A Mile In… 

It has been a couple of days now since we’ve made Donald Trump the new president-elect. Between the various camps of who voted for whom or berating/thanking those who did not vote at all and what it all means,it has been a shit storm of a week. In the midst of it are those saying it won’t be as bad as others are making it out to be. And that is the thing that has probably bugged me the most.

The majority of those who have touted unity, to pull ourselves together, have predominantly been white cis and yes, male. Now,to a point they are correct. It won’t be bad for them with Trump as preident, for it was not bad for most of them to begin with regardless of who held the title of POTUS. Their privilege comes with rose colored glasses that not nearly enough have chosen to at least lower them enough to view how things are for others whose shoes walk a different path. And those shoes coverd many different paths during the campaign – Blacks, Hispanics, women, immigrants, Muslims, Jews, gays..

Muslim women who have had their hajibs snatched from their heads. American born Mexican children being tauted by classmates they will be deported. A black man being called nigger and spat upon. A gay man being told he will soon be executed straight or to death. All of these events, perpetrated by whites, happened within the first 48 hours of Trump being elected. This is not to say any of these could not have happened at any other time, it could, and likely has, many times before. But it has ratched up considerably in just three days. This daily fear and unfortunate reality for many of us -for as a black woman in America I do feel those  crosshairs- is not going to be abated because many chose to push those rose colored glasses higher to hide the ugly.

Anyone denying that the climate has changed enough that the more hateful among us feel not just free, but justified, to behave this way since Trump’s election are accessories to the perpetrators, for silence is consent. Armchair tut-tutting after the fact is empty lip service to those who hurt. For while I do not believe the entire country will completely fall into the dark ages racially and socially, if the past couple of days have proven nothing else, I do believe the day to day social climate is going to be a rougher path to travel. 

In all honesty, I have no idea what kind of president Trump will be. I have no idea how a Republican led House, Senate and presidency will effect this nation as a whole. They may yet shock us all. Not holding my breath on it,  though. I have lived through several presidents now in my adult life. Some were given my vote and I lived through them, some were not and I lived through them. Like it or not, and I don’t, the nation has elected Donald J Trump, President of the United States of America and I am an American. I will respect the Office of the President of the United States, for I know it is bigger than the man who serves in it, and I will live through this president as well.

As I explained to an erstwhile colleague I ran into on the subway, just because it’s not your reality doesn’t mean the reasons for my fear are not real. Telling me it won’t be that bad is in fact saying it will be bad. Don’t you dare then belittle and dismiss my fears as unjustified.

Verbal Diarrhea Diaries: The Big Achoo

One of my several knuckle-headed, irreverent Facebook buddies posted the following…

If God sneezes, what do you say to Him?If God sneezes, what do you day to Him?

Me, being equally knuckle-headed and irreverent, responded in kind of course …

Salud! Careful Big Dude, I heard the last time that happened You accidentally took out the dinosaurs.

Salud! Careful Big Dude, I heard the last time that happened You accidentally took out the dinosaurs.

The older I get the more certain I am that Mr. Alighieri is going to need a whole new circle built for me and my shenanigans. At least I’m guaranteed excellent company.

I Want To Know

I was minded of Foreigner’s power ballad “I Want To Know What Love Is” when I read this post and while the bastion of nonsense that is the world of Tumblr every now and again someone gets a clue. This is not an end all-be all answer, for every love is different, but it is one that gets  the core of all long lasting loves it right.

(Click each one to enlarge it)

ro-11

ro-22

ro-33

ro-44

ro-55

ro-66

This is what lasting love is.

This is not to say that sparks won’t happen anymore, they do, but lovers tend to forget a spark is designed to be a temporary thing.

A spark is what gets the fire started, not the fire itself. And it’s that fire you want to build.

Now and again a new spark causes a flare-up to help keep those fires burning, but again it is not the fire itself. It’s not the spark, but the fire of the heart/h that gets you past the first year, the first decade, the fifth decade and beyond.

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sol

Slice of Life Writing Challenge – Two Writing Teachers

By Any Other…

“Oh, bee barf…?”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Why?” I smile knowingly.

