Gone 'Til November

My poor sick computer.

I’m taking a semi-break from posting, not writing, until November. My
dearly beloved laptop, Sheba, is in her final days. The doctor said
she’s only got one or two good starts left in her. Her hard drive and
disc drive are gone. Last week she wouldn’t even start up. Imagine my
horror. There are some other minor problems as well. Unfortunately,
the cost to repair her is almost as much as buying a brand new
computer.
Woe is me for I didn’t plan on buying a new laptop for another month.
And despite this sad state of affairs, I’m sticking to that plan. My
budget says no major purchases until Oct. 26. One day I’ll have an
unlimited budget and be able to drop a dime without a care. That day
is not today.
This leaves me without a reliable computer to write on. I hate using
library computers because there always seems to be a high demand. No
one wants to wait on me to write a post. And I definitely can’t write
and post at work. Not unless you want the laid off chronicles because
they fired me for personal computer use on company time. Perhaps if we
all chant, “Come back little Sheba,” she’ll make it through. Join with
me now. Just kidding (unless you want to do it).
If anyone has a good laptop suggestion, let me know. I hate Macs for
the record. They bring back bad memories of my educational technology
class in college. I don’t even know why I took that class. It had
something to do with a computer proficiency requirement for my major.
As a result I took modern problems with computers, navigate the
Internet and that stupid class. But I digress.
Perhaps Sheba will last until the next Writing Wednesday (and you
thought I just wrote on Wednesdays for kicks and giggles). I will
definitely post something. And the same holds for every Wednesday
after that, but no guarantees.
I promise to make it up in November for National Blog Posting Month.
That’s right, 30 consecutive days of me posting...again. Remember that dry run.

A hand to hand exchange

There is no escaping a handshake in society, but that doesn’t mean it should be executed any old way. It can’t be too soft or too hard. Ideally a handshake should be firm – a happy medium between the two extremes. Personally, I’m not a fan of the practice. Some people don’t wash their hands while others have open cuts and sores. Yet, they will gladly stick out a hand for you to shake. No. Thank. You. This is why I keep hand sanitizer with me at all times. However, I often have to bite the bullet and offer my hand. My only request is if you’re going to shake my hand, make sure it’s done right.

I abhor the “almost dead fish” handshake. You know what I mean – an overly weak handshake that feels like the person is barely alive. Perhaps if the fish was dead it would feel better because of the stiffness from rigor mortis. Shaking hands with an almost dead fish feels disgusting. The main culprit of this handshake is men, at least for me. Several peers and I actually had a discussion about this handshake. The view was men don’t want to hurt a woman with a strong shake. Well simply shake it firmly. Just because I am a woman I will not break. I promise.

On the flip side I hate the “bone crusher” handshake. It’s happened several times where someone shook my hand so hard until my knuckles cracked. The sound came out very loud and clear for both of us to hear. I should not need a cast after a handshake. It’s a handshake, not a test to pull the sword out of the stone. Perhaps my biggest complaint is the “barely there” handshake. It makes me think the person doesn’t want to touch me. Then I start to feel bad. Why isn’t my hand good enough to shake? I should not leave a handshake with lowered self-esteem because the person doesn’t know how to handle the exchange properly.

A firm handshake is truly one size fits all. It doesn’t matter if you have the strength of Popeye or the frailty of Olive Oyl. Keep that in mind and people everywhere will clamor to touch you. Then again they probably have germs. I think I might just start curtseying instead. No touching required.

Exhibit A: A firm handshake

Back to school Blues

Once upon a time I could not wait to graduate from high school and college. School just was not for me. Senioritis hit me freshman year at both levels. Sure I made good grades and loved learning, but I didn’t like half of my classes. Math and science classes were of no use to me, but I was all about anything relating to history, English or journalism. Graduating was the happiest day of my life. No more teachers. No more books. Nothing but dirty looks. Instead that was replaced with work, no fun and bills. Adult hood sucks!

Good old fashion school days!

Recently it hit me: I miss school. I blame stores such as Walmart. How dare they display rows and rows of school supplies? There are people like me who have long since graduated and don’t need a Trapper Keeper, pencil pouch or graphing calculator. Yet these stores keep taunting me with items such as a Disney princesses lunch box. For the love of Disney I want one too! Each trip makes me nostalgic for buying school supplies such as notebooks, mechanical pencils and a book bag. How else will I be prepared for the first day of class where my eager little mind can soak in as much knowledge as possible? Bed Bath and Beyond keeps sending me these catalogues, and in my mind I have decorated a dorm room three times over. Hanging door mirror here. Collapsible laundry hamper there. Butterfly chair in the corner. And Gator gear all over. I can picture it now.

