Remembering My Mother...

Lois Johnson 1964 (striped jacket)

This time of year is always a rough time of year; I lost my Mother on New Years Eve of 2000.  However one of my Mother's oldest friends sent me a picture of them in 1964, my Mom was 16 years old.  It feels like I'm looking into a mirror I look so much like her.  This made my day and I know it will make the rest of this season all that much better.


I remember for almost two years after she went on I didn't look in the mirror because I wouldn't see myself I'd see only her.  I totally forgot about that until I saw this picture today.  

Occupy Movement.... Confused Feelings

Morning all...

As I do what I tell myself I shouldn't do in the morning (tune into the news) I can't help but speak up on this...

Port closure -West Coast...

I am a Customs Broker by profession. What that means is I am one of many people in the country that is an agent to Importers that processes their inbound shipments through Customs and various Government Agencies. Now once I do this work which is a headache one willingly jumps into, I have to send a trucker in to one of these ports to grab these containers to deliver to the final destination the Importer, my Customer.

Now I have many Customers, most of whom are small to mid sized businesses (35 and under employees) these are people that in spite of the economy refused to lay people off. All employees agreed to a shorter work week ( yes all employees) as the Importer has been very good to them over the years. One of the trucking companies I use instead of laying off their people laid off the OWNERS and THEY got 2nd jobs so they didn't have to lay any of the workers off.

They are the 99% too...

Now I support Occupy 100% however I think that in trying to prove an Occupy Point one should really check to see what they are doing to the 99% in the process. In some ways it makes you no better than the 1%.

Oakland Port has been suffering for awhile due to I don't know... Bullshit? What was once a vibrant port is turning into the step-child twice removed. But guess what? Shutting the port down doesn't help it. Taking the protest to the downtown Oakland streets where the decisions are made makes sense. Giving them the flybird on their doorstep will have a stronger effect than at the port - because they do not want their lawns dirty.  They could give a damn what you do at the port - believe me.  It's like the Rodney King verdict - tearing up your own streets when that shit should have been taken to Simi Valley.

Now I'm going to drag myself into this office and explain to my customers why they won't get their containers today and they will be just as conflicted as I am - they support the Occupy, but dammit they need to feed their families too.  What was that, don't cut off your nose to spite your face?

Think about it...

Holla at me - always open to talking about it - but you know me I give as good as I get... Peace... PLEASE.

Words

I remember when I was approximately 13 years old, at home listening to music, I don't quite remember the actual song, but I remember my mother watching me as I listened to the music and I how I responded to it.  Something about the way I responded to the music must have irritated her at some point because she turned down the stereo (yep, stereo) and asked me what I was listening to.  I told her the title of the song and who was singing and thought that would be sufficient enough for her to turn the music back up.  She asked me again, "what are you listening to?"  My young mind had no idea what was going on with her, yep she had been sipping the sauce a bit, but I knew the difference between an intoxicated parent and one that was being serious.  This one was being serious.

Thinking that possibly she didn't hear me the first time, I repeated it again.  She had to hear me that time, so I reached for the dial to turn the music back up and she pushed my hand away.  "What ARE you LISTENING to?" she asked again.  A bit irritated myself but knowing how to keep it to myself I simply answered "I just told you what the song was and who was singing it".

She looked at me a bit perplexed and told me to put on Marvin Gaye's What's Going On album.  I was very irritated then.  I was doing just fine with what I was listening to, I sucked on my teeth and hid an eye roll as I did what I was told.  My Mother used to drive me crazy with Marvin Gaye.  I remember times when she would grab the album and I would have a full fit.  Yes, cry and everything. See that Aries in me can be a spoiled brat at times because it wasn't what I wanted to listen to and she was doing this purposely to screw up my world.

So the first lyrics, "Mother Mother..." oh boy! Woo hoo... (12-13 year old sarcasm here).  I sat there uninterested and she begin to sing the words with him (my Mother had a beautiful voice by the way).  She turned the music down a bit and begin explaining to me how I needed to be very mindful on what I listened to.  That music itself had a way of seducing you and you really don't pay attention to the message.  So the music itself could be beautiful, but the words... The WORDS can be destructive, demeaning, unloving and when both are connected the seduction of the music makes the word gospel and who wants destructive, demeaning and unloving words to be Gospel?

I must have looked confused at what she was stating, because she then broke it down in layman's terms - "Before shaking your ass to the music, listen to the what they are SAYING first."

Something about that flicked on the lights.  I finally listened to the album.  Forget the 1000's of times prior to it being played in my lifetime as it is truly a part of My Lifetime Soundtrack, but I finally got it.  No longer did I throw a tantrum when my Mother decided to play what I deemed "Her music".  I played and listened to it with her.  Asked her questions while the music told the story.

Yesterday taking my Godchildren home after them spending the weekend with me, I was subjected to KMEL from Foster City to Oakland. Aside from Outkast's Ms. Jackson all the other music spoke about beating the pu**y up, going raw, doing her and her friend and I'm being as PC as I can right now.  I purposely listened to it to watch how my kids listened to the music.  They didn't.  They just bopped their heads to the music and probably would have danced had there been room in my Beetle.  Now for that I'm grateful that it was a music thing, not a word thing.  However - the seduction of the music I'm very fearful of for them and their young minds.  They soak it up and do not realize what they are internalizing.

Next weekend... I'm going to have to have me a What's Going On discussion...

Words, very important.  It is one the most important ways of communicating with one another.  If the words aren't right, then we aren't communicating correctly.  Yes it is entertainment and expression.  Yet if while I was a young girl all I heard is about how I'm viewed as just ass and meat, wow... I cannot even fathom the thought.  The best love songs have nothing to do with sex.  The words... The words. Mere words. Can change the world.

What are YOU listening to?

If We Are Made In His Image...

I've been a bad one.  Bad in the sense that I had planned on blogging along the way about the different things I've been experiencing while being more conscious of who I am and no longer running from who I am.

