I cannot believe it has been so long since I made an entry in my blog. Facebook has been getting my writing energy, I guess. Gotta change that.
I do not sleep well. I read. I toss. I turn. I read. I fall asleep in places I should not. And I read some more!
A couple of nights ago, I had nothing in particular on my mind. Feeling good about a couple of things. Wondering if I can give up bacon in order to adopt a plant-based diet. Really looking at moiself in the mirror, and realizing that I am cute. If I lost weight, it would be more obvious. Can I give up bacon? I welcome the opportunity to bake. Can I give that up? Ponder. Ponder. Toss and turn.
Then, I had an epiphany: I have realized just about every fear I ever had. Not going to spell them out, but I own them: my actions, inactions, and reactions to life, and the situations tossed my way, have all been out of fear!
What if I changed that paradigm, and act, "inact" and react to life, and the situations tossed my way in love? Sounds hippie-ish and New Agey, and something Marianne Williamson would suggest. I am not a fan of hers. I must find a happy medium. I do need to acknowledge that I am a good person. I am a nice person. I am not evil, and I work hard to keep away from mean. I am naturally a loving person, so I need to just put my energy in that, right?
Ponder. Ponder. Toss. Turn. Sleep fitfully. Live in love.
03 July 2019
28 April 2012
Awful, Dumb, Heartless and Getting Worse...
Please note: This is a very old entry - possibly a year old. I tried to edit it, and it jumped to the top of the blog list. Still, I didn't want to erase it, so I just left it. E.B.
I am not going to apologize for my rant.
For weeks we have consumed and been consumed by Charlie Sheen's stupid drama. Rarely does a day go by when you won't see the phrase "We're watching a train wreck...," (or a variation of the phrase.) All we have to do is not watch. Charlie Sheen will either get better, or he won't. Period. His condition will not change my life (or yours) one bit. If we stop watching, he will either go away and get better, (good for him.), or continue to insist that he is the warlock, and burn himself off. (Might also be good for him - he will be in a "better place.") He is wasting his life, his talent, and our time. We need to stop buying tickets for this performance.
I woke up yesterday. (Good) I was in an "iffy" mood. (Nothing bad had happened, but neither had something good. Well, waking up was a start for good, but I sensed something in the air. Here, I started preparing myself for the worst: that something unpleasant had befallen my 100 year-old grandmother (whom I love very much); my nieces and nephews (all of whom I love so much, I could burst each time I think of them - which is often); my sisters (one, with whom I have an OK relationship; I wish we were closer; the other, with whom I don't have an OK relationship; I wish we had an OK relationship, but we probably never will. Still, I don't want anything awful to befall her.); my dog, Bella (I love her very much. I don't walk her enough, and she is getting old.); my job (I am doing OK, but still...); being an "old-Maid" (Feminism be damned. I am angry that I have not been in a relationship that warranted some sort of permanency. I don't want a knight in shining armor - just someone to talk to at 2 in the morning; someone who would light up the room for me, and would allow me the responsibility for lighting up the room for him. I am tired of being alone, and tired of not being in situations in which to meet that "him." Dont' tell me that crap about "happy, creative, older single women." And to the married women who tell me that I am not missing anything, I say, "I don't see you getting a divorce.") OK, that is something that I am definitely in a bad mood about.
Then I read about Martha Stewart being a grandmother. After years of fertility treatments, at $20,000 a month, her daughter got a surrogate, and the surrogate had a baby. The rich are very different from me. For two of those fertility treatments, I could have adopted a child; for one, a fairly decent car that would last a while; for ten, an apartment or adequate cottage in some not-overinflated area; for two, payback a student loan for one year in graduate school; for another two, finish graduate school; fo another two, take care of some debts that I don't care to write about. With the rest, I could have a nest egg, and stop worrying about my future.
I am not going to apologize for my rant.
For weeks we have consumed and been consumed by Charlie Sheen's stupid drama. Rarely does a day go by when you won't see the phrase "We're watching a train wreck...," (or a variation of the phrase.) All we have to do is not watch. Charlie Sheen will either get better, or he won't. Period. His condition will not change my life (or yours) one bit. If we stop watching, he will either go away and get better, (good for him.), or continue to insist that he is the warlock, and burn himself off. (Might also be good for him - he will be in a "better place.") He is wasting his life, his talent, and our time. We need to stop buying tickets for this performance.
