Little Brother

Slim Jim, light-skinned string bean. He's a Reese's peanut butter cocoa puff coconut head. Banana smile boy. He laughs so hard his laugh is silent. His shoulders shake and tears stream down. He was a thumb sucker. So fat I called him nugget. Arms and legs with rolls like the Michelin man. He was a snaggletoothed kid. Teeth knocked out too soon from fallen toddles. A sensitive kid. He accidentally killed a lizard and cried.

He's a man now, though he doesn't look it. In my head, he's eternally 16. But he went off to basic training today and he won't be back for a while. He'll be fine. It'll be good for him. Give him some direction. But he will always be little brother.

Lizzie and Starbuck

For Madison

"Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away."

— James 4:14

This is what I know. This morning, at the church I've just decided to attend, a red-haired girl sat in front of me. Her hair was a deep, coppery red. I caught flashes of her electric blue nails as she periodically inspected them. Tonight, at the same church, it was announced that this 15-year-old girl was dead. A four-wheeler accident.

I didn't know her. But she was sitting right in front of me this morning, and between the time I left morning service, went to WalMart, and came back for service tonight, she had passed away.

We are never ready to face the fact of our mortality. We will never be able to grasp that in an instant, we can cease to exist in this world. I prayed for her family with the rest of the congregation tonight. But a detached phrase kept ringing in my mind and bringing fresh tears to the surface: She was sitting right in front of me.

Today was a ridiculously gorgeous day.

Omg, I walked outside today and wanted to live it forever.

Remember that sternly-worded letter to D7? I'm so over D7. I put it in it's place a long time ago. Now I've moved on to full, rich, melodic sounding chords. I've almost got "Mighty to Save" under my thumb. LOVE that song. Call me Chan Dylan. Chantos Santana. I just gotta get a smooth way to change chords down. It's so funny how a little thing is bugging you like mad and when you get through it, you can't believe you used to be so worried about it.

I want to be outside frolicking in the sunshine, but instead I'm shackled to my laptop, translating an introduction to an account of a former Cuban slave for my faculty mentor. Esteban Montejo (the former slave, not my faculty mentor, lol), if you wanna get hip to the Afro-Hispanic identity tip.

I try not to look back, but sometimes it's good to do so to see how far you've come. What sticks out to me are mornings. Those moments of quiet lucidity after you first wake up. I used to dread mornings . . . once I got going it got a little better, but those morning moments, when I was faced with the prospect of another day, used to be so painful. Those moments when you realize you will always have to deal with yourself. I'd say those mornings started post-Auburn graduation, intensified post-France, and peaked during those days of the job that brought me to my knees.

Now, it's totally not that things have gotten easier. Rather, that my tasks, per se, have gotten easier. PhD is no joke . . . I'm just waiting for the hammer to fall during midterms. But now I wake up knowing I'm where I'm supposed to be right now. It's so reassuring. On bright days, I wake up bathed in sunshine. It filters in through my blinds and washes over me. The uncertainty still throws me off sometimes, but now I feel more secure within it. I thank God for my new mornings. I really do.

Best Comeback Ever

"My existence is celebrating the deliciousness of being me."

Take that, world-weary cynics bent on destabilizing the confidence level of PhD neophytes with your stifling, hegemonic discourse. Yo' dominant ideology ain't the stuff. This chick's got agency, youknaaimsayin?

Now, I shall weather another late-nighter (I don't believe in all-nighters) writing the second paper of my PhD career. We goin for the gold this time. Let's get it.

Today was the first chilly day.

Overcast. I wore a scarf. It is September, after all.

Today was the day I got back the first paper I've written in my PhD career. B+. Not terrible, but not great, either. I've got to step it up. This is a different ball game, honey. You've got to step it up.

Brother Says

Telling my brother about a church friend who happens to be Jewish, and he says, "What? He's Pentecostal and Jewish? Oh, you know he's going to Heaven."

You know those office signs

that say "Lack of planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part"?

I wish I had a t-shirt that said "Ignorance on your part does not constitute a history lesson on my part."

LOL! #crackingmyselfup

Lemme tell you what dis gul did.

Maaan, dis gul. Tuesday dis gul went outside to catch dat bus, youknaaimsayin? On the way she saw some orange thing on her windshield and she was like whaaaaat? $40 fine for parking in the wrong area? Naw. Naaaaaaw. Dis gul ain't pay $180 for a parking pass to be gettin no fine, youknaaimsayin? She park right near her apartment, real talk. Den dat gul saw she had got a pass for lot S20. She be parked in S19. Hmm. Now you tell me, do that make any kinda sense? How she was posed to know dat? She requested S20 cuz on dat map it correspond to Building B, yo. Lemme tell you what dis gul did. She call up Parking Services. Parking services talkin bout some you can file an appeal online and you can transfer your parking pass. Hmm. She got online and wrote an appeal, youknaaimsayin? She put in for a transfer to S19. She ain't gonna be walkin crazy from one end of the apartment complex to the other.

Dis gul check her email today, yo. Ol gul got this letter from Parking Services:

"The appeals committee has reviewed your appeal of the below listed citation and has decided to uphold your appeal. Student Appeals has determined that either a violation did not occur or that your violation was unavoidable. The citation has been voided and you are not responsible for the fine. Please come to the parking services office to exchange your permit for a S19 permit. Thank you."

You know das right. Dis gul wasn't finna pay no $40. Shoooot.

Ugh, I'm up late writing a paper.

This PhD road is going to be paved with nights like these . . . might as well get used to it. Relax, keep plugging away, keep the coffee machine going. Honey, you're just getting started. This little ol' 4-5 page reacción crítica is the least of your worries this semester. For real. Save your whining for midterms. Or your monster-sized final papers. This party is just getting started, baby. Go 'head and get warmed up.

I put together a 5-shelf bookcase.

And I did it by myself. I am the woman. The queen of putting stuff together. That is all.

Whut?

Huckleberry chuckler: So you mean to tell me you went to Alabama then to Auburn and now you're going to Georgia? Whut? (chuckle, chuckle)

Me: (folksy chuckler mode) I just tell everybody I'm working my way through the SEC. (chuckle, chuckle)

Me: (unspoken sarcastic mode) (Steps up to the mic. Taps it.) Is this thing on? Oh, okay. I've been meaning to make this announcement for a long time now. I was hoping people would catch on, but I guess it's only fair and honest for me to spell it out. (clears throat) I. Don't. Care. About. Football. Yeah, I said it. I don't. I barely understand the game. It's too slow. A bunch of hulking guys group together. Then they crunch together and the game stops. They line back up, they crunch together again . . . like I said, I don't care for it. Gasping for air, are you? Listen. I wasn't raised in the syrupy, football-obsessed culture the majority of you were. Sorry. I'm one of those who chose to go to the schools I went to based on a mixture of financial and geographical reasons, not one of those who went for the football team or because mumma n' diddy n' paw paw went there so now I go there and I bleed crimson and white or orange and blue or red and black. By the time I got transplanted here, I was already too far gone to grasp the allure of scandalously paid coaches organizing their strategies in accordance to the amount of heat generated from enraged rednecks breathing down their necks. So, try to understand, y'all. I gulp down sweet tea, and I will tear up a plate of whatever Southern-fried, slow-cooked, ham hock-flavored, heart-attack giving concoction you place in front of me. I love it when your gentlemen let me go first and hold the door open for me. I do. I like magnolia trees and stuff. This is the only "home" I've ever known. But I don't care about football, people. I have a Bear Bryant hat and an Auburn t-shirt and I'm sure I'll get a little stuffed bulldog or something for kicks without any overwhelming sense of cognitive dissonance. I'm a traitor, har, har, har. Like I've never heard that one before. I think you guys got it. Whoops! Said "you guys" instead of "y'all"! (Puts mic back and walks off stage.)

