The Last Straw

Been missing in action for a minute. Though my intention is to write consistently, sometimes the circumstances of my existence pull me off in so my directions, I don't do it. My grandmother has been here for the past few weeks and she is suffering from Alzheimer's Disease. I'm trying, sometimes unsuccessfully to cope with that. My youngest has decided she wants to live with her father in Washington, DC. I'm trying to digest that. The environment on my job fluctuates wildly and swings like a pendulum from day to day. Each day, mentally, I write another page in this autobiography, not really knowing how the next word, sentence or chapter will unfold. The most recent chapter in my life has been my son and daughters high school graduation. I made it through. Didn't fall out, get arrested or breakdown. I was so happy and blessed to see them march across the stage. You can't imagine the sense of pride I felt.

MY graduation.

Not just their freedom, but MINE. Now I can finally DO ME. Get a life. Get a Man, perhaps. Exhale. I sure am ready to change lanes and I felt that I had been preparing them for this moment. Teaching them how to cook, wash their clothes..'yes ma'am' and 'no sir'. I want them to be able to survive with me and withot me. But they graduated and it just don't seem like they are moving fast enough.

I get up in the morning to go to work and leave them in the bed. I come home and they are planted like trees in front of the television or the computer. Dishes in the sink. Won't take the trash out. What the ??? Who are these people??

Because I am dealing with so many different things, I have to choose my battles wisely. So instead of losing my cool, I hadn't been saying anything.

But the other day I came home and I had to pee real bad. I made a mad dash out of the car, down the side walk, through the front door and to the bathroom. I slammed the door behind me, threw my pocketbook on the floor, wiggled out my skirt and happened to turn around and look down at the toilet seat and there, slap dab in the middle of the toilet seat was a dingleberry.

Aww hell naw!!!

So as bad as I have to pee, before I can even do that, I have to clean the toilet seat off. Somebody else's crap. I'm doing the "gotta pee dance", got pee running down my leg and I am madder then a junkyard dog. I was like, "That's it!" They have to go!!! I might be able to overlook the dishes in the sink. It may piss me off, but I can even give you a pass on the trash can overflowing.

But when I have to clean up your crap, before I can do my crap?? That is the last straw. I went off. I mean, how do you do that? My bathroom ain't that big. I mean, after you washed your hands (assuming you did so) and turned to leave, how could not notice your own mess? Didn't you see it? So...what? You just leave it there... for who? The Maid? I hate a nasty bathroom. The bathroom and the kitchen should always be clean, regardless. They know that.

After I had time to reflect on it, I realize it was bigger than doo doo stains on a toilet seat. It is more about accountability. They are so comfortable in their relationship with me, they feel like no matter what, momma's got it. To a certain degree, that is correct.

But NOT as it relates to cleaning up after them. All the more reason for me to push them out of the nest. The line has to drawn somewhere and even though it was a crude way for me to wake up and realize that I need my space, it was necessary.

I get grief from my religious friends because I frequently tell them that I "own my ****." (I love God, but I still curse sometimes.) By saying that what I mean is I am accountable for what I do or have done. No need in putting it off on someone else, or hoping someone else will own it for me. If it's mine, it's mine.

Well, here is life lesson #305 for my newly graduated young adults who are on their way out of my house: I love you. I will always be here for you and want the best for you. But the time has come for our relationship to change. But before you go, let Momma give you a few words of advice: 1. Put God first. 2. Say please and thank you. 3. Never quit one job before you have another. 4. Choose your friends like you choose your fruit. And last, but not least... OWN YOUR ****!



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Strong Roots....

I went on a much needed vacation last month to Washington, DC. My primary reason for going was to visit my grandmother (top center pic, 1978.) who had a stroke in November. So even though it was wonderful to be around kindred, it was also bittersweet because it was my first time seeing my grandmother since she got sick.

