My Favorite Quote of All Time

"You never miss your water till your well runs dry." I love this quote because it emphasizes the power and importance of gratitude.

Happy Birthday, V

Today is the birth day of my beloved and only child. Although I was remembering past loves this morning, I did not think of his father. Of all the drama, all the passion, all the men, it was his father that I loved. Or, what I thought was love. After all, I was only 22 years old when we met. He called himself “Jungle Boy” (presumably because he came from Africa) and I was not impressed. When that switched I don’t quite remember but I know I fell deeply deeply for him.

Skipping over all the drama of that time, I remember him saying as he went through the gates toward his plane that he was boarding for Kenya, “Don’t you give my son no candies.” It was the last time we talked. (He later sent a post card saying they had lost his luggage but that doesn’t count). I spent years waiting, years yearning, years thinking he would send for us. He never did.

Skip over more time and my son and I grew close. It was just us. Being a single mom was hard but at first it didn’t seem so bad. Later I had help during a relationship time where we shared co-parenting duties for a few years but mostly it was just he and I. I made the best choices I could at the time and tried to keep him safe and instill the values I thought were important. He grew into a handsome, smart, active young man and I was grateful to the gods for my good fortune.  I had finally come to believe that it was a good thing that his father had no part in raising him. If he had, my son might have been a very different person. I am grateful for the man he turned out to be.

Along the way of adulthood, he made some not-so-good choices. Suffice to say I hope they have been good learning opportunities for him, and that he will learn to make better ones in the future. But having spent some closeup time with him these last few years, he is still that sensitive, deeply feeling son I raised–a little rougher for wear–but basically the same. I am grateful that he is here, safe, healthy and that I have had this time with him. He has always been my heart, my sunshine.

A reader told me once: “if you should get pregnant, do not attempt to have an abortion, for this will be a child of Yemaya, and she will not forgive you for this if you do. He will bring you much joy.” Years later a babalawo confirmed my son’s Orisha to be Yemaya. He has brought me great joy. The Universe has blessed me and I am grateful.

Happy birthday, son!

Where do the years go?

It is hard to believe it has been almost a year since I wrote here. In my mind it was only a few months ago. Wow, the things we can do with our minds to psyche ourselves out. Actually, I’m pretty good at that.

It’s the day after Thanksgiving, “Black Friday” it’s called and I’m feeling weepy and feeling the need to stay close to the home front. Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays always leave me feeling this way. They are times that I remember feeling happy at home when I was growing up.  Always a time of family togetherness, food, and love, it  was warmth and a feeling of safety. Dad and Mom would alternate cooking the dinner between these two holidays. We would gather round the big table and feast and talk (and sometimes yell). I’m not sure why these times made me feel happy. But I think it was because everyone was there–Mom, Dad, Stef, Lisa,  Champ, and me. Earlier in my life there was a dog or two, too.

As I grew up the basic scene was more or less the same but the coming years made significant changes. The dinners still happened but now  I lived far away from my family home. Then as one year passed the next I couldn’t come home for this or that reason. Then Stef was gone, and there was a big hole but we trudged on.  Of course, once my sister passed away, it left anguish in that gaping hole. My parents were not the same. I think a little piece of my mother went to her second-born child and we lost that in our interactions with her.

Even as Stefanie left, some joined.  Ty, Tim, and V — the grandkids made their entrances. My parents found great joy in them but there was a permanent change of family shape–kind of like when one leg of the table is off-balance and the table rocks when you touch it. They brought laughter, light, and life to the family, but there was a kind of automatic movement, a sort-of mechanical acting out of the seasonal celebrations. What did it matter now anyway? Holidays were really for children, right?

Then I moved further away and took V with me.  I was no longer able to get home as before. I know that it left a gaping wound for my mother who had permanently lost one child and was now experiencing a kind of quasi-loss with me. Still, the years passed. Many things happened and life went on as much as possible, as before.

But then Daddy was gone.

And when he departed what I saw in my mother surprised me. I never knew she really cared. for so many years she often feigned indifference to him and always seemed to be fatigued and weary of his presence and tirades. To me, she had always seemed annoyed by him throughout the years, tolerating him for the sake of….  But now I saw her grief doubled as she mourned the loss of her estranged husband, but dear friend. Although they heckled each other, there was much love there, and they had grown used to the comfort in that arrangement. She depended on him in ways I did not fully comprehend, until he was gone.

There was effort. The traditional family gatherings went on though there were many missing elements now. Still, we held to the occasions gallantly. I was not present, and Stef and Dad were gone, but there were always the phone calls which tried to compensate for the absence of physical presence. Peppered with many ‘I love yous” throughout, the rotations of conversations with everyone present on both sides of the wires was the best we could do. But it was better than nothing.

