I was calmer and truly enjoying myself in his company. When I came home I got the report that the family did stay for the whole game. The Snickerdoodle had a marvelous time as she was amazed at all the activities going. I'm glad she was able to go, now I know she can handle baseball games and I can take her with me next time I go. I went to bed in a blissful daze only to wake up Saturday morning reflecting on Friday eve a bit.

My Big Fat Greek Wedding

I thought about the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding, when Tula (the main character) pretty much freaks out or is embarrassed by a lot of her family's over exaggerated Greek activities. The scene that ran through my mind is when Ian asks Tula about her family. She goes into this spiel about how her Greek relatives act and how there are so many of them. Granted, Papi and I have talked about each other's families and he knows that mine is huge, I feel a pull of some sort. Even though I may gripe about my family and secretly wish I could move to another country sometimes just to get away, to be honest I'm close to my family. So I know to even try to totally dismiss them is hard.. more than likely not even an option. 

I'm sure having the family with me on a "date" wouldn't have been so bad, especially at a baseball game. Yet, it bothered me that I freaked out like I did. Of course it would have meant another opportunity for Papi to bond with my family, but am I really ready for that? Am I really ready for a relationship now that we've called...labeled it what it is?

I guess I must first be honest with myself and go back to a question that Papi asked me nearly a month ago. What am I expecting from this relationship?

Maybe there was a little bit more to the dream than just crowded seating at a baseball game.

Or....

Maybe I am just being (emotionally) clumsy.

The Girl Can't Help It - Little Richard (1956)

Today I received an interesting surprise.

Upon logging onto Twitter, one of my follows posted a link to the online magazine Clutch. The article talks about turning 30, from a woman's point of view. I found it to be fitting or right on time for me this morning. Since Howard's graduation on Mother's Day weekend, I've been feeling a bit weird. Aside from what has been going with my grandmother, I have also had time to think about graduation and how pratically I'm at the point where I can say "This is it!."

Granted I'm not really a graduate just yet. I still have one more semester to go. However, this year I avoided graduation again, but saw the aftermath in lew of pictures online from classmates.

(side note: I did learn that my name was called during a graduation exercise for the school of communications. However, it is believed that was a mix up and really another person with my name that was called but spelled differently)

In the past, graduations have always brought feelings of depression. I felt like I had failed, simply because I let another year go by without finishing my undergrad. Actually the year that Oprah spoke (2006?) was the first time I didn't avoid graduation since attending the school. Her message spoke volumns (as if she should be a minister) as she talked about being motivated and staying motivated in doing what God has called you to do. Basically.. act on your calling, don't just sit on it. 

I didn't feel depressed this year. The end of the semester felt bittersweet. I felt sad because I actually was going to miss the bonds I created in such a short time over the semester. Granted this class is younger than me, but when we all worked together and shared that same passion for journalism I truly felt at home.. at peace. So as I looked at their pictures as they were dressed in smiles and in their cap and gown I got to wondering about my own fate... destiny... my life.

So in a matter of months I will be 30. One of the things I'm most anxious about is finally finishing something that I set out to do many moons ago; school. By my advisor's calculations I can either finish in December and walk in May with the class of 2010, for finish completely (internship and all) by May and be a 2010 graduate. Either way, by or AT 30 I will be done with undergrad.  I try my best not to look back on the "what ifs," but that's a hard thing to do. I can sit here and say I was suppose to be this, this and that by 30, but I honestly believe there is a reason or a hidden agenda behind me being 29, a single mom, still in school and even still living at home with my parents for right now.

I love how the Clutch article was written, because it seems that it was me; a female struggling to gain her peice of the "pie" while living out her dreams and God's plan for her. As in her article she mentions that she isn't going to act as if she is all "zen-like-at-peace" with her struggles, but she understands that there is a reason for it and that 30, is the time to tighten up, take hold, walk through and deal. No excuses. 

Funny thing is, I use to feel like I'm such ahead of my time, especially age wise, but I think it has finally caught up with me.

I am 29 going on 30.

