comfort and perception

what's interesting is that over time, years pass and i have changed and grown...

yet i use the same things for comfort. i have a sweater that my grandmother gave me years before she died. i wear it for warmth, physically and spiritually. then there's fred hammond's pages of life double disk cd. that always does it for me. i have favorite tracks that i can just play on repeat for hours on end, just letting it feed and strengthen my countenance and my spirit. making my mommy's sweet potato pie does the trick, too. or her macaroni and cheese. or, believe it or not, my dad's peanut butter sammiches. he made me one when i was sick, and i fell in love instantly. it's just a big glob of peanut butter between two pieces of warm toast... honey is optional. but whenever i want to feel satisfied quickly, it's always there for me. there have been times when my teddy bear, which has been mine since my birth, was the only available hug - one i gladly took, over and over again, whenever i needed it.

i'm still trying to figure out how i worked two or more jobs, kept my scholarship, made it to step practices and still managed to eat home cooked food (most of the time) and wear clean clothes in college. i'm in a bit of a whirlwind now, but with increasing effort, things are starting to settle into some kind of rhythm. i haven't been writing, which is unfortunate, because this is probably a time when i especially need to be writing. but my spirit is encouraged. especially since i'm wearing my grandma's sweater, listening to fred hammond, and digesting a peanut butter sammich.

i miss blogging.

one day, i was on the bus on the way home from work, and this young teenage couple got on. the guy sat down, and his love sat in his lap. this girl had to have been the loudest, most tactless person i've seen on the bus thus far. there was also a woman about my parents' age sitting about two rows directly ahead of me. the girl was talking to her boyfriend like there was no one else privy to her mix of profanity, petty sarcasm, and general wasteful words. you know the stereotype, right? well, of course, i didn't say anything to her. and of course, no one else did, either. but of course, the woman in front of me kept cutting sideways glances at the child, shaking her head in disdain, probably for the generation she'll never understand.

in my head, i was writing a poem about the girl, which i've since lost, since i never wrote it down. but in my imagination, i took the girl off the bus, out of philly, out of america... off to africa, in some rural society, where girls walk straight and tall and oblivious to their own beauty, balancing baskets on their heads, toting water over their shoulders, sporting beads and scarification and braids... 'cause the girl from the bus looked like one of those african girls - she was absolutely beautiful. i wonder if she was even aware of her beauty. i wonder if she knew her actions were completely incongruous with the nobility in her features. in any case, i imagined her as eloquent, full of the folk wisdom and the pride it takes to be humble. i imagined her dancing joyfully with other girls, barefoot, kicking up dust with abandon. i admired that image of her, and in that moment, i wanted to be like her - the version of her that i'd created.

and then the thought occurred to me - if she knew that i thought better of her as an african country girl than as a hardened inner city stereotype, would she have hated me? did liking her better as someone else mean that i hated who she was? was she even really being herself? is anyone truly distasteful and rude by any means other than their personal choice? i refuse to believe that folks of a certain age don't know any better. of course, i hate when i'm honest enough to ask questions like these, 'cause it sounds really judgmental, and even classist - never mind that her neighborhood probably isn't much different from the one i grew up in. in any case, i thought about the blog when i found myself mulling over my role in how i perceived her.

as i get back to balance, i hope to continue sharing these things here...

thanks for clicking here to see if i had anything new up. i know i've been inconsistent. and as always, i appreciate your reading.

oops

i'm sorry - i'm working. hard. my schedule is crazy. but i'm not finished yet (though i did consider it briefly)...

falling down

i want to dance under wilting leaves and inhale the crispness of the air while touching his fingers gingerly. i want to appreciate the slight chill that will lead me to seek his body heat. in this time before our breaths can be seen, pushing impetuously against the air, i want to have him feel the moist heat of my breath as i whisper my happiness into his ear, softly like the falling of the leaves. because he deserves the leaves - the varied wonders of all their lovely colors that mimic the palette of emotions that he stirs within me. there is a special repose now, after the frenzy of summer's heat, and before the melancholy of the barrenness that shall come with winter. here, we find that last day for a long walk left to us. the last day that jackets are optional. the last few hours before an early retreat of the sun. and in the waning light, we turn towards the horizon and savor the final oranges, mauves, and lavender that the sky allows. we watch helplessly as moments pass and seasons take their turns, not distraught, but happy. because throughout this dance, we are unruffled by perspiration and undisturbed by shivering. steadily, as the world changes around us, we change. every mutual glance reveals more growth, more happiness, more affection... what a perfect day this would be. what a perfect autumn this would be.

