mmmm...that's delicious

2011-10-04T13:19:00.000-05:00

I have a close friend. Perhaps my best friend, who is an astoundingly bad judge of character. She seems unable to judge people's true motivations in a majority of cases.

The reason I find this worth mentioning and fairly interesting, is that she is a mental health counselor. Time after time, she has made declarations about situations and people that in the end, turn out to be patently, well, jacked up, for lack of a better descriptive. Always the details and issues on which she focuses, which she assumes are important qualities of said situations or people, I immediately reject as implausible or naive. This has happened in work situations and in personal situations because after all she is my girl and often we give each other advice on various issues in our lives, be they personal or professional.

What I've always found perplexing is that she is always wrong about outcomes and motivations (and by the way, I am usually right). It seems that a counselor, an individual charged with helping others find their way would have a keen sense of these sorts of things.

Upon recent reflexion, however--I have lots of time on my hands lately, what can I say?--what I've determined is that as a counselor, her job is not to determine motivations but rather to help her patient figure them out for themselves. So, being somewhat unattuned to human behavior would be less of an issue.

It still doesn't make sense to me but maybe?

Yes. I have too much time on my hands...

You can go home again.

2011-10-02T00:50:00.005-05:00

I miss this blog. I've been thinking about it for about a week. It's been so long...there's been so much. I don't even know how to catch up. But, this blog feels like home, honestly, this one and another I'd started, that I actually thought had been integrated with this. This is me. They are me. Someday I may even reactivate the other one, who knows.

I feel like I need this space. So I think that, I'm going to keep coming back here and the details of what has been will spill over time. I will get the re-acclimate to this space. I will invite some friends I've met along the way and think that I will grow to love over time. I think that's a good plan. It's a good plan to have no plan.

This blog feels like home. So, now I think that maybe you really can go home again.

See you soon.

2009-03-28T22:57:00.003-05:00

God. It's been an eternity since I've stopped through. The struggles never end in these parts.

I have been writing, thinking, all the rest and it soothes my soul, but goddamnit, it's not enough to pay the bills. The creatin', the formulatin' is not enough to make it all happen for real, for real. So...so...so I have decided to seek a full time job in order to make things so.

I'm OK with that. Now I just have to make that ish happen. I want something in writing or food, which most likely means entry-level, but that's cool. I'm a hustla, sometimes a reluctant one, but a hustla nonetheless.

In other news, I am in the mix yet again. Feels funny to have so much after K. I thought there would be nothing, could be nothing, no one, after K. But then there was Hurricane Ike and now this one. I don't know what to say about it. It feels like nothing but just when it's nothing, it starts to feel like something, not quite everything, but something. Something that has the capacity to be everything if I would let it. I don't know if I will let it.

I'm poor.

2009-01-14T22:27:00.002-06:00

Things are moving. This is good. I think, this time, that I am moving at the same speed. I still feel that three-steps-forward-two-steps-back vibe lingering. But I've got it under control.

2009-01-03T12:26:00.004-06:00

I have been in my house cleaning (kind of), lounging (lots of), and reflecting since. New Year's Day. The phone hasn't rung...

That's not really different from before but I feel different. I feel like, well, I don't know, but I feel a little like I did back in Paris when I never knew what was going to happen next. It's just a little less extreme.

I am working on my new blog now, wanting to start it off with a review of a couple of books. I am also realizing that I'm probably going to have to come up with my own design for the site that will be home to another project I'm working on, because things don't feel right with the current arrangement. I don't want to end up in a similar situation to one that thrust the new project entirely on my shoulders in the first place.

I have three articles on tap with two completed holdovers from 2008 that should be published in the coming weeks. I'm hoping to get at least one pitch out the door every other week or so and get creative about work.

It's good to be motivated and focused on the inside again now I just have to channel it to the keyboard of my trusty MacBook.

The World Is Mine In 2009...

2009-01-02T15:40:00.006-06:00

Yesterday a local disc jockey declared that each time he played a new song and urged each caller on the line to repeat it each time he happened to be on the phone.

I say amen to that bruva!

2008 was a bitch. It really never let up, at least not for me. I learned a lot and noticed after all that I made a lot fewer mistakes than I have in the past although there was something of a doozy along the way. But otherwise, I can hold my head up. Once again no regrets...it's the third year running that I can say that. Last year I lived to my own beat and wasn't ashamed or confused at the end of it all. I moved on through.

There was the brush with (and adjustment to) poverty, readjusting to the majority and the work-a-day world (part-time at least), the Tempest Ikechukwu, and realizing my own power and ability to stand up for myself.

I learned that the strength and power of art is mine if I care to harness it. I was captivated unlike never before, by the possibility of Black Love and reminded how sweet it can be and how much it can sting, courtesy of a man with smooth dark skin the color of molasses and a voice so deep that, oooh, let me stop....

Anyway, I have plans for 2009. The world is mine, well, always, but in 2009, I'm going to get back to living like I mean it.

2008-11-17T17:27:00.004-06:00

After a week of wound-licking I am feeling much better. It could have something to do with the fact that the sun is also streaming into my windows, there is certainly nothing like sunlight to perk up a mood. I learned that after living in Seattle for two years!

I originally started this post a day ago and it began something like:

"Everything in my life sucks right now..." Wow. Amazing. To cut myself some slack, I have had a pretty rough summer/fall in terms of personal, family, and work life. I am still feeling uncertain about many things but my head is clearer now and I can see the proverbial path in the woods; I've been on it all along actually.

Now other than a painful lack of finances (no contracts anywhere in sight) I am alright. I will just keep moving forward, because right now it's a little too much to try to figure out when and where to change direction. But you know, as long as it's not backward, I'm pretty sure I'll be ok.

2008-11-15T10:58:00.000-06:00

FUUUUUUCK.

Back in touch

2008-11-14T17:32:00.005-06:00

Never do these but found this in my Internet travels. Perfect to get me back into the swing of things, I'll call it Me In a Word:

Yourself: smoldering 
Your partner: nonexistent  
Your hair: corkscrew-y  
Your mother: strongwilled  
Your father: wounded 
Your favorite item: stone 
Your dream last night: unmemorable 
Your favorite drink: tangy  
Your dream home: old-fashioned  
The room you are in: cozy 
Your fear: childlessness  
Where you want to be in 10 years?: Paris  
Who you hung out with last night: myself  
What you're not: weak  
Your best friend: quirky 
One of your wish list items: stereo  
Your gender: female  
The last thing you did: examined 
What you are wearing: slacks 
Your favorite weather: rainy  
Your favorite book?: Song of Solomon  
Last thing you ate?: hummus  
Your life: full 
Your mood: agitated  
The last person you talked to on the phone: Catherine 
Who are you thinking about right now?: me

2008-11-02T18:10:00.004-06:00

I find myself back in a position where I don't want to be. But truthfully I'm not sure if that's where I am. Makes no sense, I know.

I've changed lots in the past few years, I broke out of these patterns that saw me receiving the very minimum from those around me and strangely wanting more and more rather than stopping surveying the various situations and moving on or forcing change in them. Change of myself, that is, I always stayed put and always got nothing. My needs were never met, I was never satisfied, I was never...

Now I fear that I could get myself back into the same situation if I'm not careful. So tonight I am stuck. I hate feeling stuck. I'm here because of my own mistakes, granted, but that doesn't make it any easier. Maybe I'll go to bed with a book, rest, cry, rest, then awaken refreshed (with any luck) and ready to move on.

2008-10-13T15:36:00.002-05:00

I had dreams Saturday and Sunday about... I hate that. I don't want to say that out loud, which is why I'm writing it. I felt like I had to let it out of me. Is that weird, like it's a secret or something...

Stupid.

I don't feel like the door is closed but I'm not sure it's open either. Does that make sense?

It feels like the experience is hanging out there open-ended in the universe, where perhaps it will float into infinity or not. I hate that. I liked it before, just before everything. My mind was free, clear, unfettered by thoughts of...for the first time, maybe ever. I want that back, goddammit.

I've gotten to a point in my life where I really like the feel of certainty. Clean breaks. Cut and dry-ness, if you know what I mean.

But I keep seeing snow falling from my window sitting with...watching and waiting.

I don't like that.

Clean breaks.

Endings...happy or sad...just done.

Friends! Art. Life. Love?

2008-10-11T20:26:00.004-05:00

So far this weekend three people who I adore have called me. It was all totally unexpected and wonderful since I had no plans and it's the first weekend in about a month that I've been home alone or home at all. So, I feel good today after a tough couple of weeks. I love the friends I have and the relationships I've managed to cultivate with them. I don't feel so alone anymore because of them. More importantly they are all sounding well. That makes me happier than anything.

I finally brought the second of three pictures that I had framed home and it looks okay. The third is still being finished and will probably be there for awhile because it's a bit pricey. But I look forward to it coming home when it does. I now have a couple of more pieces I want framed. We'll see. It's kind of expensive but worth it. Now my house is filled with art but honestly, I don't have enough wall space now. But when I head back to Paris I plan to find a place with plenty of wall space for my treasures.

Life is still moving along rather sluggishly but with promise, at least I think. It's both exhilarating and horrifying to think that the direction my life will take is all up to me. I have wish I had a genie in a bottle to shape a few events or that there was a scroll somewhere that I'll discover that will tell me what's next. But really I suppose I like the mystery of it all. The only thing I'd really like to be set on is the whole family and kids thing. I want them both desperately, but is any of that in store for me? I think I want to marry Pete Rock, I'm cute and smart and talented. He'd like me. Can anyone hook me up out there?

As for love. What to say. I'll talk about that some other time.

2008-10-05T20:20:00.004-05:00

It is definite. That thing has completely slipped through my fingers. Perhaps it was never destined to be...

That's okay. It feels okay. I made a big mistake this time around and I won't again. I won't again.

On the other hand, I had a fantastic weekend. I spent it with old friends, with whom, if I am lucky, I will keep in touch. At least with a few of them. I'd love to keep a few of them in my back pocket, so to speak.

Additionally, I just had a really big steak. It was delicious.

So, time to move on.

Yeah. Time to move on.

2008-10-01T23:23:00.003-05:00

In the past two weeks I just had something that I think I wanted slip through my fingers. Mostly because of me. I wasn't ready for it, I think. I say I think because I am uncertain about a few things. In any case, here I am where I started and for the first time ever, I am okay with that. It's damn hard, but I am not devastated. I do not feel like I have to reconstruct myself or my life in a different way and start over completely.

That is a very good thing.

I wish I had gotten what I wanted. I'm a little annoyed that I have to keep pushing now, because I thought it could have been pretty good in the grand scheme of things. It was challenging. For the first time, a challenge that kept me interested, engaged, on my toes. It was fun and definitely a learning experience.

So I am happy I had the experience but ready to try out the next thing that has come up for me. It should be good. We'll see where it goes.

2008-09-29T18:23:00.004-05:00

It rained all day today. Autumn is here. I really love this weather. This is the time of year that most people find very difficult. You know: the days are shorter, the temperatures are cooler, and the holidays are right there. But I love this time of year, perhaps because it's my birthday season.

I am looking forward to the holidays and may even go to my parents' home this year, breaking the solemn vow I made about seven years ago never to spend another holiday with them at their home. We shall see. I am looking forward to preparing something grand for one or both of our holiday meals since Christmas was such a success last year.

With that, my novenas are burning and I've implored the intercession of Santa Clara and the Seven African Powers. The least I could do is hold up my end of the deal by doing some work.

A la prochaine...

2008-09-26T17:18:00.002-05:00

So much has changed in my life since last Wednesday. I think it has changed anyway.

I am left here wondering how life moves the way it does and how we get pushed along the way we do. How we forget, remember, or fail to realize who we are, where we are, what we are, or even what we need to do sometimes.

One thing is certain about life. You never know what will happen. I certainly didn't.

2008-09-24T07:19:00.002-05:00

The past week has been a nightmare. Personally and professionally, I have been smacked around like a ball in a pinball machine. Lots of what has happened is my fault and I know that I have to get it together. I am on that path now and I have made a promise to myself to stay on it.

Can't say much else at this point.

I have to make some time though for baking. I have a Daring Bakers assignment and really baking just helps keep me balanced. We'll see what I can whip up.

2008-09-12T22:11:00.002-05:00

I am wicked tired of being poor. Excuse that slip back into the nostalgia of my childhood in New England.

Seriously though, I am.

I need to get cracking. I'm trying, there is no doubt. Just not hard enough. Now I am having trouble with focus because in my free time, my thoughts often drift and I spend time reflecting on my new *ahem* situation and how I managed it all. Everything is good and I'm actually really fulfilled emotionally for the first time, perhaps ever, so I guess using that as an excuse is no longer an option.

What else can I say right now. Nothing, I guess, so, signing off...

PR saves my Soul...

2008-09-08T10:06:00.012-05:00

I ran across this on youtube after doing a search for Pete Rock:

I had never purchased any of his solo material because, well, I don't know why. But PR is the most amazing hip hop producer. I would say that he could easily produce across genres if he so desired. He is a true artist.

No other producer comes close, there was Dilla (R.I.P.), 9th Wonder, and of course, Premo, but Pete still reigns supreme.

His work is complex and subtle. I have been inspired to develop some sort of tarte in his honor. Don't know what I will call it, but I'm envisioning chocolate, textures, a hint of salt, caramel, maybe hazelnut...to the kitchen. With PR playing in the background, of course.

Waiting

2008-09-03T19:00:00.004-05:00

I'm waiting for my date to arrive. Sounds weird after so long.

But really, I got ready for this, nothing special, but I realize just how much work this shit takes.

Showering, I mean really showering, not one of those in and out kind of things. You just can't be crusty when you're dating. And it's not even like I ever really am crusty, but you have to take extra care.

