The Musings of a Latte Queen: Narratives of Everyday Life

Courage to accept the things that I can not change and wisdom to know the difference. Acceptance is not easy, it is brutally hard, in fact, deeply painful - at times.  It does not happen over night and is not something entered into willingly.  Acceptance, courage, wisdom, change often come as a result of something else, that something that disrupts and causes disarray. I was sitting in my office the other day, thinking about the turn of events of the last few weeks, getting over my disappointment, trying not to seek revenge or vengeance, and hopelessly trying to let it go.  My head and even my heart wanted them to pay, to cause some hurt, I was human, I felt the wrong that was done and the helpless feeling of not being in power to do anything about it. Then I was assailed with a week of news that made me feel angry and furious at the state of affairs in our country that even rendered the wrong done to me possible.  I despise bullies with every fiber of my being...

A broken relationship is like a broken finger. You remember the impact, that one thing that caused the  pain and then you ignore it, thinking, no, it's not broken, just hurt it a little. Then there is that constant throbbing and crocked shape that is a result of the break that you ignore as just your imagination. It is not until you really look at it and realize that it is broken and decide to mend it that the real pain comes. You bind it together to fuse back the broken bones, compressing the outer to join back the inner, and it hurts. Shock waves send signals to the brain that there is pain, throbbing, the kind that wakes you up in the middle of the night demanding attention.  It is concentrated in that one area, the part that caused the break, and the nerves are on edge, attempting to heal it causes more pain than the dull throbbing of just leaving it alone. You know it is better to mend it, there could be longer term implications if it is not healed, the least ...

It was white. As in lilly. Like vanilla. Or a cloud. Mono. Chromatic. Same. Boring. The 2013 Emmy's. Really White Emmys

I speak it and scream it and scribe it because it needs to be communicated. It is the fact that another unarmed black man was gunned down for the simple crime of being black, being injured, and wanting help. I'm tired of it, exhausted really, but will keep on screaming it, even if it makes someone uncomfortable. Why? Because I am a mother of black males - four of them - and the three that are alive are black men who will be judged by the color of their skin before anything else.  Because the opera vocalist could have been gunned down before his beautiful bass could have sounded out a melody, before my Navy veteran could have saluted - never mind that he was a Petty Officer or that he served admirably in a time of war; before my lyricist and entrepreneur could have offered you lines from his hard lemonade and asked you to buy his CD; before any of that, they would have had their bodies riddled with 10 bullets from a cop their age who saw their race before their need for help...

http://www.pinklattepublishing.com/2013/09/read-like-follow-speak.html

It never ceases to amaze me that the one with the addictions is always the one bullying and attacking the supposed mental problems of the one who has to suffer through their chemical imbalance whether it is drugs, alcohol, food, gambling, shopping, whatever.  Exactly when does the 12 step of owning up to one's own addiction and the destruction left in its wake kick in? Most abusers in any place have some mess in their lives they are busy trying to blame on someone else. No one else told you to put that chip in your mouth or swig that 40. Only in America.

I think this day always leaves me a bit numb and reflective, stunned and shocked, still. Twelve years ago today I was sitting on my bed in my master suite, holding my newborn daughter.  My husband was in the shower.  I had just showered moments before, a reprieve from nursing a newborn, still lethargic in my new mommy...again...state-of-being.  He was going to the university a little late that morning, our lives just settling in with the boys recent return to school and me just being home a few days from the hospital. "Whoa!" Shock. Called out to my husband who was getting dressed our master suite the kind with the bathroom open to the bedroom.  Him still kinda wet taking the four feet from there to my side, both of us looking at The Today Show in disbelief. The images are indelible in our mind.  The news reporters were trying to figure out if it was some kind of crazy plane crash, normal television viewing interrupted for this breaking report. Then, dis...

I woke up this morning, preparing to celebrate with our family, wearing purple to honor my elder aunt, thinking about my children. We, as women, are the carriers of our history, the nurturers of our promise, the holders of collective dreams. As such, we, me, I am passionate, emotional, sensitive, and sometimes naive.  I love my family, hold them all dear in my heart, know that my yesterday, today, and tomorrow is nothing if I was not defined by them in my life.  My career and my degrees do not define me, when I take my last breath, it will be the people I have loved and who love me that are the legacy. With that in mind, my children, here is a letter to you... My olive plants around the table, my hope, my dreams, my promise, my children There are not enough words in my mind to begin to tell you, each of you, how much you mean to me. Each of you came to me in a different way, beyond my dreams, and into the reason why I was chosen to carry your spirit and nurture you...