Yet I'm still wondering what's next for me.

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Via Clutch Magazine.....

30 Rocks?

In all honesty I should be working on some things. However I thought I'd interrupt my regularly off schedule self to give some sort of public service announcement or observation. The last 24 hours have been very reflective for me, starting with the good news about my tuition being paid in full this time around. No sooner after my moment of joyous praise I logged onto the website for Essence Magazine. I was really there looking for an update or follow up to something specific when I came across their online article on Jill Scott.

It's official. Jill Scott has finally confirmed her pregnancy. In reading the article she's really around six or seven months pregnant as she is due sometime in April. Also in reading the article I can appreciate why she waited so long to reveal to the world her wonderful news. It was more of a health concern, especially since she was once told that she couldn't conceive.

It's odd that I don't know Jill Scott on a personal level, but I feel connected to her - based on what I know, read, etc. Aside from folks comparing my physical, personal and writing style or persona to that of Jill's (flattered but I would like to think I have my own) I feel connected through her music, poems and even in reading about the various volunteer work that she does (I'm hoping to up the ante on my end with this). Have you been to one of her shows or a show with her in it some kind of way? The woman is amazing. She'll go from spoken word, to soul singing to a jazzy tune to opera in a heartbeat.

Even more, as I read further into her article I almost wanted to cry. Her pregnancy journey pretty much parallels mine. Only difference is, she is about to marry the father, the drummer of her band, [Lil] Jon Roberts. However, her emotional wave that she is riding...that was me all the way. I too was told that I couldn't conceive. Correction - my OBGYN at the time told me that if and when I decided to have children more than likely I would need the help of a fertility drug/method. My hormones were inbalanced and a large part as to why my menstrual cycles were practically non-existent after a time. Bascally, it was looking as if it would be very difficult for me to conceive. Not that this gave me an excuse to have [unprotected sex] with my mate at the time, but really pregnancy was really the last thing on my mind.

When I found out that I was pregnant the shock of it hit me more than a ton of bricks ever could. Slowly I revealed to my circle of family and friends what was going on; relying more on my older sister and my aunt for added support. For a while things seemed crazy, out of control as to where do I go from here. Eventually I pulled back, not totally, but enough to have my space to think, plan, talk to God and my baby.

There were highs and some lows with my pregnancy, but as each day passed the experience always put in awe of what was going on with my body.. of what was inside of me. As it sounds like with Jill, it was a day to day process with me.. of me claiming the role as "mother." Obviously the excellent thing about Jill's pregnancy is that Jon is there going through the same thing with her. They are hand in hand in this experience. Me? A lot of times I felt really alone. Though I had/have a few friends with children, they had gone through this slightly different than what I was going through. The other portions of my friends were like how I once was... single and child free. So in a lot of ways I felt like the odd girl out.

The Prisoner's Wife : A Memoir

asha bandele

No sooner had I finished reading the online article of Jill Scott, I was flipping through my copy of the current print edition of Essence. I came across a short interview with Journalist/Author Ashe Bandele. Long time ago I read her book, The Prisoner's Wife, her memoir of falling in love with an inmate to a prison she regularly visited with a poetry group, marrying him and eventually conceiving a daughter from the union. Unfortunately I didn't finish the book to the end and didn't have a chance to pick other works by Bandele. However, in her short interview she speaks on her latest memoir which is on her experiences of being a single mother(the marriage between her and the inmate eventually dissolved.).

One quote in particular arrested me. For it captured in essence all that I have been feeling about being a single mother.

"Single motherhood is not to be defended or excoriated; it just is. I don't think most people grow up saying 'I want to raise a baby by myself.' I grew up with a 1950's ideal...I'm offended by notions that everyone should get married, but I don't disagree that having a supportive, loving partner makes it easier." (Bandele. Essence February 2009 p. 68)

I was grossly offended when I told my parents I was pregnant and the first thing from my father's mouth was I should consider marriage to the father. During my pregnancy I paid close attention to parenting and pregnancy publications. I loathed them at the time because none of the advertising campaigns, articles or even photos to go with the articles represented me. The single mother. Everything celebrated family, which is fine and dandy, but the reality was.. is and probably will continue to be, not everyone is in the nuclear family mindset or actually living it.  