“Because it’s an insult!”

“Not to me.” my standard response.

A decade plus later…

“All this damned time you’ve been calling me honey?” His mouth ajar.

“Yes, bee barf.”

Stupid Internet ruined everything…

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A memory of the day my late-husband learned something of a sticky situation…

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Quadrille #13 

Today’s Quadrille (a poem of 44 words: no more, no less – not including the title) has to include the word jar. A word that can find many uses, as a noun or, as I’ve chosen to do, a verb (with or without an object).

The Call…

There’s a demon sitting on my shoulder
Whispering things and it’s getting bolder

A susurrus of dark and dangerous things
Makes the sinner in me want to come out and sing

And it’s getting stronger (you know you want to…)

Leaving its score on dark parts to remind me
Desire for such is within not behind me

Right now I know I’m the one in control
Of what’s clawing and braying to get to  my soul

But for how much longer? (you know you want to…)

There’s a demon sliding along my spine
Twixt my head and my heart claiming “both will be mine”

I’m crying for the call of it chills me
I’m lying for the call of it thrills me

And it’s getting stronger (you know you want to…)

Though I feel the rumble of defiant laughter
I do not give in to the dark it’s after

But for how much longer? (you know you want to…)

I feel the scratching on the surface of my skin
Hear the voices dripping with inevitable sin
Scraping and tearing at what fight’s left within
Let me in! Let me in! Let me! Let me in!

No!

Let me in! Let me in! Let me! Let me in!

Nooooooo!

Let me in! Let me in! Let me! Let me in!

Nooooooooo…

There’s a demon crawling under my skin (you know you want to…)
A sadistic lover calling from within (you know I want to…)
And it’s getting stronger (I know you want to…)

Ooooooooooooh…

Not much longer (I know I want to…)

Ooooooooooooh…

I know I want to…

Oh

I want to…

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dverse

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Open Link Night #177

 

Don’t Give!

I look at him and I see a face:
One that’s covered in silent tears
His voice is in the deepest bass
Every word riddled by silent fears

Don’t give!

Always so cautious, always trying
never to give himself away
And yet I can see, he’s dying
a little bit more each day

Don’t give!

And the thought stabs my heart like a knife
Time put him in this spot and only time can heal
That all I can do is pray that the strife
Does not push him past where he can deal

Don’t give!

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real-toads-buton

Real Toads | Tuesday Platform

Cuba: Past – Present – Future

Ah Cuba! A Country Frozen In Time does not begin to cover it.

The varying architecture of neo-classic is next door to art deco and Spanish moorish influences  through mid-century modern is amazing in its unique beauty. It is also in sharp contrast with the appalling decrepit state so many of those same structures that is Havana. Crumbling exterior walls, layers of peeling paint it is like viewing photos of beautiful old abandoned; haunted buildings, only the people still live there. There is no homelessness per se as everyone one has a solid roof over their heads. However, the state of that roof and the rest of the structure varies from completely renovated and structurally sound, through passing fair, to just barely habitable depending on the finances –or lack thereof- for the home dweller. So much of Havana reminded me of the initial squalor of the squatters who took over abandoned buildings in the late 70s early 80’s. And very much like those squatters maintain and rebuild the best that they can, with whatever skills, funds and/or ingenuity they can muster to do so. And that spirit is also Havana’s beauty. What has held them together during this Cold War and embargo with the US.

Cienfuego and (almost typed “y” instead of “and” there), Trinidad are unique beautiful places unto themselves. While still poor, they  almost look more affluent than some parts of Havana because they do not have the massive amounts of three – four hundred years old architecture

The Cubano view of Americans is mixed. Most seem to like that we’re finally coming back. Others have said to our faces “I hate America”. And though they toe the party line and deny it to a person, like America, racism and classism rears its ugly head here as well.

