I Sent a Handwritten Card to Cory Booker

I've already talked about my love for Cory Booker.

He is my fake future husband in my mind.  He's the mayor of Newark, New Jersey, and he really has captured my heart, so to speak.  He seems to really care about his constituents and is a genuine public servant, utilizing easy-to-access ways to communicate with his constituents and responding directly to people's concerns.  It's just rare and refreshing and rather charming.  He's a social media genius and has tapped in to the power of the Internet and the media to the benefit of his city on so many occasions.

I had a moment this weekend that kind of spurred me on to finally write him, and today, I did.  I have a whole box of blank note cards to write my heart out to people.  I believe there's something special about the handwritten word in this world of almost exclusively electronic communication.  To me, getting a handwritten card communicates something genuine, lasting.  It wasn't anything gushy and ridiculous.  It was heartfelt, yet formal and to the point.

Now, I'm having fantasies of him writing me back and inviting me to some formal governmental event.  I will be his escort to the mayoral ball.  Is there even such a thing?  The girlish 14-year-old in me really hopes he responds in some way.  He just seems like a nice guy who goes out of his way for the little things that make a big difference.  

Your Hair Blues Ain't Like Mine

Shall I go into the intricacies of doing stuff to my hair?  Nawl, ya'll aren't ready for that.  Let me just give you a few facts.

One of the main things that dries my hair straight (when I want it to be straight) after I wash it is a Conair 1875 Styler.  It comes with one of those volume brush attachments.  I don't use it at all.  It's just like, boo, I don't look at you, I don't need you unless I want to get my wet black girl hair all matted and knotted up in you.  No, ma'am.  It also comes with one of those wide-toothed detangling comb attachments.  That's what gets the wet hair dry.  And then there's the fine-toothed comb attachment.  The smoother and finisher of my hair faith.  It's what transforms the dry(ish) sponge/poof into sleek(ish).  Yezzir.  And this is where we have problems.

My attachment comb's fine-teeth keep getting knocked out.  It has constant fights with thickness and the thickness often wins.  A couple of missing teeth here or there doesn't stop the sleeking action.  But then my comb got bucktoothed.  Unacceptably so.  So, the search began.

Sally's Beauty Supply was like nawl.  I bought some non-Conair attachment combs out of desperation, praying in the name of Jaysus that they would miraculously fit.  Like I said, the answer was nawl.  But I refused to buy a new blowdryer just because of a bucktoothed fine-toothed comb.  So, I struck out into the magical world of the Internet.

I was getting desperate.  I even hit up Amazon.  When I went to the Conair site proper, its attachment accessories didn't include a fine-toothed comb for my blowdryer model.  But I did find an important number.  Conair customer service, son!  By golly, I was going to get my fine-toothed comb attachment.

Dial 1-800-WAIT-FOR-EVER.  I was going to listen to that loop of canned samba music interspersed with "All of our customer service representatives are busy.  Your call is very important to us, so please stay on the line and your call will be answered in the order it was received" until the cows came home.  I was going to go the distance.  I finally struck gold.  A saccharine sweet voice picked up, cheerily asked the right questions, and in the end, I paid $3.50 (S&H included) for the prize: a single fine-toothed comb attachment for a Conair 1875 Styler.

When I saw that little box sitting outside my apartment door days later, one thought scrolled through my mind: Somebody's hurr is 'bout to get did.

Another Rainy Day

This is the first Saturday in a while that I've slept in. What adds to the cuddle-in feeling is the rain.  Chai tea, plum-scented candle burning.

There are things I must do today.  Yes.  I've already made out my to-do list.  But the quiet, the calm, the birds.  Lazy in my leggings and robe and monkey slippers that have definitely seen better days.

Pensive, wondering, reviewing, reevaluating.  I have a personal journal.  It seems that I've only been writing in it once every two to three months.  I wrote in it today.

I bought a box of 50 blank note cards.  Well, one of my resolutions was to write an encouraging note to someone at least once a month.  I actually sent one the other day.  But in making my updated to-do list, I rediscovered an address that I had found and written down in a flight of fancy.  Mayor Cory Booker.  Should I really write him?  Then I turned on NPR and "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me" was on in the middle of a question about Cory Booker getting free Hot Pockets coupons to his constituents in the Hurricane Sandy aftermath.  I think I shall.

Taxes.  Oh, taxes.  Today I will complete you.  For real.