I woke up yesterday. (Good) I was in an "iffy" mood. (Nothing bad had happened, but neither had something good. Well, waking up was a start for good, but I sensed something in the air. Here, I started preparing myself for the worst: that something unpleasant had befallen my 100 year-old grandmother (whom I love very much); my nieces and nephews (all of whom I love so much, I could burst each time I think of them - which is often); my sisters (one, with whom I have an OK relationship; I wish we were closer; the other, with whom I don't have an OK relationship; I wish we had an OK relationship, but we probably never will. Still, I don't want anything awful to befall her.); my dog, Bella (I love her very much. I don't walk her enough, and she is getting old.); my job (I am doing OK, but still...); being an "old-Maid" (Feminism be damned. I am angry that I have not been in a relationship that warranted some sort of permanency. I don't want a knight in shining armor - just someone to talk to at 2 in the morning; someone who would light up the room for me, and would allow me the responsibility for lighting up the room for him. I am tired of being alone, and tired of not being in situations in which to meet that "him." Dont' tell me that crap about "happy, creative, older single women." And to the married women who tell me that I am not missing anything, I say, "I don't see you getting a divorce.") OK, that is something that I am definitely in a bad mood about.
Then I read about Martha Stewart being a grandmother. After years of fertility treatments, at $20,000 a month, her daughter got a surrogate, and the surrogate had a baby. The rich are very different from me. For two of those fertility treatments, I could have adopted a child; for one, a fairly decent car that would last a while; for ten, an apartment or adequate cottage in some not-overinflated area; for two, payback a student loan for one year in graduate school; for another two, finish graduate school; fo another two, take care of some debts that I don't care to write about. With the rest, I could have a nest egg, and stop worrying about my future.
"I did everything I could..."
Sissy, my dear grandmother, celebrated her 101st birthday on September 24, 2011. that's quite a feat. She has outlived er husband, both of her children, her youngest sister,and all of her friends. she has outlived many, if not all of my mother's friends.
Lately, she hasn't been doing so well. Her health is a roller coaster. Sometimes she sleeps for hours. Sometimes she won't eat. Sometimes it is difficult to understand her. When she is alert, she is very alert and wants a lot of attention. (She has always demanded, and for the most part received a lot of attention. Then again, she has always given a lot of attention, so the scales of the oblique are more-or-less balanced.) I call her every evening. Sometimes I don't get through because she cannot lift the telephone. If someone is visiting her or preparing her for bed, I am in luck because they will pass the phone to her.
I was lucky this evening. A nurse's aide was getting her ready for bed. She passed the phone to my grandmother who sounded very weak. She said her mouth was dry and it was difficult to talk. She proceeded to ask about my day, my dog "Bella", and my fish, Max/Otis. The more she spoke the stronger she sounded. She remarked that she hadn't spoken to me in a couple of nights. (True about that) I explained that I try to call when I think someone is visiting her because I know she can't reach the phone. She asked me what I had eaten today. (I lied about that.) She remarked that I sounded like I had a cold. (I explained that I thought it was an allergy...) When I told her that I had a friend who always threatens to dip Max/Otis in corn meal and fry him, and that he rolls his eyes when he sees her, she just laughed and laughed! She sounded just like my Sissy, just older. At the end of our conversation, she sounded stronger and more animated.
We always end our calls with "I love you." If I sing it, she sings it back. That's what she did this evening.
I know that nothing is guaranteed. I could get a call in 5 minutes, 5 days, 5 months...that Sissy has gone to see our grandfather whom she misses so much.
One of my sisters is very close to our grandmother, and I believe, is grieving Sissy's eventual passing. She cannot talk about it, and her story is hers to tell. Our grandmother has been such a staple in my life, that I cannot imagine her not being around. I cannot wrap my mind around this eventuality, so I am not doing such a good job of preparing myself. This is the woman who taught me to pray, braided my hair, tried to teach us to make taffy, but let us each the sugary mess when the taffy didn't happen; she took us to Girl Scouts, gave us music lessons, and taught us how to "fix our faces." (The search for the perfect red lipstick continues.) Not long ago, I thanked her for all she did for me. Her response, "I did everything I could." I am grateful she didn't chastise me for not practicing my piano lessons.