It may be somewhere on the face of this blog, but I live in Foster City, CA.  Where I live in Foster City happens to be a high population of Asians.  When my sister and I first moved here we noticed we were always being stared at or in some cases even being ran away from.  To say that is offensive is putting it rather mildly.

We work hard and deserve the opportunity to live where we choose and right now we happen to like living in Foster City.  It is 10min away from our respective work places; close enough to the San Mateo Bridge in case we need to make that quick East Bay excursion.  So at this time in our lives, it works.

The situation where we were "ran" from, we were pulling into the garage of our apartment complex and this Asian family (father, mother, daughter of about 3 years old and a toddler in a stroller) happened to be walking towards the door that leads to the lobby of our apartment complex from the garage.  The minute they recognized we were "different' they begin literally running to the door to hurry and get in and close it before we could get out of the car to get to the door.  At first I didn't think anything of it, because it was mostly the little girl that kept staring, until I saw her mother snatch her and push her through the door and then the father who was wheeling the stroller behind them almost pushed the baby into the door and then turned his head to look at us and slam the door closed.

Now I'm going to be very honest here.  When Kim and I looked at each other in amazement at what we just witnessed, because it wasn't just me that saw it.  Instantly we wanted to bring East Oakland to Foster City.  We get out of the car, grabbing our groceries, cursing and damn near spitting at what we just experienced and begin bringing up previous experiences that we've had while living here, not truly understanding the "why" of it all.

I'll say it again, we both work hard and deserve to live wherever we choose.  We pretty much keep to ourselves, no drama comes from our particular address, you understand?  So why are we being treated this way?  I could go into a list of other things we've experienced, but I'll keep to this one.

Now back to what I've been experiencing lately and changes I've been making in my life will hopefully tie this all together.  I've been meditating more, being more aware of life as a whole and my fit into it.  I've had some situations in my life that left me feeling broken and finally decided to find my own peace my own way.  So in doing that and trying to radiate as much love as I possibly can from this soul of mine and trying to walk as the Divine would walk.  I've decided - that is the issue.

What I have failed to see about myself and my people others have seen it long ago, we just haven't seen it or have been aware of it.  We radiate something that does cause fear.  The fear of the Unknown and many can recognize the Most High, but are fearful of it.  My soul tells me this, my soul that I'm finally listening to.

So the other day while getting into the elevator with another one of my neighbors, you could see she felt uncomfortable being alone in an elevator with me.  I had grocery bags in my hand just as she did, both of us looking as if we had a hard day at work and just wanted to get in the house and relax, but the difference was her discomfort and more importantly my outlook on her fear.  She should fear the Most High, but be respectful of it.  So as my stop came before hers, I simply turned to her as I got off of the elevator and told her to have a great evening and get some rest.  Offered her my most radiant of smiles and walked to my door.  This time I wasn't angry or offended.  I accepted my gift and walking in it finally.  Ashe.

Random Thoughts

I've been going through and feeling some powerful things in the past few weeks. I wake at 4am to meditate/pray and simply be still. It makes for a better day seriously.

I've been trying not to let idiotic things irritate me as much because I know it isn't good for me. The main thing that always sets me off is when I feel people are being mistreated or unfairly. Yes I realize that I cannot fight the world's battles, but on the inside I want to give it the old College try. It always feels as if the deed is being done to me. I guess that is one of the many meanings of love, the ability to feel another's pain or the need to protect.

So it's a work in progress truly attempting at being Peace.

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When asked...

Why I'm still solo the answers are very simple.

Not looking for a father (had one).

Not looking for a dictator (sorry can't do it).

Not looking to be someone's mother (if you have that complex, I'm not the one)

And several others I can claim.

What I do want is a friend first that can blossom into something beautiful. Not worried about your financial status but need someone that is self sufficient.

With all of that said I need someone I can learn from and with as we build. A sturdy branch to my tree, not a leaf that will eventually float away.
-FE

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Restoration

In a previous posting I mentioned that I was detoxing and with that I've also been meditating daily beginning about 4:30am-ish for at least an hour after prayer attempting to detox my mind with all of the negativity that seems to be around me or the negativity I find myself involved with.

By no means am I a drama queen and if I confessed the negative forces I'm talking about, most would most likely reply, "is that IT??". The thing is, even the most minute form of negativity is draining to me.

Yet I am human and those I deal with are human as well so what can you do about it? Well I've found that by changing my thought processes about it and not judging it but using a positive shield or a positive outlook I'm actually de-touring the negativity or not giving it the power I used to give it even as minute as it may be. Although my tolerance for it is still low, my outlook is my weapon of defense.

See the picture of my plant. When I purchased this plant it was vibrant, now it has a bunch of dead leaves on it. (Mainly because I had it at work and damn near froze it to death). But since I've brought it back home I notice the dead leaves are still there, but it has more new leaves sprouting every day, vibrant, strong and tall. I like to equate that to myself. The dead is falling off (you have no idea how much) and life is showing itself and all is becoming brand new. I still have some nips and tucks to handle, but the outlook is positive and ready to live. Ashe.


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Black Power Mixtape 1967-1975 and the Beat Goes On...

A few weeks ago I posted a blog on the documentary Black Power Mixtape 1967-1975 which actually ended up being my first vlog in some respects and lets just say I won't be going that route this time.  It was interesting and hilarious to watch though.  So I'll wait until I get that iPad2 video down before even attempting that again.


In any case I finally (finally) got a chance to see the movie in its entirety yesterday afternoon and if this were a thumbs up review I'd give it two thumbs up and a high five.  If it were a 5 star review, it would get 5 w/ the plus sign behind it.  It was a great documentary is basically what this sums up to.


There were areas that made me proud (The Black Panther HQ's), smile (recognizing the streets of Oakland), provoked thoughts (Stokely Carmichael & Angela Davis), laugh (Harlem's Black Book Store owner) cry and anger (heroin addicted babies and watching the effects of drugs on the Black community by design).


