Category Archives: Slice of Life – Two Writing Teachers

City Gal Country Road

Posted on by
2

Won’t deny it, I am mostly a city gal, born and raised and I love my gritty streets.  But in my youth I had me a good taste of some country days and ways. Many summers spent down in semi rural south in Grandma’s house, I learned me some things most city folks know nothing about.

Don’t know why, but there’s something about this time of year, this early spring that takes me back. . The trees are mostly gray, the very first hints of spring raising  from aground, yet that nip of winter making an appearance in the late nights. Yet I know summer’s not too long from coming.

And I’m reminded of being in the middle of a bench seat of pickup truck as a child. Or riding shotgun on a back road as a young teen. Riding hard somewhere that has never known the feel of asphalt with the spray of mud and gravel flying from beneath the tires. Oh and dappled sunlight filtered through a canopy of leaves, my hand out the window surfing the wind.

Yeah, sometimes this city girl craves a country road.

<>==========<>==========<>

Let’s see how others are slicing through what’s left of the weekend…

sol

Slice of Life Story Challenge – Day 6 | Two Writing Teachers

I Ain’t ‘Fraid of No Stereotype – I’m Pissed

Posted on by
3

So the official trailer for the remake of Ghostbusters has hit the internet.

And I am pissed-off.

I fully understand this is a reboot of the original Ghostbusters and the new characters somewhat mirror their male counterparts from 1984, but in the original, when Ernie Hudson’s character Winston joins the group he comes in -more or less- as an equal partner to the three scientists. So what happened to Leslie Jones’ character Patty in this remake? As depicted in this trailer, I don’t see it. It’s looks more like they, the three white scientists, are the brains and she is the loud mouth brawn.

It is 2016 and the trope of the smart white guys and their “street-wise” black partner is just plain OLD. Gender swapping does not make it less noticeable. The –you three got all your degrees, but I got a Cadillac, I know NYC and I will slap the ghost out of you! – scenes of Patty, as shown in the trailer, play so heavily on the Loud/Streetwise Black Woman stereotypes that it is a neck roll and three finger snap in a Z formation away from looking racist.

It is bad enough that women of color are under represented in movies as is. When we do appear it is often as some stereotype. And after so many years of movie going it is so frustrating to see again and again and yet again. Would it really have been so far out of the movie going mindset that Leslie Jones portray one of the scientists and let’s say Kate McKinnon portray the streetwise one?

Maybe Patty will come off more as an equal in the overall arc of the movie, I really hope so, because the trailer clearly missed the mark in portraying such.

At least this iteration of Ghostbusters will pass the Bechdel Test.

<>==========<>==========<>

Let’s see how other are slicing it up this Saturday…

sol

Slice of Life Story Challenge – Day 5 | Two Writing Teachers

Chick Please

Posted on by
1

I wear pantsuits for work, or at least dress slacks and a nice top. I dress womanly, feminine, but not necessarily girlie. That’s just not my everyday style. Generally, I’m a jeans and tee-shirt kind of gal.

But every now this thankfully only for a day-maybe two-phase comes over me where I want to wear a dress, curl my hair, put on make-up, yeah all the accoutrements involved.

It’s extra work and ninety percent of the time I think the only people who get it are those who know me well enough to appreciate the phenomena for what it is.  I refer to that as The Girl Won. Where the feminine aspect of me decidedly takes over my psyche and I’m going to dress like a girl today whether I like it or not. This morning was one of those mornings.

I had laid out my clothes for work last night. Jeans, because it will be casual Friday at work, (where even my boss will come in jeans and a sweatshirt now and then), my nice white and black blouse, my cropped black jacket… You know, lighter than professional casual but not I’m going to a picnic after work casual. I mean everything down to my lingerie was planned out for this morning. So why is it when I woke and looked at it hanging on the door my thought was uh no! ?

Aw crap The Girl woke up, noooo!

Sometimes I can fake her out, put on the clothes I initially chose anyway, just bling it out more than usual and she’s consoled enough to take it. I knew within fifteen minutes of clothing changes, there was no consoling her. Nothing I put on looked good to me until I pulled on the sweater dress.

Yup it was going to be a girl day. I could feel it – the whole kit and kaboodle was happening this morning. Hell the dress even has minute lines of pink in it! I conceded to defeat.

To add the true annoyance factor I stepped outside to snow.

Are you kidding me chick? You couldn’t have kicked in yesterday when the sun was out so bright, I needed sunglasses? No you show up today when there’s snow on the ground.

Yeah, that was my inner dialogue with my feminine side who pretty much shushed me with the reminder that it’s only snowing this morning. It will stop later and I will be looking great.