How can I possibly imagine her not being here?
I will never be ready for that.
Lately, she hasn't been doing so well. Her health is a roller coaster. Sometimes she sleeps for hours. Sometimes she won't eat. Sometimes it is difficult to understand her. When she is alert, she is very alert and wants a lot of attention. (She has always demanded, and for the most part received a lot of attention. Then again, she has always given a lot of attention, so the scales of the oblique are more-or-less balanced.) I call her every evening. Sometimes I don't get through because she cannot lift the telephone. If someone is visiting her or preparing her for bed, I am in luck because they will pass the phone to her.
I was lucky this evening. A nurse's aide was getting her ready for bed. She passed the phone to my grandmother who sounded very weak. She said her mouth was dry and it was difficult to talk. She proceeded to ask about my day, my dog "Bella", and my fish, Max/Otis. The more she spoke the stronger she sounded. She remarked that she hadn't spoken to me in a couple of nights. (True about that) I explained that I try to call when I think someone is visiting her because I know she can't reach the phone. She asked me what I had eaten today. (I lied about that.) She remarked that I sounded like I had a cold. (I explained that I thought it was an allergy...) When I told her that I had a friend who always threatens to dip Max/Otis in corn meal and fry him, and that he rolls his eyes when he sees her, she just laughed and laughed! She sounded just like my Sissy, just older. At the end of our conversation, she sounded stronger and more animated.
We always end our calls with "I love you." If I sing it, she sings it back. That's what she did this evening.
I know that nothing is guaranteed. I could get a call in 5 minutes, 5 days, 5 months...that Sissy has gone to see our grandfather whom she misses so much.
One of my sisters is very close to our grandmother, and I believe, is grieving Sissy's eventual passing. She cannot talk about it, and her story is hers to tell. Our grandmother has been such a staple in my life, that I cannot imagine her not being around. I cannot wrap my mind around this eventuality, so I am not doing such a good job of preparing myself. This is the woman who taught me to pray, braided my hair, tried to teach us to make taffy, but let us each the sugary mess when the taffy didn't happen; she took us to Girl Scouts, gave us music lessons, and taught us how to "fix our faces." (The search for the perfect red lipstick continues.) Not long ago, I thanked her for all she did for me. Her response, "I did everything I could." I am grateful she didn't chastise me for not practicing my piano lessons.
How can I possibly imagine her not being here?
I will never be ready for that.
17 January 2011
Don't know what to call this.
Today is Martin Luther King Jr. Day. I couldn't take part in any public celebrations because I am recovering from surgery. Couldn't watch any commemorations on TV because I only get one channel. (The FoodNetwork!) I loaned my book on MLK's prayer life to my boss. I can't focus on much right now, so that's OK.
I did venture out to my local bagel shop to get a bagel with smoked salmon spread and a Raspberry Zinger. I borrowed a tabloid for light reading.
A man was sitting at the table behind me. I could hear his many conversations because he was less than five feet away from me and was constantly on his cellphone. Using his "cellphone voice." I was NOT actively eavesdropping. I just couldn't help but hear him. He was obviously in real estate. He called to give updates on properties he had shown. "I told her to act fast, because this one was going to fly out the door." "The property on East 93rd Street wouldn't let me in. She doesn't want people to see her, and the door man wouldn't let me up."
Then came the zinger. "I can't get anything done on this half-assed holiday." Yup. That's what he said. I turned around and looked at him. I did not give him "The Look" - I just looked at him. He finished his conversation, and as he walked by me, he stopped and said, "I'd like to explain what I meant." I replied that an explanation wasn't necessary. He proceeded to tell me that he thought the holiday didn't get the respect it deserved. "The stores are opened. The buses are not on a holiday schedule..." I didn't bother to recall what else he said. I didn't bother to remind him that the banks were closed, as were the schools, government offices, post offices.
I didn't speak up because I don't know what I would say, or how I would say it. I didn't know how to tell him that I did not believe his explanation.