It gave me the adult visual needed to further put my childhood in perspective.  I had the benefit of having parents that as much as they tried to hide things from me, they were very open about the things that they experienced in life.  My Mother loved Oakland instantly, she came to Oakland at the age of 12, 1960-61 from East Liverpool, OH.  She told me that racism in East Liverpool wasn't blatant, but that she did experience racism there but it wasn't an everyday occurrence compared to what my Father's experiences were in Winnsboro, LA.  Not too long ago I got a chance to ask my Aunt the same question (my Mother's older sister) and she pretty much mirrored that thought, however her opinion is that there was no racism.  Yet I know that there was just by some of the things she says and amazingly in some odd way she doesn't associate that with racism.  All I know is when I visited East Liverpool last year I was stared at from the time I drove in until the time I drove out.  I saw two people of color there and even they stared at me.  Okay - maybe it is the locs who knows.  


My Mother advised when she first came to Oakland, it was a culture shock as in the part of Ohio she was from, our family was one of the few African-American families there and coming to Oakland it had a larger African-American population; but let's keep in mind, East Liverpool is smaller than the smallest Bay Area city, so the population of Oakland alone had to be a culture shock.  She remembered her first year being in Oakland as the hardest, the fighting, the being made fun of her "proper" way of speaking.  Yet my mother was a fighter, so she gave as good as she got and eventually found her way and in the end if she were here and you asked her where her home was she'd always tell you Oakland.


My Father on the other hand, it was debatable.  He arrived Oakland about the age of 13-14 after leaving Louisiana, as Nevada was his first stop from his birth state.  He was a fish out of water as well and in the beginning he rebelled a bit, due to family circumstances, but if he were here to ask, he'd tell you both places were home for different reasons.  I tend to believe because he had a strong family base in both places which differed from my Mother's experience - when her family left East Liverpool, they left East Liverpool so I sum this up to be that Family for sure is where the heart and home is.


My Mother shared with me her experiences as a teenager and young adult in Oakland and as a teenager she loved the feeling of being Black and she loved being around people that also felt that same way.  I honestly feel that if she had stayed in Ohio she would have never gained that feeling as I see that is what is/was missing in her siblings.  She told me how good Oakland made her feel, like she belonged, even with the problems that come with being a teenager, she belonged.  She admitted that as an adult and right after she had me her drug of choice was popping pills "uppers".  She advised then it was almost the norm as pretty much everyone did something, be it alcohol, drugs - something.  She did this because she was always tired (most new mothers are) and wanted to care for me (as my father ended up being my care giver for the most part).  So she went to using the "uppers" to keep her up and aware.  She knew she needed to stop when she realized she changed my clothes a total of 24 times in one day.  She couldn't understand why I kept crying, but when she hit that 24th mark she figured it out (and the only way she could keep up w/ the amount of times she changed my clothes is because she threw the outfits on the floor after she was done with them).  She quit cold turkey and never returned to drugs. 


My Father she advised dabbled in all types of drugs always the risk taker, but never really became addicted to anything until I was about one, which ended up being Heroin and pills.  She believed that the reason he became addicted was due to a work injury where he lost the tip of his right pointer finger, up to the first joint. He was off work and had nothing to do (and recovering from his injury).  So he would hang with his friends who were also on Heroin and they loved for him to be the one to shoot them up.  She thought they were all idiots because he had just had his finger cut off and they wanted HIM to shoot them up, my Father was always precise so I guess it makes sense (in an ill way).  She remembered people tapping on their West Oakland bedroom window 2-3am in the morning for him to shoot them up.  


So as she was coming down off of the "uppers" she really started paying attention to what was going on with him.  She started scaring off his late night customers and if you weren't family you weren't allowed in our home.  If you were a family member with the drug issue you weren't allowed either.  She didn't know how bad his addiction was, because he was functional.  As I mentioned before he was my caregiver.  I was a pre-pampers baby - which meant I wore cloth diapers.  She said he would wash, air dry and iron my diapers (he didn't trust the diaper services).  He made all of my bottles, washed, dried and ironed all of my clothes, bottles and anything else related to baby.  If it were a Doctor's appointment my mother was just accompanying him, he asked all of the questions, took all of the notes.  She told me right after I was born and before he would go to work, he would write her a list of things to do that day in regard to me and put it on the refrigerator.  My feeding times, down to when to check my diapers.  One would think because of all this my mother had no experience with babies (not true) but I was HIS baby and he wasn't taking any chances, not even with the mother of the child.  She said he would call her every other hour, wanting to know had I eaten, used the bathroom, if I pooped was it healthy, etc.  If he called and she didn't answer the phone, my Grandmother (his mother) would be knocking on the door in about 20min. 


So as she stopped her choice of drug, she noticed how bad his had become, especially with him not working.  She remembered watching him sleep and she'd count the needle marks in his arms.  My Father was always a thin man, but she said he had become gaunt and you could see the bones in his face.  One evening when he came home, she told him either he stopped or he had to go, it was no arguing, yelling just a simple fact - they created this life (me) and either he get it together or let it go.  


He got it together - cold turkey.  Or maybe I should say got it together, but changed the choice which ended up to be alcohol for both of them.  Which once my Parents split, my mother conquered the battle of that shortly after, however it would end up being my Father's demise.


I tell this story, because it is one of the many thousands of Oakland, CA.  I don't believe in "happily ever after", but I do believe in survival and survivors.  My Parents, survived.  I survived.  It didn't break us.  It did effect us, but it didn't break us.  That is why Black is Beautiful, the strength is beautiful.  The chameleon qualities are BEAUTIFUL.  WE are Beautiful. Ashe.