i'ma do it

i

refuse

to

let

my

schedule

destroy

me.

i did get a chance to take that walk at lunch. and i'm glad for it. but it's been harder to find the time to exercise. and i don't wanna lose the momentum i got started, or lose the progress i've made. i will look the way i want to look. i will make it a priority to be as healthy as i can be. i will not compromise. if working moms and oprah can find time in their day... if once upon a time i used to have three jobs and classes... if i could improve my grades while pledging... then i can certainly find the time to do the things that matter most to my quality of life. i might sound like i'm trying to convince myself as much as anyone else, and maybe i am, but it's all about the attitude, right? right!

car pay

it's so easy to fall into a routine.

my schedule has changed, and it's affecting everything from exercise to blogging to cooking to my energy level. i gotta find a way to rearrange my body's clock to make it all fall into place or i'm going to lose my mind with guilt over the things i should be doing, or should have done, or ought to do... bla bla bla.

i guess we're just like the rest of creation. the ocean gets pulled by cycles of the moon. women are women with the cycles of the moon. folks do their living in the day and their sleeping in the night (for the most part). birdies migrate. salmon swim upstream. people get lazy in the winter, just like bears. i suppose it all works out some way or another. i know i need to get my moons/tides/swimming together before i pass out in the midst of the day.

anyway, tomorrow is one of the last beautiful days i may see before next april. we've been having a lot of those lately, and i've been missing them all because of one reason or another. but no more. i have to frolic in the sun, go take walks in my beloved city and hang out people watching. even though i have a poetry event tomorrow. even though my laundry STILL needs to be done. even though i'll probably be exhausted by the time i get a chance to go out and play. i don't care. i'm going to make it happen. soak up some sun rays shouting their brightness on my face. i need it. i deserve it.

here's to making time for the things that matter. making routine take a backseat to my will. seizing the day...

on stuff

on the capitol hill page flirtation scandal: i just want the powers that be on the hill and in the media to know that i am not stupid. they know which congressman was on the internet flirting with a minor, but i all i hear is clamoring for the resignation of the speaker of the house, because he supposedly knew about it. he won't step down.

that is beside the point.

the point is that the pages have been preyed on by at least this one powerful person in washington, and that this congressman should be treated like any other sexual predator.

instead of dealing with the fact that internet and face-to-face flirting with our youth seems to be constantly occurring, i'm supposed to get diverted by political posturing. i'm supposed to worry more about whether this will get the republicans out of congress in the upcoming elections. i'm supposed to argue vehemently for or against congressman hastert's resignation. and in the meantime, skeevy congressman foley is supposed to chill in rehab, out of the reach of the media (who are still bothering the amish), and out of the reach of my judgment. from recent reports, i have no idea whether or not he'll even be charged with a crime. can you not arrest people if they go into rehab? is that something i suggest the brothers do when they get caught committing a crime? just say you're a weedhead and admit yourself to rehab and the cops will stay off your back? or is it that old yucky white guys in congress are allowed such shelter from the law? no wait - i'm wrong. 'cause if the case of debra la fave is applicable, if foley was a woman, he might only get a slap on the wrist and some chuckles for giving a minor a hard-on.

i should just stop watching and reading the news.

on this weather: a nor'easter? in early october? this is so not cool. i'd wanted another weekend at the beach... *pout* guess i better start saving for that "i gotta get outta here" miami flight.

on last night's feature that i ain't even tell y'all about: you know things are changing with me when i neglect to even blog about an upcoming feature. it went alright. i was a little nervous for some reason, and i rushed some of my enunciation, and that wasn't good. but i got through it. i had a good rapport with the audience. and i held my own after one of the best poets i know, so i feel like i'm growing into my own. it feels good.

