The Last Day of the Year: The Washing of Masks

 I like to reminisce on my year on the last day of the year... 

And of course, when I think of the year 2020, I will think of the covid-19 pandemic. 

Sigh.

And a picture that sums it up on my end is the washing of masks.

Who on earth would've thought that "masks" would be the order of the day, the common thing?

I remember back in March, I was at a lost as to where to find an actual mask. And, no one was particularly sure if we needed them or not. I managed to get a 10 pack of surgical masks through a restaurant on ubereats. I was so proud to have found some. But then a friend of mine told me to go look on Etsy. I ordered masks from three different vendors. Then I ordered more from a vendor whose masks I liked the best.

So now I think I have ten cloth masks. I wanted the ones with the filter pocket. Why? Because I got the notion to buy a air filter so that I could chop it up. 

I chopped that filter down into little filters just large enough to fit the filter pockets of my masks.

This has all become a ritual of sorts. I wash my masks by hand in detergent and hot water twice, I rinse them thoroughly, then I soak them in boiling hot water for about thirty minutes. Then I hang them on a
plastic hanger and let them dry overnight. 

Then I place my cut filters in them and store them in a plastic bag. 

(I learned most of that on YouTube. Thank goodness for YouTube).

I only venture out into the world once a week at the most, mostly for groceries or medical appointments. And I will change my mask two, perhaps three times. So I wash masks every 6 to 8 weeks on average.

And that has become the norm in 2020.

Who would've thought that would have been a portion of my focus in 2020?

Hopefully this is a once in a lifetime type of situation.

I remember in early April of 2020 just breaking down and crying in the shower one morning because I was so confused and scared.  No one seemed to know what was going on, and just the mere shock of everything- job, church, theaters, etc.- everything closing down just messed my head up.

I have had moments like that all year... even lately.

2020 is coming to a close. I am hoping that the pandemic will end in 2021.  I am not sure how much longer we can all go on like this. People are missing family and whatnot. I am not a big family person, but I miss my sister and nephew, the only family I have close contact with these days, even prepandemic.

For me, the deeper problem is the unknown...the presence of the unknown and no idea of the solution. I can't control or solve it. 

I can only depend on God and be thankful to see another day.

Because so many did not live to see another day, or a new year on the horizon. 

And until this thing is over... 

I will continue washing my masks. 

Nostalgic Wax, Part III: Lessons Learned from His Funeral

So, at the end of one of my birthday posts, specifically the post about LadyTee's gifts, I mentioned the shadow box.

She'd gifted me a shadowbox for my father's flag.

It reminded me of not the actual funeral, but things I learned about myself and those around me during the funeral preparations and the aftermath. I've wanted to write about it, but I didn't because there was so much, and I just didn't think I could remember everything. But around birthday time, I ponder about my personal year, and the major events therin.  And my father's death was a major event.

I know I have written about a little of this, but I always have a different perspective once there's a little distance and time from it all.

So some things that stood out.

1. I can get along with my mother when I have to. It's no secret that I don't deal much with my mother. These days, I just try to support my sister's desire for a relationship with her, and it looks like Kentucky is getting a bit older and not really all that willing to put up with our mother's mentally and emotionally abusive behavior. (Lord knows I don't).

But I called her up when my father died. Out of respect really, because that was her first love and they did have a baby (me) together. I don't think I was interested in how she felt. I just thought it right to call her up. She asked if I needed anything from her, and she could tell I was exasperated with the whole thing, so for once she just left me alone about it.

But I did have to call my sister in for a back-up. Just in case our mother came to the funeral and lost her natural mind. My sister is a pro at handling her. And my sister had me laughing with an interesting saying that she'd come up with, since mother seemed to be about to run off the rails in their conversations:

My sister would sigh and say, in a high voice... "Jesus be a fence, a referee, and a counselor!"

That meant any old thing could happen. I was NOT in the mood. I told my sister, if our mother start tripping and showing out, deal with it. Because if I had to, it was not going to be pretty.

Mother did well, though. She even got up and said a few words when they asked for people to come up. So good for her. I hope it was her way of dealing with things. I hope it was some closure for her.

We didn't drive the hour to the burial place together. We followed the limo and hearse in separate cars. I don't think I could deal with that. And I just really wanted to be alone with my thoughts. Selfish? Perhaps. It was what it was.

I am not sure anyone got blow by blow pictures of the graveside ceremony.  Mother did. She snapped a ton of pictures. And she sent me some.

And afterwards, she asked me to stand in the grass and take a picture with the flag.

That was moreso for her, not for me. She has some keepsakes.

But I was glad all went well. No fighting, no yelling. No embarrassing scenes. Jesus was a fence, a referee, and a counselor that day.

2.  A conversation with my brother...he's a good guy-I have always been the one to take care of my little brother. I remember changing his diapers and feeding him. I remember holding my arms open so he could walk to me in uneasy steps when he first learned to walk. He's 17 years younger than me, so my memory is long.

So when I told my sister that my father had died, she texted or call him. He called me that evening, and he did something that I didn't expect: we had a long talk about PTSD and the affects of it.

I remember telling my father that my little brother had done tours in Afghanistan and Iraq, and my father saying "Tell him to make sure to get some help, because it can all really mess with you and mess you up. Mess up your mind real bad."

And that's what my brother called to talk to me about. My father had fought in Vietnam, and had returned home in 1969. And had pretty much been stuck in that time period every since. So when I would go over, here in 2014, he was talking about Vietnam.

I never understood that. That was over 40 years ago. Goodness. Come on into the present man, I'd think as I sat and nodded and listened to him.

But it wasn't until after his death that my brother answered all the unasked questions I had. I never understood how one could get stuck in time, and have addictions and what-not. But my brother helped me understand, as he himself has PTSD issues and has to have counseling. He has had to fight to have a normal life and to get better so he could raise his own children.

Never would I have thought that the little laughing baby I use to carry around so long ago would have words to ease the questions swirling in my mind. I am thankful for that, and I will never forget how much I grew from his wisdom.

3. The Importance of Friends - I tend to be a very quiet person. I am aloof, to myself. A bit detached at times. I am who I am. During this funeral time, I had NO expectations out of anyone. The total goal was to get through this whole thing. I hate to admit it, but I was a bit miffed that I had to be involved in planning the funeral of a man who didn't raise me. So I wasn't expecting anything out of anyone.

But I got a nice card and donations from coworkers. This was unexpected, as I really only deal with a few people at work. (I am sorry, but I have gotten too old for the complaining, gossip, back-biting, and severe negative judgment of others. It seems like you have to be deeply embedded in these activities to be... accepted). That was a nice sentiment. I appreciated it.

I rarely participate in activities at work. And when there is a death, birthday, or retirement, I go talk to the person and give them a personal gift. Just to avoid all the drama. So I didn't expect anything from anyone.

It was nice to be at the funeral and turn to walk out and see The Cowgirl Cre and her family there. And it was nice to see LadyTee and her family. My sister was there. And a coworker, an administrator in a building next to my own who I make cookies for from time to time. Heck, I think my folks made up half of the audience.