Of course when the Snickerdoodle actually made her entrance into the world, things changed. I too had to take that same "Big Girl" pill that Jill took and others before us did. Priorities and responsiblities changed instantly. Every life altering decision I had to make and continue to always figures in the Snickerdoodle.. especially in the realm of meeting new people, establishing relations. Not everyone will be priviledge to meet my daughter. It's strange. In reading about the "Big Girl Pill" it almost seems like a bitter pill to swallow. Yet, literally and metaphorically speaking it is the most selfless act and perhaps easy for the go-zillion of us who have. Call it nature, but it seems stronger than nature or instinct. It has to be, because unfortunately there are those aren't equipped (ready) to take care of their children (for whatever reason).

In terms of my own experience in being a mother, I think in a lot of ways what happened was fate.  In retrospect, considering everything I had went through before the Snickerdoodle, in a way it feels that her presence was right on cue. As I said in previous entries, I find it funny that God really was listening and I must be careful of what I ask for. For a long time I figured it would take a child to bring stability to my life. Lo and behold, my life is geling. Sometimes it's easy to try and wonder where would I be if she hadn't been here? Would I even be back in school now? Would I'd be so far down and out and wallowed out in my own pity that I couldn't see the light at the end of the tunnel? Would I even be on the tippy top of the world right now with no real peronsal growth, just the same ol'?

Either way, it wouldn't matter. What matters is the here and now and how much growth I've experienced and continue to embrace. Motherhood has definately forced me to grow up more..along with age. Granted it has tried my patience, even to the point where I did have a flash of the thought "Am I really cut of this?" but when I look at those brown eyes that stare back at me on the daily, it's all the motivation to keep going and making a way for her.

Granted, more than likely I have it easier than the average single mother, but it's still no simple task. Yet in almost the two years that the Snickerdoodle has been in my life, everything feels like a breeze. Like I'm floating. Even if I'm down to my last dime, I make sure the Snickerdoodle gets what she needs from that dime and I wouldn't have any regrets about it.

Where do I begin?

One of the hardest things to do in life is when you eventually have to look yourself in the proverbial mirror. You confront the things that hold you back, address the issue(s) and seek a solution to progress onward. At the lack of even trying to sound poetic this transitional phase in my life seems to be moving at the same rate as the renovations to the house. How odd was it when the renovations first started in May I was pumped and motivated and ready to go in life. The contractors were here banging and constructing away and I was busy pitching for freelance gigs, revamping my resume, writing for various calls for submissions and more importantly handling my business as a mom.

Then came the day when the back wall of the house had to come down. Comfort zones rocked on every level. My bedroom...gone! My bedroom furniture that I had long out grown, I butchered into pieces and left in the alley for bulk pick-up. Clothes in plastic Rubber Maid house ware bins. My emotions tugged on. My mental state...fragile. Faith hard press and tested. Insecurities on full blast. Confusion.

Once the extension was up and connected to the main part of the house and erie calm happened. Too erie. Soon construction stopped, because the contractor needed to finish up business with the DC's Department of Regulatory Affairs. Permits has to be secured for him to continue. For four months everything went stale. Excitement about the renovations. My change. My growth. The extension was hallow with all the wiring and pipes in place, but no furniture or appliances could be installed without a proper inspection by DCRA and a permit given by DCRA. Just a solid wooden shell. A loft feel to the new part of the house if you will. So were my insides. Everything in place right to go, but nothing. Hallow.

I started to feel this way around October, the third month into no progress of the renovation. I tried to bush things off. Told myself that I was fine, the Snickerdoodle was fine and everything was gravy...ok. The sun started to fade quicker in the day and the skies started to look gray. I tried to coast along, but the days were getting harder to bare. I thought nothing was unusual about this state of mind. I normally get this way towards the end of the year. Antsy and just want the year to end. Still something was wrong.