Right now I am jealous of all the students who headed back to school this week. These are some of the best years of their life. They’ll get fun, pep rallies, welcome back activities and much more. I get work, work and more work. It’s almost enough to drive me to tears. Then I start to think about the downsides of school: mid-terms, 10-page papers, all nighters, sitting in a boring class for 90 minutes or more and dealing with all the teenage and young adult drama. With that in mind, I think I’ll pass. I knew there was a reason I didn’t like school. My back to school blues are cured.

a natural pat down

Going natural is perhaps one of the best decisions I have ever made for my hair. I love the texture and feel of it and enjoy experimenting with new styles. What I don’t love is people touching my hair without permission. I also wouldn’t be too keen on having it touched by the Transportation Security Administration. I came across an article on the New York Times website about a woman, Timery Nance, who said a T.S.A. officer patted down her hair even though she already went through the body scan.

According to the article:
She asked the screener why her hair was searched while others, including white women with ponytails or bushy hair, were simply waved through. “Is it just African-American women with natural hair who get the hair search?” she asked.
The screener said no, “but if you have certain kinds of ponytail or bun, you have to get your hair patted,” said Ms. Nance, who is 30.

The writer of the article also mentioned a second pat down incident:
On June 30, a young African-American woman, Laura Adiele, said that a screener at the Seattle-Tacoma airport insisted on patting down her hair, which was also natural and curly, even though the body scan had not set off an alarm. Ms. Adiele said in various interviews that she thought the search had been racially motivated.
The T.S.A. denies that. “All passengers are thoroughly screened coming through the screening checkpoint,” said Kristin Lee, a spokeswoman. “Additional screening may be required for clothing, headgear or hair where prohibited items may be hidden,” she said.

Safety is always important when flying, and I understand T.S.A. has a job to do, but I’m not quite sure how I would respond to a request for a hair pat down. Half the time my flights are extra early, so I’m already grumpy. Also I don’t wear a true afro very often, but you might catch my hair in a twist-out. However, with either style my hair is not that big or bushy to hide anything in it (other than a Bobby pin). Any screener would calmly get told no if they tried to pat down my hair. I can picture the headlines now: Florida woman arrested for refusing airport screening. On second thought, I’m even less a fan of ending up in the slammer with Big Shirley. So pat away T.S.A. Just know there will be a chronicle about it later.

The fictionalized truth

One of the top books on my summer reading list is “The Help” by Kathryn Stockett. I’ve been anxiously waiting to read the book since it came out. Unfortunately it’s so popular the library never has a copy available. Guess I’ll just see the movie adaption for now.

“The Help” opened today and stars Emma Stone (one of my favorite actresses), Viola Davis, Octavia Spencer and many others. The best-selling book is supposed to be a work of fiction and not based on any actual person, but a lawsuit says otherwise.

One day I'll get to read the book.

Ablene Cooper claims her name and likeness was used without permission as the basis of one of the main characters, Aibileen, in the book and movie. Cooper is the maid for Stockett’s brother and filed a lawsuit in February against the author asking for $75,000. Stockett’s lawyers want the lawsuit dismissed, and a hearing is set for Aug. 16.

According to an Associated Press article:

Stockett's refusal to admit that she based the character on Cooper's likeness "is so outrageous in character, and so extreme as to go beyond all bounds of human decency, and is utterly intolerable in a civilized community," says the lawsuit, which represents one side of a legal argument.
The lawsuit quotes passages from the book, including one in which Aibileen's character describes a cockroach: "He black. Blacker than me."
The lawsuit said Cooper found it upsetting and highly offensive to be portrayed as someone "who uses this kind of language and compares her skin color to a cockroach."
Among alleged similarities between Cooper and the character, Cooper said she lost a son shortly before going to work for Stockett's brother, where she takes care of two children, a boy and a girl. Cooper's lawsuit said that's the same as the character portrayed in the book.

Books usually have the disclaimer “Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.” Still many writers get their inspiration from something or someone real. In my journalism classes we always learned “Truth is better than fiction.” Stockett very well could have been inspired to base Aibileen on Cooper. But she probably also took inspiration from other people. After all, she grew up with a maid in the house.

Perhaps it would have been wiser for Stockett to get a little more creative with the book’s details and distort the character enough so it was a composite of all her influences. That could have saved a lawsuit. Please believe if someone used my name and likeness without permission, I’m suing for at least a cool million. Hopefully the two parties will reach an agreement. Either way, I’m looking forward to reading the book and seeing the movie.

