An American Rose Called by Any Other Name...

I'm about to ruffle some feathers and it's about time. An Anglo told me that they did not want to offend me but they were confused why some of us are Black and some of us are African-American.

BLACK PEOPLE and ALL People of Color born or naturalized in this country are AMERICANS. PERIOD.

I am an AMERICAN...just look at my passport. Everywhere in the world that I have traveled to, people said, "Oh, you are an American." That's right. No Hyphenated Bullshit.

I recognize that the whites are calling themselves American and NOT a Hyphen American label but ALL the People Of Color are put in a hyphenated category. This has nothing to do with being PC. The MAN has categorized you, AGAIN.

Marinate That Part.

Africa is a continent not a country.

Enslaved Africans were INTENTIONALLY mixed up so they could no longer communicate with their own countrymen in their native languages. So those DNA kits will typically list more than one African country of your ancestry. Ol' Massa raped our African mothers so you most likely have some of his this and that in the mix.

My grandparents (with the exception of my white grandfather) were called "Colored" and born in America.

My parents were called "Negro" (Spanish for Black, also used in slave records) and born in America.

My American birth certificate identifies me as "Negro".

They have labeled us since they brought us here.

I am an American.

I am of one race - Human - and of Mixed Ethnicities.

I identify with my Black Heritage, and acknowledge my European and Native American Heritages.

IMO that hyphen is just another way to separate us from them. It is the new slave label as far as I'm concerned. I have pissed off a lot of Black folks who wave their AA flag proudly, especially when I query where exactly did their people come from. The majority of us do not know and it's not our fault. They are appalled when I say that I am not African-American. They think it has to do with my complexion but it does not. They think I am not proud of my roots for saying such. That is not my narrative.

I grew up with older cousins, fists in the air, voicing, "Say it loud, I'm Black and I'm Proud. Baby, can you dig it?" I am in every sense of the word Black but my Nationality is American.

I know that there are SOME true African-Americans here like President Barack Obama... father from Africa and mother from America. But you don't know anyone's ethnicity just by looking at them. Go to any country, and no matter what people look like, they identify with their NATIONALITY. This New World country was built with the blood of slavery, and this racism will be not be fully dealt with until each and every one of us is finally acknowledged for who we truly are. AMERICANS.

Baby, can you dig it?

memoir: solo celebrating in paris

I went to Paris for my birthday with the intention of having my celebration at a particular restaurant. I tried using their online reservation while still in the US...no response. I tried using their online reservation when I got to Paris...no response. I walked to the restaurant to get a dinner reservation. It went like this with the maitre'd:

Bonjour! Je voudrais une réservation pour le dîner ce soir, s'il vous plaît. 
Oui madame. combien pour le dîner?
Une, Monsieur.
NON! ...shaking his head at me. 
I try again:
Je voudrais une réservation pour le dîner ce soir, s'il vous plaît. 
Oui madame. combien pour le dîner?
Une, Monsieur.
NON! ...again shaking his head at me.
Mais c'est mon anniversaire!
Oui madame. combien pour le dîner?
Une, Monsieur.
NON! ...shaking his head at me again.

So then I switched to English which I suspected he knew, and I had no intention of leaving until I got my reservation. 
Okay, it's MY birthday and I came to Paris to celebrate MY birthday HERE...and you know why I am HERE, so don't look at me like some crazy American woman because we all come HERE for the same reason. It's MY birthday!

He walks off and has a conversation with who must be the manager. They both are looking at me while speaking rapidly in French, and then finally he returns and says, Oui madame, par ici...as he starts to guide me to a table. 

I thank him then clarify that I want the table for later that evening. You should have seen his face! Mortified by my request! I explained that I have been on walkabout all day and needed to go back to my chamber de bonne to change. He points to his watch and says, Une heure! I graciously thank him again, promised I would be back in an hour...and told him it better not be a table by the kitchen. He knew what table I really wanted but it was already reserved which did not surprise me.

I returned exactly on time to the minute, and when I walked in the door, the maitre'd threw his hands out, then clasped them, and said, Mon Dieu! It was because he had not expected this crazy American to be properly dressed for dinner, including my pearls! I got the BEST table in the restaurant...better than the one I had initially wanted (where Keaton and Keanu sat)...and had the most impeccable service with each staff wishing me a happy birthday. The dinner was fabulous...the diners nearby joined in my celebration. And just as I was about to ask for l'addition, that challenging maitre'd brought me a glass of champagne for my birthday with a slight smile.