My first clue is when I kept thinking too much on things that happened in the past. Why were old faces and places popping up at random times in my thoughts?

My second clue is when I kept obsessing about a particular situation and kept trying to analyze it. Was it me or was it really them?

My third clue is when I started to have vivid dreams again that bothered me.

And so the past two days have shown me things about myself, that I don't find shocking, but I find to be a bit disappointing. In the still of the night I came upon these epiphanies.

1. Defense Mechanisms - ever had one that just backfired?

A week ago I was watching 30 Rock. During that particular episode Tina Fey's character, Liz Lemon, was reluctant to attend her high school reunion. She figured she would not have a good time, because - from her point of view - she was the lovable nerd that got bullied and tormented everyday. It took Alec Baldwin's character, Jack, to change her mind into going. It also took Jack to break things down to Liz towards the end. You see, when Liz arrived at her reunion it turns out that everyone hated her, because SHE was the bully. Liz wasn't understand until Jack pointed out that she basicially got to her bullies - through sarcastic insults and "innocent" jokes - before they could get to her. In anticipation of the bullies hurting Liz, Liz was quick to reverse it and hurt them before they could her.  

Though done for comic relief, Liz's plight felt familiar. I know in the past there have been times when I may have hurt someone - maybe not intentionally - but to protect myself. I could get real deep with this, but basically it sums up to the kind of love hard/clash hard relationship I've had with my mother. We love each other to death, but we both bare our battle scars and unfortunately a lot of them are deep wounds. It's because of the kind of hurt that I've experienced with my mom, that I most likely formed a wall. Maybe it's the same wall that holds my nonchalantness to different situations outside my mom and even my mantra of some sort " I pick and choose my battles." 

Maybe this is why when I try to roll off hurt or emotions and just bottle it up, it comes out in different ways. Spitfire. I have...had a lot of unresolved anger towards past situations and I just didn't know how to contain it anymore, where to direct it to or how to just release it. So in essence that same wall I built has canons behind it ready to fire back upon "attack." My (self) defense mechanism ended up hurting me in the long run, because it left me suffering with a lot of so called (un) resolved issues.

2. Self Projection

My journalism sis asked me once why do I feel the need to justify myself in a lot of what I write creatively via blog entries. Honestly, I didn't have no real answer. I never saw that anything I wrote was like a justification. The first rule of thumb in writing.. at least in creative writing.. just free flow. Write what you feel. Write from the gut and then go back and straighten up if need be. The more we talked about this, the more I saw her point, especially when she hit a nerve on self-esteem.

I don't think my esteem is low. I don't think it's so high that I'm smelling my own shit and then some. I would like to believe I have a healthy level of esteem; able to identify both my weakness and strengths and strive to make improvements when and where I need to. Yet writing.... it's so personal. delicate. touchy-feely. Don't get me wrong, I'm humble enough to know when I see excellent writing in others I make it a point to make that known, but with me.. my own stuff....

It's one of those eternal internal battles that I find that a lot of writers have. When it comes to the self and what you write it's never good enough. You could win the pulitzer and it still wouldn't be good enough. Maybe in a lot of ways, when I do give my own self projections it's just me telling myself, affirming to myself my own worth. That I came from x, y, z and can go on to 1, 2, 3 and 4.

Still, like defense mechanisms, self projections can fail too. Somewhere along the line my judgement may have removed me from my reality. Instead of coming off or sending a certain positive vibe about myself signals got mixed up and another aura was released. Perhaps the annoying negative bitch aura. No one wants to be stuck with that. Not even me.

Conclusions, Solutions?

It's so strange. Two inspectors have been past the house and another step forward has been made in the renovation process. Along with this is when I began to break. Progression. The final stages of the renovation is in baby step motion. Still progression. 

So now that I've identified the issues what do I plan to do?

I woke up today pondering over a fast. An internet fast. I'm already not feeling it too much as it is at the moment. My inbox(es) are filled with thousands of unanswered emails. I'm on my instant messenger but not really in the mood to talk to anyone, but Papi, if it is logged on. I'm battling with T-Mobile at the moment, so I have no calls, emails or text messages coming through my Blackberry at the moment. I'm not reading the usual blogs or websites I frequent. I'm on Twitter and that's the only thing I'm really enjoying at the moment.

