Maid For This

Today I am in recovery mode from the stress of my newfound field trip. Tonight is a short reprieve from my toiling reality.  I would like very much to enjoy this weekend and allow myself the luxury of enjoying the gift of my girliness. When I have my hair done it seems as if immediately my spirits begi

n to soar. One day a couple of weeks ago while sitting out on the river on a lazy evening sipping wine I reflected on the pretty paradox that is my life. On one day I am on foot strolling to a bus terminal trying to be on time for my field trip and by that afternoon I'm toasting to my own resilence at a quiet table for one in a cozy little restaurant. My days are spent motivating myself to keep moving, to keep pushing through the sweat, frustration and warped existence that is my life. I talk to myself constantly throughout the day reminding myself that I am where I am for a reason. I tell myself that  I am grateful for the opportunity to rebuild. I indoctrinate myself with a rationale that urges me to believe that my life is beautiful as is. Things are unfolding as they should. I can handle this. I can retain a smile in the midst of my uncertainty. I remind myself that I am made for this. I am made for this. I show up for my field trip each morning with a positive mindset with a goal to spread sunshine until I am faced with my tasks for the day. As I mentioned before my current field trip as a "laundress" has me facing countless sheets and towels daily. Yes, I said "laundress" thats what I read Madame CJ Walker referred to herself as and well, I love the way she's quoted as promoting herself from the laundry room. Thats my goal to promote myself, so anyway I digress. When I receive my tasks for the day my smile seems to fade within to a pathetic "woe is me" frown. I want to cry out to God and ask "what have I done so wrong to deserve this?!?" I believe that I am qualified to do much more than clean hotel linen. Well, with that being said it appears that God must have agreed wholeheartedly because my realm of responsibility increased nearly overnight! I have recently been crosstrained in...housekeeping! The bottom has officially fallen out on my life. I have unequivocally hit rock bottom when I approached the hotel door, knocked and called out those dreadful words "houekeeping". I ponder to myself, what about this truly disturbs me most? I know that what I do to earn a living does not define me in the least, but what is it that disturbs me so much? When I walk into a room and survey the damage, empty the trash, scrub the tub and toilet, or make the bed I mentally remind myself that I was made for this. I can and will survive. I have survived far worse situtations than playing "Molly Maid" for pay. I am "maid for this". I will cleverly combine the pretty and the not so attractive components of my life. I will clean, scrub and polish my way into understanding the hidden lesson here. The lesson in all of this is hidden in plain sight I just know it. I am being rebuilt from within and it is difficult to go along with the process.  The process is painful at times and often uncertain. I am becoming up close and profoudly personal with the concept of humility. This little boho journey of mine is teaching me that nothing is beneath me nor am I above doing what I once deemed out of character for me.  I was" maid for this". I am tidying up my life, my concept of myself and my relationship with God.  I was "maid" to clear away the clutter in my conscience. I have everything within me to apply forgiveness, love and grace to those hard to get to corners of my heart. Maybe just maybe my life is a cute contradiction. One moment there is within me a lighthearted fondness of my struggle to keep myself optimistic and then there is this desperate plea begging for release from the very sam struggle and my safe return to a cushy desk job. For now I plan to will myself into believing that I was maid for this. My life of transition is not the pristine picture of positivity that I dream of but if I continue with the work of inner housekeeping I am most certain that things will fall into place meticulously.

Treasured Moments

It's that time again. It's been such long while. I wondered if I'd ever experience it again. On a lazy, Sunday afternoon I've finally had the opportunity to savor a treasured moment of peace to decompress mentally, physically, emotionally and spiritually.  I did mention that I started a new field trip recently that has been extremely taxing to say the least. My goodness, I have not worked so hard and for so little in so very long. I remind myself of how absolutely thankful I am for the mere opportunity and I choose to not allow my thoughts to wander back to the nine to five. On this fine Sunday afternoon I am finishing this glass of Riesling and sorting out my thoughts, concerns and needs. I am surrendering to the inner torment thats been rumbling beneath the surface of my soul. I am quieting my mind, getting real with some of the things that I have been running away from and acknowledging the issues in my life that need resolution. Have I also mentioned that I am a recovering people pleaser? I still have relapses from time to time where I experience bouts of "shoulds". In my mind I battle with all of the things that I should do or say in my relationships. I tend to work myself into a tizzy from time to time but not today. Today, this very afternoon is a treasured moment.  I am not fighting with myself or the expectations that I have of myself. I am relaxing, turning my brain off or at least turning it down a bit. I am allowing myself space to bless myself. This evening I am reminding myself that all is well. I am releasing my fears, frailties and ongoing flaws into the care of a kind and caring God, at least for today. This is a treasured moment where I realize that all that I am and all that I have is enough. Today I can breathe, inhale this moment and exhale any conditions and expectations.  This afternoon is enough. I've had enough to eat. I've visited with my parents, talked with my son and extended Fathers Day love to my dearest ones. I phoned my father and shared unconditional love with him out of the overflow that my Divine Father has made provisions for.  All thats left is to bathe my mind in uplifting words and phrases that will frame my days ahead. Today has progressed at a slower pace and for this I am thankful.

Squaring Off On Fitted Sheets

So, have I mentioned that I started on a new field trip recently? Well, I have. I am sure you have grown weary of hearing me whine and moan about my silly struggles to regain a sense of self sufficiency so I will not bore you all with my emotional distress. For those of you who aren't up to speed with my bohemian terms for employment just know that when I refer to a "field trip, tour or business audit" thats my optimistic way of describing what the rest of the world refers to as a job or "getting in bed with the establishment". Since returning home after life as I knew it fell apart, I have made diligent attempts at reentering the worker bee society. Well, I believe they were diligent attempts. I revised and revised and revised my resume, changed my cell phone number to reflect a local area code, scanned the help wanted ads, and of course informed anyone that I spoke with that I was back in town looking for a means of employment. I've interviewed and schmoozed, networked and nitpicked my hometown's lack of opportunities. It seemed that I was always too little too late. Some company had just hired someone right before I got wind of an opening. My self esteem rode the rollercoaster of professional accolades and the local workforce's refusal to grant me admittance. It appeared to me that world of work was some exclusive VIP club of which I had been unanimously denied access to. It seems as if I had been blackballed. I've always prided myself with having the gift of "getting in where I fit in". If offered a mere opportunity, a chance, a tiny opening I can and have wiggled into a position and have flourished. I try to recognize professional opportunities of any type and run with them. I count myself as ambitious as the next person, yet I retain a relaxed state of knowing. I know that I have divine favor with all that I come into contact with. I expect people to like me and want to be good to me and  offer all manner of goodness my way. I actually believe with all honesty that if I show up with a positive attitude, an open, receptive spirit to the lesson found in every situation, a willingess to give my absolute best efforts that promotion will come my way.  It is of no consequence to me how or where I begin at any job, I have full confidence that I can transform the lowliest of positions into a fulfilling opportunity. In fact, every job is an opportunity. I try to remind myself of that always. Most recently I had a chance to act on my theory. When visiting with a new angel of a friend, we stopped and chatted with his son for little while at his job and during this little spur of the moment visit my theory was given a unique platform to be tested. As always I mention to pretty much everyone that I was/am seeking stable employment and during this occassion, of course I did the exact same thing outside of a little three star hotel. My friend's son mentioned that they were indeed hiring in the housekeeping department with an apprehensive look on his face. He obviously thought that I certainly wouldn't be interested insuch a position. Inwardly, I agreed with his apprehension. I was not interested in the position. I was interested in some source of income. I did not want a job. I wanted an opportunity. I needed an opportunity. So there it was. I stepped up to the plate and seized the option before me. I have never, ever before worked in the hospitality industry in such a position before. The closest that I had come to anything like it was working in the nutrition services department of a three hundred bed hospital as their secretary and also a brief stint as a hostess in the same departmet. I served dietary trays to elderly patients in the extended care unit. I figured that surely housekeeping would be no big deal, a breeze even. The hotel was a part of a well known chain and was fairly new. I completed the application and brought it back and was surprisingly interiewed on the spot. The manager and I seemed to instantly click. She covered every aspect of the job and kept asking me if I was sure I wanted to do this type of work, seeing as I had zero experience other than cleaning my own home. It is still funny to me how she even appeared to talk me out of it. She pulled out all of the stops to make me brutally aware of what I was getting myself into. She nearly succeeded when she informed me of the near slave wage. I hesitated and still accepted it while reasoning within myself, better a little change than no change at all. The housekeeping manager with this warm personality and around the way smile looked at my application again and then asked "now, why do you want to do this again?" With the most humility and sincerity that I could find within me, I looked her in the eye and plainly responded, "I don't need a job, I just want an opportunity." I meant this then and still mean it now from the bottom of my heart. She hired me on the spot. I was informed that I would work in the laundry department servicing the hotel's linen and sometimes filling in for and helping out with housekeeping duties. Something about what I said must have impressed her because she immediately ushered me to meet the management team and introduced me to the Front Desk Manager, the General Manager and the hotel's owner. This housekeeping manager whom I had never known before a day in my life found favor in me somehow and introduced me as being very overqualified for housekeeping but perfect for potentially another position possibly in one of the hotel's other departments. I was and am still grateful. I remind myself of this daily.  Although I had not worked for such rock bottom wages in years, I was grateful for the mere opportunity to increase my earnings by diplaying my worth by approaching the task at hand with a positive attitude and a strong work ethic, again I thought to myself a little change beats no change at all. That was it, I would ride out this new field trip in the linen department and learn, laugh and love the opportunity for whatever it was worth. My first few days among my fellow new hires was hilarious to say the least. It appeared that I stuck out in my new department, somehow judging from the puzzled faces around me and the question, "are you working in housekeeping?" It was as if I didn't for some reason I didn't belong. My friend's son would pop into the laundry room often during my first two weeks to check on me. I could almost read the expression on his face as I struggled to pull all of those heavy, wet sheets and towels from the industrial strength washers. Mentally, I often wondered if the ladies had a pool going to see how long I would last. I return home daily with tales of toiling away in hell otherwise known as the laundry room. Did I mention how hot this weat shop of a room would get with the three dryers and three washers all going? Again I would read the look of pity and disbelief on my parents' faces, it was the same look that my friend's son had and the very same look that my co workers shared. Were my parents apart of this secret pool to see just how long I would last? That look ignited something in me. There was a small flicker of fight left in me and I was/am determined to show everyone that I could do this. I would do this. I would reveal my inner "Akeem" from Coming To America and encourage myself to make the best out of this new field trip.  I did it and I am doing it. Each morning I arrive with my big goofy smile handing out "good mornings" all around. I am learning to make a bed military style with hopes that I will never have to actually go up on the floors and really clean all of those rooms. Lets just say that I have found a new and stellar respect for the housekeeping profession. The work that these ladies do and the perfection and pace that they accomplish it with astounds me. I am without a doubt tipping and possibly leaving a gift for the housekeeper during my next hotel stay, maybe even a card, flowers and candy. These days I prefer the familiarity and routine of my little world in the laundry room. I am evolving into quite the "fairy godmother of hotel linen". I have learned so much. Never have I stood on my feet for  so long stripping beds, washing, drying and folding sheets and towels. I see sheets and towels in my dreams these days and I can't say how often my fingertips have endured the awful one hundred and seventy-six degree heat of the dryers. I know, I know, I know poor, poor me. The real challenge that I find myself squaring off on these days are the fitted sheets, the bain of my existence. In the wonderful world of linen, king and queen fitted sheets taunt me daily. Folding fitted sheets correctly apparently is a study in hand and eye coordination while doing so in a sauna. One must pull together the four corners neatly and place the sheet on the folding table to create a perfect square and then finally fold said flat sheet meticulously without it bunching up into a heap of puffiness. This single act upon dozens and dozens of fitted sheets sends me clocking out daily in a grossly fatigued and frantic state in desperate pursuit of some combination of vodka. Well, I refuse to give up on myself, this new field trip and whatever may come of it and yes, I won't give up on mastering fitted sheets. I will not be defeated. I've overcome greater things. A sea of endless king and queen fitted sheets will not get the best of me.