A lovely Parisian explained to me that one just doesn't dine alone in Paris because dining is SOCIAL. It's not their culture to eat out alone. So THAT was why people stopped talking and eating to stare at me when I sat at my table! At first, it was awkward but gradually I felt as if I were their queen at high court! So I learned a cultural difference (which is the sole point of traveling) but I also got my birthday wish and a celebration that I will never forget.

Flying Without a Parachute

When I returned from my escapade, I discovered a post-it note on my countdown message board from my housemate. In true educator form, the note read, "What did you learn?" Still processing through my re-entry, I was jet lagged, exhausted, and my brain was on stimulus overload, so I really had not thought much about it until prompted at the moment. The first thing that came to mind was that I was more of a Bad Ass than I had ever imagined I could be. I had finally pushed past all of my fears, doubts, and extreme shyness to find a strength in me that I did not know that I possessed. I allowed myself to release of all the things that held me back daily from fully living, and stepped out into the world. 

This was my dream trip and I had put it off for decades because I had never thought that I could do this on my own. I watched others take off in flight and my travels remained wishes in my head,  My shoes were cement blocks of fear because I could never find a travel companion to journey with. When talk of some far away place would come up in conversation, friends would always say, "Oh, we should do this...go here..." but then we never did. Life is too short. Too damn short not to live your dreams. My years seem fleeting and I knew I should not wait any longer. Time to just do it. 

I kept quiet about my plans because whenever I mentioned it, the naysayers lectured me on how dangerous the world is. I started thinking that it couldn't possibly be any more dangerous than my own homeland. You want me to live in fear? I survived and recovered from one near fatal accident all alone...but what if I had not recovered? What it I had left this place without fulfilling my desire to put stamps in my passport? What was my life about if not to live my dreams? The previous chapters of my life were all lived for someone else...family, friends, mates. It is definitely time that I live my remaining chapters for finding me and knowing who I am. 

We owe it to ourselves to travel the unbeaten path, explore the world, connect with people, immerse ourselves into the diversity of other cultures, and expand our minds. 

Do it. Be Bad Ass. Live Fearless. Just Live.

2014 - la nouvelle année

for a minute, i forgot that i had a blog. how does one do that? just shows you where my head has been. this past year i have not been myself. i felt as if i were living someone else's life. maybe that is why i haven't done any writing - creative or otherwise. but i did create an art journal. my art journal is experimental...i have been exploring with techniques and various forms of medium (acrylics, watercolors, gelatos, alcohol inks), and making note of the results and contrasts of different products and comparing brands. most of the pages that i have done are backgrounds that i will go back and write on later. some i really like more than others...these are some of the pages that i do like so far. but when you don't like a page, you can always go over it with paint or gesso and start again. it is a work in progress. just like my life.

wake up and put your big girl panties on

there is nothing like thinking that you are going to die that will wake you the hell up. happened to me over two years ago. when we are young, we really do live as if we are immortal. we think everything will be the same, and that life goes on. but then something happens like you are burying your parents in your 30s and you realize that it doesn't go on. sometimes it just comes to an abrupt dead stop. 

i then started to think that my life could end as well...at any time without warning, and i started to worry only because i had my brood to raise. i knew that if something happened to me that there would be no one to take care of them. they would become abandoned cubs in the forest. so i used to pray to my goddess to just let me live long enough that they would reach adulthood and take care of themselves...or at the very least take care of one another. and finally, when the day came that my youngest went off to university, i exhaled.

i did not have those empty nest issues you hear of from most parents. frankly, it was quite the opposite. i had prepared myself for this departure. i missed my offspring insanely, and partly didn't want them to leave but had i not raised them to be adults at some point? i had been on my own since nineteen and never looked back because i had no one to take care of me but me. so i pushed my younglings hard to become independent, maybe too hard at times...but that is how it is when you are the only parent. you are afraid to be too soft and ruin them. i was afraid of enabling them as i had seen other parents do. and after the apron strings were severed, i had to start thinking about what it was that i was going to do with my life since it had not evolved into the life i had once thought it would be.

the thing that gnawed at my soul was the fact that i did not complete university. i had a family to raise and kept telling myself "someday." it is impossible when you are juggling two to three jobs at a time, and responsible for the lives and well-being of three other humans, without any assistance of extended family or support system. you cannot even consider going to school in this situation. so the day had come to fill that desire that had been gnawing at my cerebral cortex for decades. i went back to university...and i went in fear.