Les événements de la journée

I watched a Spanish film in Spanish.

I wore my French t-shirt and practiced my French at la table française for a good two hours. Magnifique.

I saw a squirrel nibbling on a half-eaten burger still wrapped up in the paper that he dug out of the trash.

As I was sitting on a bench waiting for my bus, a car containing two stupid guys drove by. One stupid guy honked while the other stupid guy stuck his head out of the window and made kissing noises at me.

I was praying that my Autobiography of a Slave that I ordered from Amazon would come in the mail really soon because I need to have a bunch of it read by Tuesday. And what was in the mail today? Awww, yeah.

Dear D7 Chord,

I'm kinda mad at you right now because you've rubbed my fingertips raw trying to play you. Who gave you permission to do that? Who told you that was okay? You have frustrated me immensely. Grrrrr! It makes me so mad just thinking about all of my futile efforts today. It really burns me up when something as simple as correctly strumming a chord lies just beyond my grasp.

But let me tell you something. Don't think for a minute it's over. If you don't know anything about me, know this: I don't give up easily. I will win. You may have won the battle, but I will win the war. It's just a matter of time. I will persistently practice until I master you. I will dominate you, own you, subject you to my will. Just wait. Just you wait.

Quick Quips

So, my fingers are hurting from guitar. But I'm starting to play the blues, honey.

Have you ever unwarrantedly thrust yourself (and someone else) into an awkward situation? I have a knack for that. I'm the queen of awkward. An awkward situation magnet.

Before you start grad school anywhere and in anything, just remember this: Everything is a "social construction." You can thank me later.

I've narrowed things down to two on the Great Church Search. You're so glad to have me? Well, I'm so glad to be here. And I might see you again.

Please, please . . . hold your applause, hold your applause.

Mr. Wonderful . . . helloooo? I don't hear your banging down my door . . . hellooo?

Politically Incorrect?

On Thursday, the two Asian girls sitting next to me on the bus were speaking Chinese.

The dark-haired, dark-eyed, olive-skinned guy sitting across from me was wearing a t-shirt that said "Tony's Pizzeria - New York, New York."

The skinny, pale, nerdy-looking guy with a Star Wars shirt on sitting a couple of seats down from the Italian guy was glued to his MacBook.

The pretty, brown-skinned black girl who got on and sat next to me after the Chinese girls got off did smell like cocoa butter.

And me? I had on a long denim skirt and a peasant blouse with a flower in my hair, an oriental purse I bought for $5 in Chinatown and a scuffed up NPR tote bag. And I was on my way to Afro-Hispanic Identity (in the Physics building).

It wasn't because . . .

I navigated the bus system like a pro today, or because I went to a student job fair and got some offers to teach test prep on the side, or because I went back to tear up another banh mi ga and ran into some colleagues and ended up having a lovely Spanish-speaking Vietnamese lunch, or because I had a fruitful meeting about my research project with my faculty mentor, or because I ran into a former colleague on the bus who was an instructor at Auburn the same time I was who is getting her doctorate in Education, or even because I went to church and was reminded that God and my brothers and sisters in Christ truly love me.

It was because I thought that since I was here, doing my thing, getting involved, establishing discipline and routine, it would go away. At least for a while. I thought making the right strokes on a clean slate would do it. But it will still take work. Faith and trust don't come easy for me. It takes constant effort and constantly deciding that I will turn it over to God and not try to take the reins myself. It takes waking up every day and choosing to believe that a God exists who has my best interests at heart.

Snatches of the Day

Walking out of my Afro-Hispanic Identity class (held in the Physics building for, I'm sure, some genius reason), headed to the bus stop. Suited professor walking on one side of the road, smug frat boy on the other. He calls out, from across the street, "Hey, Professor so-and-so! Did you get those papers graded?" Professor, unsuccessfully trying to ignore him, "No, not yet." Frat boy brazenly replies, "When are you going to get them done?" Professor, continuing to walk, "When they're all turned in." I, disbelieving, walking in front of the Professor after this exchange, turn around and say, with a hint of instructorial camaraderie, "Isn't that annoying?" Professor replies, "Yes . . . especially with that student." I laugh. "It's just so brazen, you know?" Professor asks, "Are you a professor? Do you teach here?" "Oh, no, but I've taught in the past, and that whole thing rang familiar." But what I really wanted to answer was: "Not yet."

Sitting at an outside table of a Vietnamese bistro downtown, tearing UP a banh mi ga (not even $5!) for lunch. A girl with natural hair and velvet skin walks out with her man and comments, "You look really stylish today," and keeps walking. I told her thank you, but I don't think she realized she made my day.

Heard twice today: "Love the flower." I told one guy that it was my favorite flower, and he said "It fits." It was one of those days that called for my sunflower hair clip.

First Day Done

So . . . I'm in a class surrounded by fantastic, expert native Spanish speakers, and I, long-skirted neophyte, sit wiping my sweaty palms, nervous Spanish tumbling out of my defiant mouth. Defiant against the rising feelings of insecurity. Uh-uh. Ain't no time for that here, honey. You got something to say? You betta speak up. I like it when (and this only happens in a seminar where the professor says something to the effect of "you will do as much talking as I will in this class") you make a point and one of your classmates refers to the point you made and elaborates on it.

I sat sipping a tall iced white mocha, nibbling on a piece of pumpkin loaf when I caught ol' boy checking me out as soon as he walked in the room. Ha! Caught you again! And again! A friend joined me later and we were engaged in conversation, so he had no chance to say anything when he got up to leave. He just gave me one last look which prompted my self-satisfied smile. That's right, ol' boy. Keep on walking. You didn't have nothing to say to me.

My jovial guitar instructor makes it fun. I can play a simplified C, G7, G and D7 chord. Matter of fact, I can now play a baby version of "He's Got the Whole World in His Hands." Awwww, whatchu say now? Only downside: Those manicured little nails had to go. Clip, clip. Callused fingertips, here you come.

And It Begins . . .

Tomorrow's the first day of class! Ay, ay, ay! Narrative Discourses. What, WHAT? (And a guitar lesson. Awww, yeah.)

Did some more church hunting today. Think I'm narrowing down the search. Question of the day: "So, are you a freshman?" Me: (chuckling) "No, I'm a doctoral student." Wide eyes of disbelief. I still blast my oily skin, but I guess it's helped me keep a somewhat fresh face.

I christened my apartment by having my first official cup of tea. And, boo, I had to settle for some plastic shower curtain rings since all the WalMarts around town have been ransacked by students galore. Ah, well. At least they're purple.

We gon do dis thang. We gon DO it.

At the End of Moving Day

In my cozy bed with my sunflower bedspread. Yay! So glad the sweat fest of moving is over with. My poor dad and little brother were troopers. Now, little by little, I've got to make my teeny tiny place home.

I will admit, though, that I was about to scream when I realized my beautiful shower curtain hooks were too small for the gignormous, permanently mounted shower rod in my bathroom. Ah, such a waste. They looked fabulous with my shower curtain. Ah, well. Ya win some, ya lose some.

Next on the agenda is church hunting. I went to one of the local churches Wednesday. The people were very nice and welcoming. I filled out a visitor information card, and let me tell you, pastor and company were blowing up my phone today! Chillax, church people. I haven't made up my mind yet, but I'll be back for a Sunday visit.

Mmmm . . . gonna sink into my silky covers and wake up bathed in sunshine.

Moving Day

I'm back in Montgomery to get my stuff. Tomorrow is moving day.

Let's see . . . this will be my 4th moving day. 1st-Into my first apartment. 2nd-Out of my first apartment into my 2nd apartment in Auburn. 3rd-Out of my apartment in Auburn into storage/my parent's house and now 4th-Out of storage/my parent's house into my apartment in GA. At this rate, there will definitely be a 5th and 6th.