I see good people

It always does my heart some good to see people showing kindness to others. Instantly I want to pay it forward and help someone else in need. Above all it restores my faith in the goodness of humanity.

Today while driving off from my favorite hangout, Walmart, I noticed a man on the side of the road with a sign asking for any food. “Poor man,” I thought. “I don’t have any change or food.” I was actually headed to get a snack myself and decided to get him something too. Situations like this already bring to mind Matt. 25:41-46 (read it sometimes). I’ve got enough things to atone for already. I don’t want to hear Jesus say one day “I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat.”

The light was taking forever to change, which gave me the opportunity to notice a few things. First the car behind me handed the man a bag of chips. Then I saw another man walking through the grass. I thought it was someone else needing food. He was actually bringing the first man a meal and drink. Both exchanges touched me and I started feeling all misty-eyed (I’m a bucket of tears). I almost missed the light from observing.



In case I ever end up on the side of the road.



Sometimes I feel like I’ve become cynical because of my job. I love what I do, but often I get to see the worse in people. Murder, mayhem and just plain madness reign supreme in the news. When there is “good news” people are often only motivated to do things for purely selfish reasons such as publicity. No one does a good deed just because it’s the right thing to do. Or so I think until I see something as simple as people giving a hungry man food. Then I remember the words of Anne Frank, “Despite everything, I believe that people are really good at heart.”

This world is very much an ugly place at times. People are often at odds with each other. But that can’t stop us from showing the good in us. If nothing else, today’s happening helped me become a little less jaded by the world and more enthused to do some good in it.

RIP Black Sitcoms

There are no good black sitcoms on television anymore. Gone are the days of quality programs, such as “The Cosby Show.” The only sitcoms on right now reflecting black culture are unfunny, trashy or just downright bad. I’m talking to you “House of Payne.” And you need cable to even watch these shows. What happened to simply switching on NBC, ABC or Fox?
Don’t get me wrong. I love a good sitcom, be it black, white or otherwise. “Community,” “Modern Family” and “Parks and Recreation” are among the best shows on TV right now. I just miss the days where if the show stars happened to look like me, it was actually good.

The black sitcoms I watched could fall into several categories:

Universal Appeal: These shows appealed to any and everyone, whether black or white.
The Cosby Show, Family Matters, The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air

The Classics: The Encyclopedia of Black Culture lists these as required viewing.
A Different World, Living Single, Martin, Moesha, Good Times, Sanford and Son, The Jeffersons

Honorable Mentions: Perhaps not classics, but just as good.
227, What’s Happening, One on One, Hanging with Mr. Cooper, Sister, Sister, The Parkers, Smart Guy

Underrated: Too many people slept on these shows.
Amen, Sparks, Roc, The Parent ‘Hood, Malcolm and Eddie, Everybody Hates Chris, Eve

Kid Friendly: Children and adults loved them.
Keenan and Kel, That’s So Raven, Cousin Skeeter, My Brother and Me

Big Time: Someone made it big and got his own show.
The Bernie Mac Show, The Jamie Foxx Show, The Steve Harvey Show, The Sinbad Show, The Gregory Hines Show, The Wayans Bros.

Guilty pleasures: So bad until it was entertaining.
Homeboys in Outer Space

Just OK: These shows weren’t bad, but weren’t really good either.
In The House, My Wife and Kids, Goode Behavior, Good News, The Hughleys, For Your Love

Gone too soon: They lasted only a season but had the promise of being entertaining.
On Our Own, Out All Night, Thea

Who doesn't miss these shows?

They just don’t make ‘em like this anymore. Are all the good black sitcoms dead? Me thinketh yes. At least there’s TV One where I can watch reruns of some of my favorites.

Contacts v. glasses

The end has come for my reign of wearing glasses. I’m returning to contacts. I finally set an eye appointment for Thursday after a four month delay.


I hate wearing glasses. Absolutely. Hate. It. My vision was just fine until fourth grade when the world became blurry. I had to get a pair of giant coke-bottles, and four-eyes became a common insult over the years. In 10th grade I discovered contacts and never looked back. I still kept a pair of glasses handy to rest my eyes as needed, but contacts were a constant in my world. If I went to sleep with contacts, I would wake up thinking my sight had returned.

Sure contacts had a downside. Wear them too long and you risk dry eyes or infections. They easily pop out if you barely rub your eyes. And the slightest scratch hurts like the dickens. The bad outweighed the good of glasses any day. I didn’t start wearing glasses on a regular again until about four years ago. Blame the working world. Long hours in front of the computer aren’t good for the eyes. I only wore glasses to rest my eyes at the end of the day.