You can't have crazy toenails or rough feet. You have to clean behind your ears, floss, handle all of those cracks and crevices, all of that. Again, not that I don't normally, but it matters when you're interacting with others and not just someone you want to, well, you know...

Anyway, it's crazy. I forgot after all of these years being unfulfilled/with one person that it's exciting and takes work.

More importantly, I am learning that there are normal people out there. That is to say, sociopaths are not the norm.

But now, I have to run, because I forgot to floss...

2008-09-01T22:57:00.004-05:00

Let the stroll-walking commence...

Oooh And I Like It...

2008-08-27T17:03:00.010-05:00

I met a man.

I met him awhile ago very briefly, in passing, actually, at the a place where I worked. We ran into each other recently... He is Nigerian and has the deepest voice I think I've ever heard, and I love that. Anyway, although I generally try to avoid Nigerians, (I'll just say CRAY-ZAY and leave it at that), he is quite interesting. I suppose his being hot and chocolate-y has something to do with it too.

Anyway, when he talks I get tingly, literally. I'm going to have to look that up, I mean, attraction, deep voices...there is definitely no shortage of testosterone in his world.

This could be trouble, the voice alone could have me walking that stroll if I'm not careful.

That thing revisited...

2008-08-23T20:20:00.003-05:00

False alarm...there's nothing to see here, folks.

That thing revisited...

2008-08-20T17:30:00.002-05:00

Oh no.

2008-08-16T20:54:00.002-05:00

I keep seeing bees....

I hope they are honey bees.

R.I.P. Bernie Mac

2008-08-16T08:01:00.007-05:00

I'm late on this.

Well, I guess you can never be too late on paying tribute to someone...

Today a public memorial is being held for Bernie Mac and I can't go because I have to work. I still am having a hard time with his death and I am so disconnected from celebrities. But truly, I feel as though a member of my own family has died. I just think he was an immensely underrated talent who never relied on waxing nostalgic superficially or buffoonery to make his audiences laugh. God, I will miss him and as many others have undoubtedly done this week, I plan to have some milk and cookies in his honor today.

the arthritic toe

2008-08-12T18:28:00.005-05:00

i have been sidelined the past two days thanks to an arthritic toe. it hit me out of no where. and while i don't exercise nearly enough (read: at all) i have an almost uncontrollable urge to jog. of course, right now I am sitting soaking my foot in a pot (don't have a basin) of hot water heavily spiked with apple cider vinegar. pathetic.

i am feeling my age today. mostly because i think this toe may have a touch of "the gout," as the old folks would say. i think this is mostly due to a surgery i had years ago and an injury to the ankle of the same foot two years ago. anyway, here i am with a swollen foot soaking in a pot of smelly hot water thinking "oh my god, i think i have gout." sigh. i am limited today, my mobility is limited and the possibility of having what may be the beginnings of an incurable (sometimes degenerative) disease are both very sobering concepts with which to grapple.

i'm choosing now to embrace this poor toe...rather than allowing it to depress me i have decided to use it as a catalyst to be healthier. that really means exercising and less sugar for me.

...i have been witness to the declining health of those that i love for too long now, and while i am not disgustingly unhealthy or even remotely abusive to my body. i don't want to follow down that path. i need to treat it better.

i know i am not old, but today i feel limited and with the death in recent days of the incomparable bernie mac followed by isaac hayes, i am keenly aware of my mortality and the fragility of life and good health.

it's time now, toe.

What is happening?

2008-08-07T12:24:00.004-05:00

I'm so upset right now; I am emotional but...

I can't cry, I only sigh...and SIGH. The tears just won't come. WHERE ARE MY TEARS?!?

I am hungry but...

I can't cook and I can't eat; there is a taste in my mouth and I can't identify it.

I am so stuck right now but...

I can't unstick. What will it take? I just don't know.

I'm so alone right now but...

I'm not. But I am.

I have so much to say but...

I don't know how.

I have so much to do but...

I don't know where to start.

Maybe I will take a nap.

Jesus be a basic English writing class...

2008-08-05T14:06:00.006-05:00

This is why I no longer teach:

"Shopping days at the supermarket are a drag when the sun is shinning (sic) and the cool, cool pavement is there for the taking."

I don't know either.

This gem is courtesy of a student in the food writing class I teach, a mere five class meetings have confirmed unequivocally that teaching makes my ass tired (another of my Grandmother's sayings, God I miss that woman!).*

Anyway, Jesus might also consider being a thesaurus, a dictionary, and a grammar reference book for good measure.

Thank goodness tonight is the last night. At least it will look impressive on my CV.

*By the way the stress is on the word ass, which gives it this delicious new sense that connotes a condition or affliction one is experiencing called "tired ass" at least that's how I always imagined it as a kid when my Grandmother would say it.

Ennui

2008-08-05T10:18:00.004-05:00

You know, I hate counting on other people for stuff. Really. This is both a strength and a weakness of mine. I sometimes find myself isolated and even struggling because I don't reach out. Actually I often forget entirely to reach out and it's largely because I have encountered so few people in this life who I can count on, friends and family alike.

I've met a few who are down for whatever (within reason, of course) and I cherish them, but it's taken a long time. Still, even with them, I have trouble laying down my burdens, my armor, etc. and letting them help. I know that it also has to do with control but that's another story. In any case I am at a point where I am not only waiting for others but I am also squandering my own time and energy. I'm in that cycle again. I'm a little stuck.

The Lake

2008-08-03T09:56:00.012-05:00

First and foremost, hello to all of the Daring Bakers who are stopping by. I'm sorry I there are no posts of the July challenge, I just didn't get my arse in gear in order to make it happen. But this month, I just can't wait, it's going to be fabulous, so come back, come back!!

Now, here I am, I have been struggling the past couple of weeks. Not with the calmness of life right now, but rather with the storm of thoughts whipping through my head about the future. Today, another horoscope:

Scorpio (Oct 23 - Nov 21)
You have been thinking about your future long enough. You may be sick and tired of going around on the same mental loops as you attempt to create something different from the life you currently have. Instead of fighting against the resistance you feel, try letting go of the attachment that you have to any long-term goals. You may be pleasantly surprised at what happens when your mind is freed from previous expectations.

I hate it when these things are dead on. I'm not even a horoscope junkie. Anyway, the gist of my malaise (in spite of the calm) these days, is that all that I'm envisioning is within reach but there's so much from here to the final destination, that I feel overwhelmed and slightly disheartened. I have my own allegory for life change (or any kind of change), which is the lake. I thik I may have dreamed this initially and it has stuck with me over the years. It comes into my head at times like those I am experiencing now and shit, I kind of hate it. Here it is:

I am first standing on the shore of a lake in a forest, looking at the other side, knowing that where I want and need to be. The surroundings are absolutely beautiful and pristine, but there is no boat, no canoe, no other way to the other side accept swimming across. The other part of this is, I really don't like swimming in natural bodies of water, I have a mild phobia. Anything where I can't see to the bottom, you won't find me. Additionally, I am not to fond of standing on the bottom of these bodies of water because anything could be buried/living in the dirt or sand (this stems from a childhood incident that has morphed into a fear that straddles the mild and the irrational), but I also would not want to stand on the bottom of a natural body of water that I couldn't see in. So the point is that I begin to realize that my only option is to dive in and begin swimming. As I continue swimming until I realize the other side is much further than I thought from the shore, but I keep swimming. Soon I stop and I am treading water in the middle of the lake, I look around to find that I am alone there--no one on either shore and no one in the water. I continue to tread and survey the situation. I begin thinking about what I will do, because my destination is still damn far away from me at this point and the water is cold and murky and I'm getting a little afraid because I don't like water like this. I look back where I came from. 'Should I just head back?' is what I think to myself. I contemplate for a while, I seriously consider turning back and finally I decide to move forward. I tell myself that I've come too far to turn back, I will have expended all of that effort and energy for nothing and that would be the failure. Especially when the reason I'm considering heading back is simply that the rest of the journey will be long and difficult. So I take a breath, and begin swimming again, even as fear of the murky water begins to creep into my consciousness.

The moral: the difficulty or complexity of a task is generally not reason enough to quit. And I live my life like that because unfortunately that's how I was raised and I have lots of pride when it comes to this whole thing. Fuck.

Why do I hate it? Because being trifling is generally so much easier. My life would be less complicated if I was trifling and sorry.

But, I'm not. DAMN IT! (*said with a measure of regret*)

Maybe I should go and pick up some water socks in case I happen to briefly hit bottom while I'm out in the middle of that lake swimming to shore.

Astrology today

2008-07-29T22:23:00.003-05:00

Here is my horoscope.

Hmmm, words to live by...

Don't just shamble down to the pizzeria and gobble a slab of greasy cheese, tomato sauce, and dough. Instead, arrange for an interesting person who likes you to home-deliver a pizza lovingly prepared by a gourmet chef. For that matter, Scorpio, don't tolerate mediocrity or the lowest common denominator in any area of your life. The Season of the Peak Experience is here -- a time when you have a sacred duty to give your best, commune with the highest, and ask for excellence.

2008-07-24T13:52:00.005-05:00

Life and work are both at a stand still right now, with me feeling mostly like I'm being played.

But by what? By whom?

Maybe this is the calm before the storm and soon all hell is going to break loose. That is the scenario that has unfolded most frequently in my short but rather intensely lived life. However, I am no longer the drama magnet that I used to be, so maybe....

Maybe I should just think of this a period of rejuvenation. Not a prelude to anything just a period of soaking it all in and being...

I'll just enjoy living right now.

____________

Clear Conversatin'...

2008-07-21T13:58:00.003-05:00

I have been learning some valuable lessons about business communication. I always thought I handled myself well, in a no-nonsense-cut-to-the-chase kind of way with a little friendly, warmth tossed into the mix for good measure. Now, I'm starting to think not.

After a morning of phone calls and contact over the weekend with a somewhat arrogant and abrasive group of people who I thought were out of my business horizon (and life) forever, I am beginning to reevaluate myself.

In trying to become a better communicator I have let the pendulum swing back a little too far. Where once I gave inadequate information, I now tend to over-explain and I don't know how I got here or how to find a balance or if I'm just a little sensitive today.

To be continued...

That Thing...

2008-07-19T23:30:00.005-05:00

Why do I always feel that there is so much to do? Is there really? I mean, really?

In this case yes.

I have given myself another year before heading to France for good; I think I said that.

I know that the coming days will be filled with thinking, planning, excitement, self-doubt, and of course, WORK.

There is so much work to do that I may even forget those aspects of life that seem to have gone perpetually undone all of these years. I may forget the yearning for that certain something that I've come to believe will evade me for the rest of my days. I won't name "that thing" it's better that way.

Feed Your Mind...Part 2

2008-07-17T20:36:00.012-05:00

I'm trying to read again. So that I can finally honor my intentions that led me to forgo buying/hustling a television set. I got some reading done, earlier this year. Made a list, you know. Then, of course, it fell by the wayside. I let life (and trife) get in the way...So I'm back at it.

It pains me to say that I've only completed one of the books on the list to follow and the others I'm juggle simultaneously...

Completed:

Perfume - Patrick Suskind

Reading Simultaneously:

Suite Francaise - Irene Nemirovsky

A Lover's Discourse - Roland Barthes

Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy

Last Report On The Miracles at Little No Horse - Louise Erdrich (love. her.)*

Planning to Start:

Ralph Ellison - Arnold Rampersand

(and of course all of the rest of the books on the list from February I still haven't gotten to...)

Perfume. What can I say other than I was a bit disappointed. In the end it just kind of spun out of control and lost me. Left me wondering, much as I always do after intense exposure to 'German-ness' what's really going on up in that piece? Anyway, this book started out brilliantly. What an amazing story and story teller in Patrick Suskind. However, the cave episode almost lost me and the bizarre and rather 6th-grade-language-arts-class-special-Halloween 'scary'-story-assignment ending was too much and not enough all at once. Sigh. That's literally what I did upon finishing. I was waiting to be scared out of my pants. It could have happened too, but...

Wait! I just remembered in my guilt that I've been reading quite a bit. As a favor to a friend, I agreed to become a reader for a local literary journal. I have read at least 50 short stories in the past three months. I have also read quite a few essays written by food writers in preparation for the class I am teaching. Remembering that allows me to feel much better about my reading life. I had to say that out loud to make myself feel better!

Anyway, my plan is to finish all of these books listed above by summer's end. Except maybe A Lover's Discourse. That is truly one to consult periodically as circumstances dictate. I may also hold off on Ralph Ellison until the fall, I don't know that I'm in the right frame of mind for a 625+ page account of the life of a brilliant yet self-hating negro. It's summertime for goodness sakes! We'll see about that one.

I'm going to have to make a plan.

*Ahhh...the prolific and fabulous Louise Erdrich. Along with Toni Morrison, a writer idol of mine, though I am now four books behind. I still have The Master Butcher's Singing Club, Four Souls, The Painted Drum, and the latest: The Plague of Doves to savor.

2008-07-17T14:57:00.004-05:00

Here in the Chi, it's hot as all get out...

We're in the midst of another week long stretch of ninety degree temperatures and some very serious humidity. Actually, I have to say again, it's really not that hot (low nineties, which I can handle) but with the humidity, it can get to be too much to bear.

So, I am trying to do what I can to stay sane and trying not to turn on the air conditioner. I have two fans running. Sometimes I wonder, if 2 fans = 1 air conditioner on medium/low. Who knows.

I have finally gotten the copy written for my business website and I'm hoping that gets up and running soon.

Now, I'm about to start polishing the copy that I've written for my writer's site. A good friend of mine, who I've known for ages, is going to design it for me. I know it's going to be great. I'm really excited.

These days, I don't have the most exciting news, but that feels good. No real drama and the kind that's in my life now, is good, or will be in the end.

All is well...

Making my way...

