ALL THINGS KNICKS

Every year I watch the Eastern Conference games whether or not my team has made it to the playoffs or not.  It’s what you do if you love the game of basketball.  For the last few years I haven’t actively followed a team, not since I left Connecticut back in 1996.  Back then I was a diehard Knicks fan.  I was raised on the New York Knicks.  I loved me some New York Knicks.  When I moved south it proved to be somewhat of a challenge to follow the Knicks as closely as I wanted.  Here in the south, southern influences had me following college ball and I still haven’t taken sides when it comes to Duke vs. UNC.

My father was an avid sports fan.  Typically, quality time with daddy was quality time watching something sports-related on the television.  We never missed a Knicks game.  I grew to love the Knicks during the early 1970’s when their team roster was a star-studded plethora of talented sportsman.  Back then they won two NBA championships with Willis Reed, Walt Frazier, Dave DeBusschere, Earl Monroe, and Bill Bradley.

My baby, Patrick Ewing, made them a dominant force again in the 1990’s.  Don’t tell, but I had a serious thing for Patrick Ewing.  When head coach, Pat Riley, resigned, then Charles Smith, Doug Christie, and Herb Williams were traded, the tide began to drastically change.  Winning proved to be quite a challenge for my beloved team.  My faith in them was restored though when Jeff Van Gundy took over the helm.  His team of Larry Johnson, Allan Houston, Chris Childs, cute little John Starks, Charles Oakley, and of course, my baby Patrick, had me shaking my pom-poms on the side lines and loving all things Knicks all over again

My admiration for Michael Jordan had me rooting for Chicago for a short period of time, but the Knicks were like a first lover that you can’t seem to let go of.  No matter what, they could always pull me back under their spell.  And one again they have done just that.  This past year my love for all things Knicks has been reignited and has me pining after them like a lovesick puppy.  After a thirteen year playoff drought, the 2013 Knicks roster, under the guidance of Michael Woodson are finally advancing from the first round of Conference playoffs for the first time since 2000 after closing out the Boston Celtics, four games to two. 

I don’t have Patrick to pine over anymore but with Carmello Anthony, Amar’e Stoudemire, Jason Kidd, Jason Chandler, and JR Smith, a girl has got some nice choices.  Add in the fact that this young team will come with some occasional soap opera drama and playground antics and once again, all things Knicks is all good. 

The first game of the Eastern Conference Semi-finals kicks off on Sunday at Madison Square Garden.  It’ll be the New York Knicks versus the Indiana Pacers.  I have no doubts the Knicks are planning to bring it and I plan to be right there cheering my favorite team on.

MIDNIGHT RUN

When I am in full-scale writing mode every one of my “bad” habits is in full effect.  The sleep schedule is way off, I’m everything but sociable, and the diet is anything but healthy.  I like to give it a good try though.  I usually eat my first meal of the day at noon.  And it is always a good meal.  This week there was yogurt and granola, egg white omelets, flour-less, gluten-free banana pancakes, and the one day I ate bacon, it was turkey bacon.  When I did think about dinner it was usually well after six pm and I tried to think about eating healthy, doing an adequate job of consuming many vegetables, chicken and fish, and very few carbs.    Then of course that midnight hour rolls around and all my efforts go straight to hell.

I am not above making a fast food run in the middle of night.  In fact, I’ve been known to make quite a few midnight food runs convinced that I’m hungry and too consumed with my word count to stop and “cook” anything. 

My partner in crime and I just got back from that food run.  I just had to have a BK Chicken Sandwich.  It was also more economical to get it with the fries and drink.  Since it’s after midnight I don’t have to add it to yesterday’s calorie count which would have taken me well over my daily budget.  It’ll be yogurt and NO granola when I have my next meal.

At the order window my favorite guy ordered a burger.  Then he added this and added that, convinced it all balanced out when he excluded the onion.  In the middle of the night, being tired and punch drunk, justifying our bad eating usually results in much laughter.  As we scanned the order on the screen he noted that he’d been charged some extra change for additional tomato and he took issue with it at the pick-up window.

Him:  Excuse me ma’am, but did you charge me an extra 30 cents for that tomato?

Her:  Yes, sir, it’s policy.

Him:  But I’m not getting onion.

Her:  I understand, sir, but that’s how the system works.

Him:  Oh, okay.  Well, do you charge me if I add extra pickle?

Her:  No, sir.  Would you like extra pickle instead of the tomato?

Him:  Just keep the tomato.  I don’t want to be difficult.

Minutes later, the two late night employees had disappeared from view and we still had not received our order.

Him:  I wonder what’s taking so long?

Me:  They’re probably back there licking that tomato to thank you for not being difficult!

Moral of the story?  I don’t need to be making late night runs anywhere in the middle of the night.

VOICES TALKING...