I haaaaate moving. It's such a hassle. It's hot. It involves a 3 1/2 hour trip this time. It's expensive. It's draining. A bunch of reshuffling, resettling, repositioning . . . I just can't wait until the dust settles and I can settle down with a mug of chai tea (actually, I've been into Earl Grey lately) and admire how I've once again made a place "home."

My apartment is still smallish, but when I got my keys the other day and took everything in after it had been cleaned, vacuumed and repainted, I found the blinds completely pulled up and the sun shining in through the great big windows in both the living room and bedroom. I looked outside and found a lovely, calming view. I can do this.

So Far, So Good

So, I'm slowly getting the hang of this town. Meeting people, got my classes all nice and registered for, trying not to get too scared about the onslaught of work that is going to rise up like a mighty wave and wash over me. There's great public transportation, and a spunky, eclectic downtown area. I'm also getting my guitar journey underway, and I'm looking into doing a little tutoring on the side for some extra cash flow. I got my student ID card today. I'm official, baby!

The only slight negative so far is my future apartment. I can't get my keys until tomorrow, but I went over and took a little peek the other day, and it's uber small! Ay, caramba. I spent a lot of time last night formulating a furniture formation in my head that would maximize space. I can't complain too much, though. My rent includes literally everything--utilities, internet, cable (if I so decided to indulge), laundry, even. I need to just relax and get ready to get really cozy.

Anyway, turns out I don't even have to stay up here the whole week of orientation. It's geared mainly for the teaching assistants, and my advisor let me know that since I won't be teaching . . . most of it doesn't really apply to me. Yesterday and today had some pretty important and informative sessions, but she said I could skip the rest of the week. So, I may be going back to the Gump a little sooner and then come back Saturday for the horrendous, grueling move. Ugh, I despise moving.

This is funny. . . it's like, a month or so ago I had no idea what moving up here and plunging into a PhD program would even look like. Now, things are just naturally coming into focus and taking their course.

Tomorrow

is the beginning of the rest of my life.

I woke up this morning feeling slumpy. Why oh why do I do this? After just having received lots of encouragement during a Starbucks chat last night and a couple of "just checking on you" calls this morning, part of me is still tripping on uncertainty. I'm having hallucinations seeped in IdontknowwhatImdoing and Idontknowwhattoexpect.

I just remembered that a sister at church has a guitar that she'd offered to lend me. She bought one and took a few guitar lessons, but got busy and it started collecting dust. It just popped into my mind today that I could take her up on her offer and finally start checking off one more thing on my life's to-do list. Now's as good a time as any. There are so many David Gray songs I can imagine myself playing.

Now to finish packing. And maybe do a little shopping. Heh, heh. It is a tax-free weekend!

A Mixture of Myself and Other People Strained Through My Brain Sieve and Typed Out in Numbered Points

The Pep Talkers

1. It's time for you to move on. You're ready for a change of scene. You get to meet new people, get involved in new things . . . you're going to do really well. You always knew that where you are now is not where you wanted to settle down, so here's your chance. Rock it!

2. The Lord has opened up these doors for you. You just need to trust Him and walk through them. Pray that He will allow you to enjoy it, to live it, to get out of it what He wants you to.

3. It's a good fit for you. There are people in the department you already know you want to work with. You'll probably have more opportunities to travel. All the hard work will pay off in the end, and you'll be so glad you went for it!

And my personal favorite . . .

4. You never know! (wink)

The Melancholy Comforter Cocoon Dwellers

1. From here on out, nothing will be the same. You don't know anybody and you're going to have to start all over. And when you finally reach the top, it'll be a lonely, windswept apex where you'll remain in your own bubble of an existence.

2. You're going to have to face those same lonely, long-morninged Saturdays where you have lots to get done but you want to do something else relaxing and fun, but you don't have a lot of money or available people to hang with, so you're stuck the whole day trying to avoid doing what you have to do but don't want to do.

3. You're so ready to settle down in an imaginary, safe, predictable rose-colored life full of made breakfasts and fat babies and sidewalk chalk but you're stuck reading articles that try to read Marxism into medieval theater.

4. You're going to have to say no. Say no and mean it. Say no and stick by it. Say no and not feel guilty about it.

The Realistic Sarcasm-Laced Pragmatists

1. What else are you going to do? Work for some non-profit and become disillusioned? You know that what you were doing wasn't it, so you're doing something else, right? You're not making a lateral move, either, you're stepping it up, which will ultimately prove economically and vocationally beneficial to you. So suck it up and tell the rumored "hard professors" to bring it.

2. Why are you pining after an imaginary life? If you woke up tomorrow morning to the wail of a fat baby and sidewalk chalk streaks and the prospect of making perfect pancakes, would you be ready? Or would you wish you had the chance to breathe in oxygen-poor air from the ruins of Machu Picchu? You are living your life right now. So get your head out of the clouds and live your best now.

3. Oh, you poor, poor thing. You have the chance to get a world-class education for free and get paid to do it with a boatload of guidance along the way. Oh, you poor, deprived little wench.

4. The only certain thing in this life is change, dear. I thought you'd learned that a long time ago. Seriously. You'd think after growing up a military brat and already having been around the world that some semblance of the idea of the temporariness of every darn thing would have seeped in by now.

The Mind Wanderers

1. You can take stuff outside of your department. Like a painting class or a music class . . . you've always wanted to learn the guitar.

2. Maybe you can get a part-time job. Like at a coffee shop or something. Come home smelling like coffee grounds. Mmmmm.

3. You're going to be making your lunch a lot. Healthy stuff like turkey croissant sandwiches and yogurt and dried cranberries and granola bars. Remember those healthy, economical days? They're back. Frozen salmon fillets and casseroles that last, and don't forget that crock pot you've got in storage. They're back, baby.

4. You know you miss that student-status. That time when you have an acceptable, cute excuse for being broke. Here you go again.

Sorting through my accumulation of stuff

I have an overabundance of

1. scarves.

2. hats.

3. tote bags.

What am I going to do with

1. my tae kwon do uniform?

2. my blowdryers with mismatched/broken attachments?

3. my stuffed animals?

Why is it so hard to do away with

1. t-shirts (mostly old, faded, paint-splattered, etc.) I never wear?

2. an old address book (that I've since updated in a new one)?

3. clothes I haven't worn in over a year?

I will, for some reason, always keep

1. a never-eaten box of candies given to me by a cute tour guide the first time I went to Paris.

2. a set of "see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil" frog figurines.

3. my Curious George doll.

I can't believe I still own

1. a boombox that plays cassette tapes.

2. a Game Boy.

3. a dress that I wore to my sweet 16 birthday party.

Georgia

The Age Old Connundrum

I always have too much to do or not enough. Or I have a lot of stuff that must eventually get done, but that I can't reasonably put on a to-do list and check off like most other tasks (i.e. create a reading list, choose an advisory committee or write a dissertation.)

One step at a time, one step at a time.

I did get a lot checked off today, though. I'm pleased with my progress.

Things are starting to coalesce. Paid rent for my apartment, reserved a U-Haul, made hotel reservations for the first few days after my arrival in GA, paid my last bit of rent for storage of all my stuff before I ship it on out. My answer used to be, "Uh, beginning of August sometime," but now my answer is definite. Specific. August 7th.

I started getting excited looking at the classes I might be taking: Issues of Race, Class and Gender, Hispanic Thought, Narrative Discourses, Survey of Literary and Cultural Theories and Criticism, Topics in Afro-Hispanic Identity. The nerd center of my brain is getting fired up, baby!