You have to understand. This is the woman that raised me. I called her Mommy and my mother by her name. I can remember her getting up at 3 in the morning to go to work on her first job, and not coming home until late in the evening when she got off of her third. I know her to be strong, boisterous, loud and intimidating. But when we arrived in DC at around 4 am that Friday after our long drive, and I saw her for the first time, it broke my heart. She had lost a considerable amount of weight. Her hair was completely white and she looked frail. Her demeanor was even different. It was like something had been taken from her; like she was missing something. But I couldn't quite wrap my mind around what that something was.

The days flew by very quickly. I didn't get to see all of my friends. I didn't get chance to go up to Georgetown or take many pictures. But I did get some seafood from the Wharf. I went to Ben's Chili Bowl, bought some bad ass shoes, and I got my hair braided up. Now that I think about it, I covered an awful lot of ground in a small space of time. It took me two days to feel normal again once I got home.

The best thing that happened to me while in DC...better than hooking up and reminiscing with old friends...better than the chili dog I got at Ben's Chili Bowl...better than the 3 pairs of shoes and two pair of boots...better than the jumbo shrimp and scallops from the wharf... better than my super tight fly ass braids..was the photo album my grandmother gave me. In it, were photos long forgotten.

As I turned each page, memories flooded back. Winter, 1977 in Washington. Snowball fights in the streets. My first trip to Disney World in 1978 (bottom, right). My Uncle Jessie (center pic) who wasn't really my Uncle Jessie, but my grandmother's "special friend." My first time visiting my father (center, bottom) and his new wife.

It was like looking at someone else. I found myself feeling like I was spying on someone else's childhood. But it was the most valuable thing she could have given me.

Memories like the corners of my mind...


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Where Has All The Time Gone?

In June, Brianna and Brandon will graduate from high school. I am excited/nervous/thankful/apprehensive/emotional. I keep asking myself, "Have I taught them enough?", "Will they be ready?"

I keep thinking about how far we've come. I look back and remember all the bumps in the road, the transitions, sleepless nights and even though it didn't feel good at the time, I am thankful for them all.

It makes me appreciate this time even more. As they get ready for prom, their senior trip. I just remember what it was like for me and I get excited for them. What I wouldn't do to be able to press rewind and go back for just a little while.

There is a rule that during the graduation ceremony you are not allowed to clap or shout for your loved ones as their names are being called. I think this is the craziest, most absurd thing I have ever heard of.

Whatchu mean I can't shout????


Child please. I am gonna be all over that audiotorium jumping and shouting. All up and down the aisles. As much hell as we've been through????? As many times as I have had to fast, pray and cry? You think I am going to be quiet??

God had brought us to far. He has been way too good.

Though far from perfect, my kids are the exception to the rule. They didn't drop out, inspite of. They haven't ever been arrested, in spite of. They going to college, in spite of.

Oh yeah...it's on.

They will probably have to carry me out of there. In fact, I am certain of it. I have no intent on being quiet. Graduation is a few months away, but when I think about it now, it makes me well up. So I know by the time that day comes, I won't be any good.

It is hard to believe, but life for all of us is about to change.





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Hope is Contagious.

"People began to shout, to rise from their seats and clap and cry out, a forceful wind carrying the reverend's voice up into the rafters....And in that single note - hope!

- Senator Barack Obama



Hope



Hope is contagious

It doesn’t discriminate

Or care about circumstances

Out of control

It spreads

From black to white

To yellow and to brown

Up and downtown

Over rivers and through woods

It transcends and leaps tall buildings

Just to touch you

It is persistent

And relentless in it’s

Pursuit of you



Hope is determined



Hope says

"Yes, we can."

When it seems improbable

Hope says

"Yes, we can."

When worries seem insurmountable

Hope stands in the face

Of adversity and remains poised

Because it knows

The Secret

Hope has made its way into

Broken homes

It's spreading like an epidemic into lost marriages

And moving into lonely hearts

All across America

How dare hope

Penetrate me

Break down my defenses

The very audacity

Of hope to lead me to believe

That there is some pie left for me

Some blue sky left for me

The unmitigated gall of hope

Who does hope think he is

to inspire me to

Move my feet and my heart

And my mind

To a higher place

And a higher state

How dare hope make me

Dream impossible dreams

Of making ways out of no ways

Of an end to suffering and cloudy days



Hope has been gone too long.