Out of The Loop

Lately, I can't say for certain where I've been mentally. My mind has been a bit scattered to say to least. I feel very "out of the loop" and actually thats pretty much the best description of life as I know it right now.  Walking this tightrope of reinvention while becoming reacclimated to life here in my parents' home has been a strange existence. Getting back some semblance of normalcy has been pyscholgically draining. I try to keep things light to ward off depression. Some days I am successful, very successful and some days I fail miserably. There was a two week span where depression prevented me from venturing outside of my room. Thank God I snapped out of it. I could feel myself plummeting into a deep, dark abyss of self pity. I have chosen to cling to my precious faith that things will get better. Since involuntarily parting ways with my car there are moments where those creepy feelings of self doubt come in and I feel so out of control of my own life. When you can't determine a the last minute how you will get from point A to point B your sense of self direction is questioned big time. I want a tiny bit of routine most of all, normalcy is overrated.  I feel most times that  I am neither here nor there, not quite back on feet yet not completely on skid row either. Being in transition seems to be a crash course in living in two worlds. I am flunking the course. There is that world where my dear long time genuine friends live where they are employed wives and mothers moving about their daily lives. I talk with some of them from time to time. We share a few laughs, catch up and I offer my love and most optimistic words. I again choose to keep things light. I do this not out of some level of embarrassment but moreso to shield those who care for me an about me from my life of uncertainty. This bohemian existence of reinvention isn't easily understood by most. So to my friends and some family I remain out of the loop. Dating is not an option at this juncture. I have discovered that I do not fare well with mixing a relationship and my personal priorities. When rebuilding a life romance is stifled. I have found that men have this habit of wanting what they want when they want it.  I have nothing to offer to a relationship right now and this idea just doesn't go over well with most men. I fully commit to preventing myself from loving anyone above the love I can offer myself. This preventative measure is a protective measure also. Most of life often resembles a day of window shopping. I am peering through each display window thinking to myself, "just wait til get my money right." I am such a great cocktail of frustration, faith and optmism.  So again, I stand someplace out of the loop.  I commit to doing the work to get things right from within. I have a few decisions to make that will hopefully guarantee me access back into life again.

Friday Night Rewind

So what does a forty one year old woman who's trying to pull all of the pieces of her life together again do on a Friday night? I laugh to myself at this question because I am coming up with very little indeed. This trying to get my life back on track is interferring with my social tendencies. Normally in my newfound state of having no young children around I would find something to do but this pesky little ordeal of rehabilitating my life has managed to keep me in hermit status. Earlier today after a much needed simple conversation with God I pulled out some music that I had not listened to in quite some time. My gospel music collection in CD form has not grown much over the years so it reflects much of my foundational years in gaining a relationship with God. Everything modern is, well was on my IPOD which as of yesterday was mistakenly erased. Apple products and the Itunes store I abhor you!! Anyway, the music that I found myself listening to all this afternoon and at this very moment brings back such pleasant memories. The sounds of Fred Hammond, Yolanda Adams and early Kirk Franklin all chronicle my coming of age spiritually. I was in my very early twenties with a young son just coming to know and understand the Creator of the Universe for real. I was so young, so honest in my desire to learn and love God, so sincere in teaching my son about Him. Many Friday nights were spent just like tonight at home listening to music that uplifted, encouraged and soothed me. When my son would go to visit his dad those were also some of the loneliest Friday nights. The momentum of the week came to an abrupt end on Friday evenings after returning home, making sure my son's overnight bag was neatly packed and he was ready to leave me for two whole days. By the time his dad had come and whisked him away I was left alone in a suddenly quiet house. There was no video game or Nickelodeon blaring in the background just silence. Before the loneliness overtook me I busied myself with chores. I washed clothes, did dishes, swept and mopped the kitchen, anything to keep me busy. When I could no longer continue to keep moving and the silence tapped me on the shoulder I turned my music on and let the soul stirring lyrics minister to my lonely soul. Alone in that little, empty house I connected to Spirit and poured my heart out. I told God all about my pain, my problems, my fears and my uncertainties. I cried about my inability to face some situation alone. When a bill came due that I had absolutely no idea how I'd cover I mopped and had a little talk with Jesus. Here I am twenty years later and its the same story with a few variances. I am alone on a Friday night and I find myself rewinding the tape back to a familiar time in my life. I made it beyond those interesting years where I matured. I think to myself tonight as Fred Hammond encourages me to "praise Him through the night" that this too shall pass. I may be undergoing yet another midnight hour and if I've learned nothing I've learned that in the midnight hour is when God does His absolute best work.

