Author Archives: sonsyrea

Basically Resourceful Sisters

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Resourceful Sisters

 

As my best friend from high school dressed her daughter for the prom, we reminisced about our own high school days. We laughed about playing hooky once or twice, and fell out recalling antics in the hallways before and after school.

 

“I got banned from the band room forever!” my friend said. We laughed like waters gushing from a damn. Days later, we were laughing again remembering other high school treasures. I recalled her older sister proudly making her own prom dress, and that stirred memories of when all of us sewed.

 

“Remember that polka-dot outfit you made!” my friend, Chee-Chee said, howling with laughter. “Damn polka-dot culottes!

 

“Girl yeah! I made a light blue set just like it. Those were the pieces for my first professional wardrobe! Remember? I had an internship and had to dress up. Chile please, I put on my white buckle-up sandals, one of those outfits and you couldn’t tell me nothing!”

 

“And that green dress you made!” she continued.

 

“Oh girl! Remember I had to make the pattern outta newspaper!”

 

“Hey. You had to do what you had to do!” she said, laughing.

 

“We was some resourceful sisters!” I said laughing.

 

“Remember that time we saw that outfit at the store but I couldn’t afford it? Then a couple weeks later you was like, ‘You got it!” And I told you I made it!”

 

We had taken “Home Economics” classes in junior high school and high school. There, we had learned to cook and sew. My grandmother had given me a sewing machine. Chee-Chee had used her big sister’s sewing machine. Chee-Chee was a plus-size and found it easier to make the clothes she wanted than to shop for them. I was – uh – economically challenged and found it was cheaper to make clothes than to spend all my summer job earnings on them. But then you could buy a yard of fabric for $1.49 and I could make a skit and top with two yards, some thread, my time and creativity.

 

“You know how old we sound?” I told my friend as we reminisced about our good old days, declaring them better than these days.

 

“Embrace it Honey,” she said.

 

In our 40s, we’re accepting the inevitability of “middle-age” picking off our youth. We agreed on the value of our out-dated home economic classes.

 

“They don’t even teach home economics anymore,” she said. “Kids don’t learn how to cook!”

 

“Who needs to cook these days?” I said. “Po something in the microwave and call it a day!”

 

“That stuff’s no good for you. That’s why everybody’s so fat!” she said.

 

“I know. Those quick meals don’t really satisfy our taste buds and don’t really nourish our bodies – that’s why we keep eating,” I said.

 

“That stuff’s got all them hormones,” she said.

 

“I know. I try to get back to basics as much as I can.”

 

“You got to,” she said.

 

“We know what to do, we just gotta do it,” I said.

 

She agreed.

 

 

 

 

Granddad’s Optimism – from A to Zinc

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Granddad’s Optimism – From A to Zinc

 

What are you doing for Father’s Day?

I’m thanking God for my paternal granddad, who inspires me from A to Zinc! Since a blood transfusion he had during surgery in the 1990s, he’s had absolutely no taste in his mouth. But he is optimistic that his sense of taste will return.

Granddad will be 94-years-old next month. He’s lived a good hearty life, but the past few years have been challenging beyond denial. He’s become more fussy than before. He’s got aches in his hips, past heart attacks and strokes that must come to mind every now and then. He’s become the care-taker for his wife (his love, joy and partner of more than 70 years). But he believes his taste buds can be restored.

Grandma said God took away Granddad’s taste buds because his mouth had been so foul for so long. He had cussed and fussed at her. He used to call her “heifer,” she told me. “God fixed his mouth,” she said.

I had laughed and joked with him about his loss of taste. “Granddad I can cook for you now!” I said once, laughing. He had teased me about my cooking spaghetti every time I invited them to my home for dinner. When I baked him a chicken with rosemary, he laughed at my attempt at gourmet cooking.

“What’s these weeds in the chicken?” he teased.

Granddad had been an executive chef for Marriott Corp., where he worked 40 years before retiring, and pleasing his pallet had seemed impossible until he lost his taste buds.  He eventually learned to appreciate the love and effort that went into preparing a meal though. Since Grandma’s life-threatening surgery three years ago, Granddad’s been cooking all their meals, and Grandma has complained that his food lacks flavor, a criticism I imagine must have cut to the bone.  On Sundays, he treats her to a hearty meal from their favorite soul food carry-out and sometimes takes her out to a restaurant when he can get a ride. (He’s 94 and lost his driving privileges last year.)

Earlier this month, on our way to church, he mentioned that his doctor is prescribing a new agent to revive his taste buds.

