It IS still October! Yes?

Nothing new, Macy's announced a day or so ago that the Black Friday events will begin on Thanksgiving Day. This has become the trend in recent years for retailers. Thus, I'm wondering how much longer Black Friday</> will be so named. 

And if the Black Friday events begin to take over Thanksgiving Day in a wholesale manner, what then will become of Thanksgiving Day?  Will it too become black? Or gray? Or . . . ?

I'm not a shopper and have never ventured out on the Friday after Thanksgiving except as a hostage. Thus, Macy's, Casey's, Dancer's, or Prancer's being open ON Thanksgiving Day matters not to me except for what it says about the universal US that cares more about being out scrambling around some emporium trying to score 40% off some thiga-ma-what or hulla-bla-lube instead of the usual, lying in a drunken stupor of too much turkey and mashed taters.

The holiday shopping season is make it or break it for some retailers, I get it. And with the competition from the internet retailers growing by leaps and bounds, the brick and mortar stores feel forced to do whatever they can to get folks in the doors spending, the sooner the better.

Again, this is nothing new. For years now the December holidays have bled all over Halloween; long before the last costume or bag of candy s gone from store shelves are those same shelves being laden with all manner of glittered baubles. Happy Holidays!

Some of us, however, are reveling in all that is fall, the leaves, the air, the pumpkin infused . . . everything and sweaters.

Once day at a time. Savor the day that is . . today. Happy October 17, 2013.

Twenty-Eight

ell

only daughters

When my only daughter was in her late teens she went to live with her dad; my discipline too harsh, my boundaries for her, too restricting. The official reason, "I miss you, I want to get to know you better" struck just the right chord with him  (and me). 

Yet, I was angry. I was sad. I was afraid for her as she was spinning out of control. 

It wasn't long before several piles of shit hit the fan. 

Clean-up was a bitch.

But, clean-up we all did. She matured. I understood. He....well, he didn't do much of anything, which probably was the best thing he could do to help my only daughter and me repair, rebuild, and grow together. 

Whenever talking about my son and daughter I can often be heard saying that they are as different as night and day. And they are with regard to they personalities and their separate approaches to the here-and-now, the day-to-day. But, they are both performers, thinkers, talkers . . . and more. 

And while we are all, not only housemates, but friends, my only daughter and me are . . .   well,, just different than my son and me. 

Which is fine as as I speak both son and daughter. 

On this, my only daughter's twenty-eighth birthday, I want to thank her for challenging me. I want to thank her for being the loud, active, funny, animal loving, pop-culture embracing, passionate seeker of all life has to offer girl, young woman she has been, continues to be.  

I want to assure her than I am proud of her and proud to have played any role in her development.

Go for your dreams dear daughter. Don't hold back. Don't be afraid. Don't settle. 

May you have the happiest of happy days and may there be more and more and even more ahead. 

Plan Be(e)

This should have posted very (very) early Sunday morning, but for some reason it didn't. So, here it is now .--I'm dating it for Sunday, 10/6  even though I discovered the weirdness today. 

On this, the beginning of the week of my daughter's twenty-eighth birthday, I'm writing about my son. She will get her time to shine as the date draws nearer, the "birthday princess" shall not be denied her due. Still, for all her presence, he has been very much on my mind. 

The actor has gone through some changes, most good and some, even better. His passion for his craft is stronger than ever and his hard work and tenaciousness is inspiring. He is closer to his Equity (stage actor's union) card and thanks to some screen work he's eligible to join the Screen Actor's Guild. If things progress as planned he'll be able to buy in by year's end. 

He also anticipates moving out (again) by year's end or early in 2014. That is to say (again) if things progress as planned. He's researched some interesting housing arrangements, his budget being what it is.  If a gig he's in line for pans out the budget will adjust UP. In either case, he'll be fine. He's given all of this a tremendous amount of thought and effort. 

It need not be said that I'm rooting for him in every way possible. He has an extremely level head on his shoulders and I anxiously await the show as his immediate and not so immediate future begins to play out in real life as it has in his expertly coiffed head. 

While I will miss our near daily exchanges, I know as well (if not better) than he, that he must move on. He is beyond excited about the prospect and that . . . exuberance is positively intoxicating. 

 . . . and away we go.  