I was sorry that I could not attend a Martin Luther King Jr. event. I need to know that there are more well-meaning people in the world than not. I am glad that I can be appalled by that exchange, that I haven't become so calloused that I don't get up set or won't turn around when I hear a slight. I need that hope, and I need to build on that belief.
I did venture out to my local bagel shop to get a bagel with smoked salmon spread and a Raspberry Zinger. I borrowed a tabloid for light reading.
A man was sitting at the table behind me. I could hear his many conversations because he was less than five feet away from me and was constantly on his cellphone. Using his "cellphone voice." I was NOT actively eavesdropping. I just couldn't help but hear him. He was obviously in real estate. He called to give updates on properties he had shown. "I told her to act fast, because this one was going to fly out the door." "The property on East 93rd Street wouldn't let me in. She doesn't want people to see her, and the door man wouldn't let me up."
Then came the zinger. "I can't get anything done on this half-assed holiday." Yup. That's what he said. I turned around and looked at him. I did not give him "The Look" - I just looked at him. He finished his conversation, and as he walked by me, he stopped and said, "I'd like to explain what I meant." I replied that an explanation wasn't necessary. He proceeded to tell me that he thought the holiday didn't get the respect it deserved. "The stores are opened. The buses are not on a holiday schedule..." I didn't bother to recall what else he said. I didn't bother to remind him that the banks were closed, as were the schools, government offices, post offices.
I didn't speak up because I don't know what I would say, or how I would say it. I didn't know how to tell him that I did not believe his explanation.
I was sorry that I could not attend a Martin Luther King Jr. event. I need to know that there are more well-meaning people in the world than not. I am glad that I can be appalled by that exchange, that I haven't become so calloused that I don't get up set or won't turn around when I hear a slight. I need that hope, and I need to build on that belief.
26 January 2009
He's not the Messiah - We are.
Those of you who are more religious/spiritual than I might cringe, but that isn't my purpose. With all the hype about Obama, some people think he is the Messiah - and not "just" the President. (I think he is just the President...) anyway, I have always thought that in the Bible, people were looking for a Messiah as this great divine being who would come and zap things and make life wonderful. Then this very human Jesus came, and his message (by example) is that the Messiah is not an external thing, but the Messiah is US - the people. We are all "chosen" people to love, honor and serve each other. We can save ourselves just the way we can damn ourselves. All we have to do is the "right" thing, and we can "save" ourselves.
Obama has said many times, "Government can't do everything. We have to do some work, and a lot of it." In other words, we are the solution to our problem. Anyway, while I don't think he (Obama) is the Messiah, I do think he will lead us by example and inspire us to do the right thing. (Even if we have to redefine "the right thing")
Obama has said many times, "Government can't do everything. We have to do some work, and a lot of it." In other words, we are the solution to our problem. Anyway, while I don't think he (Obama) is the Messiah, I do think he will lead us by example and inspire us to do the right thing. (Even if we have to redefine "the right thing")
20 December 2008
One Month and Sixteen Days
It has been one month and sixteen days since Barack H. Obama was elected President of the United States - and I still get the same chills of delight when I think of it.
I am tickled about his cabinet. Not sure about how I feel about Rick Warren. Obama is truly going to be a President of the People. He will be my President. The first I have claimed.
Since this is MY blog and it is allaboutme, and since I haven't made an entry in a while, I am going to tell you about my experience on November 4, 2008.
Many of you know that I ran to be a delegate to the Democratic National Convention. (I lost that election.) That's OK because it had to be. I was present anyway. I watched all the silliness, listened to all the speeches (and can't remember a damned thing anyone said). I was a true political junkie that week - and I couldn't get a fix. I wanted to know everything that was going on.
So, Obama got the nomination. I got a new tee shirt, some buttons, and continued to do some volunteer work. Looking to November. In a previous blog, I wrote about my experience casting my vote. I kissed my fingers before I pulled the lever. I was voting in hope and in love. Early that morning, there was a HUGE line down the street and around the block. I had no idea of how the people in the line would vote.