I will admit to a teeny tiny worry: church. God, please let me find a good one. Not a podunk one (bless their hearts), but one that's vibrant, growing, multicultural, and has at least a few 20 and 30somethings I can relate to. Atlanta's a big city nearby, but it's at least an hour and a half away. Don't make me have to do that every Sunday. I mean, I know some people from a couple of churches in ATL, so I wouldn't mind visiting every once in a while for fellowship, but (sigh) we'll cross that bridge when we get there, I guess.

Last Day

(sigh) The transition will descend in 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . .

Today (or shall I say yesterday, since it's after 12 a.m.) was my last day at my Plan B job. I was kinda ready for that gig to be up. I must say that it was a nice little respite from the job that brought me to my knees which drove me there, though. A Spanish teacher turned math teacher. Boy, I tell ya.

It was less stressful, but it was also less pay. Much less pay. But when you're in the thick of a desperate situation, all you want is out. You don't care about the money, you don't care about nothing but getting out of that sucka. Anyway, it felt good to close that chapter of my journey to who knows where.

Now, this coming week is a week off, if you can call it that. I need to get my life together before the big move, which, due to circumstances, will actually be a gradual move. August 7th, I'm outta here. August 8th, orientation begins. August 10th, I can safely move into my apartment (just me, some clothes, an air mattress and toiletries). August 13th, I move all my stuff into my apartment (with help, thankfully). August 15th, classes start.

I'm just a bag of mixed feelings. I'm so ready to go off and do my thing, but I also hate moving. I hate readjusting for the millionth time. I hate the fact that I'm diving headlong into yet another state of prolonged temporariness. But, who knows? You never know. You got that right, I never know. I like the idea of a clean slate, though. A new, new, new, new. But newness can be stark and awkward. At the beginning, anyway.

So, how long is that going to take you? Two more years? Ha. At least four years. Four years? (Dude, it's a PhD, do you know what I'm saying?) Yeah, more work. Yeah, more papers. But maybe, oh, just maybe, more travel, too. South America. America del Sur.

Well, oh, well. We'll just have to see, won't we?

McCain Goes Back to Maverick

Aw, shucks! This is that McCain. The McCain who got crunk and gangsta and maverick on y'all behind. This is the McCain I'm talmbout, SON!

Wow. Just . . . wow.

Oh, really?

I haven't gotten political in a while, but Republicans need to drink a cold, tall glass of sitcho self ALL the way down. I never though a bar graph would utterly blow my mind. Are you serious? Sweetie, Democrats are willing to make some cuts to entitlement programs, Lord knows we need to, but we GON have to close some loopholes and raise some taxes too, dear.

It's raining again,

so, thank you for my sunflower umbrella, friend.

Friends

Sometimes I think of how blessed I am to have friends who love me.

I've connected with several friends recently who are so dear to my heart. We've met at different times in my life.

One friend, a young man I've known since junior high. We don't talk often, but when we do, we pick up where we left off.

Another, a young woman I met in undergrad who is a sister to me. God literally brought us together. The story goes that she was in her dorm room, praying for God to send her a friend who was a believer. Another friend and I were at the student center with our parents, attending orientation sessions. She gets up from praying, walks into the student center, and is confronted with my mom's poofy, tell-tale hairbow. "Are you Pentecostal?" she asks her. A few minutes later, my friend and I came out of our orientation session to a tearful, joyous meeting of answered prayer. The rest is history.

The last, a partner-in-crime I met in grad school. He's a little older, married with a family. We are so different in so many ways, it's amazing we're friends. But somehow, the shared experience of earning a Masters degree made us family.

I love these people God has placed into my life. There are many others, of course, but this week, I've somehow interacted with the ones I've described above. I'm thinking of them right now, and I am thankful for them.

Patience

I was reading out of my little devotional book one morning this week. Here's a quotation from it that zinged me:

"Patience takes away all want. Your desire for the thing you wish is perhaps stronger than your desire for the will of God to be fulfilled in its arrival."

Ooh, zing. It made my brain juices churn, the blood in my bleeding heart run cold, my melancholic background music fade to uncomfortable silence. It was part of one of the most beautiful, most unsettling definitions of patience I had ever come across.

Ah, patience. As my hair grows a little longer, my skin a little clearer. As I notice oh, so slightly deeper lines near my eyes when I smile. As I grow a little less insecure, a little more resigned to going with life's flow. In your patience, possess ye your souls.

To celebrate their 30th wedding anniversary, my parents are renewing their vows tomorrow. My brothers and I are taking part in the ceremony. I'm no stranger to taking part in weddings (even though this is technically not a wedding) and neither am I a stranger to the inevitable "Next time, it'll be you"s, the most recent round of which has already started. Perhaps they'll be right this time. Ah, next time.

Cracking UP

This is ridiculous, but so funny to me right now.

So, way back when, before I accepted the teaching job that brought me to my knees, I had to decide between two schools. Let me say this: there really was no lesser of two evils. They were equal evils, it's just that one evil was closer to where I live. Plus the principal of the closer school was kind of my hero. At the other school, the principal was a former teacher of mine back in the day, and, well, I remember her teaching. That's all I'll say. Also, ALL of the top administrators there were women. God, that sounds sexist, and it is. I hate admitting this. But the idea of too many women in one place being my boss at the same time made me antsy. I feel like I can say this, as a woman, knowing how the management style of women in a profession of mainly women functions. Okay. So suffice it to say, I chose the closer of the two evils.

So when things started popping off at the closer of the two evils . . . administrators galore came pouring in to "evaluate." There I was, dutifully standing at the door between classes and along comes the principal of the school I turned down with a smug smile admonishing me with, "See, don't you wish you would have come work for me now? At my school, we have a smaller population and we aren't having all the problems you all are having here. I tried to tell you, but oh, well. This is what you chose." I smiled weakly, and laughed fakely, but grrrrrrrrrr.

So, today, one of my coworkers at my present Plan B job just told me she was going to sign the contract to work at my former school. She's a tough cookie, made of much sterner stuff than I am, and a fabulous teacher, so I wished her the best. "Guess who's the new principal?" she asked. When she told me, I could but laugh. At least I chose my fate. This little development, I can assure you, was NOT by choice.

I wonder if she's remembering her smug little comment to me in the hallway that day.

Middle Bro is Back!

I kept a secret for over a month. Now the cat's out of the bag. Tha kid is back!

My bro has been overseas in Iraq since February. He had been planning to come home in August, but he revealed to me that he would be coming home a month early and swore me to secrecy. He super surprised my parents. Little bro is coming home from work in a little while and he has no idea . . . Hee, hee, I was the only one to be in on the conspiracy. What a lovely Independence Day gift.

One Month Till My New Life Begins

It's already July. Already.

This thing is creeping up on me. Tryna be all sneaky. I'm gonna turn around and sirens will be going off all around me signaling I've run out of time. Nope. No looking back. Take a deep breath and dive in.

I always complain about my itinerant life of gigs. The whine of my biological clock has grown increasingly shrill, always whimpering about some notion of "settling down." But what's a girl to do but enjoy the ride?

What I love about being in school is that each semester, you get a new life. Every semester, you get the chance to close a chapter and start anew. It's so funny . . . my whole entire life, I've either been a teacher or a student.

I didn't plan to get my PhD, despite everyone's encouragement, despite all the "you're too smart not to"s. You can spend a chunk of your childbearing years publishing or perishing if you want to. Shooo . . .

But something made me change my mind, real quick-like. It was a little hole-in-the-wall called Room 127 where you could get some pan-seared Señorita simmered in crazy served up on a bed of stress topped with fresh depression and a disrespected side of mixed feelings drizzled with an off-the-chain vinaigrette. Needless to say, there was a no-tip policy.