LadyTee has always been my protector. Every since we were 10 years old. "I know you can't handle a lot of things," is what she always says. I think I can. But like I said, I tend to be aloof. She is around to keep me talking and balanced. I had been hollering about how I was just going to go to the repast just to "show my face" and then get the heck on.  She made sure I stayed there for a couple of hours. And we actually had a good time.

4. My father's family are some really nice people.  I guess I shouldn't call them his family. They are mine too, but I don't feel much of any attachment. I was always an anomaly, an odd bird that had just flew in a room to them. I remember one aunt saying "I haven't seen you since you were 4 years old, Lisa. You remember me?"

Uh no. Not some 40 years later.

And that was sad to me. Because they are some really nice people. I get my quiet nature from them. They are super quiet. They are probably like me... they hate a lot of noise and volatility. It made me sad, and sometimes angry, that I didn't grow up around them.

"Now you see why we go get my cousin's kids," LadyTee says of her 6 and 13 year old cousins. "They need to know who we are, even though their parents aren't together. Leave up to him and we would never see them. Then we have a situation, decades later, like your situation, Lee."

I understand now, LadyTee. I wish I would've got to known such nice people as my father's people.

5. Best advice I got during that time. I had various conversations with different people during this time, just to help me with my feelings. There were several, and the ones that I remember clearly are text message convos with my readers Ginae and Lisa B.  These ladies let me just be me. These ladies are so full of wisdom. I am so glad that they poured some out on me.

But I was was perturbed during this time. Things were moving so slow. Honestly, I thought my father's family wanted me to pay for the funeral. I quietly thought this wasn't fair, as he didn't care to raise me. Why should I spend thousands of dollars on this. I remember thinking that I would just offer to do it since they were moving so slow. But I wanted to talk to someone I talk to about spiritual matters at work: a security guard on the job.

She's a much older lady, but she is really wise. I glean something from her every time we talk. And I tend to like people like that. As I get older, I find my patience is shot with people who bring the drama.

Anyway, I told her that I was going to call them and tell them that I was going to just pay for the funeral. She stopped me.

"Don't you do that. They didn't come bounce you to the park or ever come pick you up or call all these years. You sit back and be quiet. They'll call you."

That's what I did. And they eventually called me. There were a couple of small insurance policies. They worked that out and things moved along.

But someone need to tell me that. I was feeling that inside. I felt bad for feeling that. But I remember in my prayers saying, "Lord that ain't right. I don't want to pay for a funeral. But I can recover fast from that. So if I have to, I just want it to be over." All this was so much on my mind that I woke up with wet eyes a couple of mornings. Just in tears. And it wasn't even about the money. Sure, that's enough to piss one off, but the very thought that no one even cared enough to come get me over the past 30 years. No one thought enough to pick up a phone to see about me. It really bothered me.

But the conversation about it all with the security guard... freed something in my heart and mind that day. And I am thankful for that.

There is so much more that I could write about in this post about the circumstances and internal events of that time. So much. But this post would be longer than it needs to be.

I am just pondering and pontificating a significant event in my life this past year... one that shook me up on the inside. And it's not one of those shakeups as when one loses someone close to them., where it takes a very long time to get over them.

It's a quiet kind of shakeup. One where I had to deal with that little girl in me who has felt so alone and neglected by a father that didn't think she was good enough to raise and love. One in which I had to learn and understand that it wasn't about all that. That's just the little girl in me raising her head.

I have to tell her, she is loved. She is lovable,

She is worthy. She isn't worthless.

She is important. She has purpose.

She is gift. To those who will accept her as such.

She is alright. 

LadyTee went through some mental things during this time. "Your father," she'd wail. "He missed such a wonderful life. You are such a great person. He missed out on all that. You are such a great person."

Well I guess someone who has been by my side for over three decades would think that. She has been there through every triumph, tragedy, failure, and accomplishment. So she ponders all that.

I know my father wasn't capable of loving me. Only in his mind. He was barely capable of even taking care of himself. It is what it is.

And I am what I am. I will go on from here... with all the lessons I have learned. I know myself a little better. I know where I am weak. I know where I am strong. I know that I have grown. And that I am still in the process of growth.

And I know I am a better person because of it. 

Nostalgic Wax, Part II: Missing Oscar-Tyrone

One thing for sure...

I am sorely missing the Original Oldcat...

Oscar-Tyrone.

I was looking for something in my phone photo gallery, and I came across some pictures of him. Of course I tear up.  I inherited him from the ex-husband after the divorce, but we had him since he was a kitten, and he died at the ripe old age of 17 years old. 

This is a picture of him a month or so before he died.

I was sitting on the sofa watching television and crocheting. And I finally noticed that he'd jumped up on the sofa and watched. Now, they know not to lay on or mess with my yarn. But I figured I would leave him alone since he wasn't trying to kneed or scratch at anything.

And it seemed to be his favorite thing to do off and on... Sit there and watch me. So that day, I just left him be.

There is one thing I have never liked... being watched by him. He has this really hard surly stare. And I would be wondering what the world he was thinking.

Funny story: Some 4 or 5 years ago, I woke up one morning and he was watching me. I think it was just that he knew what time I woke up in the mornings. So let me tell you, it was a bit unnerving to open my eyes and there he is, maybe a foot from my face... staring.

Well, one morning, I woke up and I heard the following in my spirit:

You see how hard this cat watches you?? That's how hard I watch over your life.  

Scared me so BAD that I jumped and yelled at him.

LOL.

He usually runs off. But he just sat there and stared.  I left him alone... and considered the gravity of the moment.

You know, that never happened again.

But you best believe, I will never forget that.

And I think of that whenever I am feeling a bit depressed, confused or afraid. What I heard that morning from somewhere deep inside always comes to mind. I may feel alone, but I'm never alone. God watches over my life. He got this. And I am thankful for that.

And I'm thankful for Oscar-Tyrone.

He had been with me for 17 years. He saw a lot. Oh the stories he could've told if he could talk.Thank goodness he couldn't. Many of those stories did NOT need to be told!

Nevertheless... Thanks OT for what you brought to my life.

Nostalgic Wax, Part I: Happy Anniversary, Church!

This is a long long post... I'm just saying... 

Happy 29th Church Anniversary to my Church, World Changers Church International.

I took that picture on Saturday evening, the night before the anniversary. It is rare that I go to church on Sundays. So Saturday evening service has started up, and that's the New York service and the Australia Sunday morning service, since they are 13 hours ahead.

The Saturday evening service was... interesting. It was a bit deep, directly related to some things I'd been pondering last year. I may post up my notes, because it's something I don't want to forget. The subject matter involved a different facet of trust in God. And I read a book last year that had a section on trust that had me so O_O, that I changed my prayers up a bit (Go back and look at my last post of 2014 and you will see why). Hmm.

And herein is what I particularly look to when I think of church... it is confirmatory. Well for me, it is. And I have an interesting philosophy about it all.

I feel that church should be confirmatory of what you are doing on your own.  But it's not really like that. In general, it seems as if people go to church to check off that they went. It shows that I am good, and you are bad because you don't go to church. And that is something I don't do well with: the whole religious judgment thing.

Listen... I spend 1% of my time at church. That is all. The other 99% of the time is spent doing other things. So I can clearly state that, I am who I am when I'm not at church. Everybody is.

Specifically, we are who we truly are... when no one is looking.