on health: y'all i am very proud of myself. i've been working out almost daily and i already feel like i look more healthy (whether or not i actually do, the feeling is enough encouragement to keep going). my poor little thighs are sore, and so are my poor little abs. but hey, that's how you know it's working, right? but this is the thing - what am i eating that's making my tummy ache with extra air? i'ma google it, 'cause this air is painful. i been dealing with it all day. any suggestions, dear blog family? help!

hawks

i can't turn anywhere without hearing something about the tragedy that has happened in pennsylvania with those amish schoolgirls. i suppose i understand why this is such a big news story. either the mass popular media believes that we are a country of sick, depraved people... or we actually are.

i say this because i think that the story is huge because it involves a compelling combination of some of the worst, most offensive acts that could occur all at once. in this one tragedy, there's child molestation, lust for innocent virgins, and unforgiving gun violence. the more details are divulged, the more we hear about the story: the victims were shot execution style, the murderer was on some desperate-housewives-jekyll-and-hyde kick - taking his beloved children to school before participating in a heinous murder-suicide... leaving a cryptic note where he speaks from the grave, offering excuses for his planned mayhem...

i shouldn't be surprised after all. everytime innocents (most especially white innocents) are slaughtered by the sick, you can't get away from it in the news - think jon benet ramsey or natalie holloway. but don't mistake this as a diatribe against racism in the media. this is, instead, a commentary against a media that seems intent on feeding the public the creepiest, most disgusting stories it can find.

this particular situation involving the amish school incident bothers me for a few reasons. first of all, the amish are a simple and rather private people by choice, based on their beliefs. i've seen images of the surrounding community gathered to grieve that have been taken by helicopter news photographers. for a moment, please imagine yourself standing at the last funeral procession or prayer service you've been to, and then superimpose the sound and wind of a hovering helicopter and the glaring presence of camera crews and news reporters buzzing on the side of the road, gawking at you in the face of your grief. that is callously insensitive and unnecessary. i find that the amish are being extremely tolerant of the media in light of the fact that they have to deal with their priceless losses. a lesser people might have railed against the intrusive media presence by now.

another reason i am bothered by this amount of coverage is because we are approaching the deadlines for voter registration and we are approaching important midterm congressional and important local elections. there are many political developments happening now. if we leave it to the media, the only education we'll get about the candidates is the one we'll get from the mud slinging ads in commercial breaks. folks need to be informed in an impartial way about where they can get information about the candidates, so that they can be informed voters, hold incumbents accountable, and make challengers work for the opportunity to serve their constituencies. we have a war going on. the violence in our own communities is alarming. the classes are clashing, the middle class is losing ground, the elderly are struggling, the schools are incompetent...

but for the first few minutes of a given news hour lately, if you switch from news broadcast to news broadcast - local or national - all you see are images of the amish people and responding officers in the wake of the schoolhouse tragedy. all the other news takes a backseat to the shocking. this way, the advertisers who pay for airtime during the news can sell their cars, their political propaganda, and their insanely expensive prescription medications.

for shame.

pushing through

i must be slow. got to be. funny how i have to be reminded by the Lord every single time about the futility of worry. i keep saying it, because it's true. faith is like a muscle - it needs to be exercised for strength and flexibility, or it will atrophy, and you will catch hayle trying to get it back in shape.

i took a long walk this morning. i'm not the one for a whole lot of walking or running. but it was good time for thinking, most especially about my faith muscle. i been spending time working on my own fitness in general, trying to strengthen and tone my body, and the analogy has really been vibrant for me lately.

getting a muscle to get stronger is not easy. it hurts. HURTS, i said. it's downright unpleasant, and the only thing that really keeps me going is the knowledge that the exercise will be beneficial, but only if i push through the pain and keep trying. gotta keep my energy up so i can keep pushing. gotta keep rehearsing the reasoning for the work in my head so i'll want to keep pushing. gotta keep from polluting myself with food that ain't bad for me. and when i'm facing an obstacle, i have to do just that for my faith.

april did it.

