Lost and Found

One of the blogs that I've stumbled upon in the past few months that I absolutely LOVE is La's La Bella Vita. If you haven't read La, well... you haven't read. Plain and simple. La takes it to the other level. It's like she writes some of her stories, and it seems as if she spent YEARS perfecting them.

La is the Truth.

All day, er' day.

Really though.

Anyway, she wrote a post sometime last August that socked me hard, I mean, left me without air. She wrote of her longings for her father, and her heart concerning such. That particular post, entitled Riverwide, is the most poignant and complicated posts I've ever read, and I will never forget it. I am estranged from my own father, and I can sit here and say that I don't feel as she does about my own father, but that post... MAN. She really delved deep. Reading that post stirred up emotions I'd kept stuffed away, only skirting them deep within ther pages of my personal journals every now and again.

My eyes were full of tears after reading that post.

Anyway, I left the following comment:

"You really know how to put your feelings into words. I think you have said what I've been trying to somehow figure out in my head when it comes to my own father...

Just last week, I sent him a card in the mail requesting to see him. I haven't seen him since I was 22. I am now 38. I made it a goal to see him before I turned 30... Let's just say that I am waaay overdo.

I haven't heard back from him, but I made a big step and sent a card with my information on it. Don't know what I will do if he doesn't respond. The man lives less than 10 minutes away, and I have driven by his home... yet I still wonder what to do. So many questions...

My emotions run the gamut, just like yours. I hope you get some resolution with your father. This post encourages me to find a way with my own.

Thank you for this post... You are such an amazing writer..."

I read that whole post twice. And she has a tendency to be longwinded, like me...

So...

I was cruising down I-20, heading home from work after picking up a prescription at the White people's Kroger, when my cell phone rings.

"Hello?"

"Lesia!"

"Yeah, who is this?" I wait for a reply. Nobody calls me that. My fam calls me "Lee" or "Lisa". Hell, some folks even call me "LadyLee". Most throw an "A" on "lesia" and call me that, since that is my gub'ment name.

"Lesia."

"Yeah, wassup?" I couldn't place the voice. Didn't sound like any of the jokers I'd given my number to in the past.

"This Milton."

I think for what feels like forever, even though it's a few seconds.

Then the name registers. I'm on the highway, but I slow down.

It was my Father.

To be continued....

Got Gas??

For the past couple of weeks, the conversations around my way, in my beloved ATL, have changed dramatically. They have gone from

How you doing today?
How are things going?
How's the family?
Whatchu know good?

to

Whassup with the gas!!?

and

Ya'll know where I can find some gas?!

and various curse-ladened versions thereof. We won't go into all that.

We have a gas shortage in Georgia. I hear it is going on in the Carolinas also. Folks down here are fighting, cussing each other out, pulling guns, all KINDS of craziness all over...

GAS

Or should I say... the FEAR of the probability of not being able to get gas. The fear of straight up running out of gas and NEVER finding gas, every again.

Because that's what it is really about. Right? Right?

I must admit that I buy into it. Let's just say, if I see a gas station open, you best believe I stop and "top off" my ish. And that's coming from someone who MIGHT run through a quarter tank a week or a third of a tank on a crazy week.

Let's just say, I fillup once a month, so it's not affecting me too much. I don't know WHAT would be going through my mind if I had a real commute.

The thing is, one can find gas, but there is a long line. And we live in a fast paced society these days. NOBODY has the patience for that. And I don't want to get caught up in no lines. People are impatient, and that's a recipe for trouble.

My coworker Ol Mean Ass Cynthia was riding on fumes the other day. I told her EXACTLY where to go. There's a particularly scuzzy looking gas station about a mile from my house.

"Girl, go up there on the corner of Pryor and Abernathy. I don't ever go in there! EVER! It looks scary! I know if I'm scared to run up in there, you know the white peoples is. Go there!"

LOL!!

She ended up going to a gas station up the road from there, near the freeway. And she came back all wide-eyed, talking about long lines and arguments and stuff...

(Hard-headed broad. I told that chick where to go. HUMPH).

This worked for a couple of days last week... I could roll up in there and "top off", with no lines, no waiting, nothing.

Why is it that, on Friday, everybody and there Mama was up there? The line was LONG as all get out. And now, that station is out of gas.

