Songs in the Key of LoveBabz!

Lovebabz requested that her fellow bloggers post song lyrics which remind them of her and describe her spirit. This is in celebration of her 46th birthday.

I have chosen 2 songs. They are the first 2 songs on the playlist in the sidebar:

"Free" by Jill Scott

Free like a willow tree
Free like a summer's eve
Free like the waves are crashing on a solitary beach

Free like a bumblebee
Free like the open sea
Free like the minute, second, moment when you hold me closely

Free like a flying dove
Free like the moon above
Free like the four letters that spell out L-O-V-E love
Free like the bluest sky
Free like the wings up high
Free like... free like...free like....free like

Free like the brown in my eye
Free like the tears that I cry
Free like...free like....free like... free like

Free like the willow tree
Free like the summer's eve
Free like the waves are crashing on a single solitary beach (fades out)


"Searching" by Erykah Badu (by way of Roy Ayers)

See a butterfly
Up in the sky
I got a story to say
And I`ll tell you why
I`m searchin`

You see my friend
And I need someone
Who feels and needs
The same as I
I`m searchin`

When it`s right,it`s right
When it`s wrong,it`s wrong
I`m gonna sing my song
All day long
I`m searchin`

Searchin`... x15

See a butterfly
Up in the sky
I got a story to say
And I`ll tell you why
I`m searchin`

You see my friend
And I need someone
Who feels and needs
The same as I
I`m searchin`

When it`s right,it`s right
When it`s wrong,it`s wrong
I`m gonna sing my song
All day long
I`m searchin`

See a butterfly
Up in the sky
I got a story to say
And I`ll tell you why
I`m searchin`

Searchin`...x15


Happy Birthday, Babz!!

Stay tune for your Birthday tribute... and virtual barbeque and fish fry, lol.

The "F" word

The "F" word.

Nope. I'm not talking about the "F" word you're thinking about.

You. Cuss. Too. Much.

And. Get. Your. Mind. Out. The. GUTTER.

lol

No, I am thinking of another word:

FORGIVENESS

It is something that I don't have a concrete understanding of. Not at all.

And to be honest with you, I can be accused of operating in unforgiveness.

For I'm that type that, once you bite me a couple of times, I don't have anything to do with you.

For if you fool me once, shame on YOU.

Fool me twice, shame on ME.

So, I may or may be wrong for that.

But I posted my thoughts on forgiveness over on one of Aunt Jackie's posts recently.

"It's like this.

You get in the cage with the dog and it bites the stew out of you.

Lesson learned. Stay out of the cage with the dog.

You don't hate the dog.

You not trying to poison the dog.

You ain't even kicking the dog.

The dog is a dog.

And if you keep getting in the cage with the dog, then the dog will keep biting the stew out of you.

That's what I think about forgiveness. Forgive them... and move on. First time they do you wrong, shame on them. Anytime after that, shame on you... Because you had experienced some mess in the past.

It takes time for people to get that trust back."

Those are my thoughts on forgiveness. Mind you, this is outside of someone coming to me and saying "I am sorry." That rarely happens with me.

Honestly, there are peeps around me that I don't even talk to because they're trying to run scams on me or they are stressing me out. This is especially true at work.

But they are the first I make sure to help when they need some work-related help. And if there is an envelope going around for them (condolence, etc.), I make sure to sign it and put some cash in it.

I ain't got nothing against them.

It's just that we don't need to be fooling with each other. My self-esteem don't depend on your acceptance. Sorry. Never has, and never will. For me to put up with such foolishness says otherwise.

But I heard something very peculiar in a service back in late February or early March that has stayed on my mind like nothing else. It has been the source of much pontification, and is one of the best things I heard the first quarter of the year.

It was a test to test yourself for whether you have truly forgiven a person or not.

When you think about the person who did you wrong, are you also thinking about how you can hurt them or get them back? Are you wishing bad stuff on their life? Are you plotting or working out how you gonna cuss them out if you get the chance? Does rage rise up instantly?

If not, you have forgiven them.

Now, I smirked when I heard this. Afterall, you gotta be kidding me. That's stretching it.

NO ONE feels that way.

So I decided to pay attention to how folk feel when they have been wronged. Of course, no one immediately shrugs it off. I know I don't. But what are their feelings about it?