Three Things Meme

1. Three people who make me laugh:

-Vanesha
-Adrian
-Damali

2. Three things I can do:

-Write
-Hula Hoop
-Make up songs in my head

3. Three things I can't do:

-Swim the length of the pool
-breakdance
-a man's push up


4. Three things I'm doing right now:

-this meme (that was easy)
-waiting for some phone calls
-procrastinating (as usual)


5. Three things I want to do before I die:

-visit outside this country
-publish my written stuff
-work for myself

6. Three things I hate the most:

-injustice
-not giving my best to the people i love
-when i limit myself


7. Three things that scare me:

-being scared out of action
-bees that won't go away when you ask them to
-messing everything up

8. Three things I don't understand:

-how some people don't try their best for their children
-how they re-elected the president - oops, i mean elected him at all. you got to have a first election for there to be a re-election.
-foot fetishes

9. Three skills I'd like to learn:

-swimming
-how to run my own business
-Sewing

10. Three ways to describe my personality:

-silly
-sarcastic
-talkative

11. Three things I think you should listen to:

(besides whatever makes you feel good)
-your gut instinct
-your mama
-people with good sense

12. Three things you should never listen to:

-stupid people
-propaganda (without an understanding of the whos and whys)
-jealous people

13. Three favorite foods:

-lasagna
-warm apple pie
-baked macaroni and cheese

14. Three beverages I drink regularly:

-fruit juice
-tea
-water as a last resort

15. Three shows I watched as a kid:

-the cosby show
-duck tales
-golden girls

16. Three people I'm tagging to do this:

-them, them, and that other one

expatriate (not quite)

whenever i truly write from my heart, i get the best responses.

i had a post here about my reaction to the spike lee documentary about hurricane katrina. however, i got a my.space message from a friend, advising me to yank it off the internet and submit it as an article for publishing. she was really impressed with it, and since she's a published freelancer, i figured i'd take her advice. so here i am, yanking it. sorry.

but it does feel good to have someone telling me to actually do something with my writing, encouraging me to try to get paid - or at least published. there's some measure of validation that comes from that, and i really appreciate it.

on second thought:
you know, if you want to read it, you can leave me a comment, and i'll email it to you...

ramble

i like cinnamon raisin bread.
i really like brownies with ice cream and chocolate syrup.
helping friends move can be rewarding.
eating breakfast in the afternoon can be quite blissful, actually.
calling home is worthwhile, every single time.
simple things are often good.
i'm glad my teddy bear from childhood is still with me and in one piece.
philly has a poetry renaissance going on and it's exciting to be in the fray.
marriage also means finding out how to reconcile two people's stuff upon move-in.
no, i am not married - i'm talking about my friends.
change is inevitable.
dealing with unpredictable change takes patience and faith.
God is in control of all of this.
you never know what folks are capable of.
sometimes, you don't even know what you're capable of yourself.
i'm thankful for my six senses.
i refuse to live in fear just because my city is approaching its 300th homicide.
i'm really happy for this life.
i'm really hopeful about my future.
he makes me happy.
He makes me happy.
writing makes me... balanced.

reflections

i was going through some of my poetry last night. it's funny how looking at it as a body is different from focusing on individual pieces. there's a lot of pain about matters of the heart disguised in those poems as sarcasm or defiance. i can look at them and see how much i've been learning through experience, and i can compare my current life to them and really appreciate how happy i am now, not just comparatively, but in general.

i'm in a writing spurt. i've been finishing old poems and fleshing out old ideas that i'm glad i scribbled down. and my ears are perky - i keep finding inspiration in things i hear. i'm glad for it. times like these make the slow going times bearable.