A few months ago I only had one pair of contacts left. For some reason I kept putting off an eye appointment. I thought I would get to it before anything happened to that last pair. A scratch beat me to the punch. Now I’ve been stuck wearing glasses since March. This is a cruel and unusual self-inflicted punishment. Glasses make me look 10 years older, and I refuse to take pictures with them on. They are not a flattering look for me any way you put it. I do not look like a sexy librarian, teacher or whoever.

Enough was enough, so I finally made an appointment. I can’t wait to pop in my first pair of contacts in months. It will open up a whole new world of sight. Someone once told me I could just get Lasik and be rid of glasses and contacts forever. Lasers. On my eyes. No thank you. I’ll stick to contacts, and the occasional pair of glasses.

fear of falling

I’ve got fears. Lots of them. Most are logical in my opinion. I don’t like clowns because I watched “Killer Klowns from Outer Space” and later read “It.” I’m now convinced clowns are the devil. Cabs make me nervous because there was a guy in Jacksonville killing girls in his taxi several years ago. I try to avoid riding them.

One of my biggest fears is falling in the shower. I can see it now. I get into the shower for a wonderful washing experience. Unbeknownst to me, there is an extra slippery spot in the tub. Right when I prepare to get out … KARPLUT! I slip and fall head first and bust open my skull. No one is home, and brain juices ooze for hours. By the time they find my body, it’s too late to save me. And then the world shall mourn. Gruesome little scene isn’t it? Well it could really happen, because I almost slip in the shower at least once every other month. I don’t really know how. It just always happens.

Nothing could replace this fear in the top 10 spot, or so I thought until IT happened Tuesday morning. I was enjoying a washing experience and dropped the soap. I bent down to reach it but came up yelling in pain. Somehow I managed to cut my shoulder on the shower door handle. Tears formed soon as I saw skin had been removed. In place of the brown, there was nothing but white, and soon it was turning red. Immediately I hopped out the shower, forgetting my fear of falling, and grabbed some peroxide and a Band-Aid. One top fear was replaced for another.

It’s been two days since that incident, but my shoulder still is tender from the cut. Lifting my arms causes a bit of pain these days. Now I get into the shower with fear and trembling. Not because I could fall. I’ve got bigger problems. I could cut myself. What if it’s a main artery and I slowly bleed to death? Just when you thought it was safe to take a shower, you realize it’s not. Maybe I should switch to safe little baths.

the last to know

No one tells me anything in my family, and I hate it. I’m always the last to know when it comes to family affairs. Not trivial things such as family gossip but important information, such as when people are sick. There is no reason I should have just found out Thursday my grandmother is in the hospital. Especially since she went in Wednesday. Or that she has cancer and is having surgery to remove the growth Friday.


Would I have ever known if I hadn’t called out of the blue and asked a specific question? My parents seem to think I get too emotional and hysterical when hearing bad news. No, I get upset when I find out things randomly. Then no one ever has any details. They give you bits and pieces of information and leave you to assume the worse.

This isn’t the first time my parents failed to tell me important bad news. I found out my other granny was dying because some nosy individual called me at work to ask what was wrong with her. Nothing to my knowledge. This led me to calling my parents and hearing the dreaded news. She had been in hospice since Sunday. I got that first call Tuesday morning. By Tuesday evening she was gone. All I could do was write and cry. No one wants to work knowing their grandmother is dying 500 miles away.

My parents didn’t seem to learn from that situation. I found out my brother was in the hospital with cancer by randomly calling my mom too (though she can’t seem to remember). I hopped in the car instantly to head home. Ma Dukes said in those instances it was because I lived nearly six hours away, by myself, and they didn’t want to upset me. I live just an hour away now. So what’s the excuse?

Sometimes I feel like the red-headed step child. One cousin pointed out my grandmother’s children like to keep information to themselves. Only one grandchild is ever in the know. My grandmother may have about 50 million other grandchildren, but we all deserve the right to know what’s happening with her, especially if we’re asking. If nothing more the top 10, myself included, should be in the loop. I might get emotional and start crying, but in the midst of my crying I can pray too.

The communication chain needs to be strengthened in the family. I’ve told my mother I don’t like how things go down when it’s bad news. Pa Dukes is getting the talk next. Maybe in the future they will do better. All I know is if I so much as get a cold, I am sending out a press release to everyone in the family.

tales of a traveler

It feels like I haven’t seen my house in ages. Maybe it’s because I’ve been on a trip every weekend since June 17. The house has seen me a grand total of seven days between then and now. When opportunity knocks you have to open the door. And open I did to one trip after the other.