I was shocked to find the amount of need for some "get back" a lot of people feel when they feel they have been wronged. I myself, in the past, have been lied on, called all kinds of names, all kinds of craziness because it was thought that I did something wrong. I am quick to say I am sorry. And sorry JUST won't do.

I've seen a lot of this in the past couple of months. It has probably always been around. I just didn't pay any attention. But I see it everywhere... all around me, in the media, EVERYWHERE.

It even made me think back to a divorce recovery class I took at church a few years ago. I was just going to be nosey. I didn't have any problems with the ex-hubby, didn't feel like I needed to recover from anything. Just wanted dude to have a very fine life and to stay away from me, lol.

But I was AMAZED at how people had not forgiven the ex's. They were just angry. I mean seething anger. There was some cussing and snot flying.

I was sitting there thinking "Clutch the pearls!! Y'all not suppose to be cussin' in Chuuuuuch!!!!!"

But when it's real, it's real. Whatever is in your heart is gonna come on out, babes. If you can't get all the mess out your heart in church, well...

But I just remember their being people praying for God to kill their ex. And our instructor had to REALLY convince folks that that is not a good thing and to really work HARD to get away from that.

I sat there thinking and watching all that. I couldn't imagine praying such about the hubby. Didn't even cross my mind. Yeah, I had some mad moments, but it was all over. I wish the man well for his life.

It was good that I saw all of that. And I thought about it when I was pontificating this strange "forgiveness" test I heard recently.

(Incidently, my nosey tail needed that class: I was struggling with the guilt of being happy after the divorce. They cleared me right up from such crazy thinking. Sometimes being nosey is a good thang!)

So I ran this test on myself. And I must say that there is no one around that I haven't forgiven. I don't want to set anyone's hair on fire or anything. And I don't have visions of grabbing a glock and busting a cap in anyone's behind. None of that.

But I am known not to fool with people. I submit that this differs from unforgiveness.

Any relationship I have falls in two categories:

It is either a blessing.
Or it is a bondage.

There is no "in-between" for me.

If I gotta watch your tail, or if you doing a lot of "po-mouthing", or if you trying to bait me into doing stuff... If I have to think too hard or there's a bunch of confusion or my life is just MISERABLE when I'm around you... Worse yet, if you dogging all the people in your life completely out... If you are just toxic, with carnage showing up everywhere you step:

Then, you're going to end up having a problem with me. We will be parting ways eventually. There is no way around it. I want to be one thing: happy. I have a hard time "skinning and grinning" with folks.

I have a tendency to make myself VERY scarce. Very. To the point where folks have said "LadyLee is MEAN!"

I'm not mean. I'm just more important than the Queen of England, and you know there are etiquette rules when dealing with THAT Oldgirl. Heck, you're not even suppose to touch her in a certain way, all kinds of stuff like that.

I have my rules also. YOU should have your rules too.

No one should keep you in bondage by dogging you and making you feel guilty when you don't fool with them. Folks like to call that "unforgiveness". Nope, you just don't deal with a bunch of foolishness.

So there is a fine line there somewhere. I would love to get along with everyone, but that ain't possible. I've learned, and am still learning to seperate myself without operating in unforgiveness.

Now one thing I REALLY began working on in the beginning of the year is:

Forgiving myself.

That's a whole nother animal right there. I tend to beat myself up about things like nobody's bizness. It is a lifelong stronghold that I am fighting to break. I think I may be winning that battle. I am at least more cognizant of it, and forcing myself to work on it.

Yes indeed.

The "F" word can be such a complicated thing, can't it?

It is something that I am sure we all define for ourselves over our lifetime, in one way or another.

I know I have... I'm sure you have too.

And am still learning to do so.

The Same... Yet So Different.

One of the most wonderful things that happened during the first quarter of this year was that I actually took a vacation. This vacation was special, as it was my first vacation as an adult.

I've blogged much about the cruise portion of the vacation, but I also hung around in New Orleans for a few days after the cruise.

I rented a car ($250 for 2 days! YIIIIKKKEES!!!), and got a chance to drive around to some of my old haunts.

It was great to go back to my old job and see some of my friends and coworkers. That was a big victory for me, overcoming the fear of going back to that place. (I promised myself once I left that I was NEVER coming back. EVER.)

