Clinging to Ignorance is Bliss

So my novel is put-putting along like a Yugo on the freeway. I've been setting and missing word count goals daily since the month of March began, yet somehow I am confident that I'm moving forward. I really want to be finished my first draft by the 31st. I expect to spend months revising and editing, commenting and receiving critique, before shopping it around for a couple of months in the summer.

In preparation for all of this, I went to Barnes and Noble and picked up a couple of writer's magazines based on nothing but their cover art and advertised stories. I've read them both now, and my head hurts! Information overload and stress create a furrow between my brows as I type furiously. I value my sanity, and they have threatened me! I've lost my ignorant bliss. How dare they? Instead of my manuscript sailing across an agent's desk, being picked up, seen for the jewel it is, and immediately sold to a publisher willing to invest not only in print and sales, but also in marketing and advertising, it is likely to rejected over and over? Mais non!

Alas, that is what I am reading here. According to what I've learned, it is a lot more likely that I will need to bust my ass and endure hardship for some time to establish myself, no matter how talented of a writer I am. But something in me refuses to accept this. You see, I have had many experiences in life in which the likely thing has never happened for me. Hard things have proved effortless, easy things have claimed my soul. Maybe getting published could fall in this category? Please God!

And so I will continue the writing, carving out an ending to my story, reading, revising, and editing in a vacuum because the alternative is too much for me.

Malaise

I should be working on my novel but instead I'm doing this... filled with malaise today. I'm blaming it on my monthly.

So much has happened since the last time I've written, but I'm not in the mood for one of those long posts that chronicles everything that happens in my life. Suffice it to say that there have been a lot of changes big and small, internal and external. Points of light on the horizon so to speak.

I've begun meditating on change -- working through this current nasty job struggle change, and moving into positive change, like finishing my novel, paying my bills, dating someone nice, etc. I had been thriving on the feeling of control, of having changed on the inside, but today I am impatient and anxious.... AGAIN.

Getting a little weary of the emotional rollercoaster, and a lot weary of my "lot in life", but how to break free? I am very well aware of the fact that I am moments away from something wonderful, from breakthrough, but lacking the power now for the final push. I haven't even really helped myself by writing this, but at least I can check something off of my lengthy to do list!

T&C Photos!

Decompression

I am writing this from the ship still, and I am ecstatic that when I planned this trip I gave myself time to decompress. Just as when I sailed originally, Semester at Sea has ripped me open, shoved a painful light inside, and sealed me shut again. It takes time to absorb. I am vital again.

My day @ sea was lazy, footloose, and fancy-free. I stayed uncommitted to most of the Sea Olympics activities, and settled for judging one of the contests and playing some games with fellow passengers. I can't decide which was the best game though: Crainial Battle of the Sexes in Trivial Pursuit of Scattergories (a game I made up that was an instant hit) OR the Epic Scavenger Hunt of the Seven Hundred Swords (a game I played with 4 1/2 year-old Reya after the Captain's Reception).

The sophisticated Captain's Dinner was followed by a quick change and then another hot sweaty no-holds-barred Caribbean party on the swaying deck. The Caribean Crew, the ship's in-house band, is the ish, full stop. I'd love to see them play New Orleans, or even Essence Fest!

Yesterday was a wash. I spent most of it lollygagging and napping. The night, however is another story....

Turks Today!

I skipped writing about the day @ sea... so sue me. I basically spent it napping, sunning, and napping while sunning. That and marveling over my instantaneous transition from dazed and confused to (as Oprah says) "living my best life". After dinner, I spent the rest of the night trying to alternately sweat out my non-existent perm, and do a mean electric slide on a swaying deck. I was forced to go to bed by a combination of boredom and stern-faced conduct officers. Boo.