My Grace Period

This morning a very dear friend ministered to my soul in a way that comforted and challenged me beyond my state of despair. The turmoil that I have been dealing with in reestablishing my life has been difficult to say the least. I woke up this morning in complete discontent. Normally I try to embrace the day with gratitude but this morning the overwhelming feeling of drowning gripped me with a desire to pull the covers back over my head.  I just didn't want to try my hand at this day. I felt as if I had nothing else to offer. All I've wanted was to simply get back on my feet, to become vertical again and retain some semblance of normalcy in my life but this has failed to happen. My friend phoned with a morning greeting and something within me reached for the phone as if reaching for a lifeline of sorts. I tried my best not to sound pathetic. The one thing that I do not like to come across is as a chronic complainer. I shared with him my pain and he shared with me the possibility of viewing the space that I now find myself in as an opportunity to reconnect with Spirit at a greater and deeper level. As he imparted this wisdom to me I listened but the heaviness that blanketed me refused to hear what he was saying. The heaviness constructed a dark wall against all that he was sharing until he mentioned one profound suggestion to me that demolished that wall altogether, "Terrea, you must ask for a grace period." A ray of light broke through in that very moment. This was more than a recommendation but a plea. My friend challenged me to ask God for a grace period.  I whined about my circumstances and questioned what had I done so wrong that invited such difficulties that I was facing. Why were things going so wrong? My dear, dear friend begain to share more with me that I definitely agreed with wholeheartedly.  You see I believe in the law of sowing and reaping or as one of my favorites, Marianne Williamson puts it, the "divine law of compensation". What we put out both in favor of or in fear of we receive back. I realized through this extremely therapeutic conversation with my friend that although I am not denying my error in thinking in my past mistakes, there have still been actions made where the correlating reactions are reverberating in my life even now.  I began to think about the places that I have been and the relationships that I have been in. The people, places and circumstances that I have found myself in and connected to created a gateway for spiritual forces of darkness to gain access to my life.  The torment that I now feel, the overbearing weight of despair and depression that has been weighing on me has come as a result of all that I have been connected to. I've made mistakes and poor choices and I have asked God for forgiveness and direction but I do not think that I have truly given sober thought to the invited visitors that I have allowed into my life spiritually.  My very wise friend suggested that I get beyond the mere idea of asking for forgivenss because I have already done that. He shared that it would be beneficial if I'd also stop thinking about the consequences of the choices I've made. I am obviously experiencing them. This is a fact beyond question. My friend encouraged me to get down on my pretty face, his words not mind and ask God for a "grace period". A grace period? Yes, a grace period. I need a grace period just like in other payment coming due, a grace period is usually granted. He informed me that I need a time of relief and revival so that my strength can be fortified and my resources pulled together in order to face what is ahead.  I am in a weakened and weary state and I need this type of grace I so agree. I am not ignorant of the idea of grace period but never have I looked at it this way before. How I thank God for having my friend call at such time. Just like in any other situation, a foreclosure, a light bill, cell phone bill, car payment, etc there is the date that a payment is due and another date of disconnection, foreclosure or repossession, etc. The time in between those two dates is the grace period. There is a lot that can be done in that grace period. A great deal can be accomplished in a matter of days that may have taken months prior. Yes!! This is exactly what I need, a grace period. I need the darkness to be put at bay for a bit longer. I need enough time to regain the strength necessary to stand under the pressure of the payment due date. I need the storm to be calmed for a moment that I might see clearly. I listened to my friend. I did not pray a pretty prayer. I asked for a grace period and I am believing that He's granted it and during this time I will know what to do and what not to do. In the meantime I am quieting down but not as I had been in these past few weeks where depression held me in its grip daring me to even think about moving an inch. I rarely left my bedroom. Although I experienced glimpses of normalcy, for the most part I never left my bed. I talked with friends ocassionally but the cloak of discouragement still weighed on me. This morning after that conversation I saw a lifeline that I grabbed at with everything left in me. I asked for my grace period and I know that God heard me. He granted this grace a very long time ago.

The Road To Reinvention

These past few weeks I have been completely enamored with the idea of reinvention. Everywhere I look I see reinvention. In every book I read I see reinvention. If I become completely bored and want to turn my brain off for a moment and not think, I turn on the television and there it is again: reinvention. I think God is trying to tell me something. I feel some rambling coming on. This theme is seemingly overtaking me and I am truly fascinated with the concept. It is afterall a tale as old as time and the moral behind this concept is a thread that runs through the fabrics of faith, fairytales and fantasy.  The idea of reinventing one's life is tempting because either on the big screen or within the pages of any novel or biography, I've seen what it looks like and the overall idea is compelling.  A person can take on the task themself or commit themselves to the hands of a gifted mentor. Their reinvention can come as a result of their own idea that their life can be taken to the next level with a nip and tuck here and there. A person can decide for themself that if altered in just the right places and repackaged, their life can indeed be enhanced.  A person can choose to accentuate the positives and eliminate the negatives within altogether.  They can simply reveal the swan thats been there all along.  Quite possibly a person never knew there was in fact a beautiful swan within as they struggled to fit in on the duckling pond of life.  Thank goodness for the tutelage of the great and gifted artists of reinvention.  The Michaelangelos of makeovers can see the David, the massive splendor hidden within a chunk of stone and can carefully and meticulously chip away until true beauty is displayed for all the world to see.  Anyone who can take raw beauty, talent and potential and can cultivate it, position it and enhance it through proper placement and development is an artist indeed.  This is reinvention at its finest. 

Sometimes reinvention takes place at the hands of another as in the case of Berry Gordy and the countless talented individuals that came through Hitsville, USA. Although names may have been changed, glamorous wardrobes created, and artists groomed on the power of presence and poise the overall genuine talent was the foundation where a collection of pretty neighborhood girls who could sing became Martha and The Vandellas, The Velvettes and magnificent groups like The Supremes. Can you say reinvention? It was undeniable that Stevland Hardaway Judkins' talent was stellar which in turn made Lil Stevie Wonder all the more remarkable and an presentation to offer the public. Reinvention showcasing true talent and potential is unstoppable. Reinvention is the platform. A cute little group of boys from Gary, Indiana who just so happen to be able to sing and dance was not at all unusual but when placed in the hands of Berry Gordy and with the direction of Suzanne DePasse, transformation was inevitable. Again, its a story as old as time yet so absolutely fascinating to me. I know I am corny. I admit and embrace my corniness fully, thank you very much. I am just beyond interested in this!! Over and over again you see persons of great character and talent placing their potential and futures in the hands of very capable mentors.  I find that these mentors have done much more than guide the careers of others.  Real life has no fairy godmothers instead there are the Berry Gordys, the Suzanne DePasse, the wealthy benefactors and countless others with a keen eye for potential.  There are also the unlikely mentors who never asked to steer the lives of their protege. In the Bible, Ruth placed herself and her future in the hands of her bitter, worn and tormented mother in law, Naomi. A widow who was beyond being down on her luck and without a plan for her future saw something in a tired old woman that made her follow her and commit her life and future to her. I don't think that Naomi wanted to take on the task of reinvention but in her hands a destitute Ruth evolved into a true bachelorette that made a wealthy and distinguished gentleman sit up and take notice. The trajectory of her life and history changed as she was repackaged from a poor, foreign widow to a prime wife material.  I find it truly interesting how an adult can see that their life has spun out of control and willingly places themself in the capable hands of a person of wisdom. I absolutely love that. The idea of being teachable seems to be a foreign concept today but I know that it has its place. Trusting someone else to steer your career or romantic life takes a lot of guts I would imagine. Reinvention is not for scary cats I suppose. To me it appears to be much more than a mere makeover.

With the onslaught of reality television I've unfortunately had an opportunity to witness again reinvention at its height. I am embarrassed to admit that I've found myself studying some of these shows. I can't help it. This phenomena has established, resurrected and launched careers into another stratosphere altogether. Individuals have built brands based upon the idea of reinvention. Can you say Skinnygirl Margaritas? Names that most of America had long forgotten about have now become reintroduced due to their zany efforts at reinvention. Former Miss USA, Kenya Moore chose the rode to reinvention via a reality show without being a housewife at all. Fading celebrities have taken it upon themselves to check into rehab, dance the jitterbug or become an apprentice with hopes to regain some form of relevance.  Could it be solely for the fame or the fortune? Who knows? I just know that it works and I think its high time I learn a bit more about the art of reinvention. 

Norma Jeane Mortenson elevated the idea of reinvention to an exquisite art form. Marilyn Monroe was so very much more than a bottle of blonde hair dye and an act. Because Norma Jean fully and completely bought into every aspect of Marilyn and made her come alive she became a legendary icon. Before she was the illustrious Josephine Baker, Freda McDonald had a fire inside her that was lit and could not be doused. Before she ever donned a bananna skirt and shook her shimmy she had it in her all along to takeover the world. Paris had been a part of her pulse even as a poor little girl in St. Louis. This woman took the idea of reinvention and ran with it. I find that reinvention is born out of necessity most often and supercedes the pursuit of fame. One of my favorite stories is that of Sarah Breedlove who out of desperation created her own opportunities. Her tenacity and years of hard work resulted in her becoming the first female self made millionaire.  She promoted herself like none other. Reinventing yourself in the midst of a life that is not working for you in the least has to require brutally hard work. I suppose you must be relentless in reprogramming yourself, conditioning yourself, convincing yourself that you are no longer the person you started out as. Reinvention then is the routine shedding of your self limitations, doubts and your previous life story.  Who you once were and who you aspire to be cannot meet.  These two entities will never be on speaking terms.They cannot coexist. I think you absolutely must be determined to repackage yourself into the ideal in your mind's eye. Nene Leakes, another current reality show star has transformed herself to transcend her beginnings as Linnethia Monique Johnson former stripper into a 45 year old actress. She seized an opportunity and a platform to make her dreams come true. The one redeeming lesson that I gleaned from the reality show foolishness is the way some of the players have grasped their moment in the spotlight like a skilled expert. No one gave them permission or instructions, they ran with it. They took their one moment in time and did something with it. They reinvented themselves and capitalized greatly from their efforts. I may not agree with how they did it but some of them became "veeeery rich".