Gluten Free

 The pup got her spa day on Sunday. She was treated to an oatmeal bath, nail trim, and a puffy fur. The "after" photo doesn't really do the fluffiness justice. But, take my word for it, she is  puffed out, fluffed up, rounded edges, energetic pup. Her "Pawgress" report said, "Cinnamon did great! Just a little wiggly."

 

I bet. 

In other news . . . well, that'll have to wait. So tired. 

All Ears

 

Pete as "Yoda" 

Buttah as "Yoda" 

While marketed as "Yoda" ears, I think they look more like a "flying nun" accessory. On the plus, the daughter (who loves dressing up the fur babies) only purchased one set. The cats get to share, which I'm sure (if they could speak) would be all, "oh, goody, goody, gumdrops" about that fact. 

Buttah seemed the more agreeable of the two over donning and posing in the ears. Though, Buttah is nearly always the more agreeable of the two. Ms. Cinnamon got saved from any new costuming. The daughter's budget will not allow, for now. 

Speaking of Cinnamon, the wonder dog, she's in dire need of another haircut. Schedules and budgets have not allowed.  But come heck or high water, IT. MUST. HAPPEN! While I like her micro curls, her face and feet are much too fuzzy. Decision must be made about how best to showcase her innate beauty.  

In other news yours truly is struggling to keep emotions in check. Tears are flowing easy like Sunday morning.  

Speaking of yours truly, of great interest to daughter who finds herself  Fantasy Footballing,  Bears are 2-0 which matters not to yours truly except as in a purely conversational sense.And on that note: Must get to bed now, well, not to bed to sleep so much as to read before sleep. 

Ta Ta  

Let's See, Where Were We?

In the midst of studying, prospecting, marketing, and growing  a ton of other things have happened and / or passed over my field of vision. The picnic actually happened before the new career opportunity and I've planted my behind in the chair to write about it . . . but haven't been able quite articulate my still quite ambivalent feelings.

I will say this: at least one cousin wore a "a family that prays together stays together" tee shirt. It was quite the pleasant surprise to see my Aunt Ann and my cousin Carolyn. And it was quite disappointing that the in memoriam segment didn't occur. And even though I was ambivalent about that as well, I did bring the photo as requested. The photo I brought (and others beyond) were given to younger brother.

The above aside, I'm struck in a variety of ways by a variety of events and thoughts in the past several days since our last gathering. And they are, in no particular order:

A. Daughter, who weeks ago re-connected with her father (he had a stroke several years ago and after bumping around from one family member to another, from one state to another, landed in a rehabilitation / nursing facility in Greenwood, MS) went to visit him (and the arm of his / her family in Mississippi) this weekend past. The visit was good in one regard, not so much in another. Still processing.

B. Pepsi flavored Cheetos are apparently all the rage in Japan.  To which I say, EWWW

C. I'm battling a cold. I no longer feverish, but still not tip-top. A friend is also battling and wrote quite an eloquent post relative to the subject. I don't have her brand of being held in mom's bosom (so to speak) during childhood sickness, ours was quite the different household and dynamics---but there were some instances of receiving mom's full, un-divided attention. The memories of those instances are sweet.

D. Due to being sick, and the busyness of work related activities I'm a bit behind on the news and so only recently caught wind of the MONTANA COURT  ruling. I'm quite incensed over the entire episode and culture.

E. And speaking of being incensed....Syria...really? REALLY??? I get the sense that nations are channeling Tina.  Further, I get a sense of dread. ::sigh::

F. And speaking of dread---really Auntie Flo?? REALLY!!!!!!??? I am fifty fracking three!!!  I know, I know, many have gone well beyond that number. But, "shit, fuck, piss!!" as another friend often retorts ENOUGH already.  

G. I know I'm not one to speak, but I miss bloggers. I miss the community. I miss my friends. Oh sure, some (most, in fact) hang out on FB but it is simply not the same. No promises or declarations but I'm striving to be more active with this platform. I still have those sketches  to finish, I even bought a new sketch book, so as I say, no promises. But, well, yeah. . .

H. My former boss has continued to call and email. I must continue to ignore him. I cannot afford to be pulled back into his sort of . . . miasma.

I. Did you know later this month marks a year since Cinnamon came into our world?   On the flip side, the 6th will mark the first anniversary of my dad's death  and the twelfth, D-dog's passing.  All quite  heavily on my mind, heart.