Because I ran to be a delegate, I was invited to the Governor's Election Night Watch Party at the Sheraton Hotel. There were thousands of people there. The wine was expensive but not good, and there was nothing to eat to soak up the cheap wine. I invited my dear friend, Sarah Mahr, and we watched people. We chatted up some folks (I think) but I don't remember what anyone said. To say there was anticipation in the air is an understatement.
Some friends called me to talk about the excitement. My Lauren and her husband adopted a little girl from China. Olivia is four years old. Lauren mentioned that she'll have to explain the importance of this election to Olivia one day. While we were speaking, Obama won Virginia.
My Veronica called me to talk about what this meant to her. Veronica is bi-racial. We attended the same prep school in Washington, DC. The prep school mercifully, no longer exists. Sometimes we were very good friends. At others, we were acquaintances. I was very jealous of her. She was smart. (So was I, but I had "issues".) She was beautiful and all the boys at other schools wanted to date her. One boy (now, a politician, I think) asked me out on a date. My first date! He stood me up. I later learned that he didn't want to go out with me, but figured that since I was friends with Veronica, it would be a good way to get to her! Rather than getting really angry with him, I took it as another of my many short-comings. I felt fatter; I felt uglier; I felt totally uncool. Anyway, Veronica and I remained friends. I remembered that she wrote a speech about looking forward to the day when a black person and a white person could walk down the street, holding hands, and not cause heads to turn. She was very popular in school. I remember in a religion class, we were having a very stupid discussion about the color of Christ's skin. Someone said, "Christ was the color of Veronica. I just know it!" That was another reason to be jealous.
We went our separate ways, and lost contact as high school friends often do. A couple of years ago, I "Googled" her, and now we keep in touch through e-mails and occasional telephone calls.
Her speech from high school certainly made an impact. For some reason I thought about her speech on election day. Well, my Veronica was one of the people who called, and she mentioned her speech! We chatted for a little bit about how this election was a sign of the changing times.
I am glad my friends and I are all grown up.
Then my Christopher called me. Christopher is my nephew. (I just adore my nieces and nephews!) This was his second time voting. He was a lot happier than he was the first time he voted. Our candidate lost, and Christopher remarked that it didn't seem as if his vote mattered, and he didn't know if he would do it again. He is my nephew and he will always vote!
A lot of people called me that night as the excitement mounted and it looked as if BHO was going to be elected POTUS!
At 11:00 P.M. there was a countdown. Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One! The room was in an uproar!
My response? I burst into tears. Big, ugly, snotty tears! In the midst of a room full of people. I sobbed, and sobbed, and sobbed. Now, these tears were tears of joy. They were tears of relief, hope and shock. I cried for my ancestors who struggled. I cried for my Mother, who is dead and who, I believe, would really like Barack Obama. I cried for my Grandfather who would really, really like him. I cried for Barack Obama because his grandmother died the day before he was elected. (Dear God, Couldn't you have waited a day or two to let Toot die? Couldn't she have stuck around for her grandson's election? You are the one with the miracles!)
I cried like a baby.
This paragraph may be painful to read, but it has a point. (Even if it is nothing more than cathartic for me.) I have never had a good dose of self-esteem. Growing up, I felt I was ugly. (I was often told I was ugly by "friends" and family.) I attended a parochial school that experienced "white flight" - as the blacks moved in, the whites moved out. I remember we had 4 or 5 white kids in our class, and the teacher (a nun!) decided we would have class officers. She appointed the white kids to be president, vice president, secretary, and sargeant-at-arms. They got special treatment. I felt flawed and ugly. I used to cry myself to sleep as I prayed at night for two things: one was to wake up white and beautiful. I will not tell you the other, because it would not to be fair people who are not here to defend themselves. It's too late for me to challenge them, but I can change MY point of view of WHO and WHAT I am. I am OK just as I am.
Back to election night. I didn't just cry. I danced. In the aisles of the D Train. And I knuckle-bumped people, and I sang "Can You Feel a Brand New Day?" And I danced some more in the streets of Harlem. (With many handsome young men!)
And I cried some more.
Hey, it was an evening of mixed emotions!