I’ve got voices talking so fast at me that I can barely keep up.  The writing is flowing like water from a faucet and it feels really good.  As always, with the words there has to be music and between pumping the stereo, the radio, and the TV on loud everyone else in the house is having some issues.  Even my TV addiction and reality show moments have been interrupted by the voices. 

Most everyone knows I’m a junkie for talent searches and still, after all this time, I love shows like American Idol, XFactor, The Voice, and any other TV medium that gives opportunity to those who might not have a chance otherwise.  I sometimes feel like I’m personally discovering new talent when I’m moved emotionally by a contestant’s performance. 

And there have been a few performances that truly moved me; so much so that I can recall them easily.  There was Fantasia Barrino’s performance of Summertime, Joshua Ledet singing It's a Man's World, Adam Lambert’s cover of Tracks of My Tears, Melanie Amaro’s audition performance of Listen and Chris Rene’s original rap Young Homie.  And I can’t forget little Rachel Crow’s survival song, I’d Rather Go Blind or Crystal Bowersox’s People Get Ready.  I watch the UK versions of these shows as well so I have to include almost everything Rebecca Ferguson sang during her season, Danyl Johnson’s A Little Help From My Friends and that renowned performance by Susan Boyle.

Whew!  Now that I think about it there have been quite a few musical moments that touched me!  And now I get to add one more to the list.  Last night, new sensation Candice Glover, a front runner for the American Idol title performed Lovesong by The Cure.  Thank goodness for that DVR!  I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve replayed it because the voices couldn’t get enough and many chapters later my characters are still talking fast and furious.  Oh, how good it feels!

So, if you missed it, please enjoy.  I know the voices talking certainly do!

 

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Excerpted from GRAYE:

As the first sign of a morning sun peeked through the trees she thought about her child and the possessive need he’d had for the young woman against her lap.  Graye had been the youngest of her children, the child she’d thought she’d wanted when she’d inhaled and knew she hadn’t when she’d exhaled.  Her mother had called Graye a change of life baby, coming when no one expected him, least of all Miss Jen Pearl.  She’d started birthing children when she’d been sixteen, the eighth one coming just after her twenty-third birthday.  Nine years later Graye had pushed his way into the world without asking, without invitation, his presence almost a given like the sun and the moon were givens.  Miss Jen Pearl had been thirty-two years old, too old in her mind to be birthing another baby.

She’d had nine children in all.  Treat, Sonn, Carr, August and Graye, and the four girls, Lake, Ginn, Sister and July.  All of them good and decent, except for Graye, the child tainted with an ugly too difficult to describe.  From the moment he’d drawn his first breath evil had wrapped itself around the boy, feeding on his soul.

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I SOMETIMES QUILT

I don’t profess to be any good at it but I love to quilt.  My maternal grandmother, Lillie Mae Addison taught me.  She also taught me how to make dolls from socks.  Those lessons came from simply watching her manipulate scraps of nothing into magnificent works of art.  Her craft grew from necessity; mine from simply wanting to do what I saw my grandmother do.

And so I sometimes quilt.  Usually I only do so when I’m stressed.  Or bored.  Or stressed and bored.  Or when something, or someone, inspires my creative juices.  I love creating baby quilts so the birth of a new baby does my spirit good.

I’ve only done one king-sized quilt.  It took forever and required some assistance to manipulate.  I burned out the original motor on my old Singer sewing machine finishing that quilt.  At the time it probably would have been cheaper to buy a new sewing machine but I wasn’t ready to part with my old Singer.  It had been a gift from my mother who insisted that a woman worth her salt needed to know how to sew and cook.  She insured that I could do both before she sent me out into the world to make my own way. 

Now my replacement motor doesn’t sound like it’s going to last me much longer.  I may not have a choice but to send her to old sewing machine heaven and find her replacement. 

I have a dear friend who finishes her quilts by hand.  Ms. Sharon Barrow amazes me with her skills.  So much so I don’t think I’ve ever shared my love for quilting with her, only envying and admiring the beautiful work she creates so effortlessly.  I need a machine to do what she does so easily with just a needle and some thread.  Although, if the motor to my machine dies I may have to test my skills and give quilting by hand another try.

Until then though, I think I’ll steal a sock from my guy and make me a doll.

REMEMBERING MY GRANNY

Tomorrow will mark the one year anniversary of my beloved grandmother’s death.  I had been holding it together fairly well, right up until dinner last night when my father asked if I’d spoken to my sister.  It seems that my younger sibling has planned a graveside memorial that I’d not been invited to.  Rather than point out that I had no knowledge of the event planned I shrugged it off, refusing to draw attention to the fact that my sister and I have not spoken in over eight months.