I started out in Topsail Beach, N.C. with my girls ­–Ebonita Esperanza and Bella Jean-Pierre – the first weekend. Our mini vacation was completely carefree and relaxing. We spent time at a beach house owned by EE’s grandmother. Life was good. The ocean was our personal playground each day. We even took a river boat cruise. Of course no one wanted to return back to regular life. I barely had time to adjust before leaving for another trip.

West Palm Beach was the next destination the following weekend for my family reunion. I sung the whole trip down, despite Ma Duke’s annoyance. Days and nights were devoted to family bonding. Activities included a meet and greet that first day, singing karaoke in a Spanish bar the second and visiting our foreparents' gravesite the third. Once the family fun ended it was time to go home.

However my return home was short lived before heading to my favorite vacation spot, Baltimore, M.D. July 1. The fantastic Cee and her family are always so welcoming for my every trip (which has become a habit). We made a list of things to do, including watching “Pretty Woman” (which I had never seen), getting gelato and going on a scavenger hunt (my team won). Best of all we played Buzz the Hollywood Quiz for hours on end. Seriously, that game is addictive. Unfortunately all good things must end, and back to Lake City I went Tuesday.



At least until I get some more vacation time.

 I enjoyed each of my trips and didn’t want to leave when the time came, but it does feel good to be back home. Sometimes you just want to lie in your own bed with your stuffed Eeyore and Snuggles. And I think all that back-to-back traveling tired me out. I’m not up to any traveling except for one place this weekend – my bed. Well there and work. I’ll go back to traveling after my vacation time resets in August. I already have a spot in mind. Next destination – Miami!

The Family Rules

Think I could write a book of reunion survival tips?

It’s family reunion time! This weekend yours truly is kickin’ it with the kin for the annual Lawson Family Reunion. We’ve been going strong for five years now. Yes, our reunion gatherings are fairly young, but momentum continues to build. The reunions have been in a variety of places including Belle Glade, Jacksonville, Atlanta and Orlando. This year we’re heading to West Palm Beach.

Family gatherings are always a joyous occasion for me. What’s not to enjoy? You’re together with all your family. The family elders talk about the past. The young folks talk about the present. The babies dream about the future. Family love is just all over the place.

There might be some people that find family gatherings less than appealing. Well no need to fear. If you’re headed to a family gathering anytime soon, I have a few survival rules to make the day as entertaining as possible.

1. Prepare funny responses to annoying questions and comments from family members, particularly Grandpa Buford, who you haven’t seen or talked to recently. If he asks, “When are you getting married?” just respond, “Never. I want to be a cat lady.” Then start meowing and rubbing your imaginary cat. This works if you’re a male or female.

2. When Uncle Buster starts telling you the stories from back in 1902 begin singing every last word of the sentence. He’ll look at you crazy, stop sharing and go tell Cousin Bridgette instead.

3. Do not, I repeat, do not eat anything cooked by Aunt Bessie who lives alone with two cats, three dogs, a ferret and a snake. They probably helped in the preparation process because she considers them her children. If she asks why you aren’t eating her runny potato salad, start asking to see pictures of her “babies.” She’ll forget all about it.

4. Once Cousin Bob and his new flavor of the month, Beatrice, start to argue, immediately find Grandma Bertha. Then grab a bag of popcorn to watch the fireworks that are sure to come when she gets to fussing at everyone. For some extra cash, pre-sell tickets to the upcoming fight of the century.
Ok maybe none of this takes place at your family gatherings. But just in case it does, you’ll be prepared.
*Disclaimer: Try at your own risk. I assume no responsibility for your family putting you in a jacket that makes you hug yourself all day.*

Chatting with Grandma

One of my favorite columns to read on a daily basis is Dear Abby. People have so many interesting issues, and I just love to read about them. A column on Sunday piqued my interest because it was about grandparents, particularly grandmothers.

The writer, who is from Florida, wrote that family members don’t call her grandmother because she talks too much. Apparently Granny is a Chatty Cathy and enjoys two-hour conversations. The writer is the only one willing to call, so relatives send messages about their lives through her. Unfortunately, she is also tired of the conversations. Poor Granny is oblivious to why they won’t call and told her she’s the only one that cares.

Abby essentially said to tell the grandmother the others don’t call because of her lengthy conversations. She said telling her so wouldn’t be cruel but really doing Granny a favor. Abby also encouraged telling the grandmother to get out and meet other people so she could talk to them.