I even drove past my old church on Lake Forest.




The UBC!!! Upperoom Bible Church was the place to be, babes! This place really got my faith back on track, on the road back to where I'm trying to get.

I swung by We Never Close on Chef Hwy.


"We Never Close" was exactly what the name says. It was a fast food joint that NEVER closed. We would leave the ATL to go back to New Orleans at 9 in the evening, and roll into New Orleans around 2 or 3 a.m.

And there was always a crowd at We Never Close around that time of the morning.

They had the best shrimp po-boys!

I couldn't even eat all of that. I put it on ice for the flight back to ATL.

I swung by Rodney's, the best Snowball Stand in New Orleans East.



Got myself a lemon-lime snowball.



(My brother use to like half-in-half watermelon and peach; I used to get half-in-half blackberry and lemon, both which have been retired for the spring. So I had to settle for lemon-lime. Sigh.)

All of my old hangouts were pretty much the same. Some were still getting back to normal after the storm, but nevertheless, they were as I remembered them.

Save for one place...

The place where I use to live in New Orleans East... Frenchman Wharfs Apartments off Crowder Road.


The apartments were completely gone, wiped out by the storm. The 20 acre lake was still there.



Now, I'd first heard about this some two months after the storm. Yeah, you hear about stuff on television, but to hear a first hand account is a whole nother story.

I came across some dispaced New Orleanians in a local College Park U-haul Truck Rental center. They were returning their truck. They's said how they'd packed their things and drove 12 hours back to ATL.

"Everythang gone, baby," they said to me, in their classic New Orleans accent.

I leaned against the counter, rattled off a few places in New Orleans East, like my old hangouts I talked about above. Even asked about some of the familiar neighborhoods in the 7th and 9th wards.

"Alllll gone, baby!" the ladies kept repeating. "We drove over that way, where you talking about and it's allll gone. Looks like a bomb hit the place."

"Even Frenchman's Wharf?" I asked. "I lived there for a couple of years!"

"Gone!!" one of the young lady said. "Baby, it is GONE."

She stretched her hands out wide. "We drove around over there, and all I could do was cry!"

Gone.

And she was right. All gone.

I couldn't believe the place I once lived was now just trees and debris. I could still see the path I walked to get to my apartment. It was the same path I took when I would get off the public bus from work everyday.


The 5 minute walk down that path to my apartment was always my time to get myself together, to gather my thoughts before I got home. Hopefully no one was there, but either my husband or brother-in-law was.

Let's just say, the apartment was a place that I just didn't want to be. Walking that path was my own little piece of "alone time" for the entire day. It was on this very path that I prayed a prayer from my heart that was the turning point for my whole life.

It was the beginning of that "something" that would take me from a place of depression to a place of victory...

We all have those moments in our life, where we KNOW the exact moment when things changed. That was this place.

This place which was now a desolate wasteland.

I would've stepped out of my rental car and at least walked up to this fenced off path that once led to my New Orleans home. But I didn't think it was a good idea, since I was alone.

But I sat in the car, shed a tear, and remembered...

How even though sometimes things feel the same...

Things change.

Life changes.

Sometimes life can turn out so different.

A Time to Talk

One of the most interesting things that I've noticed over the first quarter of this year is that my sister and I talk.

We've always been on a decent basis, but we actually TALK talk.

Woman-to-woman.

Now this is odd. Kentucky and I are 11 years apart. She and our brother are 6 years apart.

So, as expected, they are much closer, and talk to one another a bit more freely about things.

I, on the other hand, have been viewed a little differently.

"You're their mother, girl!" LadyTee always jokes.

It has been a running "joke" for years (if that's what you want to call it). I am the only one of my crew over the years that has no children.

If people ask if I have children, I say no.

But if LadyTee is around, she hollers "Oh yes she do! It's a loooonnnng story!"

Ugh.

"You the Mama, Lee, and ya'll's mama is like a cousin or something like that."

Oh, we have laughed HARD about this over the years.

So, as a result, even though my brother, sister and I get along, they have had a certain, I don't know what to call it, amount of respect that they have for me. I don't know if I am saying that correctly, but for some reason, they can't STAND to disappoint me.

(I find this odd. I am not your parent).