And then when some craziness pops off with some preacher, or who we consider this great "Christian" person, we lose our minds. We are aghast. I'm usually not. That person is just being who they are. It just happen to come out from behind closed doors, that's all. They've been that way for awhile.  If you think about, you know that's true. Just take a look at yourself, and your private habits... Those thoughts and things you do that you hope no one will ever find out. Hmm.

And I'm writing about this because, as I'm waxing nostalgic about my year on the cusp of my 45th birthday, I'm thinking about the deeper side of myself, the side I think about some 90% of the time:  my spiritual self.

I don't consider myself religious. I could say that I am spiritual, but that is such a cliche answer, so I won't use it. I don't care for religion because I fail miserably at it. I'm not super good, whatever that means. I am not perfect and terribly flawed. I don't read my bible all day and I don't pray several times a day. And when things go bad, I don't call my pastor up. I don't really care to if I could. I wouldn't want him up in my business, lol.

I don't want religion... I want relationship.

I want a relationship with God... not based on what the masses think of how, where or why that should happen. But I want a true relationship with God. And I must say, I grow more and more in that aspect with each and every year. It's almost to the point where I almost can't imagine how deep things can go. I learn so much on a daily basis.

And this is why I love my church. I've been a member for over 13 years. And the aim has been to foster a personal relationship with God. Keep the world's definition of "religion" out of it. And that's fine by me.

I know that may be a little hard to understand. But if you've read this blog long enough, you know what I mean. I like to pull back the covers of religion, and get down to what's really going on internally.

But back to waxing nostalgic about church.

I remember 25 years ago, when I was a 19-year-old teenager, my current pastor had come to my church some 7 miles away, to preach a Tuesday evening bible study. He was a funny looking skinny dude with big glasses. But he was the best teacher I'd ever heard. He kept my attention with a sermon title "The Glory of Suffering". It was about the true meaning of patience, where patience meant remaining the same emotionally and attitude-wise through all your truimphant times and times of suffering. It was about not letting your circumstances determine your attitude. If things are going bad, stick with your prayers and goals. Don't flip out. Learn to be skilled in truly patient.

Now, you may ask why I remember that particular sermon some 25 years later... I remember because it got me through school. It got me through a bachelors, masters, and doctorate degree. When things were jacked, I remembered to bring everything back to being patient. I remembered to pray. And I remembered to stick with trusting God, and that goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life. Period. Irregardless of how I was feeling.

THAT stuck with me. And I believe it even more 25 years later.

Another thing: I love to write a lot. And I love a good writing workshop. I've been in some type of writing group or writing class every year recently. Someone from the DC headquarters of my job put out a nationwide call for people to join a workplace creative writers group in that area. She shouldn't have sent that out over gubment email because I participate... over the phone. LOL.

Why do I say all this? Because the first ever writer's workshop I ever took was some 12 years ago at my church. My pastor's wife did something interesting with the women's ministry one year. She broke everything up into interest groups. So there was a business women's group, a community service group, a sports group, a crafts group... and a reading/writing group. I knew that I didn't want to get out and throw javelins (yes they were doing that type of stuff). And I knew how to crochet, but the crafts group was more of a sewing group, and I wasn't down for that.

But I loved to read. And I had been dabbling around in a little writing a couple of years earlier, but I didn't really understand what I was doing, nor did I have much confidence concerning it. I was a chemist, not a writer. Should I even be doing such a thing?

And that was the first time I'd seen someone who looked like me and worked a job every day... talk about a book or a story they had written. And as with any type of thing we have at our church, there was a whole gang of women from other churches, so I'd met some really interesting ladies who again, looked like me and worked jobs every day... that wrote books. And the whole goal of the teachers of the workshop was to convince us that we had stories in us and that we could write a book.

I remember calling my best friend and saying "You know, I can write a book. I can write stories."

"Yes you can, girl," she said. "You sure can."

And that was the seed that grew up and blossomed into something spectacular: I love to write.

So much so that I don't care if I publish anything. I just want to WRITE.

It is insatiable, it is.

Then, there was something that I have wanted to write about, I've never written about: the Divorce Recovery Class I took some 11 years ago.

And what a class it was.

First of all, ain't no church suppose to be giving a divorce recovery class. What kind of craziness is that. And normally I wouldn't entertain such a thing. I was recently divorced and I was happy about it. It was a sigh of relief for me, to get away scott free with no real drama or money out of my pocket.

But we had just finished a January church fast, and I had promised myself that I would investigate anything spiritually interesting that came up. And let's face it... a divorce recovery class at church in uh... interesting. But you have to admit, there are divorced people in every congregation. It made sense to address their needs. Who even thinks of us, except to ostracize us?

It was an 8 week course. And honey let me tell you. It was a doozy. Folks had some DEEP rooted pain and anger things going on. I sat there wide-eyed, taking copius notes on whatever the instructor talked about that day. She had to convince folks not to be praying for God to kill their ex-spouses (now that was an interesting debate session... but let's just say, the instructor won that debate, hands down). I met a couple of women who were divorcing pastors of their churches elsewhere, and they explained how you're not only divorcing a husband, you are divorcing the whole congregation.

That had to be the most intense and most interesting thing I had ever gone through. And the biggest thing I came away with was..."God hates divorce, but he does not hate you."

And that we should treat it like a needle skipping on the record of life. The needle skips, but the song can keep playing. Go on with your life. God still loves you.

We each got up to speak at the last session during a dinner on the last day. Now, if you know me, you know how notoriously quiet, reserved, and observant I am, but I was so moved that I myself got up and gave a five minute speech about some divorce issues I had that I didn't even know I had.

Someone was struggling with the lost of family. Another was struggling with wanting God to kill her spouse. The ex-first ladies were struggling with divorcing not only the pastor, but the congregation... And when they learned that I was 34 years old, they referred to me as "The baby"... because I was so young.

And I was struggling with feeling guilty with being so doggone happy after my divorce. I felt so guilty. And all that lifted during the course of the class. I don't think I could have every spoken that elsewhere, only amongst that group of people. I'd only been talking about it in my prayers. And I could speak it to others, without fear of judgment.

The most interesting speech was from a 90 year old woman who happen to come only to the last class. And the last class was about divorce and how to deal with your children. It wasn't anything that I was particularly interested in, but it was informative. She stood up and said, "I asked my daughter to take me up to that church to that class I heard about. And I just wanna say in 1948, my husband left and didn't come back. He left me with 6 kids. And I've struggled in my mind and heart all these years, and if I would've had a class like this back then, I would've been alright."

Now that right there?  I will never forget that. I know I got things I struggle with, but I don't wanna be struggling 50 years with nothing. But to get free in your mind, even after 50 years, means a whole lot. That woman had been probably praying for 50 years about it all. I thought about that for a long time.

When the 8 weeks (one day a week) sessions were over, we were sad. Soooo much had come out among the 25 of us in that conference room. I met so many good people.

This was such a long post, even for me. As blogger Chele has said... don't say I'm long-winded, say I'm prolific.

And so I am prolific about remembering my church experience on it's 29th anniversary.

I've always wanted to write about those 2 situations discussed here.

And I look at folk a bit strange-like when they want to argue me down about my pastor or my church.

Really?

