I Ain't Said Nothin' But A Word...

I’m on this mission to reclaim my body. Somewhere between having my baby (who’s almost 18!) and now, I lost my Brick House , 36-24-36, figure. I can’t tell you where I lost it to or how, just that it’s been long gone and I have a whole attic of clothing that misses it terribly. I mean, really, this baby fat thing has just gotten way out of control. All my mighty mighty has grown creases and crevices that I didn’t know it was humanly possible to have. I’m sure if I were to check I’d find that certain body parts aren't supposed to be stacked where mine seem to be piling up. I’m recalling this Roseanne episode some years ago where Roseanne has a breast reduction. The closing scene shows her and the hubby about to explore her nether regions for the first time since her operation and she has to guide his hands farther up the launch pad ‘cause the twins were actually sitting much higher on their pedestal than they’d been sitting pre-surgery. The fact that my own girls are dragging so

If we have any fear at all, let it be this one. Then let us quickly get over it and shine. "Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others." The above quote is often credited to Nelson Mandela from his Inauguration Speech in 1994, but I'm told it was actua

I am creating a new character. Most of my characters embody traits of people I know or want to know. I have a friend who is proving to be the catalyst for my next hero. My friend and I could easily spend hours talking. He is an engaging personality: intelligent, compassionate, spirited, spiritual, funny, and just absolutely adorable. He has presence and I just adore men who have great presence. In another time and another place I would seriously consider maneuvering the schoolgirl crush I have on this man toward something more. Of course, this doesn’t sit well with my significant other, but hey, it keeps the man on his toes! Now, I readily admit to having a crush, or two, or three, and will tell anyone, that if I were looking for a second husband (and I’m not!), my friend would surely be somewhere at the top of the list. Right up there with Tyler Perry, Laurence Fishburne, Dijimon Housou, LL Cool J, Keith Hamilton Cobb, and my FedEx man. Bear in mind now that my list changes as often a

My father named me. My mother wanted to name me Penny. Daddy wasn’t having it so my birth certificate declares my name to be Deborah Denice Fletcher. As a little girl no one was allowed to call me Debby. My father went absolutely ballistic if they did. I still cringe every time I remember him announcing quite loudly and in a tone that left people quaking in their shoes that “ her name is Deborah, NOT Debby. Deb-or-ah !”. It was particularly embarrassing in grade school at those parent-teacher conferences when he would quickly correct a teacher or another parent, or even worse, one of my peers. Back then I absolutely detested it. I wanted to be called Debby. Debby was cute, and fun, and popular, and when you’re the only little black girl in a sea of white children, you desperately want to be popular. Deborah was stuffy, stuck-up, not liked, and different. She didn’t mesh with the Cindy’s and Kathy's or the Laurie’s and Vivian's. Debby was included in the cliques and clubs. Debor

I love art! Artwork decorates most walls in my home. I have been blessed to be able to amass a very nice collection of original pieces over the years. A few are particularly endearing. I cannot imagine living in any home where they would not hang. Angel, Angel by visual artist, Olivia Gatewood, is one such piece. It is a painting that literally saved my soul. Many years ago I was ending a relationship. I was severing ties with a business partner and friend who’d occupied a significant part of my daily life and subsequently my heart. We’d come on bad terms through no fault of our own. Life just dealt us a bad hand and we realized that letting go was not only in our own best interest, but in the best interest of our two families as well. Those first few days, with no job to turn to and absolutely nothing to occupy my time, I went searching for some place to assuage the incredible hurt and pain that was crippling my spirit. Olivia had just opened her first gallery and one day I found mys

I wonder at what point in a woman’s life does she begin to feel that she has full knowledge of herself. Where she is self-assured and confident, knowing her likes and dislikes and she cannot be easily dissuaded from her convictions. I know that such comes with age and maturity, wisdom and life experiences, but I wonder if there is actually a magical moment when it just comes to her, so full and momentous that she has no doubts that she knows herself. When there is a full blessing of contentment. When it just is what it is. I still muddle through much self-doubt. It comes in waves and has on occasion been so debilitating that it has left me wondering whether or not I would ever survive it. I question my purpose in life. Why am I here? What am I meant to be doing? Am I truly fulfilling my destiny? Then I question whether or not I’m being selfish. If my many accomplishments should be enough and if so, why am I so discontented? I follow in the footsteps of my mother, and her mo

My very best friend became engaged yesterday. Her husband-to-be is an incredibly romantic man who stole her away to Sea Island, Georgia and the infamous Cloister Hotel where he dropped down onto one knee and proposed. This is a man who insured that everything was perfect for the moment, even commanding just the right amount of breeze to cool the summer heat. Okay, so maybe he didn’t actually command the weather, but he did insure he had an incredibly beautiful day for them to remember. The experience which included champagne, a magnificent diamond ring, and the most poetic words of adoration one can imagine, was capped by an overnight stay in a very exclusive, very expensive ($2,000/night), four-room suite at the Cloisters. And, if anyone ever deserved such a beautiful, momentous moment, my best friend did. I get to be a matron-of-honor! I am so happy for the two of them that I can hardly contain myself. Their journey to this moment is what inspires romance novels. It is a love story f

I’ve got this love/hate thing going on with my hair. Right now I’m not liking it very much. Four years ago I cut it all off. Over-processed, shoulder-length locks were shaved down to the scalp. I was paper-thin at the time as well so I could actually wear the look well. Then along came some excess weight and with my already full face I had this chipmunk look going on. It was not a pretty sight so I let it grow back in. Then came my natural phase. I actually loved my natural texture and after some product testing found just the right combination of conditioners and moisturizers to capture some incredible curls. Then it got longer, and longer, and someone (my mother) commented that I looked like I had a small, matted animal on top of my head. Until that point I hadn’t seen it. Afterward of course, I nicknamed my new pet Wiglet and prayed that it didn’t actually start to grow a tail. By this point my natural was completely out of control and I was ready for a change. Which wa