Day 4

okay, yesterday was a bad day.  slipped up a couple of times - BUT - back on track, starting the major detox on Monday.  I just weighed myself and what is weird is I know my eating patterns had changed in the last month or so just because I haven't had a real appetite - 2 out of a 7 day week I'd be extremely hungry, the other days I'd eat just because I know I should.  Well it appears if the scale is correct I lost 15lbs.  That was without even trying.  Now that I'm trying - let's see what will happen.  

-F

Day 3

not as full as I was yesterday morning - hungry actually - keeping it light, maybe a huge amount of fruit this morning...

Day 2

weird but woke up feeling extremely full.  i guess that is a good thing?  I'm going to make the morning the heaviest meal, snack, lunch, snack, dinner, snack - all health and NO MEAT.

May have to have that salad I had yesterday, but do not want to overkill... but it was delicious. lol.

Day 1 evening...

Just need to pick up the water intake. Leaving the meat (flesh as my former boss used to call it) alone has never been an issue as long as I can have seafood. Had a delicious piece of Salmon w/ my salad today. Still full actually; but need to still feed myself.
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Day 1

Weird how you know the things that are good for you - you tend to fight against and the things that are bad you surrender to in reckless abandon.  Today is the day I stop living that way.  I plan on documenting my journey, but knowing me I know that during the valleys I most likely will not do so; but as long as I come out a better me, documentation really isn't the priority.  Ashe.

i am...
still a baby girl
in awe of the answers to my many questions.
random thoughts and ramblings of ought keep my mind always at wonder.
i am
still that teen aged girl
goosebumps attack my flesh, palpitations erect
at the vision of my current hearts desire
i am
still that young woman, unsure about the future
but knows the only answer is to keep pushing upward and onward
i am
Still that vision of the possibility of me
full of wisdom untapped, ability unmapped, quota unfilled.

I AM

- FE, 20ME

Homage...

9 years since i lost my best friend and i'm happy to report that this is the best i've felt since that time.  still miss her like crazy, but grateful to have had her presence in my life - it changed it and i hope that is for the better.  when i think about her now i know she would be so pissed with me for mourning for so long.  but if it was something i could have changed i would have, but some things you can't just blink away.  so this one is for you Brenda Lorre Smith.  the Higher Power has all this designed and yes i was confused for awhile, but as we always reminded one another, it is already written we simply have to play our part.  Rest in Serenity my dear sister, Rest in Serenity. 

R.I.P. Brenda L. Smith April 23, 1969-September 5, 2002

I am here

A day and some hours later... Tired... Neve wear white pants while traveling. ;)

FE
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On Way To Louisiana

Sitting here @ Houston Intercontinental waiting to board my flight to Monroe and then driving to Winnsboro to see family members that I haven't seen in a long time, but more than that to meet the ones I've never laid eyes on.

Excited and a bit nervous (first time stepping foot onto the state). So there is a load of anticipation going on. I've been researching my family for a few days shy of 3 years and kind of upset I won't get a chance to raid every place holding records, but I will do the most important of all of this; finally bond with the people I've only heard stories about and the first place my father recognized his hands, his feet. The first place he smiled, laughed and shed tears. I'll catch the records the next trip. ;)

- FE
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They Come To You In Your Dreams...

There's an African Proverb that states, "Sleep is the Cousin of Death." Now whether that is true or not is debatable, but I've always found that in my dreams life is the most interesting.

I can fly.  I am in most cases happy.  I am a Superhero some evenings or doing amazing things that just don't seem to work while awake.  But more than anything I visit with my family that have passed on and I have to admit that is the most amazing and comforting of all the things that I can do in my dreams.

Last night I was an adult running behind my Grandmother from store to store the way I used to do when I was a kid.  I always give credit to her and my Father for the reason why I walk so fast and have no problem walking.  She used to walk all over West & North Oakland, from shop to shop, funeral to funeral (different story) and my child legs would almost have to run to keep up.  My father was a tall man with long legs so one step for him was almost a complete 3 for me with my youthful legs.  So I'm a fast walker...

Last night I was an adult though, following my beautiful Grandmother from store to store, in between clothes as she picked up this outfit or that outfit.  Some she put up against me to see how it would look, checking out the quality, the cut and stitches used to see if it was something that would fall apart after two washings - or better yet if she could just purchase the fabric and make it herself.

We didn't talk at all, but I followed her around; every now and again she'd turn back to make sure I was behind her and I was.  If I was too far behind she'd give me that stern look that meant if I didn't keep up either a pinch or worse the switch would be a factor when we got home.  Or there would periodically be that look while we waited for a bus that she would lick her finger and then smooth down my eyebrows and give me that Grandmother kiss that would make all in the world great.

Yet last night - I was an adult.  The crappy thing about them coming to you in your dreams at least in my dreams is that I can't speak or at least to her, when my Mother visits we talk all the time.  I don't remember a conversation between me and my Grandmother, just looks of love and the comfort of being in each others presence again.

The alarm lost its mind at 6am on the dot and our time was cut short.  Yet I woke feeling the way I did as a young girl, protected and loved.  Well rested and prepared for whatever today brings.  Yeah, I dig those dreams.

Monday...

At the new gig for a little over a month now. Things are going well. Of course change can be disturbing at times but necessary.

Change is good for me, new experiences, new people, ways of life and ways of thought. Growth.

Sometimes you can get so caught up in the "right now" you lose the ability to just take a step back and view it from all angles, not based on emotion but on fact, truth, reality.

I'm in a good place now... Long time coming, but it feels great.

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Black Power Mix Tape 1967-1975

Today I attended a showing of snippets of the mentioned up coming film and wanted to share my various feelings on the subject and my over all feeling on Oakland.  I did it in video - broke it up into two parts (still learning) so this is my first go at video blogging (and i'm sensitive about my shit)...

enjoy, comment if you like...

Part Deux...