Gabrielle Chanel took her orphanage upbringing where she learned how to sew and later in life when presented with the chance she ran with it also. A formidable fashion and lifestyle brand was born from this woman's reinvention of her own life. Coco Chanel is synonymous with style and elegance. How ironic when the founder's humble beginnings were that of poverty.  Pamela Digby cultivated her shallow education befitting an aristocratic young woman of her day into a 20th century courtesan turned wealthy political trustee of the Democratic party. Pamela is another one of my favorites who built upon her relationships with affluent men to strategically position herself. She is definitely one of the great ones. All of these women echo some of the most interesting stories of I've read of reinvention where there was absolutely no pair of ruby slippers, no Glenda the Good Witch, no fairy godmother only a strong desire to walk, run, or march down the rode of reinvention. I admire the willingness of grown women to take counsel from others but when its time to hit the rode they did it themselves. The majic was in their executive. The fairy dust was in their follow through. They had the audacity to simply believe they could and they did hit the rode to reinvention. So, what's my problem I wonder? I guess I'll figure it out someday.

My Giddy Bone Is In Good Shape

"So I met this guy" seems to be the intro to many a story from an enthusiastic woman still retaining an optimistic grip on the idea that love can happen any moment. It doesn't matter the age if bitterness hasn't set in like full rigor mortis every woman hangs onto the hope that the man of her dreams does exist and is not a figment of her imagination. I am just such a woman and guess what...I met this guy!! Well, actually I've known him a little over a year now and he is such a man, a real maaaaaaan. I sit here and I am amazed, totally amazed at the person he is.  The friendship that we've formed still astounds me. I am tickled that I still have the ability to be tickled, to be impressed, to be smitten, yes I said smitten. After all I have put myself through in love and for the sake of love I thought the ability to experience excitement over the potential of a man had all but evaporated. If there were such a bone in my body that responds to profound potential I would call it my "giddy bone" and I am delighted to say that my giddy bone works just fine. How sweet it is to know that my many love fiascos and relationship trainwrecks have not left me deaf to the deep abyss that love calls from. My ears still perk up to the sound of a man conveying his thoughts with razor sharp wit and a school boy's charm. Every fiber of my being is aroused when he speaks. He has this uncanny way of detailing a story or idea that he is trying to get across to me, its like he is tutoring me or something. I feel at times in his presence like a silly sixteen year old in awe of him, hanging on his every word, yet trying desperately not to appear like I am. I absolutely love learning from him, picking his brain. There are only seven years between us but his wisdom runs deep.  I adore his stories that begin with the words "my daddy used to always say".  We established a friendship over a year ago and just our conversations were enough to keep me coming back for more even while I went through some pretty turbulent times. I am learning so much from this treasured friendship with him. In fact, the friendship has completely revolutionized my thinking. I have always questioned whether two adults can retain a friendship while admitting an attraction. My fellowship with this fine specimen of a man tells me that it is so. He has not attempted to purchase my affection or to remove the difficulty from my life financially. He has not come to my aid like Superman. He has been my friend, an encouraging presence and well able hero.  As I cling to my independence in the wake of my woes he stands by and respects my stubborn "I can do it myself" stance. I am still on the fence about how I feel about that but I do cherish the moments of reprieve that I get to experience when with him. He doesn't take the easy way out and gain my favor by throwing money my way. He has done much more than that. He has made me question like Ruth "what have I done to have gained such favor in his sight"?  I recognize that things are but a mere request to him. The "Boaz" in him can make things happen but for the first time in a long time I realize that I do not want the things.  I want to better understand him, to enjoy being in his company not for an exchange that would be far too easy.  He could bring relief to any my circumstances simply.  I am intrigued with him.  Being near him is much more of an intellectual comfort than anything. He doesn't speak down to me but caresses my intelligence and guards my tenderness.  When in his presence I exhale. I rest safely and peacefully. He plays music for me and allows me to lounge in the buttery warmth of his favorite chair and simply be. I am well attended to when with him. This turns me on completely and for that I am grateful. The little things have always meant so very much to me. To be with a man that makes my presence in their life not about them is so refreshing. In every relationship that I've been in I have been the caretaker and sustainer of the "us" that existed. It just feels good to be tended to sometimes and he does it so well. He is in every sense of the word a grown man. His maturity I see is what I have longed for. I am just so glad that our friendship was priority for both of us so that now if anything transpires our foundation has been firmly established. This relaxed friendship is in no danger of being devalued or limited. I vowed to myself not long ago that I was taking six months to a year off from the exhaustive work of a relationship and I am indeed doing just that. I will not break that promise to myself.  I will however, receive all that this gentleman has to offer.  I will however celebrate that I can still respond appropriately to the right kind of man.  Just the mere pleasure of knowing my "giddby bone" is fully functional delights me so. I am very Cleopatra minded with him. I can stretch out and be adored and doted on, my fantasy come true.  I receive his respect like the crown jewels and offer it to him with complete reverence. He deserves it. He is a distinguished gentleman, genuine and down to earth yet regal and experienced. He is no novice to treating a lady like a lady. This is plainly seen and experienced. Yes, he makes me giddy I say giddy, downright giddy I tell you! He kicks back and lets me be giddy and silly and sensual. I double over with extreme delight. He is my six foot chocolate treat that I savor. I throw my head back and revel in this moment.  It may be only a window in time so for now I am greatly pleased to join Stella and "get my groove back". Maybe I'm his female version of "Winston", who knows but I will groove on.

Beyond A Bad Dream

Was it a dream or a bad memory? I awoke about two hours ago with my heart pounding and a blanket of fear weighing heavily upon me that the reality of the scene playing in my subconcious dared me to question its authenticity. It was as if this nightmare dared me to wonder whether or not it was real. With a pounding heart I found myself inwardly strategizing over ways that I could escape. The nightmare was a replay of terrible and abusive events that I found myself in only a few years ago. This weird dream was an ongoing vignette of episodes where I found myself being tormented by a man who was torn between his allegiance to me and a chemical that had him in a deadly grip. Every scene of this nightmare was a bitter memory of those bad nights or days when his addiction made my life a living hell. I've been away from that madness now for some time and now I wonder why are all of these images resurfacing? Why? I sit up in bed and listen to the birds usher in the day and I think maybe just maybe these memories are returning because its time I dealt with them. I've heard his voice since then. We've made amends. I have forgiven him. I think I've forgiven myself, I think. But I have never conquered and quieted the why behind that dark moment in life. After I escaped the abuse and mental torment I found myself returning over and over again. I count myself a somewhat intelligent person so I wonder why did I do that? After completely leaving rather than allowing time to digest the despair I forged ahead into two premature relationships. I was a broken, fragile, easily rattled caricature of a woman at that time. I functioned for all of the world to see as a sweet, kind, caring person. I was responsible and ready to move forward into a committed relationship or so I thought. With every slight action, word or deed that my new love interest would exhibit that remotely reminded me of the disrespect from that abusive relationship I fought. I waged war in my most redemptive Tina Turner defiance. If I did not rebel physically I did so emotionally, financially, verbally or mentally. It was my insane way of drawing a line of demarcation that separated me from a man that I felt was devaluing me in some way yet I stayed hoping for love to be reciprocated somehow. I continued on with this watered down version of rebellion until I fully unwrapped the gift of goodbye and I exited stage left each time. I left hurtful things, people and situations without understanding my contributions to those circumstances which inevitably allowed me to recreate the situation.

So I am fully awake about to have my morning tea and I ponder to myself the meaning of all of this. My boho journey thus far I see is allowing me the necessary time to heal and deal appropriately with my mistakes. I cannot run anymore. I am all out of places to hide. There is no way of escape aside from God. In the silence that is early morning I wonder where will I go from here? The memories, the sound of his voice, the demonic threat to snap my neck in two still resounds with a haunting clarity in my mind. I feel strangely like I am finally ready to sit down with the fear and pain. I do not want to negotiate their presence in my life any longer but rather escort them to the door. They were useful in some ways. I learned that in the presence of fear and pain I can survive somehow. Although there were many moments where I thought I would break, where I would crumble in the grip of every assault against me. I was at times an emotional rag doll a mere breath away from a nervous breakdown but I didn't snap completely. I clung to my one claim to life itself, my son. I survived abuse for the sake of seeing my son again and the promise of the life he would and could live. I wonder this morning if what I am experiencing is a fraction of what a soldier feels once home from a tour of duty in full combat? I learned survival tactics in a hostile environment and once things settled down outwardly in my life the war raged on in my spirit and psyche. My soul was in chaos and now here I am in the quiet and odd calmness that is my parents' home. The memories are resurfacing. The feelings are flooding back in. What to do with them? What to do with them?  

