The Musings of a Latte Queen: Narratives of Everyday Life

Three things happened this week that further solidified my reasoning for voting for President Obama. The first was church this weekend when I was shocked that my usually non-partisan Sunday messages were filled with the right-wing lies straight out of their national playbook.  I walked out.  Even my daughters (it was the 5th Sunday, the Sunday when the families are supposed to worship together and not be in their respective grade level, middle school, or high school church). The second thing was Hurricane Sandy that dumped a deluge of snow (Appalacian mountains) and rain (New York,  New Jersey especially hit hard) on the Eastern Shore.  States including Virginia, Maryland (including the area of DC), West Virginia, Connecticut, Delaware, Philadelphia, New York, and New Jersey are in the direct path of what was a horrible storm last night.  The light of day this morning and the streaming videos are showing just how bad the devastation.  The entire part o...

The girls and I were sitting in worship today, enjoying the message, thus far, and the spirit-filled, sweet moment of praise – “Because of who you are” – still ringing in our spirits…when my head could not register the shock that happened next. We have been attending the same church since we moved here, primarily for the ordered services, the multi-generational, multi-cultural, and multi-economic congregation.  The church has separate churches for the babies, children, middle school, high school, and adult audiences.  The pastor calls us “Christ-followers” and for years kept the message focused on simply loving the Lord. Then slowly, once President Obama was elected, there seemed to be more and more partisan messages creeping in, subtle at first, I almost missed it…until today. He has been teaching a series on the Beatitudes, a simple and applicable message of Christ – you know, those words in red in Matthew 5 – when in the pause of his message today, he put up s...

I have been fortunate in that I really don’t have to work, despite my husband’s sometime angst-filled rants about how much is spent on groceries, I am blessed that he really does make enough to provide for the family’s needs and a few wants.  With this as my family backdrop and my number-one occupation being mom for the past decade, I venture into the world of paid work to keep my resume current, my skills sharp, and pay for yet another violin/piano/vocal/guitar/whatever-they-need-lesson.   I am able to pick and choose my projects as an independent consultant and small business owner.  I’ve devoted the past five or six years to my writing and have acquired a pretty good collection of narrative essays, book reviews, and poetry.  I am deeply involved in my local community and serve on the board of directors to local non-profits, have managed budgets for banquets, and have been a facilitator for community forums.  The past five years have allowed me...

There was a quote in my local morning paper that said, "if you want a government of the millionaires, by the millionaires, and for the millionaires, than Ann Wagner and Mitt Romney deserve your vote," Glenn Koenen, Democratic candidate for the U.S,. House District 2 of my home state of Missouri. I do not disparage wealthy people, heck, I am descended from land owners and people of means. I grew up solidly middle class on a middle class street as one of the only families with children and one of the only black families.  My home had three full bathrooms (in 1972!), 5 bedrooms, deep walk-in closets, high ceilings, full basement, almost a quarter acre of back yard, surround sound, on and on.  A huge home that at one time housed parents, grandparents, children (6), and for one summer, grandsons (5)!  We all had plenty of food, summer vacations (often two), monthly allowance, wonderful Christmases and a playroom.  We had our own TVs and record players an...

Yesterday, I traveled back to my childhood hometown.  Never expecting to go back, not really, my life had moved on elsewhere. But back I went, saddened, and needing to be around those of my cohort. One of our own suddenly, unexpectedly, and tragically came to the end of his life.  He was in his law office, preparing for his court appearance that was to be in just a few hours, and somewhere in all that writing his briefs and gathering his things - he had a brain aneurysm   Sudden and complete, just like that, and his candle went out at only 49. We traveled back, there were not that many of us, black kids, in that time of growing up, we all knew each other, we were part of each other's formative years.  The church was packed, standing-room-only, they told me the outpouring was just as large the night before for the visitation.  We collectively celebrated his life and grieved for our loss of his smile, his laughter, his determination, his tenacity. ...

I have been on a journey over the past thirty years to take back my voice and shout loudly from the rooftops. See, when you have been silenced, or coerced to silence, scared silent, or forced silent, you will do anything to hold onto that precious thing you have - the right to speak. When I was a little girl, someone used fear and intimidation to silence me. I was not allowed to have sleepovers or to sleepover, even in high school.  I couldn't go hang out with my friends and was basically made to feel unsure of my voice, even as my father had introduced me to the pen at age 10. My step-sister violated my sanctity and privacy.  She read my tweenage journal where I pined after my long dead mother, my  long gone big sisters and brothers who knew nothing of my daily terror.  I was alone in a house full of people and poured out my heart in the pages of that diary.  She read it and then told my step-mother, my tormentor, that I wanted to run away, wish...

My heart skipped a beat and I spilled my coffee. I was sitting down, getting ready to read some poetry, getting caught up on a class. The day was lovely, sunny, not too cold, just right for October and my health was being friendly, a field trip being allowed to Barnes & Noble, settling in for hours of work. Then I received the post, the status, the shock. A childhood friend died, unexpectedly, suddenly. Our families all knew each other. 25 years in the same town, the paths cross, the kids knew the other kids - we were the kids, adults now with our own families, and he died. I was dumbfounded and unbelieving that this good looking, vibrant, laughing, playful, husband, lawyer, brother, son left this world. Just like that.  Pfft! gone! It is just that he is only a year older than I am, if that, too young.  He and his wife had been married for twenty years, a lifetime, they made two sons and a daughter. His time wasn't over yet, wasn't finished. The marvels of cy...

I know bullies. I know verbal bullies. The presidential debate last night was a prime time viewing of a verbose  substance-less, double-talker with a loud voice trying desperately to gain the control and power he craves. In the face of bullies, trying to address their myriad of accusations, implications, and obstructions is almost impossible, it is like trying to talk to a hurricane.  Sometimes it is best to just be still and let the storm pass, knowing the debris left in the wake is that of the bully, knowing you may be hit with something flying in the air, but that you will live to stand another day. This, I believe, is the strategy President Obama took when he was faced with the torrent of interruptions, loud talk, flip flop, mumbo jumbo, and nothing-ness that came of of the mouth of the Republican candidate, Mitt Romney. Yes, like many, I was expecting to see the Barack Obama of 2004 and 2008, the one who expertly debated Hilary Clinton and John McCain, the ...