My tears were not just tears of joy and release. They were tears of hope. Now that we have a Black president surrounded by Black women - his wife, daughters, and mother-in-law, I don't want any little (or big) girls crying themselves to sleep at night hoping they will wake up white. I don't want anyone to make them think that being Black is flawed. None of us are "less than" - and I don't want anyone making us feel that way or for us to do it to ourselves or each other. No nuns appointed Barack Obama to be POTUS, the people elected him!
Barbara Walters asked Obama if his Mother would be surprised that he was elected POTUS. His response was, "No, she thought I could be anything I wanted to be!" This is the attitude we have to take for ourselves and for the children. "I can be anything I want to be!" (Right now, I want to be writer.)
So, now that we have elected him, we still have a lot of work to do. We must support him. We must challenge him. We must defend him. The grassroots movement helped him get elected. The grassroots movement is not going away. We the people have spoken, and must continue to do so!
OK - I sent e-mails to friends the morning of the election, and neglected to put my message in my blog.
This is what I wrote on November 4:
Dear People I Know:
At 6:16 this morning, I cast my vote for President,/Vice President, some judges, senators...and now I feel really great!
Working backwards, the first miracle was that I woke up at 4:55 A.M. It was my intention to be the first person at my polling station. I had timed the walk from my apartment to the polling station. (7 minutes) and I figured that I could leave at 5:30 and be first in line. Was I ever wrong!
Folks were speed-walking in the same direction in which I dragging. I had a little more pep in my step than usual, but it was nothing compared to others. It was as if someone was directing a movie, telling people to "move!move!move!" until they heard "CUT!" (Or whatever they say in movies to make the action stop.)
Then there was the line.
When it started to move, it moved swiftly. People on line were gracious for the movement. Some of us looked a little apprehensive. There was a young woman on the cellphone, telling someone that she was voting for the first time. Everyone smiled at her.
I found the booth for my District, and gave my name. I was asked for identification. I politely stated that this was the first time I was asked for identification. The woman turned red, and handed a card to me to give to someone else standing by the machine.
Then I cast my vote for Barack H. Obama.
I am sure that I wasn't the first person to feel a pleasant chill while pulling the lever. (In true diva dramatic fashion, I kissed my fingers before I pulled the lever next to Barack Obama's name.) I am sure that I am not the last to experience that today.
Think of the ancestors among us and how proud they must be. Think of the people who have fought for the right to vote - here in the U.S.A., and in other countries. Think of those who have died for the right to vote. I think of both of my parents (dead) who would have loved the opportunity to cast their vote for Barack Obama. I think of my grandfather, Harry, who I believe would really like Barack Obama - his intellect, his gentlemanly manner, the fact that Obama is always so neat, and, OK - that he speaks well. "What a fine young man!" my grandfather would say. I cast my vote because of the work and hopes of the ancestors. I cast my vote because of the hard work of Barack Obama's maternal grandmother. Because of her, I could vote for him.
I cast my vote for Obama because I believe in his message, I believe change is needed, I believe that this is an administration I would like to support, and that it is also one I will challenge. I believe my voice will be heard. By somebody.
After casting my vote, I met friends - who were in line ahead of me - for a breakfast of bacon, eggs, and grits. I later called my one friend who would understand exactly what I mean when I say that part of me is exhilarated, and that part of me is weepy. Voting has never been such an emotional experience for me. I get weepy at the thought of the daunting tasks ahead of us. I get weepy at the thought of the possibilities ahead of us.
Please vote. And then laugh, and get weepy with me. Eat your grits. They will fortify you.
I am tickled about his cabinet. Not sure about how I feel about Rick Warren. Obama is truly going to be a President of the People. He will be my President. The first I have claimed.
Since this is MY blog and it is allaboutme, and since I haven't made an entry in a while, I am going to tell you about my experience on November 4, 2008.
Many of you know that I ran to be a delegate to the Democratic National Convention. (I lost that election.) That's OK because it had to be. I was present anyway. I watched all the silliness, listened to all the speeches (and can't remember a damned thing anyone said). I was a true political junkie that week - and I couldn't get a fix. I wanted to know everything that was going on.
So, Obama got the nomination. I got a new tee shirt, some buttons, and continued to do some volunteer work. Looking to November. In a previous blog, I wrote about my experience casting my vote. I kissed my fingers before I pulled the lever. I was voting in hope and in love. Early that morning, there was a HUGE line down the street and around the block. I had no idea of how the people in the line would vote.