i feared that my brain would not keep up. i felt stupid. i felt that i had not stimulated my brain enough because i spent the past twenty-five years in survival mode and not expanding it with enough academic information. the fears dissipated as soon as my brain woke up and recognized that this was the stuff that it really enjoyed doing. everything fascinated me and i wanted to take everything offered. three years later, i found myself in pure elation and bliss, sitting on a stage of an amphitheater in a beautiful grove of trees, decked in a black gown, mortar board, and pink flip-flops, filled with a satisfaction i had not known but heartbroken that my tribe were not there to share the moment with me. i did not just do this for me, i also did it for them.

now i was ready to take on the world. my future was filled with plans of working on my masters in education, and most definitely experiencing travel around the globe. i had discovered couchsurfing and was planning on giving myself a graduation present to italy...no point in letting all of those art history courses go to waste! but my plans unraveled with a delay of a knee surgery...followed by a near fatal auto accident that derailed my life. as i saw the speeding car heading directly for me, i remember my last thought..."oh my god, i am going to die."

i guess it just wasn't my time but there i lay strapped to a board with a c-collar around my neck being placed in a med-wagon. i had no sense of much of anything but this fact...i was alone. there was no one to come for me. in time, i was released and told that i had to be watched for the next three days. but there was no one to do that either. i lay in pain drifting in and out of drug-induced sedation unable to move. that was when i knew that i needed to wake up and drink the coffee because just smelling it is not enough.

my life spiraled downward and it was no longer the life that i knew. i discovered how easily it is to become homeless...to lose everything. i discovered that the people who flit around you when times are good are not there when times are bad. my life has been completely flipped upside down and i wondered if it would ever be right-side-up again. notice the two year gap on this blog...i could not even THINK let alone write during this period. i have been in "struggling to survive" mode with memory issues and just trying to heal for over two years. 

i am now in "put your big girl panties on and start your life anew" mode. i am going to make plans. i am going to get my life back. and i am going to make the best of it while i still have it...because life is too damn short not to LIVE.

facebooking with the homeless

being homeless is no joke. and it can happen to any of us. i know. about a month ago, it nearly happened to me. i had often wondered about the people i see begging on the streets of the bay area...wondering how did they get there in the first place. where were their families and friends? then i came close to discovering it firsthand; and that not knowing where you are going to live, well, it's a terrifying state of mind to be in. and when you reach that point, you realize you truly are alone in the world. all it takes is a bad break or two to send you there. 

like any metropolis, the homeless community is quite large in this area. upon observation, i have discovered some interesting things about the culture. i have seen men come to blows over what they claimed was their territory - the sidewalk in front of the post office for instance. i have seen one man offering to share his sandwich with another man passing by - he happily accepted it, took a bite, handed it back, and thanked him as he walked on. but the most fascinating thing to me is observing their time spent in the public library. the public library is a gathering place for the homeless public. i came upon this discovery when i moved and had to wait weeks for the quick response of the local phone company to re-connect me. well, we all have experienced the rapid actions of the phone monopoly when it comes to getting service and getting it right, so i don't think i need to elaborate here BUT...and it's a BIG BUT...after speaking to eight - yes, eight - phone employees in one single morning, and getting nowhere slow, i decided to hop on a PC at my local library (heavily armed with my alcohol wipes). 

it was on my first visit that i discovered that the homeless are on social media. yes, boys and girls, they are on facebook! one guy just looks over at the guy next to him and sees that he is also on facebook, so he says "want to be my facebook friend?" and that's how it's done. simple and to the point. i was totally amazed. as i continued with my fascination and eavesdropping, i realized that they had a serious social network going on...they were all making plans - sitting across from one another while on facebook - to get together for coffee or hanging out at the park later...truly amazing. even the mental guys talking to themselves or possibly the computer were making plans on facebook. wonder if any of them used the "events" option for this planning that was going on...hmm. i was just hoping that after a few daily trips to the library, they would not start to think of me as one of them, and start to include me in their social activities. but i started to think that the fact that i showered daily was a dead give away that i traveled in a different circle. the pungent odors that hovered around me burned my eyes as i once again cursed the damn phone monopoly.

american birthing culture

Each year, approximately four million babies are born in the United States. 92% are born in a hospital with an obstetrician in attendance; while only 8% are attended by a midwife either in a hospital, free-standing birth center, or at home vs. 70% midwife attended birth in Europe and Japan. 