On to today. Got up early to the sight of the opulent, and more than slightly ostentacious gigantic cruiseship "The World", where bazillionaires not feeling the economic recession own condos and timeshares on a maritime vessel!!!!(Take that middle class Orlando timeshare!) I decided to put it on the list of completely unattainable wealth goals along with a black American Express and official US Mint dollar bill giftwrapping paper. E, LJ, and I went to the deck for breakfast with Turks & Caicos waiting, building anticipation by just being there in plain view!



We had an afternoon beachfront horseback riding excursion planned and paid for, but we spent the first part of the morning @ the Grand Turk Cruise Center, an impressive and pristine "little slice of America" just off the boardwalk of the ship's berth. I was more than slightly annoyed to travel so far and need my passport to visit places like Margaritaville and Ron Jon's Surf Shop, so 20 minutes later, we were on the beach again, the ship in plain view, grand conch shells littering the rocky, gravelly sand. The ocean was like a glimmering blue-green shield, and the world was my oyster.

The tour guide spent the entire ride to the beach and back giving a running commentary on the Hurricane-ravaged islands. Hurricane Ike left the island severly damaged, with rubble, wreckage, and blue tarps dotting the landscape as far as the eye could see. It was the least welcome feeling of recognition that I have ever experienced. I cannot escape the storms, no matter where I go. When will I accept?

The horseback riding was fun. The ride was easy, the horses docile, and I had more than one City Slickers flashback while riding, but the experience was all that. The beach and sea from horseback made me feel more majestic, more elevated. We even rode bareback into the sea, no saddle or stirrups, and raced the horses through near waist-deep water. I still can't believe I was surprised that floating horse apples were a part of that package! Good thing I ain't squeamish...

After the riding, it was back to Margaritaville. Um, how can I put this? We closed the place down. Half sophisticated pool bar networking, and half Spring Break re-lived. Boo, I know, but what can you do? Enjoy it! So.... that's what I did. But niggling in my brain all the time was the knowledge that I was dancing the pain away.

@ 8pm we sailed away....

And I spent the rest of the night locked in on one of those "champagne chronik nightcap" conversations (sans the weed, of course:)... We all know those convos, right? The ones that swing like a pendulum from the meaning of life to the smell of farts. It was deeply enjoyable.

And after that, good night moon.

Ocean Rock

I'm writing this from the MV Explorer's stellar FREE internet station! I can't believe that I'm here. Things went so smoothly and uneventfully for me to get here. Besides being gouged out of 40$ at the ticket counter for American Airline's baggage fee, I "sailed" through everything it took to get here, forgive the pun.

I'm not going to be super boring and catalogue every little move I made to get here, but I will log some higlights. The cab driver on from the airport turned out to be a spunky Cuban guy named Danny. I knew that I was in good hands when he told me "if don't want to think, just become Republican!" We spent the drive chatting about the system, the man, an extortionist veterenarian he was taking his dog to see, and the ridiculousness of blind patriotism. Please note that these were his choice of topics. This cab ride comes in 2nd only to the midnight Jack in the Box Run in Hawaii where the Chinese driver told us the entire saga of Bruce Lee's confrontation with his master that led to his death, complete with sound effects and random spates of Chinese.

The lifeboat drill today was another high point. It's the first time I felt again the familiar community that SAS builds and fosters in people. The friends that I am with are cool, but the new people I meet are just as exciting. I'll never forget the "lifeboat shuffle" and the ex-navy safety officer charging up and down the line mean-mugging everyone with a stern "Be quiet, please!" I had to suppress every juvenile high school instinct in me not to make faces at his back.

Lastly, there was the opening presentation tonight, where the steel drum band kicked off the ceremony (and I danced and shook on stage -- I was pulled up, it was out of my hands!), Les McCabe made nice remarks, Dean Lewan (yay) made some more, and a guy (whose name I didn't catch) put on the slideshow of a lifetime! I learned so much about the history of the program. What a story.

Well, that's it for tonight. I feel like I haven't done a thing to capture all that's taken place in my heart and in my head, but there is a life to be led. More going on tonight, thinking of rising with the sun tomorrow to watch it happen over the water....

Turks Tomorrow, Turks Tomorrow, Turks Tomorrow...