Anyway... this is a good thing, but it can also be a bad thing. Over the years, I will hear about what Kentucky is up to from my brother. Likewise, I would hear what my brother is up to from Kentucky. It has been a stretch, unless we are all together, to really have serious discussions.

But they have always known that they can trust me. That is what's key.

Then you have me, who's a loner, and that can be a problem. I rarely give my opinion about anything, just keep it to myself. I don't know how you all can be so forthright and open, but still, to this day, when I talk to folk and give my opinion, some mess jumps off.

My sister and I have had those times. She didn't like something I've said, and an argument ensued.

I don't like that. I remember standing in the kitchen on the phone, telling LadyTee "I had to go off on that girl!"

I think it was at one time, when we talked, for some reason she thought that I was trying to run her life or something.

This pissed me off, as it says that I don't have enough of a life of my own, so I gotta be all up in yours.

This is NEVER the case.

It's just that uh, when I see you going through something SIMILAR to what I am going through, I would be remiss if I don't wave my hands all around like the Robot in Lost in Space and yell "Warning! Warning!"

My sister and brother don't like that too much.

So there came a time, when she worried about some stuff, or worried about my brother, I would be like "Yo, hope ya'll work that out! I really do. I'm not worried about it. I wash my hands of ya'll."

This was particularly funny when my sister was ranting about my brother, and I remember her standing on the steps just staring blankly at me. She'd never heard that response from me.

I think she knew I was serious. There was much going on around that time, and I was going about my daily bizness, enjoying life.

My whole outlook related to this has been the following:

"One of two things is going to happen. You will learn from your own mistakes or you will learn from the mistakes of others. You will save yourself much heartache and time if you learn from other's people crap. Either which way it goes, though... YOU WILL LEARN!"

My sister said, "I want to learn from my own mistakes, blah, blah, blah."

Whatever. Do your thing.

But lately... she's been running up on me, not even saying that she needed to talk. She'd just come in my room and start a converstaion.

And we would talk for a good 2 or 3 hours.

"Lisa, what do you think about this?"

*Lee looking around the room*

"You talking to ME?"

She likes to ask lots of questions about my thoughts on my past relationships, what went wrong, what my part in the break-ups were, and what I learned from it... all kinds of stuff. We'll talk about family isshas also (if she can keep me from getting irate. This is quite rare, lol).

I realize she was going through that period that all of us go through when we were in our early 20s: We think we know EVERYTHING about life.

It's not until one hits about 26 or 27 that one thinks "I may need to start seeking advice."

But I must admit, I really DO enjoy talking to my sister.

She is a very smart chick, and has experienced some things recently, some "learning from her mistakes" issues. She is going through a reflective period of sorts, like we all do when we have relationships that end or if we are trying to find the best way to reach our goals.

Like we all do when we're trying to find ourselves.

When it gets like that, we get to a point where we know it's a time to talk.

And she has admitted that I have been helpful to her.

And that's all I can hope for.

Afterall, that's what I am here for.

Dark Clouds Clearing, Part I

(Warning: this post is a bit all over the place. I had a bit of a hard time reining in my thougts concerning it. But I think you will get the picture).

When I think back over the first quarter of this year, January through April, the most important event during that time was meeting my father Milton. I posted about it two or three times over the past couple of months.

I'd set a goal when I was in my mid-twenties to have a face to face talk with him by the time I was 30.

This didn't occur until I was a couple weeks shy of turning 39. I guess I was just afraid to go see him.

My Auntie Joyce had much to do with my decision to reach out to him, as she has always, in contrast to my Mother, spoke well of him. And baby blog sista LBeezy made some formidable suggestions and set specific deadlines for me. This was all very healthful.

So, I came away from the meeting with Milton proud of myself for attaining a major life goal, albeit 9 years late.

Now my Auntie Joyce reads my blog. And from time to time, she will call to talk about something she's read. And she's called to politely chin-check me also on some things, which I greatly appreciate. Let's me know that things are genuine between us.

I like the fact that Auntie Joyce hears my heart through my posts, my quiet whispering in my heart of "I need to talk about my feelings."

Without me having to scream at the top of my lungs,

"I NEED TO TALK ABOUT MY FEELINGS!"

Of course, I don't write anything on here to get her to call me. She just seems to instinctively know we need to talk. Oh God, I do so much appreciate that.

She called, of course, after my meeting with Milton.

