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1) It's raining. Still. This point doesn't really warrant a high five, but it's a point nonetheless! Here's hoping we see some sunshine this weekend. Florida has not been living up to its name at all this week! I hear the weekend is supposed to be much better. Thank GOODNESS.
2) David has always been less than enthusiastic about my road side pickin'. He usually hides in the car if I make him pull over to check out some goodies that are no longer loved. However, I guess he's hung out with me too long because yesterday on our walk around the hood there was a "Freebies" (sign and all) pile. Bless his heart he went to pickin'! He wanted to go back and get the truck and I said let's finish our walk and you think about what you really need in that pile. If you still want it you can go back when we're done. Well, he forgot about it when we got home and I didn't remind him…am I a bad wife? However once he reads this I'm sure he'll be hightailing it back over tonight to see if there's anything good left. Ha!
3) I found some awesome new kicks this week at Ross. They were just a little big coming in at a size 18. I regretfully put them back.
4) I started an at home teeth whitening regimen this week. After I brush and floss at night (I just went to the dentist and am doing good on these tasks for the time being), I take a cue tip and squirt hydrogen peroxide on it and rub it all over my teeth. It fizzes just a bit around my gums. I spit but don't rinse. I try to do it before bed so it can get good and soaked in although this is probably not very good as I'm supposed to thoroughly rinse my mouth after 10 minutes and instead I go to sleep. Seriously though it's not much at all that I'm applying so I'm thinking it shouldn't be too life threatening. I'm not swishing a mouth full after all. Anywho! I took before pictures so I plan to report back if it's a success story!
5) I'm traveling next week for work to Coral Springs, FL. This is an annual conference I attend and I'm to the point that I actually like going to it. I look forward to seeing the people every year and even though it's work, it's nice to get away from the office and actually see the folks that I talk to on the phone all the time. I typically have to give a big presentation but I don't this year and it makes it that much better. I would rather saw off my arm than talk in front of people but it is part of the job. However I'm happy to have a bye this time. I'm also looking forward to the long drive (about 6.5 hours) just so I can listen to my new audio books!
Have a great weekend everyone!!


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I feel desperate for it some days.
We live in dust, surrounded by dirt. I hope for something beautiful all day long. I know it is here, but oh these long summer days that stretch into September and October and November... they burn right through you. I crunch across yellow grass and the air puffs with dust around my boots while I try to catch my breath in the waves of heat.
It aches, this need. It is a physical sensation, an inconvenient need I don't want to have, but that I can't deny.
I find myself drinking in the faces of my children. Staring long at the curve of their brows, the depth of a dimple. I watch the muscles move on their arms as they talk.
I scour the ground for one tiny weed flower. Stare at the sky needing the white on blue.
It is hard to find the words to explain this... I don't really fully understand myself... but I grieve still. I also feel guilty for grieving.
It has been two years since the fire. One of my dearest friends just moved into her replacement house. Just moved in.
Grief? She has experienced grief. Over and over and over. So my welling eyes and my stopped up throat seem like so much child's play.
But I can't deny the truth. I hurt deep for what is still gone. For what was ravaged and still lies naked and black.
I told Stephen the other day that I feel like I've had no beauty in my life since the fire. Is that really so? Of course not. Because there is a beauty wilder than those black sticks. There is gorgeousness in all the faces, in the skies and in the stars. In the reaching out hands. In the loving.
I know this.
But something more than just trees was burned to a crisp in that fire. I can't say what, I don't know, but I miss it.
Maybe it was a child-like sense of security. Truth: nothing is secure this side of heaven. But the illusion feels comfortable, doesn't it?
I think about this for my children. How the fire has shaped who they are now, who they will become. For the children whose homes were so much ash? Not a shaping as much as a pounding, a kneading.
Even still, for my children, with their home intact, there was much impact. If your childhood world had burned down... if every time you went to the grocery store you drove through a forest of pointy, falling over matchsticks... if everyone you knew was divided into two groups - burned out or not... wouldn't that affect your way of thinking?
Stephen made a new rule a few weeks ago and posted it on the fridge:
I didn't want to do it. I stopped regularly reading fiction years ago because once I start I don't want to put it down. If I could, all I would do is read. It's too hard to stop. But, I agreed. Abbie wanted me to reread Anne of Green Gables, because she had just finished it.
When I sat on my bed with Anne of Green Gables in my hand, I was doing it for the two of them. It was not where I wanted to be.
My husband is a wise man. From the first page I was lost. I soaked in that book, gulping down the lightness of the words, and the beauty of Anne's world. I sat there for an hour, a dried out raisin plumping up on words penned over a century ago.
A huge cherry tree grew outside, so close that its boughs tapped against the house, and it was so thickset with blossoms that hardly a leaf was to be seen. On both sides of the house was a big orchard, one of apple trees and one of cherry trees, also showered over with blossoms; and their grass was all sprinkled with dandelions. In the garden below were lilac trees purple with flowers, and their dizzily sweet fragrance drifted up to the window on the morning wind. - Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgomery
And when I stood up, I was refreshed.
That man of mine went all analogizing on me the other night. He asked me what an engine needs in order to go. "Fuel," I said, wondering where he was going.
"Ah," he said, "but it also needs oil. A little something nice to make things run smoothly. Or else the engine seizes up. If it it isn't ruined, it is damaged. Forever. You need a little oil. A little something fun."
I think beauty is my oil.
I've tried to make a habit of finding beauty. I know that it is everywhere. But sometimes when the weight becomes heavy and the shoulders bow down, my head is just not lifted enough to look.
The other night I was pecking away at my keyboard, writing this and that, a deadline looming. It was after dinner. Everyone else was outside in the dismal overcast fields and the house was quiet. I was grim and grumpy and struggling... the words weren't coming and even my hands seemed to scowl. I started writing this very post.
The door slammed and I kept typing. Then in my left ear I heard my name. I turned and saw this.
It was a simple offering, love from the heart of a little boy who didn't even know what his mama needed. The grace of that small burst of flowery sun tamed my selfish storm.
I wrapped my grubby little boy up in my arms and nestled my face in his curls and thanked him and the good Lord who made him.
Everywhere, everywhere, there is beauty, and on the days when my eyes see only the dust at my feet, the love of those in my life bends in and puts it in front of my bowed face.
Grace abounds.
And though the base of that cross was charred two years ago, it still stands.
Stephen's gift of time to lose myself in beauty every night inspired another post which I shared on the HelloMornings blog. If, like me, you are burdened with more to do than you have time, and to-do lists that rule like tyrants, take a moment to breathe deep and read Love Gives the Gift of Grace.
Hearts for Home Blog Hop
Thought Provoking Thursday
Faith-Filled Friday

subset: commoncrawl


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The next-generation airlifter's debut at this important biennial aviation industry gathering will highlight its advanced capabilities, which are well-suited for the region's air forces. To demonstrate this aircraft's performance, the A400M is carrying out its impressive flying routine from the air show's Dubai World Central location.
2013 has been a milestone year for the A400M, with the initial two aircraft handed over to the French Air Force, while the delivery process is underway with Turkey – the airlifter's second operator.
Designed to meet the modern needs of global air forces, the A400M combines the strategic performance required for long-range missions with the tactical capability to operate from short and unpaved runways.
Among the A400M's technological and operational features are: the world's most powerful turboprop engine in production; an airframe with 30 per cent composite construction, including the first complete wing of carbon fibre reinforced plastic (CFRP); and an advanced cockpit based on Airbus' A380 commercial jetliner.
Airbus Military's market presence in the Middle East and North Africa regions is already well-established through the company's CN235/C295 family of tactical transport aircraft, and the A330 MRTT tanker – which are also proven in the region's operating conditions.
A400M performs a flight demo on day two at the 2013 Dubai Airshow.


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Here's 2 Sunday comics, to make up for all the times I haven't posted them. I've saved some more Calvin for next time.
And then, there's this:
I have been awarded a Versatile Blogger Award from http://sgpart.blogspot.com/. If you've never seen this blog, check it out. Her students have been doing AMAZING portraits of presidents! Teddy Roosevelt, George Washington, Obama, etc. You've go to see these - it takes an amazing teacher to bring this kind of work out of her students. Kudos! Anyhow, I'm going to break the award rules. I've gotten 2 of these awards before, and I don't want to keep naming the same blogs over and over so please forgive me for not passing on the award to 10 more blogs. I hope I don't offend anybody by not doing this. It's just not going to happen... If you want to check out the blogs I like, just look at the ones in my blogroll on the side. I added a couple new ones today, and I'm following a couple other new blogs that I'll add once I see that they are posting again. But I WILL try to tell you 7 more things about me, the other rule of the award:
- I'm a fickle artist. I have too many artistic hobbies and so lots of stuff goes unfinished but I like trying new stuff. Someday... I'll finish a new painting, play with the free motion sewing capability of my sewing machine, take that class in making flamework glass beads, begin to build another dragon, add more dragonflies to my car, learn to use Photoshop, etc. You get the idea.
- I'm neurotic in cars. I don't like driving over bridges, or in heavy traffic, and I feel a HUGE sense of accomplishment when I make it over the Tappan Zee Bridge which is 2 miles long. (It's sort of a gateway to the NYC area.)
- My favorite color is alizarin crimson.
- My favorite flower is the pansy. I love that they are so colorful.
- I adore my goofy cat Isis. She is a house cat that spends a great deal of time outside on a harness & rope tied to the porch, and is happy. We call her "dope on a rope".
- I have tiny fat feet with structural weirdness. It's hard to find shoes to fit and I get upset about finding shoes for special occasions. I wear athletic shoes to school most days.
- I like to shamelessly promote stuff having to do with my son. (Anyone know of any good creative job opportunities in the Boston area for a new college grad with a degree in Entrepreneurship and an interest in PR, event organization/management, and the live music scene?) His college band recently released a CD - but don't listen in your classroom (2 obscenities). The irony is that itunes labeled these 2 songs 'explicit', but there is NOTHING on the CD relating to sex, drugs, or promoting violent behavior, or anything else of the sort, as you hear in a lot of music the kids listen to these days. The song lyrics, while a bit cryptic, are all about social or political issues. There's not a love song among them. Anyhow, the boys felt those two words were necessary. Here's their website: http://theradiumgirls.bandcamp.com/