Mama died last year and now just three siblings remain–grown but orphaned by the loss of the parental figures–the backbone of a family that yielded many happy years of togetherness, and love. I have a great longing for family and community. I want to be surrounded by the feelings and energy that I remember from my childhood. I want to be among loved ones, basking in the light of love and what really matters. Happy to have V with me, I am still lonely for all that from my yesteryears, and that is what I am feeling weepy about today. While people are out shopping and preparing for the next big cultural occasion, I am musing about how to get that long-ago feeling back.

How to Keep the Writing Flowing

The other day I re-tweeted an article that came across my desk called “9 Things Every Writer Needs to Do Every Day” by Scott Ginsberg. It contained nine suggestions for stimulating the writing flow.

Simultaneously, I sent the article by email to a couple of writerly friends and thought nothing more of it. A day or so later, my good friend, Jasmine, wrote me back. I was so amused by her response I thought I’d publish it here. It read:

Sounds like a man’s list. Here is my list – 5 things every writer needs to do every day:

1 – Observe people especially the ones that bug the dogshit out of you.

2 – Observe yourself especially when angry sad or ashamed.

3 – Write through the emotions that make you want to shut down.

4 – Buy elegant journals and pens and write in and with them every day – preferably in nature.

5 – Get away from computer screens television screens Blackberrys and all digital media and write from your heart.

Of course, both lists are great and offer a variety of approaches to keeping the writing flowing. What she meant by “man’s list”, I think, is that the suggestions seem so left-brained, that is, seem to approach the process from a linear point of view, while the ideas she submitted are intended to work off emotion.

I just happen to be a very left-brained kind of person with an also very big emotional nature. So, both ways can be useful to me at various times.

She Ain’t Heavy, She’s My Sister

I happened upon her website while twittering. She is Dawn and is billed as the “self-esteem queen,” and admittedly, I was curious. Decided to read her blog having been drawn in by this woman who I learened had overcome some big challenges in her life and came up smelling like a rose.

This video was posted there — a frustrated cry against the multinational corporations who have taken their businesses overseas to save money and caught us up in some kind of perverse and frivolous loop, where getting customer service means automated recordings, or people 10,000 miles away who are given quickie training to deal with us unruly, demanding Americans for little (by American standards) pay.

This is happening more and more nowadays. I know I’ve been frustrated trying to get things done. In this case an inability to get her Internet service was clearlly a major obstacle to this “terminally ill” woman’s life. After all, being in such a predicament without access to help in an emergency hardly seems a privilege in this country. I was drawn and moved by her tears and her resolve to do something about it and offer to help others tackle the big corporate monsters who don’t seem to care how much they jerk us around. It is tiring.And I do remember the days when customer service meant something in this country.

I am moved by her humanity–her expression of frustration, anger, helplessness, and self-empowerment all in one moment with her determination to not let this thing totally throw her off-center. I believe the time of the greedy corporation was yesterday. I believe we are headed in a new direction, new energy which is uplifting and positive prevailing. I believe we have to keep moving in that direction and know who we are, and that we are more the same than we are different. And that in the end, the differences matter less than what binds us as a species right here and right now.

Listen to the video and if you feel so moved, send it on, blog about it, or tell someone. There is power and strength in numbers of motivated ones whose hearts are guided by goodness. And as Obama’s election has demonstrated, we can!

One More Goodbye.

 

Joe Louis and his sisters

This is the eve of the new year. 2009. What will it bring? The end to a year that has been stressful along the way. I lost my mother in February this year. I still feel I haven’t properly grieved her death. It is so sad that I did not get the opportunity to say goodbye to her before she left. I had not seen her since 2000 when I was home for my father’s funeral. I kept intending to go home, yet never did. I did not want to see my mother’s frailty. She had become very forgetful, demented, and now as the autopsy showed beginningthe descent into Alzheimer’s Disease. Watching this mountain of a woman grow smaller and fade from the world before she literally faded was painful to me. I couldn’t really bear it. So, I found one excuse after another to avoid what I had hoped to inevitably face finally, this summer. But it was not to be.

My mother loved us. She was hard, critical. But I know she loved us. I longed for more demonstrations of softness, of understanding from her. But most words from her mouth were like little daggers aimed at my heart. I’ve always been too sensitive. 

Mama loved us. She did what she had to do to provide a stable and loving home for us. Thing is it wasn’t always quiet because of the squabbles between her and Daddy. But that’s another story. But because of her we had a nice house, and had the best that she could provide, including college educations. We had security and many of our wants fulfilled.

As the youngest sister of Joe Louis, (former heavyweight boxing champion of the world), she had been blessed to have a college education herself. She knew the value, as did most African-Americans of her time. This was the ticket out of ignorance into a life of possibilities. She wanted us to have that. She wanted us to be safe and healthy, the same things I now want for my own son. She did everything she could to make sure that we had everything we needed to accomplish that important dream. She sacrificed her own desires to make sure her children could reach for the stars. 