Yep, it's become a straight up scavenger hunt for gas. I would've never thought that I would see something like this. I'd heard of the gas lines in the 70's. I remember my Mama and nem talking about it, but of course that wasn't important to me back then. I was more concerned about what time Scooby-Doo and the Flintstones was coming on, you see.

And this craziness is suppose to go on for another month. YIKES.

THIS Oldgirl has developed a strategy. And it seems to be working.

LadyLee's Bootleg "Get Your Dayum Gas" Tips:
(for ATLiens, that is)

1. Best place to find gas: THE HOOD. We figured out that it's harder to find gas way out in the suburbs. It's there, but no one wants to deal with a line. Another coworker, Detroit Meek-Meek, lives way the hell out in a suburb on the west side. She'd somehow got caught up driving through the hood and noticed all the available gas.

"The white people ain't found them yet," I yelled. "That's the place to go!"

2. Don't take the freeway to get where you need to go. Take the street way. I had a finance meeting yesterday out in East Point. I passed 10 gas stations on the drive back home. 3 had gas. There were long lines at two stations, and a short line at one. I am down to 2/3rds of a tank, and I didn't bother to stop. I am only down that far because I ran out to the southside twice (had to, for a funeral, and if it wasn't for that, well...), and I should be straight for a minute since I am doing minimum driving.


3. Start looking for gas when you are a quarter of a tank low, at least. These folks are running out of gas left and right. Start riding around BEFORE your needle hits "E".

4. "Top off" whenever you can. I think THIS is the reason for the long lines. People have gas. We're just topping it off here and there. It's a shame, but you gotta do what you gotta do. We dealing with all this fear of running out of gas.

5. Go out early on a Saturday or Sunday morning to get gas. This is my sister Kentucky's strategy. She's gotten up on Sunday mornings around 7:00 a.m. and has made gas runs to closeby stations with no problem. I just figured out that was what she was doing, because that girl sleep HARD if she don't have anything to do. (I shoulda made her butt take my car to whereever she went to top my ish off).

Anyway, I'm not in a panic. I live about 5 minutes from my job. I don't drive much. I'm cool.

I do feel for folks like my boss, who has a 70 mile round trip to deal with.

(No, on second thoughts, I don't feel sorry for management. HUMPH).

This whole situation reminds me of a book I read many years ago: Parable of the Sower by Octavia Butler. The problem wasn't gas, as folks couldn't afford cars anymore and everybody seem to be walking or riding a bike to get to where ever they need to go. The issue was WATER, which, if I'm remembering correctly, was in rare supply and cost some 7 dollars a gallon. It was only available at "Water stations".

If you were able to get water, you'd better hide it. If not, you would get robbed or killed over it. People were standing around waiting for a sucka to slip up.

Now...

Knowing this, this "gas shortage" is not that bad. As a matter of fact, they said it will be over in 2 weeks to a month.

Things could be worse. Much worse.

But they are not.

We will all be alright.

Really, we will...

Oh Darius... Dear Darius

*LadyLee pulls out quill and parchment, and proceeds to write*

Oh Darius. Dear Darius...

So I was sitting here last week, minding my own business, perusing a few blogs.

I came across this over at Everyday Cookin with Darius:

He called this special creation, a Tequila Lime chicken and Fettuccine.

And the Notes.

From the Peanut Gallery.

Began.

*LadyLee glances over shoulder at cubicle mate*

Ladylee: "Cowgirl Cre, look at this."

*Cowgirl Cre slides over to LadyLee's side of the cubicle*

Cowgirl Cre: "That do look good. Look at that chicken, girl!"

*LadyLee looks over her shoulder to see who else is around*

LadyLee: "Detroit! Come here a minute."

*Lieutenant Detroit Meek-Meek walks from two cubicles away and leans close to see what we're staring at*

Detroit Meek-Meek: "Oooh goodness, that sure does look good. Who made that?"
LadyLee: "This dude name Darius. Dude be having the fiya recipes. And they're real easy."
Cowgirl Cre: "Look at that chicken!"
LadyLee: "I'ma make that. I'ma make it this weekend."

Okay, this went on for several days. A few of us stood around and studied it. I talked of how I was going to make it.

. . .Cowgirl Cre kept hollering about how good the chicken looked.

So, I made a trip to the grocery store and purchased all the ingredients.

3 words. De.Lic.Ious.

Man, that Tequila Lime Chicken Pasta:

Oh Darius... Dear Darius.