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Simply Vintage
Some of my most treasured possessions are absolutely divine, and felt the need to share them with you. All of them have been handed down to me by grandmother, and even though they're not luxe vintage they're vintage nonetheless, and beautiful.
The cerulean color, and flower motif is lovely along with the engraved gold edge and handle...this was the most awesome present a (fashionable) 12 year old could receive.
I have no idea if the stones are real (I highly doubt it) or what fragrance it held inside. I won't use it to hold perfume, but instead it's showcased in my room to be "oohed and ahhed" over.
After cleaning stuff out from my mini-vacation last week at the parentals I rediscovered this convertible purse/clutch, and had to bring this back with me. It fills two holes in my accessories wardrobe--1) it's camel which I don't own a thing in, and 2) it's an actual clutch which I also don't own...until now. There's no "label" which I'm fine with actually, but isn't the color amazing?!?!
By the way please visit Uptown Twirl, and nominate Prudent Style by Ally to be the first Miss Uptown Twirl! She's looking for upcoming/under-the-radar fashion bloggers, and people alike, and this is a chance to really get PSBA off the ground and in the blogging spotlight. So spread the word, nominate, and keep fingers crossed!
Happy Shopping!


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"I learned the hard way that you must be disciplined, vigilant, and obedient about the practices that will build your spiritual muscles and put the old you to rest. The truth is that you really are sleeping with the enemy, and the enemy knows that you are doubtful and fearful." Iyanla Vanzant
"But I am not tragically colored. There is not great sorrow dammed up in my soul, nor lurking behind my eyes. I do not mind at all. I do not belong to the sobbing school of Negrohood who hold that nature somehow has given them a lowdown dirty deal and whose feelings are all hurt about it. Even in the helter-skelter skirmish that is my life, I have seen that the world is to the strong regardless of a little pigmentation more or less. No, I do not weep at the world - I am too busy shaprening my oyster knife." Zora Neale Hurston
For the past ten days I have been drafting this letter to you. Truthfully at this point I don't know if it's a letter to you or more the new daily writing I eagerly release my memoirs into. This idea was prompted the Sunday before last when I attended your graduation ceremony of the 2011 MFA Creative Writing program. I thought I was there to celebrate my two friends Gina Loring and Dasha Kelly who are two powerful warrior writers, poets, storytellers, performers, friends, spirits, women, beings. I am sure they made a great impression on you with their work, beauty, style. I sat there, maybe fifteen rows back with my Nikon focused, ready to take pictures of my friends as they walked across the stage. But as I sat I was more and more inspired speaker after speaker. I realized that the ceremony was as much about me as it was anyone there. I didn't expect that. Well, not to the degree that I was captured and inspired. Thank you.
One of the student speakers put a particular thought in my head. I wish I could remember his name. He was an older white haired gentleman with a good sense of humor and big stomach. I related to him. In his speech he talked about what he imagined the admittance board discussed as they read his letter requesting to be admitted into your fine program.
I wondered about what the board think about any letter I would write about myself? What would I write to a group of seven or so people to sum up why I should be chosen? Where would I begin? What would I leave out? Who would I ask to review my letter? Dasha? Gina? My son? My bill collectors? What would you be looking for? How long should it be? Is the abortion too much? Are the fibroids too yucky? That I call myself a feminist but feel the need to explain what that means everytime I say it, is that not smart enough for someone you would consider? That's my thing. Everybody has a thing and that's mine. Am I smart enough? Did that sound dumb or stupid? Geesh! I'm like a third grader in my mind. Always asking. Not out loud, but I'm always wondering. Even though I know that's crazy. Of course I'm smart enough.
Still I wonder what odd facts you would want to know about me. Someone you only know on paper for the amount of paragraphs you choose to puruse. Do you care that I cringe when I hear hateful words that intend for a group of people to be made small? Nigger, fag, wetbacks. You know the words and phrases. All of them. Would you want a list of my ex lovers? Some of them will not say the best things about me, but some of the most awful things will be true. Would you want to speak to my husband soon to be or some poets in my arts community? They will describe me in the most honorable ways. And that will be true too.
I am just freewriting here. In my socks and sweats halfway listening to some news show about something I should be more educated on than I am. I have never written a letter like this before. I have spent years in college but don't have my B.A. yet. I have been saying yet for a very long time. Long Beach City College, some business school in the valley my mom thought was a good idea, a summer at Spelman, Grambling State University, Strayer University (an online school, my favorite. I work well in pajamas.) Then Everest College where I studied to be a nurse's assistant. None of this is impressing you I'm sure. Just thought you should know.
I have lived most of my adult life as an artist. A storyteller mostly. A writer. A performer. I have told stoies on stages throughout this country. I have written seven books and published two. My favorite is a collection of short stories I haven't published yet called WOMEN IN THE VILLAGE GO 'ROUND AND 'ROUND about a young woman who goes off to college and has an assignment to create a story about where and how she grew up. She chose to interview several women in her "village." These women. These bold, ordinary women one at a time sat in the comfort and discomfort of their kitchens and back porches and poured out the never to be healed raw parts of their scars to Phoebe Sunday Morning Waters (Sunny). I hope you and the world will read my collection one day. I am feeling stuck with this book. Don't know where to submit it. I am so protective of this baby and have held it close to my heart for too long. It's time, I know, to let these women fly. These women told me their stories while I lived in McDonough, Georgia. I was alone in my home and they took space in my head and would not stop talking. Whispering. Chatting. Scaring and soothing me as if finally they had portal to escape and be heard. These women in the village of my head. Here is one of the stories from that collection. This one is called SUGAR'S BABY (in loving memory of Baby Mary):
Finally! Seem like I been waitin' forever and a day just to tell my story. I got a story to tell too. I guess you say this better be a good one huh? Well, it ain nothin' that's what it is. Iss a story about my nothin'. I couldn' ax for nothin' better than nothin' with every and all the things I been through.
This is a picture of my Mercy. She sure was one pretty one wasn' she? I didn' have a camera so I just drew a picture of her. It ain all the way right on because I'm not a professional artist or nothin' like that, but you can still tell how preddy she was right? I know it. She was only three days when she went on and left. I had her right here in this house. Right here. My sister helped me deliver her. We were in my own room on my own bed. Buford was fightin' overseas and couldn' be here. But he was here. In his own quiet way. All my brothers and sisters came and waited in the livinroom for the baby to come. All of them, and me of course, and Mama. Daddy wasn' here because it was Sunday and he had to preach night service. It wasn' nothin' that was ever gon keep him from night service. He didn' even miss it the Sunday after he passed. He said the Lord told him he was gon take him away and to get the service together. So he wrote it down on a piece of paper and had my oldest living brother Theodore read it to the crowd while his body was layin' right there.
I laid down on the bed after my water broke and Happy came in and took over. I juss did everything she say. She said push and I pushed. She said breathe and thass what I did too. I guess it took about ten hours, but after it was over I didn' even remember the time. What time? I just held her in my arms rockin' back and forth. Rockin' and singin' to her. I knew she was gon be a girl because Happy been dreamin' 'bout spiders. Happy even knew what the girl was gon look like and what she had come here to do. New babies always come to see Happy. They always do. Happy even tole me what to name her. Mercy. I preddy much do whadever Happy tell me and it so happen that I like that name too. Mercy.
After Mercy came through, everybody came into the room with us and took turns holdin' her and kissin' all over her. Everybody except for Rufus. Rufus didn' touch babies. Ever since his own boy Booty passed on in his arms he stayed away from babies. It wasn' his fault or nothin' like that. The angels got ready for Booty to come home thass all. He came in the room though. Sat over in the corner wantin' to smile. Rufus never did smile much either. He wanted to though. So there was Marvin, JuniorBoy, Theodore, Rufus, Happy, BabyGirl, Sister, Brother, Ruth, Amos, Paul, Simon, Ezra, Joseph and David. Esther, Nehemiah, and Leviticus had passed on by then. I was the baby.
I guess that was the happiest day of my whole life. Holdin' Mercy in my arms all night. I didn' even want to go to sleep. Happy told me to sleep when the baby was sleep so I could be well rested for her feedin'. I loved feedin' my baby. Seem like she knew just how to do it. Even better than I did. Mercy would wrap her little biddy lips around my nipple and juss go at it. All the way till she was full all the way up. Seem like she would drink all the milk from one breast and move herself over to the next.
Happy tole me to go out Tuesday evening to get some fresh air. I didn't want no fresh air, I just wanted to stay inside and kiss over Mercy. I did what she tole me to do though. I went in the backyard and sat on the swing Amos had built. That was my dream place. I could stay out there all day and never know what time it was. I would swing on that swing and dream up some good ole dreams. That day I dreamed that Buford could be with us and see Mercy. He wasn' gon be able to come until the end of the week. Seem like that was takin' forever. I stopped daydreamin' long enough to hear Mama and Daddy in my room singin'. They didn' never sing together. They was barely in the same room together. Daddy was always in the backroom workin' on his sermon for the next Sunday. Thass what babies do though. They bring folks together. After while I was tired of swingin' and dreamin' and I wanted to feed my baby.
I went in the house and Daddy walked out as I was comin' in. He didn' say nothin'. But then he barely did say nothin'. I picked up Mercy and there she was just as beautiful as ever. It just wasn't no baby born in this world as beautiful as mines. Mama heard me say that one time and she tole me don' never say that again 'cause it was a disrespect to Baby Jesus. I guess so.
Happy tole me to go on and lay down and take a nap. I tole her I didn' feel like takin' no nap. I wanted to hold Mercy. Even if Mercy was sleepin' I just wanted to hold her and look at her while she slept. I could tell Happy didn't want me to hold my own baby but she really couldn't say nothin'. She was my baby, not hers. She and Mama left the room not sayin' nothin' and I did what I wanted to do. I kinda started thinkin' that maybe Happy was just a little bit jealous of me havin' my very own baby 'cause she was the only one of us that didn' never have one yet.
I held Mercy for a real long time and she never did cry or fidget or nothin'. She just laid there. After awhile Rufus walk in and just took Mercy right out of my arms. Didn't say nothin', just took her and held her. I didn't say nothin' 'cause it ain like Rufus to even hold a baby. I started to think about all the miracles Mercy was bringin' to the family already. Mama and Daddy singin' together. Bein' in the same room. Rufus pickin' up and holdin' a baby. He put his lips to her cheeks and started to cry. I did too. I guess he was rememberin' Booty.
It look like Happy was right after all about me layin' down 'cause I shol did get real real sleepy after that. I laid on down and took a nap. Guess I was even more tired than I thought I was because it was early the next mornin' when I woke up. I didn' see Mercy so I went to see who was huggin' and kissin' all over her. Seem like I couldn' find nobody. Then I heard that old piano playin' in the livinroom and I couldn' race in there fast enough? Didn' nobody play that piano and make it sound like that except for Buford. I stood there watchin' and listenin' to him. There he really was. So handsome. He looked at me and tole me to come over and sit on the bench with him while he play.
"Where everybody at?" I don' know why I axed him like he should know.
"They out back getting ready. You gotta go get ready too."
"Get ready for what? I ain goin' nowhere. Come on Baby I got to show you yo very own baby girl. She the most beautiful baby ever been born in the world except for Baby Jesus. Where she at?" Then I went in Mama and Daddy's room and there she was. Sleepin' like a angel. Somebody had got her all dressed for me. She had on all white with a little bonnet. I picked her up like I always do but she felt…heavy. The kinda heavy that just a few days caint to do nobody. But what did I really know about babies? I kissed her and her skin felt like a doll skin. "She so soft. Buford, aint she just preddy?"
Buford looked at her but he didn' wanna hold her. Then Rufus came in and took her from me again. "Mercy gon on, Sugar. Get dressed and come on out back with us."
"Gon on? What you talkin'?" I knew. But I didn' know. Because I didn' want to know. Then I heard Mama and Daddy and all my livin' brothers and sisters in the far end of the backyard singin' and knew for sure. Mercy had her white dress on so I put my white dress on too. Buford had on his uniform and we walked out together. My Mercy didn' have no shoes on so I didn't put none on either.
"And we will all be together on that great gettin' up mornin'…" They were all there finishin' up the song. Daddy was holdin' her over the hole about to pray. I didn' wanna pray. I didn' close my or nothin' neither. I just looked at my Mercy one more time.
I created that story because my grandparent's first child was named Mary and like Mercy, she passed away three days after her birth. My grandmother was a young mother and was the youngest of sixteen children. On the day Mary passed my grandmother held her and carressed her not knowing she was only holding the shell of Mary. I remember she used to tell me about how she would never "cry or fidget or nothin'". That story all stuck with me and often I think about Mary. My aunt.
I used to sit quietly and listen to adults talk. Anyone really. My favorite place in the world was where ever I was with my notebook where I could practice my cursive and work in my "famous stories" that's what I called them then. I was always going to be a writer. Big people have ways though of letting children that there is an exception to the "you can be whatever you want to be rule." The older you get the more you are made aware of the ammendments. The main one, I think is that you can be what you want to be as long as you have one of them goodgood jobs to go along with what you want to do. And be sure that what you want to do is something you can fit into a weekend. But these are different days. Or are we just hearing differntly?
They just reported on the news that they are starting to lay off workers at the courts now. It was recently reported that they are closing some post offices. Who would have ever thought? Remember the saying that "there is always work at the post office"? Well, there is not.
No president is creating jobs. It, I believe, is up to us to create jobs. This is who we used to be. A people who saw a need and created a job. We were doing this from way way back. Back in the day a young man saw a neighbor's grass growing long and knew the man of the house worked late or wasn't there or whatever and then that young man became the caretaker of the yard. A job. A woman did the grocery shopping for Sis. Jenkins and her friends and built that into being her job. A painter sold his art on Venice Beach and that was his job. And he fed his children. A man fixed cars and put up shelves. A woman kept the children in the neighborhood. That was her job and she fed her family and paid the bills. Someone started a magazine. Someone made dolls, baked cakes, drove folks around, cleaned houses, sold books, purses. Whatever.
Then that wasn't good enough (or something). No job was good enough unless it was a goodgood job. You know the ones. A postal worker, a county employee, you know, the jobs that are being cut now. What can you do with you hands? We have strayed away from using our hands to work. To create. I know a guy, JT, the wonderful man who fixes my car. Praise God I haven't needed anything other than simple things, battery installed, my starter... but he can do much bigger jobs. Not just the car, name a job in the house and he can do it. Remember when brothas like JT were everywhere? Funny side note, on top of all the work he does, JT is also a dj and a barbor. Okaaaaa! So he might not have have those great benefits but he can sure work everyday.
