The Musings of a Latte Queen: Narratives of Everyday Life

 I was like many of you, completely appalled, horrified, and disgusted at the murder of Tyre Nichols. He was just twenty-nine years old. A son, a father, a free-spirit, a skateboarder. A man. An African American man who could be heard on the video asking, "What did I do?" To no response of his crime other than being a tall, skinny, Black man in Memphis, TN. Must our color be our death sentence? I've been asking this since the 90s when as a young woman I was first confronted with the video of the police beating down an unarmed Black man. Rodney King. And the incessant calls for AfricanAmericans to be peaceful in the midst of the most unpeaceful actions by those in law enforcement. Back in the 90s, I was a newly divorced mom with three sons who moved from the big city back to my hometown with three really cute boys who would have white ladies stop and comment on how cute they were. It was something I talked about when I led diversity training. Back when the boys were just b...

 There are lessons we gain in life, every moment of it, and sometimes those come from those we have nurtured to life. I said something about this shifting wiggles of my body and my youngest child, second daughter said, "Mama, stop talking bad about your body." It stopped me in my tracks. Was that what I was doing in looking at the expanded middle-age middle and seeing more gray pop up in my twists or the ways my legs feel like weights when I walk up the stairs? My oldest child and son who is now disabled because of multiple gun shots that left him with nerve damage and limited abilities for longer walks, told me that every day is a blessing and taught me some of the strength-building stretches he does so his aching legs don't atrophy. The older daughter works out and taught me how to lift sets on the leg machines that would not tear apart the irreversible signs of aging knees. She, like me, has an autoimmune disease that is unpredictable in the ways it decides to flare. E...

 I was sitting in my office doing some calendaring for 2023 when I had to pause, look out the window, and whisper a prayer of gratitude for my husband. He is my best support system and a wonderful partner in life. Over the course of the past twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-something years we have been together in this journey of life, we have each navigated through challenging career and educational moments, have shared in the joys of parenting, and more moves than either of us can count. When he and I started out in this life together, we were each in our thirties. I had been married and divorced with sons, while he had dated, he had never had kids.  We took our time in getting to know each other, in committing ourselves to each other, and in getting those next degrees before we planned a wedding, bought a house, and lived together for the first time. Needless to say, we could write a book about our experiences.  He had already been a mentor so deeply understood the pre-...

Happy New Year! Well, Happy New First Monday of the Year! I made an intention not to wax nostalgic about 2022, not to make lists of all that was accomplished, and not to make resolutions for 2023. "all roads lead to now." That is something my oldest son has been saying all during the holiday break, a time with us that was extended another week because of Southwest Airlines.  Watching him be in the moment, to soak it all in, and simply enjoy life, gave me a great sense of joy and hope. If you are like so many of us, it has been a bit of a fog through uncertainties, much like the misty rain I drove through on New Year's Eve from Boston to Connecticut, the visibility was not always clear, my wiper blades got a workout, and we had to navigate a couple new roads as we took a different highway. The time from 2020 to this new year in 2023 has definitely presented that way, with all that has gone on in the world, so greeting this new day gave me just a sense of being - present. I...

 My oldest son and I were up early this second day of Kwanzaa. I am already an early riser and so is he. He is visiting from Missouri for the holidays and was getting all this gear packed. Both of us missed to family message that his flight had been cancelled. So we were blissfully going down our checklist, secretly happy that we had the day planned out with plenty of time to drive from Connecticut to New York for his would've been evening flight. "Your flight has been cancelled and the earliest day is January 2nd." Now for me, I smiled a bit and hugged him, thankful that he is an entrepreneur with his own custom sneaker design and restoration business. He is his own boss. "Thanks, Mama." And in the next minute, "I need to call my partners." He and two of his business partners have a unique business in the Kansas City Metro Area that compliments their target audience - studio work, tattoo, custom sneakers. We both smiled for a minute and just like that...

 If you've been a bit like me and spent anytime at all in the world of Instagram, you know there is something amiss. The Harper Collins Union has been striking since what feels like the entire holiday season, since November, I believe. These are the publishers folks who, we writers depend on to get our words into a semblance of a book for that coveted space on a store shelf. The agents, the editors, the assistants, all the people behind the scenes who make it work. Just as I was absorbing that news and supporting the strike while also supporting the AfroDiasporan authors whose works is on a Harper Collins Imprint, I looked up and the New York Times workers and staff are on strike. What is going on in these information streets? Harper Collins and the New York Times and now even Starbucks is on strike as well as some workers in the south, are all related to the ways giant corporations have confiscated power and put a chokehold on life. They realized what some of the earliest folks in...

 It is Turkey Day. That quiet time of the morning when home chefs are busy in the kitchen. If you are African American or have family origins in the American south, that kitchen has homemade cornbread ready for the oven, sweet potato pies and pound cakes cooling, it has greens being cleaned and four kinds of cheeses ready for the Mac-and-cheese that now only my youngest daughter can make to perfection. The onions and celery would be sautéing in some butter while the sage sausage is being crumbled and fried for the dressing. The counters and kitchen table would be set up for the budding sous chefs. That turkey may be fried or the way I grew up, seasoned, rubbed with butter, stuffed with onions and celery and apples and sealed up in a brown grocery bag - long before those oven bags came out. The green beans and sweet potatoes -nothing from a can. The sweet tea, lemonade, and sparking cider. It was the sights and sounds. When my kids were all home for the holidays, I would be making c...