I know that had I never gone through that, I would never have applied to a doctoral program. I guess the Man Upstairs had to make sure I was going to live up to my potential. Really, if I had accepted the job at my posh little former place of employment I would be chillin hard right now. God said, "No, ma'am!" He won't let me rest till I pass the test. He used those little hellions to light a fire under my derriere. All right, Buddy. You win.

There's a bit of figuring out to do. Okay, there's a lot of figuring out to do. See, there I go again. Always trying to figure stuff out. (sigh.) When will I ever learn?

I must 1. pay my bills 2. finish off my latest round of Youth fiction 3. decide what classes I'm going to take. I know this: I'm SO taking a painting class. We're allowed to take stuff outside of the department. I'm going to realize my childhood dream of becoming a modern Monet. And I know French now, too? Aww, shucks! I shall.

Don Miller is Engaged! (And I'm Gonna Make a "List")

So, my Don Miller craze has much subsided. Thankfully. Else I wouldn't have been able to handle this news. For those of you who need a refresher:

and . . .

So . . . yeah. About that.

Anyway, I read the earlier linked post and thought that it was very well-written and that his fiancee's "list" was sweet. I remembered that one of the session speakers at the conference I went to recently mentioned a "list" as well.

Sigh . . . the "list."

I'll admit I wrote a whole essay "list" when I was sixteen. It was called "My Dream Guy." Ugh. I cringe at the thought. I still have it somewhere. I can tell you this now: My priorities have changed. And thank God.

I think I would do well to write another. Seriously, this time. Part of me is scared to because then I'll be admitting that I want something specific instead of thinking I'll just float along until a magic flash of lightning gallops by and finally snatches me up. (I used to hate that . . . "Ah cain't ba-LEEVE nobody hadn't come and just snatched you UP yet.")

There's no magic, no knights, no shining armor, no white horses, no damsels in distress. Just regular, real people who choose to love one another.

Verdict: Fabulous

So . . . this past Thursday through Saturday was spent in Tennessee at a singles' conference called The Power of One.

First of all, thank you, Lord that it was not one iota as dismal as was prophesied. Yes, there were a fair share of middle-aged divorcees, but there were also a fair share of twenty and thirtysomethings, which was fantastic.

I met new people and reconnected with people I already knew. I received, was reaffirmed, renewed, restored, and was able to rejoice with people of like faith. It really was wonderful.

Some funny things happened: a shoe salesman hilariously tried to pick us up, and we ended up inviting him to church. We were called "Bama babes" by a gentleman we thought was reserved (I died) and he ended up paying for our dinner that night.

Some amazing things happened: Cracker Barrel was held open exclusively for the singles' conference attendees after church, and by the end of the night, 4 waiters and waitresses received the gift of the Holy Ghost. It was unbelievable. I posted a video on Facebook for all to see of one of the waiters praying through. Blew my mind. Check it here.

There's lots that I want to say, that I could say, but I'll just say I'm glad I went. Here's the thing, though. It's so easy to get on cloud 9 at a conference, but what matters is what you do when you get back to life. I want to get back to life right this time.

Don't Wait Till the Battle Is Over

1. I was doing what I thought was a creative two-step in the kitchen while waiting on my biscuits in the oven when my little brother said, "Chantell, that is not a cool dance."

2. What I got my friend for her birthday: parchment paper, a dip pen with a variety of nibs, ink, and envelopes. Perhaps they will provide useful recreation and inspiration after her turns about the grounds of Pemberley.

3. Darling little boy: I'm gonna be with Chantell when I grow up.

Darling little boy's big sister: By the time you grow up, she's gonna be way too o—

Both kids' mom: Sweetie, stop.

4. I wore my yellow dress to camp meeting last night and someone said, "My, don't you look sunny." Was that a compliment or a underhanded slight?

5. Don't wait till the battle is over, shout now! You know in the end, you gonna win. Man, I wish I had my tambourine on that song.

6. Thursday will mark the advent of a momentous occasion—my first foray into national UPCI singles conferencedom. Will a tall, dark and handsome bespectacled Apostolic stranger who has fallen in love with me via my blog (one of my fanciful fantasies) show up? Will our eyes meet and will we then both immediately "know"? Will God reveal to some devout, linguistically talented hottie that The One will be a Spanish-speaking girl in a red dress, and a minute later I walk in bedecked in red splendor greeting him with "Hola"? Perhaps I should temper my delusions of grandeur by keeping in mind an online convo I had with a sarcastic friend of mine:

me: Weird/random question: Have you been to any singles conferences?

10:28 PM friend: singles conference: yes

10:29 PM my sister dragged me to the one in DC for several years until they killed it

my advice: don't go

not only not helpful, but often detrimental

me: Just wondering cuz I was thinking about going to one in TN in June. Called The Power of One. I usually avoid them like the plague, but I need to stop being such a weenie about it and try it out. Really??

Why so?

10:30 PM friend: 1) too many MAD attendees

2) too many weird attendees

10:31 PM 3) too many married attendees who "forgot" their wedding rings

MAD = Middle Aged Divorcee

Ratio of male to female is usually like 1:6

me: LOL

10:32 PM Geez, you're such a kill joy.

friend: you could always go on the Singles Cruise.

Nevertheless, God, please let it be better than my elitist, cynical, killjoy of a friend described it. Thanks.

Assistant Coach

I was having a miserable time.

I had been spending a lot of time nervously licking my lips, wringing my hands, weathering stomach pit knots, sobbing, moping, wallowing, having more breakouts than usual, and mulling things over in my mind to the point of absurdity. Waking up in the morning had become a chore I longed to avoid. It was a combination of things: I had allowed my job at the time to make me feel like a weak, unappreciated failure; I couldn't stop the barrage of mental self-scourging for ever-present regrets which followed me like ghosts; and I felt myself inching closer to that whirlpool of self-obsession and destruction, that same spiral that I already knew would leave me with nothing but vertigo.

I thank God He gave me the wherewithal to make some changes. I had a teary breakup from my abusive boyfriend of a job. I had a shaft-of-light revelation to apply to a PhD program. But still, I needed to do more things outside of myself. Forget about me and my weepy me world. Get involved in something positive and productive. That's why I agreed to be an assistant Junior Bible Quizzing coach.

I am so glad I did. It's just amazing how far these kids have come. I'm so proud of them. We were not the best team, but I'm simply satisfied that the kids had fun learning the Word of God. It's truly been a bright spot for me. Today was the last tournament, and it's something I'll miss being a part of.

Last night he said,

"You look radiant. Are you sure there's not something we don't know about? Something you're keeping from us?"

My only reply consisted of surprised and amused "No!"s sandwiched between bursts of laughter.

My Church Sunbabies and My Red Dress (Again)

I've neglected my sunbabies. My home sunbabies, that is. They're still growing, but I've waited too long to take them out of the planter, so I think I've stunted their growth for life.

But I still have my church sunbabies. I don't know if I've really talked about my church sunbabies. I teach the Toddler class, and we had a lesson on faith. "Do you believe this teeny, tiny seed will turn into a great, big, beautiful flower?" They all nodded exuberantly. Ah, faith like a child.

So we planted some. And they've grown quite wonderfully. You can now see the little sunflower flower head bud. We water them every Sunday:

I luh you, my wittle church sunbeebees . . .

And of course, I rocked my red dress today. Today was the first time in a while that I felt truly positive about myself. But it's not the dress, it's my state of mind. I should keep it up. And I should eventually get some shoes that match the dress a little better. My red shoes didn't go, so I had to settle for black. It's hard to match up reds.

Red All the Rage

I need to stop spending my money.

But I saw this red dress calling out to me! See, what ha' happen wuuuuuz . . .