You can’t find it like you used to

It used to be in the church

Each and every Sunday morning

Auntie's and grandmas and

Momma's and daddies

Passed hope around at the dinner

Table with mashed potatoes and peas

Hope used to sit in the back of the classroom

And oversee the education of children

But somewhere between Martin and Malcolm

The World Trade Center and Hurricane Katrina

George W. Bush and the recession

Hope vanished like a vapor

And now it ain’t just the lowly downtrodden

Who ain’t got no hope and

It’s not just the homeless mother of three

Who’s living in a shelter with no hope

It’s not just that brother who lost his job

And has 5 mouths to feed with no hope

You see

U got people

Making millions of dollars a year

With all the luxuries of the world

Every material gift you could possibly

Think of

But they have no hope

And If hope walked in the door right now

And wanted to reach out and touch me

I would knock Jesus down

To get to him

If hope showed up and said

"Come, on let’s go."

I’d leave without my pocket book

And my keys

cause it's ride or

die

If hope tells me

“Yes, I can.”

Then be it unto me

Just as

hope

has said.







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Coochie Talks

Coochie Talks
Current mood: amused


Why y’all ain’t let a sista know that the price of coochie was going up? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Gas prices are through the roof. Stock market done crashed a couple times. Milk is $4.00 a gallon. Seems the only natural thing. Ho’s got to eat too. I watched in awe, with my mouth hung open at the drama that unfolded for New York’s Governor. Maybe not for the same reasons as the rest of the world. It wasn’t because he got caught in a prostitution ring. Or because he was exposed as a hypocrite for his actions. None of those things came as a shock. Powerful men have always paid for sex. I just couldn’t believe that old girl got $4300.00 for one freaking hour.



She must have the bomb digga. I mean it must do tricks. It probably has it’s own carrying case. I mean, after all, coochie that expensive should be carefully packaged. Don’t want to damage it in the transition of travel. I wonder if it is insured?


Whatever. I ain’t mad at the ho. (It is ok to call her that if that’s what she is, right?) In fact, I’m standing up right now and giving her and her high-priced nook a standing ovation. Because women from DC to Miami, California to Maine are on their backs nightly and ain’t getting a damn thing but excuses and promises. Do your thing Lil Mamma!!! Make that Money.



Ho’s all over the nation ought to be on notice. Stop under cutting the coochie. Raise your "price." Better yet, raise your standards cause only quality men can even be in the same room with quality coochie. Oh yeah. I’m re-thinking this thing. Hell, if she getting $4300.00 to use it, then my meter begins to run the moment I show up with it. That’s right. I feel like if I show up, and she’s with me, the meter is already running. My mom used to say it was powerful. But I had no idea.



Funny thing is…they had an "expert ho" on the Today Show this morning speaking on the behalf of other high priced ho’s. Shaking my head. How do you get to be an expert in such things?



Anyway….the expert says that the price is not just for the sex itself, but for the conversation, etc. Ok. So was he talking with her or her coochie? Cause it was worth that much if it talks. I mean, really. Imagine the idea. I’m sure men all over America would pay for a real one that could speak.



Wonder what it would be like if Coochie could Talk…

This just in...

in an amazing turn of events

Coochie all over America has begun to speak up for itself"I’m tired of not getting what I’m worth. You just don’t know how I feel." - Coochie Woods, Reston VA

"I ain’t never been so undervalued in all my life. I feel so cheap and worthless." –

Coochie Brown, Jacksonville, FL.

"Anybody know where I can find a good attorney? I feel violated." – Coochie Washington, Newburgh, NY.

In a seperate, but somewhat connected incident, a young woman in Buffalo, NY suffered a heart attack in her gynecologists office when, while being examined, her coochie unexpectedly began to speak to the doctor, causing him to pass out, hit his head and fall into a coma.