Still what better time than to disconnect from the virtual world for a while?

Since my head has been cleared, I picked up my keystrokes and formulated another story for the same submission I'm attempting to make.  I'm not sure where the story is headed, but I'm sure it's headed to one on forgiveness. Right now it's kind of twisted, but I like so far.

I need this time to focus. Focus on the story. Focus on my drawn out manuscript for my own book. Focus on attending school in January.

I'm not sure how long I will disconnect. I just know I don't want to be surrounded by noise. No phones, emails, (sigh) Twitter. I want this part of growth to come with patience, mediation and with little background noise.

No one to say how proud or disappointed they are in me. No one to trade flirtatious remarks with. No one to gab in my ear or on screen about this, that and the other.

Just me, the Snickerdoodle, my keystrokes and yes... God.

Colorful

Call me a bit off, weird or quirky, but I love filling a glass with ice, ginger ale or a citrus drink and placing a fruit popsicle (Edy's Fruit Bar) upside inside. Somehow when I have this concoction going my body instantly chills and I relax.  

Tonight as I currently have a glass...ok plastic cup... filled with such I'm sitting back and letting my thoughts fly. As usual I don't know where to begin in spewing my thoughts, so everything feels like a ramble or a run-on sentence in my head.

However, tonight I'm stuck on better halves.

I've been reading a few blogs and came across a couple in which the blogger talks about missing their other or better half. Their half is away for whatever reason and in each case they have pondered on their existence without their half.  I can't help but wonder how I will fair over the weekend when Papi leaves for his family reunion. True, I'll miss him, but it won't be the end of the world. It's the Snickerdoodle that I can't bare to be away from for an extended amount of time.  I must say I did very well a few weeks ago when she spent the night with my aunt and grandmother. I only called to check on her once.  I knew she was in good hands.

Still, this whole thing about better halves has been coming to me ever since my cousin's funeral last week. My cousin and his wife were married for 62 years. What scares me a bit, when people who are that in love and in tuned to each other; when one goes away in death the other isn't far from behind. This was proof enough for me a few years back when my Uncle Gyden passed away. Uncle Gyden and his wife, Aunt Louise, had been married 50 plus years.  They loved, worshipped and did just about everything together. I will never forget the day of Uncle Gyden's funeral. At the end I had approached Aunt Louise wanting to give her a hug and let her know I was there.  Needless to say I was taken aback when I approached her.

All my years of knowing Aunt Louise, I had never seen her cry at a funeral. I remember very vividly, especially at my great-grandmother's funeral, she was the one to rally everyone together and tell them to forget their tears of sadness. If anything it was a day of celebration. She was one of the strong pillars of the family. Yet on that day of her husband's funeral her world seemed to have ended. When I approached her she was full of tears. Nothing would come out my mouth. I stood there with tears coming from my eyes as she kept repeating,

"I can't live without him. I don't know what I'm going to do. I can't live without him."

A few months later, Aunt Louise was gone.

I'm aways in utter amazement when I come across a couple that in tuned to eacher that their hearts are really one. It's even more amazing when you can actually FEEL the energy that a couple that in tune radiates with. I feel very blessed to be or have been in the presence of such couples, because it renews my faith in real, unconditional, deep down to the core, consuming, undying love.  I feel this way about my Snickerdoodle. I love waking up in the morning and seeing her face or feel her climb over me trying to wake me up.

"Get up Mommy!"

Though I don't want to spoil her to the point that she can't do without me, I'll admit sometimes it is hard. For the most part she is good at entertaining herself  if I have duties around the house to complete or if I leave her in the care of a family member she'll busy herself with whatever. When I return in her sight that's when she falls apart. She'll run, crawl or fast walk to get to me. If we aren't in arms reach she'll start to whimper or even cry while reaching for me. When I'm in her sight, she watches every move I make and now that she is walking good, she'll try to follow. 