Seriously, I saw it and they only had dresses not my size. But I figured I would at least try one on, even if it wasn't exactly my size . . . just to see. And whaddya know, I walk into the dressing room, and on the rack (you know, the "discarded" clothes to be put back by the salespeople) BAM! Same red dress, my size. See, if I hadn't have had the faith to try on the first dress even though it wasn't my size, I wouldn't have walked into the dressing room to find the one that was my size! JAY-sus, can I get a witness up in heah?

Getting Rid of It

Today is my last "free" day before the summer session starts at the learning center. Since I made the genius move of quitting my previous job, I don't have the summer off like most normal teachers. Now, now, ol' gal. What's done is done. You all right.

But today is my day of getting rid of stuff. I love getting rid of stuff when I'm in a slightly . . . me mood like I am today because it allows me to expend some of that . . . stuff and be productive at the same time.

Clothes, papers, just stuff. It's going. I'm telling you, if whatever hasn't been looked at in like a year, it's gone. If a certain article of clothing hasn't seen the light of day since I can't remember, it shall be extracted and expunged from my closet.

I don't have time for you, ol hangin around for no reason at all, just clinging on like a layer of dust just begging to be swiped away. I'm moving in a couple of months. I don't have time for extra baggage, extra stuff, extra nothing I don't need. You're doing nothing but holding me down, forcing me to cart you around when you contribute nothing, absolutely nothing but dead weight. You're going. You're going. You're gone.

I Say a Little Prayer

There are times when I have an overwhelming Motown-y craving. When I need some soul in my soul. When I have nostalgia for a time I don't even know.

This song makes me see so clearly those times, those routine, ordinary, everyday times when you're going through the motions of the day that you think of that person. What could be/could've been/what you wish for.

I see an independent woman, getting up in the morning and running for the bus like everyone else, making her way, doing what she has to do to take care of herself, and in love. Hoping for the best.

Bright. Lemon. Yellow.

1. I ate (another) lemon poppyseed muffin today. Those things are seriously addictive. I'm just going to break down and make some at home.

2. I wanted something bright. Lively. It's summer. I was eyeing a yellow dress a month or two ago, but decided against it because . . . it's yellow. Not exactly a versatile wardrobe item. But today, spurred on by my brightness craving, I told myself today that if I went to JCPenney and it was still there, and on sale, and in my size, it would be mine. Must've been the will of God, for all aforementioned conditions were met indeed:

3. So of course I had to buy something yellow and floral to go in my hair.

4. I signed up to bring lemonade to our 5th Sunday dinner at church tomorrow.

5. Look at the stars, / Look how they shine for you, / And all the things you do, / Yeah they were all yellow . . .

Taste the Rainbow

You so innocently offered me some of your Skittles. I so innocently assumed you would pour a few into my cupped, outstretched hand. But you cradled my outstretched hand underneath in yours, grazing my wrist with your fingertips while you poured, not a few, then sent me off with the rest, still in the bag.

To-do

I have been consumed with nervous energy today. Just wanting to get things done. Get it done, get it done, cross it off your list. See, I have a bit of a break before the summer tutoring session starts, so I'm trying to take advantage of this free time to do all the things I say I haven't done yet because I haven't had time.

I always feel like I'm not doing enough. Or too much. I long for a happy medium.

What's weird is that sometimes I put off doing it because once I've done it, there's finality to it. There's something about finality that unsettles me.

Case in point: I crossed "register for conference" and "reserve hotel room for conference" off my to-do list. This means that I am going to the conference. I can't back out, especially because I've enlisted someone else to go with me.

Yes. 'Tis a singles conference.

I have dabbled in the uncertain waters of singles conferencedom in the past. Once. And it wasn't all that. But I've decided to woman up and give it another chance. This time it's a national conference (as opposed to a local, podunk one), and I've heard good things about it, so maybe I should just chill out about it. But ugh. A singles conference. One of those things I used to avoid like the stinking plague but now I've resigned myself to. But alas. There's hope that perhaps it will turn out to be one of those things I wasn't dying to do, but that I'm glad I did anyway. That's the spirit. Chin up, ol' gal.

I've also crossed off "new floormats," "new steering wheel cover" and "clean car interior." Yezzir, my car's lookin and smellin fresh.

Now I plan to write a few people in French. French Mother's Day is next Sunday and I thought I'd send Madame a card. Then there's a Norwegian girl and a Swede. But we only communicate in French even though their English is fine.

Today is the last day for two of my professional development Spanish classes. Thursday is the last day for the other two. Why am I getting an adrenaline-laced knot in the pit of my stomach over it? Good Lord. I organized all my lesson plans into a notebook and put all my powerpoints/handouts on a flashdrive to leave with the professional development department. The class is pretty popular and I'm sure someone else will teach it again in the future.

There's just something about things ending and new things beginning that makes me antsy. I want to do everything I can to prepare, but it never seems like enough. There's only so much you can do. And then the rest just happens as it comes.

C'est moi la plus belle!

That's what my t-shirt says today. I bought it from a street vendor the second time I went to Paris. (That was before I really learned French). I wore it the last day I was there. I would never do anything like that again. When I went to France for my 6-month French experience, I left it behind. It means "I am the prettiest." I don't really think that's true. In fact, I know it isn't true. I just like wearing a shirt most people around these parts can't decipher. It gives me a sense of faux sophistication. Faux. A fitting word, n'est-ce pas?

I dutifully made out a to-do list, and I've only done one thing on it so far. Get an oil change. I also got a whole other host of things my car probably didn't need. I guess I feel like I need to take as many preventative measures as I can now because I'm not going to be able to afford a major car malfunction once I've moved to Georgia and have to live on an assistantship's stipend.

Things are going to wrap up soon, and pretty quickly, I suspect, and I have to be ready. I'm never ready for stuff. I usually end up jumping in as it comes, hoping for the best.

Two things that are bothering me:

1. Lord Henry has long since let me be, which I should be thankful for, and I am. It's just that the prospect of saying goodbye is nagging me and I wish to God I didn't care. I'm afraid he'll either be dismissive of me or try one last time. Perhaps I can arrange it so that there'll be no goodbye and I won't have to find out.

2. My hair never comes out the way I want it to when I get it done. Getting your hair done should make you feel more confident, but it always makes me feel less so. Due to a variety of factors during my French experience, my hair is now slightly shorter on one side, and it's absolutely maddening. It's not too noticeable, and I usually do a pretty good job of hiding it, but I'm always reminded of it when I get my hair done. It's ridiculous, but it really makes me want to cry.

Once I type these things out/say them out loud, they are so petty. Who cares about Lord Henry? He certainly doesn't care about me and will have nothing to do with my life once I wrap this puppy up next week. There are worse things than having slightly shorter hair on one side. My God, get a grip. While getting relaxer put in my hair, I watched a horrible Oprah episode where she interviewed this once-beautiful girl who was hit by a drunk driver and whose car caught on fire. She was totally burned up. Ears gone, nose gone, fingers gone, everything burned up. Imagine that. You're a young, gorgeous girl one minute, and the next, you're burned beyond all human recognition. There are definitely worse things.

I should at least get things done on my to-do list that aren't really work. There are a few friends I need to write in French. I could have spent my $10 Victoria Secret gift card on lotion and body spray. But instead I'm going to watch The Mentalist. Simon Baker's kinda easy on the eyes.

P.S. I'd like to smack the guy who wrote that Psychology Today article about black women being less attractive than women of other races. Chile, please. It came to mind when the redneck mechanic who did my oil change came over to my car still shaking his head after the last customer left, took one look at me and said, "Whoo, Lord, ya'll are killin' me." I didn't know what he was talking about until he thought it would be a good idea to inform me that all the beautiful women he's seen come through lately have been African-American and that there's only been "one good lookin' white chick." Then he asked what my shirt said. Yeah, I think I'd better give my t-shirt a rest for a while.

