Thursday, June 25, 2009


He’d been 13. I’d been 10 and I was head over heels in love. So much so that when he and his brothers were playing Madison Square Garden just weeks after my birthday, my parents purchased tickets for us all to go. At the last minute my father was unable to get away from work. Without a ride those precious Jackson 5 tickets were doomed to go to waste. I’d been devastated until my mother discovered that one of the local churches was taking a busload of its congregation to the concert. Finagling three seats for her, my sister, and I, we headed for New York. This was a true feat because my mother was NOT a bus riding woman.

I wore a new dress and was excited when my grandmother volunteered to take me to the hairdresser to get my hair done. That was a first because I hated to go to the beauty shop with a passion but I would have done anything in the world to look good for my guy.

I had it all planned out, too. During intermission I would head to the little girl’s room. He would be headed to the little boy’s room. We would accidently bump into each other and he would fall madly in love with me. It was supposed to have been my destiny. A few thousand other little girls had the exact same thought and not one of us ran into him that day. I remember crying for hours after we arrived back home.

Michael Jackson died this afternoon. The initial reports say he suffered a cardiac arrest. He was 50 and is survived by three children: Michael Joseph Jackson, Jr., Paris Michael Katherine Jackson and Prince "Blanket" Michael Jackson II.

I grew up with Michael Jackson when he was not so eccentric. He was black and beautiful, his ethnic features looking like those of my father, and my uncles and my cousins. He was supposed to father my four kids so you know he had to be doing something right. When it all went south my heart pined for Lionel Richie but I would still dance to Michael and remember when.

His music will always be legendary. The loss absolutely breaks my heart. My thoughts and prayers go out to his mother, his children, and the rest of the Jackson family.


I woke up in a very sweet place this morning, feeling exceptionally loved and blessed. Been tap-dancing ever since. On the way to my office I popped in my Bobby McFerrin/Yo-Yo Ma CD and just skated all the way down the highway. I'm a big Bobby McFerrin fan. And for no particular reason at all this one song made me particularly happy.

Tuesday, June 23, 2009


Since the divorce and separation I have been introduced to a ton of single men. Well-meaning family and friends have found it necessary to search out every unattached Tom, Dick and Harry for me to get to know, hopeful that something might come from it.

Typically, right after hello, and right before the how are you, I know that there will be no connection of any type or kind to be made. On a few very rare occasions I actually meant it when I told them that I was glad to meet them. More times than not though that first introduction proved to be a last encounter. Only a precious few have attained the status of friend.

Then I met my very special guy. From day one there was something about his spirit that moved me like no other man had ever moved me before. We’ve been growing together ever since.

Despite knowing that there is someone in my life, folks still like to pass me the names and numbers of guy friends they think I should get to know. More times than not I don’t make anything of it, losing those names and numbers as quickly as I receive them. Other times I feel obligated to at least make a connection and say hello.

Recently, a family friend wanted me to meet a relative. He was a great guy, very sweet, a true gentleman and he made me laugh. I think it was human nature to be curious but I was also acutely aware that I already had a great, very sweet, true gentleman, who made me laugh. My very special friend was also a man who had touched my spirit. I couldn’t begin to fathom developing anything new when I already had a relationship that meant the world to me. It made for a very awkward situation. Wanting to be sensitive to everyone’s feelings I didn’t want my very special friend to think that I was being disrespectful of him and us, in any form or fashion. Nor did I want my new acquaintance to get the wrong impression about something that was not going to develop between us.

What the experience forced me to do was define what I had refused to define. I was made to acknowledge emotion that I had just allowed to be, not believing I needed to give it a name before I was ready to.

My very special friend knows me better than I know myself sometimes. He also keeps me grounded. I feel safe and secure in his presence and being away from him tears at my spirit. I wouldn’t want to lose what we share for anything else in this world. That man has my heart like no one has ever had my heart before.

Sitting with my granny this evening she asked me how my guy was. After a moment of reflection, I told her. “He loves me. He loves me very much.”

She smiled and chuckled softly. Then she said all-knowingly, “You love him, too.”

And I do. So much so that I couldn’t wait to get to him to tell him that he has my heart and soul. I love him and I want everyone else to know.

Sunday, June 21, 2009


It became necessary to step out of my normal routine to reassess and regroup. I have a major deadline looming and two books due which are in varying stages of completion. Neither is even remotely close to being where they should be but I’ve been distracted.

Being distracted had begun to cause me some angst and so I took off to my happy place to spend some quality alone time.

Taking time to linger and listen to my inner voice allowed me to find some clarity. Clarity allowed me to answer some hard questions and make some serious decisions. Then I went back to writing, the words flowing faster than I could capture them on paper.

Sometimes, taking a step back from well-meaning friends and family can prove to be invaluable. Not everyone knows best. Nor do they always know everything. Frequently, other people’s personal whims and wishes can get all up in your way. That’s why I cut off my cell phone, slipped quietly out of town, and gave myself some much needed breathing room.

It’s all good. I’m even better. And I am writing.