2008-07-11T19:06:00.006-05:00

This week two shitty things happened. Two clients flaked on me, which is really par for the course in my business, if you'll excuse the trite expression. That means almost $1000 that may never see my bank account, but truthfully, I think it may have been for the best. I say this because another family situation has arisen and it has made me realize how far I've come personally (emotionally) and professionally in the last few years.

As much as I need the money and the exposure and pieces for my burgeoning portfolio, I know that the two people who bailed out, one callously and selfishly, the other weakly and sneakily, taught me a valuable lesson. One is the relative of a dear friend and the other I made contact with and we were on the road to being friends, but she needed work for her business and it seemed the perfect fit. I was wrong. Anyway, I've learned two things (and maybe I'll add to this list as time passes and I reflect more on the situation):

1. Don't do business with friends or relatives. Now I can't make that a hard and fast rule, because I'm doing business with a friend but we are working more as partners. Perhaps I should say here, don't provide goods or services to a friend or relative in the context of a business transaction.

2. If people are bad clients, that is to say, pushy, rude, selfish, lacking boundaries, weak, or passive-agressive, you don't want them in your life anyway, in any capacity. I'm going to also go out on a limb and say that they probably exhibit these same characteristics in their personal relationships to a greater or lesser degree.

A few years ago, I might have lamented this whole situation. I would have analyzed it to death and thought of it as a personal reflection on me. I certainly wouldn't have reacted the way I did, which was to immediately get angry in a flash that passed as quickly as it came upon me. I then gave the deadbeats a few choice words and moved on to the next.

So far in this business I've had people from all walks of life flake out on me: a wanna-be celebrity chef in L.A., a couple of well-meaning but slightly provincial "ghetto executives," the editor of a fairly well-known magazine, and now these two. It's always tough too take and I imagine there will be many more and I will spend more time licking my wounds than I did this time around. Overall, however, I'm proud that I've gotten to a place in my life where I see no other option but to put myself out there. Now, I feel like I don't know how to live any other way.

I like that.

Summer Fun

2008-06-28T23:57:00.004-05:00

Went to the Taste of Chicago today. Saw Stevie Wonder, ate Colombian food.

It's true, food and music unite the masses.

Make my day...

2008-06-28T22:00:00.005-05:00

Here are seven very good things that have happened in the last week:

1. Yesterday, I took the plunge and took art that I bought long ago (real art not mass-produced posters) to be framed. I went to a place on Chicago Avenue called April 7s Custom Framing. The owners were fabulous and when I walked in one of their dogs greeted me by licking my toes--sounds gross, but it was actually very sweet. Should have known I was in the right place then. Anyway, three pieces will be beautifully framed and ready to travel with me wherever I may go. All for the bargain price (?!?) of $987.00, to be paid in installments (lots of installments) of course. I highly recommend then for anyone who has finally purchased a real couch of their own and is interested in taking that next step!

2. I finally got in touch with a man who's planning to open an Algerian pastry shop here. Exciting. I'll head to his cafe next week for chakchouka, merguez, mint tea, and great conversation next week.

3. I realized that I am ready to get back out and try dating again. Don't know how I'm going to do it, but I'm sure going to try. It seems to daunting. But really how long can a sista lick her wounds?

4. I finally found a part time job! Yea! Now, I'll always be able to pay my rent, which is nice. Most importantly I can start looking for a new apartment with confidence. Although I'd rather be looking for my ticket to move abroad. Soon enough, soon enough...

5. In a comment on one of my articles for The Root a reader encouraged me to write a book. Oh, I'm feeling the love, yes I am!

6. I officially have my first two clients. Things are moving along.

7. I found someone to braid my hair!

My Latest on The Root...

2008-06-26T21:56:00.005-05:00

I am a contributor to The Root, which is an online magazine with a focus on all topics, issues, concerning black people, which means it focuses on everything. It's a great online publication and a sister to Slate, which I also love. Awhile back, another article I wrote was picked up by Slate, which means it was on the Slate.com website too. Check that one out here.

I like this latest article. It's really helping me explore the topic of food in the African Diaspora. While I have been focusing largely on the Americas, I'm exciting to explore the Diaspora of Europe and other regions and I'm also really excited to explore the food of North Africans and other groups not typically associated but inextricably part of the African Diaspora. After all, North Africans are African, but that's another post entirely, I won't get into that here. Both of the articles I have written and a few upcoming topics are helping me organize my thoughts about a book or series of essays I hope to write. A study of the food of the Diaspora is long overdue and I just can't wait to get writing, researching, and tasting in earnest!

I'd love to hear comments and reflections on the topic. Please share your ideas about cross cultural connections of food and ingredients here or at The Root at either of my articles.

Check out my latest on the topic here.

By the way, that photography is all mine too!

Paris, mon amour...

2008-06-24T01:17:00.000-05:00

I think that I have made the decision to stay put one more year, as much as I want to go back to Paris tout de suite. I came back for love and to get my mind right. Now that my mind's right I feel like the rest will follow or maybe not and if not, that's alright, because, of course, my mind's right.

What I am trying to do is build my writing business so that I can live like I live here there, if that makes sense. It's going slowly and right now I'm feeling not so surely, and boy I miss my spot.

I miss the smells and the sounds of Paris. I miss the neighborhoods where I hung out and my soul opened up again. I miss walking around Chateau Rouge trying to find a place to get my hair braided. I miss my mint tea and my patisseries. I miss my movies any time of day or night. I miss my favorite cafe off the boulevard Saint Michel, surprisingly devoid of tourists. I miss my walks through Pere Lachaise where I could reflect undisturbed. The dead generally mind their own business...

I miss the fine men, the flirting, the hustle and bustle, the sophistication of it all that makes Chicago look like a podunk backwater and even New York (a little bit). I miss it. I miss eating scrambled eggs sprinkled with a bit of Emmenthaler that taste like heaven. Like no other eggs anywhere. I miss my cafe creme and my cafe haunts. I miss my favorite bookstore on rue Saint Maur and I miss eating the ambrosial mammoul found at La Grande Mosquee de Paris.

I miss going to the Louvre at night and that stretch on the metro ligne 6 (that's Charles de Gaulle Etoile and Nation) between the Dupleix and Bir Hakeim stops at night. Each time you ride at night and reach that point and see the Eiffel Tower lit up you lose your breath, you forget how beautiful, how seductive it all is. You are reminded at that point each time of where you are, not that you could ever forget.

God. I have to get back home.

Fine As Wine In The Summertime...

2008-06-23T10:02:00.004-05:00

My dad used to say that all of the time when I was a kid...

while buying tomato sauce at a supermarket not far from my house, i saw, one of the most handsome men i've ever seen. hmmmm. he and his friend comported themselves well in our brief exchange (that consisted of only of a hello). too much. still thinking of him the next day...

El Raton

2008-06-20T21:20:00.009-05:00

Okay, this is the jam...

I mean not of this genre, but perhaps of all time. Seriously.

Here's the live version of Cheo Feliciano's classic "El Raton" performed by the Fania All-Stars in Africa in 1974 I think. If you can get the original do that too, but this is awesome, really, everyone. In this clip there's Johnny Pacheco, Cheo Feliciano, Jorge Santana, Ismael Quintana, Ismael Miranda, Santos Colon, Hector Lavoe, and I think, Ray Baretto might be in it too.

Seriously, stop playing, the jam of all time.

I can count on one hand the number of musicians in any genre who get down like this anymore.

Summer Lovin'? Not so much...

2008-06-19T22:06:00.005-05:00

Today I had an appointment for which I was, of course, running late. At least I thought I was so I decided to take a cab from my neighborhood in Ukrainian Village to the Chicago/Franklin area in River North. I got into a cab with who I thought was a chocolate-ly love muffin, tall with dark smooth skin; as I surveyed the situation from the back seat I decided that together with his cab driving-salary and mine from freelancing gigs that we could make a good life together. Then about two blocks into the ride, I noticed he was listening to Rush Limbaugh. "Rush Limbaugh!" I shrieked. He asked me slightly condescendingly (I now realize) if I knew who RL was. "Of course," I responded "the real question is: 'Do you know who he is?'" (perhaps equally condescending on my part) The conversation progressed (devolved) and shifted to women somehow and he stated that he would love to come back in his next life to be a woman, because all we do is lie around at home with men buying us things, paying our bills and taking us out to eat, while men work hard. He informed me that he works 12 hours a day driving. He was outwardly hostile and I thought to myself and of course informed him that he might want to rethink the company he keeps. By that time I'd arrived at my destination. In parting I let him know that dealing with crusty ass negroes (and I use that term as a catch all for men of all races and creeds) is a full-time job in and of itself.

I was feeling sassy, what can I say?

I was really struck by the experience, he was so vehement about it and in that short exchange, I could feel how venomous and bitter his attitude was about women, what he feels they represent, and his relationship to them. All I kept thinking is that if he is with someone right now, he beats her ass on the regular. Not so nice.

Later in the afternoon I went for a walk. I decided to go buy some plantains and I wanted to try once again to make a pot of arroz con gandules. I never quite get it right, but I thought 'I'll go pick up the gandules and some sausage, and I'll take my time with it.' So I headed out.

Now, I must offer this bit of information, it's sunny and warm and I am looking real cute these days. My skin has taken on this coppery shimmer from my walks and bike rides, and well, I am really happy and I think I'm just exuding all of that.

Additionally it is holla season (as me and my girls like to call it) and I was walking through the 'hood. It's a documented fact that dudes --young and old-- get real ignorant in the summer time. Not all, but quite frankly, most, so I was braced for the "Ooh girl, you got a big booty!" or the "que culon!" or even the "Are you married, I think I could be a real good friend to you..." or the ubiquitous "Umph Umph Umph" or last but not least, uttered with a most lecherous growl the "Ay mamita/morena/churra, dime que quieres" type of comments...

Anyway, as I was headed into grocery store a drunk and/or hype ass negro screamed a garbled comment about my behind and presumably what he would do to if given the chance. I wasn't sure at first until a man who was perhaps acting as a security guard yelled to him to go home and looked at me. It was at that point that I got a little embarrassed, which made me angry. It's crazy the level of misogyny that we face on a daily basis and no one says or does anything about it. Men who don't engage in those comments stand around and say nothing, other men who do engage feel it's o.k., that it's their right and privilege.

The fact that the man at the store felt he could say this and that even the cab driver felt compelled to rant makes me wonder just how much respect (or maybe just how little) black and brown men have for black and brown women in general. I already know the answer to that question, unfortunately. Sigh.

Never did get that pot of arroz con gandules going.

Juneteenth is upon us...

2008-06-19T21:36:00.002-05:00

About two weeks ago on a hot, humid, now rainy Saturday afternoon in Chicago we had been experiencing a string of days where temperatures hovered the high eighty-mid ninety degree range with crazy humidity. Although it had been fairly mild, as there had been a very nice breeze all week, I knew it, the breeze that is, would not last.

So I broke down and I bought an air conditioner with money I don't really have because my pet rabbit has been cranky and unwilling to frolic joyfully around the house as she normally does. She was so cranky yesterday that she made me cranky. I suppose that's more a function of the fact that I work from home and sometimes, for days on end, she is my only company. Don't get me wrong, I also bought it because I know that soon enough I'll be caught on a day when the temperature is 98% with 90% humidity and the sun streaming into my windows. It will be a 72-hour period when the temperature fluctuates about five degrees but you can't tell because the humidity hovers between 90% and 97%. It will be one of those periods where you walk outside and you start pouring sweat even if you don't really sweat, because of the humidity. Anyway, I got it.

I started thinking though, about the ancestors, and how they managed to harvest cotton, tobacco, sugarcane, indigo, rice, you name it in the heat of the South, the Caribbean, Latin America, etc. How did they slave away (no pun intended) in infernally hot kitchens cooking for families, or work as plantation blacksmiths in the searing heat and humidity of all of these regions? The realization of that feat alone demands that we straighten up our acts and cut out the ridiculousness, self hate, and self-abuse that have become the hallmarks of the daily lives of black people everywhere. Oh my god. Really, if someone stuck me in front of the cotton/sugarcane/tobacco field or rice paddy, even in the pleasant breezy heat of the last few days, expecting me to hoe, plow, chop, or whatever you do in any of those situations, I would have been, well, there are no words.

So each day in the heat of this and every summer to come, I will maintain quiet, yet fierce reverence of my ancestors, and heck even my not so distant deceased relatives who were bound to that life by Jim Crow and sharecropping. Think about that as you try to beat the heat this summer.

Get on the good foot...

2008-06-18T23:15:00.007-05:00

For real, I need to find that cut by James Brown and get it running on an endless loop here at the crib. Endless loop, am I showing my age? And the picture? Just love it, that's all...

I have so much to do. I have so many ideas and I'm having trouble getting myself back on track after a recent events that shall remain unexplained here.

The four biggest things on my agenda:

1. Preparing the syllabus for the food writing course I'll be teaching at Kendall College this summer. Amazing that they just accepted my proposal without a lot of rigamarole.

2. Begin to plan a trip to North Africa and Turkey for vacation in the fall and for research for my next writing projects. Plenty of dates and patisseries will be involved. Oh yes.

3. Make it up to Wisconsin to visit Growing Power, an organization trying to do big things in the way of urban farming in the Chicago area. I'm hoping to put together an essay (what will hopefully be my fourth or fifth by then, check my first here) for The Root and maybe some other places, we'll see.

4. Get in touch with the owner of a local cafe here that serves les gateaux. I want to see if I can make them here. I mean if I can't get to Paris as soon as I thought I would, I may as well make my sweet little loves part of life on American soil. (With luck, I can get some lessons in making couscous--the actual grains, that is--I've tried it and was, well, fairly unsuccessful.)

Yes. So much to do, so little time to nap.

**I also need to write here as much as possible. I need to get some structure back in my routine. Oh and more music and dancing, as much as I can possibly take! Oh wait, and more baking, and...