Maybe I have spoiled her just a bit.

So many times I've replayed in my mind the events that has led up to her existence. Eventually I end up shedding a tear or two, because I realize that I am completely in love with her and I can't even begin to image my life without her.

When it comes to the type of love or intimacy that my daughter may not be able to provide me, I only hope that I am blessed to have such a person my life; for us to be on the same level and able to grow spiritually and emotionally together. Just as it is with my daughter, I want the divine given love; one that was chosen just for me.

Divinely favored.  

The new issue of Essence magazine features singer Usher and his recently born infant son. I've only skimmed through the article and glanced at the beautifully done photo shoot, but I teared up as I read lyrics to a song he wrote for his son, especially the ending lines.

"I ain't going nowhere
Even when I get on your nerves
Cause I'm your daddy

My prayer for you
Son I pray for you"

- Usher "Prayer for You"

I've been inspired to sit down and pen something down for my better half.  I haven't written anything for her since March, just before her first birthday.  I just feel the need to go deeper with and about my love for her. I'm afraid I may never be able to convey such depth of loves in a written passage.

Ms. (In) Dependent
By Mahoganie
March 2008
Washington, DC

Ms. (In) Dependent
Decided to get up this morning and walk
With her destination unknown
Off she went
Cruising a narrow corridor
Exploring
A tapestry of clothing
A mountain range of dressers
Dusty peaks of exquisite smells
I watched from afar as she grabbed a leg of the old night stand
Balance and Confidence gained within
She looked back as if to say
"Don't fret. I got this!"
She passed a hill of old drop socks
Navigating her way through a maze of Donald Pliner, Ferragamo and Naturalizer boxes
Finally reaching a resting place
Grandma's bed
I couldn't help but to get a twinkle in my eye
My pride
For she is like me
In search of some kind of destiny
Child like Mother
Mother like child
for so long I was a melody
In search of the perfect lyric
God must have bionic hearing
Out of the ash of love confused with lust
he delivered my song
My better half
A life lyric helping to create the ultimate love song
I am her
She is me
My Aries wild child
To my calm Aquarian breeze. 
Energy astound
"When you get blue, I feel it too."
Child like mother
Mother like child
Same (In) dependence
Feeding off a source in order to grow to be free
Wanting to explore the world
Even at an age so mild.

I was pulling into my usual parking space in front the house yesterday after returning home from a late Saturday afternoon outing. Immediately I did notice movement across the street, but it was nothing unusual. I live on a main street so a steady flow of traffic via cars or pedestrian is nothing out of the sort. So when I noticed movement from a single female figure walking along the opposite side of the street, it was nothing more to me than added background "noise."

I went about my business of unloading my car by unloading the Snickerdoodle first. I grabbed her diaper bag/my over sized purse, the Snickerdoodle and marched her into the house. I placed her in the care of my father while I went to retrieve other items from my car. It was during my second trip to the car that the walking female REALLY got my attention.

"Do you live here?"

"That depends."

Female steps off the curb and walks in my direction, with a cell phone up to her ear. Instinctively, I want to hear the woman out. I do believe in being a good Samaritan, especially when I never know when I need the help of strangers. Yet, in this day in age its scary. You don't know who to trust, because not all people in need are really in need. Still I wanted to hear the woman out while keeping my distance. However, with each step back I was taking she was coming closer.

"I wanted to know if you could take me to the gas station to get some gas. My car ran out of gas."

Her cell phone was still stuck in her ear as she pointed in the direction of the bottom of the block. Only thing I saw further down my street was a Metro bus pulling off from its stop and making its usual left turn at the foot of my block. I saw a few cars but they were moving towards their destination. Nothing resembling a car, a truck or even a scooter at a standstill was in sight. The female further explained that she lives further up my street but not saying exactly where. My street runs a long way in this part of the city and I live on one extreme end. I asked her where was her car and she pointed down the street once more, but this time adding that the car was around the corner on the cross street that is at the end of my block.

I began to feel funny. 