The two books published are THE SCIENCE OF CHOCOLATE MILK MAKING (poetry) and THE CORNERS OF MY SHAPING (poetry, musings, essays). Here is one of the essays from THE CORNERS OF MY SHAPING:
In 1973 my sunny days began and ended with me sitting impassively on my front steps. My castle. Not like many children today who seem to require expensive electronic gadgets to occupy themselves. I could caper around busying my inquisitive mind for hours on end on my steps counting perfectly the cars that went by. Ford, Ford, Toyota, Pinto. Pretending I was the exquisite Diahann Carroll giving an eloquent speech to my loyal fans, head held high and tilted, looking down beyond my pointed nose, hair curled and poofey and perfect like a high fashioned helmet, or pressed straight and pulled back tight in a bun.
Me, being a queen on my royal grounds where I first loved the smell of water tasting thirsty sidewalk on hot days and California cold nights. Where the smell of grass was my favorite fluffy lounge chair at Starbucks and chamomile tea. Though I did not drink tea in those days. And there was no Starbucks. Where there was my tree, just nine papa steps in front of my porch. Whose leaves and branches reached to God's house and hung almost to the grass but were not strong enough to hold me. Yet assured me that I was strong enough to brook whatever should come my way. That I was okay. My front steps. I have blocked out, or it has been blocked out for me, some of the details of this story, but that part is clear, those were my steps. There were only three and that was perfect.
My mom, dad and I had recently moved from the green (or was it brown?) apartment building on Walnut in Central Long Beach commonly known as the east side, to the single family dwellings on the west side of town at 1367 Cameron. Right around the corner from both sets of my grandparents who lived on Taper Street across from each other. In the apartment on Walnut, before my sister Roshann was born, we lived on the second floor. The steps were ugly and concrete and cobblestone. There was a peek a boo space between each step and a black iron rod to hold onto as one traversed up and down.
But those steps were not mine. No. They belonged to everyone. And no one claimed them as their own. No one dreamed of having long brown hair and marrying a prince on those steps. Those steps were not my friends. I would not tell my secrets there. One day I was in the living room and the door was left open. I was finally, to the surprise of my parents, tall enough to open the screen door. A screen that barely held out flies. An easy unlock.
My tricycle was parked at the top of the steps and was blue and had white strips of plastic hanging from the handlebars to flitter in the wind as I rocketed by. I opened the door and I was on the top of the steps. I sat there wondering, visualizing myself gliding down on my tricycle. I fancied my plastic strips waving away in the wind. Like fire. A delightful way to spend an uneventful Sunday afternoon. The coast was clear and I went for it.
God is wonderful in what He allows us to forget. I don't remember tumbling all the way down, but I must have. About five years later I fell and was in the intensive care unit at Memorial Hospital for two weeks with a fractured skull from another fall. Again, I remember falling, but not the hitting the ground part. God is wonderful. From the stairs I do remember landing and crying at the bottom step. I remember being hurt, but safe. Mostly I suppose I was disappointed. That was not what I had envisioned. There were three teenaged boys strolling by who thought without thinking that my tumbling was funny. My father, annoyed by their mocking and buffoonery and suddenly sobered from Schlitz Malt Liquor and Mary Jane, reminded them in his special way, that surely it was not.
My Cameron Street steps were not disappointing like those. They did not call out to me with the intent of temptation when I was momentarily unsupervised. They did not propose excitement on a peaceful Sunday and then produce danger. My new steps did not lie. I was only safe on those steps that were red and three and my own.
Next door on Cameron, west of us, in the green house where I do not recall a mommy or daddy (but there must have been at least a mommy) lived two girls whose names and faces I can never call to mind. I have not outgrown their voices however, raspy and bumptious, heavy for such thin girls as it occurs to me in my hindsight. They had cool sneakers and strong arms, cold fingers and could Double Dutch a full song. Indeed they were real. Though I have had lovers who wished they were not. I remember them to be about fifteen and sixteen. My mother remembers that too.
The oldest lead the ghetto bureaucracy. In short, she was the boss of us. Of her sister, who was taller with shorter hair, quiet with issues of her own brewing with no place to unfold. Of me, lucky and next door. Of what seemed like the neighborhood where each house appeared occupied with private business. After some time it was okay with my parents that I went in their backyard with them that shared the same fence as ours. Whose grass was the same green. That was the same size and also had pomegranate and lemon trees and a garage and no dog. We did not have a dog yet. But theirs was not mine.
They had a white tent behind the garage and a nephew who was a few years older than I and shy. There was also a big boy, a teenager or older in the tent. I do not remember his name. Almost his voice. Barely his hair that was short like big boys wore their hair. Faded blue jeans slightly too big and looked clean but were not. Was callow and slim but had burly black boy sad eyes that had been in trouble before with full lips and a half happy smile poked and held to one side. The oldest was the cagey heavy whisperer of the cabal. Something was up. I saw the fusee signals and heard the cacophony of voices in my head but crossed the line anyway.
I was four and they demanded I stop being a big baby and suck his dick. I remember that it had never been a dick before. Somehow I knew that boys had pee pees, but dicks were new. Perhaps pee pees grew into dicks, I must have thought. But my young Virgo analyzing and attention to the byplay was not going to postpone this. There was a dick in front of me and big girls I thought were my friends begging in their demanding voices to suck. But it was not peppermint or Bit o Honey, more like a Bomb Pop or Big Stick. But not from the ice cream truck with bells and whistles. It was not smooth and orange and sweet and inviting. It was Play-Do left open. Ashy and uncared for. I wanted my steps. This was my first dick and I wanted my steps that were safe and red and lead to my porch, where there was dust and loose gravel and chipped paint and no dicks. My porch had no dicks. But I was far away from my porch. Far from my lawn never perfectly manicured but mine. Just next door but miles from my father who would beat that dick up if he knew. Far from my mother who would spank their big girl butts if she knew that her daughter, who was sugar and spice and everything nice, was not sucking at all. Was gagging on flesh too big for her mouth, too hard for her jaws, too long for her throat. A dick. Even the name was not nice. If my father knew… If my mother knew… What if I was not everything nice anymore?
I did not like her yelling hand with dark brown rough knuckles on the back of my head touching too firmly my barrettes that were red and friendly like my porch. Did not like the bossy one moaning like it felt good to her. Her eyes half closed and head moving passionately in half circle then back again. The slow inhale hiss and ahh. Like I was doing it right. Then from nowhere there was liquid that was warm and salty and not my spit anymore. I ran out of the tent screaming. "He peed in my mouth! He peed in my mouth!" I ran as fast as I could to get past my porch, that was just a porch and not safe, into my bed, my for real castle.
Before I could get to the gate the shorthaired one caught me. I kicked and screamed but she carried me to the t shaped clothesline post that was strong and sturdy. Like maybe this was for more than sun drying skirts and blouses to be worn on Sundays. Maybe for other girls who had pee in their mouths and ran to get away.
She tied thick brown rope around my neck and tied the other end to the top of the post. She picked me up and held my body as it swung. Surely that was a station for girls who did not swallow pee. For girls who could not run faster than a fifteen year old and threatened to tell. This was a four year olds Calvary. She told me that I would not say anything because if I did she would tell my mother that it was all my idea and I was a nasty girl. Me?
My mother could not believe that I was a nasty bad girl. But what if she did? What if I was? She let me go with a shove that said all I needed to know. I was too scared to tell my mother, too scared to tell my father. That night when it was time for bath my mother noticed the rope burn around my neck. I lied to her about how I got it. Told her that I was playing some game and it didn't even hurt. My mother, being a mother, wasn't satisfied with the story. I couldn't go in their backyard anymore. I couldn't be with the girls at all. Fine with me.
I don't remember the speech after the bath. Don't remember what happened to the dick or the nephew. I vaguely recall the girls after that. I do remember that my steps were too close to theirs. They were not my steps anymore. There was a dick.
This is a story that took me a long time to write. I needed to be on the other side of it before I could put words to it. Today I know that I am not the victim of no one. No thing. Prayer and writing helped me heal and I pray that writing and reading helps someone else know that they are not alone and that truly there is healing. That there is another side.
In addition to my stories I have three cds featuring a collection of my poetry accompanied with music. The cds are: Journey, Unmasked, and the latest is Simple Like a Daisy. Perhaps I will share some poetry with you later on. Not now though. This is sounding more like my bio than what I really want you to know about me.
Sweet Antioch, I want you to know that I am a mother to an awesome teenager who has spent much of his life in the audiences, backstages and in green rooms of poetry and music events. He has been awesome at every stage. When he was seven years old he sat in the back seat of my car and stared out of the window and asked me where babies came from. "Is this a conversation about sex?" I asked. "No." He said. "Where do they come from before that?" I thought about my response for a moment and said, "People believe different things. I believe that babies are in heaven, choosing their parents, choosing the best situations to be of best service to the world." To which he responded, "Ok, I don't know if I believe that. But that is very interesting."
Around this same time in his life one summer he was up very late at night playing checkers online. I fell asleep and I felt him shake me and ask what year he would have had to be born in to be eighteen years old. I sprung awake realizing that he was online alone playing checkers and thought some checker "buddy" was chatting with him or something. But no, that wasn't the case at all. Earlier that day we were shopping and he wanted a video game that I refused to buy, mostly because it cost sixty or so dollars. Well, he saw a commercial for DeVry (which he pronounced DEV-Ree)and they advertised a course on making video games and also said that they offered online education. My brilliant, big eyed, Hershey skinned son went to the website and filled out some questionaire or appliciation and the age box kept coming up red because he was after all, only seven. He figured he would take the online video game couse. Online so that they wouldn't know his true age. He guessed the course would take ummmm, maybe a few hours, how hard could it be? And that his videos would look like any game he would play on his XBOX or whatever system he had at the time. Brilliant! I am honored that such an inquisitive seeker came through me. He is amazingly kindhearted and strong. Handsome and funny. The best blend of his father, me, God, his sister, step mother, cousins, grandparents and all who love him. And what do stories about my son have to do with me? Well, I am filled with them. Filled with stories and inspirations about his journey through life. Which is also my journey as I separate my heart from my body and let it live outside of me. Playing on playgrounds, on football fields, riding the bus, negotiating his way through life.
I want you to know my passion for writing and why I zone out during conversations and dinner. Movies and lectures. Strolls in the malls, beaches, in line at the Gas Company. Why I wake up at odd hours of the morning. There is always a character I am creating, a stanza I am rewriting. A paragraph I am deleting, a villain I am killing off or giving power to. I am constantly writing and rewriting. Always revisiting work to add color. To add sound and texture. Creative non fiction is my favorite lately but depending on the season it's fiction, poetry, freewriting in my journal or blog. Yes, I'm a blogger.
Once I asked my Godmother why artists and poets and storytellers go through so much in our lives. So much of...it. She quickly answered, "Because you will tell it." She was right. And the world is fed with our telling. Someone is healed or at least inspired to be. Hopefully. That's why I write. To heal. Even if just myself. To heal and to remember. To remember the smell of thoughts and joy. To recall the grainy texture of memories behind my teeth and the salt they leave at the roof of my mouth as they slide down my throat as I forget.
I want you to know about my passion for justice for all human beings on the planet. We are all connected. All of us. Black and white, gay and straight, democrat, republican. All of the labels and boxes we put ourselves and others in only seperate us from ourselves. But I could go on and on about this. I want you to know my relationship, my oneness with God. That I am constantly praying, constantly giving myself more to God's will and steadily increasing my circle of compassion so big that no one is left out. No one. That I am ever trying to see love in the gap where I see separation between me and any other human being.
I am trying to find a space in this letter to include my experiences at the hospice in Georgia where I was an intern. Because I feel they are important to know, that's why. There was death on almost a daily basis and I cleaned the bodies and prepared them for the families to see. For most of them I was the last person they saw, last person they talked to. Shared secrets with, said I love you to, cursed at, forgave. In my life, working at Sacred Journey was one of my greatest honors. You see, Antioch, my resume goes beyond writing and art but all of my experiences make me the writer I am. When I write about death and describe a spirit as it is leaving its body so well it is because I know what that looks like. It doesn't really matter to you that I worked at Michael's Arts and Crafts store in Georgia and knew that the old white man who was in my line buying yarn with tears hidden deep behind his eyes was missing his wife and despite the long line he just needed someone, anyone to recognize his pain. Needed someone to know that his wife as he kner her would never be knitting in her favorite big chair again. Even if that someone was me as the cashier at register three. "Are you ok?" Then he breathed and faintly smiled and answered, "I will be. Thank you. Thank you very much." You see, I may not have the credentials that your applicants have but dear Antioch, my characters come from the realist of places. I know the joy. The oneness with God. The sadness. The missing. I do.
Even now, as I draft this letter to you I am experiencing the missing. Missing my father who (or is it whom) you would have loved. I mean really, what a storyteller. He died almost three years ago. Except most black folks I know say passed on or crossed over or gone home or something like that when we are talking about people we love. I come from great storytellers and my father, I think, was the best. One of our last conversations was when he called me late one night (a lot less than sober). He would just start talking as soon as he heard my hello. "Verily, verily I say unto you." He started. "You there, honey?" He asked but it wasn't really a question. "I'm here." I answered, preparing myself for the journey of his story. When he started with "Verily, verily..." I knew I was in for a journey. He said that that's how Jesus started his stories to the deciples when He really wanted them to listen. As if when He didn't begin like that then it was okay if they only halfheartedly paid attention.