J. And while there is much, much more that has gone on and IS going on I'll end here, except to add that the other night I had a dream. I'm struck (again) by remembering even the part I remember for, if you recall, I don't usually remember my dreams and if I do, only snippets filter to the surface. This snippet: I was walking down a street, dressed in my professional business black slacks and black jacket. An older man, he reminded me of an actor whose name and pedigree has alluded me, but think: a cross between Burt Young and Richard Farnsworth started following me eventually asking if I had a couple bucks so he could get something to eat. I then, against ALL my city wits and conventional wisdom, stopped to pull my wallet from my bag, opened it with the plan to peel off a couple of buck . . .    The older man took my wallet. I screamed. He turned and half ran, half limped away. I continued to scream but got myself together enough to chase (I mean he WAS half running and MOSTLY limping ) him intending to . . . not quite tackle him, but certainly, get my shit back.  Except, I couldn't catch him. WTF??  It was like some weird super slo-mo, non action . . . something. I was thrashing about in bead, screaming in my head, running the litany of what was in the wallet, the hassle of replacing stuff and the like. I woke with a monstrous headache and a sense of extreme dread . . . crying because it felt so real then I snapped to. . it was just. a. dream. 

And now, having said that, I can't end it there. I am going to end this episode with: WAY TO GO DIANA!!!

She said:
One: We should never give up.
Two: You're never too old to chase your dream
Three: It looks like a solitary sport, but it is a team.   (Swimming & life--I'm deciding).


See you in a few.

 

No Turning Back

So much information; names, faces, places, terms, facts, figures. . .
d-e-t-a-i-l-s! There is so much (more) reading to do, so much (more) ground to cover. So much (more) work.

Yes, I feel like my head it about to explode.

The first week of training has been exhausting yet exhilarating.

All the new associates were assigned to veteran district coordinators. The team I was assigned to has three others beside myself. One of the three, a young woman, younger than my daughter, is struggling with her decision. She's discouraged, very much, after week one. I hope she returns. I'm trying to encourage her, but she's working with some particularly negative family (and friends) mojo.

Plus, half of the folks who started with us Friday, the ninth of August, have already quit.

But, as our trainer (and Jerry Butler said, "Only The Strong Survive".  Knowing what I've learned of her life (to date) I think she is strong.

This past week has reminded me of  a sort of mantra I read (and noted in a journal) months ago: Work hard. Do Good. Be incredible.

Beyond that, one day, one step at a time, full steam ahead.

Officially Fifty-Three

A few things have happened since we were last together; my final (physical) day at work, the family picnic, having no place to go that next Monday morning, my fifty-third birthday, fear, and moving past that . . .

Much like my last (physical) day with my former employer, my fifty-third birthday passed without much in the way of fanfare. There was the FB acknowledgements which were received with gratitude, a couple of greeting cards, phone calls, and hugs from those near and dear. And again, received with gratitude. But otherwise the day (and several preceding) was spent in my room studying manuals toward clearing two hurdles (tests), a gateway to an opportunity, the next chapter(s) of my life. 

Said opportunity was presented to me (and others) at the company's Open House--to which I was invited via email--in response to one of my posted r&#233sum&#233s. At the end of the presentation I opted not to move forward, deciding that said opportunity, "wasn't a good fit."  

That, "not a good fit" haunted me over the next several days. And I got mad.  

Nearly a week later there is an identical invitation to an identical Open House. After advising the recruiter that I'd been the the Open House just the week before and relaying what I relayed at that time, I asked to be considered for the next step--a face-to-face--to further discuss the job, the expectations, the compensation algorithm, and . . . well, me. 

The recruiter agreed to see me and the first two questions she asked were, "why did you feel you weren't and good fit and what has changed your mind"? 

Long story short, I explained about the fear that overtook me and then the anger that welled up until IT beat the fear down. We had a nice conversation after which she asked me to take the weekend, think it over, be sure . . . 

Well, the week before my fifty-third birthday I decided to take a leap, accept the opportunity which meant signing up for two classes, which would lead to my taking the two tests. The materials were received and studying ensued.  

And on the day after my fifty-third birthday I took and passed the tests.  

A week from now, I'll be moving forward to the next chapter, inspired by my mother who, against many odds, beating down her own fears, reached a measure of success in a number of endeavors, given a variety of limitations and hurdles. She worked very hard to provide for my brothers and me.  She was very proud of her accomplishments. And I was very proud of her. 

I'm taking all of that, her pride, her strength, her, "wanting the very best for me" attitude with me next week and beyond. 

But first, cake. 