America spends TWICE as much per birth than any other country in the world. The business of childbirth has become just that – a business. Three out of every four Americans becomes a parent, yet most of us know very little about the actual process of giving birth until we actually experience it. 

Media presents birth as a medical event only “safe” in the hands of doctors and the medical establishment. With all of our technological advances in science, the United States of America still ranks last among the industrialized nations in infant mortality and low birth weight – 24th in the world. Today’s educated women are concerned about childbirth with iatrogenic complications, and mortality due to over-medicalization and unwarranted procedures. 

Childbirth is not an illness but is managed as such. We must be informed of America’s current situation in order to acknowledge the social and psychological ramifications that it has on our culture. What is happening in American birth today needs to be re-evaluated before we can lower our horrific maternal and infant mortality rates, and make childbirth in this country free from unwarranted procedures and preventable casualties once again.

for love of daddy - j'adore mon pere

dad. papa. daddy. pop. dada. pere. father. whatever you called him, he is every little girl's first love...he is every little boy's first hero. in honor of all fathers we celebrate you today. i miss my daddy like crazy. he will always be the bar that all men must measure up to in my life. my dad loved my mom like she was the only woman on earth...that's the love i want. 

fathers are special beings. they leave a remarkable imprint on our lives. yes, mothers give us our lives and nurture as through it all - if we are lucky...but there is something unique about the relationship with our fathers. i wish mine was still here. he didn't say much but when he did, it came from a special place and there was a lot of thought behind it. i just wish he had told me more because now that he is gone, every word he spoke is sacred to me. i lost him way too soon. i felt exceptionally lucky because MY DAD CHOSE ME [and my mom]. she said he took one look at me - a fat and chunky baby - and it was love. he always wanted a daughter and i was the lucky girl. 

he was talented and skilled with woodworking so i had the most unique and incredible toys. when other kids got plastic rocking horses, my dad built me a wooden rocking elephant and painted her pink! he built me a play house for the backyard, and recycled a standing, wire greeting card fixture into a bird cage filled with colorful stuffed birds and a nest of easter eggs! he maintained my addiction to barbie and baseball cards, took me to disneyland whenever i wanted to go, and threw me the most amazing birthday parties. one year, he made a giant peace sign stencil and painted symbols all over the concrete of the backyard in keeping with the theme of my party. when he poured some cement in the yard, he had us put our hands and feet down so it would be like our version of grauman's chinese theater! at age 13, he made me a desk nameplate because he said i would be somebody important when i grew up. yes, i was a lucky girl. 

he passed on many years ago, but there are things about my dad i will remember like he blinked a lot, and his eyes twinkled when he laughed. when you asked how he was, his answer was always, "fair to middling." his favorite chair was the green one in the den. he would sit in it with a TV tray for his snacks and his screwdriver and watch the dodger games. and he always smelled of paint and old spice. he loved gauguin, and he painted in oil. he was a great cook. he did most of it because mama worked swing shift...so it was just the two of us for dinner on TV trays in the den. even when i was a grown woman, i would go over for dinner with dad - just the two of us - and always it was in the den on TV trays...watching the dodger games. it took me many years to realize why my dad wore old spice when there were so many other men's colognes on the market. it was because of me. it started when i was about 8 or 9. i would get my allowance money at every single holiday - his birthday, father's day, christmas - and go to thrifty drug store which was near my school, and buy a bottle of old spice for two whole dollars. i kept doing it year after year...and he would happily put it on as if it was what he really wanted. sometimes, if i had more money, i would even buy the old spice scented soap on a rope. and there i was one day, in my early 30s, standing in his green-tiled bathroom, opening the bottles of old spice and smelling them before placing them back on the counter. it was then that i had my revelation - you see, even at 30something, i was the one still buying my dad old spice on the holidays! sure, i bought him other things as well but the old spice was now coming from his grandsons.

first thanksgiving: the true story

i often wonder why we were taught things in school that just weren't true. like the first thanksgiving. we do not have thanksgiving day in honor of natives and pilgrims having a feast together as friends. that's a load of crap. it's true that native chief massassoit, squanto, and samoset, and their men brought food to the starving and desolate european colonists, but that is not what was behind the initial proclamation of thanksgiving day. 