Friday, June 19, 2009


As we head into Father’s Day weekend I want to acknowledge all the incredible men who are doing it right. I was raised by a wonderful man. My father, from the moment of my conception, was a true, hands-on, strict, loving and attentive father. I was the girl child who gave him hell from the get-go but he never let me forget how much I was loved. My daddy set a standard that few men have been able to meet. (That’s why my baby sister is still single, but you didn’t hear that from me!) It’s also why I am so particular about the men I will open up my heart to. I’m sorry to say that wasn’t always the case, but the lessons have since been learned and learned well.

My very special friend is an amazing father. The oldest son of six children, he stepped up to the plate to help his mother with his younger siblings before he had barely reached adulthood himself. His own son can never deny how magnificent a father he has been. The bond and relationship between the two is testament to just how exceptional a parent this man has been.

I recently met another father, a very sweet man, doing everything in his power to insure his baby boy will be a productive member of society with a good, kind, and loving spirit. He got it right with his older sons. I have no doubt that he will get it right with the youngest.

My dear sweet friend, Mr. Ben, reminded me the other day that he hadn’t always been a good father. “But I’m still workin’ on it!” he said, winking an eye in his son’s direction. Number One Son repaid the gesture with a thumbs up and a wide smile. Later, he filled me in on a secret. “My father is priceless,” he said, fighting to contain a tear.

I had to agree. And I had to thank God for every father who is.

May each of you DADS have a safe, blessed and HAPPY FATHER’S DAY!

Wednesday, June 17, 2009


He has beautiful eyes. A woman could lose herself in his eyes if she were so inclined. Lost in his eyes she can imagine herself wrapped in his arms. Wrapped in his arms she might fathom the possibilities. Until they sat face to face, enjoying each other’s company for the first time, he had only been a seductive voice on the other end of a telephone. Conversation had come easily as they navigated a path of discovery. He had made her laugh, the wealth of it warming her spirit.

But losing herself in his eyes isn’t a luxury she can afford right now. There’s a time and a place for all things and this thing has come way too fast, at a moment when possibilities cannot be fathomed. So face to face she tried to ignore what she saw in his eyes, choosing instead to focus on the bad timing and the wrong place they found themselves in.

She pretended to ignore the warm hand that held tight to hers and the fingers that danced gingerly against the small of her back. Easy caresses and a light touch drew her too easily to those eyes. So instead, she sought comfort in that awkward moment before a first kiss that shouldn’t have been a kiss at all and timing that was too wrong to ever be right.

But she can’t stop thinking about losing herself in his eyes.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009


The old woman is giving everyone a fit at the nursing facility. She has more bad days than she has good. We were thinking short-term rehabilitation and now we have to consider a long-term institution. I am missing her not being home so much that it hurts. I am also trying to prepare myself for the inevitable, whenever God wills that to happen.

She could be a prickly pain in my left cheek but I'd give anything to have my grandma's hands give me one good pinch, one more time.

Monday, June 15, 2009


Whew! Am I tired! I am almost glad to see this weekend come to an end. It has been a rollercoaster of extremely high ups and extremely low lows. For a while there I wasn’t quite sure what was going on with me. You can just imagine what everyone else was thinking.

My favorite cousin gave me the swift kick I apparently needed and things began to slowly fall into place. According to him it was as if I were standing on the edge, ready to jump, and someone just needed to talk me down.

I have endured a great deal of loss in the past couple of years. My eldest son started the cycle, passing too quickly from cancer. I ended my failed marriage. All of my kids have moved on without me. My career seems to have floundered. Now, my beloved grandmother is barely hanging on by a thread and I am having to face the mortality of my parents who are both suffering from failing health. And to add insult to injury, my two dogs died.

I have barely been holding on, trying to pretend that things were well when in fact they were not. It has been too much in a very short period of time and just like that the last straw finally snapped what little fortitude I had left.

I have bumped heads with folks I love most and over things that weren’t worth bumping heads about. And now I am tired.

It’s time for a serious break. I need to grieve, to walk myself through the many stages of bereavement that are haunting me. Then I need to regroup and reclaim everything that has been good for me and even better to me.

Say a prayer for me. Please.

Sunday, June 14, 2009


I’d been nineteen years old, already married, already raising four kids with a fifth on the way and I had asked the ex-hubby a very important question about our relationship. He responded, “In time.”

Fast forward some twenty-plus years later and what I had asked that man has still yet to materialize. “In time” never happened.

Recently, I asked my very special friend a very important question about our relationship. He responded, “In time.”

It was a true déjà vu moment.

But this time around I don’t have twenty-plus years to see whether or not it will ever come to fruition. Nor am I interested in weathering the disappointment if it doesn’t.

I think my propensity for asking men very important questions has run its course. I realized that I already knew what both their answers were going to be before I even ventured to put myself out there. It doesn't take rocket science to know that I’ve been asking the wrong people what I want to know. I need to be looking to myself for the answers. "In Time" has proven to be a very worthy teacher.

I am really like this growth thing. I am having one heck of a ball as I walk this path of self-discovery. It amazes me each time I walk up, and I can smile, and feel accomplished and know that I truly am blessed no matter what might have tried to set me back.