The whole question and answer for this so-called issue annoyed me. Grandparents are my favorite things. How can you not like talking to them? I all but lived with my maternal grandparents, my two favorite people in the world. Most of my fondest childhood memories are from spending time with them. I went to church conventions with my granny, learned to read from my granddaddy and lived every child’s dream of having awesome grandparents.

I wasn’t as close initially with my paternal grandparents, but over time that changed. Grandma Pearl is my only grandparent still alive. I used to think she was mean, until I started to really pay attention to what irked her (other people in the family). Her remarks to them and about them were hilarious. Soon every encounter with Grandma Pearl, especially when she was fussing at someone else, became a memorable experience. Since college I’ve made sure to visit her every time I’m home. Our conversations are probably two hours at a minimum (I like to talk and she does too).

Perhaps since I had close relationship with my grandparents I can’t understand why someone wouldn’t enjoy talking to theirs for hours. Don't want Granny to dominate conversation? Then contribute a little more. You only get grandparents for so long in life. How hard is it just to map out time at least once a month for your family elders?

There were things about all my grandparents that irritated me, but nothing strong enough to keep me from wanting to talk to them. Sure a phone call or visit might require a packed lunch or two, but it’s a small price to pay for quality time with a loved one. I would give anything to have my grandparents back, because you truly miss them when they’re gone. Maybe, just maybe, if those family members called a little more regularly Granny would reduce her talk time.

A true story

Jennie and Winnie: Will they be cool after this movie?

It is my desire to become a famous writer. The world will read my works and want to know more about the great mind behind them. Hollywood will then create a biopic about my life. Hopefully, if I’m still alive, they consult me. Who knows my story better than me, right? Then again I might forget details, embellish others and want anything bad not included. Perhaps that is the reason Winnie Madikizela-Mandela, ex-wife of former South African President Nelson Mandela, was not consulted for her upcoming biopic.


A few months ago it was announced Jennifer Hudson would play the starring role in a movie about Mandela. Unfortunately one person crying foul is the main character herself. Mandela said she will not support the movie, according to CNN. She feels it is an insult to make a movie about her life without consulting her, especially since she’s alive. Hudson wanted to meet Mandela, according to her reps, but the movie producers thought it was a bad idea. I can see where Mandela is coming from on one hand. It’s her life, and she should have some say on how it’s translated on the big screen. But they might tell a much better story without her input.

One of the best profiles ever written was “Frank Sinatra has a cold” by Gay Talese published in 1966 by Esquire Magazine. I read it in my college literary journalism class, and the story is phenomenal. It felt like I was a fly on the wall during Sinatra’s daily life. It is interesting to note Sinatra refused to be interviewed for the profile. Talese instead spent several months observing Sinatra’s actions and talking to members of his entourage. The final product is considered the greatest profile about Sinatra and one of the best pieces of magazine journalism. And it was made all without Sinatra’s consent.

As a writer, I interview people on a daily basis for their stories. Often they want to read the final draft before it’s published. The answer is no, but I do fact check. Most newspaper and magazines don’t let sources preview a story. It creates a lot of headaches because they ultimately want to change every single detail. It also eliminates the journalistic integrity of the article. My job is to gather the facts and tell the story accurately as a neutral observer. Not write what will make the source look amazing.

Mandela should wait to see the movie before giving her blessing or curse. At the very least the producers know enough to gather the correct facts for conveying the story. Hopefully, they will tell her true story, not the romanticized version. That’s the way any story should be told.

See my vision

“Don't get too influenced by one person's opinion. You might as well look within yourself and get influenced by your gut instinct.” ¬– author unknown


My life is an open book to my circle of friends. They hear about almost everything in my professional and personal life – the good, bad or in-between. Talking is my specialty, and I am all too happy to tell my stories. Unfortunately I have learned sometimes you can’t share your vision with certain people, even if they are close friends.

I’m trying to focus my life in a new direction, and a conversation about my plans with one friend felt somewhat discouraging. It was as if I was on trial and had to defend my particular choice. Her intent was probably not to bring me down. She said she was just trying to help me make the right decision. I appreciated the concern, but not really the delivery. I did my research to determine the best route for me, and didn’t just come up with a random plan from the sky. She forgot we are two unique people with different expectations for our lives. Her standards, while great for her, are not necessarily in line with what I am seeking. Still I was second guessing myself after our conversation.