And my potential veggie garden.  I have no idea what I'm doing.  (Planting a garden was another one of my resolutions.)  I staked out a spot, but in retrospect, I wonder if it's too shady of a spot.  I did a little bit of checking and growing veggies like tomatoes, peppers, and eggplant need lots and lots of sunshine.  I guess I should go out there when the rain slows and reconsider.

(sigh.)  Time to break out of my rainy Saturday slowness and get to it.

Ugly Cry

I'm feeling pretty buoyant and productive today.  Got all my reading done for tomorrow, finalizing Cuba plans.  Getting the student panel together for this semester.  Walking briskly across campus and hearing the staccato of my boot heels with every step I take.  I started the morning out with a free cup of coffee because I had 10 stamps on my Jittery Joe's card.  You better believe I wanted whipped cream on top.  I had a free Indian buffet lunch because the department had funds to treat a few students to lunch along with a potential PhD student to answer questions and share our experiences in the program and I was asked to join.  I'm back on that track.

But flashback to Monday morning.  I had the ugliest cry I'd had in a while.  I can say these things and look back with a smile because now, a couple of days removed from it, it seems absurd, how a particular moment can feel so incredibly despairing and absolute.  I am dramatic. I own up to it.  What adds another dynamic to these despairing moments is when they are shared with an equally dramatic person, my dear mother.  I love this woman so much.  But put the two of us together in a heightened emotional state, and you have an instant drama fest.  Me, crying like my soul was being wrenched from me.  At the same time, my mom, sitting beside me and reading out loud a letter she wrote to me in response to a little tiff we'd had the night before.  Me, wailing and snotting harder at hearing lines like, "I'm sorry if your rest through the night was not peaceful.  I know mine wasn't.  I chose to stay up and play Angry Birds until 2:30 a.m." and "Don't you know your father and I won't be here always?  In a moment's time, life changes can happen that would make us being here not a reason anymore except that we would be laid to rest here."  Really, mom?  A mother-daughter melodrama.

But somehow, once I started breathing evenly (instead of those sharp, hyperventilating breaths you take when you have an ugly cry), once the flow of fluids and other unsightly secretions slowed, I felt cleansed.  A calm washed over me.  A warm, maternal presence beside me, speaking soothing words, regardless of whether they were relevant or the "right" thing to say, was enough.

I am thankful for these cathartic moments.  I am thankful for my mother.  Unattractive and dramatic and absurd though they may be, I am thankful for cleansing, ugly cries.

One Man's Demur is Another Man's Blow Up or Boat Floating for Dummies

de·mur /diˈmər/ v. Raise doubts or objections or show reluctance.

versus . . .

blow·up v. [slang] Overwhelm with calls or messages, usu. in reference to phones or inboxes.

So, what can a girl do but lament the fact that she can't hit a reverse switch?  One guy must increase while another guy must decrease.  I mean, not really.  I've resigned myself to the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.  I know what reality looks like.  Still, I'm constantly amazed at what floats some boats but not others.  How some boats are so easily and uncomprehendingly floated, while others remain resolutely unmoved.  I'm also baffled when the boat I thought I could float is like "nawl," and the boat I wasn't trying to float or even thought would think I was their floating type at all suddenly transformed into a speed boat.  Hombre, te lo digo de verdad.

Delay

I cried when I realized I was going to be stuck at the airport for two more hours.

I had a great time with friends this past week, but I was looking forward to seeing some other friends and then seeing my family.  The delay meant that I wouldn't be able to see my friends and that I wouldn't be seeing my family until much later.

For some reason, this particular flight delay made me start to think about other times when I felt stranded, thwarted, delayed without a true explanation.  What else is left to do but accept it, adjust your plans and wait?  Knowing the details does not change one single aspect about the fact that you will, regardless, have to wait.

I thought about things that I hope for that I have no control over.  No matter what I wished, what I desired, how badly my friends felt that we'd miss each other, it's nobody's fault.  It's beyond anyone's control.  And still, I have to wait.

Timing.  Is timing really everything?

It Is Finished

I finally finished reading my Bible again.  I won't say how long it's taken me this time, but I'm glad I finally instituted consistent Bible reading in my life again.  It was off and on . . . usually according to my emotional and spiritual state and/or degree of "busyness" at the time, which is a very poor rationale for determining Bible reading habits.

