The Musings of a Latte Queen: Narratives of Everyday Life

Depression 2.0 Hits Young African-Americans…Hardcore Posted using ShareThis

The all-important, make-it-or-break-it, indicator of the year to come, retail big day - Black Friday! Hype was almost unbearable last week, the anticipation, the sneak peaks and websites claiming to know which one of the cavernous cinder blocks of blue or red specials would tout the best deals, the recounting of horrendous tramplings, camping out, and wigs flying off circulating the website like the lines around the store. In this wild, wild place I ventured this morning, armed with my perused ads and strategy - he to one store, me to another, both aware that since we did not forgo dessert and actually went to sleep last night, the bargains on the TV and laptops would not be our's.  But we thought, it is still early, only 5:22am, surely there will be one, maybe just one of the things on the list for our three youngest children.  Cell phones charged and ready, he dropped me off at Target and then headed over to Wal*Mart. Were there really that many people in my little tow...

This is holiday season.  It is upon us.  Retailers are at the ready.  Waiting.With.Baited.Breath. I was talking to my cousin this morning about Black Friday.  I asked him was he going to go brave the retail sport of trying to find a bargain.  He recounted to me a time, a few years ago, when he thought he was early when he went to Best Buy at 7am.  He was thinking he could get a jump on the shopping and surely no one was up on the Friday after Turkey Day to be out shopping. Wrong on all accounts.  He said he had to walk all the way around the store just to get out, it was wall-to-wall people and the thing that dragged his happy-that-I-ate-well sleepy self out-of-bed-for was already sold out. The last few years I have donned my sweat shirt, grabbed my coffee mug, and headed out to the throng. Part of it is to find a deal, part of it is the sport, part of it is the excitement, and more of it is my M.B.A. in marketing doing my annual consumer obser...

Life is a funny thing sometimes, the twists and turns it takes us. They say that truth is stranger than fiction, no one would believe the things some people have lived through.  How could so much adventure, love, tragedy, or drama impact one life?  Yet, sometimes, isn't that what makes life rich in the first place? I've been spending the last few weeks alternating between trying to develop a plot for National Novel Writing Month and my duties as Mom-in-Chief.  I'm on my quest to reach 50,000 words, knowing that I need to journey to at least 75,000 for an actual book.  It is something, this process of bringing fiction to life, trying to create believable characters, staying away from cliche' and the junk I can't stand to read, and be caffeinated enough to get a first draft out in one month. When I step away from the computer and into my world, I wondered about the journey we all take.  We want to be remembered, relevant, leave something meaningful in that ...

Still writing, 7630 words so far. Not bad considering I didn't start on the 1st.  I started a week after National Novel Writing Month began.  Will I make it to 50,000 words by November 30th?  Not sure, that is the goal.  The plot is still developing, new characters coming and a love story thrown in.  It is more suspenseful with a dark character who bothers me but looms behind the distance in the story. I have been writing for two hours, I have two stop now and go get Keziah.  I think the stop and starts of my day is what is making this harder than I want.  I want to step away from my life and just write, perhaps over Thanksgiving Dwyane will take the kids out shopping or something. The process is good, forcing me to think more about my craft, more so in a sustained setting than during the leisure of developing a story over a longer period of time.  I know the editing will be a bugger and I am resisting urges to stop and research more.  Th...

After much debate and pointing and accusing, the House finally passed the Health Reform Bill.  It is an important first step.  Important enough for me to step away from my novel to talk about it from a personal point of view.  Important enough for me to momentarily stop worrying that my daughter wouldn't have insurance. Health is paramount in my house.  Every day, every meal, every night, it is first and foremost on my mind.  We have very real concerns about having universal health care. We have asthma.  Myself and my two daughters are often plagued by the airway constricting and frightening gasps for air that accompany these bronchil spasms.  Our heart races and the inside of our chest feels like someone turned on the furnace in 100-degree heat.  Our chest heaves in and out and we squeeze our eyes shut willing more air to squeeze through.  An asthma attach is frightening, even if you know the triggers and have lived with it your entire...

This story is unfolding! It is telling me what to write, no title yet. Introduced new characters yesterday. I'm up this morning writing before we hit the highway to Lee's Summit. The process is interesting, sustained time at the computer, my fingers are numb. Never tried writing an entire book in one month before. It is funny how these characters develop their voice and become real to me, I am turning over my shoulder now, feeling the chill of one of the darker spirits. I brush him off my shoulder and remember that I am the one deciding his fate with the power of my keys! Back to writing, the story has more to tell.

I have to say something really bugged me today. My youngest child is five years old. She is in half-day kindergarten. That means that for 3 hours she sits in a classroom coloring, sorting, and counting. Not enough time for me to do anything else since I have to drop her off and pick her up on time, lest I get the stare down from the teacher's aid if I am even a couple minutes late. Well, standing on line, a full ten minutes before the anticipation of the doors open, watching all the other suburban moms wait for their little cherubs, there was something that bothered me. It is how much the role of at-home-mom is devalued or diminished. This is not easy work. Salary.com posts salaries of careers. It is always a good gage when preparing for an interview or asking for a raise (do those even exist in this economy?) to at least check out the salary range for the particular position. This site and its reporting of the mom salary always makes annual buzz on the morning news circuit...

Have you ever thought about how life unfolds? I am reading "have a little faith" by Mitch Albom. It is a tender story, unfolding over several years, of an old rabbi and an old preacher. It is told throw Mitch's encounters of their history. One of the things that keeps standing out to me is how much faith does play a part in our life and how life unfolds in many ways. I've always been taught to believe in divine direction. I know that God has a purpose for me. That is something daddy always told me. I remember in dismay saying to him, about twenty years ago, "well, I wish God would hurry up and tell me because I am tired of waiting." He and I were sitting in Jiffy Lube in Jefferson City getting my car serviced before my then two sons and I drove back to Chicago. I was twenty-six and by some standards, old. It is funny to me now when a lot of young women haven't even had children by this age now. My daddy was trying to encourage me to keep motivat...

I took an afternoon to get away and reflect on life. I started writing my memoir. Funny the thing that happens to you when you start to write down the story. Memories knocked on the door that I had closed long ago, demanding to be opened and heard and acknowledged. Some were good, some were bad, all are history. It struck me over the weekend as I spent time with my living children on Saturday and mourned my deceased son on Sunday, that life is a drama. I love to read, often drawn to the human interest real-life stories of ordinary people. It reminded me of how much we impact others. It also reminded me of a strength that I did not often acknowledge. A wise friend told me, toward the end of my day of reflection, that there is still purpose to pursue. My heart skipped a beat and my eyes teared up in acceptance. Many are the words still to be written. I hold a memorial for my son every year, each year changes on how I choose to reflect, but I do it because like my Jewish friends w...