I told her to wait where she was standing as I began to walk towards the house. She followed me for a few more feet before stopping at the gate in front of the house. Then, as I walked up the stairs she mentioned that her sister was suppose to be on her way to wait by the car.

I really felt funny.

First of all, if her sister was on the way AND she had a cell phone stuck to her ear half talking/half yelling at someone why couldn't the sister or the person she was speaking with help her? Another thing; where was her gas can? I approached my father and asked him if her could assist the lady outside or at least see what she wanted. My father immediately thought a scam was on the horizon. He walked out of the house and the female said nothing to him. My mother went to the door and boldly asked if there was anything that she could do for her. Again, the female didn't have much to say and kept on walking up the street. Moments later, my father spotted the female in a car riding down the street. I guess a ride came through for her to help with her need.

It's sad that in this day in age you can't be as free to help someone in need, because there are lot of predators on the loose. Now there is cause to be smarter in who you choose to help and relying more on your gut instincts. Lately it seems that everyone on my block and perhaps throughout this city is on their guard. It's summer, schools are out and idle hands and thoughts are getting the best of people. Even worse, apparently the 80s ARE back as PCP users are on the rise again. A few known incidents around here have occurred that involved folks on that superficial high, which can put any innocent person on edge.

My folks are going to be out of town for about a week and course my mother is nervous about me and my daughter being home alone, especially in light of a few (isolated) incidents that have occurred with a couple of neighbors. I'm scared to know how she will react when I finally do buy a home on my own. I worry about our safety, but I don't worry. I do have common sense with a bit of street sense. Also, I know this house is watched over by God and the good neighbors we are surrounded by. Thankfully, I live on a block that is like an old school village. We all know one another and therefore we all look out for each other. Even as new folks move in we eventually establish an understanding with them of what this block is all about.  We are a block full of working families, retired baby boomers, mobile and disabled elderly people, children, a couple of teenagers and young adults. We don't tolerant foolishness.

After the encounter with the female, I did wonder if she was really in need. I silently prayed that if she was in need, that she received the appropriate help. Then I resided with the thought that it just wasn't my assignment to help her. After an experience back in late January with my Aquarius Brother, I can say I can pretty much take the hint when I am being called to duty to be the good Samaritan. I can't say it enough... what an awesome experience it is to be used in that manner.

From my experience with the radical homeless lady a couple of years ago to the young guy roaming the local Giant grocery store looking for change to get a hot plate from the hot bar a month ago, I can pretty much tell when a person is in need. Still there are some tricky, clever ones out there. Those are the ones that scare me. Those are the ones that have turned me into a picky Samaritan.  

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.

HOW TO WALK IN HIGH HEELS: THE GIRL'S GUIDE TO EVERYTHING

Camilla Morton

Recently my mother bought a book by London writer Camilla Morton; How To Walk in High Heels.

In between the distractions of the construction noise from the contractors and doing my "mommy thang," I found a little corner this weekend to claim temporarily and took time to skim the pages of the book. Based on the pages I've read thus far, this has to be the ultimate coffee table book that EVERY woman should have. Though I have never read Kimora Lee's book Fabulocity, which is her own guide to living a fabulous life, I have a feeling Morton may have her beat with this book.

Yes the title may seem ultra fem or girlie girlish and so may some of the written words inside the cover. However, there is a lot of useful information that Morton packs into this book. She begins, of course, talking about stilettos, heels..shoes. I smiled as I skimmed through because I feel that I'm a PRO in this department. She graciously introduces her readers to Manolo Blahnik (for those who are totally clueless) by including a brief bio and history on his shoes. She talks about how to go about getting fitted for the right bra, investing in stocks, resigning from a job, firing folks from their job, etiquette and appropriate attire for weddings, funerals and such and how to entertain. She also as a section that briefly breaks down the process of buying a house; from picking a real estate agent, applying for a loan, seeking a lawyer (if you want to), picking a house and the mortagage and giving houshold tips afterwards - like "How To Lay Tile."