To read more about the Documentary Black Power Mixtape 1967-1975 please visit Black Power Mixtape 1967-1975

New Beginning w/ a New Outlook

A couple of entries ago I mentioned starting a new job, so far everything is going well. More clean up and reorganizing than anything else; but as I do it I keep asking myself why do I continue to work for a paycheck when my heart wants to finally utilize my creativity with history, writing and arts?

So...

I'm going to do what my heart yearns for. My reasons for not doing it a long while ago is because I come from a family of hard workers so the Starving Artist look never appealed to me, but now I'm at a place where I can do both with some organizing and prioritizing. The priority is my heart's desire and finding a way to organize everything else around it.

Yep... FINALLY on the right track.
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leftovers...

i awoke this morning with
what i gather to be a left over
from a dream of you and me
the funny thing is you have no clue
that you wander freely in my mind
and not only in my dreams

this however was different
for some reason this left over
had me visioning you walking
down the street - the only purpose
was to take in everything your beautiful eyes
could capture

for some reason my soul that wonderful
day
decided it was time i catch up to you
and link my arm with yours
and walk in stride with you
my eyes taking in everything
your beautiful eyes see.

as i type this
this Sunday morning
i wonder if it was even a left over
from a dream at all
maybe it was my soul telling me
to get in stride with you
Ashe...

I Want What I Want

Saturday morning evaluating many aspects of my life and I've come to the conclusion, I'm just a ball of confusion.

My eye is on the prize.

The prize - happiness.

The problem?

Me.

I give until it hurts as that is the way i was raised, problem is they never explained how painful that can be.  I'm not talking material here either.  I'm talking of Self.

Bite your tongue when you should let it be free.  Your heart yearns for one thing but your mind tells you something completely different.

Sometimes I wish I was filled with a whole lot of naivete and maybe I could float through life and it not make my head hurt so much, but the veil has been lifted and as easy as it may seem to be naive, the outcome is tragic as to not know is bad and not wanting to know is worse.

See what I mean?  Ball of confusion.

There are people and situations and things that make me Happy.  I'm not ill here.  Still, even with those things that make me happy - the others that don't can crush the happiness real quick.

I dislike unfairness.

I DISLIKE UNFAIRNESS.

I dislike abuse.

I DISLIKE ABUSE.

I dislike ignorance without a light at the end of the tunnel.

I DISLIKE IGNORANCE WITHOUT A LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL.

I say light at the end of the tunnel because I know that not even the smartest of individuals know everything - but they always have that light because they know that there is always more out there.  Some are happy with basking in ignorance.  Some are comfortable in it... and well.  I DISLIKE THAT.

But... who am I to hate on their happiness?

Who am I?

A ball of confusion.

That hates on Happiness that I don't quite get.

So my eyes are on the prize...

I want, I crave Happiness...

The kind I understand
and can bask in
and feel me in
and not feel constrained
confined
just FREE...

woooo SAH...

Last Call

common sense can beat love...
love can make you blind, willing to accept
the unacceptable.
only common sense can accept the fact
that the unacceptable is well
unacceptable.
it is a battle of the wills of course
the heart cries, aches, breaks
common sense challenges the brain
to weigh the pros and cons
the wins and loses
and if there is an imbalance
then it doesn't make sense
common sense

the thing is, true love is not common...
very rare
yet it has its challenges
and yes, i'll be the one to say it -love is not 50/50
i don't care what the romance novels/movies state
some days you love them more than they love you
and they love you more than you love them
but what if...
you can't...
let go?

their name is the first word out of your mouth in the morning
while brushing your teeth
at work in the middle of a project and the thought of them
pops in your mind
yet you know...
or maybe i should say
common sense tells you NO...

no matter the feelings
they can never give you what you need - even when they want to
that even their best is not good enough
not that you are picky
but your needs have to be met
and well
they simply cannot manage to
meet your needs

you also know that you can't meet their needs
as everything in your being is trying to
but to do so is letting go of you
the you they really love
just like you don't expect them to change
prefer that they don't
because they are exactly the way you love them.

i have battled  forever for one love
and the one love i have battled for
simply makes no common sense...

New Job - New Beginnings - New Me?

At the beginning of this year I promised myself I would stop being the one that always compromise and that one of two things would happen with my former job of 14 years.  Either they give me what I deserve or I had to leave.

This was a hard decision to come by, first - I'm attached to my co-workers.  They are my extended family and I always worried about what would happen to them if I left as I was very protective of my staff - but I was going crazy.  To the point of seeing a therapist, discussing depression and how unhappy I was at my job.  I knew they could give me what I wanted, but just didn't want to; and if they couldn't give me what I wanted after 14 years when I knew I deserved it, I refused to let another full year go by with me in the same unhappy position.

So tomorrow - I start a new job.  More responsibility.  Not necessarily what I envisioned my new position to be, but it is a step up and has new possibilities.  I plan on walking in there a new me.  Not internalizing everything.  Do my job and do it well.  Do not let things build up - tell them how I feel straight out and not wait on them to recognize the wonderful job that I'm doing, but point it out periodically explaining that I am not there to sit and stay in the same place - I want advancement, I want achievement.

Is this industry my hearts desire?  No but I'm good at it, but this time I'm going to make sure that I make the time for the things that are my hearts desire.  Learning more (possibly going back to school), writing freely, taking time for me.  Last job swallowed me and I allowed it to happen.  This time I'm doing it my way.

This time...

I'm doing it MY way...

Black Woman That Sees & Hears 2004 Edition

Yes...

She's heard and she's seen

But what about how she FEELS?

Screaming but he can't hear, deaf to her yelling from deep within.  

He worries more about the shape of her ass

instead of the shape of her MIND...

This mind - the one that mothered him and others

before her body learned the meaning of birth.

Man-Child they honor & commend

Woman-Child they overlook and dismiss -

because her job is so common, so ordinary...

They need to recognize how EXTRA-ordinary it truly is...

Carrying, bearing more than her weight - finding strength through the

will of survival...

Again she screams, this time points -

but he can't see, refuses to be shown - his eyes focus on everything but her.