BOY. IT. WAS. GOOD.

I don't know WHERE my sister Kentucky was. She was upstairs asleep, studying, yacking on the phone, who knows. She'd gotten a rib sandwich somewhere, and that was her dinner. I called her name once. Called it twice. Wanted her to get a taste.

Whatever. She got none. I ate some, then packed up the rest in a container, and brought it to work on Tuesday.

I heated it up for lunch. Me, Cowgirl Cre, and Ol' Mean Ass Cynthia were huddled in my cubicle slurping it down.

It was good. Hands down, the best pasta dish I've EVER had.

Oh Darius... Dear Darius...

I don't believe it when you said you created this in your Chicago kitchen.

As we use to say when I was a child, running barefoot in the streets and kicking rocks...

"Oooh wee, Darius, you telling a story!!"

Here's the real story of how you came up with that dish:

Darius was skipping through a beautiful forest in Italy, collecting fresh ripe berries and wonderful nuts for a scrumptious pie he'd been wanting to prepare. It would be a lovely end to the wonderful feast he was planning for his Italian friends that next day.

He was skipping along, humming a happy happy song, enjoying the sun warm against his face.

All of a sudden, he stopped. He smelled something... delightful.

"Hark," he whispered. "What's that I smell floating on this lovely breeze?"

He turned, looked here and there, looked everywhere seeking the source of the pleasing scent.

"It is chicken," he finally said. "Smells like 2 boneless skinless breasts of chicken, seasoned liberally with a bit of salt and pepper, a quarter tablespoon of each perhaps."

He looked here and there, to and fro, and spotted a small cottage off in the distance.

"That must be from whence the lovely aroma wafts."

He skipped over to the cottage. Perhaps there would be a lovely family there, who would love to share their chicken with a hungry stranger.

He was parched. Maybe they would also offer a mug of ale.

He knocked once, he knocked twice, and was about to knock a third time.

A disheveled woman answered, her face twisted tight as a fist. "What do you want!?"

Darius smiled. "I want to tell you that that chicken smells great, but it will not do."

"Who the hell asked you? I have chicken and porridge every night."

"I am Chef Darius, Master Chef Darius of the Chicago Province. And that chicken needs a bit of help."

"Go away!" she yelled, and tried to slam the door.

Darius stopped the closing door with his foot. He pushed past her and entered the house. There was a copper pot of porridge bubbling on the stove, a cast iron skillet of chicken breasts sizzling to the side.

"Miss, this chicken will not do. It needs cilantro, cumin, pepper flakes, lime, onion, garlic, Serrano pepper, and a bit of pasta."

He pulled all of it from his knapsack, and mixed it in. He tossed the pot of porridge out the window.

He dug around in his knapsack for something more. "And a bit of libations, some tequila, perhaps. That will set it off". He winked his eye and poured more in.

The lady tasted it, and smiled.

"'Tis good. Tis good, I say," she said. "You, oh Master Chef Darius, have made my day!"

Darius smiled, and was on his way.

Hmm, he thought. "I must make that lovely chicken dish, and place it on my blog!"

Yeah, bruh... THAT'S how you came up in THAT. You were NOT sitting on the train ride home from school, thinking about that. You cannot tell me that. That was on a whole nother level. That was created over in the middle of some Italian forest or something!

LOL!!! It was so good that I had to write a bootleg corny story. Because that was off the CHAIN!!!

So Darius... I write a poem for you, also...

Oh Darius. . . Dear Darius.

Could there be a me and you?
Could there be an us?
My dear Darius?

Oh Darius, Oh Darius...
Don't be so precarious.
A you.
A me.
An us.
Oh Darius. Dear Darius.

A sack of groceries in my left hand,
A skillet in my right.
You walk through the door
My smile is so bright.

Oh Darius, Dear Darius...

Could there be a you, a me, an us?
Dear Darius?
Dear Dauius?

LOL!!!! Boy, that's poetry on crack right there, boy! LadyLee style!

But on the real tip... If you were uh, of the heterosexual persuasion, was about 10-15 years older (What are you, 25 or 26 - YOU still a mere CHILD!), and lived in the ATL?

You would get straight up STALKED!! Stalked HARD!! Harassed!!!

(And I would have a sack of groceries and a skillet with me, because you will COOK for ME).

LOL!!!