***

anyway, my parents have lots of mirrors in the bathroom and the guest room at their house, where i stayed last weekend. now i know i've been gaining weight steadily all year, and i know part of it is due to inactivity and an unstable diet and more than likely, a change in metabolism. i've been aware of that. but i still can fit in my clothes - the same size i wore in high school. (it's just that the fit is tighter, which isn't wholly a good or bad thing.) i actually like the new weight - i've been wanting to gain weight for years now. i lost the eight pounds i gained after my first year of college after i pledged my sorority and had all those step practices, and it's been hard to gain weight since...

where is that step practice now?

i didn't like what i saw in the mirrors at my parents'. it wasn't the me that i'm used to seeing, and i could live with that... if my reflection didn't look unhealthy to me. i've always thought that i wouldn't mind gaining weight as long as it looked healthy and attractive. i look great with my clothes on... but i wanna feel comfortable and not self-conscious at the beach, and at this point, i wouldn't.

i'm doing crunches and bicycles and push-ups almost daily. i may even start jogging, and budget willing, i'ma stop procrastinating on getting a bike. hopefully i won't lose weight, or not much weight, anyway. hopefully i'll just shape up. i discovered over the weekend that i'm too self-conscious (and vain) and accustomed to looking a certain way to let my body do just anything it wants. and i can't depend on my metabolism anymore - now, i'm a mere mortal who has to work out to stay cute, just like everybody else. i'm not happy about it, but it doesn't matter. i have to do what i have to do.

fits, spurts, commitment

went out to a big night at the womb yesterday. i was flipping through my notebooks, trying to figure out which of my poems i wanted to read on the open mic, and i came across those unfinished pieces. inspired by a friend of mine who was scribbling, i took out my own pen and started scribbling furiously. it wasn't easy - i was at a venue with friends all over the place, some of whom i hadn't even seen in months! there was interesting conversation all around that competed with the poetry... there were even french fries! but by the time the evening was finished, i'd fleshed out drafts of two poems.

and after going away for the weekend, and being tied up with appointments and catching up on rest, here i am blogging again.

the writing comes in fits and spurts. but i'm committed to keep trying.

anyway, my trip was to witness the wedding of some friends in virginia. i had a really good time. my date was amazing - i hate it when guys don't want to dance, and my date hung in there with me for the whole fete. anyway, i stayed with my parents for the weekend, since they were within driving distance of the wedding. life is good. i am really happy to have a good relationship with my parents, and my grandma, who i also visited while i was away. some folks don't have family they can relate to and i'm blessed to have an abundance of loved ones. kinda like how my friends, who are now married, have families that are willing to drive or fly out-of-state to witness their vows and their celebration. that is priceless. i enjoyed seeing old folks and little toddlers and everyone in between all mixed in sharing love and food and a dance floor and well wishes for the bride and groom. it's inspiring. especially when you think about how those tables and tables full of families branched forth from a couple here, and a couple there, who like my friends, let their friendship develop into love, and let that love develop into commitment, and let that commitment develop into family. that's beautiful.

and for the record, the bride and groom jumped the broom. i love that tradition, if for no other reason than the fact that it reminds us of our past in a positive way. now our brooms are covered in flowers and ribbons, reflecting the beauty of the occasion. we are blessed to be able to remember who we were - 3/5 of a human, incapable of legally or spiritually consenting to the covenant of matrimony - yet simultaneously with this very act of remembrance, we're able to honor our people of that past, whose broom-made commitments made our homes and the inspiring and nurturing love within them possible. now we jump because we want to, not because we can't get a marriage license and the approval of a religious institution. and that's possible because of the love and persistence of the ancestors. the broom honors them and their commitment to us.

state of the pen address

last night i noticed that i have about five unfinished ideas for new pieces of poetry. some of them i'm procrastinating on, but others have simply fallen into the cobwebs of my mind, and the only reason i remember them now is because i came across some scribbles in my second marble composition notebook... guess i better get on it.

i was telling a colleague yesterday that i am a writer - that i write poetry and short stories, and that i read my stuff in public. he wanted to know more about the content of the poetry, and i told him, social... political... cultural... (i left out erotic and spiritual and introspective and that i can't even label some of it) and then i simply told him that those are among other things. i didn't feel comfortable telling him all my business - he don't know me like that. then he wanted to know which predominated between them, and i couldn't answer that straight. i didn't even want to answer that. i told him that none of them can, because my poems express many facets of myself, that we are all multifaceted people, and that part of the beauty of an individual is their variety, and in that way, part of the goodness in my body of poetry is its variety.