Only when the need between his thighs beg for her to quinch that thirst.

Sad but he views her as his enemy most days, reality

should show him she's the surest thing he's got.

Bitter she becomes, because she starts to realize that her flesh

is what he only desires.  So she over compensates with the Man-Child

she gives birth to, supposedly trying to teach him the right and

wrong way to love a woman.  Not realizing that she is looking for

him to give her what his father couldn't and what her father before

him couldn't give - completion and absolution.  Bitching her 

Man-Child to become her Man or another Man's Man.

Soon the mystery of a woman is lost in the arms of his Momma.  Becoming

his mother's Man & best girlfriend - snapping fingers and looking better 

in Momma's dress than she does.  What mystery is there of a woman

when Momma shares her deepest secrets and pains - 

with an everyday helping of ass on television as frequent as commercials? 

He knows everything before his brain learns to wonder.

Can't ask questions about what he already knows the answers to.  Soon, no man 

around to show him Manhood - he begins to crush & lust after the unknown, what 

Momma has been crying about for so long - a Man.

Yes...

She's finally seeing & hearing...

But can YOU hear HER?  See HER?

LISTEN.... to HER?

How can you when you blame everything on her?

Everything wrong in your world is because of her?

She can't pick you up fast enough,

Let you go just enough,

Kiss your ass right enough,

Bed you down long enough,

Get pregnant not enough,

Listen to everything you say just enough,

Smile and bare it...

ENOUGH!

She's tired...

and everything that you had the right to boast with pride about...

She's lost it...

Can't find it...

No Pride...

No Care...

No More...

She's Blind, Deaf & Dumb

Numb, so numb...

She has a book of things she's done for you -

But she can't carry it anymore...

Brother, all I ask... 

What are YOU going to do?

Sankofa Tattoo

This is the tattoo I got today.  I have two others that I got in my early 20's.  First one is my name w/ a musical note that looks more like an "and" sign.  Real creative I know.  I love music so I thought it was nice - then.  I think I'll get it covered up when I get enough guts to go back. The 2nd tattoo is a heart w/ a peace sign in the middle.  I still like that one.  Now I have this one that has a special meaning to me.  

This bird is the Adinkra symbol for Sankofa which means, "It is not taboo to go back and fetch what you forgot".  Which basically translates to in order to know your future, you must know your past.  Since I'm on a family history/genealogy frenzy - it makes perfect sense.  

The tattoo was painful, but what took my mind off of the pain is thinking of all the pain my ancestors endured in order for me to be here. All the abuse, mistreatment and hard labor this tattoo represents that.  What I also find odd is I happened to have them put it on my arm that I have this long scar from a childhood injury.  If you look closely you can see my scar - this was not by design, I didn't even think of it when I told them to put the tattoo there.  Yet there are no coincidences...

If you haven't visited my blog on my research and stories of my family's history please visit FE's Sankofa Quest.  

July 4, 1976 - Bicentennial - My Independence Day

A Family in Turmoil...

I was seven, excited about the Fourth of July as most kids around my age were.  This is back when you could still purchase fireworks (not the boring safe ones sold today). My favorite were the firecrackers and as much as I enjoyed the firecrackers, they frightened me a bit because my older siblings and cousins used to tell stories of someone they knew who had fingers blown off or eyeball blown out by holding a firecracker too long.  So whenever it was my turn to light one, I in most cases would break off running before I could actually light the firecracker.  Then go back feeling like a coward as my siblings and cousins would make fun of me.  When I would actually light it, I'd damn near kill myself running and tripping from it, so as I sit and type this little ditty about a little girl named Felicia, I start to wonder about those horrifying stories I was told.  Now the finger story may be true, but the eyeball?  I now picture a child just as frightened as I was hauling ass away from it and put their eyeball out in a number of different ways, but a firecracker?  Maybe not.

Well this day the first part of the holiday was celebrated at my parents apartment in West Oakland, CA. Acorn Apartments to be exact.  Our family were some of the first tenants in this complex before all of the craziness begin happening there.  Contrary to popular opinion, in my youth Acorn was a neighborhood, we looked out for one another. Were there drugs?  Yes, but now I live in Foster City, CA and I see regular drug transactions and stealing.  So...................

I remember going to Pond's Grocery Store when I was a kid, they made the best Shrimp Fried Rice.  My mother would send me there to get the Fried Rice, a note to tell them to let me buy her cigarettes and whatever else she needed from there.  My treat for going to Pond's would be a Nestle Crunch candy bar, which at the time cost a big whopping twenty-five cents.

So there was a bunch of us kids during this holiday, running around chasing each other, be it sibling, cousin or neighborhood friend having a good time, yet my distant hearing could pick up on the fact that my parents were having another argument.  As a child I would watch this ebb and flow of my parents relationship, they loved as hard as they fought and yes it could be physical at times.  My father would hurt my mother physically, but she was clever and always knew how to get him back emotionally, mentally and sometimes physically when the Gods of Strength happened to be on her side.  That day felt a bit different though as it seemed that is all they did that day.  I'd go in to get a glass of water, arguing.  Come back a bit later to use the bathroom, arguing.  Ask if I could go to the store, arguing.  It was just different that particular day.

Well as the day started turning into the evening, my father yelled at us kids to get in the car, as he had to take my older siblings home so they could spend it with their mother. Then we were going to Richmond to watch the fireworks on the water (I wonder if they still do that) and then on to my cousin's house where in the evenings is when the adults would do their fireworks, which tended to be more dangerous.  So we piled up in my parents 1975 Monte Carlo (no seat belts, kids sitting on each others laps and headed to Richmond, arguing...