I don't argue. I let them talk. I have to listen for the problem they have within their own beliefs, listen for their issues. Because it always shows up, the more they talk and point the finger at me. No one should be putting that energy into arguing with me about what I'm doing. It's almost laughable.

I'm satisfied. I rarely even talk about these things. But I always remind myself to look back at my growth. And how my church has fostered that growth and fostered my pursuit with a better understanding of an relationship with God. And that is my personal evidence that this is the best place for me... peace and personal progress.

Me and most of my friends go to different churches. And there is no judgment among us. What I love is that one will send me notes, another will text me what they learned that day, another will call and tell me of an interesting scripture they have read. And another will send an encouraging email. And 100% of it is always some answer to some recent prayer.

That is what I love. That is how I grow.

Through that and through church...

Enough waxing nostalgic about church. I've only told the half of it. I have more stories, but I will be writing all night, lol.

Happy Anniversary Church! And thanks for helping this Oldgirl grow in her spirit.

More nostalgic wax to come.

Favorite Beats, Part I

Look at me...

Forgetting to post today. BUT I will be posting something.

Man, we have been SLOW all summer workwise. The new fiscal year come up and now we are busy as all get out. My feet are firmly planted in the air! Goodness!

I am posting, but got what I wanted to post today, but that's cool.

I wanted to post up one of my favorite beats. Just the instrumental. I like rap instrumentals. I can't really listen to much rap unless it is really old. I listen to too much, and I will be ready to open my Book of Cuss and bust a sucker upside the head with a brick, man.

And we don't want that, do we?

So here is one of my favorites...



My brother would fall out his chair if he heard this write now. When he was 11, he would holler "Play that rap song with the violins in it, Lisa!"

LOL

And it has one of my favorite rap lines

"Find another CHICKEN to jerk!!!"

I know that's right, honey. This chicken ain't having it. I might have to print that out and place it on my cubicle cabinet.

It reminds me soooo much of my final days in grad school. Xzibit's cassette tape was on heavy rotation while I was writing my dissertation. I went into my defense ready to tare something up if I didn't pass. LOL

My how time flies. Doesn't even feel like it was that long ago...

But it's still one of my favorite beats!

Friday Funnies for Thought: "Polly Wanna Cracker?"

I let one of my Stalker Stan Fans read this yesterday, something I posted way back in 2008... She'd been dranking much water and almost peed her pants while reading it..

Don't you all do that... YOU go use the bathroom before you read this piece.

This is a repost. If you read it before, read it again. It's so nice, read it twice! lol

This is a companion piece to yesterday's post... sort of. One of the few "funnies-for-thoughts" I have here on blog. I realized a week ago, when I'm worried or stressed, I sing. And it chases the blues away... And this post was the beginning of that.

Enjoy...



One of my favorite authors, That Original Oldgirl Chele, wrote a post back on August 13th on her Writers Blog entitled "Breathe... just Breathe" that simply stated the following:

"I was just handed an assignment to interview a parrot.**There are no words**"

LOL! Imagine that!

It made me laugh...

Because it made me think of my own interaction with a parrot back in 2001.

My car's odometer had hit the 60,000 mile mark. Well, it was reading around 62,000 miles. And you know what that means: time for that big service- replacement of time belt, water pump, transmission service and the like.

I was living in New Orle.ans at the time. A sista in my group, a wonderful mentor and a fellow Doc, a great microbiologist, Maureen, had a Mazda. She was a New Orleans native, and I went to her for advice on who to go to for this service.

"I take my car to Excellent Auto Service," she said.
I leaned against the doorjamb of her office and crossed my arms across my chest. "Uh, that's the actual name of a shop?"
"Yeah, been going there for years. The guy does a good job."
"Okay," I said.

I trusted her on that. Maureen was the woman. She was a BAD sista. She knew EVERYTHING.

So, I called and made an appointment. A week later, I dropped my car off at the shop.

The mechanic was nice. Looked like Tony Danza, lol. He told me to have a seat in the waiting room and he'd be back to take my information and give me an estimate.

I walked into the huge waiting room, and saw a LARGE cage that basically covered a whole wall. I mean, it was BIG! It had big tree limbs and all kinds of forest type stuff (probably all fake).


And in that cage was a big colorful parrot.

He was sitting on a branch, and looked my way when I'd walked into the room.

I walked over to the the cage and stared back at it. He flew to a branch closer to me and peered at me curiously.

"Polly wanna a cracker?" I asked in a high pitched voice.

The bird blinked. And continued staring.

I whistled at it a couple of times, made a few of the kissy noises one makes at dogs. And I asked the same question over and over again.

"Polly wanna cracker?"

Bird stared.

Then, the parrot threw back it's head and yelled "Ohhhhhhhhh!"

Oh Lord, I thought. I'd upset the bird. I turned to go sit down in one of the chairs, hoping that that the mechanic didn't run in the room and ask me what I did to upset his precious bird.

The bird yelled again. "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh beautiful!"

I turned back to the cage. "You calling me beautiful, birdie? Thank you!"

A compliment from a bird! How nice, I thought.

The bird blinked. Stared at me for a moment. Then started yelling REAL Loud.

Or should I say singing real loud:

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Beautiful!
For spaaaaaacious skies!
For amber waves of graaaaaaaaaaaaain!
For perfect mountains majesty!
Above the fruited plains!
Amerrrrrica! Amerrrrrrica!
God shed his grace on theeeeeeee!
And crown our good!
With brotherhood!
From sea to shining seeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeea!

*LadyLee looking around the room to see if she was on candid camera*

Dang! Tripped me out.

Parrot just stared at me.

I didn't know what to say. After a moment, I said "You're a patriotic parrot."

It flapped its wings and started up again.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh Beautiful...

For some reason, I stood erect and placed my hand over my heart, and sang with it.

It gave me the *gas face* when I messed up the words (I still don't know the words), but I caught on...

And we sang America the Beautiful together a good four times. The bird swayed back and forth on his branch. I stood in the at the front of the cage, my hand on my heart, singing along.

I had NO idea where my mechanic was. But I was glad he was taking his time.

I spoke to him later. He'd ran up on me and that bird singing. (Of course, I tried to play it off, lol)
"You like my bird?"
"Yeah. He sure is patriotic."
"I taught him that song a few years ago. That's all he sings."
"Well, that's a good thing. He could be singing something derogatory."

We laughed. I got my estimate, and called a friend to pick me up.

I'm glad I ran into that bird. I was in a funk for the good part of that week. At the same time I was skipping around all happy because I'd just gotten offer for the job I have now, back in my hometown of Atlanta. I'd secured a nice condo to live in. Things were going WELL for ME. I was happy.

But there had been a couple of jacked up arguments with the hubby at home.

He was a manager at one of the local strip clubs, and he called one night to let me know that he was bringing one of his strippers home. She was drunk, was passed out, and he didn't want to leave her on the side of the club.


"Anything could happen to her, Lee. We're locking up, and I don't want to leave her here on the side of the road."
"Take her butt home," I suggested.
"That's all the way over on the West Bank," he said. "And you know that I don't have a car." [His had been repossessed.]

I was quiet. I had a car. And my car was off limits. He caught rides or walked wherever he needed to go. He use to chauffeur those broads around in his own car and would complain to ME about finding crack pipes and syringes in his ride. Can't use my car, bruh!