"I ever tell you the story about the shark?" I squeezed in my "no" as he began to tell the story. "Well the shark got a bad rep! A real bad one and Imma tell you how. See, you ain neeeeva gon walk 'cross no dark parkin' lot by yoself and look ova yo shoulda and it be a shark comin' after you. Neeeva! If you eva hear a noise in yo house and you go downstairs it ain neeeva gon be a shark goin' thu yo safe! Neeeva! See, a shark only be in the ocean. Thas all. People always sayin' 'Watch out for them sharks' but everybody know they only in one place. The ocean. If you don't go to the ocean then you ain neva gon git eaten by no shark. The whole thing about life though, is that you got to know yo ocean! See, if you a shopalochic, then you can't live by the mall 'cause thas yo ocean. If you a crackhead then you ain got no business livin' by no drug dealers 'cause thas yo ocean. You know what I'm sayin'? Thas the whoooole thing about life. Know yo damn ocean an don go near it. Do, you might run into some sharks and git eaten up." And that was our last phone conversation. And it replays in my head like so many of his stories. Seriously, storytelling is in my blood. I could use work on some technic and form because my longer stories are kind of jumpy and all over the place. Maybe that's where you can come in. Who knows. But I've got good bones. Really. And against my father's advice I have not done so well staying out of my ocean. There is an abyss in my head filled with characters who eagerly want out. Want their stories told. There are times when I should be doing and thinking about other things much more important but often I am crafting or dictating their prose. I have not been eaten up. My father would be glad to know that. Though there are times when I think I'm close.
I was going through my journals recently and found an entry where I felt particulary low and wrote about that moment as "The Spiral". That day was Friday, September 30, 2011. But that entry was not about that day, but the day before. My tender sore spot of the day before when I was in my room. With plants, lamp, freaking FOX news and no remote, lit (or is it lighted) candle, pictures of my son, my mother. Mirrors, my clothes, a bed, fan, pillows, sketchbooks, journals, poetry cds, me.
I got up that morning before with a sore back and went for a walk. I love walking. What it does for my body, my mind. I had been in so much pain during that time I hadn't had the desire to walk. Only sleep. As if I could sleep. Maybe four hours a night back then. My back was seriously aching and that pain went up into my neck most nights. It was like being nine months pregnant the way I slowly, painfully twisted and turned and tried to find a comfortable position in bed. The constant concern of my home health client putting more pressure on my back early the very next morning and for twelve hours that day sure didn't help. Especially Clara. Lifting her. Transferring her. Bending so so low changing her on the couch she slept on was awful and caused more stress and damage to my back than anything. More than she deserved from me for nine dollars an hour for sure. But then I guess I was the sucka. But it wasn't just Clara, I had other stresses. And I could certainly afford to lose a few pounds. So I made a recommitment to myself to walk at least an hour a day.
My body is shifting. Hormones, all that. Beginning peri menapause. My period stopped months back. I keep hearing that I'm too young for it to have stopped but I sure don't miss it. I know that's a lot of information, but whatever. It's my journal and I can cry if I want to (cry if I want to.)
Around 3:00 that evening real life came crashing down. It suddenly felt like I had been running for the past twenty years straight, then took a break to breathe at the top(ish) of the mountain. There I was, poor girl, bent over, sighing heavily with my hands on my knees and sweat dripping off of my Tyra Banks forehead and just as I cooled off...BAM! Hit with a tumbling rock. Hit with the stress of twenty years. Hit with the sudden acknowledgement of being tired from putting the positive spin on every hard time. Like it can't just be bad sometimes. Suddenly tired from always having the right words to say to everyone who called me with their bad days. You don't feel the bruises until you stop fighting you know.
Somewhere along my journey I made up or agreed to that if I admit to any pain then I was denying the power of God. I'm not. Sometimes I hurt and God is always there, living and breathing in me and those two facts are separate. And the same. And no, my "spirit man" is not wrestling with my "flesh man." Listening to that kind of religiosity makes my stomach hurt. But I don't say anything because letting the conversation dissappear is easier than the discussion.
I should have taken the nap when I felt the spiraling. It's a sinking kind of feeling. Like I'm on an elevator and I'd like to go to the third floor (see, I don't even have penthouse aspirations, just the freaking third floor) then some idiot gets on and pushes the button to the basement. But I don't say anything because riding it out is easier than the discussion. And the idiot elevator envador is not on the car anymore. It's just me. With plants and mirrors and lit or lighted candles and freaking FOX news and no remote.
The sinking was my cue to climb my sore back onto my air mattress and go to sleep. I medicate myself with hot showers and naps because pills are too tempting. I am afraid I could rationalize myself into something I won't be able to journal about later. I didn't take a nap. I didn't lie down because the day before was payday and I had running around to do and bills to pay. I was waiting for my check to pay back a loan from Lynette from the week before and put gas in my car and get Uraeus another jacket and jeans and the rest to go to my web designer because my yearly website renewal fee was due on the 28th and he keeps sending me reminder texts because he doesn't know that I didn't need that right them. And the sinking was serious. That's really what it felt like. Not drowning. Drowning is more dramatic. Drowning is a concious gasping for air. I didn't even know I wasn't breathing until later when Val told me to breathe.
Dear Antioch, if you feel the sinking and you can take a nap, don't do like I did. Take the nap. Forget your website that nobody visits anyway. If you lose it because you missed the renewal date then pay the extra money to get it back up later. Besides, you won't lose your domain name because nobody wants to be you anyway.
I waited for the mailperson. While waiting and sinking to the point I felt slightly queasy in my stomach, I opened my mail from three days ago. And what I go and do that for huh? One of the bills (because that's what mail means, bills, because who writes letters anymore?) one of the bills was from when I went to the emergency room this past Labor Day. I told you about that already didn't I? Yeah, that's when they discovered the stupid firoids. Anyway, here's the crazy breakdown of the charges and services:
Pharmacy $2.00
Med/surg supplies $55.00
I guess the price of latex gloves and plastic cups to pee in have gone up.
Laboratory $21.00
Lab/chemistry $574.00
Lab/hemotology $163.00
I guess that's because I have such a rare blood type.
Lab/urology $250.00
'Cause testing my urine is really hard, even though we did that shit in school and it was like nothing. But whatever.
Ultrasound $4,480.00
Beside this amount, what's crazy about this is that the ultrasound was to check out my uterus but the fibroids were so big that they covered my uterus so the tech couldn't see it at all. Now, to me, I should get some kind of pass or don't pay or something like that. #getthefuckouttahere
Emergency room $1,540.00
Doctor's fee $636.00
For the grand total of $7,721.00
Oh yes they did. Dear President Obama...
And here's what's (sickeningly not) funny. I could have gone to a woman's free clinic in a few days and recieved the same service but because I had to leave work on a holiday (I guess they thought I was faking all the blood pouring out of my vagina and faking my stomach and back pains and really I wanted to ditch Clara and rush home and put on my new Gap stretch capris and swoop over to the Labor Day backyard BBQ and drink 40s with my homies) I had to get a note from the doctor saying that I actually went to the hospital that day. After being the employee who doesn't call in, shows up on time, dependable, team player, and all the other stuff you say about yourself in the interview to get the job, I needed a friggin' note. So, an hour and a half later when my relief arrived, for one day I left my nine dollars an hour job and got a $7,000.00 hospital bill. But hey, I got the note.
And true to my form, I went to my immediate emotional default and gave myself the "It's all good" speech that I have tucked safely in my bra in case I forget any part. I never forget though. And when I'm giving it to myself it's especially harsh and unabridged and accompanied with guilt power points.
* You can handle this!
* You've really got it easy.
* Think of your ancestors who were slaves who had to endure much much worse. So really this is like nothing!
* You are being a punk!
* Look at how blessed you are. It's like you don't even appreciate what you have if you complain (ABOUT ANYTHING)!
I'm trying, but I can't seem to put into words here a complete description of the emotional sinking. I know I keep using that word, but for now it's the best one I have. It's like, you ever drink just a little too much and the room spins? It's like that except the room isn't spinning. It's going down, but not as fast. There is also a sudden fatigue, the not feeling like dealing with one more thing, the desire to scream but why bother.
I called Val because the words were better outside of my head and I knew they would be safe with her.
"But. Noth. Ing. Hap. Pened!" I pushed out through the tears.
"Something did happen!" She shot back. Gently though. The way a friend/aunt/mentor/friend can do. Shot back the meat of what I needed to hear as if sandwiched between butter buscuits. "The stress of your life happened. It all catches up to you. It's like when you're lifting as much weight as you can lift and then you can't lift anymore and then it all comes crashing down on you."
And those are the words I was looking for. That is what I was looking for. To feel understood.
Sidetrack here. I have lived most of my adult life as an artist and then somehow thought having a jobjob would make things easier. It's not. Surely not more money. The jobs that I can get these days don't pay much and I certainly can't vary the pay per assignment. And the rent is still due and I am squeezing in time to shoot events for extra money.
I am not in the sinking vortex I was in that day. I made it through that. I wrote in my journal and posted in my blog and was very specific about things that are personal (beyond the level of personal I usually get) and embarrassing because I'm not the only one who gets affected by the overwhelm of real life. This is my outlet. I can put words to my feelings. I hope those words helped someone. Even if it helped for someone to know that they are not alone. I woke up the next morning in prayer for the woman or man who sits in an office who may feel the sinking and can't leave to take a nap or doesn't have medication or meditation or church or temple or a spiritual outlet or someone to call. I don't have the answers. But I do know what it feels like when the feelings bottled inside come out. When carrying another extra pound is too heavy. I have God, art, poetry, friends, family. I have my writing that I can share with you.
After I got off the phone with Val, I sent the text to my designer. "Hey, still waiting on the mail but it doesn't look like I'm going to make the renewal deposit today." I went back and forth via text with my son about his day. He couldn't play in the game because he forgot his football socks but he still had fun. Then turned off my phone. I breathed. On purpose. Watched Monk, Psyche, Law and Order. I laughed. On purpose. I prayed. I let God love me. I needed that. The writing and the space to let my words flow. Words are important. Feeling is important. Putting true words to true feelings are important. I spent too much of my childhood not doing that. Too much. Too much time feeling that happy was the only acceptable emotion.
I was a young girl but I remember the night my mother announced that she and my father were getting divorced. We were in the house on Cameron St. My sister, Roshann was sitting on the floor below me. I was laying on the couch with my head near hers and my mother was on her knees at the coffee table right in front of us. I remember it was night time.
I wasn't expressing my feelings much in those days. Purposely. If I felt tears coming I would fight them off with my contrived, inappropriate joy. Doing cheers was my method of choice. I don't even remember all of my mother's well prepared words.
My name is Robin, yeah. I am a virgo, yeah. Blah blah blah, yeah. Blah blah blah blah blahblah! Hey hey! 'Cause I shake the best, hey hey! "Your dad and I both love..." 'Cause I shake the best, hey hey! "...will always be your father..." My name is Robin and my favorite color is red... "nobody will ever replace..." I'm better than you 'cause you pee in the bed. Hey hey! "...although he won't be livng here..." 'Cause I shake the best, hey hey!
I knew what was going on but I didn't want to hear it or feel it and most of all I didn't want anyone to see me crying about it. So if I had to sit through it, I would not do so without my off beat soundtrack in the background (foreground really). While I don't need that little girl doing cheers during stressful times anymore, I do pull her out every now and then for fun. In traffic. Hey hey! A few times when I was late for work and had to "meet" with the supervisor. 'Cause I shake the best! Hey hey! Sometimes in church when clearly the minister is unprepared (or I just don't want to be there.) My name is Robin... The night I thought I was having a heartattack and had to spend a two days in the hospital. "Hello, Ms. Reed, I'm Dr...." Hey hey! "We're concerned about..." My name is Robin.
Well, I didn't intend for all of that to come out but that just goes to show me that this might be an interesting exercise for me to take on. To write a letter to you. You seven or so folks sitting around a table who don't know me at all. A letter from me, about me. I am encouraged to take it on. The letter, maybe not sending it. My guess is that I will discover more about myself than you may care to know.
While I have it on my mind I want to mention that in addition to the student speaker I mentioned earlier, I was also greatly affected by the main speaker. I don't remember his name either, Father Somebody. No disrespect. He talked about the work he has done in the community and I was thankful to God that he was inspired and carried through on helping the young men that he has helped in our community. One story he told was of a young man who had spent time and put in work in one local gang. The man was finally out of the gang and trying to do good work. Father was talking to him at the bottom of his steps one evening and asked him what he wanted out of life. He said the young man closed his eyes and thought hard and when he opened them he said simply, "To be a good father." He had a new wife and a new baby and wanted to be a better person for them. For himself. Not long after that conversation that young man was shot. While in the hospital his wife carefully placed photos of family and friends where he could see them even though technically brain dead. Loved ones came by to visit. Eventually though, the young man died. His organs were going to be donated and as the nurses were taking his body to another room for his organs to be removed one nurse looked at his body and noticed all of the tattoos and said to the other nurse, "Who would want this monster's heart?" The other nurse was angered by her comment and said "Shame on you. Didn't you see his wife, his son, his family and friends? How could you call him a monster?"
I watched the audience as Father told the story and there were tears on almost every row. As I wiped my own tears I was so happy to be sitting in that seat last Sunday morning. So honored to witness what was going on. Thank you. Thank you, Antioch for adding brightness to my day. I am a seeker of bright spots in my days. I hold on to them and appreciate them, relive the moments long after they have expired. I have spent much of my life carrying a sadness inside of me. A sadness I could never explain, or worse, justify. It has become much more pronounced in the last six or so years. As a child I remember once my sister asked me what was wrong. "I dunno. You know how sometimes you just be sad and you don't be knowin' why but you be sad anyway?" Those sad thoughts would land on me and not stay long but I rememer the landing. I am forty-two years old now and can better describe the sadness and predict its coming but no better at its prevention. My journals are filled with these sad brave characters. These over the top happy for no reason talking too fast super humans. But last Sunday, dear Antioch, in the hours I was there in my seat smelling flowers guest brought to graduates, watching happy tears fall and letting my own drop, listening to one encouraging word after another, there were no sad thoughts or happy people talking too fast in my head. No old southern women with freakishly smooth skin spooking me with their stories of dead babies and cracked out mothers and grown men turned to dust. Only my own voice, God's voice, the good witches of stories past daring me to at least write the letter. At least say thank you. At least say one day maybe.
Well, I just wanted to let you know how much your ceremony affected me and I'm sure all who were there. You folks keep up the good work over there and have a nice day.
Jaha Zainabu