"Lisa, I read your blog," she says, her voice quiet. "I see you got together with Milton. I really enjoyed reading that."
"Yeah," I said. "I was only there for about 15 minutes or so. And I can't believe he had all those pictures of me!"
"Yes, I sent them to him. He would call wailing, talking about 'Please Joyce, Please! Please send me some pictures of her. I won't bother you no more! Just please, send them, before I-, before I-'"
"Croak!" I said, completing her sentence.
"Yes, that's what he wanted to say, but he never said it."
"Oh, he just go ahead on and say it to me. 'Come see me, 'Lesia, before I croak!!"

I found the whole "croak" rebel yell to be quite unnerving. I wanted to say, uh Yo, can I get you to speak some positive confessions concerning yourself?

"How the house look?" Auntie asked.
I described it to her. The olive green carpet, the Queen Anne furniture, all of it looking like it's out of the 60s or 70s. I told her how neat it was.

And I told her of the very low lighting. And how very quiet it was there.

"Yes, Lisa. That's how I remember it."
"For real?"
"Yes. When me and your Mama were teenagers, we would go over there. And it was so quiet."
"Yeah," I said. "They a quiet bunch. That Uncle Willie appeared out of nowhere, real quiet like. So did Aunt Evelyn. They're not very loud people, you can tell that."
"That's the way they've always been. When me and your Mama would go over there, it would be so quiet. I mean, you could smell the good homecooking, the collard greens and the cornbread cooking. "

I could imagine my Auntie walking in the house, wide-eyed and shoulder-to-shoulder with my Mama, going to see my Mama's boyfriend Milton.

"Lisa, you smelled all that good home cooking, and I knew a good ten people lived in the house, but you never really saw them. I used to think 'Where are they? Are they in the wallpaper or something?' Are they in the walls?'"

LOL.

She went on and on about this.

It was very quiet over there indeed. There was a low hum of a television from some room in the house. I think it was the kitchen. But that was about it. All I could do was sit there in the Queen Anne chair, facing my father who was sitting on the sofa, clutching cheaply framed pictures of me for dear life, and look around the very neat living room.

The people didn't like light. Well, except for that porch light. I swear there had to be a 200 watt naked bulb lighting that porch. It was quite glaring.

You were a serious professional thief if you snuck up on them.

I thought much about all of this. Wrote a bit about it over in my personal journals.

I talked to my sister Kentucky about it waaaay after the fact. There was no way I was going to talk to her about it before I went over there. Kentucky can't hold a secret to save her life, and she tends to hang out with my Mama.

Let's just say if my Mother would have found out my desire to meet my father, she would have gotten over there first to run me into the ground.

I don't blame her for that attitude. It's just the way she is.

I was lying across the bed watching televison when I told Kentucky about it.

"I went to see Milton, girl."
"You did? How did it go?" she asked.
"It was cool. They were nice." I gave her the rundown of my visit.

"Don't tell Ma," I said. "I know it's after the fact, but don't say nothing to her. It'll just be a bunch of drama."

I didn't want to have to deal with a bunch of madness.

But something came to me as Kentucky and I were talking. I got a little heated.

"Kentucky, I got a good mind to call Ma up and give her a piece of my mind!!!"

I sat up in bed, knocking all kinds of stuff off onto the floor.

"All my life, she done said something is wrong with me!!"

"Lisa, you too quiet."
"Lisa, you got psychological problems."
"Lisa, what's wrong with you."
"Lisa, you got problems."
"Lisa, you got psychological problems!"

I mean, you don't tell a kid that!! You just don't.

And I've had to hear this over and over and over and over and over and over...

Over and over and over.

It has been pumped into my spirit, taking root deep in my thoughts.

I've really had to FIGHT bad thoughts about myself all of my life. That stuff tends to show up in your life if you don't.

You know, it's to the point, as old as I am, anytime my Mother has said "Lisa, I am proud of you,"... it just don't compute. It's like she's speaking a foreign language, some pig latin or something. I have to keep myself from snickering.

Well, I FINALLY realized something that evening while talking to my sister:

That there is nothing wrong with me. I am perfectly fine.

We all got our idiosyncracies. That is okay.

Let whoever DON'T have idiosyncracies, raise your hand. And hold it up high.