Nourishing My Roots

Who knew reclaiming my life or re establishing it would be this difficult? As unconventional and non traditional that I claim to be I still seek some routine in my wandering. I love the concept of roots and wings and at this point in my life as bohemian in spirit as I am want and need a home base. I may be flighty at times but I am that bird who still seeks to return her one tree branch. This is what I determined to accomplish by returning home nearly two months ago. As I strive to redesign my existence here in my home of origin I am often encountered bymany people I've known all my life. They are such sweet jewels to me, the men and women I've grown up around. They speak without uttering a word to the consistency that is home. Many times through social media I reconnect with other old friends and acquaintances that no longer live in my hometown. When asked how do I like being back "home" my response is that I actually love it. I may be bored and close to climbing the walls but I love it. I enjoy the familiarity and slower pace of life. I respect the genuine people that I am surrounded with, with them, what you see is what you get. I adore that. Being home is a breath of fresh air, well maybe not literally due to all of the petrochemical plants, but you get the point. Southwest Louisiana is home. I have not been banished here. It is not purgatory, nor am I on house arrest. I am free to come and go as I as I please. It still amazes me how silly and superficial some people can be. Remember, I am still working on ending my judgmental ways but it truly shocks me to unbelief how adults can place so much unnecessary weight on things such as where a person lives, what they drive or where they're employed. To me its all relative. The exterior landscape of my life means little if my internal is empty and void. Who wants a plush exterior when the interior is starved? I would rather be fueled from within and live on a small scale and be afforded the autonomy to travel as I desire. Yes I want a home and a nice benefits package that only a job can provide but I have no desire to collect things that will prevent me enjoying experiences meant to enrich my life and my son's. I still dream and I guess that's the roots and wings combination within me. I relish the opportunity to someday very soon go into my brand new field trip here in my hometown complete with a lovely benefits package and enhance the lives of my new coworkers and the clients I will serve. I will really look forward to using my newfound wisdom of leaving the day's ordeals on my desk when the clock says closing time as I exit stage left to my colorful life of service and experience. The real living is not the compensation that I will receive in the form of a direct deposit but the living is in the life that I plan to share and take joy in outside of my existence on someone's job. When you are not defined solely by the work from nine to five this can be achieved.

My wonderful hometown has its challenges just like any other place on the planet but its relative quiet, marginal cost of living and unpretentious way of life makes it an ideal place for me. Here I have family and the wherewithal to begin again. You can practically get anywhere here on either a bus or bicycle, of which I plan to try. I can maintain roots here at a very reasonable amount while still living an enjoyable life. I now toss my former complaints of there not being anything to do out the window. My maturity has kicked in and I remember that I am still reasonably young and the last I checked the interstate still runs through the city, I10 runs east and west with a host of other means of exiting the city should the need arise. Instead of frowning upon my roots and what's lacking here I am choosing to nourish my roots, to invest time in the beauty of my origins. This place is where I am from and is embedded in me.  No more wishing it were a different place.  Its not nor is it progressive, but it is my little piece of solace right now. I plan to water my roots, invest time in some small way in making where I've come from a better place in some small way. I will fertilize my roots with the optimism of my wings. Contentment and optimism can coexist.  While here on the daily I enjoy the sweet simple things such as long walks and visiting with the ducks by the lake. Spending time with my son is a neverending joy and challenge. I am contemplative and careful these days to find within everything something to be grateful for. I read and I read and I read some more. I have roots and wings. What could be better?

Me & My Poet

So a little over two years ago some light was shed on my son's interesting personality. My son has Aspergers Syndrome which is on the Autism Spectrum. The eyes through which Devyn sees the world and the unique way that his brain is wired still astounds me. Its a struggle at times for me to grasp the complexities of his divine design nevertheless I am indeed humbled to call myself his mother. Our mother/son story is an unconventional one. He came into my life when I was clueless and naive but so willing to know true love. I found it in his eyes when I was age nineteen, a mere baby myself. I discovered unconditional love staring right back at me in those adorable brown eyes. From the very beginning he was always such an agreeable child. It still amazes me how he entered this world and found his way throughout the years in such a non assuming manner. From day one, Devyn has had a reliable laid back manner. Although his father and I were nowhere prepared to be parents we struggled to figure it out even in the midst of our short lived relationship. We were young and completely mismatched as a couple could be. My son and I grew together. We came into our own together, yet apart. I attempted to raise him with a solid foundation that was relationship based where God was concerned. I raised him in my home church which was a Baptist setting where we attended Sunday services and weekly Bible studies. He was enrolled in a Christian preschool that tenderly catered to him and his pint sized peers. He was a lovable toddler who was surrounded with love and acceptance until things began to change when he placed in public school. My boy seemed to be having what I thought was a bit of culture shock in the first or second grade. For most of Devyn's life he had been in an environment that was accepting and encouraging. Here he was now in public school in a less accepting and loving environment where name calling was the order of the day. I can still recall my very first teacher conference. When I received the call that my son's teacher needed to meet with me my heart sank. I wondered what was wrong and how would I fix it. I came prepared for my meeting with my trusty notebook so that I could jot down her concerns and make personal notes as to what I should do. I was aimed with a plan without even knowing what was wrong. His teacher greets me and thanks me for coming, I sit and brace myself for what's to come but it doesn't. Panic had set in and had become deflated with the words, "Devyn has been hugging the children". What? Hugging the children? This was my son's offense? Hugging? His teacher goes on to explain that Devyn hugs all of the students and it makes them uncomfortable. I sat there dumbfounded that I had taken off from work early for this. The teacher politely shared that she saw nothing wrong with it but many of his classmates did not like to be hugged and had begun to call him names. My heart broke when she shared the name that these young children had called my child. Wow. I explained to her that my child had come from an environment where he and his classmates hugged each other all of the time and usually at the beginning of each school day but that I would ask that Devyn try not to hug the children anymore.

This was the beginning of something that I did not understand at the time. I simply just assumed my son was having a difficult time acclimating to his new school. The truth of the matter as I see it now he was unable to read a social cue. Devyn simply didn't understand that his gesture wasn't being received well and that he shouldn't continue. He didn't read into why. He just did not understand. As my Love continued to progress in elementary school his third grade teacher expressed a concern that he struggled to focus in class and would often stare off at times. She recommended strongly that I have him evaluated for Attention Deficit Disorder. I saw that recommendation as an assault against my parenting abilities but did so anyway because I did not want my son to struggle in school. With his evaluation and prescription for Adderall in hand I observed my child and tried everything that I could to help him. I told him the medicine would help him to focus in class. We prayed and struggled and cried and prayed some more. I changed his diet and read and read and read some more. Things improved and his prescriptions and dosages varied. I refused to give up. I believed that there was nothing wrong with my beautiful, bright son and refused to have dependent upon medication. In fact, the day he came home and announced that he didn't have his pills so how would he be able to do well in school was the day that I decided that he no longer needed them. Call me a bad mother but my fifth grader would not believe in the power of a prescription nor be dependent on it. I became his support and advocate and he excelled as I knew he would.

He was still somewhat awkward in social settings and in his interactions with others but I always believed it would be something that he would outgrow. Fast forward several years and he never did. His father and I switched primary parenting roles when he was in the eighth grade. A decision that I regret to this day and I have yet to see growth in him socially. My heart ached over what I believed was my fault for not being there to guide him and place him in environments that would foster his interactive development. I couldn't get past the idea that I had dropped the ball, that I had done something wrong, that I had somehow failed my child. My baby was growing up but somehow not blossoming and it was all my fault. After his dad and I finally settled into the concept of what was really going on with Devyn he had just completed high school. I read and read about Aspergers and was flooded with an overwhelming sense of guilt, relief, fear, trepidation and concern for my son. I wondered how would he navigate through this maze of a world? Would he be okay? Will he be happy? Is he lonely? Will he have friends?

