Crush Groove

Should have learned my lesson last time I let folks not old enough to know who Kunta Kinte is in my house, this time for what I thought would be a celebration of the creative spirit, graduation, birthdays, academic accomplishment and the gathering of good folks, regardless of age.
Should know better than to try and make folks have class, finesse, good intentions and the like when they've been programmed and hard wired in ways I will never truly comprehend. I can have all the empathy in the world, but I will never know. And so I had a party, that turned more into my being less Martha Stewart domestic diva and more Aunt Jemima/ Flo Evans hostess- with-the -mostess type undeserving diva. Smashed cake on my floors and didn't pick it up, spilled drinks, ate up all the food, had a good time, came empty handed and then left without even a thanks for allowing us-to-come-into-your-home-again-showing-us-a-good-time-caring-about-us-more-than-our-own-mothers-do goodbye! Wow! Smack in the face. Whack upside the head. I'm done. Now the elitist that I so was not brought up to be has to rear her little let's- not-love-everyone- because-we're- not-cut-from-the-same-cloth head and stick to my own kind--folks who are smart, sensitive, funny and appreciate someone doing anything for them no matter how small the gesture--kind. No point getting even more upset than I was. Cry it out. Holler it out. Cuss it out. Vent it out. And know that this too shall pass. I tried.

How could I forget

Memorial Day is all about remembering those that fought for us, died for us, and a time all but forgotten for many. It's also the unofficial kickoff of summer and all that jazz. End of the winter blues, spring flings, April showers.
Didn't spend this day remembering much other than the good times I used to have or once had and thinking I need to create some new memories before I can't remember what I don't want to forget or I become part of what time forgot.
Read this article in ELLE this week, about a woman much like myself, who felt like she was hanging on a cliff by the tips of her well manicured fingers, one foot dangling while the other tried to get a grip and hoist herself back up the mountain-side. "Hang on girl"-- remember you don't like heights. Soaring to new ones, yes. Slippin', no. I still have some fight in me. Some Kung Fu grip. Some soul. Many reasons for folks to want to connect with the me that I am now. And not the memory of me, that old me that once was, but the new and better me. Boy, do I remember the times that I once had.

Oh well, carry on. Time to get some ground-gripping shoes and keep it moving. Next year, I'll be in the Hamptons with folks who will not have forgotten about me and with whom I will have made new memories.

Black Cat Blues

So, if I learned anything about myself this week, it's that I am resilient, resourceful, rambunctious, resolute and radiant in yellow!

The week started off with unresolved issues related to business. I don't know if the other party is retarded (pardon the un-PC like reference), or honestly suffering from dementia (in which case you need to get some help), but the whole repartee was ridiculous! By the way, I love it when I just let it go and flow wit it. And divine intervention is good, because I was near ready for some ghetto like intervention. Which brings me to this point: do men just think women are dumb and can be treated any ole kind of way, disrespected and devalued particularly when they know or assume you have no man in your business or personal life to physically or subconsciously keep them in check? If I came with Big Willy to my meetings or Jim-Bob answered my business line, or I came around with a 6'4 boo, then you'd respect me. WTF??? Say, I was Oprah they'd not fuck with me, but I'm a mini Oprah sans the money and Steadman or burly bodyguard--and you want to get stupid? Test me? Make me go there.? When all the while, you're just pissed because my doin'-for-myself -ass has more going on than you do, is paying your bills and I don't need you to make things happen?! I digress. But I'm pissed, and single women entrepreneurs or hell, women period will know what I'm dealing with and talking about. Like I'm some emotionally driven wretch of a wench... Long story short--cat wanted to hold my stuff hostage because he had no other way to save face with his dilettante crew and wanted to force me to work with him. You cost me time, energy and money and you think I will move forward long term with you? You must be smoking some Cuban crack, or the male pattern baldness topical treatment has seeped into your somewhat less that sharp brain!

But, I let go. I simply let go. Took a deep breath and simply let go, and poof, the tide turned and all will be right once again. I reverted back to what got me to where I am in the first place: resolve, perseverance and that carpet bag of tricks Felix the Cat used to dig into whenever he was in a fix. When folks throw a wrench in the game, don't let "no monkey stop yo' show". So a little prayer, some diary entries and poof--problem fixed--and some well placed phone calls to secure my own resources helped too.

In the end, I have to have faith in myself, trust my first voice and know that it will work out. It always does and I always do.

Mother Dear

Mother's Day should be everyday. I love my Mom, she's the best. Not a typical Mom in the sense that she baked cookies and made dinner every night, wore an apron and cleaned in her heels and pearls. No, she was the modern Mom--cool, independent, worldly, understanding, confident, ambitious, bold, creative, funny, stylish, intelligent, well read, sophisticated, the original MILF (sorry...)--just the kind of Mom you could only make up, and she was that Mom. My Mom. Is my Mom. And she's still all those things and some. She supported my dreams and encouraged me to be whatever I wanted to be. If only I could be half the mother she is.

Yesterday, I realized, on the eve of yet another Mother's Day, I am in many ways like my Mom--the one all my daughter's friends think is cool, until they forget I am someone's mother and say something perhaps reserved for someone half my age. Like they did yesterday. I guess I've lived long enough to understand that they don't know any better, or maybe they just forget. But I am a Mom and in many ways, I am half the mother my Mom is. So I made stoup (that's stew that thinks it's soup) for my daughter and listened to her rave about having found her passion. I'm proud to be her Mom. Happy Mother's Day to me.

Unstoppable

EIF Run Walk for Cancer was this Saturday and I participated. 40,000 strong and I was part of it. Alone and determined, I laced up and headed up 7Th Ave to Central Park. Half trot, half power walk and a full sprint through the finish line, I did it. For me. For my Mom who didn't sign up for cancer, last I checked. For my niece, Coki Tai who was booted from the race too soon. For my daughter, who'll one day be a doctor and find a cure for her own disease, MS. Moving. Empowering. Invigorating. Next year, I run all the way. For now, I'm doing my part and going to find a way to make real contributions.
What a week.