I mentioned my newly formed doubts to the fantastic Cee and Ma Dukes, and they reassured me about my plans. Both echoed the sentiment that everyone can’t always see the vision you have for yourself. Their opinions might plant seeds of doubt, and what they think is helping is really hurting. I told my friend my plans to receive encouragement, not hear her opinion. Ultimately the direction I take is my decision. I have to experience my life for myself.

It should be everyone’s goal to support a friend’s path, (unless it’s illegal and destructive behavior). You might not think their plans are the best choice, but who are you to rain on their parade? As much as you might know about your friends, I am pretty sure they know themselves better.

The vision I have for my life is ever evolving as I grow as a person. There will be ups and downs, which I will share with my friends. But I’ll keep the overall vision to myself if someone can’t see it with me.

pay it forward

I tend to lose things a lot, namely my keys. Usually my keys are hidden by the paper monster at my desk. Paperwork has a way of covering everything in sight. I blurt out nearly every day, "Where are my keys?" 

Once I thought cats stole my keys. In my defense, there is a red band attached to the keys. It's a known fact, according to the "Cat Who Series" by Lillian Jackson Braun, that cats sense and like the color red. I assumed I dropped my keys unaware outside and the cats snatched them up. It turns out my keys were behind a box. But I digress.

Most things I "lose" are never really lost (except for maybe my mind, but that's a story for another day). Quite naturally I didn't think too much of it when I noticed my wallet was missing. I had it on Friday, but somewhere between the Chinese restaurant and my house it disappeared. It didn't bother me too much because I had my driver's license and debit card in my purse (I lose debit cards a lot too). The only thing in the wallet was my business cards, library cards and college ID. I thought the missing wallet was yet another item I left at my parents’ house. Imagine my surprise when I got a call at work from a woman saying she found my wallet. What? I really did lose it?

She and her husband found my wallet  on the ground and tracked me down via my business cards (I knew there was a reason I keep those handy). I profusely thanked them for finding my wallet and offering to mail it to me. The husband merely said it was their good deed of the week. 

It's nice to know people are willing to do good in this world, despite all the bad we see. Doing good should also spark a chain reaction in others. I have been inspired to pay it forward and perform a random act of kindness for someone else. Making someone's day doesn't require much effort. For me it was as simple as someone saying they found my wallet and sending it to me. Perhaps I can do a good deed by giving someone a latch to keep their keys handy. Maybe others won't have to worry about losing their keys to the paper monster too.

The fruitocalypse

Prunes and raisins have joined forces for a worldwide takeover. At least in my mind. Therefore I don’t trust them. How can you? Both are pretentious pieces of fruits.

First and foremost prunes and raisins think I’m stupid and don’t know their origins: a dried plum for prunes and a dried grape for raisins. That in itself makes me raise an eyebrow. Changing your name to hide your identity is a no-no in my world, at least regarding fruits. It means you’re too good for your past. If you’re too good for that, what else are you too good for? Other dried fruits – such as peaches, oranges and apples – don’t change their names, but such is not the case for prunes and raisins.

There can only be one reason for this name change: World domination. Attack of the killer tomatoes will have nothing on the prune and raisin revolution. And no, the revolution will not be televised because the deranged fruits will attack the camera men. The whole drying process messed up their brains. Now both have become disgustingly evil.

Anyone who has ever eaten a prune or a raisin will be singled out for annihilation. After all you were limiting their numbers. I shudder to think of the despair the revolution will bring. The world’s only opportunity for survival is me. That’s right; I’m doing my part to lead the resistance by making sure no one eats either fruit. I like the originals anyway. Food remixes are just not for me (yes pickles, I’m looking at you too).

Do not assume these two fruits are mild-mannered and easy going. That’s how they get your guard down. “Oh I’ll just pop a nice little raisin into my mouth,” you say. “Attack from within,” says the prunes and raisins. Fight the impulse to eat them if you come into contact with either one. No good can come from eating a prune, despite what Granny and Granddaddy say. Only the runs. And raisins are a choking hazard waiting to happen. Take it from a person who choked on a tic-tac. Those dissolve quickly. Not raisins.

Take this message to heart, people. We survived the non-rapture May 21. There will be no survival of the fruitocalypse if you don’t think, and eat, smart.

Lazy post

My mother bought me “The Children’s Book of Virtues” when I was but a wee lass. One of my favorite poems in the book was “I Meant To Do My Work Today” by Richard LeGallienne:

I meant to do my work today,
But a brown bird sang in the apple tree,
And a butterfly flitted across the field,
And all the leaves were calling me.
And the wind went sighing over the land,
Tossing the grasses to and fro,
And a rainbow held out its shining hand,
So what could I do but laugh and go?