I know how it feels to

be the only black person there.

take a swig of expired, sour milk.

finish. Finally.

wish you had that girl's hair.

smile so much your face hurts.

immerse yourself in a foreign culture.

suffer rejection.

want it to end.

need to go to the bathroom so desperately you would go to any lengths for relief.

have it work out the way you imagined it.

lose yourself and hope it wouldn't spell your ruin.

pray that God would do it so you wouldn't have to.

wait. And wait. And wait.

run off the road and hit a telephone pole.

wonder when he's going to call.

have a heart-dropping confirmation of what you've suspected all along.

taste snails.

cringe when you remember how your dad lost it over a "hippie" boy.

be whisked across a dance floor by a persistent groomsman.

sob with abandon.

dread those uncertain seconds right before the roller coaster plunges downward.

hear your name in a variety of accents.

wake from a dream that you were glad was just a dream.

bite down on something crunchy that wasn't supposed to be.

realize what you "knew" was so wrong.

want to wallow in sad songs.

get over it and move on.

Sometimes you gotta go down to the country.

You have an inexplicable need to find yourself amongst the obscure, the few, the hoping folks will show up. Off a county road. Not too far from where they got their first Burger King. Then you arrive, your unfamiliar car in the unpaved parking lot, recipient of curious peers from behind that glass door of the famed church-in-a-day. You walk in, get generous helpings of Praise-the-Lord and hugs and handshakes and smiles and good-to-see-you and talking to folks like you always knew them even though you didn't but it doesn't matter because you're brothers and sisters in the Lord. Your heart warms to the sound of a tinny keyboard and the smile spreads across your face when a suited, tambourine-playing white man grabs the hand of a wizened, walker-dependent black woman in solidarity. "Yes, Lawd!" she exclaims in response to the spiritual cheerleader at the pulpit who rhetorically questions whether the congregation heard him and whether the Lord's been good. The church words flow: praise, overcome, good God, authority, faith, revival, devil, world, this generation, get ready, keep on, one day, sacrifice, trust, dance, circumstance, the Word, right now, hands, raise, sing, joy. Don't you go nowhere after church neither, no need to go to Burger King, cause there's plenty of food: sloppy Joes, chips, all kinds of pie—a sweet potato pie made by the wizened sister that'll make you shut your mouth—cookies, and drinks. And is your daddy—? And how old are you? And where are you from? And what do you do? And thank y'all for coming! Hope to see you soon! When you turn back out into the humid night, you have to turn on your highbeams because there are no streetlights between there and the big city (not really big at all) you call home.

Just Around the Riverbend

Said

Last night

Him: So, what is it that you really want to do? If you could do anything, what would it be?

Me: Well, honestly, I . . .

Him: Yeah, honestly, what would it be?

Me: Honestly, I'd like to raise a family.

Him: (surprised) Like, stay home and take care of the kids?

Me: (sheepishly) Yeah . . .

Him: (still in seeming disbelief) Wow, well . . . that's awesome! I mean, with your wall full of credentials, you'd definitely be qualified to educate your children. That's really cool.

Me: Yeah . . . we'll see.

Him: Your time will come. Don't worry, your time will come.

Today

Her: Ms. Chantell, I was just thinking I can't believe you ain't got no husband or no children.

Me: Really? Why?

Her: Cause you so cute. I was just thinking someone as cute as you should have some kids or something. And you seem like a good mom, too.

Me: Oh, well . . . thanks. Maybe one day. We'll see.

My nails are fab!

1. Helped a beautiful, lovely woman of God edit a book in the works! Made me wonder if I should write one, too. I could just take all of my blog posts since I started it in 2005, edit and revise, and title it Back to School. Seriously, my entire life since I started this blog has been comprised of either going to school or working at one.

2. I finally got around to getting my nails in order. Though there are things I could enumerate that I don't like about me, I have to give it up for my nails. This is not a professional manicure. It's just my own nails, filed a little bit and spruced up with some nail hardener. C'mon, give it up for the nails:

I'm sorry for being a prissy braggart, but my nails weren't always like this. I used to bite these suckers down to the quick. They've come a long way.

3. I stepped outside this afternoon to a horror of horrors. I neglected my sunbabies and I was confronted with the haunting image of withered, wilted shells of their former selves protruding sadly from the dried soil. Forgot to water them mugs. I flooded them with water, berating myself for being an unfit flower-mother. Please let them wake up tomorrow morning.

3. Now I'm about to chill hard with little bro. Pizza bout to come out, ginger ale nice and frosty, and DVD popped in. I'm gonna miss this big head when I move.

I Died

Okay, this guy is the BEST Obama impersonator EVER.

"Oh, that'll be two terms, please. Thank you!"

Omg, omg, omg, omg . . .

Just got the news Osama bin Laden is dead.

It's so weird . . . like I can't believe it. On one hand, it's a relief, and I get the celebratory sentiment, but on the other hand, part of me feels uncomfortable about celebrating a man's death. I'm just being honest. I'm just happy for the world, and I'm happy America has something akin to closure RE: 9/11.

This is all I have to say: Obama is SO winning 2012. No doubt. Mission Accomplished FOR REAL this time, baby.

Crybaby

Whoever (in JAY-sus name) dares to meet the challenge of being with me 'till death do us part will have to be able to withstand a weeping woman. Good Lord, I don't know if I know anyone who cries as much as I do.

At least this time, I wasn't in an abysmal abyss, crying tears of existential anguish. Today they were angry tears. Oh, but it felt so good to get it all out.

In other news, I finished my stories. ::curtsies:: Thank you, thank you.

Now, I shall feast on such healthy things as chips and dip and miniature Twix bars while my still fast metabolism does what it does. Ain't nothin in this world a good cry and some junk food can't help.

Let me go ahead and get my procrastinating out of the way.

1. Tornado. Good God. When I woke up the next morning and looked at pictures of Tuscaloosa . . . a city I lived in for a good 5 years, it was heartrending. 15th Street, just gone. Thankfully, family and I are fine (and thanks to those who sent inquiries of concern), but there are a few others we know of in other cities who aren't.

2. Almost done with stories. Gotta finish these bad boys this weekend. And then that's going to be it for a while. I've got to get my life together before the big move.

3. This morning I did a little cultural activity at a local junior high. Brought some paella, pictures, Mexican sombrero, castanets, etc. The kids seemed to enjoy it.

4. God, help me endure. My learning center gig is wearing out my brain's welcome. Because of my genius move of quitting the best paying job I'd ever had in the middle of the year, I have to work this summer. (Can I stop sounding so spoiled and just be glad I have a job? Sheesh.)

5. There is a bespectacled man in here with a t-shirt on that has a picture of some muppets dressed gangsta-style. It gives him zero street cred or respect. And he has it tucked into some dusty black jeans. Boo.

6. Lady sitting next to me out of the blue starts involved emotional convo about the tornado. I gave her some kleenex.

7. And after chatting about other stuff, I told her I had to get back to work. So I have to be a woman of my word.

Last Saturday

I had a face painting spot upon a spread out blanket at a park. We had an Easter egg hunt outreach at a subdivision not far from from our church.

A little two-braided girl wanted her face painted.

"What would you like me to paint?"

"What've you got? What are my choices?"

"Anything you can imagine."

"Woooowww."

A Sunday School Story in Real Life

Scripture reference: Matt 22:39 "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself."

A young lady walks into Wal-Mart with the purpose of getting cupcakes for the Sunday School kids early Easter morning. As she gets in line to pay, an elderly lady ahead of her dressed in all her Easter finery turns around and asks the young lady where she got the cupcakes from.

"Over there in the bakery section." The young lady pointed in the general direction.

"Oh, I don't know if I like these cookies I have here. I think I might like some of those instead."

"Well, you can have as many of the ones I have as you like--I have five of them--and I'll go back over and get some more. Do you want some? How many of them?"