I've been neglecting this blog lately to take care of this one. Surely that can be forgiven?

I'm packing tonight to hot salsa, dancing around the room, and I can feel my spirits lifting... on my way tomorrow to Miami, and then cruising roundtrip to Turks & Caicos for a Semester at Sea All-Voyage Reunion! Fall2000 forever! These islands are technically in the Atlantic, but I can't wait to feel the Caribbean breeze and sip on something intoxicating. I've been so deeply oppressed by my circumstances that the very thought of this weekend is like a pressure valve steam release!!!

Things I plan to do:

1) Meet old friends/make new ones.
2) Stay up late and laugh.
3) Catch the sunrise over ocean either going or coming.
4) Tequila shots & all manner of drinking.
5) Flirt like the coquette I am... and maybe find some island action (?) I am NOT a slut, I am NOT a slut, I am NOT a slut.
6) Dance (dancehall, salsa, club) until I've sweated more than I've cried this year.
7) Take lots of pics and vids.
8) Go for a beach horseback ride
9) Not think about what's waiting for me @ home.
10) Stay if I find a new home.

Goodbye, cruel world!



Post Theme: Letting Go by Janelle Monae

Happy New Year?

My, my... look at the date. It's 2009 already. We've arrived. I should have put up a post @ 12:01 am on January 1st. I didn't. I should be writing with a boundless spirit of enthusiasm. I'm not. Am I the only feeling like the year hasn't really started yet? I mean, what's really changed here?

I guess I should record this year's goals for posterity. These are NOT to be confused with "New Year's Resolutions", which by rote are categorically doomed to failure in my life. In fact, far from feeling a sense of airy hope, I am feeling the blunt pressure to complete my task, full stop. I CANNOT AFFORD TO FAIL. I CANNOT AFFORD TO FALTER. I MUST NOT and WILL NOT.

1) Push toward weight loss goal unceasingly. I am dedicated the entire year to this.
2) Run Crescent City Classic this year. That means training from now until April.
3) Get certified to teach Zumba.
4) Finish novel. Revise/edit novel. Shop novel.
5) Find job. Get out of debt (except for student loans).
6) Grow out my hair napturally. Mix homemade products. Keep up hair blog. I have a separate, more detailed list of goals there.

Whoop there it is.

Quote of Note

I saw this in someone's signature on Nappturality.


"Between the optimist and the pessimist, the difference is droll. The optimist sees the doughnut; the pessimist the hole."

I am a Writer

Attention, everyone! I need to say this one more time, and never again. To all the well-meaning, amateur job/life coaches out there that think my (relative) unemployment is an unvoiced cry for their ideas and opinions:

NO, I AM NOT A SCHOOL TEACHER.
NO, I AM NOT GOING TO BECOME A SCHOOL TEACHER.
NO, I AM NOT GOING TO "THINK ABOUT IT".

YES, I KNOW I AM GOOD WITH KIDS. I LOVE KIDS.
YES, I KNOW THAT TEACHERS ARE NEEDED.
YES, I BELIEVE THAT TEACHING IS WORTHWHILE.

BUT...

I'VE HATED THE EXPERIENCE IN THE PAST.
I AM UNWILLING TO GO TO SCHOOL AGAIN.
I AM UNWILLING TO PAY FOR A SINGLE CLASS, CERTIFICATION, OR TEST WITH 85,000$ OF STUDENT LOANS TO PAY FOR THE TWO DEGREES I'VE ALREADY EARNED.

BY THE WAY.... I KNOW THERE'S A RECESSION. I DON'T CARE. I'M NOT CHANGING MY MIND ABOUT THIS.

LASTLY...

I AM A WRITER. ANY TEACHING I DO IS INCIDENTAL, ACCIDENTAL, OR ON A VOLUNTEER BASIS.
I AM A WRITER. THAT IS WHAT I AM. THAT IS WHAT I CHOOSE.
I AM A WRITER. PERIOD.