it has been documented that thanksgiving day as proclaimed by general washington, was a day for fasting and praying. yes, i wrote "fasting" not gorging ourselves on an abundance of food. in fact, thanksgiving day occurred more than once a year...individual colonies had their own thanksgiving days set aside for prayer and fasting. they also claimed thanksgiving day when adopting state constitutions, and honoring military victories. yes...even military victories over the indigenous people they stole land from, as well as against the brits. for example, a thanksgiving celebration was held in december 1777 nationwide throughout the colonies to commemorate british general burgoyne's surrender. so let's call this for what it truly is, big family gathering over dinner day. happy family dinner day to you!

insomnia sux

i have serious sleeping issues. so normally i go to bed at this time but for some bizarre reason i was exhausted two hours ago. so i crashed and burned. next thing you know, i am wide awake like it's the middle of the next day. i really tried. i tossed and turned, and then my head started going all over the place and i was thinking way the hell too much about everything. i just couldn't turn my brain off. and the most bizarre thing is that i had no coffee today. the thing about coffee...i never drank a cup of joe my entire life, up until two years ago. i always loved the smell of the wicked brew, just never had a taste for it. see, it was J3's fault. he was a barista boy at starbux his last summer here, and got me to drinking this stuff. it is an acquired taste, and now that i've acquired it, i drink it quite often...with lots of sugary syrups and whip because I don't like it on it's own. supposedly, it's good for women...but who really knows? one of my little rewards for going to starbux is those free itune cards you get there. it's most definitely a v. cool way to expand your music exposure to people you might not have ever thought to bother to listen to. so i go into starbux yesterday, and they shout out my name as they start my double tall white chocolate mocha with whip before i even make it to the register...i feel like norm on cheers...and then after i pay, i go to the pickup side to get my itunes card and my beverage. i am like one of pavlov's dogs, i've been so conditioned. but then the last couple of times i went in...there was no itunes card! and i'm like, dude! what's up with this? you're holding out on me! and they're like, we'll put them back out next month. the manager thought he would soften the blow with a free slice of pumpkin loaf. but somehow that just didn't make up for it...as much as i enjoyed that tasty slice of autumn bread, i was unsatisfied and wanted my itunes. they just didn't get the signifigance of this interuption of my routine. not cool at all. they broke our bond. so now i have no other choice but to visit another location and get my music fix in the meantime. okay...now what...i am still wide awake, trying not to think of anything, and knowing that nothing is open this time of the morning...not starbux...not even a bar...so there is no point of leaving the flat. where do the night people go on a wednesday at 2:30am?

living in the hood

i moved here some years ago at the urging of a friend. i knew that i had to get the hell out of seattle as soon as i could sell my house, and was planning on returning to my native city of angels, but thought i would give the bay area a try first before heading south. this is an interesting little town that i live in. it has a nasty rep for crime but knock on wood, this neighborhood hasn't had any real issues. it also has an amazing history as a shipyard town during WWII, and home of rosie the riveter. i had moved in with my friend for about 3 weeks when a flat opened up two doors down. so i hurriedly moved into it mainly out of convenience...plus my friend was running short on hospitality. that whole "will and grace" thing just didn't work for us.

the place looked alright upon first inspection but after i moved in, i discovered what a hell hole it really was. i even shared a common wall with a witch. no, i am not being polite and meaning she is a bitch. she is both. i have nothing against what people practice but to make matters worse, she is psychotic and very nasty. six cats, mind you. she is by no means a delightful edie beale but it's freakin "gray gardens" over there. when she opens her door, you just want to pass out. she has on numerous occasions banged on my door with a variety of multiple personalities. one day she decided to drive into my parked car. let's just say, it's been pure entertainment at it's worse.

the landlord is a slumlord. there is no insulation so it is either freakin freezing or horribly hot. the windows need caulking because when they are closed, my draperies move with the drafts. the doors need weather stripping because you can see outside around the frames. one day, my son saw light coming up through the cracks of the floor. honestly, the place needs to be torn down. it's the eyesore of the block. i meant to move a couple of years ago but i was injured so that put my entire life on hold.

so anyway, you know how they say how things happen as they are suppose to happen? well, for some bizarre reason, without any plans to move, i moved. and i hate moving more than anything which probably explains the complacency of living in the pit for so long. following my intuition, i just happened to find a place - 12 blocks over - without looking, and two days later i was signing a lease. two days after that, i was moving! this place is the polar opposite of the hell hole that i had been living in.

ah, the creature comforts...dual paned windows, carpeting, central heat...what more could a girl ask for. as scarlett o'hara once said, "as god is my witness, i will never go to bed cold ever again." okay, so she didn't exactly say that, but i have never gone to bed hungry. you get what i mean.