text:
Our club friends, Matthews' Nurseries, attended Heathlands for this meeting, instead of us going to them. Whenever we went before, the coach was so packed with plants, it was difficult to get them all in. This worked well, the weather was breezy but not cold, so the plants could go outside where we could all browse. It was all hands on deck when the van arrived and the plants were soon laid out for all to see.
|Plants for sale
Ken & his assistant did a sterling job, taking the money & bagging up the plants. Their mental arithmetic got good exercise!
The plants were gorgeous, as usual, with fuchsias, pelargoniums, Petunias, and trailing basket plants of all sorts, with many others.
|Plants & money change hands.
Here are some of the plants for sale:
|Pretty Pelargoniums.
|Some more.
|Decisions as to which ones to buy!
When most of the buying was done, everybody retired to the hall, where the tables & chairs had been laid out so the members could sit around and chat, also listening to the announcements from Peter while they drunk their tea & nibbled on a biscuit. His announcement about the new newsletter being available resulted in a flurry of sales, I am glad to say.
This was a very different meeting and I think it met with everybodies' approval, giving us all a chance to chat for a change.


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RUNWAY: Katama SS17Garrett Neff's Katama continues its exploration into the seas with a plethora of swimwear and casual options for men. Bridging the gap between swim and sportswear were some great tailored swim suits that would be a great for a day of spontaneity, starting off with errands and maybe a quick dip into the ocean. Neff also branched out with some cool shirts and tanks to round out a strong second outing.
(photos via)
hommemodel 3:00 PM Fashion Week , Full Collection , Garrett Neff , New York , Runway , SS17