Ugh, Chick please, shut up!

I hate her, but she’s right, I do look great.  Happy Friday!

<>==========<>==========<>

Let’s see how others are slicing it up this Friday…

sol

Slice of Life Challenge – Day 4 | Two Writing Teachers

One Monkey

Posted on by
10

I blinked at what I heard, for surely I was mistaken. That could not be what she just said to me.

I often find myself one of the few, if not the only, person of color of some of the events I attend. My tastes tend to cross over the presumed lines so often that it is to the point that I am relatively blind to finding myself in such situations anymore.

Every now and then, however, someone reminds me.

I made a slow, but definite pantomime of looking over my left shoulder, and then over my right one checking for the person I was very much aware did not exist behind me. I caught the eye of the friend who invited me. She saw my arched brow and bit her lip before quickly finding a spot on the table to give her undivided attention.  Not that I could blame her, I know she was mortified at what just happened and part grateful she was not going to be on the receiving end and what was about to happen. Thus, I was forced to turn my attention back to the woman awaiting my response. For the sake nicety I’ll refer to her as Ms. Thing.

“To whom are you speaking?” I asked with considerably more politeness than felt.

“Why you…” She responded as though that were obvious, which technically it was, but that wasn’t the point. “I want…”

“Oh, I know what you want.” I interrupted, leaning back in my seat, crossing my arms across my chest. The near textbook example of standoffish while seated. I would have crossed my legs at the knee to complete the look, but my thick thighs gave up that ghost a long time ago. “I take umbrage with the manner in which that want was expressed.”

“All I did was ask…”

“You did not ask anything.” I raised my hand stopping her.  “I was not asked if I could. I was not asked if I wanted to. I was not given the courtesy of being addressed by a name. You did not even bother to await my response, so assured were you that I would obediently leap to your call for a minstrel that you went right back to your conversation, only looking to face me again in the ensuing silence of my disobedience. At which point, you turned in your seat, clapped your hands a couple of times in my direction as though cajoling the presence of a favored pet. Then you pointed a lovely manicured talon at me and said, and I quote “You! I hear you’re a poet. Come recite something for us.”  as though I am some fez donning, vested simian, to come clanging cymbals upon your beckoning!”  I sat up in my seat, emulating her actions as I spoke.

Perhaps I should  take a moment to say that once I write a poem, I tend to forget it.   Unless I am writing for a specific prompt or challenge, I am expunging whatever emotion that warrants it through my words and I am done with it. Considering some of the things I do write about, it likely is a very good thing I do not keep such thoughts/emotions constantly with me. It would not be good. Still, I do have a couple of poems memorized for such occasions when I’m feeling gregarious, want to show off or at my own pleasure when asked nicely.

This situation did not fall into any of those categories.

I ended my little Julia Sugarbaker moment with “Granted, I am not Maya Angelou, I have not earned her level of veneration – yet, but I most certainly am not your personal jester to entertain the court on command to be granted no respect at all.”

“Oh come now, talk about over-exaggeration! Do you see this?” Ms. Thing turns to the other women at her table, looking for confirmation. “A person cannot say the most simple thing to you people these days without…” One of the women sitting at her table called her name sharply in clear reprimand, but Ms. Thing did not get it.

“What?”

No one spoke for a solid minute, apparently not knowing how to, let alone if they should, address the new elephant in the room. Interpreting the room full of silence as deafening consent of her behavior, I had heard and had enough. I glanced at my friend. who thankfully had read my mind, nodding once as she took her purse in hand.

I picked up mine, walked over to Miss Thing and stood in front of her where she had no choice but to look up at me.

“I am guessing the only time a person of color has stepped foot in here is as the entertainment or the help, so my presence here as invited guest likely had you confused. Now that you personally have engaged your first negro guest and have gotten over the shock, you’ll have a clue on how to treat the next one better. Regardless, if your friends and companions here, whether they agree with you or not, do not have the fortitude to say what is needed to you, then I will. Much like your ignorance – your privilege is showing. Please. Shut. Up.”

The woman who called out Ms. Thing’s name started to speak the expected apologies that etiquette, if not sincerity, required. It was much too little, much too late. I knew I wore the look and used the full force of it on her silencing  whatever further inanities were about to drop.

“My mother taught me never to be where I am not wanted, yet if we all heeded that advice we would not have Barack Hussein Obama as the President of the United States. However, my grandmother taught me to pick my battles. Going for the presidency is a worthy battle, being in the company of you is not. ”

With that I left.  Because really some days it’s just not worth it.