Believe me Cuba is colorful and vibrant and so very much alive.  There is art everywhere; plazas and parks with sculptures, and beautiful murals along walls. You turn a couple of corners and there is something to capture your attention. Of course there are bars a plenty and I had to visit Floridita, a favored haunt of Ernest Hemingway and birthplace of the frozen daiquiri. Nearly every restaurant had live music, every plaza had something to sell, and every other street had something to buy.

As such, you can already see where the beginning of capitalism is rearing its head. Iberostar has hotels in Havana and Trinidad, Cuba. A Four Point Sheraton is being built in Havana as I type. There are several fancy hotels in cThere is new construction or buildings being renovated throughout. Showy restaurants whose owners clearly have access to foreign –read American- coin dot the calles, alongside the more homespun dining fare. Citizens having private businesses have only been a recent advent in Cuba, creating a pseudo middle-class of sorts. I am praying Cuba will not go the route of some of its sister Caribbean islands where there will be tourist only places and/or areas of affluence, while the average citizen lives far below the poverty line.

Oh! And let’s not forget about the vintage American cars. After decades of mileage and eco conscious cars here in the states seeing a fleet of huge, all metal, shiny classic American cars still running the roads is indeed a sight to behold! Talk about they don’t make them like they used to?! These things are tanks. Painstakingly restored and maintained they are things of beauty. It is more impressive when you consider they do not have easy access to parts for these cars. If something breaks they have to fabricate much of what they need to repair it. Many are privately owned and used as tourist taxis. Even so, they have fun with the vehicles as the bubble gum pink Hello Kitty taxi I saw attests to.

 

I have taken a ton of pictures, but not nearly enough. I have seen some of Cuba, but not nearly enough. I’d like to return in a few years to see the differences.

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sol

Slice of Life Writing Challenge | Two Writing Teachers

 

 

 

Another Forgotten Soul

I hear the steady rhythm of a familiar beat
The beat that belongs to my heart
Each intake of breath induces own brand of sweet

I’ve been lectured its beat won’t last through the night
A motif I’ve heard several times before
This new morning again dispels that tale and again I’m alright

Well as right as right can be with these tubes in my chest
The clicks, chinks and whoosh, a daily orchestration of my machines
I half think to ask to take them out they’ve done their last test

I’ve buried children, a husband, and friends
The blessing and curse of having a long life
Outliving those who would be with me at my end

No longer with the ones of my long life’s sharing
To pillow my days with fond memories
I slowly die alone attended by some other’s caring

Who will last close these feathered eyes is out of my control
With no one left to rescue the memory of my name
I wonder how long before I’m another forgotten soul

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At dVerse we’re asked to pen our fears. This is mine – that I will outlive everyone who would love and advocate for me. That I will die, not necessarily by myself, but definitely alone.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Poetics: What Are You Afraid Of ?

Real Toads – The Tuesday Platform

To Serve With Loath…

Ah jury duty!

While I can’t speak for the rest of the country, or even the rest of the state for that matter, here in New York City a summons to jury duty seems to fall into 3 major camps:

  • Yay! I get out of work!
  • Damn! This shit again!
  • Whatever!

Then there is the subset cross twixt the Yays and teh Whatevers in which I fall. I do not relish jury duty, with glee, nor do I find it abhorrent or am apathetic to it.  I get the whole “what if it were happening to me” aspect of it and that it’s my civic duty. If I think myself to have the wherewithal to decide whether a candidate is worthy to be president surely I have the same to decide whether the average Joe is innocent or guilty. I merely hope if sellected for a case, I can serve with as little interruption to my life as possible, but I serve. Believe me when I tell you most NYCers report for jury duty with less joy than going to the gallows.

After herding us cattle, I mean joining us prospective jurors together in to  one large hall, the court clerk begins to read the rules and expectations of serving on jury duty. Clearly she s reading from a script so memorized that the sheets of paper in front of her is just a mere formality – it’s akin to watching a flight attendant who has done the Y M C A of flight safety nth times too many. Moreso, the clerk delivers her instructions with a monotone that would make a Ben Stein monologue seem lively and engaging by comparison.