"You'd do that for me? Bless you! I'll take three of them."

"No problem. Do you want me to put these cookies back?"

"You gonna be blessed today."

The young lady smiles and puts the cookies back on the way to get a few more containers of mini-cupcakes. She wasn't really trying to be a do-gooder, she just didn't like the idea of the poor old lady all nice and dressed up to have to get out of line and walk all the way over to the bakery section to get some cupcakes.

When the young lady came back, she planned to get at the end of the line like normal, but there was a couple which was originally behind her who must've overheard the exchange and called her to come back up to her spot behind the old lady. Then the old lady, in front of her, finishing her purchase, told the young lady she would bestow her Wal-Mart senior discount on the young lady's purchase.

The young lady was surprised and pleased. She gave the old lady a hug and wished her a Happy Easter.

The moral of the story: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

Willie the Shake

That's what my uber-nerdy Creative Writing instructor in undergrad (on whom, inevitably, I had a super crush) called William Shakespeare.

Well, today's the bard's birthday. He would have been 447. And what better way to celebrate than to go to the Alabama Shakespeare Festival to see my all-time favorite Shakespearean play, Julius Caesar, with my little bro. I convinced him to dress up, which is no mean feat:

And the play was fabulous. We got to yell along with the plebeians. "Caesar, Caesar!" "We will be satisfied! Let us be satisfied!" "We'll mutiny!"

Happy Birthday, Will. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

Today I

1. got up super early to give a presentation to another local Rotary club about my French experience. Brought back SO many memories.

2. discovered that my sunbabies need an intervention:

The leaves are starting to yellow and droop. No, babies! Mommy's gonna plant you in a better place, don't worry.

3. took a look at the contract for my on campus apartment whose lease begins August 10. I guess now I have a specific answer for "So, when are you moving?"

4. made good progress on my latest installment of Sunday School stories.

5. got the awesomest Easter basket ever:

My Sunbabies Again

My little guys are really growing up. Compare the pictures from last week to today:

I love you, sunbabies. One day you're going to have big fat sunflower blooms. Just keep drinking your water and soaking in your sunshine like good little sunbabies. Mommy loves you!

And I dunno if anyone reading this has any gardening expertise (cuz I sho'ly don't), but as you can see, right now, they're in a planter. Will they be okay left in there? Should I somehow transplant them into the ground? If I do, will they be okay?

Ensconced

Ensconced again at my favorite haven of procrastination.

I'm in a corner, in a plush chair. Away from the coffee grinder, the chatterers, the gray skies outside.

Right now, I exist in my own world and am not resisting the urge to plunge deliciously into it.

For the people who like to snap me out of it when I stare out into space: True, I'm not in the present. I'm in the romanticized past. I'm in the imagined future. Or in the hurtful past. Or the feared future.

What I wonder: What is out there? What is really out there? I thought I'd already been out there, but I wake up every day realizing more and more that I've only scratched the surface.

What I remember is on my desk: A Spanish-English dictionary. A French-English dictionary. Two volumes of World Literature. A cylindrical can with sunflowers painted on it which holds a basket of artificial sunflowers. A small bottle of superglue. Two postcards with the same black and white photo of a young Langston Hughes. A still-unopened heart-shaped box of chocolates from Valentine's Day.

A man once said to me, "You already know I can't be what you need. But what do you want?"

I remember the discomfort I felt being faced with a smiling girl in her mid-twenties with grimy, eaten-away teeth. She was not ashamed.

Sometimes I can still feel the aching loneliness I felt when I was in France. It was penetrating, like rain.

I'm amazed by the sheer pleasure I get in watching something grow. It's a miracle, a testament to a living God.

I'm comforted by a silly face my brother makes. He wrinkles his top lip and his cheeks take on a frog-like cast. He speaks in an exaggerated, almost hillbilly voice. What this really means is that no matter what, no matter how old we get, he will be my little brother.

When I went to pick up my shoes from the Chinese shoe repair place at the mall, I was pleased with how completely they restored the heels. "Better than original!" the owner beamed.

I smile at the relation between friends and well-being. When you can talk about stories and flower children with one friend, speak other languages with another friend, and laugh about awkward classroom dynamics with yet another friend, I think of all the different ways you can connect with other human beings and how the knowledge of them is connected to the knowledge of yourself.

Mother of All Living (revised 4/17/2011)

She had never been this close to the plum tree before.

A green-eyed, panther-like creature, a sable cat, had wound its way through her idyll. She caught glimpses of its smooth dark pelt as it slunk past a wall of tangled vines. This wasn't one of the usual creatures with which she'd frolic during her rounds about the Garden. It was exotic, unfamiliar, and it awakened in her a sense of curiosity unlike any she'd ever felt before. She was drawn by its subtle scent of jasmine and intrigued by its deliberate, stealthy gait. She had decided to follow.

She followed until the creature paused at a tree whose branches hung heavy with dark fruit. She'd eaten the fruit of all the other trees of the Garden save this one. She had been warned by Man never to touch it. But the creature fixed its emerald gaze upon her, silently beckoning her closer.

She inched forward, transfixed, her footprints in the rich, moist earth the only evidence of her advance. At last, she was close enough to touch this beguiling creature, but before she dared, it caressed her leg with its tail. Disarmed, she knelt down and began to stroke its blue-black fur. The smell of jasmine was intoxicating. She began to tire and sat on the ground, reclining against the trunk of the plum tree. Her lids drooped and she nearly fell asleep, but she was fully awakened by whispering in her ear. As the creature spoke, she could feel its warm breath lingering against her cheek.

"The Ancient One said not to eat of this tree, didn't He?" the creature purred, pawing a fallen plum. She faced the creature, arrested by its piercing green stare.

"He-He said not to eat of it or even touch it or else we'd die." As the words left her mouth, she scrambled up from leaning against the trunk. The cat laughed and began to circle her.

"You shall not die. What nonsense. The Ancient One knows that if you eat of this tree, your eyes will be opened and you will understand good and evil. Like a god."

Why would the Ancient One want to keep something so enlightening from her? After all, she had nearly fallen asleep against the trunk of the tree and she still lived. She plucked a single plum from the low-hanging branch right above her and examined it. She suddenly felt watched. She spun around to find Man peering from behind a nearby tree, observing the entire scene wordlessly. Why had Man not tried to stop her? She felt the creature rub itself against her leg as it continued to circle her. She held up the plum. It was good for food, pleasant to the eye, and would allow her to see, to give her a knowledge she'd never possessed.

She bit in. Juice dribbled down her chin. It was sweet. Heady. Exhilarant. She did not die. She held it out towards Man.

My Sunbabies Are Growing Up!

Hey, my little sunbabies . . . c'mere, give Mommy some kisses. You're growing up, yes you are! If you drink all your water and soak in all your sunshine, you're gonna be big sunflowers one day, yes you will! Ooh, Mommy loves you loves you loves you! Mmmuah!

Booklove

Two Slate essays about two of my favorite things—books and falling in love:

Love in Bookstores

Judging a Girl by Her Cover

Enjoy!

New 'Do + Sunbabies

New 'Do
Curlicues! The sun will come oooout tomorrow, bet your bottom dollar that tomorroooooow, there'll be sun! Tomorrow! Tomorrow! I love ya, tomorrow. It's only a day away! Now all I need are some patent-leather shoes with little buckles on the side. I can tap dance, too.

Sunbabies

My sunbabies are my future little pride and joy. I love sunflowers. With a passion. So I decided to grow some in the backyard. They're gonna be my little babies. I planted them today. I'm going to water them and make sure they get lots of sunlight and give them little bits of sunbaby num nums. I wuv you wittle sunbeebees. Mommy's gonna take gooood care of you.