<>==========<>==========<>

Let’s see how others are slicing it up on this third day
sol

Slice of Life March Writing Challenge Day 3 – Two Writing Teachers

Giveth and Taketh

Posted on by
4

“I believe that inspiration will always try its best to work with you–but if you are not ready or available, it may indeed choose to leave you and to search for a different human collaborator…This is how it comes to pass that one morning you open up the newspaper and discover that somebody else has written your book [or blog post!]…or in any way whatsoever manifested some spark of inspiration that you’d had…but had never entirely cultivated…Therefore, the idea went hunting for a new partner.”

–Elizabeth Gilbert , Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear

Oh, how much I do believe the truth of this. I posted absolutely nothing between late November and early February.  NOTHING.

It’s not that I did not have any ideas. I had plenty. But they all just came at odd times.

  • Hurrying down the stairs to catch a train.
  • Hands deep into slicing up meat to make a stew.
  • In the midst of teaching a class.
  • In a meeting with my boss.
  • and so on and so on…

Each time I said to myself things like “I’ll remember”, “I’ll work on it as soon as I finish_____”

Each time it was gone by the time I procured pen and paper. By God do you understand the frustration of knowing you had a great thought, an excellent lyric at the tip of your tongue, but now it’s gone can’t spit it out? I did this one time too many and the dearth of posts between November and February was my muse punishing me.

I have not seen my thoughts ideas elsewhere, at least not any can remember/recognize  lol, so at least I felt Muse has not totally given up on me, I just had to bide me time in the purgatory known as writers block. I am happy to say, Muse has decided to give me another chance and I’ve been a busy little these past couple of weeks.

I’m not messing with her again.

<>==========<>==========<>

Let’s see how others are slicing up their Day Two….

sol

Slice of Life Challenge Day 2| Two Writing Teachers

Ten Ticks…

Posted on by
5

I’ve realized time has been a been a thing with me as of late. No, not as of late, that’s disingenuous, I’ve always had a thing about time. Especially around now, around early spring for the past few years, but really from around this time last year until now, I’ve been a little more hypersensitive to its passing because this year, specifically this day, holds a special bittersweetness.

For in a few short hours, it will be ten years to the day, to the moment I became a widow.

Within days of it I remember looking at a clock and calendar through tear-stained eyes, wondering exactly how I would feel right now.  I also recall when a few very short years ago I had posted on how weird I felt the first time I forgot this day and did not mark its passing somehow.

Honestly, were it not for the decade marker today would likely have passed as another ordinary day in moment of my life. No more or less important than when a couple of weeks ago I realized another date and casually threw a  “Happy Birthday Bill!” into the heavens while getting in the car with my best friend to go shopping. The thought coming and going as quickly as a finger snap.

All of those years we spent together
Well they’re part of my life forever
I hold the joy with the pain
And the truth is I miss you my friend

If time is a healer
Then all hearts that break
Are put back together again
‘Cause love heals the wound it makes
— Time Is A Healer / Eva Cassidy

And as I sit here typing, taking a moment to acknowledge this as I prep for training, I am happy to say I feel fine. Understandably wistful, but fine.

Time is indeed a healer.

<>==========<>==========<>

Let’s see how others are slicing up their day….

sol

Slice of Life Challenge Day 1| Two Writing Teachers

 

Just Die Already

Posted on by
6

“… Yo that nigger was mad tight… The nigga seriously wanted to hurt somebody…No, but the nigga didn’t say that…Yo, my nigga really?… Nigga don’t go there…”

This was the piece of a conversation I overheard between two train stops as I rode home from work last night. I’m guessing my distaste for what I, and a good portion of the subway car overheard because he was not even trying to moderate his voice, must have shone on my face as he turned his back to me and continued with a string of words further enhanced with the slur. All of that from one person, all within the span of a standard television commercial break.

And here we go again, the love/hate relationship of the use of the N-word.

I remember growing up saying any version of the word was as much an epithet as dropping the f-bomb in front of my mother as it was as a phrase of solidarity among her male peers. There was/is somehow this unspoken agreement “my nigger” just did not apply to women. Even when I hear females say it now, 90% of the time they refer to someone male, sorry guys.

When trying to explain why I feel the use of the word offensive, regardless of who utters it, I’m often made to feel like I’m overreacting when I’m around some of my peers. Or the offending person feels the need to defend him or herself, because the only thing worse than being ignorant is being called ignorant.

And the thing that is hardest to explain is that the relatively unfettered use of this word is coming from a position of privilege most of today’s young blacks don’t even realize they have. This social advantage is so ingrained in our culture that most either aren’t aware or simply don’t care their comments are coming off the backs of centuries worth of hardship and oppression. They did not live personally through when word was nothing other than a vile degradation.