Happy Endings...

2008-05-23T00:25:00.005-05:00

For some reason tonight I feel compelled to write this:

After 11 long years, a "relationship" I had with a "man" is finally over. It took so long because we both refused to let go of one another. We had our reasons for holding onto each other, none of them good, of course, but we stayed put nonetheless.

Things actually ended in January after him calling me out of the blue and a series of therapeutic emails that help me finally accept what I'd seen all along: what I looked for in him for years didn't actually exist, I'd been willing it into existence and failing miserably. So, in January I sent the final email I plan to send in which I told him everything that had ever bothered me about him. Certainly some of it was petty, but it's what allowed me to let it all go.

I did and I have never been happier.

Der Deutsche Snoop

2008-04-22T18:26:00.001-05:00

Reflection

2008-04-09T13:12:00.004-05:00

Does everyone who decides to pursue a dream go through hard times?

Are pain and a constant undercurrent of fear and frustration the dreamers most intimate companions at the beginning (or always)? I wonder.

What's up with your hair?

2008-04-02T19:02:00.004-05:00

So, I live in a Polish/Ukrainian neighborhood and while what I'm about to write will sound a bit ignorant, I'm going to go for broke anyway.

Practically every single woman in the 'hood (and it really is the 'hood) has this crazy atonal dye job. It's really amazing, you see every thing from yellow-orange (literally), orange (literally), red (literally), red-orange (literally), a strange purple color, to maroon (literally), and finally black. I mean really, you could put your crayon up to their heads and it would match. And I say atonal, because the colors simply do not, could not, would not ever match their skin tones. It seems to be de rigeur in the community. But see, this is not a recent phenomenon. I remember having this conversation with a Polish friend of mine at least 10 years ago here in the city and she told me "Yes, my people are racist against Blacks, always talking about their crazy hair and tacky, flashy clothing, but what they don't realize is that they have more in common with that than they'd ever be willing to admit."

It seems my old friend Iwona is still right after all these years...

Afro puff

2008-03-23T22:37:00.002-05:00

My hair is natural. Finally, after about 8 months it is getting where I want it to be. I love it, I am consistently happy with it and never feel regret or doubt about it. It's really is odd that I should even think that way, that I should utter that statement, but we live in a world where it is considered bizarre that a black person might want to sport their own natural hair. People are baffled when you revel in your hair texture, the kinky coils, the tight corkscrew curls. I spend a lot of time with people from Latin America, Brazil in particular, and they are amazed that I would want an afro. I have been asked numerous times why I don't straighten my hair, tonight it happened again, after a woman noticed that my hair, when pulled straight, reached to the nape of my neck. She looked startled, particularly because it looks only about two inches long. "Why don't you straighten it?" she asked. "It would be so pretty and it would blow in the wind."

I've heard this basic sentiment from all people of color. Only white people say "Oh my God, I love your hair, it's so beautiful!" I have my theories about that, of course, but that's another commentary. It's crazy really that the natural me is considered a "style" and not just me. It's amazing that the accepted and EXPECTED hairstyle for black women is one that requires the use of harsh chemicals or searing heat to completely alter the hair. What's even crazier, is that we do it. I did it forever. It's considered part of a beauty regimen: makeup, clothes, manicure, touch up. Really, it's terrible. Not that people straighten their hair, but because they feel that they have to. Black women feel like they don't look neat or taken care of or that their hair is not done if it's not straightened. Even the ones who aren't self-hating think that. Some may say it's just easier, but it's not easier at all, it's just that they've accepted that straight hair = attractive and straight hair = female beauty. Not me, I love my hair. Maybe even more because I'm lazy. I know that I may blow my hair straight someday to change up my look temporarily, but it will never again be because 'I have to get my hair done.' And most importantly, no more chemicals. Ever.

Fantasy 1; Reality 0

2008-03-15T13:08:00.008-05:00

I realize this is not about food but...

The movie, "Humboldt Park" is being filmed in and around my neighborhood. I don't actually live in HP but very close and I spend lots of time there, because I'm wishing that, when I'd made the decision to spend the next year on American soil this past summer, that I'd expended a bit more effort trudging through the neighborhood to find a gem among the tenements there. However, I took the first thing I saw, a cute, too small, half-tenement just south in the Ukrainian Village, which is still the 'hood (oh yes!) just with an Eastern European accent.

Anyway, I was walking through the HP today (exercise walking, something I'm committing myself to, trying actually to work up to jogging in the coming weeks). On the way in, I passed a film crew setting up for the shoot and on the way back I tried to follow the same route and this boy (he was probably early to mid-twenties, part of the patchouli set) ran up on me and declared:

"We're filming a movie." I mean like right all up in my face.

My response, of course was: "And..." "Well, can you go around?" He half asked.

"I live right up there, what sense would it make for me to go around two blocks?"

"But, we're filming a MOVIE here." He says, as though it matters.

This is part of a huge problem in our society. It is not that I didn't know that they were filming a movie, as I said they've been doing it for almost a month now in the two adjacent neighborhoods. So I had no problem going around. My problem was that this youngsta seemed to think that it mattered more than the fact that he and the film crew that pays him are invading my neighborhood, making it impossible for me to walk down to the laundromat to wash my down comforter in the big washer and high powered dryer conveniently. They are making it difficult for people to park, they are making it difficult for children and the elderly to get where they need to go easily and on top of it they keep slapping a sign that says bodega in front of the stores where they are shooting. This is not New York. We do not have bodegas here, I mean, obviously we have them, we just don't call them that. No one in the neighborhood calls them that here. People are annoyed that they are making life inconvenient and that they are not truly representing the neighborhood. Instead of using established businesses, they have scoped out businesses of gentrifiers and slapped signs like bodega and pasteleria in front (Pasteleria, what the hell is that? Again, I know what it would be, if we had that here, but come on, aren't people supposed to do a little research to ensure authenticity) and people who were once excited and happy that the neighborhood was getting attention, are much less so. I shudder to think what they would do in a black neighborhood. Oh, but wait, they don't really make movies about black people that are filmed on location in areas where black people live and work, unless its a period piece, or The Wire, which isn't even a movie, and since there are few projects left around here in Chicago anymore, and no plantations, there's probably nothing to worry about.

So, I'll stop. The point is that I was annoyed by dude because he thought that making a movie really mattered more than my life or the lives of others in and around the shoot. That's the problem with society today, too many people think fantasy is more important, more worthy, more serious that reality.

sigh.

Oh yes, I'm quite sure I won't be seeing this one because it has John Leguizamo and Debra Messing starring as central characters, and they both offend my sensibilities. Don't ask me where D.M. fits in... Someone with a greater tolerance that I will have to tell me about that after they see it.

Phoenix dactylifera

2008-03-13T21:53:00.007-05:00

Dates at various stages of ripeness

Since I began exploring and writing about North African and Middle Eastern food a few years ago, I embraced one particular food that I'd heretofore rejected: dates.

Phoenix dactylifera or the date palm. Dates are quite simply one of the most perfect, nutritionally balanced foods, but that didn't matter to me before, I thought of them as big, fat, overgrown raisins (don't particularly like raisins) when the truth was really that I'd never actually eaten one. I just remember them most from date nut granola cereals as a child. More significantly they struck me as looking quite like huge water bugs that one finds near open drains or in damp areas such as basements, so this, of course, did not help their cause with me one bit.

But after living in Paris a few years ago, I ate my first Algerian pastry, called a makrout. It's a little diamond-shaped cake, not much bigger than a petit-four that's made from semolina dough and filled with date paste flavored with orange flower water and a hint of cinnamon.

Sometimes they are fried, always they are delicious.

Anyway, after that, as I got to know more about the cakes and about Algerian culture, I noticed that while visiting with friends, I would get offered dates and milk. There were Algerian deglet noor for sale in every shop in the African/North African neighborhoods where I spent my time. And I also noticed that everyone always had a box on hand at home.

Later after returning to the U.S. and beginning research for my article Gateaux Algeriens: A Love Affair, I learned that dates (and milk) were the food that Mohammed ate to break his fast. I learned that desert nomads sometimes eat nothing but dates and milk to sustain them because they are extremely nourishing and packed with natural sugars that help maintain energy levels in such harsh environments. Incidentally the Arabic name for dates is tamr and just the other day I learned that the Portuguese name for them is awfully close: tamara. How's that for some ancient cultural diffusion? I learned that dates are ingredients in both sweet and savory dishes all across the Middle East and North Africa and I've even tried a few. There is nothing quite like Rice with dates and almonds as a side dish for a succulent baked chicken, or even a stuffing for all types of fowl. YUM! It's also particularly good as a side with pork roast or chops, because pork just marries so well with sweet fruit.

They have a fascinating history and there is so much lore surrounding them, they are incidentally one of the oldest cultivated fruits in the world and of course they grow on date palms. Not the kind of palm trees in the tropics, they really need the dry air and the heat of the desert to flourish.

These days I keep a stash in my own refrigerator to eat as a snack or to use in recipes. They are now a staple in my pantry.

Stolen Loot...

2008-03-11T20:26:00.007-05:00

Okay, I recognize that I should be writing more posts about food. To date only one since I took up blogging again. I promise myself the next three will be about food, but I had to pay homage, to these M.C.'s. Here for your (if you're reading) but mostly my viewing pleasure are:

Masta Ace

Craig G

A.G.

This is courtesy of Jay Smooth of illdoctrine.com. Too much. Jay Smooth, who has a great blog and an admirable perspective on things, has that endearing Skip Gates dork-iness to him, which is cute. If you've seen any of the PBS documentaries he's done you'll know what I mean when you visit his site and view a couple of his video entries.

Anyway, I love Hip-Hop, I can't say more than that.

*I must give props to Jay Smooth for all he has done for the Hip-Hop cause with his site hiphopmusic.com, his blog, illdoctrine.com, and his radio show (check info here).

addendum

2008-03-09T11:00:00.002-05:00

I really love Slate.com. I have to get something on that site, anyway check this out about Margaret Seltzer, or excuse me, Margaret B. Jones

Enjoy!

They really didn't know?

2008-03-06T14:23:00.009-06:00

I've been keeping up with the reports on the rash of faked memoirs lately. Well, I guess it's only two.** The first is the Holocaust memoir by Misha Defonseca and the second is the Growing Up in the 'Hood memoir by Margaret Seltzer. The first one, called: "Misha: A Memoire of the Holocaust Years." The author recounts her experiences of escaping the Nazis, being adopted by wolves, taking 1900-mile trek across Europe, and shanking a German soldier (SS or Luftwafen, I don't know, I haven't read the book) at the age of seven, I think. No need to blink, put on your glasses, or re-read the last sentence, your vision is not blurry and there are no typos there, you got it right the first time--your girl Misha said she was raised by wolves.

The second, a ghetto fantasy, if you will, is called: "Love and Consequences," and describes Seltzer's experiences as a half-breed (Native and white) living in an African-American foster family (!) in South Central Los Angeles, where she quickly becomes engulfed in the whole Bloods/Crips saga as a drug runner and then dealer grace a her foster brothers Jamal and Devante. No, I'm kidding, her foster brothers' names were Terrell and Taye. Check out the NY Times article on the subject.

Everyone with good sense knows that anything is possible. Really, I am a firm believer that no story is too fanciful, because after my share of adventurous living--and I mean that in the substance-free sense of things--I have some stories that one would have to live to believe. Having said that, however, sometimes, things just really don't add up. Ms. Seltzer's tale is one of those that leave you wondering...

Well, it turns out that her "memoir" is actually the ghetto fantasy of an upper-middle class, 100% white woman who was so fascinated by the 'hood and all of its trappings after a short stint as a teacher, in what I am assuming was the public school system, that she decided to create a life and write a book about it, claiming the story as her own.

I will not deny, that ghetto/gang life can be seductive to the outsider. Even to the insider, or so many people wouldn't be down for whatever. While desperation and/or poverty might push you out there I don't believe the two are enough to keep you out there like that, that life, from my observations is just too hard on the soul.

My first encounter with the culture, which came after living the white-bred life of just about every American black kid whose parents move them to to suburbs in this country, smacked of romanticization. But after realizing that I was not so far from that life, that my parents and I were both born into that life and that thankfully unlike most of my extended family we had escaped. It's not fun, and seeing friends and family atrophy in cellblocks or in crack houses, or even at local departments of human services, well, I snapped out of it. Don't get me wrong, the ghetto has its charms, where else can you indulge passions for fancy hairdos, fancy kicks, and fried shrimp and catfish all in a two-block radius. I mean really, some of those catfish shacks turn it out. Still and all I'd rather just visit and go back to my cozy de-luxe apartment in the sky (not really, all that, but you know...), especially if I happen to working in the 'hood too, then its definitely sensory overload, but that's another story. My point is, the 'hood is not to be romanticized. I like the 'hood. I like the ghetto, it feels like home, because it is for me at the root of all things. BUT...

So my point is, that anyone with any commonsense would see that this story is highly unlikely for several reasons:

1. I can't imagine a foster care system anywhere that would put a white kid in the 'hood with a black family, even if said white kid was half Native. That's even more of a reason they wouldn't do it. It's the same reason you never see black people adopting white kids. I'm pretty sure adoptions agencies don't bring out the Asian-white-Native baby books when Black couples roll up. It's just not done. And if it is, somebody tell me something, please.

2. At one point in the book (as quoted in the article) the author says that:

"One of the first things I did when I started making drug money was to buy a burial plot..." What? I say. This kid is supposed to be 14 when this all starts. You're telling me she had the forethought to prepare for imminent death at 14? I was a public school teacher for six+ years and while I had some true geniuses,who were triple threats with street smarts and commonsense on top of it all--the smartest among my students were usually out in the streets like this woman claimed she was--I could never see it. Not when there are the latest Air Force Ones, bad gangsta rap, and plenty of Flamin' Hots to be purchased. Or even food, clothes, or transportation for the family in some cases. Come on now. No kid has it like that. Most adults don't.