he probed further. he wanted to know about the type of short stories i wrote. i thought of the stories about little nyla and her mother arlene. i suppose he thought i'd answer with something easily categorized - mystery, science fiction, or something like that. i felt penned in a corner. these were too many questions! my kneejerk internal reaction was that this somewhat older man, this white man would never understand me. and frankly, i didn't want him to understand that much about me. perhaps that wasn't fair to him - i think he just wanted to relate to me, and show some interest in me as a person, but i felt probed. i shirked that question by saying that i don't write many stories but that the ones i do are fiction, "and that's as far as i'd go with that," leaving him to wonder about my work, and showing him that there was a line of privacy his questions were breaching.

i still don't know what to make of that exchange.

also, i allowed myself to be talked into something new yesterday. i read a poem and allowed music to be created that was inspired by its content - i was so very scared to do that! i liked my words the way they are! i didn't want them changed by music. i didn't want to take the chance that the union between the words and the music would take away the meaning and the feeling of the words, which weren't ever meant to be lyrics, and which, in fact, are better suited for the paper they were written on than the mic. but because i was scared, and because i trusted the producer to truly try to respect my jealousy over my creation (i'm an artist, and i'm sensitive about my isht), i faced the fear. i don't like being punked by my fear of things, and i often try new stuff for that very reason. the music is a work in progress, but i'll say this. i don't think my words are offended or compromised. and that truly inspires me!

dignity

i got a new pen and a new highlighter.

a guy asked me for some help yesterday and when i did, he didn't want it to be charity. he has pride. he wanted me to walk away with something in my hand.

so he gave me a pen and a highlighter, and he told me that he would pray for me.

i thanked him. i need the prayer.

people like him who don't even have much are capable of giving of themselves. why not me, that much more? he inspired me. he helped me to remember generosity. and dignity.

well written

we are a haunted people.

right now i'm reading paule marshall's the chosen place, the timeless people. she's one of my favorite authors, and i've read almost all of her novels. they transport the reader throughout the many facets of the diaspora, which i've been fascinated with for some time, but even more so lately. the only thing about reading this excellent book, though, is that it challenges the reader to explore the bright and dark areas of the african psyche, affected by slavery, colonialism, classism, racism...

it's hard to go on the internet and interact with other black people without coming across debates about the current status of african people in this country and around the world. there are also the statistics about unemployment, crime, incarceration, educational achievement, economic status... there are discussions about culture and image and social statuses and behaviors. there is a world of thinking - a world of talk. shelves of books, reams of editorials, a legion of talking heads, all devoted in some way to discussing, analyzing, maybe even trying to solve the peculiar phenomenon that is the aftermath of our past trauma, and the question of how to assess our current trauma.

it can be overwhelming, reading it all, listening to it all - and not even all of it. one well written provocative blurb could cause someone contemplative like me a whole day's worth of head scratching or a whole week's worth of probing the opinions of my closest friends. sometimes it's more than that - sometimes the introspection leads me to confront painful personal feelings and experiences that i struggle to rationalize and understand, often regarding my place in the melee.

sometimes i just get tired and i need a break. i can't zip off my skin or cast my mind aside, but sometimes, i have to refrain from reading and participating in the discussions. perhaps it may even be necessary to put down the novels i've been voraciously devouring. especially ones like my current read. i feel myself being compelled to finish the story, even though i know that the truths it forces me to confront are challenging me in ways that distress me - ways that interrupt the personal security of my old understanding and make me reconsider the way that i regard myself and face the world.

i might not be able to read for a little while after this one...

learning stuff

i went to a concert last week that was really a good time. it was outside in the park, and it featured one very talented dj and one very talented band. i learned that it is possible to really get to higher heights when it comes to breath control. the drummer in the band was also the lead singer, and the songs they were playing were dance music - house music - the kind where if you danced and gave your all to the rhythm, by the time you'd finish, you'd be completely spent, if you danced to their whole set. yet this man was drumming his behind off and singing at the same time. folks, that's not something that most people have the cardiovascular fortitude to do - let alone the talent to do it well. as a poet who reads my work before others and attends slams regularly, i see that sometimes it's difficult for people to get through their pieces without their breath faltering unless they have some understanding of breath control, especially if/when they're getting really really passionate about a piece, and their delivery requires lots of energy and passion. but i see that it's not impossible to marry that passion with good articulation if you have enough breath, and that drummer in that band is a master. even with my pieces, which don't tend to make me winded, i think that there's something that anyone who performs out loud can learn regarding breath control...