I think another thing that has encouraged me this time around is that I started reading in the New Living Translation instead of the good old King James Version.  I think the King James will always be with me in some degree.  All the verses I have committed to memory are in majestic, archaic, Shakespearean English.  But reading in a version that is much more accessible, thereby helping to avoid misinterpretation, but still provides "literal" translations in footnotes has been a great idea.  There were so many things that stood out to me or made more sense to me reading the Word in the NLT.

So . . . it begins again.

A Good I Don't Know

Okay, so I made it through today despite my lethargy last night.  I got done what I had to get done, and I still have time to get done what I didn't get done.

There are things that are up in the air right now.  I was informed of the possibility of some things today that, frankly, sort of blew my mind.  Things I never imagined would be even a remote possibility.  It's exciting and frightening and exhilarating and overwhelming.

I can't divulge right now because it's still up in the air.  But I will know in a couple of weeks.

Regardless of the outcome, I know that God is showing me favor.  He is opening doors for me that no one but He could open.  And it is such a wonderful feeling to know that I have nothing to worry about.  Absolutely nothing.  He is 100% in control.

But I have to be honest and say I am scared.  I'm scared of being disappointed if it doesn't work out, and I'm scared of being in over my head if it does.  I feel like I'm in this swirling vortex of possibility and I'm being caught up in it, giddy with expectation yet terrified at the prospect of change, once again.

Oh, I don't know.  I don't know.  I don't know about a variety of things right now, to be honest.  But it's a good I don't know.  I'll have my answers soon enough.

Motivation. Lack thereof.

And it's only Monday.  Ugh.  

I have to get it together.  For real.  I can't just check out.  Why are you trippin' over writing a measly 2-3 page paper?  Are you insane?  And this book for my History class that I've barely started reading.  What is wrong with you?

You cannot do this.  You have a paper proposal (plus bibliography) due Thursday.  Have you even lifted a finger?  You have a presentation to give Friday.  Don't forget about that.  Friday's class is going to majorly suck.  Nobody is going to want to be there.  It is the worst class at the worst time ever.  Friday from 1:25-4:25.  That's bad enough.  But that same class at the same time the Friday before Spring Break?  Just forget about it.  Who's really going to be listening to me talk about Travestismos culturales?  Really.  Mestizaje is the last thing on people's minds when you're trying to get out of town.  

Ugh.  And that reminds me, traffic is going to majorly suck that day too.  ::shudders:: I don't even want to think about it.

You cannot afford to flake out right now.  You need to get your act together and not wait until the last minute.  Not this week. You can't.  You have to get stuff done as soon as possible.  

I just feel like a big, fat, already tired and energy-sapped, lazy, time-wasting complainer.  I want to roll up into a ball and sleep the rest of the day away, but I can't.  Get. Your. Life.

Shopping at New York & CO: A Parable

So, I still had money left on a New York & CO (my store of stores) gift card my little bro gave me for Christmas.  Something was leading my car to go to the mall after church instead of back to my apartment, so I followed.  I had in my head what I wanted, and I just knew I was going to find it: a black sweater with beige polka dots.  That's what was in my mind to get.  It had to be there waiting for me.

When I got there, I scoured the store, but did not find one black sweater with beige polka dots.  I was disappointed, to be honest.  I glumly went over to the clearance rack.  And then I found it.  No, not the polka-dotted sweater, but a beautiful beige and black lacy top.  It was originally $49.95.  It had been marked down to $16.99.  And now it was on a 50% off clearance rack, so I would only pay $8.50 for it.  When I picked it up, a wave of recognition washed over me.  A few months ago, I was in the same New York & CO.  And I remembered seeing that top.  I remembered wishing that I could get it because it was so stylish and versatile.  You could dress it up or dress it down.  You could wear a shirt underneath it or a cardigan or blazer over it.  And I remembered not being able to justify spending my money on it, because, at the time, it was $49.95.  So, I left it.

Fast forward to today.  I went into New York & CO today not even thinking about that top.  I had something else completely different in mind.  But it was only until I accepted the fact that my original desire, what I thought I wanted, was not to be that I was prompted to explore the clearance rack.  And once my attention was directed to the lacy black and beige top, I realized that it was actually what I wanted all along.  It was a hope I had given up on because when I was first introduced to it, it was too expensive.  It was too soon.  But today, the timing was just right.  What I truly wanted was indeed there waiting for me. I only paid $8.50 for it, with a gift card at that, and I still had money left.