With all the useful tips I've read through, one chapter really caught my eye; "How To Dine Alone."  I'm no stranger to such a thing, because I've always felt confident enough to go out and have a "me day" or even (for lack of better words and not at the risk of sounding too Sex and the City cliche'-ish) "date my city." The first time I actually spent a night out alone I was set to have an evening with a girlfriend of mine. However, things fell through literally at the last minute where her babysitter backed out and she couldn't find anyone else. So I took myself dinner, had a drink or two at the bar and ended up watching Chicago in the movies.  The last time I've actually done such a thing is most likely a year ago when I was pregnant. During a weekend in February I decided to take myself to see the Vagina Monologues, but first stopping in Ben's Chili Bowl for a bite to eat and Starbuck's for a lil dessert.

What I found interesting in reading this chapter was Morton's tips on how to remain poise doing such a thing. She suggests that you ask to be seated away from the crowd stressing the ALONE factor that you are there to eat alone and not near any distractions. She also suggests that you bring some kind of reading matarial with you to keep you a lil occupied if need be and to distract anyone who may want to disturb your quietness. She stresses that you can make your cell phone visible but don't fiddle with it. Fiddling with a phone on your "lone date," may send a signal that you are desperately waiting for it to ring - perhaps from the imaginary person that fake stood you up.

Everytime that I've dined alone I always feel worlds away or mysterious. I have noticed that I do pull in some glances and maybe some stares, but I don't mind it. Some have been from women who may be admiring my shoes or my purse at the time. Later I would receive a compliment. A couple may be from men who are too shy or too arrogant to say anything. Normally I do have some kind a reading material with me; a magazine, a newsletter from some community event or a newspaper. Sometimes I would have a pen and small writing pad in tow, in case I do get the urge to write something.

One of my favorite places to dine alone has been The Art Gallery Grille in the heart of downtown DC. It's kinda retro, with art deco decore that looks as if it has been in place since the 80s. Yet, it was there at the diner counter or in a booth hidden in a corner that I would munch on an old time greasy but good cheap eat of cheese eggs, bacon, wheat toast and hashbrowns for breakfast or a good old club sandwhich for lunch while reading the day's Washington Post.  It was there I would go, straight from my visit with The Doc to reflect and internally cry what I hadn't cried out earlier. It was perfect. I was just another person added to the foot traffic along the K Street corridor. No one knew my name. Perfect! 

I have to admit I was taken aback a week or so ago as I was meeting up with Suga Mama. She was waiting for me to arrive at our destination and decided to go to the nearby Ruby Tuesday's. I was running late, but when I arrived I found her sitting at the bar finishing up whatever she had ordered. It was then she turned to me and said,

"This is the first time I've ever done this. I never ate out alone before."

That sent a slight shock to my system, because I think I just assumed that every woman, AT LEAST ONCE, has dined out alone. Silly me right? Honestly, I would recommend that EVERY woman take their courage by the bull horns and take themselves on a simple "dine out" date. While it is good to be surrounded by your closest friends with the round of drinks flowing and food all sticky and yummy, sometimes you do need that small space to pay attention to yourself. Dining out alone or simply dating yourself IS a treat to yourself. Don't deny yourself!

No you aren't a looser if you do so and yes it does take a lot of guts to go to a nice spot, especially if it is a popular hot spot, alone.

*side note: may want to avoid the popular spots if you are shy about this*

This is just another way to stay in tuned to yourself. Reflect.Breath.Enjoy. It's another way to build up and ooze with confidence. There's nothing sexier or more fabulous than a woman who is confident in every way.

In my "book," as well as in Morton's, every woman is entitled to enjoy herself in all she does.

As for me, I haven't done any real dining out alone since the Snickerdoodle has been on the scene. Naturally if we are out and we dine I do find a spot away from the crowd to not distract from our mother/daughter time. As I wait for my food I interact and feed her to keep her occupied. At this age, when she sees my food she aims for it and wants a taste. Fun times! (insert sarcastic laugh - no seriously it is fun!)

As to when I will officially date myself again, I'm not sure. All I can say is I have heels in line and ready to go.