R-O-L-L

We've been making the trip to the train station every work day, except on "interview" days. I really miss seeing her sparkly carriage when I disembark from the "EL" on those days, having to face the long (okay, not too long, but long enough) walk home, especially in my hard soled shoes.

I go to bed Friday nights feeling like we'll rise early Saturday morning to go cruising along the Illinois Prairie Path for a mile or two (or better?) But so far, we haven't risen early (enough) and we haven't ventured further than the library or the 1/2 mile to our local market for yogurt and juice or . . . something (probably toilet paper).

This Saturday is the family picnic. The picnic site is twenty some miles away. So, of course no bicycling this Saturday--at least not early. Perhaps post-return, post-nap. Perhaps.

Melody, I know is chomping at the bit to test her mettle, stretch some muscles, get some air in her hair.

But I'm not there yet. I'm trying to be, in fact, thought I was . . . but, no. Not yet.

Soon, though.

I think. I hope. I must.

She's waiting, patiently.

☮ and ♥  

MoJo-less

**

Some days I feel like I can be the star of "The Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl" while on others, I feel like a totally in control "Wonder Woman." Mostly, middle-aged, mother of two (adults) with two cats and a dog, working for a living.

I wrote the above passage some months ago as part of an introduction for entry into another meet-up group. I got in the group but have not participated in any meet-ups. There haven't been many and the few, so far, have been during the workweek, lunch-time, networking meetings. Which I would do if not for the pesky "day" job. 

Which may not be an issue in a couple of weeks. Before I could tender my resignation, I was let go. Officially, laid off, downsized. Wednesday was to have been my last day. Except NOW the owner / boss terminated the person who was going to assume many of my duties. I've been asked to and am expected to "hang around" to "help out" until . . .  

However, all of exploits of the last couple of weeks aren't even the point of this post. The point of THIS post: my feelings of inadequacy, my lack of confidence, my overall sense that I have absolutely no idea how best to fashion my résumé prepare myself for interviews, position myself to compete against the twenty and thirty-somethings out there looking for work. 

I'm trying to affect a positive attitude, a high-energy approach to the research, writing, and building toward the next life. But, it is taking everything I have and then some. The "Awkward Black Girl" is hanging about my shoulders much more than "Wonder Woman" these days. 

In totally unrelated news, I've decided to go to the family picnic in spite of the tent revival meeting atmosphere alluded to in the invitation / fee request. 

**I think I missed the opportunity to officially join the challenge (yet another example of being "off" my game) but I will produce 75 sketches within 75 days. I'm behind a few so some will be double, triple up days.  

Revelation

ONE 

This week has been . . . telling, eye-opening, has had an air of finality. I'm still processing the biggest news of the week and am not ready to speak on it with any sense of , clarity, I guess. But, speak of it, I will. Trust.

In the meantime, know that the new Brin has a name, her own name.  Before, getting into that, allow me to reveal that I'm betwixt and between whether I'm more turned on by piano players or guitarists. This weekend it has been an equal measure of  . . .  heat.

Back to my the new Brin's back and forth re: her name. Considered and tossed were:  >Stella as in the one who got her groove back, Millie as in the thoroughly modern,  Alicia as in Keys, Bonnie as in Raitt, Sharon as in Isbin . . .    and many others, the common thread? Music or something musical, on that are in sync.

Finally, we got down to one caveat, she didn't want a name made famous by someone else, she wanted to forge her own path, so to speak. Given the givens, we then narrowed possible names down to two:

Harmony and
Melody
A coin toss later and the winner (insert arpeggio) is:  M*E*L*O*D*Y

 . . . tune, air, or theme composed of tones arranged in a pleasing succession

*the sketch is the result of spending a good chunk of the weekend trying to tame the jungle we call a yard. The rains created a condition that was bordering . . . well, let's just say, thankfully, the temps were pleasant enough and the rain held off long enough to get some growth trimmed way the heck back.

Extra! Extra!

Kim, Kanye and their baby naming drama magnetized much media this week. I stumbled upon many of the stories strictly by accident. I am as invested in their
not following the K  trend as they are in me, my own name drama, or that which brings me here today: the new Brin.
In these past few days the new Brin's personality has begun to roll forward. She is revealing herself a smooth operator. Some tweaking to her brakes and a new saddle will serve to further enhance the overall riding experience. But so far, so pleased.