“My doctor’s going to start me on Zinc,” Granddad said. “She said that’s going to bring my taste buds back.”

“After 30 years?!?” I said, not intending to sound doubtful. “You’ll have to let me know how that goes. If your taste buds come back, that’ll be something for me to remember forever.”

On the way home from church I decided I would make another spaghetti dinner for him for Father’s Day. If his taste buds are back, he will fully appreciate the flavors. If his taste buds are still absent he may appreciate the zest of my mere effort. At the very least, he will get another chuckle out of me offering another meal of spaghetti.

 

 

 

 

 

Go Ahead and Cry

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How was your weekend? Mine was great!

Saturday morning I was power-praise walking through my neighborhood. It’s my favorite exercise. I gear up in work-out clothes, strap on wrist and/or ankle weights and stride evenly along the sidewalks, exercising my body while soaking in inspiration from surrounding forestry, neighbors’ flower gardens, and children playing in front the Cul-de-sac in front of their homes. This Saturday morning inspiration came from a small boy who fell off his bike.

I was walking, thinking about better managing my emotions so they don’t swell up inside leaving me vulnerable to crying or breaking down at the most inopportune times.

I walked past honeysuckle, enjoyed the sweet fragrance, but was reminded of my mean maternal grandmother who had called me a crybaby when I was about eight because I cried when I fell and skinned my knee. When I was about 13 and complained about the cold draft from the window she wouldn’t close, she’d called me a “heifer.” My paternal Grandmother, as loving and well-intentioned as she was, had warned me against feeling sad when my grandfather died. She had told me to use what was in my head, not what was in my heart to get on with life. As a young journalist I had been compelled to be “objective” and dispassionate. Just the facts. Deal with only the facts.

But being whole, healthy and vibrant now depending on me acknowledging and accepting all aspects of myself – emotions, included.

I walked on, enjoying the warmth of the sun pouring through clear blue sky, and the tweeting and chirping of birds. I noticed a tiny yellow bird and felt delightful. I remembered that I had a chart of emotions at home. It was a chart I bought to use teaching English to immigrants last year. I would use the chart to help them express their feelings in English. I would ask them to point to the picture on the chart expressing the emotions they were feeling that day then write why they were feeling that way. This turned out to be a good ice-breaker at the beginning of the semester  and a good warm-up activity. I decided to use this chart addressing my own emotions each day until acknowledging and accepting them – without judgment or penalty – became easy, natural.

I was strolling when I heard a boy’s happy squeals, “Dad look! A butterfly!” I looked across the street to where he was. Next thing I knew the boy was flat on the ground, his legs tangled around the metal bike frame. I ran to him, “Ooops. Are you ok?” He was too startled to cry – at first. I began helping him untangle as his father quickly set his bike on its stand, removed his helmet and rushed to his son’s rescue. He picked up his small child, while another child riding with them looked on. (It all happened very fast).

He clutched the boy to his chest and allowed him to cry on his shoulder. The boy buried his head at his father’s neck, seemingly more embarrassed than anything, and cried.

“What hurts?” his father asked. “Tell me where it hurts.”

I remembered when parents beat a child then scolded them for crying – and believed they were doing the right thing – disciplining and toughing their offspring for the harsh cruel world they would have to face. I remembered fathers teaching their sons, “men don’t cry!” I remembered being happy when Michael Baisden came out with a book titled “Men Cry in the Dark,” and Bishop T.D. Jakes’ message: “I want everyone to forget about stereotypes and know that real mean have emotions, cry…”

I’d spent years hiding, denying and analyzing my emotions rather than simply accepting them as part of my human experience.

I resumed my praise walk, thanking God for showing me such compassion when – and where – I least expected it.

Posted on by sonsyrea

Dear Mr. Romney

Dear Mitt Romney,

Here’s how much we love our President Obama: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uEZG8y7xJQQ

Here’s how much we love him through the vantage point of a senior veteran:

http://www.dailykos.com/story/2012/08/18/1121614/-Hilarious-poem-about-Mitt-Romney-by-92-Year-Old-Retired-ND-Judge-WWII-Vet-needs-to-go-viral

And here’s what I think of our First Lady: Amazing. Beautiful. Classy. Poignant. Skillful. Our First Lady made us proud.

I half-watched the speakers leading up to our First Lady, busying around the house as they spoke. But when Michelle Obama sauntered onto the stage, I found myself planted in front of the TV, my fingers dancing across the keyboard, twittering her comments that resonated most with me.