Because I ran to be a delegate, I was invited to the Governor's Election Night Watch Party at the Sheraton Hotel. There were thousands of people there. The wine was expensive but not good, and there was nothing to eat to soak up the cheap wine. I invited my dear friend, Sarah Mahr, and we watched people. We chatted up some folks (I think) but I don't remember what anyone said. To say there was anticipation in the air is an understatement.
Some friends called me to talk about the excitement. My Lauren and her husband adopted a little girl from China. Olivia is four years old. Lauren mentioned that she'll have to explain the importance of this election to Olivia one day. While we were speaking, Obama won Virginia.
My Veronica called me to talk about what this meant to her. Veronica is bi-racial. We attended the same prep school in Washington, DC. The prep school mercifully, no longer exists. Sometimes we were very good friends. At others, we were acquaintances. I was very jealous of her. She was smart. (So was I, but I had "issues".) She was beautiful and all the boys at other schools wanted to date her. One boy (now, a politician, I think) asked me out on a date. My first date! He stood me up. I later learned that he didn't want to go out with me, but figured that since I was friends with Veronica, it would be a good way to get to her! Rather than getting really angry with him, I took it as another of my many short-comings. I felt fatter; I felt uglier; I felt totally uncool. Anyway, Veronica and I remained friends. I remembered that she wrote a speech about looking forward to the day when a black person and a white person could walk down the street, holding hands, and not cause heads to turn. She was very popular in school. I remember in a religion class, we were having a very stupid discussion about the color of Christ's skin. Someone said, "Christ was the color of Veronica. I just know it!" That was another reason to be jealous.
We went our separate ways, and lost contact as high school friends often do. A couple of years ago, I "Googled" her, and now we keep in touch through e-mails and occasional telephone calls.
Her speech from high school certainly made an impact. For some reason I thought about her speech on election day. Well, my Veronica was one of the people who called, and she mentioned her speech! We chatted for a little bit about how this election was a sign of the changing times.
I am glad my friends and I are all grown up.
Then my Christopher called me. Christopher is my nephew. (I just adore my nieces and nephews!) This was his second time voting. He was a lot happier than he was the first time he voted. Our candidate lost, and Christopher remarked that it didn't seem as if his vote mattered, and he didn't know if he would do it again. He is my nephew and he will always vote!
A lot of people called me that night as the excitement mounted and it looked as if BHO was going to be elected POTUS!
At 11:00 P.M. there was a countdown. Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One! The room was in an uproar!
My response? I burst into tears. Big, ugly, snotty tears! In the midst of a room full of people. I sobbed, and sobbed, and sobbed. Now, these tears were tears of joy. They were tears of relief, hope and shock. I cried for my ancestors who struggled. I cried for my Mother, who is dead and who, I believe, would really like Barack Obama. I cried for my Grandfather who would really, really like him. I cried for Barack Obama because his grandmother died the day before he was elected. (Dear God, Couldn't you have waited a day or two to let Toot die? Couldn't she have stuck around for her grandson's election? You are the one with the miracles!)
I cried like a baby.
This paragraph may be painful to read, but it has a point. (Even if it is nothing more than cathartic for me.) I have never had a good dose of self-esteem. Growing up, I felt I was ugly. (I was often told I was ugly by "friends" and family.) I attended a parochial school that experienced "white flight" - as the blacks moved in, the whites moved out. I remember we had 4 or 5 white kids in our class, and the teacher (a nun!) decided we would have class officers. She appointed the white kids to be president, vice president, secretary, and sargeant-at-arms. They got special treatment. I felt flawed and ugly. I used to cry myself to sleep as I prayed at night for two things: one was to wake up white and beautiful. I will not tell you the other, because it would not to be fair people who are not here to defend themselves. It's too late for me to challenge them, but I can change MY point of view of WHO and WHAT I am. I am OK just as I am.
Back to election night. I didn't just cry. I danced. In the aisles of the D Train. And I knuckle-bumped people, and I sang "Can You Feel a Brand New Day?" And I danced some more in the streets of Harlem. (With many handsome young men!)