But seriously, Darius. You are one helluva cook. That dish was good, and I like how you take pictures of each step. You have to be deaf, dumb, blind and stupid not to understand it. You explain it all so well.

This was my way of doing some bootleg PR work, telling my readers about you, because I LOVE that cooking blog of yours. Everything is very simple and quick- it is definitely "Everyday Cookin' just like you said.

That Tequila Lime chicken fettuccine recipe took less that 30 minutes, from start to finish, from scratch, all fresh ingredients... and I like that, Man!

It was so nice, I made it twice.

I made it again night for the second time. Wasnt' gonna do that, but Cowgirl Cre whined about it all day. Before we left to go home, she pulled out a stack of money and shoved in my face, yelling "That's enough for the chicken!"

LOL

And this time, I threw in some turkey feta tomato sausage. OH JOY.

I know you go to work all day, in school after that... and you take the time to come up with nice creations up there in the Chicago Provinces!

Just wanted to do a little something to make you laugh (either that or make you say... What in the world?)

Keep on cooking, Man... because, us chemists are sitting up here... watching.

Discussing.

I can't wait to sit down and dine in your restaurant someday in the future.

Keep up the good work!

Blanket Watch!!

Maaaaaaannnn...

Ya'll, I was looking CRAZY last night.

I finished this baby blanket last night at 12:22 a.m.:

It is hard to tell, but it is green and white.

I threw that sucka into the washing machine, thinking "I'ma close my eyes for a minute, and I will listen out for the wash to finish."

Next thing I know, it was 7:00 in the morning. LOL!! That's okay though. I threw it in the dryer for a bit, stuffed it in the gift bag and headed to work (real late at 10:00 a.m.)

I made this one for the upcoming baby of one of the Lieutenant Commanders ("Tonya") that work on my floor (an arm of the military works here with us).

I saw her walking down the hall one day back in May without her uniform on. And I snapped on her.

(I have appointed myself the Punisher of all the military on my floor. If I see anything wrong with their uniforms, I go off on them, lol.)

She whispered "I'm waiting on my maternity military uniform, LadyLee."

It took a moment to register, as there was a long *blank stare* moment between the two of us. I grabbed her hand and led her over to my desk, and let her pick out the blanket she wanted, since I had photos of a few that I was posting.

Fast forward to last week. Now, I was told by Tonya that the baby shower was on September 26th. The organizers were standing in my cubicle area, and they told me September 22nd. I was NOT happy about that. My fellow Doc, "Dr. Hazel Eyes", caught the brunt of my wrath.

*Lee jumps from chair and grabs "Dr. Hazel Eyes*

"Shawty, hold on, hold, hold up now!! Ya'll said the shower was on the 26th."
"LadyLee, no I didn't."
"Tonya said the 26th," I yelled.
"Well it's on the 22nd."
"Change it!"
"No, LadyLee. You're just going to have to speed it up a bit."

I tried to stare "Dr. Hazel Eyes" down. I even started whining REAL hard. It did NOT work. They wouldn't change the shower date. HUMPH.

But I am a MAVERICK.

I got it DONE!

They didn't want to know the sex of the baby (well, we know, but her hubby doesn't know, lol), so it had to be something neutral.

But I tell you: I am getting TOO old to be burning the midnight oil on this type of stuff. TOO OLD.

I must go take a time management class somewhere. Really!!!

~Hard sigh~

Lietennant Commander "Tonya": I stand tall, click my heels, and salute you!

Congrats in advance on the arrival of the little one:)

Guest Blogging Duties over in The Cheap Seats

No real post today, my beloved blog family.

I am guest blogging over at Terry's spot, over in

The Cheap Seats
Just a little "Food for Thought" something to think about as we approach the beautiful fall season, entitled:

"On Life and Resources"
Inspired by none other than

The Official Poet Laureate of the House of LadyLee...

The Mayor of my Hood,

"Snake"

(Yeah, ya'll didn't know we get down like that over in the House of LadyLee, did you? Poet Laureates and ish residing all up in here?)
Snake had a most fascinating run here in 2007 on the blog with his Infamous "Snake Bite" poetry and essays. He deserves that title.
So, slide on over to Terry's spot.
Yes, the seats are cheap.
They are free.
They are in the nosebleed section, and you need to bring a pillow to sit your ass down on so your tailbone won't hurt.
That's okay, though.
Knowledge still drops HARD like nuclear bombs just the same.
It truly does.
Have a good weekend!