3. Finally, and this may sound comical, the foster mother is called Big Mom. What I'm referring to here are the snippets of language in quotes from the book. For example the character used drug money to buy a burial plot. People say that, but not so much and if her character was writing a true-life gritty street tale of the streets, she probably wouldn't either. It's interesting that the article cites several reviewers of the book thought the language to be contrived or a bit too embellished or even awkward.

The kicker is that she got busted because her sister saw a profile of her in the New York Times referencing her as the author of the book and then subsequently blew the whistle on her.

At the end Seltzer says essentially that she just wanted to bring attention to the plight of the people about whom she wrote and that maybe she didn't do it in the best way. Publishers who worked with her seem to justify her and themselves by saying that it all happened because she's just so naive. Humph. I'm not sure naive is what I'd call her.

What I don't understand, is why not just bill it as a work of fiction? Why co-opt a story built from fantasy. Why own such a story? People who live these stories don't necessarily want to own them. SIGH. It reminds me of one of Dave Chappelle's standup acts where he talks about people repping the streets constantly, with a declarative "I'm from the streets!" in response to which he says basically: 'Oh, how unfortunate for you.'

Doing you is ok. Really. And no matter what anybody says, it's not ok to do somebody else for money (in either sense of this unavoidable pun). I'm certain this woman would have never said a word if she hadn't gotten busted, she would have raked in the cash, gone on the book tours, inevitably shared a couch with Oprah. I wonder if she would have given some of her earnings to the people whose stories she claimed as her own.

I guess we'll never know. Too bad she and Misha didn't have access to this from the good people at Slate.com.

**Let me add to this list Ishmael Beah ("A Long Way Gone"), Marjane Satrapi (for taking "extensive liberties..." with the subject matter of "Persepolis' and "Persepolis 2"), and Dave Eggers for actually not taking liberties in "What is the What". The thing is these books sound fabulous, without the extras, with the exception of Eggers, who I am not feeling. Ever. Hated "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius," found it to be 400+ pages of smart-ass-(racist)-white-boyese. As you can see I still haven't gotten over it and I read it about six years ago.

For Real?!?

2008-03-04T15:08:00.012-06:00

My plan was to write a post about plantains and how I have almost totally swapped them for potatoes in my diet, but on my daily rounds of online news sites, I read an article about how Ohio has been the determinant in every presidential election since 1964 and why Ohio is a barometer of sorts for the nation's social and economic welfare. I am from Toledo originally and while I lived there no longer than about a year or so when I was but a pup, I can tell you that after 30+ years of visiting periodically, that we're in a lot of trouble, if Ohio is every(wo)man's America.

As if we all didn't know that. Anyway, what struck me about the article was a statement made by a couple of people that the author identified as diehard Republicans who had turned up at a Clinton rally. Apparently, they decided to check out Hillary because they don't like the direction in which the country is heading under the Republicans.

To this I say:

HEADING IN THE WRONG DIRECTION?!?

WE'VE ALREADY ARRIVED UP IN THIS PIECE!

I take this personally. Who are the people offering up these inanities? It is possible that the comment was taken out of context for journalistic license. Perhaps, but I doubt it. Truthfully, I know who these people are, we all do. They are my neighbors, acquaintances, even a few family members. Hell, some of us are them. I also know that things here in the United States could get worse. Any follower of truth, any realist, knows, things (anything) can always get worse at anytime, but damn, heading? Heading?

They're only worried now? I remember when GWB was first elected. I was sick. I vowed never to watch a State of the Union Address until he vacated the premises. I decided that I would prefer to look up on the horizon and see the proverbial mushroom cloud (or literal, there's still time) rather than read about it's prelude day in day out or listen to dude rationalize ridiculousness each year, which would only serve to depress me further. When it happened a second time, well, I really can't even begin to express how I felt. I took that shit personally. So, as an act of self-preservation, I have kept that initial promise to myself over the years and really, when I had a television, everytime GWB came on, I changed the station. He offends me and he offended me long before Katrina and the recent trip to Africa. I mean, think back to 2000, when he thought it pertinent in the course of addressing a meeting of the NAACP to remind the attendees that the Republican Party was the Party of Lincoln. What?!?

In 2001, I owned a television. But the morning of September 11th, I remember that I got sick at work with the stomach flu, so while everyone was glued to the television in the conference room, I was driving south on Lake Shore Drive toward home, listening to radio coverage, crying my eyes out, and trying not to vomit. I was fortunate enough to have missed the planes slam into the twin towers, fortunate enough to have missed desperate human beings hurling themselves from the windows of the buildings, and especially fortunate to have missed GWB's first reaction upon being informed while reading to babies in Washington, D.C. What shocked me was that he was reading to them (no really) not his reaction, one could have easily predicted that. I was annoyed (and still am) that he didn't actually go to New York after it happened. He really should have, I don't care what anybody says. I n hindsight, is it any wonder that he did little more than fly above the hardest hit areas in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina, or that he decided on his recent visit to Africa that he would focus on the success stories? He's a punk. But, no, all of that is not what made people think we're heading in the wrong direction.

Which brings me to Katrina. I didn't have a television at that time. So I only saw what happened months after. Why is it that only now, these people (who I am using as a representative entity for the great majority of Americans) don't like the direction in which the country is headed? Why is it that no one says, 'Look, Bush and his crew have run the country into the ground, blatantly showcasing their racism, class-ism, and sexism and I am ashamed that I've played a role in letting them, so that's why I'm here to see what Hillary has to say'? That of course, doesn't exclude me or any of us who consider ourselves, thinking adults, liberals, whatever...but

Just once, I'd like to hear it said just that way.

Patisseries Algeriennes

2008-03-03T01:33:00.008-06:00

Oh la la. Comme je pense des patisseries. Ca semble un peu bizarre je suis sure, mais c'est la verite. Une vie sans ces patisseries...je ne peux pas l'imaginer.

It's all true. I am feeling the pull of the cakes that seduced me in Paris. It's so difficult for me being away from all of that. Just look at them....

Can you blame me?

2008-03-02T20:42:00.005-06:00

I am working on edits for an article about a local neighborhood here in the Chi that I have always loved. I've wanted to write about food, in Humboldt Park since I moved back, because Puerto Rican food is the shit. While my editor is providing neither adequate direction nor time in which to get things done, I still relish the assignment.

So, I am hard at work this evening, after she told me on Friday to include three more restaurants in my piece that would boost my word count from the 900 she originally told me to use as a cap up to probably 1500.

I spent the afternoon going from place to place and met the owner of a really great place called La Bruquena. I didn't include it originally, but I'm glad I went, because now, after a long conversation about Caribbean food, food of the African Diaspora, and gentrification, excitement about a project (actually an idea that's been floating in my head for ages) has been renewed. I've wanted to write something about food of the Diaspora and I have notes and research like crazy that I have not compiled or organized. I am fascinated at the ways in which Africa has manifested itself in cuisine outside the continent. I have been working at a Brazilian place and researching (and of course, eating) Puerto Rican and Dominican food lately, all of which has served to heighten my interest and reflection on the subject. Dominican food, by the way, is surprisingly refined with diverse elements one would not expect. At least I didn't expect it--I suppose I lumped it in with Puerto Rican food. I never thought before about how its proximity to Haiti with its French and African influences might be reflected in the DR and vice versa with the Spanish.

Anyway, all of this, coupled with my knowledge of and experience cooking African American food (I still can't quite get down with the term soul food, although African American bothers me too, and southern doesn't quite do what I need it to either) whipped me into a frenzy today while talking to the owner of the restaurant who agreed to meet and talk about food and perhaps show me a few things in the kitchen.

I love it when this happens. It's like being on a diet and finally seeing those first few pounds fall off. That's what keeps you motivated to press on. (I haven't had that happen. Ever. So, I am only imagining this.) I have been working so much, laboring under the stress of poverty, rejection, and general fatigue only to find out that my efforts are paying off in the most unexpected of ways.

There's so much to do.

Feed Your Mind...

2008-02-26T17:09:00.007-06:00

I don't have a television. Partly by design and partly because I just don't have the money to buy even a used one from Craigslist. I also can't imagine scraping together money for basic cable which would be the only way to get any reception of television stations at all...

When I returned to the Chi from Paris via Seattle, I had made the decision to jump into freelancing head first and not get a television. I planned to get myself back into reading and particularly fiction. And so I've done both, although, the first part of the plan has been difficult. The second part has been surprisingly difficult too. Anyway, here are the books I've read since September:

1. Leni - Steven Bach

2. Mouth Wide Open - John Thorne

3. Snow - Orhan Pahmuk

4. The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao - Junot Diaz

5. The Known World - Edward P. Jones (~~in progress~~)*

I'm a little ashamed that the list only consists of five, particularly because I had to read John Thorne's book for a review I wrote that will be published in Gastronomica, but at least I can proudly declare that nothing by Zane or even Iyanla Van Zant is part of it. I suppose life, survival, etc. has kept me busy. My head has not always in a good place for reading.

Next up for me, however:

1. The Portrait of a Lady - Henry James

2. The Master Butcher's Singing Club - Louise Erdrich

3. Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy

4. A Handmade's Tale - Margaret Atwood

5. Parable of the Sower - Octavia Butler

(...the next few I started long ago (we're talking years here) and I finally plan to finish them)

6. The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse - Louise Erdrich

7. Love in the Time of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

8. A Death in Brazil - Peter Robb

9. Invisible Man - Ralph Ellison

10. Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky

I am deeply ashamed at never having finished 6, 7, 9, and 10, but I will before spring ends.

Overall I'm happy with life without television. Sometimes I long for it, but really, $60+ each month to watch really shitty things is not worth it. Now, with the end of The Wire and the fact that I can catch Boondocks episodes online, there's no real motivation. Maybe when those elusive siblings economic/career stability decide to grace me with their collective presence, I can contemplate such a purchase. Until then, if, in fact that day does arrive, I'll continue working my way through the stacks of unopened tomes that call my bookshelves home and giving my library card a much needed workout.

*Update

I finished The Known World last night. It is quite an astounding book because it felt like a family history, like Edward P. Jones was actually there, as though he was channeling the ancestors. I don't know what to say.

El Negro Calde...

2008-02-21T15:16:00.010-06:00

While I am rarely moved by celebrities, or anyone for that matter, I have to admit that occasionally I become fixated on people. I am willing to admit to an irrational obssession with Snoop Dogg that lasted from the time he first emerged on the scene on the Deep Cover soundtrack until 2005 when he released Drop It Like It's Hot. Great song, but I was horrified by the video in which, as many of you know, he featured his children along with shots of scantily clad booty girls, shots of him doing the crip walk, and shots of him getting his toke on. Up until that time, he'd put me through many changes as I tried to stick with him through the No Limit Soldier years, through the ridiculous MTV shows and those pigtails he seems so fond of, and even through the -izzle schtick he continued (excuse me, continues) to ply even after he heard countless white people co-opting.

God knows, I tried. I tried, Snoop.

But after the babies and the weed and the booties and the crip walk all together on film, I realized it was not to be. I had to let him go.

Anyway, now I've found someone new, but I feel much better about him, it's Tego Calderon. I'm not ashamed to go into a store and proudly place his CD on the counter and say "Yes, I'm ready, ring me up, please." I only felt that way once about Snoop, when I bought a replacement copy of Doggystyle, years after I'd purchased the original.

So, o.k., this man makes me tingly all over. I don't know what it is exactly. There's something incredibly sexy about him. I once read him described as being "perpetually craggy" it fits, at least aesthetically. I could go on to describe why I find him handsome, but I'll spare you dear reader; my tastes often lean toward the unconventional. I just have to say that he has the most beautiful skin color. Amazing. You just don't find that tone among Black Americans, even with the many lovely hues you do find among us, it has to have something to do with the Spanish rather than English (or Scottish, rather) part of the mix.

Anyway, I haven't seen him speak or be interviewed, although back when I was plugged in I had VH1 Soul (the one thing I miss) and saw him in Bling'd touring Africa to learn about blood diamonds. I have only one of his albums (do the kids still say that these days?), the first, El Abayarde and it is really a piece of art. I'd had it over a year and I'd listened, but about a month ago, I really listened. It's quite masterful and so hip hop. Reggaeton, for all intents and purposes, I find wack. That's just my personal opinion, that was strengthened when I learned that artists like Ivy Queen, Daddy Yankee, and Don Omar were clowning at the Latin Grammy Awards a few months ago when Calle 13 won album or artist of the year, I don't remember which one it was. Who knew they served haterade at awards shows? They actually walked out in protest and then made it worse by speaking on it in interviews!!

For real? It's like that? So not hip-hop.

It was astounding because Calle 13 is really, really good. Really interesting and creative. Perhaps I don't understand the world of Reggaeton and if that is any indication, I don't want to. I also understand that right now I could be sounding like white people debating the issue of why a group like Arrested Development represents ground-breaking hip-hop while slamming say, Grand Puba or X-Clan. However, I do know that hating--even though we all do it from time to time--is not cute. Especially not on live television.

Anyway, Mr. Calderon, did not walk out. He is actually the model for a character in a book I am writing. I'd love to interview him someday, that is if I didn't get too tingly.

He has great sensibilities, at least as conveyed through his music. Really innovative. Did I mention he has a lisp and it sounds cool. He's not the first MC with a lisp, but...anyway, enough...

I'm no longer conflicted.

Changes...

2008-02-20T18:46:00.009-06:00

These days I am going through (or should I say, continue to be going through) some changes. Since 2004 really when I sold my belongings, donated my car to a charity and then headed to Paris with the intent of expatriating, my life has been moving on and on and on...

Still.