i went to a party yesterday afternoon and had a good time... the folks and the music spilled out of the place and into the street, and in the overflow, off to the side, there were people doing all kinds of stuff - playing with fire, breaking, and other miscellaneous stuff - and something that caught my eye was the hula hooper. now, i have a hula hoop at home, 'cause it's fun to play with on occasion, and friends come by and try to use it. i put it around my waist and play with it and i'm good at it - i never let it drop from my waist. but this girl yesterday? she was hooping around her raised hand, bringing it down her arm to her waist, bringing it back up to her neck and off of her neck, out to pass between her wrists... she was good! and lucky for me, she had a few extra hoops, and i got to play with one. she told me things that helped me to do some of what she was doing - she was great at that, probably 'cause she teaches a class, and because she practices often. as good as she is, she's still learning. she hopes to hoop with fire soon! i think i'll keep on practicing what she taught me (but not with a mind towards hooping with fire!).

mess

my house is a mess. i must clean. i hope i don't break a nail. if i do, i'll just deal with it, 'cause, my house is a mess.

i need to wash the dishes, do some laundry, vacuum the floor, and get the bathroom floor. well.

i don't feel like it.

but the longer i wait, the worse it's gonna get. and the worse it gets, the less i'll feel like it. and the less i feel like it, the longer i'ma wait. it's a unforgiving vicious circle of mess. i understand why people get maids. i can't afford one. if i could, i wouldn't pay one to clean my house, 'cause i'm too chea practically frugal, and 'cause i'm too proud of what few homemaking abilities i do have.

if it gets worse, i'ma have to move. i can't live in the midst of this mess. mess makes me feel claustrophobic.

okay, i'll clean.

stupid independence.

slumber

i don't usually like to talk about the contents of my dreams with people, 'cause people are strange. they like to get all freudian on you, and tell you dumb stuff like you have a latent sexual attraction towards your parents or you have a deep seated fear of cheese or something stupid like that. but in my parents' house, there are two dream books. partly because my parents play the numbers. partly because my mom believes what they say. i've shared my dreams with my mom before, 'cause, well, she's my mom.

while she was here, the morning that she left, i had a dream that i was with her, out somewhere on a pier or a boat or something, fishing. this isn't surprising, mom and dad love to go fishing, and part of my childhood was spent staring at worms and watching lines for tautness and waiting for something exciting to happen, like a fight with a bucking striper or porgie. my mom and i had our hooks baited and our lines cast in the water, and then i felt a tug so dramatic that somehow i'd left off of the rod and was pulling on the line, struggling with both the fish's protest and the slipperiness of that slight plastic line. i turned to my mom to ask for help, but before she was able to get to me, i pulled with all the might in my arms, back, and shoulders, and the fish came to me.

it was beautiful. the fish was also huge, spanning the length of my outstretched arms. it wasn't shaped like a fish you catch, though - it was shaped more like a fish from the pet store, and it looked like one, too. it was so white and iridescent, it was like it was glowing brilliantly. at the end of my catch, my body was spent, and for a fleeting moment, i felt bad that my sport had harmed the fish. but it was as if the fish somehow understood my feelings - it looked directly at me, and as a way of consoling my conscience, the fish laid itself out willingly and died as if it wanted to die - as if it were a lamb to slaughter who realized its death would be beneficial to the butcher.

mom says that's an employment dream (not a pregnancy dream, all you soul food enthusiasts). she had a big fish dream like that one before she started her job, and that's what the dream meant for me, she says. according to her (and her dream book, which she checked as soon as she went back home) i should receive good and beneficial employment soon. now that would be nice!