I miss you, Mama. I’m sorry I am leaving 2008 and moving into a year of bright possibility without you. You would have been so proud of President-elect Barack Obama, the first real African-American president of our country. I remember how you claimed Bill Clinton as your son.  We all felt proud of what he accomplished during his presidency. But something miraculous happened this year. You would have loved this moment. Well, that is, if the outside world had even registered in your mind. You seemed to only turn within those last days. Still, I like to hope that you would have peeked out from your world for just a moment to take notice of the moment.

When I think of how she died, my heart breaks. No one should have to die as she did. I prefer to think she walked out of her body upon seeing the angels waiting for her, and left this earth before her body even touched the ground. I like that idea. But I don’t know for sure.  All I know is that I am missing her and letting go is still difficult. 

One of my prayers for 2009 is that my heart heal and I find peace about my mother’s transition. I want to know that she has gone on and is at peace wherever she is. I want her to know that I miss her and that I’m sorry I never said goodbye. 

Here I Go Again

I can't keep up with myself!

The winter semester at my university has begun and it will be a quick one before the regular 16-week spring term. This intercession period lasts only three weeks and that means I must give strong attention and focus to what is going on there. It’s great teaching online (though I miss the face-to-face interaction with my students), but it means staying glued to the computer a lot.

This isn’t bad. I love the computer. I love technology. I love the Internet. Um-hmmm. But since I began hanging out on socialnetworks I have become a bit overwhelmed by all that that involves. Holy moly! It’s exciting and overwhelming at the same time (have I said that elsewhere?) I’m picking up new Twitter friends everyday but I feel the need to read all the information that comes past me and that is time-consuming. I can’t say no! Gotta draw the line somewhere cause it means less time to write, to blog, and just do stuff “in the real world.” I mean, I gotta have a life, right?

Have We All Gone Tw-aaaaa-zy?

I’ve found it exciting, dismaying, depressing to be taking part in the Twitter phenomenon. On the one hand, it’s great because I get to feed the Gemini-rising part of myself that is constantly feeding on information. And boy is there information out there! Tidbits of mind stuff from everywhere. A curious, seeker like me could simply o.d. on the bytes.  Not to mention the thrill of being in-the-know and in with the crowd.

And when you look at the fact that it’s just not Twitter but a seeming-gazopolis (*made-up-word alert*) of social networking sites with yet more people buzzing around, well, it’s almost pornographic! I can friendfeed, twine, brightkite, plurk, and jaiku myself into a silly.  I’ve hardly had time to establish myself on Twitter, let alone getting into these other sites. And there are still others I’m signed up on and lining up in my schedule to really get down to business with and explore.  

And there’s something for everyone. I just discovered library thing where I can hobnob with book lovers like myself. It lets you catalog your books and connect with others along those lines.  But I hear there are sites like Wakoopa which are for people into games and gaming, or those who want to track their software applicaitons. Yikes! One could reach heights of ecstasy and never come down!

That’s where the dismaying comes in. There’s just not enough time to explore everything and do it right. Who on earth has the time, desire, and willingness to update continually? I certainly don’t. And if I am, then what kind of life do I really have? Do I really need to tell someone that my eggplant doesn’t agree with me when I’m out dining, or that the cashier rolled her eyes at me when I asked her to add one more purchase after she had finished a transaction?  I understand that people Twitter from home, on-the-go, and who knows what else? At this point, I just cannot fathom taking this little diversion away from the computer. And I certainly don’t imagine doing it from my mobile. Egads! The keypad is so small, I can barely enter contact information into the addressbook as it is.

Which brings me to depressing. I can’t help but be curious about what’s going on in the twitterverse when I’m not there. What delightful or humorous comment has been left, what need-to-know link has been left, what adorable or scandalous photo has been shared and what made me think I had time to just surf the net, or watch television? So, do I really have no life? How do I find the balance in loving these new forms of techno-communication with being out and about in the “real world” without a twitter? I have yet to figure that out but I know I will.

Iran’s Ahmadinejad to give alternative Christmas message – Times Online

Iran’s Ahmadinejad to give alternative Christmas message – Times Online .

8-year-old denied divorce – Broadsheet – Salon.com

Monday, Dec. 22, 2008 12:00 PST

8-year-old denied divorce

A Saudi court has rejected a plea to divorce an 8-year-old girl from her 58-year-old husband. The plea was filed by the girl’s mother shortly after her ex-husband, the girl’s father, signed the business marriage contract to solve his own money troubles. He made a verbal agreement that the consummation would be delayed until his daughter turns 18 — and the husband is nearly 70 — but went ahead and finalized the marriage so that he could receive an $8,000 advance on the dowry. Daughters, they’re like an instant line of credit!

The girl still lives with her mother and has no clue that she’s married

The girl still lives with her mother and has no clue that she’s married. But here’s the most maddening part: The court rejected the divorce plea on the grounds that the decision can’t be made until she hits puberty. Follow that? She’s too young to decide to divorce, but old enough to marry — because the decision to wed isn’t hers in the first place.

― Tracy Clark-Flory

via 8-year-old denied divorce – Broadsheet – Salon.com.