No one knows as of yet, what Coochie had to say.





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i love u...(for d.)

I love u so sweet

like honeydrippers on hot sunny days

with cloudy skies

misty blue



I love u so strong

like deep African roots

reaching into thick

rich soil



I love u so complicated

like algebraic equations

or calculus for elementary school

children



I love u so simple

like the music the wind makes

and the melodies

the trees make



I love u so profound

like educated scholars

with their big words

and puffed out chests



I love u so ghetto

like I be

we be

you be blowing my mind



I love u so passionate

like porn stars hard at work

making films

that would make their momma blush



I love u so warm

like hugs from loved

ones you been missing and ain’t seen in

quite a while



I love u so long

like forever and ever

and before

and before before





I love u so sweet

and so strong

and so complicated

and so simple

and so profound

and so ghetto

and so passionate

and so warm

and so long



I just love u



So…



I figured

I would

let

you

know.



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Yoga...the Erotic.

We have come to a point in my routine where Keith is switching it up some. More power walking, cause for some reason, he thinks he will have me running soon. That is pretty funny. Me? Running. I can’t say I won’t but, er..uh..um…I just don’t see it.

Anyhoo….

We’re doing more weight training so that I don’t sag as I lose weight and gain muscle.. My goal is to be toned. Have body definition. I don’t want to be buff. Never that. Just toned and tight. That is why I can appreciate the corner that we have turned on this journey to Get Sculpted. In between the chilly morning power walks, the weight training, and stomach crunches, there is yoga. I love, love, love the yoga. It is so damn sexy. That’s right. I said it. SEXY. The poses. The arching of your back. (anybody know about the “happy cat” pose?) Reaching to the sky, head lifted, arms extended. It is downright erotic. Now, I do have to admit, it is not the easiest thing to do. But it’s not like I haven’t been stretched before. Never quite like this, I might add. But it’s still a good stretch.

With yoga, I feel my peace rushing in. As I extend myself, it is almost as if I am reaching for my goals, dreams, and wishes. Stretching myself to believe impossible things. Touching the heavens with my hearts desires.

I really can’t believe that I have come this far. I can’t claim all the credit. Keith and BJ have been and are an inspiration for me and to me.

But I give God all the glory because it is him that gives me the energy and power to continue to push and press for my personal best.

****Note – I am deliberately being vague and not posting any pics. I said I would. But I’m not. LOL. Even on my myspace page…I’m not posting any pics of me during the process. But stay tuned. ****



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Still Going

I’m three weeks into my routine and…I’m still going. In fact, I feel my momentum picking up. Now, I have to tell you…Keith ain’t no joke. There were some mornings I woke up throughout the last three weeks and tried to come up with every excuse in the book not to show up for my sessions. But my bed couldn’t hold me.

Last week he added cowbells to my workout. BJ, his wife, said, “Girl, you are going to be sore after this.” To myself, I thought, how much more SORE could I be?

Why did I ask that?

I woke up the next day feeling like someone had run me over. It hurt to do everything. Sit down. Stand up. Move. Blink. Needless to say, I came up with some….nice…names for Mr. Keith after that workout.

But the fact of the matter is, it is a good hurt. It means I’m getting there. And that feels fabulous. I have to admit that my walk has changed a little. I got my little strut going. Twisting a little bit more. You know how it is. And, most importantly, this week, I put on a skirt that I hadn’t worn since I started working out three weeks ago and I had some wiggle room! I can not describe for you the high that I had for the day.

It was the energy I needed to keep pushing. One thing that exercise does for me is it helps me to make wise choices about what I put into my body. When I think of how much passion and energy I am putting into getting sculpted, I can’t possibly offset my progress by eating junk or missing a workout.

I think exercise is my new drug. I just might be a junkie. It has definitely been a stress reliever. Keith will tell you…there are times I show up in the morning and I am in the zone the whole time. My grandmother is very ill, things on my job are strained, the release of my book is looming…it has been a challenging time. But I am pressing because I am going somewhere and when I get there…..