Getting to know the new Brin this past week has been enlightening. And while her new identity is not yet solidified a few factors have come to light. 1. she will not Brin, the sequel. 2. She will not be hyphenated. 3. She will not be North West (or East or South).

She is already a treasured and valued member of the team. She is family.

And her name is . . .

. . . emerge!?

The first, the last, the everything.

Six word Saturday.  

O Say Can You See

Brin had to be retired. We missed the naked event again this year, but she was beyond the point of caring.

It's just as well, as we weren't the best fit.

There is a new Brin, though I don't think she'll be called or known as Brin. Her personality has yet to be revealed and so her name awaits.

I can tell you that the entire year while contemplating a new Brin there was much back and forth (in my mind) about the kind of person powered vehicle to acquire.

Mountain, cruiser, hybrid, or . . .  trike. Yes, trike. I will be 53 years old in a few weeks and while in OK physical shape, there are days where those fifty-three years . . . well, let's just say, gliding through the streets with care and ease (never reckless, daredevil like abandon)  is quite the trial. That said, truth be known, I never really seriously considered an adult tricycle. Partly because of storage issues but mainly because, frankly, I'm just not there. Yet.

A couple of weeks ago while out on Brin in what will be known now as our last hurrah, we came across a fellow rider on a contraption  . . . that can best be described as torture on wheels. 

W. T. F. Seriously? Then, I learned that an outfit in town has units available for rent. I repeat, W.T.F.

That expressed, the rider Brin and I saw did seem to be having a wonderful experience. She exhibited a fluidity that was worthy of marvel. However, that mechanical device, not. for. me. any more than a unicycle would be on my list of possibilities.

I chose a mountain bike. Not because I anticipate going off road anytime soon but because the wheels  and frame wide and sturdy and I need wide and sturdy. Plus, some city streets are well, rough.

The new (yet to be named, we'll call her Brin for now) is tricked out with the former <Brin's accessories; basket, lights, and the like and is ready to roll. Hopefully over the next five or so days we'll both get quite the workout and her personality will become clear(er).

In the meantime, marking the calendar for next year's naked ride. Let the training begin.
 

Buzzed

 Before 

 After 

Tired 

Since puppy dawg is scheduled to go under the knife, her thick, curly coat was beyond our expertise, and summer is coming--though, heat doesn't seem to be part of the mix--at least so far, daughter decided a grooming appointment was in order. 

Cinnamon was dropped off Saturday morning at eight and picked up at three in the afternoon. She was reportedly well behaved but quite fidgety. The change is striking. Even her bark is different.

She is confused by the strange dog in the mirror.

Cinnamon's name was inspired by her coat color. But, as she was becoming more blonde than brown (even before the haircut) it is clear, now that her eyes are clearly visible, that she's named for the cinnamon-y color of her soft, "drink me in" eyes.

Lovely.

No Title On Purpose

Pete: Why are you such a suck-up? 

Buttah: Don't hate me because I'm beautiful!  

1.  In other news: my aunt is recovering, albeit slowly, from her stroke. 

2.  My brothers and I are still endeavoring to stay in touch. Granted, we don't have much to say to one another, but we do make the effort even if it is just to say, "hey". 

3.  Vet visit fail: the dog, it turns out, isn't spayed. She's in heat. She will be spayed as soon as possible after her cycle.   

4. I'm not surprised by the hatred spewed over this ad but it angers me none-the-less. Post racial, my ass. That said, the response from the company: Right. On. 

5. The week ahead is going to be a bear, quite possibly unbearable. 

Donning armor. Welcome, June. 

  

Smile

My mother worked in a fish market when I was a teenager. Actually, she worked many a "odd" jobs, trying to make ends meet. We lived in a housing project, were recipients of government assistance, and got second (or more) hand clothes long before is was cool to be retro or the even cooler, vintage.

Ends never met.

Still, she loved working in the fish market because she got to meet and talk to people. Most of the neighborhood poured through that market at one point or another and she was in her element. Smiling, talking, doing her thing. She even became quite adept at catching, conking, skinning, and gutting, the live catfish that were the market's big draw.

The job didn't last long because none of them did for a plethora of reasons. But, what I have taken away from those fish market days (besides the vivid memory of the first time seeing her kill her first catfish) is the smile she wore. While not an easy time by any stretch of the imagination, my mother took pride in doing what she could to provide for my brothers and me and she loved people. She could (and would) talk to anybody.