After getting past the overwhelm of information and sitting down and speaking with a counselor that I happened upon at a children's event, my heart was comforted to comprehend that everything would be and is perfectly fine. I began to see my son for the very first time through a different set of eyes. Aspergers is not his diagnosis but his divine imprint.  It is the artful way that our Creator chose to wire his brain cells and allow him to view the world. Devyn's name means "poet" and for me remembering that I am so blessed. When I named my son it was never planned. I wanted a daughter and had a name all picked out for her. His dad suggested having an alternate boy name just in case.  This was of course before the era of everyone being informed of their child's gender prior to delivery. I chose Devyn Paul which was close to his father's name. I didn't realize it then but his name was extremely on point for who he was and is as a person. He is in every way to me a "humble poet".  Just as in a poem I have learned such a great deal from him, if and when I look a bit deeper.  When I try not to understand him but to simply experience him I am taught so very much. We are redefining our relationship in his young adulthood. I am humbled step by step in the process. Each moment of frustration brings me closer and closer to releasing all judgment of what and how things should be. When I allow myself to I can learn a great deal from this humble little poet of mine. He has emotions like anyone else but is not ruled by them. How awesome is that?!!! My son's inability to process social cues or be led by them may just have liberated him to heights untold. He won't have the same struggles as I have and for that I am grateful. He will not be enslaved to what he should do or be based upon anyone else's assumptions. He struggles to read those assumptions or cues, so there! He's free! Devyn's wiring keeps me wondering if he's angry or distant with me because he is so very monotone and a bit mechanical in his exchanges. I am learning through my son how not to project what I'm feeling onto someone else. My poet is all reasoning with little rhythm. He tutors me in the art of simply being in the moment for the moment's sake, in engaging in a thing without engaging in every aspect of it, in seeing something without overanalyzing it of which I am great at.  He struggles at connecting the dots of personal interactions but it doesn't define all of who he is. He is content. He is loved. He is loving. He is enough. Gosh, I can learn so very much from the simplistic complexity that is my son. Thank you God.

 

Making Room

Have I mentioned my newfound love for framing? I believe that I have in some form or another. Well I am really, did I say really trying to frame the events in my life in the most divinely inspired way. I've been attempting to make sense of some very hurtful things over the past several months and to current, I've come up with absolutely nothing. A friendship that spanned over a decade has dissolved and I have been in my quiet time on a rollercoaster of emotions. I have been saddened, hurt, disappointed and angered to the utmost by this epic friendship failure. I tell myself that I should simply allow myself to feel what I feel for now. The results of how the friendship ended stares me in the face, a loss of my personal property and that truly angers me to no end. I struggle to be enlightened and spiritual. I struggle to maintain that the divine law of compensation will unfold as it should in this situation. I struggle to know exactly what to do. I want to defend myself, to engage my offender, to give her a piece of my mind but honestly after all I've gone through over these past few years that piece of mind may be all I have left. I am grasping for straws at the most spiritual way to view the situation but I am completely dumbfounded. I am trying to frame this falling out in the most gracious way possible but again I am coming up with absolutely nothing. The person I referred to as a dear friend for years literally keeps my property, my clothing and other belongings in retaliation for something that she believes I've done to her. Thank God I had already secured my shoes Dear God! I am beyond puzzled. Everytime I think of my things that she has either thrown out or simply given away I am livid. What level of crazy would a mature woman, alledgely mature woman of God in the counseling profession of all professions choose to resolve a conflict in such a way? I counsel myself and tell myself that I am perfectly fine with ending the friendship. Parting ways is/was the only way to go forth but I am without my clothes, my clothes! I look to the heavens and I ask and beg for an answer. What have I done or failed to do to deserve this? So, since I have not come up with anything I will work on framing this failure through the eyes of faith. My former friend's behavior is only God's way of making room for more in my life. She has been used as a catalyst to clear out some space for more. Her mentally unstable behavior leaves no room for me to question her removal from my life. She has made room for loving, nonjudgmental, supportive, genuine friends void of an agenda. In fact, her vacancy is making room for me to remember my Friend above all friends and true Confidante. This exit has made room for some much needed alone time and solace. I've gotten more in touch my authentic self and I am trusting my instincts now more than ever. I have always been at peace with the idea of being alone. The range of emotions that I've been experiencing because of the friendship failure has humbled me because I have been forced to look at my judgmental tendencies.  Because this flaw has been brought to the forefront, my spiritual attention to it will definitely make room for more accepting qualities. I anticipate this happening any moment now. I am definitely working on it and expectant. So, I open up my heart and my closet and I position myself to receive all that I've lost in time and pretty little things. Everything is replaceable and every situation is a learning module. The portrait of my life now reframed is looking rather optimistic if I say so myself.

Mister's One Redeeming Quality

Lately I've been in such a "Color Purple" state of mind. I do not know why. I haven't watched the film recently. Who knows? Well anyhow, I've been truly considering a dear friend's suggestion to try my hand at dating older gentlemen. As I am forty one that idea concerns me because I certainly do not want to wander over into the geriatric ward, but a nice salt and peppered distinguished gentleman may do the trick. It is indeed worth an honest try. Thats where I am at this point in my journey, trying something new. After my last relationship fizzled out I promised myself no relationships for at least six months to a year. Which reminds me also, have I mentioned that I have another nasty habit of moving into a relationship in a full fledged way? Whereas some people move into a new relationship with an overnight bag, a change of clothes, a toothbrush, and an extra cellphone charger, I unpack all of my hopes and dreams and then commence to decorating. So, I'm thinking a definite detox is in order. During such time, it may not be such a bad idea to entertain the thought of spending time with older men. Secretly I have had this strange fantasy to become some older gentleman's "sweet young thang". It would be quite nice to be in the presence of an older, wiser, patient man willing to be leisurely with me. That's what older men do I'm told. They are "leisurely". They no longer sweat the small stuff. They take their time. They stroll through life with earned wisdom. They prepare and plan with purpose for what they set their sights on. I think as I swirled that idea around in my head somewhere that that's where "The Color Purple" came to mind. Not the demeaning, abusive horrific older man who preys on a younger woman using her as prime chattel, but as the "other" older man. The older man that caught a glimpse of a "sweet young thang" and it filled him with that special, unique eagerness. It reduced him to a boyish heap of excitement.

Ahhh, that's what I strangely adored about Mister. Yes, there was something endearing about Mister, to me at least. Remember when he first set his eyes on "Nettie"? The infatuation of a beautiful young girl seemed to set the man aflight, but what tickled me the most as a woman was the scenes of Mister before he went to "call for Nettie".  Now I do not believe that a girl that age was actually ready for marriage and especially not to a man as tormented as "Mister" but how sweet was it to see a man actually get excited about a woman? I took joy in watching him get "suited and booted" to go calling for Nettie. He even went so far as to pull out a nice hat and horse and once before her father he made his intentions known, "I come for your Nettie". I know, I know I should be much more progressive but I liked that. We see him yet again become full of enthusiasm at the mere idea of being in the presence of a pretty woman.  "Shug Avery" was not as young as "Nettie" but she was definitely the object of his desire. Just the simple suggestion that Shug was coming to town had Mister on the good foot and pulling out his smell good.  When a man wants something he pulls out all the stops. I suppose thats the difference. He wanted Nettie and Shug yet settled for Celie. To me Mister's one shinining, redeeming quality was his enthusiastic way of pulling himself together when preparing to court a woman. This is what truly made me think more of the older man idea. These distinguished gentleman really know how to pull themselves together. They actually put in effort when preparing to escort a woman for the evening. I have yet to encounter a man my age or younger who has invested the attention to detail that older men seem to towards their appearance. You can plainly see their efforts in all the tiny little things from their shined to perfection shoes to the exceptional timepiece on their wrist. They never ever appear thrown together. The good  Misters of the world display their unashamed enthusiasm for you. To me thats whats missing today, that good old fashioned male enthusiasm and eagerness as expressed in a man's appearance and efforts.  I loved how Mister actually attempted to prepared Shug's breakfast himself. I guess this silliness just warms my heart because for the majority of the film you see the monster in Mister but when faced with the object of his desire the monster is reduced to an awkward, eager school boy.  Older men still seem to retain that. I suppose again its because of their earned wisdom. Can someone please bring back the days where men invested effort into courting a woman? What a delight it would be to experience for a brief in moment time being the pretty protege to a fine gentleman.  I may just run across a good Mister whom I can enjoy for a little while, who knows? I did say that I'm open to trying something new.