i don't know how much stock i put in dream books, since i figure that if dreams mean anything, it's tailored to individuals, their cultures, their beliefs, and their personal lenses on the world. but i know that it's not often you can look my dreams up in books. for example, one i've had since then involved me being on the run with someone with three white children - a boy, a girl, and a baby girl, out in the midwest somewhere. (i know no such family in real life.) we went shopping at w.almar.t (i fed the baby m.cdona.ld's french fries that she hardly even wanted) and then we went to a car dealership at some point, to buy a car which would up being a lemon. we were hagging at some other dealership when, for her safety, i had to take the baby girl and split from the rest, wrapping her in a cloak to keep her warm and hidden and disappearing into the night...

it was at this point that i realized i knew kung fu, 'cause we were under attack and i had to defend us. we were out by a lake and a highway, and i was running all over the place, kicking much ass...ailant behind. all with three limbs only, 'cause i had the baby under the cloak in my left arm, tucked like a football on my chest the whole time. i was cracking skulls together and defeating the foes who outnumbered me and kept coming in every direction. the longer and more noticeably i fought in this public place, the more folks kept coming up, challenging my dangerous kung fu style. now that was fun.

i bet my mama can't find that in no dream book.

In Memoriam, Cathy LoGuidice

Catherine Lisa LoGuidice and I have precious little in common. She was born nine years before me and lived several states away. I've never met her. Perhaps on one of her adventures, chasing down some hard rock star or heading out to defy death on a mountain biking trip, she wound up on a road trip, and maybe she passed me in a car on I-95 once and neither one of us knew it. I've come to believe that it's a smaller world than we think this is, and the Pisces within me likes to believe that the connection between me and Catherine is on purpose.

A big part of Catherine's life was love - she had the time and heart for lots of it. She loved her two god-daughters, and friends and family members. She had even found the kind of love that people pray and wish for in a fiancee, an old friend she'd known since high school. She was planning to get married to Erick Elberth, and all of her friends and family celebrated with her at a bridal shower. She was a beloved daughter to Catherine Masak and Carmelo LoGuidice, sister to Lucy and Michael, and an aunt to many. A part-time veterinary assistant, Catherine loved animals, too. One thing that she definitely shared with me was a love of reading - Anne Rice was one of her favorites! I can imagine her four cats finding other things to do while she got all wrapped up in some intriguing story packed with horror and suspense.

Her life seemed full. Her taste in music - on the edge. Her taste in stories - on the edge. Her sky diving and mountain biking - on the edge. This woman, of tattooes, intricate Halloween costumes, and horror movies wasn't one-sided, though. Her brother Michael knew that she loved Thoreau so much that she once travelled to his famous retreat, Walden Pond. She also took up Tai Chi, an ancient art characterized by its graceful and gentle movements that inspire health and inner peace.

What's crazy is that you could walk past Cathy, as her friends and family called her, on a crowded street - bump into her maybe - and never know all of the wonderfully interesting stuff about the woman you were bumping into.

When the planes hit those towers on September 11, 2001, I was in bed, getting ready to wake up and go to class across town. Catherine was at work. She was an assistant bond trader for a firm called Cantor Fitzgerald. As a nation, we were all shaken and confused while the tragedy was happening, but I can't imagine how Cathy and her family felt in particular on that morning.

She died that day, five years ago, at the age of thirty. She was on the 105th floor in the first tower, and it's pretty likely that she just wasn't able to get to a safe place. Like many of us, she hadn't thought much about the World Trade Center attack in 1993 since it happened. Her job was at the World Trade Center, so that's where she stayed for the several years to follow.

When she was memorialized, donations to the ASPCA were requested instead of flowers, honoring her animal-loving spirit. After her death, and the deaths of 2,995 others, I mourned, wearing black for two days and crying for many more, shocked and deeply moved by the television images of people wandering the area near the towers with signs seeking their missing loved ones. At the time, and even now, I am just a fellow American with no direct connection to the tragedy. But I suspect that Cathy's family felt the impact of the tragedy much more intensely, and I suspect that today, and every day, they remember Cathy's life more lovingly than I ever could. They, and the other 2,995 families of the deceased and missing, have my most reverent sympathy.

I hope that those who knew Cathy can get joy from their memories of what they loved most about her, and that if they are able to learn anything from the way she lived her life, that they'll honor her memory by doing so.

May her spirit rest in peace.

Thanks to Legacy.com and CNN.com for information on Cathy that served as the source of this tribute.