It has not stopped. Now I am in the throes of trying to make a career as a writer. Now, I call myself a writer. Now I am a writer. I have written some beautiful things several, including one of the most beautiful, was even published. I have the makings of a novel in my sacred notebook and in my sacred MacBook. I am doing just about everything I ever wanted, you know: writing, cooking, traveling, even living with abandon pretty consistently these days...the only thing that's missing is loving. But that's not what I plan to delve into here. No.

Now I live in poverty. In the past three months, I made $80 from my writing. Since I decided to make a go of it full-time, I no longer have money or time for the things I once did. I have gone through my savings, borrowed, begged, but not yet stolen, although I have been there too since I started on this path in 2004, and I've learned that no one anywhere should ever say "Never!" Never does not exist when you're really living. Sometimes you have to get that hustle going any way you can (well, within reason) This is not meant to sound high-handed or uppity. I'm no uppity negro (at least not about things like this). Anyway, to the point...

I am living in poverty. Proof: I'm on welfare now. I currently have a Link Card. Which, for those not from the great state of Illinois, means I'm on food stamps. Funny, like a drug, I am on food stamps and I have to admit that I might be hooked. When you take your card and swipe it and it pays without drawing money from your coffers, you feel as though you've been given a gift of some sort, especially when you head through the line at Whole Foods. Something exhilarating about food stamps at Whole Foods, I'm not gonna lie. The looks on the faces of the wealthy white folks...that's another post, another day, another commentary. Anyway, I'll miss my Link Card when this stage of life passes! The truth is, this Link Card, it's my right and I've been contributing to the fund for years so I have no qualms about making a withdrawal as piddling as my $160 a month.

In other areas of my life, I have had to seek rental assistance from the city's Department of Human Services. Who knew that there was rental assistance that didn't involve folding sweaters at the Gap on evenings and weekends after you finished your real day job?

Please don't get me wrong. Don't think I'm making light of poverty and what it does to people, on the contrary. Don't think that this is fun, this poverty stuff, as a great many of our brethren can attest to, is not for suckers. It's hard and I'm not even REALLY poor. In a sense I am doing this by choice, because with my Master's degree and my French fluency and the rest, I could go get a job and stack some paper, just like I was before I decided to let art rule my heart and thus, my life. But yes, it's tough, not only because you have to constantly be thinking about what's what, what will be, what might be, and what isn't, in a way that you don't when your bank account is padded, but because at every turn you have to prove that you are in need and what you say you are: POOR.

I'm learning that the prevailing sentiment is that poor people are criminals. That somehow they want to be poor. Now, of course, some of them are criminals let's just get that out there, because I have a few in the fam who stand out in my mind as shining examples, however, as trifling as they are, I don't think even they aspire to poverty. But overall, I know well in this three-year journey from young urban professional to artist that poverty causes crime in most circles, but again, another post, another day, another commentary.

I have had to produce documents detailing my poverty, I have had to get official documentation from friends and employers substantiating my plight and hope that someone somewhere sitting in an office would believe me when I said that I only had $5.37 in my checking account until God knows when, and "could you please help me out so I can by some soy milk?"

I have had people treat me terribly. First those who assumed that I am just another lazy Black Woman. Probably with a few kids--someone actually checked the yes box on a form and then asked me "How many?" without even looking up. Another case worker told me that she would pass me on for someone to deal with me. Yet another fat-punk-ass-hot-ass-breath-having security guard (oooh, sorry, it got personal for a minute) at a social service agency spoke to me in Spanish thinking first that I was Puerto Rican. When he found out I was not, he was extremely rude and refused to help me. I know this because while my spoken Spanish is rusty, I understand it like it was my own tongue. When speaking with my downtrodden Latin brethren, he was the picture of courtesy. Of course, I had to check them all. I had to tell them all: 'have some respect, show some respect, I am human and I am struggling, just like you are/have/may be one day.'

But none of that mattered.

It was only when they learned that I am a writer with degrees and travels under my belt and shit, speaking foreign languages and shit. It was only then that they showed a modicum of respect. Only when I wasn't just a trifling, po', black ass hood rat (what they assume of every Black Woman who walks in the door) that they began to look at my face. Even my beauty, my big butt, my smile, none of it mattered, at least not that I could tell. It's been an education for real. I don't want to end on a corny note saying things like: "it's all part of the journey..." or "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger..." or "I'll look back on all of this and laugh..." because the truth is, it shouldn't have to be, that's not always true, and I probably won't.

So I'll say, we should stop treating poor people like criminals, because when you are constantly worried you can't possibly be your best self or raise babies who grow up doing the same; we should support the arts so people who try to create beauty and truth don't have to struggle the way that they do; all black people are not trifling, uneducated lay abouts looking for a hand out; that security guard with all of his sin-verguenceria (how's that for Puerto Rican, security guard Garcia?) better be glad the homiez I could have called before moving to France are either on lockdown or dead, or he would be in a world of trouble. Maybe I'll just write a scathing letter to the editor and send it to the Chicago Tribune. How 'bout that, Garcia?

Que Dios Te Bendiga...

2008-02-13T00:31:00.008-06:00

I have been inspired to return to blogging after reading a few excellent blogs from a few writer/scholar/hip hop heads out of NYC. It actually feels like a good decision to me after having left the fray a few years ago feeling that blogging was a mite too self-indulgent, and frankly, it is, but putting pen to paper or in this case, fingers to keyboard is therapeutic and I need an outlet these days.

So here I go...

Today I decided to do some work in a coffee shop in Humboldt Park that sells great Puerto Rican coffee (had a cortadito) and even better guava cake (took a pass on that as my bottom seems to be spreading at an alarming rate challenging even my own appreciation for bootyliciousness!). On my way, I passed a botanica that I've passed hundreds of times before without stopping. Today was different. I was drawn to the place, perhaps because I've been immersing myself quite deeply in the cultures of people of African descent in the Carribbean and American diasporas, I stopped in. I actually wanted to see if they had John the Conqueror floor wash, because times are hard up in the cut lately and I was feeling suddenly that a little hoodoo couldn't hurt. I ended up buying candles or novenas, whichever you prefer. This is not new for me, but it's been a minute. At one time, you couldn't enter my place without finding the Seven African Powers on a shelf, table, or mantle somewhere, but a move around the world and back disrupted my little ritual. But today, I remembered, so I picked up the SAP candle and two others for good measure: John the Conqueror (got him, although they didn't have floor wash) and a Fast Luck candle. Now I know that anyone reading this might be thinking overkill, but like I said, times are real hard in the cut! Anyway, for the first time, I had someone fix my candles, the woman had me write my name in the wax and then she brushed one of them with oils. She prayed over it and blessed me and then took the others to add the appropriate oils and herbs, after I explained my situation. She returned and once again prayed over them and blessed me. "...que Dios te bendiga..." she said, as she asked the spirits to protect my health and grant me peace, wealth, and much luck in love, among other things. I have them home burning, it's funny that I feel a bit of comfort now.

The truth is that it makes lots of sense to me. I want to learn more, maybe there's an article in it somewhere or a place for her in the book I'm currently working on. In the meantime, I will keep my candles burning and respectfully continue to ask Yemaya, Oshun, Obatala, Ogun, Elegua, Ogun, Shango, Orula, and Babaluaye to intercede on my behalf.

2006-10-08T12:52:00.000-05:00

I don't like saffron. I made the Persian dish yesterday with a hint of saffron and it was the only thing I could taste. I kept thinking how delicious it would have been had I left it out. I've just never liked it. I don't like the smell or the taste of it, I don't understand why it's so prized. I mean, I do yet I don't. I have a full bottle of saffron syrup in my refrigerator that cost close to $20. I've had it almost a year and I really want to like it but it's not going down like that. I don't know why I bought it in the first place. Actually, of course I know why. SAFFRON SYRUP. Sounds incredibly intriguing. I'll have to try and find a good home for it soon...

2006-10-08T12:51:00.000-05:00

Today I prepared a recipe from a cookbook I bought recently. It comes from Claudia Roden's The New Book of Middle Eastern Food. The dish is what I would call a Persian casserole made with basmati rice, dates, lentils, and chicken, beef, or lamb. It is flavored with cinnamon, nutmeg, and saffron. I made it with chicken, as I am trying to eat lighter these days. It was delicious. Not being entirely familiar with Persian cuisine outside of my frequent trips to restaurants in my old city, I'm not sure if it looks as it should, but I suppose I can worry about that the next time I try it. I really love Middle Eastern food. Research for some recent work I've done has gotten me interested in the cuisine. I can now count it as one of my favorites along with Mexican, Italian, and Southern cooking.

I have tried many of the recipes in Claudia Roden's book and I recommend it to anyone. One of the great things about the book --and there are many-- is that it offers recipes from countries throughout the Middle East. Many also have notes that instruct the cook on how to make a particular version of a recipe, meaning, you may be provided an Egyptian or Turkish recipe and Ms. Roden's notes let you know how you might make the Moroccan or Lebanese version of it. It's sure to make you a convert, if you don't already adore Middle Eastern food.

something delicious

2006-10-07T22:16:00.000-05:00

The end of a long hiatus?

2006-10-04T00:52:00.000-05:00

So, I'm back. I don't know how long. So much has happened but right now I won't go into all of that. I need this spot right now because I am stumped. I have a writing assignment, a profile on someone in my class and OH MY GOD, is this woman boring. I have notes and I'm trying to make it work but...Maybe I've peaked and I just can't churn it out like I've been able to in the past. A big part of it is that I just don't write enough anymore. It's not part of my everyday. It's on my mind everyday, but I don't make it happen.

That's why I need this spot. I think of it a bit like warming your car on a winter morning. Revving it up, you know, so that things run smoothly. In the end, this is a good way of taking care of my writing, so to speak. It's gone down the toilette, I feel. But that is also another story. Now, the topic at hand is this boring woman. If I were good, wouldn't I just be able to churn this out, dazzling the masses in the process, one might ask? I don't know, she's pretty boring. And since, I've talked to her a total of about 50 minutes my entire life, the material I'm working from is pretty thin. Three pages of notes about how supportive and wonderful her husband and family are. Her current dilemma, not so much a dilemma as a heartwarming story to share with the grand babies later in life. Help. I wonder if she dots her I's with hearts? Her name isn't Candy or Tami or anything. But you know, too bad, that would make a great profile. Years of emotional abuse and neglect as a child have me convinced that healthy personal relationships are suspect. That might be overstating it a bit, certainly emotional stability and support can make for good writing (and reading). We'll see what I come up with. Maybe I'm just jealous.

I'm also feeling sorry for myself and that takes focus. Redirecting the considerable energy required for self-pity is no small feat. But I must. Maybe I'll make some popcorn. N0, no snacking. Procrastination is a sneaky whore isn't she?

Oh, yes, it's due tomorrow. I better raise up and get to work, y'all.

Peace in the Middle East.

2006-09-10T14:05:00.000-05:00

deliciousness

I recently returned from a three-week trip to Paris where I spent my time in a mini-internship learning to make my beloved Algerian pastries. It was a short stint, but enough to clarify my desires, bringing the desire to bake in line with the desire to write, neither of which I have been particularly committed to in the last year. Yes, I've finished an article about my pastries soon to be published in a major food journal, but I haven't been writing or reading and I can feel it here as in every other attempt to sit and create at a keyboard for the last oh, 6-8 months. Words do not come as easily, creativity seems to have waned, even in nonfiction writing. Yes, I have been a lazy lump...there is not much else to say about it.

Now, however, after my petit sejour in Paris, a have a renewed sense of getting things done despite being anchored in this city for the next year. Mine is a future of written words and baked delices if I could just stopped getting sidetracked by the occasional Yahoo game. UGH!

There I go...

2005-10-21T21:14:00.000-05:00

So here I am. The last post, maybe forever, maybe just for awhile. I don't know. I don't know anything, haven't for quite some time.

But I'm going to keep on moving. I feel as though this is a momentous occasion, some sort of watershed in my life, although I know it is not. But it really feels like this is closing a chapter of my life. Much has changed since I started this and as usual, they were all the things that I secretly hoped wouldn't, or would never have expected to. But that "is the life"...That's what a French friend of mine used to say, he would always add the extra article. He also always translated the french word for neighborhood (quartier) as quarters no matter how many times I told him otherwise. That was annoying, but he was a great kisser, but that's another story...

Anyway, here I go. I still think of the boy whenever it's quiet and still or I'm alone with my thoughts, but maybe I always will, it really was that kind of love, at least for me...But I'm settling into Seattle. I even got a promotion and a raise recently and I've only been on the job a month. So now, while I still sometimes feel like a doe on shaky legs trying to balance myself and stand on my own in this new life of mine, I do think that I may finally have the ganas to make it happen...

Here I go...

this is it, what...let's get rich, what...*

2005-10-17T01:38:00.000-05:00

I have made the decision. This will be my last week of posting to this blog. It's time to end this and move on to what I really need to be doing. This blog has helped me immensely since I began last April, but I am starting to see that it has diverted my energies from what I need to be doing. It is a time waster for me. A way of saying that I'm writing regularly without really writing. It's just not the real deal and I have to move on...

Straight from the cask said that writing is "the most beautiful and meaningful activity one can adopt." He's French, he knows these things...

I have to be about the business of writing, for real now.

*everyone knows, it's from the song "Luchini aka This Is It", Camp Lo ("Uptown Saturday Night" Profile Records, 1999), don't they?

Loneliness and Louise Erdrich

2005-10-08T13:39:00.000-05:00

Why do I feel so terrible? I don't know. I'm in such a stinky mood lately andI'm not sure if it's the weather change -it's finally drizzly and gray for the long haul here in Seattle- or if it's because my friend will be visiting soon, or if what's going on my life is just gross. In the past this might have been a time for a little retail therapy, but I am too poor now to commit to the intensive therapy that would facilitate any true, lasting healing...