...AND AS AN ANONYMOUS, LONG DEAD, COLLEAGUE OF MINE ONCE WROTE:

THE END

Finish @ the starting line

I went to the local World's Gym today with friend to take a class called Turbo Kick. She's 3,000 times more fit than I am, and I was worried that I wouldn't be able to keep up...

But I kicked ass at the class, so much so that the instructor asked me to come up and work out beside her, and people in the clas wanted to know where I taught!!! I am proud of myself, and even though right now I have a headache, I feel good.

I am taking this as confirmation that I am meant to do this, to encourage, nourish, and cultivate my athletic side. I pledge to renew my commitment to get certified in Zumba, complete the couch potato-to-5k running training I started this week, and run the Crescent City Classic in 2009. I've walked long enough... it's about time I started running!

PS: I am doing pathetic @ finishing my novel "on time" (I set a goal to be done Dec 31st with a word count of 2k/day, and have written precisely 2k since Dec 1st.) This hair obsession needs to be put away, and I need to dig in to finish my goals so that I can have something to say for myself at New Year's. Wouldn't it just be absolutely pathetic to have the exact same list of resolutions a whole 12 months later?? I refuse.

Open Letter to Amex: What more can I say?

Dear American Express (and other Bill Collectors Worldwide),

So I just got off the phone with you, and after 25 minutes of back and forth, I have one thing to ask: What more can I say to make you understand?

You know, there is something about hitting the rock bottom of powerlessness, a place where you are under no illusions about the fact that you have not the slightest, merest shred of control, that things are completely out of your hands, that you are not capable of complying with a request, no matter how reasonable, not able to make good on a debt that you owe, period. A place where shame and fear give way to boldness and baldness, like digging straight down into the earth, through the darkeness of shame, into the hot, burning, purifying core, and emerging on the other side of the world naked and uncovered, no hiding truth. That's who I am right now. That's where I am right now.

Now, as a corporation and not an individual, I know that I will not be heard. But when you hire people to call me, over and over, trained to coax/warn/threaten me into paying, you offer me a human interface to communicate with the company. Frequently, cyclically, I am telling my story to a new voice over the phone, each one completely unfamiliar with my case but for the brief preparation summary screen that their automated call center ticket system software gives (Oh, I know all about how a call center works, having worked one myself). Over and over, I confront the powerlessness not only of myself, but of the caller. Each and every one tells me that they lack the power to negotiate with me, to work with me. How dare you send them to me so un-empowered, so ill-equipped, so desensitized to humanness? What's the point? I can't be browbeaten into paying you if there is no money, and none on the way. I can't make something from nothing, and if I could force someone to hire me, we wouldn't be talking on the phone. You force me to shame myself over and over with no result, morphing my measured explanations into begging. It's impossible to forgive, and there's no place to direct my anger but an open letter that I'm sure you're not even reading.

I'd love to work together to preserve my good name. You've no right to trash it under these circumstances! Reporting to the credit agencies, selling debt to collections, and suing me are all tantamount to harassment and torture when I am completely incapable of settling even the portion of the debt you originally asked for, let alone the exhorbitant king's ransom produced by the total amount due + fees and penalties. Why single me out among the many that are suffering in today's economic crisis? As a customer in good standing for all those years, why throw away a wonderful, once healthy relationship for circumstances out of my control? Why not negotiate? Take my small, good faith offerings, and give me a responsive interface encouraging me to continue chipping away at the debt until it is all paid. That is what I'm asking for. We both want the same thing, and only you have the power to make it happen for both of us. Help me help you help me! I know with the credit crunch and the wall street instability you're probably just passing the buck, but could you at least have passed it to someone with hands? You're beating a dead horse with me. I have basic math and several physical laws, including the law of conservation of matter, on my side. I can't make 350$/mth total earnings = 450$/mth payment to Amex. If you find a way to make it work, let me know though. Until then, don't call me, I'll call you. What more can I say?