"I'm bringing her home."
"Where is everybody at?" I asked.
"They are gone. I didn't notice she was here until I did my final check for the night. She was passed out. I can't leave her here," he wailed.

I didn't say a word.

"I'm bringing her home."
"Do what you wanna do, man. I'm leaving Egypt anyway!"
"What's that suppose to mean?"

I didn't reply. Just hung up on him. It was 3 in the morning, and I needed to get some sleep. I looked out the window when he came home in a cab... with his drunk stripper.

My first thought was to grab one of the many shotguns, .38s, or .45s we had laying around the house and shoot negroes. But I would've gotten locked up behind that one.

Which meant I'd be stuck in Egypt, i.e. New Or.leans.

That wasn't going down.

You see, I'd been hollering HARD at work, to everyone's dismay:

"MY NAME IS MOSES, AND I AM LEAVING EGYPT!"

I was LOUD with that ish. I mean, EVERY time I stepped in the breakroom, in the halls, anywhere. The director pulled me to the side one day and asked "Dr. LadyLee, are you alright?"

LOL.

Anyway, I woke up the next morning and saw Tylenol on the counter. My hubby was sitting on the couch. He gave me a hard glare, as if he was daring me to say something.

"So you really brought her home, didn't you?"
"Yeah, I did. That's what I said I was doing, didn't I?"

He looked like he wanted to buck. He'd never hit me, but uh... he looked like he wanted to then.

I left it alone. I needed to get to work. I was packing up my office that day.

This whole thing did upset me. I would be lying if I said it didn't. For those who know me, I tend to hide my feelings (More often than not, I get verbally stomped if I express an opinion of any sort. I am getting better, though, I suppose).

For some strange reason I was REALLY popular among the employees on my job. There was a sign-up list in my office of whoever wanted to take me to lunch or dinner or spend some time with me before we left. (I spent the day with one Creole cutie that I had a slight crush on. Hung out in the Central Business District visiting his favorite places, even hung out at his grandma's house, met his kids...OH MY).

I mean, folks made going away videos, gave me HUGE going away parties.... DANG! It was overwhelming...

But that stripper mess was on my mind. It was like a storm cloud that had moved in over a sunny day at the beach.

During some of these "meetings" with a few lady friends, I discussed it with them. All of them basically said:

"Lee, you shoulda cussed him out."
"I wouldn't have allowed that sh**!"
"Lee, you shoulda bust him in the head!"
"You a much better woman than me, Lee! I woulda got locked up for murder that night."

"N'awl. We got too many weapons in the house," was my simple reply. "Somebody woulda got shot that night. And besides, my name is Moses, and I'm raising up outta Egypt."

I remember one of my homegirls down there pulling me to the side and saying "I've talked to some of my girls and they're prepared to go catch up with your boy over at the Su.gar Shack and beat his ass. You just give the word."

"N'awl. That's okay. Ya'll trying to have me locked up. And besides, My name is Moses, and I'm leaving Egypt."

I was still miffed by it all. Didn't speak to the hubby for a week. That type of thing messes with your "womaness". I mean, it really made me question my worth. And that ain't good.

And then... I took my car in, and met a parrot.
A caged parrot.
A parrot who, though caged, had a song in it's heart.
And I sang a song with a parrot.

Hmmm.

You know how a song can get stuck in your head?

Well, after singing America the Beautiful with a parrot four times in a row, I was humming that song, singing it around the house...

While I packed dishes.
While I got together old clothes to take down to the local teen runaway center.
While I made plans to have my cable and lights turned off down there and turned on up in Atlanta.

The hubby came in one day.

"What's wrong with you? Why you keep singing America?"
"Just singing a song, man. And packing my stuff."

He milled around watching me pack. I paid him no mine.

"Lee, I'm sorry for bringing that stripper home. I just didn't know what to do."
"Don't apologize. You take care of them hos better than you take care of me. That's on you. All I know is that you better pack. This lease is in my name, and once I turn the keys in, you are homeless."

Well that started an argument. His voice was shaky like he was about to cry or something. He was blinking hard. Whatever.

He was staying in New Or.leans a bit longer. I was leaving.

I hummed my song. He stormed out the house.

I thought about the simple lesson I learned from a mere parrot.

Even though I was in a bad situation, I could still sing a song. And choose to be happy anyway.

So Chele...

Interview your parrot, Oldgirl. Yeah, I know, I know, it's silly.

But do it anyway.

No telling what lesson you may learn.

Monday is Here... Again.

Monday is HERE again....

Big and bold, standing out as usual.

Sigh!

I need another day off. But that's not going down. Gotta go to work!

But not before I report on my weekend.

I did my usual: chores and errands.

And I also hung out with my Grandma.

I need to visit her more often, as she only lives 10 minutes away. It's just a matter of working into her schedule, because even at 80 years old, the woman stays busy. So I took a chance and called her early Saturday morning (which is usually too late. I have to talk to her a few days prior), and lo and behold, she wasn't busy that day. So I told her I'd come over around two in the afternoon.

So I prepared a huge salad, gathered up some stray bottles of bottled waters and headed to Grandmas...

But not before I went and got something else. Not sure I could show up at her house with just a salad. I stopped by one of the most popular places deep in the hood:



Bankhead Seafood!

You know, I haven't been there in 18 years! But I know Grandma loves fried fish. So I was going to pick up a plate.

That place is a trip. You walk in, there are signs all over- you bet not walk up in there with credit cards or debit cards. Cash only. And you better turn that cell phone off.

It was a dark place, crowded with people. But I went at a good time, when the line was not snaking out the door.

You get a plate of fish for five dollars cash, tax included.



That is A LOT of fish. I didn't even count how much. It was easily 10-15 pieces of pollack. (Never heard of that type of fish)/.

Now you can see why the place is so popular. You get a whole lot of fish, so much that they can't close the container. They don't have a closing time. They close when they run out of fish.

So I headed to Grandma's. She was happy to see me, her "little girl". (This use to unnerve me. Grandma is like, five feet tall. I am seven inches taller. I just go head on and let her call me that).

We watched a college footbal game. (Not sure what was up with that. Didn't know she liked football.) I worked on a crochet project. She read a book. We talked. She has a VERY soft book, and she's a little hard of hearing these days, and it was a battle hearing her over the television.

But she did tell a story of a possum that lives in the backyard. It has a thing for getting in the trash and eating up the bones. She was very detailed about this (I could imagine her leaving out bones just to see the critter).

I was sitting there thinking "Thank goodness we're not going in the back yard."

Then after all this, she says "I want you to come in the backyard and see my hibiscus plants and roses."
*crickets*

Man, I did NOT want to go in that back yard. I haven't been in that backyard since I was 15 years old. It was where my Granddaddy kept his junk, and there was just too much going on, something straight out of the show Hoarders. I would knock stuff over, and I just decided to stay ouf from back there.

Plus the doggone possum was back there.
But how could I say no to Grandma?

So we headed back there close to evening time, when it wasn't so hot.

And I was wary, eyes darting back and forth, forever mindful that there was a possum probably perched in the bushes glaring at us...

The carport leading to the backyard was interesting. My Uncle Tweet has a bunch of lawn gear out on the carport. Not sure what's up with that, and I didn't ask. I assume he is repairing the stuff.
There were plenty of stray kittes running around.