Tomorrow is my mother's birthday, she would have been seventy-three. I found this song among her possessions but didn't listen to it until today. I know she is smiling.

Happy Birthday Mom.

♥ ♥ ♥

Dream A Little Dream

She was in white; turban, tunic, and long-ish skirt. The sofa upon which I was laying was also white. Not leather, for which part of me was grateful . . . I think.

I don't know why the white or the turban, for that matter. I don't know why I was there laying upon the white (not leather) sofa with her hovering over me blinding me with her incredibly white teeth or why I only remember this part of the dream . . .

. . . (she) is my best friend from high school. She was also my first crush, my twice married, multiple child having, grandmother thrice over . . she was saying (over and over) that she thinks she'd like to "try" being with a woman and would I be "down" for that.

Blinding. White. Teeth (and turban, tunic, long-ish skirt--not to mention, sofa). Well, shit.

She went on to babble about taking time to work up the nerve to ask me here (after we hadn't spoken in years) to say these things to me . . . that I was attractive (enough) and "safe" since I had already come out as a lesbian. She didn't want to approach any other friend or worse, a stranger. . . she couldn't risk her husband (or kids or grandkids) finding out about . . . anything.

She was sure. She wasn't leaving her life. She didn't want to date. She just wanted . . .

a taste.

Before she was done with her spiel and before I could respond I found myself being hustled out the back door as her husband was charging into the front, through the rooms, into the kitchen. Rooted to my place on the porch I heard pieces of an argument, not related to our conversation . . . well, her monologue. The crack which sounded like a fist connecting with a jaw . . .

woke. me. up.

Alive. Awake.

Jolted. Awake. After fitfully sleeping the entire night. Six AM on a Saturday. That, in and of itself, isn't unusual. The jolting . . . not the norm.

She was there. In my dream. The part I remember, anyway. There, with me . . . alive.

We were at a gathering with family. Her sisters and brother, my cousins, and all. It was present-day, but not . . . somehow.

She was there, with me . . . alive. But, my son and daughter were not. Other family was there beating me up (verbally) for faking her death.

She was there, with me,  alive and telling them it wasn't my fault, that I was only doing what she asked.

They didn't care. The loved on her and beat up on me. How. Dare. I. . . .

The gathering turned out to be a funeral. Soon, all were shushed as the services were about to begin. Why my not dead mother, me, and most of the rest of my family seemed to be the only mourners at Malcom X's funeral  . . well, shit if I know.  

But, she was there, with me . . . alive. Jolting. Me. Awake.

That's Alright

Just some randomness because I pulling it all together to write, like for real? Not all there, yet. But, "That's Alright". 

1. The story out of Cleveland  makes me ill. And sad. And mad. And then, ill again. 

2. A cousin sends me text messages from time to time. Not, "hey, how are you? or thinking about you." But, "God" notes, blessings prayers and the like. I'm not a believer and while her sister knows, I haven't made my non-believing status common knowledge among the rest of the clan. It's okay though, I appreciate her taking the time to, in her own way, say, "hey". 

3. There was a fire in my building a few weeks ago. I wasn't home but the actor was. He called me at work to say he had to evacuate due to the FIRE What? The What?  My mind spun with questions with no immediate answers.  

4. The fire was contained to a single room in a unit two floors away. It turned out okay for us, but some pretty frantic moments for a time. The family from the burned unit (contained to a single room) moved out and hasn't returned except the check mail and the like. New questions, no answers. 

5. That event was the second time there was a fire in a building I lived in. Neither in my apartment. Both due to an upstairs neighbor's carelessness.  

6. Being burned out is second of my worst fears / nightmares. 

7. The first: Drowning.   

8. A couple weeks after my mother died, her younger sister had a stroke. She was released from the hospital after a few days, two in intensive care to continue therapy toward finding her way back to her . . . self. 

9.  The actor is a play. Two, in fact. A rep. The first opens for previews tomorrow. As usual, the stories he relates during the rehearsal process are an entertaining prelude to the productions. I'm excited. 

10. Tar Baby is today's word.  By the time I became acquainted with the word it had taken on the racial overtones noted in the article.  Tar baby was one of the many derisive nicknames I wore as a kid, contributing to me loathing my dark skinned self, feeling ugly and like sister outsider. I've long sense come to terms with my hue, but colorism remains an issue within our communities and the nation at large. For that reason and more I am loving this song. 

Until next time, Peace.