I am going to be fine as HELL!



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As Long As the Nile...

I was wondering
if I ever crossed ur mind
from time to time
but rather than impose
I just prayed for u
Hoped u were happy
Watched and wondered
Remembered and refrained
Do ur ears itch often
Cause I always speak ur name
Think ur name
I miss my friend
But I hope ur happy
And I wish u well
No malice
No hard feelings
Just love

Thank you...I needed that.



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Reminisce Over You...

I have a good memory. Surprisingly. (I smoked ALOT of weed. lol) I have memories of events that took place when I was as young as six years old. I remember the licking my grandmother gave me when I was about 7 for setting my Aunt Cookie's bed on fire. I remember THAT just like it was yesterday. VIVID. I remember the first time I went fishing with my father at about 8. I wanted to cast the line out by myself even though I had no idea what I was doing. I ended up getting the hook with the worm still attached to it caught in his afro. He never took me fishing again. I remember the first time I kissed a boy. Byron Morgan; outside of the auditorium at Lincoln Middle School. He wrote me a very sweet letter with red heart stickies all over it thanking me for the kiss and I kept it. Unfortunately, my mother found it and I surely remember the beating I got for "being fast."

But there are three days that stand out for me.

September 15, 1989 - After 14 hours of labor, and a tedious, medication-free delivery, Brittany, the Blessed One, came here weighing in at a mere 6lbs 3oz.

December 16, 1990 - After 16 hours of labor, and an emergency C-section, Brandon, the Intellectual, entered this world weighing in at a whopping 9lbs 3oz.

February 5, 1992 - After a mad dash to the hospital in Washington DC rush hour traffic, one bottle of castor oil and 9 hours of labor, the Unique One, Britorria showed up weighing in at 7lbs 12oz.

I may forget alot of things, people and events. But I will never forget the days my kids came into the world. No matter the circumstance, or how long or hard the deliveries were, nothing can replace the feeling of looking into your childs' face for the first time. Their faces have filled out considerably since those days, but when I look at them, I still see them like I did when I saw them for the first time. Sometimes I eish I could still cuddle and kiss them like I did when they were little. There are fleeting moments when I wish I'd had a video camera to document, first words and first steps.

But I guess I will have to rely on my memory...as long as it doesn't fail me...when I want to reminisce over them.



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I Think I Can...I Think I Can...

I got up with a little less enthusiasm this morning. Just a little. I am still focused on the end result. Begin with the end in mind. I am going somewhere with this workout thing. It isn't a fad or passing fancy. This is not fly-by-night. I am committed to perfecting my self image. Mind right, body tight. So, I spent New Year's Day lounging and relaxing with my kids. I ate sensibly, but I didn't exercise. Well, unless you count the 6 or 7 times I went up and down the steps inside my home. I went to bed early and got up without hitting the snooze button. Because I already had my clothes and everything laid out, I was up and out of the house in no time. On my way out the door, I wondered what my kids were thinking about all this? I do want them to be proud of me. The morning chill stalled me a little bit. I hate to be cold. But nevertheless, I arrived at Keith and BJ's at 6:30 on the nose. I have become quite the stickler about time. It absolutely pisses me off when I am late at someone elses expense or when I have to wait on someone.

Today we worked out inside. Hallelujah. I was so glad. At first. That is, before the 75 crunches and situps. Before the leg lifts that took me back to high school PE. By the time we got to them, it was all I could do but focus on the track lighting hanging over my head and pray for the strength to hold out.

I think I can .... I think I can...

Everytime I wanted to quit, I thought about where I am going and how good it is going to feel when I get there. How much confidence I will have in myself and my art. How easy it will be to convey my message and give my testimony when I am 100% comfortable in my skin. I am a living witness, my body a sanctuary, a temple.

Keith and BJ have committed to show me how to become a masterpiece. And I have committed to the concept of change. No matter how difficult.

I think I can..I think I can...I think I can....



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