Maybe I should've taken one home to Oscar-Tyrone, so he'd have a friend.

NOT!!

Grandma has some rose bushes that are 20 feet tall. (Didn't know they grow that tall). Here's one of the yellow rose bushes, which is big as a tree.



I remember this tree as a child. This is the pecan tree in the backyard.

My Uncles would climb up in the tree and shake it, and pecans would fall, and there would be SO many pecans. My grandfather would divide them up, and let us get whatever we wanted. It still produces pecans every other year.

Uncle Tweet has a garden. He's doing his fall garden now, and his turnip greens are starting to come in.

That's gonna be some GOOD eating!

Here's where Grandma sits and swings.

There wasn't much to see, as the blooms have died off of many of her flowers. But she was so proud, and told me every single detail of each plant.

I listened to all she said, while looking out for that possum.

(My heart jumped in my chest when a squirrel ran across the fence. UGH)

We went back inside, and I left for home.

One last picture. My Auntie Joyce's old Camaro.

She gave that to my Uncle. My aunt LOVES camaros, and has always bought them. I never cared to ride with her, because she drives REAL fast. Maybe she has slowed down now. I think she's getting older now, and prefers less power.

So that's the highlight of my weekend... hanging with Grandma.

And since she's getting up in age, I need to make sure to see her more often. I always learn something new from her about life and our family history.

And it will help me this week, reflecting on our visit, that is.

It will help me to remember what is truly important.

And that is what truly matters.

I hope you all had a great weekend... on purpose.

A Vegetarian Tale

Dedicated to blogger Chele, who's on a quest for a Meatless March. She says she needs some new recipes... well, here's one just for you, gal.

I've been wanting to write this little story, but haven't really been able to, as it involves my girl Nikki, who passed last year. I remember her saying "Lee, I KNOW you're gonna blog about this!" I told her back then I'd blog about it, as it was truly hilarious.

We had too many times together that left us cracking up... and seeing *crickets*.

So, I'm finally doing it.

Hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it.

"A Vegetarian Tale"

So...

Back in June, Nikki gave me call. She had just been discharged from the hospital, and she said they were having some type of cookout at her house, and wanted to know if I wanted to stop through. I told her I'd come on over. And I'd bring a few dozen cookies.

(I never go anywhere empty handed. If all I have is a glass of water... well, I'll be walking through your door with a glass of water.)

I arrived, and Nikki was upstairs with her best friend. We all laid up across the bed and watched television. Nikki's Mama came upstairs looking at us like we were half crazy.

She clapped her hands. "Ya'll come on and get up out of my bed."

Uh-oh.

"Nikki, why you didn't tell me were in your Ma's bed, man?"

She shrugged.

"You all come on downstairs and get ready to eat," Nikki's Mama said.

We got up, helped Nikki with her oxygen, and made our way downstairs.

As usual there was a LOT of food. Nikki's Mama had been hollering about how she was going to have some veggie dishes for me. I didn't care one way or the other, as I try to eat before I show up anywhere where there will be a gang of food. Or I roll up on the scene with my own stash.

We settled in the den and watched television. I'd brought some yarn along so that I could crochet. Nikki said she was going to bring out her yarn, but she decided to just watch me instead. We ate dinner, and I had a BAD case of the 'itis. Hard sigh.

If it wasn't a shame, I would've laid up on that couch and went to sleep.

Well, in walks an older gentleman carrying a Corning ware dish. He looked to be in his mid-fifties. He was tall, very dark, and bald. He had a big booming voice that demanded attention. I don't think he was a relative. He may have been a family friend. I am not sure.

And I could tell right off: he was that type.

You know the type: the crazy uncle type. The one who gets out in the middle of the floor and does that crazy dance. The one who's the life of the party.

Yeah, that type.

He goes up into the kitchen and sits his dish down. He makes small talk with the peeps milling around in the kitchen, then he comes back down in the den with us.

And he laid down on the floor.

I didn't say anything. I just kept crocheting and talking to Nikki and one of her hilarious female cousins.

Hey, sometimes people like to make themselves at home. I myself was perched up on the love seat with my shoes off, crocheting up a storm, just like I do when I'm at home.

This fellow (we'll call him "Joe" as I can't remember his name), relaxed on the floor. He was quite funny. Had this Oldgirl in stitches, I tell you.

Nikki's Mom called down from the kitchen (which overlooks the den):

"Joe! What's in this dish here?"

Joe sat straight up. "It's a little something I made for 'Swad!"

'Swad is Nikki's brother. He was in town from California, and he'd left to go see some of his friends.

Joe pointed a finger in the air. "It's a vegetarian dish! I made it for 'Swad!"

I stopped crocheting and looked at Joe. "Really?"

"Yes!" he yelled. "It's a dish I saw on the Food Network. I said to myself, I can make this here for 'Swad!"

"What is it?" Nikki asked.

I am glad she asked, because I wasn't going to. Whatever it was, it was vegetarian, and I wanted to try it.


He relaxed back on the floor, resting on the back of his elbows. "It was on this show on the Food Network in the middle of the night. They took some bananas, and mixed that with some onions and bell peppers and nuts and they baked it up. I though to myself. 'I can make this! I can make this for 'Swad!'"

**crickets**

"Really?" I said.

"Yes!"

"What was the name of that show?" I asked. Could it have been Paula Deen? The Barefoot Contessa?

Joe shook his head. "I don't remember."

I looked over at Nikki, who was being nonchalant about this, and looking straight ahead at the television. I went back to crocheting. (I quickly recognized that it was one of those things that, if we looked at each other, we would've probably both just lost it!)

Bananas and onions and green bell peppers.

I searched my memory. I'd never thought of putting such ingredients together. Never.

Nope, I'd never heard such a concoction.

"I wanna try it!" I yelled.

Nikki shot a hard side-eye my way. I glanced at her, but quickly looked back down at my crochet project.

"I made it for 'Swad!"

"I know," I said. "But it sounds interesting. I want to taste it."

"Ma," Nikki called out. "Bring us a plate of some of what Mr. Joe made. Just a scoop of it. Me and Lee can share a plate."

"Okay," her mama said.

Nikki's mama came down into the den and handed us a saucer of a brown murky goo.

Sort of looked like something you hurl up, you know.

But it was a vegetarian dish. And I just had to try it.

Nikki tasted a bit of it. I tasted some too.

Mr. Joe looked back and forth between the two of us expectantly.

Neither of us said anything... just chewed on it.

We couldn't say anything. What could one say?

It was unlike anything I'd ever tasted.

Like a party in your mouth.

It reminded me of when I was at a club one time, getting my dance on out on the dance floor, having a good time.

Then someone threw a chair from across the room out onto the dancefloor. A fight ensued.

And the party in the club turned into a "run for your life" scatter type of situation. Pure chaos!

Yeah, party in your mouth, but an out of control party. Pungent. Sweet. Salty.

And a whole lot of other flavors I just couldn't describe.

"Hey, you got a LOT going on in that dish, Mr. Joe," I said.

Mr. Joe nodded. "Yes, I thought it was interesting. Just wanted to do something special for 'Swad."

This man sure did love himself some 'Swad. Talked about him endlessly. That dish he made was from the heart. For 'Swad for sure.