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Will there be enough parking at the dog run?
There will be no additional parking spaces created with the dog run. Indeed, it seems likely that one or two of the spaces on the roadside on Lakeshore immediately adjacent to the Children's Play Area will be removed to make space for the utility/emergency vehicle accessway.
Most dog park users come by car. Indeed, 95% of them, according to a UC Davis School of Veterinary Medicine study of 17 California dog parks, most of which (12) were urban fenced dog parks. Here's the description of the study and its results. And here are the guidelines they developed. To quote, "Provide adequate parking for the dog park users, as most users (95%) drive to them. In addition, locate the off-leash area close to the parking lot as possible to discourage owners letting their dogs off-leash between the dog park and parking." The presence of enthusiastic dog owners in our community who like to walk to the Lake does not in any way reduce the number of other dog owners who like to go by car.
What will happen if the dog run opens and we then discover that there is not enough parking?
Could we, realizing our mistake in building a dog run with no parking, return the dog run to its former glory as green unprogrammed space?


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Fort Myers, FL (PRWEB) January 09, 2013
Health Care providers in Southwest Florida counties including Manatee, Sarasota, Lee, Collier and Charlotte have joined Save On Medical's network of physicians dedicated to giving patients access to tools to improve consumerism in health care. Patients can now compare 14 practices in Southwest Florida based on price, quality and convenience.
An addition of over 100 new providers in Florida alone means that Save On Medical has providers covering one of the states with the highest uninsured patient population. There are 3.85 Million uninsured Floridians, which accounts for 25.3% of the state. It was for this reason that Save On Medical focused on developing an extensive provider network in Florida from the beginning.
The ability to price shop and find self-pay pricing is no longer an impossible feat. Price transparency is becoming available to the masses and is not limited to just medical professionals anymore. Newly participating practices include the following; Partners Imaging Center Locations, A1 Imaging locations, Rose Radiology Locations, Bowes Imaging, Advanced Radiology Locations and RX for Imaging, LLC.
Visit the Save On Medical website to search for providers in your area today.
About Save On Medical
Save On Medical is a patient tool similar to Expedia for travelers. The website allows patients to price shop, compare and book health care procedures online. Patients are able to search for medical services by price, quality and convenience with the help of the SOM Docometer. By comparing average costs of services in the patients' region, Save On Medical allows for pricing transparency in the health care market, helping the patient to decide what is important to them when it comes to their care. Save On Medical patients can easily schedule appointments and pay for services stress-free and at a fraction of the price, in a time where health care costs are high and price transparency seems impossible.


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Can you believe it's CHRISTMAS WEEK?! Eeeeeek. It's hard to believe that this is my baby's 2nd Christmas, and I'm so excited to see how much fun she has this year! She's been loving seeing Santa (or as she calls him, "Big Ho") everywhere we go, but I knew she wasn't going to be about sitting on his lap. Of course, we took her for a quick visit anyway ;) Crying kid Santa pics are my FAVORITES, so I've been anxious to have one of my very own! Haha. Please don't lecture me about being a mean mom? This lasted about half a second!
Jaqs spent the remainder of our time "hiding" behind her hand. CUTEST THING. By the time we left, she was blowing Big Ho kisses! Sweet girl.
The little "Winter Wonderland" we visit has a nativity scene, too. I took J's picture in it last year, so I had to do the same this year. I adore the sweetness of this photo!
Jaqs is loving her time with GG & Pop!
And I'm loving having my little family together for lots of quality time together!
I probably won't be around much over the next week or so, but I want to wish you all a MERRY CHRISTMAS!! I'm so thankful for the friends that I've made in this little blogging community. You have been such a huge support for me (and my family!), and I'm grateful for the relationships shared here.
I hope your Christmas is magical and that your new year is filled with blessings!
See you in 2014!