“(Our forbearers) had unwavering hope grounded in unyielding struggle. That’s what makes us great,” she said. “I love that we can trust Obama to do what he says even when it’s hard, especially when it’s hard.” That line resonated, too. “We must work harder than ever before.”

I called my friend Sharon Jenkins, who is working as a communications volunteer at the convention now as she did four years ago. What did she think about the speech? “Amazing, beautiful, classy,” she said. “She made me so proud.”

Mr. Romney, even if it had been Hillary Clinton speaking to us about persevering through struggles, reminding us that times can be so hard that you can see the pavement through a rusted out whole in your car, we, as Americans would have felt proud. This is a pride based on our collective appreciation of triumph over struggle, our collective beliefs in rainbows after the storms. This pride transcends race and class.

We’ve had some tough times with our President. The honeymoon has passed, and the real work of moving this country forward has begun is hard. But we made a commitment four years ago, and we will see this through.

You were wrong Mr. Romney. You and your crew imagined that four years after a fervent, feverish push to elect the first African American president, supporters now lay on our backs, staring up at fading Obama posters, disappointed, and feeling duped.   At your convention last week, you posed what you thought was a loaded question: “Are you better off now than you were four years ago?” You posited that we are not as excited about President Obama as we were about candidate Obama. Wrong, wrong, and wrong Mr. Romney. You and your crew were observant enough to notice a lack of Obama commercialism currently in sway. But that’s because people are out of party mode and into work mode.

Yes, in 2008 we there were Obama tee shirts, buttons, flags, caps, and coffee mugs everywhere you looked. Yes, in 2008 those of us who still had full-time office jobs spent some of our time exchanging exciting snap-shots, news updates, and many musings about our would-be first Black family in the White House. We were excited out of our minds. Many of us had not even believed that American would elect a Black man to represent our country on the world’s stage. We were hopeful indeed. In 2008, we huddled around large TV screens at sports bars and restaurants to watch the results of pivotal primaries. We screamed when Obama was declared winner in Ohio.  We hosted watch parties in our homes for his historical nomination acceptance speech, and we clamored for coveted tickets to his inauguration.

This year, we haven’t been glued to MSNBC or CNN with the same addiction. Times have changed, and so have we.  Some of us have lost jobs and, finding none, learned to market our skills, creating jobs – and starting companies. Some of us who had never volunteered for a political campaign before found ourselves immersed in Obama’s and became enriched in ways that you Mr. Romney and your crew cannot imagine – much less measure.

There are some African American women in Prince George’s County, for instance, who are better off today than they were four years ago. And, I’m betting that they are indicative of millions more around the country who are better off – in ways you and your crew would not count.

Vanessa Davis, who volunteered 16-hour days managing what became Maryland’s grassroots headquarters for Obama, based in Largo, is better off. Her retirement portfolio, which had begun declining in Bush’s final days, is on the rebound. But also, out of her excitement for Obama’s first campaign, she and other ’08 campaign volunteers formed a lasting friendship that has brought them together once a month in the past four years to discuss politics and community service.  One friend Davis met in the ’08 campaign, Yvette Lewis, a resident of Prince George’s, has gone on to become chair of the Maryland Democratic Party, and two others who volunteered with Davis in Obama’s ’08 campaign, Jackie Garrison, of Glen Arden and LaFonda Fenwick, of Bowie, are in Charlotte this week as delegates.

“We are better off, and if we don’t put Obama back in, we’ll see how much better off we were,” Davis said when I tossed her your question like a hot potato. “Yes, today I’m better off because my retirement has started to grow again,” said Davis, who retired as a Verizon manager after 30 years. “It’s not back at the level it was, but it’s starting to grow again. It was going down every month when Bush was in office. Now it’s going back up.”

Davis and her husband live in Prince George’s but are planning to move to South Africa in a year or two. Meanwhile, she also plans to volunteer for Obama’s 2012 campaign in the coming weeks. She has written checks in recent months, but in the upcoming weeks she will volunteer on phone banks on Obama’s behalf.

“His heart is in the right place – for everybody in the country,” Davis says. “A lot of people want to say he’s not doing enough for Black folks. Do you think Romney is going to do more for you?” Romney, she is certain you won’t.

Mr. Romney, even my friends and family who are disappointed that Obama didn’t push back hard enough against your party’s agenda of obstruction and sabotage, will vote for him over you. And even my friend, who frowns at Obama’s support for same-sex marriage, will choose Obama over you in November.