"Tell me," I said. "How many onions did you use in that recipe?"

He held his hands up. "I used two big onions."

Nikki gave me another hard side-eye.

"Maybe you should ease up on those onions, " I suggested. "A fourth of a cup of onions. That might help it out."

"And those peppers, too," Nikki added.

"You think so?" he said.

Nikki shook her head. "Why don't you just leave the peppers and onions out altogether."

"Well," Mr. Joe said. "That's the way they did it on the Food Network."


"That might be the ticket, Mr. Joe," I said. "Take out the onions and peppers, and add some raisin and pecans or walnuts or something like that, and it'll be off the chain."

"Yep," Nikki chimed in. "That'll do it."

"I might have to try that," Mr. Joe said. "That might work out."

And I hope he does try it. Because I have never tasted anything like that in my life, and I hope I never will again.

Later, Nikki and I were talking about it.

"My brother will never eat that," she said. He's gonna look down over in the pot and shake his head. He's not going to eat it."

I think 'Swad should've tried it... It was definitely a treat.

I myself have not made this "Banana supreme". I put bananas in my smoothie, my oatmeal, or I'd just eat them as is.

I often wonder what show Mr. Joe was watching that night?

And I wonder if he heard "banana" when they actually said "beef"?

LOL.

I don't know. And I don't think I want to know.

So Chele... that's the end of my "Vegetarian Tale".

I myself have come up with great vegetarian recipes, and a few that were not so great.

I hope you find better recipes than the "Banana Supreme."

In fact I know you will.

Enjoy your Meatless March, honey!!

I Desire

Dedicated to That Southern black Gal... just because she will like this...

One of my all time favorite rap songs... Salt N Pepa's "I desire", circa 1987.

I loved this rap so much... So much so that my boyfriend at the time, Eli, who I just simply loved so much, recognized that it was MY song.

He would pick me up from the train station every day after school in his maroon Ford Escort, and he would have that song playing...

And a cold bottle of Pineapple Coconut Champale waiting for me.

(Don't ask me why I was drinking. I was only 17 or 18. He was 19 or 20. I have NO idea where or how he got the Champale. He just always had a nice cold bottle wating for me.)

Ah yes, Ah yes... those were the days.

Another of my favorites from that same album: "Love Bandit" by Salt-N-Pepa, circa 1986.



It contains some of my favorite lyrics...

You're at the window
Staring at the sky
Birds fly by
You start to wonder why
You not by my side
Sharing the Dream
That one day you'll be my King and I'll be your Queen...

Profound.

LOL

Well, Eli and I broke up. He became interested in another young lady.

Part of the problem was that I was concentrating on school to much. (Red flag here. And I was too young to understand red flags and all they meant).

I was devastated by all of this. I briefly spoke about this in a guest post over at Serenity's spot. Ohhhh, I was so emotionally busted up over it all.

I know a good year later, I walked into my Mama's house, and he was sitting there with his newborn baby girl, visiting with my Mama. I said hello and when on upstairs, didn't even look at the crying baby. (Ya'll know I don't cheese in negroes faces. I'm still impolite like that).

I went upstairs and cried, in all my 21-year-old angst.

Took me 2 years to ge over Eli.

Flash forward to a 26-year-old LadyLee.

I was driving home from the grocery store on a hot summer day. I'd picked up a few groceries because me and my man, and LadyTee and her man were going to get together at my duplex and grill out and chill out.

I noticed a white van following me. Scared me a bit, but I went on home anyway. I parked in the driveway and the van parked on the street, blocking me in the driveway. I hesitated to get out of the car. But I got out anyway, thinking I could run for the door if need be. I made it too the front porch and was about to unlock my door.

Someone got out of the van. I turned to see who it was, and was still working on getting the door open.

It was Eli.

I raised an eyebrow at that. I hadn't seen dude in 5 years.

"Hey, how you doing?" he asked as he walked up to the front porch.

"Fine," I said. I just stood there looking down at him. He still looked the same, chocolate brown skin, still slim, big brown eyes.

He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his khakis. "I just wanted to say hello, and I just wanted to know that I still love you," he said.

*crickets*

There was a moment of silence. Birds chirped. A car drove by.

"Uh, okay. That's nice," I said.

Neither of us said anything.

I just remember looking at him and having no feelings about him whatsoever. And it felt REAL good.

"That's nice," I said. "Could you get the groceries out the car for me."

He looked a little stunned, but being the polite dude he is, he got the groceries out of my car and sat them on the porch.

I don't know what else was said. There was NO talk of me wailing about how I still loved-ed him, and us falling into some mad passionate kiss and living happily ever after.

I didn't want dude. He had had 4 babies by three different women by then. Had been married and divorced a couple of times.

I was working on my doctorate degree. You do the math.

Although I do wish I could have recited the special lyrics of that song above.

You're at the window
Staring at the sky
Birds fly by
You start to wonder why
You not by my side
Sharing the Dream
That one day you'll be my King and I'll be your Queen...

Oh that would have been CLASSIC.

But I wasn't thinking about that. I was a bit perturbed. LadyTee and I discussed this much. She as my BFF was ready to fight. ("That nigga got the nerve to run up on somebody. Stupid ass!"). My boyfriend was a bit perturbed. He was a former vice cop, and let's just say, he had Eli's information and asked if he and his homeboy should go take care of him. That wasn't necessary. Oldboy and his shady friend were crazy, had an uncanny love for guns, and I'd still be in jail right now for whatever they did to Eli. I called my Mama and went off on her for giving Eli my information. She said she didn't, and since I rejected him, he probably would not run up on me anymore.

So when I hear that old Salt-N-Pepa, my memories are stirred. I have thoughts of:

Pineapple coconut Champale.

Heartbreak.

And me standing at the window

Staring up at the sky...

Birds flying by...

... And me being thankful that Eli dumped me for another.

No telling where I would be right now if I stayed with him.

Milk and Cookies Prom Pics!

In the last post, I talked about my 1986 prom and the fun time I had.

(Southern Black Gal, I don't have my prom pics. They are buried deep somewhere at my mothers house.)

My brother Milk and Cookies attended 3 proms. I happened to find most of the pictures last weekend, tucked deep in the pages of an Asian cookbook of all places.

But here are a few of the pictures!

I had a huge rose bush in front of my condo. We thought it would be a good idea for him to strike a few poses in front of it. I've been in my house since 2005, so I believe this picture was taken the year before I moved,in 2004.

I told him to look off in the distance, up in the sky, as if he was pondering this thing called... life.


We had another picture in this group. He was pointing up in the sky at whatever he was staring at circa 1983's Grandmaster Flash "The Message" rap video. (Ya'll remember the guy leaning against the pole and pointing at something, lol.)

Those are hilarious... Me and my sister had a good laugh.

I do believe that was from his junior prom.

I think he attended two proms his senior year: his own prom, and then a prom out on Atlanta's west side. (He escorted 2 girls to that one. I wish I could've followed him over there and taken more pictures).

Here's a few pictures from his own senior prom.

Our Mama rented him a Camry and he took a couple of pictures with it.

I am NOT digging the mean-mugging at all. He would NOT smile for me. I suppose this is the way to look cool in your nice white suit.