 

In our family, my sister and I not speaking is more the norm than not.  We’ve gone years without communicating so these eight months haven’t fazed me at all.  Our not speaking has bothered others more than it has ever bothered either one of us.  I readily admit that I have resented my sister’s presence since I was four years old and the old people brought her home from the hospital.  Despite my insistence that they take her back to where they found her, they refused and my life, as it should have been, has never the same.  As family goes I often think that I would have been better served had I been an only child.  But since I’m not, my sister and I do not talk and that seems to work for both of us.

 

The silence between us has insured much peace for the entire family.  The old people have managed to parent us individually, avoiding situations that inevitably end in harsh words and hurt feelings.  And then my father, in his old age, will forget and ask if we’ve spoken to each other; because in his old age, my father cannot fathom any reason for me and my sister not to be speaking.  Which brings me back to my grandmother.

 

As a little girl I spent much time with my grandmother.  By the time I was five years old she and I were old running buddies.  Sanctuary, far from the crying, whining mass that was my baby sister was found with my granny.  Between our jaunts to pro-wrestling matches, local dance halls, and a few unlikely places that a little girl had no business being, I learned many of my grandmother’s ways and not all of them good.  Granny harbored many grudges and she never shied from dismissing people out of her life for some perceived infraction that could not be forgiven.  Like my grandmother I’m not inclined to let anyone who weighs down my spirit to stay in my life.

 

I was six-years-old when I really understood that my grandmother wasn’t like other grandmothers.  My granny rode on the back of motorcycles and had a steel plate in her head to prove it.  My granny could deal a hand of poker like a Vegas card shark.  My granny didn’t give a second thought to tossing her valued fur coats onto the floor so that I could play in them.   And in the kitchen my grandmother could run circles around anyone’s Iron Chef.  My granny could also be hell on wheels and many discovered the hard way that her bark was easily as vicious as her bite.  Just ask my father.

 

Overnights with my granny were the best and always involved my favorite foods.  We’d watch horror movies until the wee hours of the morning and granny’s only rule was that there were no rules.  My grandmother lived by rules of her own making and at the age of six that discovery opened my eyes to a world of complete and total wonder.  Hands down, my granny was a loving, nurturing soul.  She was also spirited, adventurous, daring, and devilish.  But there’s also no denying that my grandmother could be a force to be reckoned with if you rubbed her the wrong way.  There are many who can attest to the fact that she could put the mean in mean when she wanted to.

 

I am very much my grandmother’s child.  I inherited much that was good about her and a few traits that might be considered less desirable.  But like my grandmother I am unapologetic for the woman I’ve become.  I own my mistakes and learn from them even when it might seem like the lesson has been lost.  And much like my grandmother often showed me, I’ve discovered that dismissing drama and embracing the silence is sometimes necessary for my own peace of mind.

 

My grandmother had little if anything at all to say about my sister and I not speaking, and until old age, neither did my father.  It just was what it was.  Granny and my sister had their own relationship and I’m sure my sister’s graveside memorial will befit the memories she has of the old woman.

 

My grandmother lived a full and vibrant life.  Years ago, granny told me that there were three things a woman should always know.  One, that she should always have a secret, something that kept her a mystery to everyone else.  Two, that life needed to be lived on your own terms and no one else’s.  And three, if you’re going to bother to love at all, make sure you love as hard as you can.

 

I have my own memories and so I’ll lift a glass or two or three to honor the time my granny and I shared together.  Granny wasn’t big on gravesites so I'll pass on the memorial.  She also had absolutely no use for tears so I will continue to hold it together because that’s just how hard I loved the old woman.  And knowing just how hard she loved me back, I know she would expect nothing less from me. 

BOOK EVENTS

I am committed to investing more time and energy into book events this year.  I had a wonderful time last night with the ladies of Building Relationships Around Books (BRAB) bookclub.  It was a spirited discussion about The Stallion Family and The Boudreaux Family series.  The women were welcoming and generous and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. 

 

I spent this afternoon at a Wake County Meet The Authors Event in Raleigh, North Carolina.  Kudos to an amazing crowd that weathered some snowy, winter weather to spend time with me and historical romance author Erin Knightly.  Everyone was spectacular and we all had a great time.

 

My next book event will be a Book & Author Luncheon in Norwalk, Connecticut on March 16, 2013.  It's being hosted by Bethel AME Church and the Reverend Richard Wesley Clarke, Pastor.  I'm excited about this event because I will be sharing the stage with authors Bernice L. McFadden, and Tonya Bolden.  And I'm extremely excited because this event will take me back to Stamford, CT where I was raised. I haven't been in Connecticut in years so it will be good to go back to a place of familiarity.

If you're planning to be in Connecticut on March 16th please plan to join us.  For tickets please call 293-866-1042.  The meal will be your choice of Chicken, Salmon, or Prime Rib.  Donations $60 - Children Under 12 $40.