As with all young children, I knew nothing of the world beyond the boundaries of my neighborhood. Thus in grade school learning of the assassination of Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King was simply another lesson learned in history with no more or less import on my life as the lessons about Abe Lincoln and Harriet Tubman to my child’s eyes. Being all of four years of age when he died, the import was lost on me. I was a teen before I realized that I was alive when King was assassinated, and just how close segregated times were a reality for myself.

By the time I became aware of the world I was able to sit in the back of the bus because I wanted to, not because I had to. Thus, I could not understand  why my mother refused to do so even when seats were available. It was ingrained in her reality as a person who came of age through segregation to refuse to sit in the back of the bus, but not mine as I child who had not grown up in such. It was a thisclose reality, but still not my reality.

Knowing the word nigger existed to hurt is one thing, living an existence in it’s hurt is another.  Sympathy is not empathy. I can only surmise the ones who use it freely now really do not understand its power to hurt because it was never really used to hurt them. In a world where it the slur nigger holds as much impact as the curse fuck – it’s not their reality.

Now let’s consider other racial slurs that have come, and for the most part gone, in the immediate tome stream such as spic and kike, and for that matter coon and jigaboo. Words that you rarely hear spoken aloud any more. Because those affected by such slurs asserted their respect for themselves and refused to allow anyone to disrespect them with its use. And made damned sure the world knew to accept that respect.

So what the hell happened with the word nigger that it still survives and thrives to continue in its controversial life?  Why can’t it die off as some of those other slurs?

Because of men like the young man on the cell phone who dropped the word several times without a thought in the less than three minutes it took to get from one train station stop to another, it keeps being used.

How can it die if we keep letting it live?

<>==========<>==========<>

An introspective slice from the Raivenne today, let’s see how others are slicing it up…

Slice of Life Challenge | Two Writing Teachers

sol

Winter is coming-er-leaving

Posted on by
2

For us working stiff in the U.S. part of the North America hemisphere we have two times during the year that tend to suck. One is the dog days of summer when there are no major federal holidays between Independence Day (July 4th), and Labor Day (the 1st Monday in September). The other time is right now where we celebrate the births of Presidents Lincoln and Washington who had the nerve to be born in the same month. Originally, the dates were two separate holidays in February (yay!), but some grumpitygrumpgrumps got in their heads that was just too much time off and combined them into one major holiday called President’s Day. It is my honest suspicion this was done to preempt those days far down the road of having to honor future great presidents with their own personal days, eventually filling the calendar. “We gave them all one special day to celebrate, you’re not getting any more, now get back to work you peons!” — but I digress, sorta…

President’s Day, which still only honors Abe and George for now, was yesterday. That now means there are no more Federal holidays until Memorial Day at the end of May.  That is  half of February, all of March, all of April and because of how the calendar falls this year, all but one day of May  before we have a government paid holiday off from work. Thus we have reached the other time during the year we 9-to-5ers abhor.  Or as I not-so-poetically stated on my Facebook page this morning…

rai

“And now we enter the dread of winter…”

The realization that this stretch of time in, is nearly twice as long the summer stretch is a special misery. That many of us are in the middle of a very cold winter does not help. Temperatures dropped to an unseasonably brutal teens yesterday. That’s wickedly cold even for this native New Yorker whose memory still holds the nice warm sunny days from vacationing in the Middle East just a two mere weeks ago.

So there’s absolutely nothing to break up the Monday thru Friday monotony, and the pouring rain and umbrella ripping winds that await me for my trek home tonight fill me with such cheer as well.

And  despite my moaning and groaning, as I have to acknowledge today’s crazy rain starts a set of days where the temps are above freezing for the first time in a couple of weeks and I’m already thinking about my St. Paddy’s day outfit.

Not to mention Game of Thrones and Outlander returning to TV.

So, the bad news? Spring is a long 32 days away *grumbles*.

But the good  news? Spring is a mere 32 days away *cheers*.

<>==========<>==========<>

Let’s see how other’s are slicing through their day…

sol

 

Time Keeps On Slippin’

Posted on by
9

It’s interesting/funny/weird what thoughts can pop into one’s head at any given moment.

Friends and I were conversing about our various upcoming vacations planned for the year. As is the wont is such cases several of us were “I can’t wait to go to…”. What struck me was when one friend ended her vacation itinerary with “Dammit! I wish it were May already!” It’s a common enough desire, especially when looking forward to pleasurable pursuits, but for some reason it struck me as wrong today.

“Don’t do that!” I stopped her.
“Do what?”
“Wish your life away.”

Naturally this generated some very curious looks from the others in the conversation.