After he dropped my siblings off the arguing intensified and I remember being scared and started to cry.  I kept it silent because if my father heard me, he'd begin yelling at me and would probably not let me see the fireworks - these are the things that run through a 7 year old's mind.  We arrived in Richmond and saw my cousins already parked in the area to watch the show.  The arguing stopped for about 20min, long enough for me and my cousin to get on the hood of the Monte Carlo, sitting Indian style with Kim in my lap to watch the show.  Fireworks start, parents begin arguing again and for the life of me I truly cannot remember what it was about, but it was different. There was venom spilling from each parent's lips and now that I think about it, the wrong fireworks in their eyes.

At the height of the show, my father slapped my mother.  I sat Kim on the car and ran over to stop him (this is what a child in a domestic abuse home does).  She slapped him back and you can see she put everything she had in it, because he was 6'4 and she was 5' on a good day.  As I try to get in between them, my older cousin pushes me out of the way and breaks it up.  I cry not sure why they are fighting, my mother then put me and my sister in the car and rolls down the window smoking cigarette after cigarette.  My father standing outside still yelling, making threats, etc. I'm embarrassed and scared all the other people that came to watch the show staring at us, some leaving.  My mother usually would still be arguing, but she just sat in the car, smoking her cigarettes, staring at my father making an ass out of himself.

Now for some odd reason, they thought it was still okay to go to my cousin's house after this fiasco to do fireworks.  My cousin told my father to ride with him, to hopefully calm him down before we got to their house and my mother followed.  We arrive at John F. Kennedy Manor in Richmond.  My cousin pulls in the parking lot and my father jumps out of the car, my mother had not parked yet, she decided it would be more fun to try to run him down instead.  My mother was on the sidewalk chasing him (he could run) I just remember closing my eyes crying and hugging my sister tight.  Years after this night I remember my mother telling me right before she was about to hit a car to get to him to run him down it dawned on her what this would do to her children.  She kills him, where would we be? They may not have agreed on much, but they did agree on how we should be cared for.  So she backed the car up off of the sidewalk and we went to one of her friends house to stay for the night.

That was the end of my parents marriage and my first day of Independence.  Life for me after that day changed in many ways as if a veil was removed.  We moved from Oakland to Sapulpa, Oklahoma for a year, then on to different parts of southern California for a few years and eventually back to Oakland.  I went to numerous schools, lived in different versions of a family home and each move, each school, each friend gained, each friend lost changed a happy little girl into a child constantly on her toes and finding it very hard to trust.

My relationship with my father changed of course.  He moved on, married again - but he was unhappy.  He was the type of man that had to have somebody, be it good or bad. My mother on the other hand tried to move on, but never could find that fit.  Plus she begin having health problems and being a single mother was always her first priority and she sacrificed a lot for me and my sister.

I on the other hand had to ween myself off of my father.  Things were different now, I had to help my mother with my sister and her health issues.  As much as I loved my father, he felt like the enemy a good portion of the time.  He wasn't there.  Yes, physically he was, but emotionally and mentally he wasn't and I had to step up in areas that he shouldn't have allowed his child to do.

But...

There is forgiveness.  Now I can look at it with an adult's eye, I can see it wasn't all his fault, it wasn't really anyone's fault.  It was just life.  It happened exactly as it was supposed to happen so I could be the person I am today.  There was a lot of pain and misunderstanding and a lot of dysfunction. Yet I'm here, I broke the cycle, I refuse to live like that, I refuse to bring a child into that.  I realize my parents did the best that they could with what they had, so in my mind that makes them great parents.  I never doubted the love - I knew I was loved and as I look over their lives, I realize that they broke some cycles as well, so it all sums up to it being a work in progress.

So this holiday is something different for me - I don't celebrate it for the traditional reasons (which I have issues with, but that is a different blog altogether).  I celebrate it because I survived it.  No matter the confusion and the pain, I made it.  Ashe...

This Too Shall Pass...

5:30ish am on this Thursday morning while I sit and wait on a cab to take me to ATL Airport to take me back home. A lot of things go through my mind. 1st this touchdown will change many things going forward in my life. I'll be on the last leg of employment with a company that I have worked for one month shy of 14 years.

When all the final negotiations went down and how they went down, it clarified something for me - I CAN DO BETTER. My problem was loyalty where there should have been limitations. And to think the final negotiations ended with a piece of e-mail and a text.message, it really let me know where I stood, absolutely no where.

When the realization hit me during a meeting, I sat there for about 10min letting it register, although in my heart of hearts I knew the answer long ago, I guess I just needed that final crack to let it really hit the core.

I got up from the meeting grabbing my belongings as quietly as I could, no one in the meeting could be all the wiser and I went back to my room. Sat on the toilet and I admit to shedding some tears for about three minutes. No screaming and hollering "oh lawdl" just wiped them away and washed my face. Went to my laptop and told the travel agent to book me the quickest flight back to California.

After making that call I immediately started to pack and once that was done, I went and said my goodbyes to the key people that I know I would miss that deserved a better notification than by a mass notice.

Went to dinner with other key people and acted silly with other key people later that evening.

As I always knew it was about the people and not about the company. As I told one of my longest friends here, I leave jobs not relationships.

So am I sad? Who wouldn't be? But I'm more hopeFULL than anything else. It's my job to make me happy, not a company. Although I must admit, the Oakland in me did want to throw up the peace sign and yell "Miss Me Bitchez". ;)
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What To Do on Father's Day When He's No Longer Here?

LIVE - and do something you enjoyed doing with Him. My Father & I loved Aquariums and since I'm in Georgia which has one of the largest Aquariums, I'm living and He lives through me. Happy Father's Day!
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ATL Trip...

okay...

here for training more like brain storming.  little did i know that it would be lightning and thundering and me w/ a summer cold.

it's Friday and I'm stuck here for the weekend alone.  so now i have to figure out what to do to keep me occupied.  Aquarium A MUST... maybe on Sunday, I need to find some cultural things to get into - what's the purpose of being down south without doing that?  only problem is i have to be strategic in my choice and time because Monday is coming around soon and I don't want to be like my mother was the day after watching Roots back in the day.