(When you raised your hand, we just pinpointed YOUR idiosyncracy: You're a frickin' liar).

But doggonit, I DO NOT have psychological problems.

I was a GOOD child. Good grades, not a trouble-maker, none of that.

Man, I was a GREAT kid.

But these CONSTANT criticisms from my mother- constant unwarranted criticisms- have been like a dark cloud swirling over my head for as long as I can remember.

A small dark cloud, but a dark cloud nevertheless.

I don't pay much attention to that. I don't have a relationship with my mother. Let's face it, if I can't do nothing right, if I'm stupid... then there's no need for you and I to be dealing with each other.

It is a hurt that I have swept off into a vacant dark corner of my mind.

No child should hear such things.

I don't care if you gave birth to me. Respect is respect. Period.

I think Serenity and Beezy be looking at me crazy because I REALLY try to reinforce one thing: Speak well over your boys. Make sure you think highly of them. Tell them good things about themselves. It is life to their spirit.

I hope you chicks (you too, Southern Black Gal) understand what I am saying.

But there is this undeniable rage that rises up in me when someone has the nerve to call me abnormal, or have a problem with my "quietness", my need to keep to myself. Anyone who reads this blog knows I like very quiet things. There are people who turn their noses up at such.

Please know that there is a difference between you saying such things about me, and you trying to correct me in someway. If I respect your opinions, I will go try to make whatever adjustments. I get a bit frustrated if I can't see your point of view, but I will try to change.

It's that weird unnecessary mess that gets to me. Yes, I have had problems with people because I'm not doing what they THINK I should be doing, etc. I usually casually disappear and don't deal with these people.

But I don't like the rage I sometimes have. It scares me.

For I am cognizant of the fact that I've inherited my mother's violent temper. Let's just say if you keep messing with me, you have a verbal fight on your hand. I blow up like a nuclear bomb, baby. And a couple of past boyfriends will tell you "Oh, Lee will swing on you if you piss her off. She will run up on you if you push her too far."

That is something that scares me...

But in one evening, I sat in my father's living room, just taking in the place.

My father and I have the same sense of humor. I found that creepy at first, but soon found it comforting.

They seem to like very low lighting.

I like very low lighting. I can't STAND ceiling lights. I like lots of small lamps.

They are not boisterous people. They are quiet. You can't even tell they are around.

I am quiet. I don't like noise AT ALL. I can't stand to be around a bunch of noise or noisy folk for too long. (LadyTee has a noisy family. I can take them for only so long, then I gots to GO).

And I have had the following argument with the "locals" of my hood:

"LadyLee, why you got that loud ass porch light? You tryna blind us?"
"No, I ain't tryna to blind nobody! I'm just trying to see you if you decide run up in here and rob me!"

I too have the very loud spotlight of a porch light.

Coincidences? Maybe. Maybe not.

But me and my sister discussed this. Kentucky let me snap for a moment. Kentucky is a very calm chick. I know she was screaming inside, thinking "Oh no, please don't let Lisa call Mama."

Man, I had a GOOD mind to call my Mama and give her a piece of my mind.

But I would never do that.

That is my Mama. Respect is respect. Period.

I leave her be.

My convo with Kentucky wound down. She let me snap, and we went on to talk of other things. But I thought much about my thoughts, wrote much also, over the next few days.

"It's a good thing to know who your people are," my friend and workplace cubicle mate Cowgirl Cre said one day when we were discussing whether I should go to my father's brother's funeral. "You need to know who your people are, Lee."

She's right.

In more ways than one.

Yeah, If you some kin to me, I need to be able to pick you out on the street if I see you.

But it has also been an important key to blasting the funk out of a dank area of my mind.

A key to a dark cloud clearing away.

A dark cloud that, even though it has been closed off in the back closet of my mind, it has also continuously lingered just beneath my skin. It has engulfed my head at times, nearly suffocating me, rising up strong without notice, causing the most terrible mental storms.

I am happy to know that that dark cloud is clearing.

I've addressed it here, and I take the proverbial broom and sweep it out the way.

A new day is dawning.

I know who my people are, that's for sure. Their blood runs warm through my veins.

I know who I am. I am sure of that.

I am a wonderful human being with a quiet spirit.

And I will never feel an ounce of shame for being who I am.

Never ever again.