The sun is shining brightly and I feel really, really good. Now I’m going to grab me a shower, throw on a pretty dress and have myself one heck of a great day.

I hope you thoroughly enjoy yours!


It has been an evening of rejection, hurt feelings, and insults. All in all I have had a really good time. There is nothing like spending time with good friends and having your hopes and dreams dashed while you’re noshing over really bad rice and fried chicken wings.

And there is nothing like a really good friend who shoots so straight from the hip that you couldn’t dodge its impact if you tried.

And I actually turned down an invitation for dinner and dancing for the experience.

Enjoy your weekend. I think I’m enjoying mine.

Friday, June 12, 2009


My mama didn’t raise no fool. So when my very special friend asked me a very hard question, I knew to be exceptionally careful with the answer. I knew what was in my heart to say. I also knew what was in my friend’s heart not to hear. And so I said nothing. I told him that I didn’t know, that I had no answer.

I am fairly certain that if I had been totally honest I would have been setting myself up for rejection. Disappointment can be brutal. Purposely walking into its path is foolish. And my mama didn’t raise no fool.

Now I’m sitting here angry. Angry at myself, and him. But I couldn’t, however, begin to tell you what the heck it is I’m angry about. Being angry made me ugly. That ugly came spilling out like water from an open faucet. I’m still apologizing for my behavior and still appalled at myself for acting so badly.

What I know is that I’m frustrated. Lately, conversations started with good intentions always seem to turn into indictments about things I cannot begin to change and events that have no bearing on the here and now.

What I see is that judgment is being passed against me, the weight of it suffocating my spirit.

What I feel is profound sadness that someone who should know me well, doesn’t seem to know me at all.

And I’m confident that this will all soon pass if I'm willing to make the effort. It'll be like climbing one big ass tree and if I'm careful how I step I will be better for the experience.

But just in case it doesn’t, I’m already prepping the brick and mortar to shield myself from the hurt of it all. My mama didn’t raise no fool.

Monday, June 08, 2009


My father would have liked to have had at least one son. Instead, he fathered two daughters. I was his very prissy daughter. My sister was a tad more tomboyish. Daddy wasn’t much interested in our being girly-girls so we both were made to master “boy” skills growing up. My father wanted to insure we could take care of ourselves and not be dependent on a man to take care of us. For the most part that mindset had its benefits.

I know my way around a rifle. I can hold my own on a basketball court. I love boxing. I can navigate my way around a heating and cooling unit, and do a whole host of other “things” most females would probably never want to do.

My acquired skills have come in handy a time or two. The first time was in seventh grade when Charles Davis pulled my tube top down as we were exiting the school auditorium after an assembly. I kicked Charles’ butt all over that hallway, boobs bobbing up and down with each fist I threw. Charles got the best left hook and groin kick my daddy ever taught me. Everyone else got a great view of my teenaged breasts.

Later in life, working as a general contractor, I found scaling a ladder with a load of roofing shingles on my shoulders to be a piece of cake. I can install a new bathtub, wire electricity, and figure out what’s wrong with your washing machine.

I can also fix a flat tire. Sunday, while enroute to spend time with my very special friend, my front tire blew. Pulling off to the shoulder I wasn’t relishing the thought of pulling out the spare and changing the darn thing. My guy’s timing couldn’t have been more perfect. He called just as I was contemplating what I needed to do and deciding how I needed to do it. When I told him of my dilemma he told me to sit tight. He was coming to my rescue. Less than thirty minutes later I was on my way, following my friend home, my spare tire firmly in place.

I won’t lie. I liked having that man come to my rescue. I liked having a man change my tire. I really am not the kind of woman who needs to prove that I can hold my own against my male counterpart. I did that in seventh grade and Charles Davis had the bruises to prove it. Being a girly-girl has its advantages. Those boy skills may very well be handy but I really have no problem leaving them for the boys to do.

Thursday, June 04, 2009


I was watching the Lakers put a hurting on Orlando. Then this came on and I had my best laugh for the day!


Granny has recovered nicely from the pneumonia. The residual side effects however don’t seem to want to let go. She suffered from mild dementia beforehand. Her condition has now worsened, mild becoming moderately severe. She will be leaving the hospital tomorrow if all goes well, but she will not be coming home. They say she will require temporary rehabilitation. She is balking that we have signed to have her transferred to a nursing home for any length of time at all. Her improvement will depend on her cooperation.

Right now she is as obstinate as she could possibly be. She has refused medication, refused food, and just refused to be the kind, sweet, granny I want her to be. She has worked my last nerve and I have no doubts that the nurses and doctors she has cursed a time or two will not miss her ornery butt.

Getting old is a bitch. Granny said so just after she told me how she got out of her hospital bed, went upstairs to the kitchen and cooked a pot of chitlins. Then some nurse in a blue suit stole her pig. She would have kicked that nurse’s exceptionally wide behind but she couldn’t get her leg up high enough, the aftermath of her getting old.

All I could do was shake my head and agree.