Even Prince George’s County’s Tamara Davis-Brown, who in 2008 was chair of the now-defunct Surratts-Clinton Democratic Club, is sticking with Obama. “I think four years are not long enough to turn around all that Obama had to turn around,” she said. “So, I’m equally excited about his campaign this year – to give the president and his administration an opportunity to turn this economy around. I think it mirrors what President Clinton was able to do – deliver a balanced budget at the end of his second term.” She thinks Obama can do that if your party eases up on its obstructionism. “If the make up of Congress stays the same, I would like to see Republicans more cooperative instead of being the party of obstruction,” Davis-Brown said.

Original post at:

 

http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/therootdc/post/a-letter-to-mitt-romney-we-made-a-commitment-four-years-ago-and-we-will-see-obama-through/2012/09/04/20c4714a-f6d5-11e1-8b93-c4f4ab1c8d13_blog.html

Creative Writing – Week 11 – The Extra Mile

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In her book, “The Word: Black Writers Talk About the Transformative Power of Reading and Writing,” I enjoyed her interviews with many authors, including Wil Haygood, who writes his ass off! I’d been loving his Washington Post articles for years, and when I read his biography of Sammy Davis Jr., for a literary contest I was judging, I fell in love with the jazzy rhythms of his writing.

 

M.G.: What has your writing career given you?

 

WH: Writing has been my attempt to unravel some of the hardships of my past life. My mother was an alcoholic, my father was separated from my mother a month after I was born, divorced, you know, family members in prison, family members who were on and off drugs, all my life, you know? So, I came with a whole lot of turmoil in my stomach, a lot of pain, because there was always a lot of drama around. A writer can be a kind of inward-looking psychiatrist, almost, trying to go back, trying to assess the damage, trying to look for the light at the end of the tunnel.

 

Explore your reasons for writing. In 10 minutes – or more – finish this sentence, “I write…”

Creative Writing – Week 10

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J. California Cooper (one of my favorite storytellers!) tells Marita Golden she loved telling stories with – and to – her paper dolls growing up.

 

M.G.: I read in an article that you played with paper dolls.

C.C.: Until I was 18.

 

M.G.: What did you like about paper dolls?

 

CC: You could tell a story. And that was that. The fact is, they were paper, so they couldn’t do it without you. It was the fact that you had somebody who could stand there and say, “Oh Howard, don’t do that.” My mother said you could put me in a room by myself and shut the door and you’d think a crowd of people were in there if you didn’t know I was in there by myself, because I talked to myself.

 

M.G.: And you were never alone when you were in your world of imagination.

 

C.C.: Right. That’s why when I was 18, my mother got scared and thought I was retarded or something….

 

I loved this book because it affirmed so much of what I knew, experienced, and felt as a writer, and because reading it feels like being in the company of a bunch of people who “Get it!”

 

Do you have a favorite book about writing or the writing life? If so, do share. And tell us why. 

Creative Writing – Week 9

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“I had a notebook. You could buy little things from the canteen, and I bought a notebook and started writing things down. Prison ain’t exactly the best place to be telling somebody your deepest feelings, talking about your pain. So, I was writing stuff down. And I realized that it made me feel better, whatever I said, whether it was a paragraph or a page….”

 

(Award-winning author Nathan McCall tells award-winning author and master writing teacher Marita Golden in her book, “The Word”)

 

Do you have a writing routine? If so, for how long have you had it and what benefits have you gained from it? Is it time to rev. up your writing, take it to the next level? I’ve been journaling more than 15 years and this year I happened upon the book, “Creative Journaling,” which is helping me “monetize” this habit. It’s giving me ways to use this journaling habit to improve my craft and discover great stories – cha-ching!

Creative Writing – Week 8

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Choose one of the five prompts and write to your heart’s content – but no less then 15 minutes. If you can make time in the evening or on the weekend, give yourself an hour or two to explore this prompt on paper.

 

1)   I give most of my time to….

2)   A letter to someone no longer in your life…

3)   The values I have chosen to live by…

4)   If I dared to say what I really think….

5)   The talent I would develop if I had half a chance is…

Creative Writing – Week 7

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Go to your local library before the weekend is gone and check out a book about writing or the writing life. This assignment is two-fold. It gives you a reason to support your local library staying in the business of warehousing books and keeping them available; and it engages you in the book world – in a way.

Go and check out ay book about writing or the writing life.

Creative Writing Workshop – Week Six

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Write about your worst habit. Twenty-minutes non-stop. Put it down. Plan to return to this assignment tomorrow for 20 more minutes. End this assignment by completing the sentence, “Now that I realize how (disgusting/or harmless) this habit is, I can…..”