Nice as that poem was, using that excuse in school will get you a big fat goose egg on an assignment. Good thing this is my personal writing post and not an assignment. Just before the clock strikes midnight and Writing Wednesday ends, I present an original poem:

I meant to do my post today
But a zombie was thrown from a tree
And an ambush was waiting in the field
And my roommates watched Zombieland with me.
And all in the scary Zombieland
Tossing zombies was a hobby to and fro
And I had to watch how the group joined hand in hand
So writing a post was just a no go.

Seriously, check out Zombieland. It’s a great movie.

Do I know you?

I might need this t-shirt.

Just when you think you know a person, you realize you don’t. Or is that just the case for me? I am perhaps the worst friend, family member, whatever in the history of mankind. I don’t know anything about anyone. This revelation came to me Mother’s Day weekend.

I was hanging with @Diva_luvfeva at her house when I noticed some artwork on the wall. “Oh, I love that painting,” I said. “Thanks. I painted it,” she replied. “I also painted several others in the house.” You could have just knocked me over with a feather. Apparently she is quite the artist. There are canvases, paints and more in the house ready to create her next masterpiece. “OMG I feel like I don’t even know you,” I said. “What else don’t I know?” Honestly, I never, ever, ever knew she liked to paint. I don’t remember her mentioning it or anything. I’d like to think I have a pretty good memory about most things. Not this. Our families have known each other before we were even thought of, but I didn't know that one important tidbit about her. I. AM. HORRIBLE. And it gets worse.

@Ceetastic and I talked about a Mother’s Day brunch she attended later that day. Mothers and daughters played a variation of The Newlywed Game and had to answer several questions such as favorite color, favorite movie, favorite holiday, favorite food and childhood best friend. Passing would not have been an option for me. I don’t know any of these things about my mother. I definitely don’t know most of the answers for my friends. I don’t even know for myself on some. What do I know?

Obviously I don’t pay enough attention to detail when it comes to the ones I love and care about. Maybe if I did it wouldn’t be so hard to figure out gifts for them. Spending enough time with a person should eventually clue you in to things about them. The key is to actively listen and observe. Everyone knows what I like because I’m pretty vocal about my interests. Am I really taking the time to get to know family and friends and their interests or do I dominant talking about me? Relationships, be it family or friends, should not be one-sided. One person should not always be in the forefront. It’s a wonder they still tolerate me.

It seems like I’ve got some catching up to do in realizing just who people are. The first step will be sending out copies of those questions. Who knows when that information may come in handy? The next is to do a better job of really tuning into them.

Just in case anyone wants to know my answers: favorite color – orange; favorite holiday – Thanksgiving; favorite movie – Coming to America/Harlem Nights; favorite food – unknown, perhaps pancakes; childhood best friend – Ashley Riley/ @Diva_LuvFeva.

wedding bell blues

Too often I seem to operate in a false sense of reality. Why else would I start stressing over my non- existent wedding? The reality of the situation is I DON’T EVEN HAVE A BOYFRIEND! There is no fiancée, beau or a summer time crush. Nothing! Yet somehow I got caught up in wedding bells … again.

I blame Google. It has a newish wedding planning feature. Being ever the inquisitive soul I had to check it out. Mistake number one. I should have been reading one of the million books in my house. Instead I’ve been making up a bridal party list, researching wedding etiquette and trying to pinpoint a budget.

I told my Fan Club Pres I was about to have a nervous breakdown because of all the wedding planning. His response was, “I thought it was something serious! I’m sitting here trying to figure out how to disown you and your planning a pretend wedding. Do better.”

There is so much to coordinate. It’s going to take me a good three years to make decent progress in the planning. If I start now, most of it will be done by the time I really get engaged. But will all my hard work get changed if I add a fiancé to the mix? What if he’s not feeling the story book/ newspaper theme? What if he wants to jump the broom? Will I have to compromise my big day?

Then again, isn’t marriage about compromise (along with communication, commitment and Christ)? And it shouldn’t just be about the bride. It will be OUR big day. We are joining together as one (tear). This much I know, I am having a DIY wedding. We are not spending a penny over $10,000. That includes everything: dress, food, and honeymoon. I want a celebration, not a trip to the poor house.

It remains to be seen if I indeed get married. Some days I’m all gung-ho for it. Most others I could care less. Perhaps I should hold off the wedding planning for now. The 50 million itemized checklist of things to do has turned me off the concept anyway. I think I just want to plan something small that includes cake, like a birthday celebration. Birthday parties are a whole lot less stressful.