So I have to seek and hopefully absorb some good stuff that will keep the brain sharp.  Too bad none of my family history links to ATL, that would be great, but I'm sure I have a cousin or two this way. LIGHTBULB... I do have some peeps... I'm always here for business and never have time to visit - but now I do... woo hoo!

The Fish Monkey Story

Sitting here relaxing when I need to be packing, going to work finishing up the pile of work that can't wait until my return.

I know this trip is about work, but I'.m getting excited about finally getting a chance to visit ATL's aquarium.
This love of marine life started as a child, my Father loved to fish and also kept awesome aquariums and a vast library on aquatic life.. (To those reading from my genealogy blog this will eventually tie together). So I've always loved fish in the water and on my plate (okay, a bit ill).

The first memory I have of fishing with my father is actually when we (he) had caught an abundance of Crappie & Blue Gill and it was time to clean them to prepare them to fry with fried green tomatoes and french fries. I had to be about three. And I remember us being at Mama's house (my granny) on her kitchen floor with a bunch of newspaper and brown bags covering the floor. He'd take a fish out of the bucket and hand it to me with a tablespoon and show me how to scale it. Once he figured I had that job covered, that's when he started chopping the heads off of the fish and cleaning them. I'd scale, he'd chop and clean.

As we were doing this I suddenly thought of the fish in his aquarium, how I could go up to that aquarium and stare at them for hours, watching them swim, fight, eat when he dropped some flakes or shrimp in there and I also remembered a time they looked thirsty and I thought I'd share my glass of milk with them (different story, let's just say I got popped and had to take a nap). And I suddenly got real sad as I looked down at the chopped heads of fish. I stopped scaling and he looked at me crazy as if why am I stopping the rotation? I asked him if we were going to eat these fish, were we going to eat my favorite Guppies and his favorite Arawona named Roscoe?

He laughed - hard. Laid all out on Mama's kitchen floor getting fish juice all over the place. And I looked at the fish heads and could of sworn the were still living, their eyes kept moving and in my mind staring directly at me. My Granny got upset with him for laughing at me and kicked him in his side and told him to shut up. She picked me up and took me to the bathroom for a bath, where she explained to me the difference between pets and dinner.

I was cool after that. She told me I could enjoy them both ways and I have ever since. My favorite food is Seafood and I love me a nice Aquarium!

Oh the Fish Monkey story... Well at three I couldn't really pronounce my name Felicia Monique correctly, so when asked my name I'd have a big smile on my face and scream FISH MONKEY ADDISON!
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Going Hatshepsut...

I'm in transition.  I'm good at what I do.  Is it my heart's desire? eh, maybe not, but it pays the bills - and yes I do find some enjoyment out of it.


Yet, I'm constantly overlooked.  A bone is thrown here and there, but nothing that makes me feel I'm truly appreciated and acknowledged for what I do.  I don't know, maybe it's that cocky Aries in me, but dammit - I don't need someone "telling" me all the time, sometimes you need to be shown.  That's like someone that tells you they love you over and over again, but no where, no place do they actually show it.  Plus saying the world love is so simple today, people love everything and it has cheapened the meaning in my humble opinion.


So usually when I feel this way, I either read proverbs or something from one of my Heroes or Sheroes to keep me going, offering me a different view or to offer patience and I have a lot of Heroes and Sheroes. That could be Malcolm X, John Henrik Clarke, Nikki Giovanni, or Maya Angelou.  This time however, I happened to hear Egypt (KMT) on television this morning and since I've always been into Khemetology, I figured I'd zero in on one of my favorite Pharaoh's - Hatshepsut.


To those that do not know who She was (yes She), She was the first female Pharaoh, she took what she wanted.  Not to be greedy or to be a bitch - she did it because she knew it was her calling, her birthright and that she knew she would be good at it.  She had a successful reign, one of the most successful reigns of Khemet. She raised her daughter while raising a nation.  


Now do I equate myself to Hatshepsut? Of course not, yet I've always felt a kinship with this particular Pharaoh.  When you know something about yourself that others cannot seem to see, sometimes you have to show them, put it dead in their faces.  When they view it and finally get it, the world can be a better place, because that has always been your goal, to make things better.  So that's what I'm going to start referring to as Going Hatshepsut. The haters will have their time when I'm dead and gone - the same way they did after she died.  The didn't consider defacing anything with her likeness while she reigned (most punks don't) - so they waited until she was gone.  I can live with that.  Time to step it up and Go Hatshepsut on that ass...

Poetry

I won't say I'm a poet, but I enjoy writing and every now and again, my emotions tell my mind and fingers to write a little something...  This is an oldie and a thought provokie... Me in one of my rawest female states:

Empty

Shivering from the cold…

Old, stiff surroundings

Slight cramp begins to dance up my left thigh

Finding its destination in the middle of my back

This discomfort, outweighing the pain

A sneaky tear wells, dropping from the corner of my left eye

And I begin to realize that I’ll never rub your back

Or rub the tear from your eye

The nurse arrives, just to check to make sure I’m okay

I smile, that smile I’ve smiled so many times

One that assures her that I’m okay

Yet inside, I understand how I’m lying to myself

I feel more wetness between my thighs

Now a sharp cramp

As the tears begin to run swiftly

From both eyes, destination, my cheeks

I attempt to hug myself and close my eyes, slowly and tightly.

Deep in wonder on why I’m losing something

I’ve yearned for

For so very long

I wonder if you would have made it

Would you have looked like me?

Smiled like me?

I planned to do so much not only

With you but for you

I slowly open my eyes, wiping the many tears

And smile

Again, lying to myself

I’ll be okay

Maybe, it wasn’t meant to be

Still, as the pain subsides and I try to find comfort in the discomfort

And I continue to feel the wetness between my thighs

Feeling you slowly slip from me

Dripping and gliding into this white container

I can’t help but ask

Why me?

2004 Copyright FMAddison