I was walking to work yesterday and I realized that my life has begun to return to what I don't want it to be. That everyday drudgery, that go-to-work- come-home cycle. I know that it is only temporary, but I'm not helping myself because I'm not doing the things that I need to do for my future, ie, writing, and for my soul, ie, writing. Why? Because I am alone here and feeling fairly lonely. I am feeling sorry for myself because the adjustment to this place has been difficult, as some of you know, and I seem to have once again taken up my most familiar past time of wallowing in my loneliness. It might be fairly accurate to say that I just know that I am a lonely person, but I guess I have to admit that I wallow in it sometimes too. Yes, I know that this is not productive and I know that the intensity of the way I am feeling is only temporary too. The fact is, I have always been keenly aware, since I was a child, actually, that I am lonely. There have only been a few times in my life when I was not.

I don't really know what to do about that, I just live with it, I guess loneliness is my companion in a sense.

Wow, does this sound pathetic or what?

I don't mean it to, it's just that I know ultimately what I need to make it go away and that's not something I can necessarily make happen on my own.

See, I am not lacking in the self-esteem department, or too shy or afraid to make friends. I am not a weirdo -at least not in a disturbing sort of way- I am not one of those people who needs constant validation from others. BUT, I am one of those people who is really strong, independent, no nonsense, and even at times, enchanting. Yes, I said it, so shut up. It's true though and I forgot one thing, I'm not arrogant or exclusive. I am sure of myself and accepting of others at the same time and I am very honest.

You would think that I might have hordes of people flocking to me. But I don't, I've realized some things in evolving into the person I describe above and am fiercely proud of, and that is a lot of people don't like those things. This is starting to sound like I ripped a few pages from the martyr handbook and posted them here, but that is my intention. I suppose I'll just have to find away to abate the loneliness. I go through these periods, kind of like phases, when I realize that I am alone. Now more than ever, because so much has changed this year and I still don't know how to reach my destination and there's no one to really help me or even accompany me on the journey, as I thought there might be a few months ago.

Anyway, I feel okay about it and I know that my own behavior, ie, not writing, is a huge cause of this. I'm postponing the thing that makes me whole. Why? No complex answer, I am being lazy, I am a procrastinator, and at times I've been feeling sorry for myself. I wonder if Toni Morrison or Louise Erdrich ever went through these things.

By the way, I went to see Louis Erdrich read passages from her new book, The Painted Drum, last night at Elliot Bay Books. God, I want to be like her. This is big, because I don't want to be like anyone, ever. Her writing is so moving, so like a painting in muted colors that captures your attention through the subtlety of its expression. Like Toni Morrison, her writing, really touches you, moves you in ways you didn't know possible.

Could I be like that? Could I touch people, move them in ways they didn't know possible? Something in me tells me that I could.

I better get on that.

By the way, stop by and say hello to Sharon. She is home now and sounds like she is doing well, which makes me feel a little less lonely...

*my favorite book by Louise Erdrich is the Antelope Wife.
**Elliot Bay Books along with 57th Street Books in Chicago have to be the most amazing independent bookstores I've been to.
***my favorite book by Toni Morrison is Song of Solomon. Oh, and the newest, Love is quite amazing too.

The topic at hand...

2005-10-02T19:37:00.000-05:00

This has been a week filled with disappointments.

Well, only three really, but I guess that's a lot for the period in which they sprang up. Three days by the way, that's when all of these things occurred. I am alright though, I don't feel emotionally bruised or battered, I guess these disappointments weren't so serious but they were definitely unexpected.

That's life, I suppose. I wish it didn't have to be. I wish that everyone was given one day when they would be granted their heart's desire. You would decide when you wanted that day, but that would be it, one day, and after that things would go back to normal. You couldn't wish for anything mean or spiteful, like the death of your ex-boyfriend or girlfriend for breaking up with you, or a lifelong curse on the woman in the minivan in the grocery store parking lot who slid into that space in front of you when she knew... Of course, some people would use their day by the time they were six years old, or at least by the time they were 25. Only the most sage among us would hold on until at least our mid-thirties, when you finally begin to understand a little bit about life and what it means.

I'm pretty sure I'd be stuck in there somewhere among the 6-25 year old set.

I'm slowly learning what it means to be an adult and I'm keenly aware of that. This week made me see...You have to accept your disappointments and move on, even though a little bit of each one we experience sticks with us. If we're lucky, it sticks in the form of experience that we draw on and use to navigate the rest of our lives in a positive manner. If we're not so lucky the vestiges of those disappointments stay with us in the form of a big, sticky mass that lingers and turns into something we can't seem to shake no matter how hard we try. Something may happen that allows us to clean it all up and free ourselves from that sticky mess, like a big bottle of Goo Gone or something. Unfortunately many people don't open up that proverbial bottle. Even more unfortunate, sometimes people don't recognize that big bottle of Goo Gone for what it is and there's usually no one to tell us, at least no one we're apt to listen to.

This is a little corny, but you get my drift, I hope.

Signs and stuff...

2005-09-19T21:44:00.000-05:00

I talked to someone the other day who told me the story of a woman who is engaged to a man who she is not sure she likes, but she's staying with him, sticking it out, apparently, because there are signs that seem to point to the fact that this man is who she should be with. So the person I was talking to asked me if I believed in that kind of thing.

"What kind of thing?" I asked.
"In signs. You know like, do you believe that things happen for a reason, or that certain people are put into your life for very specific reasons?"
"Of course." I replied.

So today I am thinking, well, not just today, but often I think about this. Especially this year, forgive me if this is sounding trite.

Anyway, I look for signs in life. Sometimes, I think I try too hard to find them. I don't really do this because my life has no meaning, or because I'm necessarily looking for something, but I really believe that life is full of signs, in fact Sharon wrote something along these lines not so very long ago.

Today I met a man who is going to help me make Algerian pastries. A chef. He described himself to me as tall and dark-skinned with glasses. When I met him today, he was with another man, who was actually tall and darker-skinned than he was, he also happened to be wearing glasses. I assumed it was my guy, but no. Not a sign, but kind of a funny thing today. When this man described himself to me, I was tempted to ask, "Do you mean tall by Algerian standards or American ones?" Because those are two very different standards. After meeting him, it's clear to me that he meant Algerian ones. He talked lots to me about food and how Algerian men misrepresent themselves to women when the leave Algerie and immigrate. He kept saying Algerie, instead of Algeria and Alger instead of Algiers. "I have a little experience..." was my reply.

Very interesting...

2005-09-18T17:00:00.000-05:00

Sorry, this will be for those French-speakers out there. Those of you with a few years of French under your belt should be straight too...

click here

The gist, a magazine in Morocco published an article about immigrants coming in to the country from Sub-Saharan Africa. The article was titled "Les criquets noirs envahissent le nord du Maroc" or "Black crickets invade northern Morocco".

YIKES!!

The King of Morocco issued a statement saying essentially that he condemns the paper's publishing and stance saying that 'the Kingdom of Morocco does not advocate any sort of discrimination against anyone based gender (perhaps this includes sexual orientation too, but I'm not sure if it would), religion, race, or color (probably skin tone, for those of you of lighter hue, not in the know about these things), because, to do so, would go against sacred principles of Islam and international law.' This is a loose (but fairly accurate) translation...I know we (black people) do this to each other all over the world, but it's interesting to see it playing out on the continent... I also have to point out that this sort of paints a slightly different picture of Islam and Muslim attitudes. I don't know tons, but I know that on paper (and even historically), it really seems to be the fairest, most inclusive of all world religions. Oooh I better watch it before I make it on to some Homeland Security watchlist, but I guess it's too late for that....

I couldn't find the site or a link to the article itself, but here are some reactions from message boards and the French web portal & search engine Wanadoo...Sorry non-French speakers....

Lord, let my people go!!

The First Step

2005-09-15T23:02:00.000-05:00

Today I finally sent out a query letter to a magazine. This was a letter I wrote about three weeks ago and have had saved on my computer since. I would look at it periodically, read it, sometimes change the wording and then, close it without sending. But today, I did it. I don't know why I didn't send it before. Maybe I was (am) scared. But, of what? Rejection? I'm not sure that's possible, I've had enough experience with that to be able to handle it. Besides, that's not normally the kind of thing I fear. Actually, I don't know what I fear. Being scared, if I haven't mentioned it, is sort of new for me, it's something I first experienced --or maybe let myself experience-- in France last year. I just let myself go and be paralyzed with fear. So much so, that I couldn't make decisions without second guessing myself, or really even make any sort of move. Hence, the phrase paralyzed with fear, I guess...

I think that experience was good for me, because much like the complete and utter failure that I also experienced last year, I learned that there is nothing to fear in fear, if that makes any sense. Sure, there is uncertainty, pain, and sometimes even despair, but it's not the end of the world and going through it, makes you realize in the end that you can do anything, or what your limitations are, whatever the case may be. This is a very good thing. I've said before, failure is liberating. I should perhaps restate that and say failure and fear are liberating.

Another thing I'm afraid of: there is a boy who is interested in me. A tattoo artist. He seems very nice and clearly he likes me. I ran into him today and made him giggle. Picture a big, muscular man with long hair and biceps covered with tattoos, giggling. That may be hard and sounds kind of weird, but I often have that effect on men, I make them giggle, what does that say about me? What does that say about them? He practically ran out of the shop to catch up with me as I walked by today. I shouldn't be scared, I realize, but this is new. He seems different, nice. He treats me like he has a crush. He could be a freak, yes, I realize this, but maybe not. I sense that he is, gulp, perhaps kind of normal. I'm scared. How will I act, if he is nice, if he is normal? What will I do? I've never known that before...

Morocco or bust...

2005-09-12T14:59:00.000-05:00

The past couple of weeks have been hard for me. I am missing France, I am missing the way of life and outlook that I know so well back east. I am generally not feeling Seattle right now, but I guess this is what happens when you move somewhere new. It did happen in Paris at first, but, I don't know, things made so much more sense there than here.

I saw a flight to Morocco advertised in the paper. Not too expensive and you know, I was so tempted to call and reserve. In fact, I did and held it for a day, but then I called and canceled because I realized that if I did actually buy it:

a. I'd have no money for food here until I left, or there once I arrived

and

b. I'd just be running away from the pain of the past few months. It would be like a really expensive drinking binge, but of course, way more fun.

Anyway, I tend to do that when I am sad, I want to travel and explore, because it takes my mind off of things. I think it's a pretty harmless escape mechanism, but just like anything else, alcohol, crack, heroin, chocolate cake, when it's all over your pain is still there. But this is a different kind of pain that maybe a jaunt to Morocco would clear right up. I don't know. I'm still debating. Do I really need to eat or ride the bus when the alternative is Casablanca, or Fez, or the Sahara? Eating is overrated, isn't it? Besides, I'm cute, I could swing a meal or two once I got there. Makrout, chorba, bastilla. I can work it for all that.

Okay back to reality. Reality can be so unfortunate sometimes...

You go, Mexico!!

2005-09-08T21:34:00.000-05:00

¡OR AL E!

2 Septembre

2005-09-02T21:52:00.000-05:00

Now here I am, back where I started when I arrived in April. Same internet cafe, same computer. So much more has happened but strangely, I feel as though I am the same as before. I know that's not true. Today I thought, for the first time in life, that I wish I could go back and change some things. If I could, I'd go back to May and I'd make it so I'd never have to experience the yuckiest parts of the summer, but, even those were good for me, or at least I can see that they will be in the long run. Except Gregory, I'm not sure I can ever accept the loss of Gregory. I'll never see the sense in that.

Hmmmm.

I am thinking of the people on the Gulf Coast and how the dark skin of so many of them has sealed their collective fate. I am thinking of how I was struck suddenly after seeing the front page photo of today's New York Times, by the realization of how undervalued Black people are in this country, it's something I've always known. It's something every Black person in this country grows up knowing; it's just a part of life here for us. I have cried today. And I am feeling again today, that I just have to pick myself up, write more, read more, go out into it, and take the next step.

Haiku (almost)

2005-08-24T00:18:00.000-05:00

Tonight, an orange moon

glows.

"Come here. Look." He would say.

Third Wheels?

2005-08-21T21:50:00.000-05:00

I have made a new friend here and I really like her. She's as sweet as pie, as they say. She is originally from the Midwest and a really silly girl. She possesses this very charming self-consciousness that is balanced by a total lack of pretention. She is totally unassuming. She is also married.

Now I say this, not as a sort of "oh no" aside, but because I went out with her recently, for the first time and her husband came along. Prior to this, we'd had several conversations about what she did on weekends on days off, etc. They all seemed to include her husband. It could have been something she did just with him, but more often that not it also included other people, single women, mutual friends. So, after awhile I asked her

"Do you do everything with him?"

It was then that I realized that it made her feel a little self-conscious when she replied in a stilted manner with this explanation:

"No, I do other stuff without him, I guess it just happens to be these particular stories. You know, I mean, we're friends, we like to hang out, you know? I mean, we have lots of mutual friends, really." "That's really it, we don't do everything together."

But I didn't mean it critically, or did I? I don't think it's bad to do everything with your boyfriend or husband, I guess I've just never had a relationship like that, where someone wanted to do things with me all of the time, so I can't imagine it. It sounds kind of nice, but also kind of annoying. Really, what she made me think of was another friend whose boyfriend (now husband) had recently moved in with her and consequently they began doing everything together. One day when we were both still living in Chicago, she suggested we go to yoga and I said that would be great, she then said: "Oh, I'll just tell Marcus* and he can meet us there." I remember thinking 'hey, since when did Marcus enter this particular equation?' First, I actually thought it weird that a guy would do yoga**, I'm not sure I'd want my man doing yoga, a little too sensitive for me. Then I thought, why would he want to do it with us? And why would she want him to? I ended up canceling and thinking who really is the third wheel here?