Post Theme: The Recession (Intro) by Young Jeezy

Dying to Shout

What do you do when you can't say the thing that you really want to say because "out loud" is too public a place? When even the internet blog is too public? Inside my head isn't good enough -- nobody's listening in there but me, and I know if I could just say it, there'd be somebody out there who understood. I'm looking for a commiserative conversation here. Fruitless and futile, I know, especially when I can't talk about what I'm talking about...

I hope reading this is pissing you off and confusing you. Because then, you might get annoyed. You might even get a little frustrated. ^%$#!*$#)$%@(@&$^)$^)(@^#%$@%%$(&$^*&#%%(@%%)@&? Was that a little hard to read? Seeing a little red now? Great! Welcome to my motherf*cking world friend! Thanks for understanding.

Woo sah. Goosfrabah. Relax, relate, release. Now that you know where I'm coming from, here's a random list of things pissing me off in no particular order today:
1) Living @ home
2) Having less than a little money
3) Having a menial retail job, no healthcare, and being a part of the working poor with a Stanford education
4)Commercial Christmas decorations and pop music
5)My boss's boss has no education
6)Writer's block is closing in on me with 1/2 my novel left to complete
7)My clothes are old and out of date
8) The list of things I can't afford includes things like groceries
9)I'm having motivation problems with diet and exercise
10)The expensive hair and nail vitamin (55$ a pop) I tried gave me breakouts and set my crotch on fire (not kidding)...I did get it for free if you're wondering...
11)I may be over the weight limit for the horseback riding beach adventure I signed up for next month
12) I lack the willpower to do low carb again
13) I hate my parent's church but can't do anything about it
14) My family is all going different directions for the holidays and after Christmas I will be left alone in this house while everyone else lives their life
15) Lack of employment is forcing me to consider applying for the police department. I will have to submit to extensive background checks, polygraph, multiple interviews... but at least it's a salary + benefits
16) You probably didn't even read this far and I'm probably talking to myself

Grrrrrrr!

Post Theme: Papercut by Linkin Park

New Hair Fotki!

I've become obsessed with my hair and all thing naptural. After three days of hair information gathering, learning, and stalking girls with fierce natural curls, I've set up a fotki to document my long journey to the African tigress mane I was born to wear. Watch me work, hey!
You can visit here.

Resilience

Been thinking a lot about this quality lately and what it really means. It's everywhere I look, hiding around every corner, breaking into my thoughts at unexpected times, even woven into the fabric of my manuscript.

Maybe, just maybe, that's what this year has been all about. As anyone that knows me knows, this year has been a train wreck for me, especially on paper. I never managed to find a job, I have less money than perhaps ever and more bills! I am 28, single, unmarried, and about as likely to do anything adult (buy a home, have good credit, date, marry, have sex, kids, etc) as your average 6th grader. Chances of that changing anytime soon? Slim to none. I've managed to finish out the year having re-gained the weight I lost, quit the job I got hired for after a month, attended 3 funerals in another month, traveled to Atlanta 4 times for my grammy, and unwillingly cut off all my hair.

But that's not how I actually feel. And that's the amazing part. Astoundingly there is happiness and joy in my life. Most importantly there is peace. God told me that I would lay aside every weight in 2008 sometime in December of 2007:

Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us...
Hebrews 12:1

I thought it was a joke, a word game, and I prayed that if it wasn't He was talking about weight loss. (Yeah, no.) I was short-sighted and simplistic. (Big surprise.) In lieu of pounds, I've lain aside huge portions of:
1) pride
2) false sense of control
3) dependence on anything but God to provide for me
4) apathy about the political process and my ability to affect change in the world
5) blocks and obstacles to my creativity and motivation for writing
6) materialism, consumer culture, and the technical imperative

Those are some pretty big weights! I still have more things to set down before I can run completely unfettered, but I am happy with this, because with each stone I set down, I get lighter and lighter, and can run faster and faster, fly higher and higher. This direction takes me so much closer to God.