This next picture: he's not even looking at the camera. He's looking at the ground.


Another pontification moment concerning life, I suppose. I am not digging the sunglasses, though. He whined about taking them off.

So, for his senior prom, I decided to follow him over to his date's house and take more pictures. I did not do this for the junior prom. I should have, because he showed up at the girl's house and there was a "prom dinner", i.e., everybody dressed up in their formal gear and having a formal dinner.

My brother walked up on that and was like "What the...?"

We never did anything like that. Ever.

For his senior prom, that didn't happen. I followed him waay the hell out to Peachtree City to his dates house. She was there with all of her friends getting dressed.

Again, I took plenty of pictures of them. He even posed with her friends.

I only included 3 here.

Now, this chick that he went to the prom with... I think she was 14 or 15 years old.


Good grief, she look like she in her doggone 20s.

There was MUCH discussion about this girl beforehand, as I ask plenty of questions just in case I have run up on a chick and bust her upside her head, lol. (Now you know I wouldn't do that-- but you gotta watch these young broads).

The first question is always "Is she black?"

I don't know what this chick was. From what he told me, she was Puerto Rican and German and Black. He went into this long story that had me seeing plenty *crickets*.

We've had LONG convos about what I would do if he ended up with some white woman. I don't care about those things, as long as it is all out of love. But doggonit, you know I had to threaten him. He can show up around me if he want to, thinking he all "that" because he got himself a white girl. He can act a jack like that if he want to... he and his woman will end up head first in the fireplace.

(Yeah, I'm bad with the threats. Better be in love, man!)

Okay, back to the pics... only a couple more.

This young lady was a friend. She was someone he liked but I don't think she was interested.

Anyway, I joked with him about it later, concerning the "poses". It was like they had been practicing posing for pictures or something.


I told them... "Ya'll posing like ya'll trying to pose for a magazine or something."

LOL.

One last picture of him making sure she was situated in the car.

That is about as close to a smile as I could get from him. Sigh.

I know one thing: he was black as night in that white suit. The boy was sho nuff clean!

Prom time is a special time, one of those coming-of-age type occasions.

I had a great time at mines. I am glad I got a chance to help Milk and Cookies ready for his...

I can't wait for the time when Serenity, Southern Black Gal, LBeezy, Ali, and the rest of ya'll with boys get ready for the proms!

Just Wait...

I was looking out the window here at work over at the fancy restaurant directly across the street and I saw something that peaked my interest.

There were young girls in fancy dresses and guys in tuxedos going into the restaurant.

You know what that means... It's Prom Time!!

Yes, the Prom. You remember the prom-- getting your hair done, picking out that fancy dress, riding in a fancy rented car, having the hot prom date!

It made me think of my prom.

My prom was some 23 years ago. I went with my mother's friend's son Reggie.

("Ma, I want to go with HIM. You think if I ask him, he'll take me?")

And this "HIM" was what I considered GROWN.

21 years old.

(That was grown, as I was only 16. He was OLD).

And he was cute. Thin as a rail. He was a taller redbone version of Prince... with an afro and a nice mustache. He walked real slow-like, like he didn't have a care in the world.

Like I said, he was my mother's friend's son. He was a quiet dude, quieter than myself. And he was a Morehouse man! I made it a point to speak to him when he came to my house with his Mom, or when I went over to his.

"Hey Reggie!"

"Hey Lisa," he'd reply... Then go back to whatever he was doing.

*Lee goes off to self and basks in her own giddiness*

Somehow I worked up the nerve to ask him to my prom.

And he said he'd take me.

Cool. I was going to the prom with a grown ass Morehouse man!!

My mother made my dress. It was a knee-length white satin get-up with a lace jacket. My mother's friend lent me her 1 carat diamond earrings. I even bought some satin white pumps with a rhinestone paisley imprint (hush Serenity 3-0).

I was looking good, ya'll.

Reggie showed up looking all dapper in his black tuxedo, afro freshly picked out and a little flat on one side, lol.

We had a good time. There was a lot of "Who is LadyLee with????" when I walked in the door holding this grown man's hand.

We sat at a table with my friends and we all talk. He even went and got us some punch. Reggie was a little more talkative than usual. But about as talkative as Prince would be. (So that ain't saying much).

My friends liked him. I liked him too.

We even got out there on the dance floor!

He was a good slow dancer, lol.

We were there for a couple of hours. He took me to Red Lobster after the prom. I had the popcorn shrimp and he had the shark.

When he ordered the shark, I thought "This Reggie is a bit dangerous!"
LOL!!

He even ordered a drank.

A real drank with liquor in it!

(Yeah, a bunch of folk were there from school. They even saw him order a drink, which was scandalous enough. They were saying all kinds of things after I told them that he ordered the shark.)

I have to admit, that was one of the best dates I've ever had. Something I will always remember indeed.

He took me home, and we talked at the door for awhile. I was thinking "Please don't let this man try to kiss me. I don't like him like that!"

Let's just say I was the talk of the class the following week, lol.

His mother said "Lisa, he sure is talking about you. Reggie had a good time."

(Yeah. LadyLee had skills even as a 16- year-old. Yes.)

I will ALWAYS remember my senior prom.

I didn't get to help my sister with her prom. I was living in New Orleans at the time, and I commissioned LadyTee to get her together. (You did a great job LadyTee!)

But what has tripped me out when it comes to proms is my brother Kari, aka "Milk and Cookies", and his proms.

And Milk and Cookies was born when I was 17 years old. In other words, it was the same as me having my own baby to deal with. He's the "baby" I never gave birth to, but still my "baby".

My mama has always said "He your child. You the one that raised him."

This has irked me at times. I've snatched him up a time or two and let him know that I didn't lay down and give birth to him, so stop giving me grief!

Now, I ALWAYS laugh at the LBeezy, Serenity 3-0, and That Southern Black Gal when they talk about the things their little boys get into. I always think to myself:

Just wait 'til ya'll gotta teach them boys how to drive.
Just wait 'til ya'll have to have the "birds and the bees" talk with them.
Just wait 'til ya'll have to console them as they wail about some young skanky skeezer lady that has broken their hearts.
Just wait!!

Come on, Chele... Can I get an "Amen!!" on that one?

These chicks got A LOT to look forward to.

What I didn't expect was how much it takes to get a young man ready for his prom.

Goodness. Not as bad as getting that dress together for a chick and what-not.

But there is more to it than the mere slipping on of a simple tuxedo... HARD SIGH.

Milk and Cookies went to 3 proms. Oh, the convos we had about him getting his ride together, getting his clothes together, going to get the haircut, were quite stressful. GEEEE-ZUSSSS!!!

And... he christened me his "Official Photographer".

Me, the Oldgirl... And my BOOTLEG disposable cameras.

This weekend, my sister Kentucky and I were talking about recipes for curry chicken. I ran out to the garage and retrieved a few Asian cookbooks.

We opened one and lo and behold, there were a SLEW of Milk and Cookies prom pictures.

(Tayari, these are the ones I was looking for to send to you for that project you were working on a while back. Next time, come through and just copy away!)

So, I thought I would post them. I know he lurks over here, so he will get a kick out of these.

Milk and Cookies is always good for a good story and a good laugh.

ALWAYS.

To be continued...