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An informative sampling focused on herbs and tea with an occasional sprinkling of fairy dust and a glimpse into family activities too. The contributions to this blog is the combined effort created by the sisters of The Rosemary House and Sweet Remembrances.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Please Do Not Disturb
you may see on the shoreline.
These honu can usually be found basking in the sun, or resting on the black sand beaches along the shoreline. The turtles are brown all over, grow to about three feet in length and can weigh up to 400 pounds. Their name, Hawaiian Green Sea Turtle (honu), originated from the color of their body fat, which is green from the vegetation they eat from the rocks on the shoreline.
Originally hunted by the Polynesians and other Pacific Islanders, the Hawaiian Green Sea Turtles are now protected by state and federal laws. They are listed as endangered by the International Union for the Conservation of Nature.
4 comments:
- Nancy @ Live love laugh said...
What a sight! Thank you for sharing!
- Saturday, January 30, 2010
- Donna and Miss Spenser said...
What incredible pictures!! Amazing!! I especially enjoyed the top two photos - showing them plastered out there on the beach...they look a bit exhausted! Too cute! Thanks for sharing!
Donna (IA)
- Saturday, January 30, 2010
- Marilyn said...
How exciting to see sea turtles. I love seeing animals not normally seen in nature at home. I remember seeing a turtle swim by us in a sail boat when we were in Hawaii. It was just a short glimpse; so this is exciting to see up close.
- Sunday, January 31, 2010
- Time Traveling in Costume said...
We got a laugh out of seeing "Turtle Crossing" signs in Maui, but found out they were serious. We waited but never saw any.
- Wednesday, February 03, 2010


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Ask Us!
Select from FAQ dropdown?Keyword Search
Displaying 1-5 of 5 results.
|Leading Question
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|Does HTC offer a Community Paramedic program?
Information on our Community Paramedic program can be found on our website. Degrees & Programs
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|HTC Medical Careers include Practical Nursing, Nursing Assistant, Medical Assistant, Pharmacy Technician, Dental Assistant, Health Unit Coordinator (HUC), Nursing Station Technician, and Medical Office Careers.
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Medical Office Careers
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|HTC Continuing Education offers non-credit online, short-term, self-paced programs via Ed2Go. Start anytime and work at your own pace.
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Monday, January 17, 2011
into the forest
i'm finding myself increasingly drawn to shades of forest green as my pop of color du jour. think neutral shades of camel or grey with a little punch of forest green. or a lot of punch. it's up to you. the rachel comey booties are especially killing me.
clockwise from top left: rachel comey pants, look book.nu, shopramonawest.com, rachel comey boots, lookbook.nu
I'm reading: into the forestTweet this! Posted by ramona west at 9:06 PM
4 comments:
- Creme De La Kravitz said...
I've really overlooked this color lately but it's so beautiful/earthy.
- January 18, 2011 at 9:08 PM
- Alexandra Amico said...
nice post!
- January 19, 2011 at 8:47 AM
I must add more forest green to my wardrobe...
- January 19, 2011 at 10:08 AM
- bravegrrl said...
love those boots and the cardi :)
- January 19, 2011 at 7:23 PM
Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)


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|I made it!!!
What? You don't think posting a badge alone is a worthy post?
Hah! I got news for you. This is a big horn to toot, and I'm tooting it as loud as I can!
Happy writing and congratulations to all you
A to Z survivors! WE did it!
Thursday, May 1, 2014
78 comments:
Congratz!!! Your post were great!ReplyDelete
Yay!!! Oh, this is definitely a worthy post. Keep on tooting your horn. ;)ReplyDeleteReplies
You too, Chrys!Delete
It is and Toot away(um I mean in a good way not the way my dog does or husband)-lol It was a fun experience and loved your posts!ReplyDeleteReplies
Yeah, I learned on someone's blog that my tooting husband might be a gnome. :-)Delete
Toot away!!! The month of April was grueling. Congrats... YOU MADE IT!ReplyDeleteReplies
And so did you. I'm doing the happy dance (between chugs of chocolate milk). Are you?Delete
Whoot whoot! Congratulations! You came a long way to earn that badge up there :)ReplyDeleteReplies
Thanks Rhonda. I think I'll print it out and frame it. :-)Delete
- AnonymousMay 1, 2014 at 11:52 AM
Well done, Debi. In fact, well done all of us!ReplyDeleteReplies
Absolutely! :-)Delete
Great Job, Debi...you definitely should TOOT your horn and LOUDLY!!! Enjoyed your blog so much.ReplyDelete
Sue at CollectInTexas GalReplies
Thank you, Sue, and thanks for all your visits.Delete
Congratulations! I had a great time, but I'm glad April is over nonetheless!ReplyDeleteReplies
You and I both! :-)Delete
Yay!! Congratulations!! *waves A to Z survivor banner* :)ReplyDelete
The Immarcescible WordReplies
You make me smile. Thanks!Delete
Yeh! It was great "meeting" you during the Challenge. I really liked your posts - got my creative juices flowing. :)ReplyDelete
Madeline @ The Shellshank RedemptionReplies
Thanks, Madeline, and I am so glad I met you too.Delete
Toot away. You earned it!ReplyDeleteReplies
Thanks, and you too!Delete
- AnonymousMay 1, 2014 at 12:56 PM
Congratulations Deb! :DReplyDelete
So... now what? hahaReplies
Write, write, write, paint, write, write, write, and repeat. Oh, and sleep. :-)Delete
Way to go Debi!!!ReplyDeleteReplies
Thank you so much!Delete
Awesome job! *Applause*ReplyDelete
There are times when a person has to blow his/her own horn, and this is one of the occasions to do it.Toot! Toot! Away Deb.ReplyDeleteReplies
I am, and happy dancing too. :-)Delete
You go and toot that horn!ReplyDeleteReplies
Yes, I'm breaking the eardrums of people for miles! :-)Delete
Congratulations. I told you yesterday, but I'll repeat it. You did a great job!ReplyDeleteReplies
Thank you so much! Such nice comments from followers like you made it much easier. I can't tell you how I appreciate your visits.Delete
Congratulations. I too survived through the challenge. Will put up a post soon.ReplyDeleteReplies
Congratulations to you too! :-)Delete
Way to go, Debi. It's a big horn to toot. It was nice meeting you and all the other bloggers who visited my blog during the challenge. Woo-hoo, we did it!ReplyDelete
Yep, and I'm feeling good... :-)Delete
Well as long as it isn't a smelly toot, play that toot fluteReplyDeleteReplies
Hee! Thanks for stopping by, Pat.Delete
Congratulations! I will however, miss checking to see what prompt you post each day.ReplyDeleteReplies
Aw, thanks, Michelle. :-)Delete
- AnonymousMay 1, 2014 at 11:20 PM
Va Va Voom !! Your A to Z was such helpful material for all writers. Three thumbs up :-)ReplyDeleteReplies
Thank you, Sammy. It helps with supporters like you. :-)Delete
Congrats Debi! You all did some excellent work with A to Z.ReplyDelete
Congrats! The A-to-Z challenge seems so overwhelming to me, so I'm always impressed by anyone who participates in it. You more than deserve to toot your own horn! :)ReplyDeleteReplies
Thanks, Heather, and I'm so glad you stopped by.Delete
Congrats on making it!! You are the master of coming up with ideas.ReplyDeleteReplies
Thank you, Loni!Delete
Congratulations for making it til the end! It's quite an accomplishment.ReplyDelete
A Faraway View
An A to Z Co-host blogReplies
Thanks, Arlee, and thanks for all the work you put into making this Challenge such a Godsend for us all.Delete
Congratulations! You deserve that badge. It's been a busy year!ReplyDeleteReplies
Thanks, Rebecca! And yes, busy, busy, busy.Delete
It IS quite an accomplishment! Go ahead, toot your own horn.ReplyDeleteReplies
I'm still tooting it. :-)Delete
Congratulations on finishing!ReplyDelete
- AnonymousMay 2, 2014 at 5:54 PM
*throws confetti* It's wonderful finishing the challenge.ReplyDeleteReplies
Yep, sure is! Thanks for stopping by. Sorry this comment is late. I've been gone the last four days.Delete
Greetings human, Debi,ReplyDelete
Well done, my human friend, on surviving the challenge with the weird obsession with the alphabet. Even though I would never pawticipate, I'm exhausted trying to comment on the darned thing.
At least I had a nice time doing my own alternative challenge.
Have a restful weekend.
Pawsitive wishes,
Penny, the cordial host of The Alphabark Challenge, 2014! :)Replies
Thanks, Penny! I appreciate your thoughtfulness in stopping by.Delete
- AnonymousMay 2, 2014 at 8:50 PM
Congrats on finishing! WhooHoo! Your A to Z prompts were fun. I wish I'd had the time to stop by more often.ReplyDeleteReplies
Thanks, Lori! Sorry I'm late in getting back to you. I was gone four days for an art show, that left me even more winded than The Challenge did. But I'm plucking away at catching up. :-)Delete
Hi Deb - well done .. it takes to be a survivor .. but so satisfying ..ReplyDelete
Cheers to you and good to have met you - HilaryReplies
Thanks, Hilary, and it's good to have met you too.Delete
Great job, Debi! You have every right to toot that horn!ReplyDeleteReplies
Thanks, Lynda!Delete
YAY, debi!!!!!!ReplyDelete
CONGRATS! IT's definitely worth TOOTING your horn about this!!!!Replies
Thank you, Michael!Delete
And A VERY WELL DESERVED HOOT it is too :)ReplyDeleteReplies
Thank you, Juliette!Delete
Thank you, Tressa! I appreciate it.Delete
woohoo!! Me too! I need to get me that badge....ReplyDeleteReplies
Yes, it's a must-have badge! :-)Delete
Oh, this is one thing to definitely toot about !! Yay to you and me too :) We did it !!ReplyDeleteReplies
Yes, I'm still happy dancing. Thanks for stopping by.Delete


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Amber Rose Talks Music Career: 'When I'm In The Studio, I'm Like Sasha Fierce'
Amber Rose was spotted on the scene on Thursday night for the premiere of Smirnoff's Master Of The Mix DJ competition which she serves as a guest host. Although plans to star in her own reality show and create a new line of shades have been put on hold, she continues to stay busy with roles in two upcoming films as well as plans to release music in the near future. She recently sat down with BET to talk about her what inspired her to pursue a career in music:
I've been in the studio constantly working on music. I'm doing club, house, upbeat music. My inspirations are Missy, Pitbull, Fergie—I love the sound of her voice. I'm in the studio every single day no matter if I work 18 hours a day, I'm always in the studio so I'm really taking this very serious. I've always wrote music, but it has always been something very personal for me. But I brought my music to Wiz one day and showed him everything and he was blown away. He was like, 'Baby, you have to do this. Like, you have to. I know you're quiet, I know you're shy' but you know when I'm in the studio, I'm like Sasha fierce. I just turn into a whole different person. It's really cool. You guys are going to really enjoy it. I may drop a song soon and just put it out there so you can see what it's like
Hopefully, it turns out better than Kim K's 'Jam'.
Check out the interview below:


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Erin's Books:
Shut Out by Kody Keplinger
Easy by Tammara Webber
Bitter Blood by Rachel Caine
Reached by Ally Condie
Easy I ordered, and everything else I bought at Barnes & Noble. I'm so excited about Reached and Bitter Blood, as soon as I finished Throne of Glass I'll probably get started on one of those.
What did you get?
—Tea for Three Team


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Feel free to download and print the Parasha sheet and share it with your friends and family: Click here: Parashat Yitro
Hearing and/or Doing
Yitro hears and comes. He is motivated religiously - to draw close to Benei Yisrael because of their God and their relationship with their God. He hears everything "God did for Moshe and Israel, God's nation." He comes to the mountain of God, where the people are encamped. He rejoices and praises God, Who saved the Egyptians, and proclaims: "Now I know that the Lord is greater than all gods." And he worships this God, offering sacrifices. And then - after offering some critical advice to Moshe - he leaves. "And Moshe sent off his father-in-law, and he returned to his land." (Shemot 18:27).
What is this? He recognizes God, he worships God, and then he leaves before the main event? What about Mt. Sinai? What about receiving the Torah?
It is perhaps due to this problem that some of Hazal place Yitro's coming after the giving of the Torah. Doing so both solves a textual problem, namely, what were the laws that Moshe was teaching the people when Yitro offered his sage advice? If Yitro came after the Torah was given, then they are obviously the laws of the Ten Commandments and all of parashat Mishpatim. But doing so also reframes why, or with what understanding, Yitro came.
If Yitro arrives and leaves before the Torah was given, then Yitro is only interested in the religious, spiritual dimension. He wants to connect to the true God. He has no interest in the laws that will follow, in how such a belief can translate into a life of practice, of detailed ritual observance and scrupulous ethical behavior. Worship, praise, sacrifices - great. Shabbat, kashrut, liability for digging a pit and for my ox goring another ox - no interest. And to avoid this, he is willing to forgo the revelation of God at Mt. Sinai.
If Yitro comes after the Torah was given, things look different. He might not have been motivated by a life of laws, of mitzvot and mishpatim, true, but he was not scared away by this either. He comes because of what he heard about God, what God had done for Benei Yisrael, but although these events had occurred, he still waited until after the Torah was given. He came knowing that this God is also a God who has given the Ten Commandments and all the laws. Maybe without this he wouldn't have come. Maybe it was only when he saw how this relationship translated into the practical and the concrete that he saw how real and committed this relationship was. In the end this may not be the life for him - he does return, after all, to his own land. But he comes to connect to a people whose faith is defined not just by a deep spiritual relationship, but also by a detailed and committed practice.
In a way, this is the dialectic of na'aseh vi'nishma, we will do and we will hear. Observance on the one hand and connection and understanding on the other. Ideally these two come together, but often they come separately. There are those who are very good about the na'aseh, the observance. But this does not reflect a deeper connection to God or to the mitzvot. It is all just about the doing. And then there are those who are really good at the nishma, who connect to God, who connect to the values of the Torah. People who will praise and worship but have no interest in a life of na'aseh, certainly not of the detail-oriented, all-encompassing kind.
Even when these two come independent of one another, there is much value in each phenomenon separately. We often refer to Jews who keep halakha as "religious Jews." This is a misnomer. The proper term is "observant Jews." They, I, observe the law. Whether they are religious or not is another matter. I know many deeply religious Jews (and deeply religious non-Jews), who are not observant, certainly not in a halakhic way. While I would wish that such a person's religiosity would translate into observance, I would also wish that an observant person's halakhic life would inspire, or at least be coupled with, religiosity. Both are the ideal, but each one by itself demands our respect.
If one does have to choose, Hazal teach that one should choose the life of observance. "If only they would have abandoned Me and kept My Torah, for the light in it will return them to Me." (Yerushalmi Chagiga 1:4). The "light" that is part of a life of observance, its raising of consciousness, its implicit values, its creating of an intentional life, these hopefully will lead one to God. In other versions of this passage the word is not "light", or, but "yeast", se'or. Halakha can serve as a fermenting agent. It can be agitating, challenging the surrounding culture and its values, challenging one's own commitments, creating productive conflict. Observance can lead to religiosity. The reverse, apparently, is not the case.
But maybe it is. The Sefat Emet (Yitro, 1877) quotes a startling Midrash, relating to the sin of the Golden Calf. God then says to the people, "You have lost na'aseh, the observance of the Ten Commandments. Guard closely the nishma." Even when you do not keep the mitzvot, at least hold on to and nurture that relationship with God.
The Sefat Emet develops this in the following way. The ideal is to begin with na'aseh, to begin with an a priori commitment to observe God's commandments.We must live a life of observance and halakha whether it makes sense rationally or not, whether it is consistent with our values or not.
But this is not always possible. There are those, like Yitro, like many Jews today, who need to start with the nishma. Those who need a reason to come, need a reason to connect with the people and to commit themselves to a life of observance. Perhaps the reason is religious -one comes to believe in God and in the Torah, maybe through history, maybe through an appreciation of the Godliness in Torah and halakha. Or perhaps it is a more mundane nishma. One wants to be part of the community, its structures, its lifestyle. For whatever the reason, for many people it needs to start with nishma. That can lead to observance.To paraphrase another statement of Hazal, mitokh shelo lishma, ba lishma. You come for the chulent, you stay for the Shabbos. And even if you don't stay, you still have the nishma.
For those who begin with a life of a priori commitment to the doing, a life of understanding, of being motivated because something speaks to you, remains critical. It is needed for a religious life, connecting one to God, and deepening one's connection to Torah. And it is needed as a safety net. For there are those who will wind up rejecting halakha. If their home, their school, their synagogue, never imbued them with the importance of a religious life, of reasons that speak to them, reasons that make them care, then they will reject it all. But if they have been given the nishma and can hold on to it, can nurture it, then even if it never leads back to the na'aseh, it will be of great value all by itself. It is what will make them care about being Jewish. It will be what connects them to God and the Jewish people. It will be as central to their Jewish identity as another person's halakhic observance is to his own.
Halakhically committed Jews, myself included, spend the vast majority of our religious energies on the observance of and the study of halakha. But that is not enough. The Pew study forces us to recognize that we cannot ignore the question "Why be Jewish". Not for the observant community, whose children, once exposed to the larger world, are too often rejecting it all. And certainly not for the larger Jewish community, of which 20% define themselves as "Jews of no religion." We need to give them something to hear, we need to teach a Torah that speaks to them, we need to find something - community, history, values - that is going to make them want them to come, to connect, to be at the foot of the mountain. We can worry later about whether they will also want to stay for Ten Commandments that will follow. For now, let's work on the nishma.
Shabbat Shalom!


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Detroit Red Wings: Detroit Legends Plaza Missing One Important NameOctober 9, 2012
Detroit's Historical Museum is opening a new Legends plaza. This is not strictly a sports honor as other Detroit legends are enshrined there as well.
When thinking of the greats of Detroit sports history, names that instantly come to mind are Gordie Howe, Barry Sanders, Tommy Hearns, Joe Dumars, Al Kaline and Steve Yzerman. All but one of those names made the plaza.
For some unknown reason, Steve Yzerman has been left off the initial list. Other snubs include Alan Trammell, Isaiah Thomas, Lou Whitaker, Ernie Harwell, Herman Moore and Nick Lidstrom.
Still, none of those players will forever be known as "The Captain." None of them ended years of misery for Hockeytown by finally raising the cup. None of them won three championships for the city as a player and a fourth in the front office.
Few players in any city have meant as much to a city than Yzerman has to Detroit. He carried this team from the "Dead Wing" era to the top franchise in the league. While the Pistons and the Lions had moved out of the city, Yzerman and the Red Wings played downtown. His calm, quiet, hardworking demeanor fit perfectly with the psyche of Detroit.
While all of the people in the Legends Plaza certainly deserve their place, it is shocking that Yzerman has not been included. There are plans to induct others once the plaza opens. One would think that Yzerman would be among the first additions.
PJ Sapienza is a featured columnist covering the Detroit Red Wings as well as many other sports.
You can follow him on Twitter.
Can the Detroit Tigers Make the World Series?
Detroit Lions: The Real Reason for Their Bad Start
Michigan State Football: Why This is Their Most Important Season Ever


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Reese's Bottom Cheesecake
-1 Box of JELLO instant NO-Bake Cheesecake Mix (Feel free to make your own no-bake Cheesecake)
-Reese's Peanut Butter Cups (one per each Cheesecake)
-1 Cup of Mini Chocolate Chips..for sprinkling on top.
-Approx. 1 Cup of Graham Cracker Crumbs (either store bought, or you can crush your own..or use the enclosed bag of crumbs from the boxed No-Bake Cheesecake Mix)…for sprinkling on top.
-Paper Cupcake Liners
-A Cupcake pan
-Mix up the no-bake Cheesecake according to the box directions..or make your own favorite recipe…
-Unwrap the Reese's and REMEMBER TO REMOVE THE BOTTOM PAPER!
-Drop one Peanut Butter Cup down into each paper liner and pour the Cheesecake Mix onto it…
-Into the fridge to chill for at least one hour!
-Sprinkle them with the Graham Cracker Crumbs and/or Chocolate Chips!
Click here for the full recipe!


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- Back to Home »
- Post by Malik Hassan Latest Fashion 2012
Posted by : haxm rana Friday, 30 November 2012
Embroidery is an ancient variety of decorative needlework in which designs and pictures are created by stitching strands of some material on to a layer of another material. Most embroidery uses thread or wool stitched onto a woven fabric, but the stitches could be executed in, for example, wire or leather strands, and embroidery can be worked onto many materials.
An embellishment of a fabric or garment in which colored threads are sewn on to the fabric to create a design. Embroidery may be done either by hand or machine.It is A term applied to a hill or mount with several copings or rises and falls.