Buddy Buddy with My Body Body

You know, the slower pace of my life has allowed me to really get up close and personal with my life, my body and my "self". Its amazing that when you have a bit more time on your hands you can pay attention to things. Just within the past two weeks I've noticed the striking evolution of my body. Being home in my parents' house all of my old childhood pictures sheds quite a light on the passage of time. Body image is so huge among women and the way we see ourselves its often unbelievable. It is so interesting the way that I viewed my body in my teens and my twenties. I was such a teeny, tiny petite little cutie. Gosh I wish I would've known that then. It's not that I was thin that made me cute back then but the niceness, the rightness, the young optimism in me that could be plainly seen in my eyes. I didn't wear that optimism like a badge of honor back then. I was like many women, unsure of myself as I explored and felt my way through the act of becoming. When you throw into the mix motherhood I was just a little ball of confusion. I stood five feet tall with a couple of inches thrown in for good measure, even after giving birth I was back at my pre pregnancy weight of an embarrassing ninety eight pounds. Many women now glorify the anorexic look but as a Black woman, I hated how I looked. My fineness and fly-ness was nonexistent and I totally hated it. Yes, that's it, I'm finally admitting it "aloud". I absolutely hated how I looked in my twenties. Although I was not a straight up and down skinny dwarf, I had subtle hints of boobies and a thorough genetic gifting of hips. Now, although this was the early '90s when the baggy jeans and baggy TLC look was in, Black women still had lots to fill the baggy jeans up with and I did not. Thinking back now to young twenty something year old Terrea, I had this mousy, uncertain gait. I've always appeared younger than my actual age and because of it I longed to be taken seriously but was confused as to how to do it. Anytime I was out in public with my son I felt self concious because I didn't want to look like the average teenage mother. I dressed conservative and never really experimented very much with clothing, colors and styles. So many people automatically assumed my son was my little brother. Maybe I was unknowingly making an effort to look older. Well, it didn't work at all. In high school, I can recall someone sharing with me that the color black makes you look small, so of course I stayed away from black. I did everything that I could to gain weight, but nothing happened. I did not work out at all because I feared that doing so would work against my weight gain goal. Even pregnancy at nineteen didn't help to give me the voluptuousness I so desired. Looking back I don't believe that I was insecure about my appearance but not enjoying my young womanhood totally. I was exactly where I was supposed to be, yet I was unable to be at peace with myself. I was always on a quest to improve. I did not approve of the body that I had. I was so blessed with lovely things that people would often throw my way that they could no longer wear. Of course I'd gladly accept the gorgeous designer pieces, many of them with price tags still intact. I just could not bring myself to wear any of it. I could not see myself in any of the lovely sundresses because I was too skinny. Remember, skinny was not yet in back then.

Sitting here all comfy in my mother's home among her beloved pictures of Terrea way back when it is now crystal clear to me that I was perfectly fine back then. There was a rightness about who I was that I could not see nor approve of at that time. Wow, I was such a babe, a mousy, little divine babe! I had no idea!! I was clueless to my cuteness. Geesh!! So here I am at forty one with my full grown lady parts and I find myself back in my twenty two year old state of mind. I still have this hilarious way of disapproving of myself, my body, my state of being. Years ago I recall when my aunt came to visit from Atlanta and the observation that she made. After seeing my home for the first time, she commented that based upon my library it looks like I was in a constant state of improvement. I didn't get it at the time because I assumed that she did not get me. It is funny though, every book I owned was about becoming better at something, improving some area of my life. Sitting here today, I finally get it. That was so young woman Terrea. Through my eyes at that time there was always something deficient about me, nothing good enough as is, to simply enjoy. Oh with the passage of time, I still point out all that I perceive as flaws with my body but today after dealing with some "transformative challenges" I think I'd like to make friends with my body first. Yes, before I undertake an adventure to eat better and coax my tummy into submission I'd like to embrace every aspect of myself first. Of course, I should be more active. Of course, I should most certainly alter my eating habits. I am so all aboard with the idea to eliminate some unhealthy eating habits. But before I wage war against my thighs I wanna love 'em!! Twenty years ago I failed to accept and appreciate my form as it was blossoming and today I must take the time to love this body. Its taken me quite a long way.  As I've aged my body has begun to tell me some things and I must listen. She wants to simply be loved, cherished and accepted as is for once and right now I am willing to do just that. Certain things do not agree with her, like dairy products but I will not think that she is bad and unloveable because of it. Stress slaps her in the face but I should not scold my beautiful body because she's not friendly with stress. I am willing to listen to her and love her. She responds well to long walks. She whispers her wants to me and then there are times that she screams for what she wants. Lately she's been quite pouty and agitated. Before, she throws an all out hissy fit, I plan to cater to all of her needs, to do more of certain things and less of others. It's high time I become buddy buddy with my body body.

Oh my, I'm a Bouncer!!

My Daddy is such a Louisiana man. He doesn't cook because he wants to or has to. He absolutely loves to. Many men from my neck of the woods actually have an absurd love for cooking. This love for cooking and my father's dominate, overbearing personality has been the bain of my existence for as long as I can remember. My mother cooks because its necessary. She would much rather shop or decorate. My Daddy is a whole other story in and of itself. Being back in my parents' home is a constant reminder of the more things have changed the more they have remained horribly the same. Recently I was cornered in the kitchen by my Daddy with one of his cooking rants, or so thats my description of it. He believes whenever we cross paths in the kitchen he must "teach me" some culinary technique. This truly drives me crazy. The truth about it I believe is his way of doing it. My father still retains an uncanny knack for speaking to me most of the time as if I am fourteen and not forty one. So in our most recent kitchen encounter covering the proper way of making chicken salad I found myself wanting to yell "I know how to make chicken salad! Please leave me alone!!", but of course I did not. I reverted to what I did best as a child, I fumed and pouted and in my mind plotted about breaking camp right then and there. I found every cell in my very being enflamed. I was angry, livid, and infuriated that I was being talked to so disrespectfully and being controlled. I did not ask to make the chicken salad. I did not want chicken salad. I resented being forced to take part in a cooking demo period. I wanted out in that instant. Because I was brought up to be respectful I did not engage in an argument with my father at that moment instead I simply got mad and as soon as this mandatory cooking lesson/demonstration was over I fled. I couldn't get out of there fast enough. Later that night it hit me that it was not about the silly chicken salad. It was about how I felt and more profoundly about how I responded. I slowed down that evening and actually gave it some thought. I do not like to be controlled, constricted or made to do anything or endure anything. I detest not having some form of control. If I feel that I am being talked to in some disrespectful manner not only do I not like it, I do not allow it. I leave. I have a propensity to exit situations that bring about discomfort to me. When stressed I walk. As an adult I feel empowered that I can leave. As a child I did not have this luxury. When I was younger I became very talented in the art of suppressing how I felt and simply doing as I was told. I had no wants, no voice. I did not have the liberty of leaving. Our home was not as progressive to allow for a tearful teenager's dramatic storming out of a room. As an adult I brought my masterful ability to endure and put on a happy face to both my place of employment and worship.

I discovered and unwrapped the wonderful gift of goodbye in my early thirties and I haven't looked back since. I felt free for the very first time in my life and with each relationship or scenario that brought me some form of displeasure I happily wielded my ability to bounce. After I put in what I believed was sufficent energy into anything, whatever that was, if results weren't visible in the allotted time I bounced. I've gone through some insurmountable challenges and difficulties in relationships. I have grown accustomed to dramatically ending and fleeing dead end relationships. If anyone can exit stage left with flair and verve, its me.  Oh how I know how to part ways with panache! I do believe that I am a very patient woman but again once results aren't seen or experienced in a timely fashion, I bounce. The average shelf life of any of my relationships have been 2.5 years never evolving into a committed marriage. Upon reflection, I've fled my relationships if not physically always mentally once I knew within that I simply wasn't happy. In fact, I was always the one who walked and usually to the tune of some great women's empowerment anthem. The more that I evaluate my bouncing behavior I question if I have within me what it takes to engineer or welcome stability. Years ago when disillusioned by the mundane routine of what was my then long term position at a hospital, I allowed my discontent mixed with my obvious immaturity to set me aflight yet once again. When my spiritual walk was not aided to my satisfaction by my then church home I bounced. I see now a nasty habit of running has taken root and I do not like it one bit. I've grown tired of running and I question what could I have done differently to make my relationships work. What could I have done differently years ago at a job I had been on for several years?  I now understand the importance of feeling what I feel and not allowing that experience to define me or direct me. I am not a ball bouncing from one place to another. I can have roots and wings. I can stand and still feel free. I can deal with what is before me. I can have a voice without running. It may be possible that I can illicit change by simply being myself right in the middle of what I detest. Bouncing may not always be beneficial afterall. Maybe the gift of goodbye when enjoyed routinely isn't all its cracked up to be. It seems I've grown far too accustomed to the high of packing up and leaving simply because I can. Wow, I've grown up! So, when the urge to flee comes upon me and I know it will, I must stay put and work through it. Maybe the answer will be to remove myself but not before facing what infuriates me.