The end of the year finds me still @ a crossroads in life-- that's the running with patience part-- and I am possessed of resilience, joy, peace, and a more unshakeable faith than 12 months ago. It occurs to me that these priceless lessons are taught by the experience of living. There is no class, no preparation for these tests. The test just goes on and on until you pass it. That's about as exciting as a lifelong pop bar exam, but it worketh resilience in me. Maybe this really has been the best year ever. And to God I say: "thank you.

Hair Coup!

Yesterday was a milestone in my personal hair history. A terrible milestone. A hair coup d'etat. Here is what I posted to the nanowrimo message board:

SUBJECT: I CUT ALL MY HAIR OFF!

Did you see the subject? Yeah. It's true! *headdesk*

As of last Friday, I was rolling right along, nanoing like a champ. Then my great aunt died. And there was the funeral, and the house guests, and a big family Thanksgiving, and everyone making demands on my time, and getting scheduled to work every night until midnight at Blockbuster.

So... I determined that I would be able to work on it this weekend since everyone's gone home today and I have the weekend off. I had planned to get 10K today. I had not planned to CUT ALL MY HAIR OFF!

This is what happened: I spent the morning seeing everyone off. Then I need to take a moment to take care of my hair. Without getting into all the intricacies, I removed a braid style and washed it. Imagine my surprise WHEN MY HAIR FORMED A MASSIVE DREADLOCK! Yes, just one. (Yes, I'm black.)

After I spent two hours calling my hair stylist, drenching my hair in oil, conditioner, and other disgusting and greasy substances, I came to the conclusion that my hair was done for. I panicked at missing the whole day for my nano. I had a big cry. THEN I CUT IT ALL OFF! I went from shoulder length hair to 3 inches of hair in a teeny weeny afro. There are no words... only tears. *cries*

These are the things that I look like:
1) A swan hatchling
2) A refugee
3) A wood-chipper hair accident victim
4) A base-head
5) Don-isha King (Don King's daughter with shorter hair)
6) A puppy
7) GI Jane
8) A dude

Note: none of these things are flattering because I look a hot ass mess. For real. There are no words. *plays taps for dead hair lying in clumps on bathroom floor*

Lastly, as you can see, my nano is late and behind. I am going to give it my all to get across the finish line, but I feel like my plot is stalled. I know what is supposed to happen, but have no idea how to execute. Maybe I should cut all my main character's hair off? Help!

____________________________________________________________________

Okay, I could talk about this all night and day, but that would be soooo obviously procrastinating from my nano, and I have 15K words to write before midnight tomorrow, not to mention 2/3s of my plot to write. I did want to say thanks a bunch to my Sisterhood that stepped in to cry, pray and cut along, and that have helped me recover to see this as a good thing, the threshold to another long period of wonderful natural hair. Portia, Sara, Brittany, Mommy -- don't know what I'd do without you! Your spirit will travel with me when I get to a hairdresser to get it cut all even!

See below: a moment of zen!

Blog Neglect...

If it were a crime, I'd be tried, convicted and under the jail by now. My only excuse: it's for a worthy cause.

First, I'd dedicated it all for the Obama/Biden '08 campaign, and you see how worthy that was -- yes we can! I refuse to apologize.

Second, I'm competing in Nanowrimo this year -- just the immense production (complete with 120K+ participants, websites, forums, prizes, jokes, and cheering support) that I need to get me launched into the massive noveling and screenplay career that I've been dreaming of for a few years now. I mean, what was holding me back? Shit all, to be honest. I was stagnating in ridiculous dead-end, soul-sucking, and under-earning jobs. I have been ever since I started working, with few notable exceptions. The only solution for me? Never working for a boss again, breaking the yoke of stale routines, becoming an independent and self-supported businessperson, selling my word art and living by the pen (which is mightier than the sword, though I probably don't need to remind anyone of this).