And I cried some more.
Hey, it was an evening of mixed emotions!
My tears were not just tears of joy and release. They were tears of hope. Now that we have a Black president surrounded by Black women - his wife, daughters, and mother-in-law, I don't want any little (or big) girls crying themselves to sleep at night hoping they will wake up white. I don't want anyone to make them think that being Black is flawed. None of us are "less than" - and I don't want anyone making us feel that way or for us to do it to ourselves or each other. No nuns appointed Barack Obama to be POTUS, the people elected him!
Barbara Walters asked Obama if his Mother would be surprised that he was elected POTUS. His response was, "No, she thought I could be anything I wanted to be!" This is the attitude we have to take for ourselves and for the children. "I can be anything I want to be!" (Right now, I want to be writer.)
So, now that we have elected him, we still have a lot of work to do. We must support him. We must challenge him. We must defend him. The grassroots movement helped him get elected. The grassroots movement is not going away. We the people have spoken, and must continue to do so!
OK - I sent e-mails to friends the morning of the election, and neglected to put my message in my blog.
This is what I wrote on November 4:
Dear People I Know:
At 6:16 this morning, I cast my vote for President,/Vice President, some judges, senators...and now I feel really great!
Working backwards, the first miracle was that I woke up at 4:55 A.M. It was my intention to be the first person at my polling station. I had timed the walk from my apartment to the polling station. (7 minutes) and I figured that I could leave at 5:30 and be first in line. Was I ever wrong!
Folks were speed-walking in the same direction in which I dragging. I had a little more pep in my step than usual, but it was nothing compared to others. It was as if someone was directing a movie, telling people to "move!move!move!" until they heard "CUT!" (Or whatever they say in movies to make the action stop.)
Then there was the line.
When it started to move, it moved swiftly. People on line were gracious for the movement. Some of us looked a little apprehensive. There was a young woman on the cellphone, telling someone that she was voting for the first time. Everyone smiled at her.
I found the booth for my District, and gave my name. I was asked for identification. I politely stated that this was the first time I was asked for identification. The woman turned red, and handed a card to me to give to someone else standing by the machine.
Then I cast my vote for Barack H. Obama.
I am sure that I wasn't the first person to feel a pleasant chill while pulling the lever. (In true diva dramatic fashion, I kissed my fingers before I pulled the lever next to Barack Obama's name.) I am sure that I am not the last to experience that today.
Think of the ancestors among us and how proud they must be. Think of the people who have fought for the right to vote - here in the U.S.A., and in other countries. Think of those who have died for the right to vote. I think of both of my parents (dead) who would have loved the opportunity to cast their vote for Barack Obama. I think of my grandfather, Harry, who I believe would really like Barack Obama - his intellect, his gentlemanly manner, the fact that Obama is always so neat, and, OK - that he speaks well. "What a fine young man!" my grandfather would say. I cast my vote because of the work and hopes of the ancestors. I cast my vote because of the hard work of Barack Obama's maternal grandmother. Because of her, I could vote for him.
I cast my vote for Obama because I believe in his message, I believe change is needed, I believe that this is an administration I would like to support, and that it is also one I will challenge. I believe my voice will be heard. By somebody.
After casting my vote, I met friends - who were in line ahead of me - for a breakfast of bacon, eggs, and grits. I later called my one friend who would understand exactly what I mean when I say that part of me is exhilarated, and that part of me is weepy. Voting has never been such an emotional experience for me. I get weepy at the thought of the daunting tasks ahead of us. I get weepy at the thought of the possibilities ahead of us.
Please vote. And then laugh, and get weepy with me. Eat your grits. They will fortify you.
24 October 2008
Vote!
I cannot wait for Tuesday, November 4, 2008. I already have my alarm set so I can be the first person to cast my vote at my polling station.
To anxious to write about anything else.
Please remember to vote in hope, not in fear. If we do it the right way, we will get what we deserve. If we do it the wrong way, we will get what we deserve.
Do.It.Right.
To anxious to write about anything else.
Please remember to vote in hope, not in fear. If we do it the right way, we will get what we deserve. If we do it the wrong way, we will get what we deserve.
Do.It.Right.
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