So my outing and conversations with my new friend got me thinking. Am I/Have I been jealous because I don't have a boyfriend, because I am perpetually single, or is it weird that a couple does everything together ALL THE TIME-- from hanging out with his friends to hanging out with hers?

I have to say I think it's weird. Maybe because as I said, I've never been with a man who accompanied me everywhere I went, but I think that I wouldn't even want that. Or would I? Maybe it's wonderful. But from this end it still seems like it would be way annoying. You know, maybe that's why I'm still single. Well, at this point it's not, but maybe it's why I will be single for awhile yet....

*names have been changed to protect the innocent.
**please don't write comments about this, I know plenty of men enjoy and benefit from yoga.

All is right with the world...

2005-08-20T00:24:00.000-05:00

Just when I think I am fed up with the phony, pseudo-liberal, pretentious, homogeneity so prevalent here in Seattle, I am awed by the physical beauty that exists here.

Lush greenery. Olive trees, cherry trees, apple trees. Blackberry brambles and wild rosemary. Everywhere, complex symphonies of fragrance and color in the flowers that seduce me each time I pass.

And tonight there is a beautiful full moon, encircled by glowing yellow rings and suspended in a sky full of stars.

You can't beat that.

Eu falo português...eventually, that is...

2005-08-18T12:18:00.000-05:00

I am very excited today, I resume my Brazilian Portuguese immersion. I am meeting someone who will give me Portuguese lessons in exchange for French ones. I also have a Portuguese teacher, who I will resume meetings with after I move and get settled into a better routine.

I've mentioned before that I like the language. I really do love it. It's beautiful and sexy and I can't wait until I can communicate. It's also kind of hard, pronunciation is difficult and unlike French, a misplaced accent can change the meaning of a word entirely. Wait, let me be more clear, that's not true, misplaced accents in French can change meaning, but generally pronunciation doesn't change. Anyway, I love the language and I am considering a trip maybe during Christmas, or in the spring.

Just one more thing, there is a great blog, from Jôka P called Avenida Copacabana. Even though you may not be able to read what he is writing, his photos are beautiful. Check it out Eunice, especially. I think, his writing is very nice too. :)

PSA

2005-08-17T18:10:00.000-05:00

Today was my second day at my new, 'real' job and I have just one thing to say...

If you have nail fungus of any sort, let's handle it people, it's no way to live.

It's in the stars...

2005-08-17T10:56:00.000-05:00

Okay, this is today's horoscope from Rob Brezsny's Free Will Astrology site:

SCORPIO (Oct. 23-Nov. 21):
I couldn't believe the show I saw on the cable channel Spike TV: "Blind Date with a Crackwhore." Fred, a twenty-something stockbroker, got set up on a date with Propecia, a fortyish crackwhore. I watched with horrified fascination as she rejected all his genteel attempts to create rapport, constantly turning the conversation back to where they could score some crack. I bring this to your attention, Scorpio, in hopes it will serve as a shining example of how *not* to proceed in the near future. You have in place everything you need to experience a week full of intensely meaningful adventures with allies who bring out the best in you. Therefore, don't flirt with senseless, random distractions--like blind dates with crackwhores, for instance. And don't do what I did, which is waste precious time entranced by stupid crap. Give every spare moment to capitalizing on the integrity-filled success that's available.

There are a couple of things here I need to know, first and foremost, when does this show come on again and why did it in the first place? Second, who or what is my proverbial "crackwhore"? And since when did crackwhore become one word?

Perspective regained...

2005-08-11T00:48:00.000-05:00

I have begun now, when I am quiet and still, to think of the rainy day in Paris when I realized the city was my home. Thoughts of my enemy no longer bulldoze their way into my brain. It's strange, I have an enemy. This happens to be one that I have to protect myself against, not one that I created. Well, I did. I created this enemy with my love. Isn't that even funnier?

But now, I think of Paris. Yes. That rainy day. I even remember the name of the street...Rue de la tombe Issoire. That day, I went to get boxes to mail some things back to the States, but the shop was closed, lunchtime, bien sûr. So, I went to a café to wait. I had two of the most delicious cafés crèmes and here is what I wrote...

18 janvier 2005

I feel compelled to mark this day. Why? The universe only knows. It is quite a dreary day and the weather changed suddenly about five minutes ago. I feel like I am in the Chi. Maybe I'm being prepared for my imminent return.

A sudden downpour has turned to snow, the big fat flakes with a bit of a violent streak...

But I have the good fortune to be inside a little café sipping a café crème while watching Mother Nature throw her temper tantrum.

I am a lucky girl. I know this. I didn't before 2005.

A Jack Russell Terrier, presumably belonging to the owner but maybe not. Perhaps the girl who made my coffee. He's up and ready for action now, much like the weather has changed so suddenly, first lying curled up in his bed fighting sleep and then in a split second up surveying the weather situation and making his rounds in the café.

Right now there is the most fabulous jazz radio station playing--none of that WNUA stuff. Despite all of the adversity, I realize Paris is the place for me, but not right now, I think. I'm not ready for her.

I love Paris. I know this. It is my city. It is my home.

But I told you, I feel good now. I know more. I'm closer to being ready for her...

Grief and Confusion

2005-08-06T11:14:00.000-05:00

I've had a difficult last few days. I have been thinking alot about Gregory. He moves in and out of my head...When I am quiet and still I imagine him lying on his front porch saying: "Dude, shot me dead."

This hasn't taken over my life or anything, I just feel a great sense of loss. I have always been one of those people who thought that when someone dies, no matter how tragically or violently, it is simply their time. I have stood by that over the years. But now, I am tempted to say 'NO, IT JUST WASN'T HIS TIME." But it was, or he'd still be here, right? I don't know if this belief is my attempt to make sense of something that makes no sense.

Some things just don't. I should know that by now.

Gregory Ward, R.I.P.

2005-08-03T23:02:00.000-05:00

Today one of my babies, one of my former students was shot and killed, probably by one of my other former students. He probably knew, no, he definitely knew who did this to him. His family probably knows. I have my suspicions. Although it will undoubtedly offend, most of you readers probably would have judged him. He was a good boy. Very special. Really, he was. I'm not one to say it if it isn't true, not even in death. He was smart, witty, slightly self-deprecating, and pensive, very thoughtful. He participated in a summer program I created and I used to drive him home during the summer of 2002 a few times each week. He always called the front seat before the other students and I remember him singing this song one day "That's my jam..." he said. I'm sorry Greg.

http://abclocal.go.com/wls/news/080305_ns_gregory_ward.html

This has made me think, for the first time, that I rather it had been me. Or, I wish I could have protected him. Senseless. There are no words to describe it all. Not because I'd been particularly close to this child, or that I 'd taken him under my wing or anything. Certainly, I saw him as a special one. I can honestly say, that when I worked at that school just knowing he was in the building made me feel better. I don't know how to explain. I watched over him, even though, he probably had no idea. He was a good one. It's not necessarily that he would have been a Nobel Prize winner or a world-reknowned mathemetician (he was really good at math), it's just that he made the world a better place somehow, believe me. But maybe he would have been those things on top of being a gift from the universe. He was a gift to us all, even though I'm not sure he really knew that.

I could say something cliché like 'this whole thing makes me see how insignificant my problems are' or 'I can't waste another moment because life can be snatched from you in an instant' but I won't, because frankly, I knew that before Greg was taken from this world. I will only say, I don't understand the ways of this world, I think I never will.

Nasty Girls

2005-08-02T22:29:00.000-05:00

At work today, a conversation with two coworkers got just about as inappropriate as any conversation possibly could. Here's the highlight:

Male Coworker: "You know, in my biology class we saw a film from about 20 years ago called The Miracle of Life and in it they say that when men ejaculate, they release a fluid that contains sugars from their prostate into their semen."

Female Coworker: "Well, it sure doesn't taste like it."

Me: "Yeah, that's for sure, if it did, we'd all have a mouth full of cavities by now."

Of course, we laughed hysterically. But I can't really even remember how we got on the topic in the first place.

Crackin' it up...

2005-07-28T11:11:00.000-05:00

Recently I was on the bus, riding through an area of the city where many homeless youth congregate. It was about 7:00 p.m. and still light outside, when the bus pulled up to a stop. I looked over and I see this kid, with several others surrounding him, smoking a crack pipe. I stared at him, he met my gaze unflinchingly--I don't know if this was a result of the crack or a result of his brashness in general. I then looked away and blinked, because I had to make sure that this was not actually happening. When I looked back he had passed it to a friend who had his back to me, but was still positioned in a way that allowed me to see that he was taking hits from the pipe. So I sat there a minute letting it all sink in and when I 'came to', I realized that two other people had been sitting at the windows closest to them and hadn't even flinched or looked or said anything. I thought that perhaps these people had never seen people smoking crack pipes. I was appalled, this was happening in broad daylight, at the bus stop, AND these were kids. WHAT THE FUCK??!!!?? I knew others had seen this. But they were just sitting as if we didn't just see KIDS smoking crack at the bus stop.

It got me thinking about how anesthetized we are to the plights and suffering of others. I mean, I am here in Seattle and everywhere you look there are nut balls walking the streets, homeless or drugged out and there they are. Everybody just looks at them, the city, clearly overlooks them. This IS NOT liberalism, folks, this is indifference. It's not cool to have a place called skid row (road, actually) and have lots of people on the skids living there, still. People turn a blind eye to these things. This is one of the reasons, the major reason actually, I had to stop teaching. Kids suffering, not getting what they need, because those in charge want to maintain the status quo and continue to get paid their fat bonus checks and salaries...I can't take it. It makes me sick and angry. Here in this place, there is an area where all the homeless people kick it (they are all over actually but especially concentrated in the Skid Row area, which most Seattlites know as the area in and around Pioneer Square and Yesler Way specifically) and another area, the U-District, where all of the homeless kids hang out. I saw in a bookstore window that someone had published a book of photos of these children. What?!? They need homes and services and food and drug rehabilitation, not their pictures taken. Believe me I know that issues surrounding homelessness and drug addiction are multi-tiered, but they need to be addressed. It is disgusting that we live this way in the 'free' world. Even moreso, when I realized that we're pumping cash into a useless space program and, God, I don't even want to go further with this...

Anyway, you may wonder what I did after seeing the crack-smoking children at the bus stop. Well, I got up and let the bus driver know and then, I called the police, because while I have a huge problem with the po-po, I have an even bigger problem with kids or anyone else, for that matter, smoking crack at a bus stop in broad daylight.

Now, I've seen some shit, but never anything that bold even in Englewood on Chicago's southside, the murder and drug capital of the city. Come on now. You will not smoke crack at the bus stop.

Devil dogs, crazy cats, and surly bunnies

2005-07-21T21:31:00.000-05:00

I have this thing about funny animal stories, talking animals, etc. they always make me laugh. So, I am linking to this site: Golden State

because I think the picture of the pomeranian is hilarious. Why? I don't know exactly, but everytime I see it, I laugh hysterically. By the way, the blog is good too...

I found this awhile back on Craig's List and sent it to all of my friends. Again, hilarious to me. I don't know why, but here it is...

Wacky animals. They can either tug on your heart strings or be the very bane of your existence. Either way, they are often good for a laugh. Even the annoying cats I am watching make me laugh, sometimes, after I have cleaned up the poop that the fat one (25 pounds and hey, how does a cat balloon to 25 pounds anyway? I mean seriously, stop the madness. I always say fat kids and fat animals are always the fault of the parents/owners) seems to shoot over the edge of the litterbox everyday and the hair balls that the skinny, surly one seems to be plagued with and spits all over the place. Whoever said cats were clean and low maintenance lied. Eeew.

If they were mine, they wouldn't be this way. They'd suck it up and take baths and they certainly wouldn't weigh 25 pounds. They'd more than likely be surly, though. My bunny is. But, that's good, we give each other space and she certainly doesn't shoot her little poops onto the floor over the side of her litterbox. That only happens when I don't clean it out for a week and a half or something.

Anyway, I am rambling. I'll end it here.

Reality in large doses

2005-07-17T16:15:00.000-05:00

On my way to work I thought about a former friend who is the female incarnation of my ex. I'd known her for about 8 years and for a while, we didn't talk, because I pushed her out of my life, but she returned apologetically and I let her back in. The reason I pushed her out then and gave her the heave-ho before moving to Seattle is that everytime we were together, it ended in an argument and I always had the feeling that she held hostility towards me. I didn't think there was competition, because we were equals in terms of ability, intelligence, etc. so, I never really thought that was the issue. But there was always something and she always started arguments and was really nasty. She always cracked jokes and tried to make me the butt of them, but there was always a sharp, seriousness to them that made me believe that secretly she really hated me or at least didn't like me too much. So, just before I moved here, I let go of her. She started this huge argument during a two-day stay at her house and I said, to myself, hey, that's it. I can't do this anymore. She never apologized and I'm sure just assumed that everything was the same.

Now, this is what my ex did when I first came to visit him upon returning from France. He hurt me deeply by lashing out at me and refusing, on my final day in Seattle to spend time with me after he had promised. He wasn't feeling well, it turned out, but instead of making clear exactly how sick he was, he was mean and didn't stand up as a man to tell me A) he just didn't feel well enough or B) he just didn't want to spend time with me. As I look back, I think that he, as was the case with my former friend, just didn't really like me. There is something there that maybe even he could not articulate if asked. I say this, because in both of these cases, there was more arguing, disagreeing, and withholding of affection on their parts than could be explained by anything else. So, I have accept the cold, hard truth, I guess.

It was over with my ex and I before I moved to Seattle. I was not over him but I was over all of the possibilities I had created for the two of us in my head, if that makes any sense. With my other, former friend, I knew it was over long ago.

These are all the right steps in the right direction, I am convinced. I'm just sad things had to happen this way. It wasn't necessary, they both could have just told me and I would have left them alone without all of the strife, you know?