My role model: Barack Obama. I've come to realize that the man is many things, one of them a fantastic writer. Most of his income up to this point has come from book sales. He even has a Grammy from one of his books on tape! This revelation has galvanized me. I shouldn't be surprised. The man is a consummate overachiever, an ivy-league egghead and his own worst critic, certain that with enough hard work he can save the world, or as much of the world that will cooperate. In way too many ways, the Obamas are like looking into an enchanted mirror for me. They're self-actualized (and thin!) in a way that I hope and pray to be when I get to that age.

But enough hero worship from a woman old enough to know better. This was about guilt and confessions, and so we come full circle. I've been guilty of blog neglect. But maybe this is the end of the trend (no bailout necessary)?

Before I go, an update on the noveling: I'm about 23K wds in, slightly behind goal, but confident I'll murder the 50K finish line by the end of next week at the current rate I'm writing (about 3500 wds/day). I've been hanging out @ Bankhouse Coffee in downtown Long Beach. I've been taking a page out of Oprah's magazine and doing my best to live my best life, riding my mom's old beach comber bike the 3 miles or so and back everyday. Camping out in the corner, enjoying the perfect weather, the breeze, the sunshine, and the custom playlists on my ipod. I'm poor as a church mouse, but feeling more in control of my life and fulfilled than I've felt in years and years. There's really nowhere else to go but up and nothing to lean on other than God who goes before me as a banner of victory. My faith these days really is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of which is (currently) unseen. My heart is also filled with joy which is His gift of strength to me while I navigate this labyrinth.

Lastly, a prayer for the soul and memory of my friend, the late Nju Njoroge, a classmate of mine from Stanford. His memory is real, and so is the grief, and his presence will surely be missed. He was such a beautiful soul, a vital presence, that for many the sun is obscured today and in the foreseeable future. May God send a massive outpouring of peace, ministering comfort, and love to every single person that needs it, and bless us all to lean on each other, and keep each other lifted and moving forward while the sadness is debilitating, and until we can be reunited on the other side. Amen.

PS: Post Theme: Home by Bilal

Dr. Wicked is Saving My Nano!

	1461
63
lab.drwicked.com

Hail To The Chief: Obama Party Playlist

Feeling the Hand of God

My grammy is amazing.

"Our mother is so happy for having voted. She is proud to know that her vote went in and when the tallys are counted that hers is there. I talked with her today and she talked almost 30 minutes about how happy she was and she just thanked everybody that had any part in making it happen. Thank you for being serious enough to follow through. It is the only way that the elderly can vote and maintain some dignity about their life at that age. Mom is a blessed women at 88 to have seen all the major events of the 20th Century and then to vote for someone of color. She feels as though she has felt the Hand of God!"

When I saw this email that my mother sent to the family to thank them about being so vigilant in fighting to keep my grandmother's name from being purged after being displaced by Katrina, and getting her ballot shipped so that she could vote absentee, I cried. I've read the moving human interest pieces about elderly black people across America getting to the polls for this election, but this brings the story home for me.

My grandmother was born in New Orleans in 1920. She was so poor that she spent time in an orphanage even though her parents were alive, so poor that she wore two left shoes-- mens size 10, orange-- that her family bought at a rummage sale to school. Her story is the story of many, the story of a frontliner to the life I of privilege that I lead today. She didn't finish high school, but she's finishing first in life. After raising 12 kids, some of whom (like my mom) were PRE Brown vs. the Board of the Education grade school de-segregators, and some of whom (my mom's 4 older siblings) fled the Jim Crow South never to return.

What a life! I can't imagine it, and that was precisely her goal. That a granddaughter such as I would have a different life, one protected from such experiences, where such abject poverty and oppression would exist only in my imagination. As I place myself in her shoes -- her two left shoes -- I am moved by the long race she's run with such a handicap. I am moved to feel the full gale force of this revolution in a way that I never could without her example. After such a life as she has lived, the things that she has seen, the things that she has felt, this bone fide wise woman has cast her vote, and feels the very hand of God on it. Who am I to argue with that? Go grammy! I bless God for the gift of you.