We adults, and I definitely include my self in this, constantly say “I wish it were Friday already!” first thing Monday mornings. Oh but, what would we miss if we could just snap our fingers, bypass Tuesday through Thursday and land square at 12:01 am Friday?  Because we focus on the humdrum of an average day, and we all want to be more than average, that we’re mentally, emotionally rushing to get to the next big joy that we’re skipping over the day-to-day of simply living through the small ones.

On my first day of business school I had wished, I was done and graduated because I was not looking forward to the eighteen months of school work ahead of me. Had that wish come true I may have never met the man who would become my husband and missed out on what are now some very fond memories of our time there.

In the words of Stevie Wonder: I wish those days could come back once more…

Take into consideration that when we wish our lives away we’re taking the world with us because El Sol and La Luna do not turn in tune  just one to individual’s desire and leave the rest of our time alone. We don’t just rush our own lives, but the lives of every one else.  You know the saying time flies when you’re having fun? Imagine your moments of joy literally being shortened by someone who is wishing their own horrible moment, hour, day, week, month, year, life away.

An uncle of mine once said to take your age and double it, and then think about chances of your reaching that age. I believe was all of twelve at the time, and in the selfish immortality of my youth, living to see twenty-four was a given so who cares? I’m a long way from twelve, and for that matter twenty-four, while I may have decent odds of doubling may fifty-two years on this earth, the reality is sobering when one considers the inevitable.

Because no matter how long we are alive, it’s never going to be as long as we are dead. After all…

All we are is dust in the wind…

Do we really want to randomly wish moments, minutes, days, weeks, months, and/or years of it away because we can’t be so bothered to actually live it?

<>==========<>==========<>

Let’s see how others are slicing up their day…

Slice of Life Challenge: Two Writing Teachers

sol

What The World Needs Now

Posted on by
5

So, I was privately asked by a surprising number of people why I had not temporarily changed my Facebook profile picture in a show of support for Paris. I who am usually up on the latest Facebook fads to have not done so was surprising to them. They have a point, but this Facebook Paris profile thing is just one I could not do.

I’ve been to Paris, but even if I had never step foot in the city I still would wholeheartedly feel for what Paris is going through.  Just as I felt the outrage for London when they were bombed in 2005, often referred to as 7/7 – the date of the occurrence, just as I know both countries grieved with us here in the United States when 9/11 happened.  There is this overwhelming sense of helplessness when one is reading of such a tragedy from afar. After all what can the average Jane and Joe from so far away do right?  Granted, most of the world did not have social media, let alone the ability to easily change our profile pics on FB in 2001 or 2005, but today if we can’t really do anything else, the very least we can do, and it really is the very least, is change our profile picture to show our support for Paris right? Right.

When I noticed the changing profile pictures my very first thought was that’s nice.  Our hearts are in the right places, I do not make light of it.

I get it.

I really do.

Still, I could not help but ask myself the following – where were these near instantaneous profile pics apps of solidarity for

Where are the profile pic apps for any all of them?

A couple of months or so ago, here in the US, Facebookers were able to be “StraightOutta___” whatever they chose to be straight out of in honor/celebration of the release of the movie “Straight Outta Compton”.

A movie.

A simple movie about a rap group from the 80’s was worthy of being on our profile pictures, yet today is the 580th day since 273 Nigerian school girls were kidnapped by Boko Haram terrorists in Nigeria. 57 escaped and 219 are still missing.

Where’s their profile pic overlay app?

Some have tried to say that most of the above didn’t count because the countries have been in some form of contentious states for years, even decades now. But just because Paris is relatively brand new to this and is considered a safe place, are they more worthy than the Israeli and Palestinian who live with the threat of a bombing as a daily fact of life? Uh. no.  And please let it begin and end right here with why tragedies to brown faces get less news coverage and hold our attentions far shorter than tragedies to white faces.  I just can’t/won’t go there with that today for we are all hurting.

We cannot look at the events of Paris and not share in their grief. Nor should we ignore the horrors of one tragedy in order to acknowledge the horrors of another.  I have no qualms for the many Facebookers who have temporarily changed their profile pictures in solidarity of Paris. Again, because I understand it, I really do. I have changed my Facebook cover to better reflect the suffering seemingly everywhere, for I have no solutions or resolutions either.

It’s a jacked-up world we’re living in and the events in Paris and in Lebanon and in Nigeria… and… and… are already fading into the happier glow of the coming holidays, because it’s all we can do to hold to what little happiness can be found out here for us.

Let’s find it and try to hold on to it long past the times that go by with auld lang syne.

<>==========<>==========<>

Slice of Life : Two Writing Teachers

Slice of Life - Two Writing Teachers