Me & My Ole Ladies...It's Complicated

Every now and again I am quite nostalgic. I reminisce and long for a time when things were slower, simpler and some semblance of sanity wasn't such an elusive concept.  When things got crazy there was always a nice, uncut, authentic voice of reason whose words of wisdom were like a drink of ice cold water on a scorching summer day.  Here in the Deep South most men have a term that for years never really sat well with me that they tend to use to describe the significant woman in their life. This term for as long as I remember was used in an affectionate manner and it usually identifies a guy's wife or long time girlfriend, his "ole lady". Well these days when I hear the term I smile and try with great difficulty to consider it a compliment or an accolade when the "ole lady" being spoken of is held in high regard.  A man's ole lady typically has strong qualities such as ingenuity, a fierce and unwavering loyalty and a genuine and gritty demeanor. Some may call it simply being down to earth and relatable. Quite possibly the ole lady flexed these shining qualities because she held no real title in the eyes of the church and the law. Being a longstanding girlfriend beyond the age of thirty-five tends to make one want to remove the rose colored glasses. So anyway I'm rambling again. Basically, the ole ladies were an interesting concept to me. I've known women who've even regarded the men in their lives as their ole man. I guess the usage of the term and the affection it originates from isn't gender specific. Well, when I think about the sage wisdom often gleaned from older women and the true treasures they were to the women of my generation I am saddened because it appears they are all but gone. The older women that I speak of aren't the mothers, grandmothers, or aunts. I am speaking of those "ole ladies" that taught school, did hair, dated my uncles or worked at the local market. The women whom I would see on a regular basis who had it in their heart to drop a word of encouragement to me as often as possible.  What I so enjoyed about my ole ladies is the fact that some of them refuse to season their speech. They tend to give it to you straight, no chaser. Many of my ole ladies have conseled me without ever uttering one word. Their raw way of conducting their business affairs say it all. I think every woman should have an ole lady. A mother sometimes can't be your ole lady because well, she is afterall your mother. There are things that only an ole lady can share with you thats completely undiluted, unfiltered and crystal clear. You see your mother will always see the daughter in you, her little girl. Your ole lady will see the woman in you, the faulty, flawed, error prone problematic places in you. Where your aunt can't see why in the world you're still with that man, your ole lady can.  Your ole lady is that older co worker who has taken a liking to you and chats with you at work. She sees herself in you when she was younger. She gravitates to you. She allows you for so long to keep up the niceties and keep calling her "Miss Betty", etc until one day she seizes the moment and goes in on you. She's the one who asks "what the hell are you doing with your life? When are you going to quit this job and go for what you really deserve?" Remember your ole lady is fiercely loyal and refuses to sugarcoat things.  She's greatness in you with objectivity because she is not your mother. She sees and understands your hangups because you both share them. Oh how I miss the ole ladies. Some invite you to church some do not. Some merely preach the gospel of "look at my life and do the complete opposite baby". Every woman needs one and every woman should be one.

Yes every woman needs an ole lady and every woman should be an ole lady. I think I'm coming into my era now. I am accepting that my youth and I are growing further and further apart. Its difficult for me to wrap my mind around but I am so not that young, optimistic, twenty something year old anymore. As optimistic as I may always remain I am no longer that young anymore. I am now and have been the ole lady in the lives of several young ladies. I so hope that I've played my role well. I hope that I've offered wisdom both spoken and unspoken. I hope that I have set my ladylike tendencies to the side and given it to them straight. Giving it straight means that you care less about how something may look as long as the message comes across. As articulate as I strive to convey my thoughts there are times when you simply need to say what needs to be said in the most rawest way possible. Being someone else's ole lady means you also have to teach some unique survival skills that you never thought you would.  Several years ago I dated a man prone to violence. As was typical of myself at that time, I held loyalty to others above loyalty to myself. Thank God for growth. Well, he had his two teenage daughters with us on one particular trip. These two beautiful young ladies, Amber and Emerald had very different personalities but were both young and impressionable. During the trip their dad and I had a disagreement of some sort something that I cannot recall at the moment but it was obviously always something very miniscule. He had a habit of speaking to me with brutal disrespect. I had not left him at that point because foolishly I believed I needed to be there for his daughter who had moved from out of state to live with her dad. The girls were in the backseat and I knew that diffusing the situation would be wisest thing to do. So what appeared to be a weakness before these two girls was actually wisdom. I sat there and I took it, the cursing, the yelling at me, the threats to "bash my head into the window". Once home, I did what any ole lady would do, I poured myself a drink and called the girls into my room while their father was out and taught school. Amber, the more rambunctious one when asked what she thought about the scene said she wouldn't take that and how she would've responded blow for blow. Emerald the more meek daughter kept quiet and she shared how it made her nervous. I could plainly see the effects of their father's anger management issues in both of his daughters: one was hostile and 'bout it just like her dad and the other had witnessed her dad's violent behavior towards her mother so she was evasive and withdrawn. Here was the perfect teaching opportunity for an ole lady. How do you share with two young teenage girls how to handle a potentially violent situation? Straight, with absolutely no chaser. You teach them survival tactics that only an ole lady can. The only way to diffuse a situation such as that one is to shut up. You explain as only an ole lady can that as a woman, especially a 5'2 inch woman you cannot fight a 6'4, 280 pound man, so if it appears you're playing stupid you don't care, you shut up and live to pack your bags another day. Only an ole lady can say that and advise them to try to never get in such a situation but if you do, that's how you make it out alive.

I miss the ole ladies who spoke with gritty truths as they knocked the ashes from their cigarettes and schooled you in survival techniques. I miss the way they shared their regrets as well as their triumphs, their heartbreaks and their happiest moments. When I long for their earthiness I go to my dearest ole ladies Sarah Vaughn, Betty Wright, and oh yes Roberta Flack. I listen to my ole ladies and let their stories settle upon me, strengthen me and propel me to survive love, life and myself.

Control Where Art Thou?

Upon waking this morning I stretched in bed, opened my eyes and willed myself to be thankful. Yes, willed myself towards gratitude. Its another Monday morning and I have not yet secured employment. I am tired and wondering how is it even possible to awake tired? Lately my mental faculties have been on overload. I have been trying to make peace with a few things and forge a new life and its just not happening in the timing that I feel necessary. Who am I anyway? Its not like I am God, Supreme Creator and Sustainer of the Universe. I calm my breathing and continue to simply tell God thank you, thank you, thank you. My agenda for the day of course in addition to locating a brand new gig with benefits was to visit one of my best friend's classroom. Rebecca is a preschool teacher and when I have a chance I try to spend time in room 14. Today I believe I desperately need the distraction of a group of little people. Again I must will myself out of the door to that adventure. The feeling of mental overwhelm that has settled over me is a bit much. I think of all that I've lost, all that I need to accomplish and who I want to be as I struggle to get from one point to another. The truth of the matter is that I really don't want to struggle. Yes I said it. I don't want to "struggle to get from one point to another". My heart's desire is to simply move calmly and serenely from one phase to another. like a devoutly enlightened person would. I want things to just flow. The problem here is that they are not. I am back home in my Mayberry where I know everyone and everyone knows me. This whole getting back on my feet thing should be relatively simple shouldn't it God? I am down to nothing so the cool cliches all say that "God must be up to something". Right?  I am full of tears that won't fall. I am clinging to little and hoping for much. I am telling myself that complaining won't make things better. I am telling myself that I cannot look backwards, that I must forge ahead. I've discarded my pride quite some time ago, but honestly I still long for some control. Yes, control just like Janet proclaimed all those years agao, "control". The control as Janet puts it "to get what I want". Yes, can't I just have one of those nifty headset mics and cue the music in my life and a suitable background? How lovely would that be? Control, where art thou, you elusive trickster? Even when I was quilting together the proceeds from all three of my field trips I retained a sense of control.  In one day with the loss of all three and the vehicle I lost all control. I have no control, at least it feels like it. In my mind I slam my fist down on the table and demand control! I want to make something happen for me. I want to fast forward through this ickiness of transition quickly. Is there not a button that I can press to get me there Jesus? I am asking all of the right questions. I am completing all of the online applications. All I want is control, nothing more, nothing less, well maybe. I want to control some aspect of this process. Do you hear me God? Taps, the mic. Hellooooo. Nothing happens. I hear crickets.  I look to the heavens and I ask now what?  The funny thing is that a great part of my overwhelm comes as an inability to process much of the pain, hurt and stress that I've burdened myself with over the past several years. I know that my brain and heart is on overload and I do not know how to completely rid myself of the residue of all that's happened and so I do as I've always done. I move forward. I keep going. I apply for more jobs. I attempt to be as positive as possible while I search for the Son in all of this. I cling to my last forty dollars as if my life depends on it. I get angry for having placed myself in such a predicament. I prepare for the silence that will come. I grudgingly make a truce with the lack of control over my circumstances and embrace that I can at least control how I feel about everything. I can control my attitude right? My phone will be off soon. Being unable to eat should be the trick to losing those unwanted pounds I've been trying to get rid of . I smile to myself and think hey, this catastrophic cloud that is my life just may have a silver lining afterall.