Luckily, being allowed to use our phones as long as we were quiet I gratefully distracted myself from the acute boredom by snarking on facebook. Commentary from yesterday:

“Anyone who has a letter from their boss, explaining why you cannot serve jury jury, please bring the letter to the front so we can stamp it “Denied” to return to to your boss. You will not be excused.”

The “Aw fuck!” disappointed expressions around me are hilarious.

There was a woman a few seats from me who nicely took the tri-folded paper in her hand, put it in her purse, then not so nicely swore under her breath. Whoops. I can’t swear on it, but I am reasonaby sure I saw her get it stamped at the front desk later. Sometimes it bes liket dat – as the old folks say.

For the first couple of hours a max of ten names were called. For a bunch of peope who clearly did not wish to b there, I was surprised by the general chatter around me from those who names were yet to be called. It became repetetaive and annoying quickly. There were four or five people conversing around me being really whiny about the whole thing. I actually said to a guy trying to draw me in to the madness “Look. Very few of you actually want to be here. But you are here. You can’t get out of it. Constantly bitching isn’t going to get you out any sooner. Grow the hell up and shut the hell up.” 

I don’t think they are going to let me sit with them during lunch. I’m truly heartbroken over it.Speakng of lunch – another facebook comment:

The alacrity with which people hauled-ass out the juror waiting room for lunch is only going to be beat in humor by the comparative lethargy of these same folks upon reentry when the break is over. I could be grossly wrong in my assessment, but I don’t think my fellow jurors-in-waiting want to be here.

Suffice to say my facebook friends were amused.

Now we were warned from onset that if our name are not called, we may be realsed as early as 3pm, however, we may indeed be there until 5pm. When I looked uo at the clock at the front of the hall and saw 3:20pm, I prepared myself for the long haul. Minutes later Lady Ben Stein cle at the front desk announced “Ladies and gentlemen your service for today is concluded. Please return at 9:30am tomorrow…”. 

 Going by the speed with which many bee-lined for the doors. What was heard was:

“RELEASE THE HOUNDS!!!!”

As nearly all headed out as though the buildng were on fire. I say nearly beause some of us remained seated clearly observing this mad dash with bemusement. Then there was the cutie-pie who had not move at all because he was lightly snoring, about to drool asleep. His complete look of bewilderment as woke him to a near empty hall was priceless.

Today is day two – Let the games begin…

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Slice of Life Writing Challenge | Two Writing Teachers

The Heat Is On

And to think I once thought my PMS was annoying. The cramping, the headaches and downright bitchiness that was the bane of my existence these past decades was a cake walk compared to the hot flashes I’m having now. No articles, no discussions among matriarchs and friends – nothing had fully prepared me for the phenomenon of feeling my body go 98.6 to 689 degrees within the span of a single minute.

Let me tell you “Flash” as a descriptive of this is sorely misleading. Flash evokes the idea of something “short”, or “over with quickly”. Alas, except in relating to the intensity and speed of its onset, that is rarely the case. I’ve had flashes that lasted for 15 minutes or more where all time slows and each minute of that flash feels like an eternity in Hades’ personal sauna.

I have semi-jokingly called it “my own personal summer”, however it is considerably less amusing in the stifling heat of actual summer. I’m at the train station this morning furiously wiping at my face with a wash cloth, for mere paper towels cannot handle this, barely able to keep my sweat from stinging my own eyes. Being in air-conditioning hardly helps. Even within the, usually only slightly warmer than Siberia, confines of the training room, I watched helplessly as my students tried hard not to watch as beads of sweat form and drip down my face and neck as I conducted my class.

At home I’m feeling trapped, often too hot to move out of the blast from the Dyson fan in directly front of me. Dinners have sometimes turned into pints of ice cream and gallons of ice water in desperation to quickly cool off when my internal thermostat goes wonky.

Yes, and this too shall pass, I know. And I’m likely to have even more fun things to look forward to…

But in the interim, seriously – if I no longer have any buns left in the oven to cook, why is the heat turning on?

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Let’s hope my fellow slicers are having a cooler time of it – check ’em out:

sol

Slice of Life Writing Challenge – Two Writing Teachers