A Major award!
Three years ago, I was promoted to Captain. This evening my commander informed me that my promotion to Major was approved. Woot!
You Are Living
A gift for my mother and grandmother… Tracing the story of three generations.
called you sunday past
hallmark said it was time
for some contrived day
invented to sell cards and FTD bouquets
and add to radio morning show trivia
give you lip service between station identification
and the phrase that pays
but I refuse to equate your status
to that of national egg month and secretaries’ week
because before it was the fashionyou took your daughters to work…
I.
all three of them in pigtails
when your young wife went away
your dreams snatched away with a shock
so in the midst of depression
economic and otherwise
you raised three little girls
who would raise little girls
who would raise little girls
who would one day hope to
raise little girls to be just like
the great grandma they never knew
who somehow held your heart despite
seventy years of loneliness
empty beds, empty wallets, empty cupboards
I met you fifty years after the storm
loved to visit your farm and trailer home
find peacock feathers and arrowheads
in fields that you plowed
building on the dreams of ancestors long since passed
now I build on yours
you slipped away with your daughters by your side–
and their daughters
who for some reason never considered it a failure
that you came eight years short of your hundred-year promise
your littlest girl
had a littlest girl
who had a little girl
… so that promise is unbrokenII.
standing in afternoon windowpane shadows
laughing melancholy memories
about how grandpa Arbra used to notice
your every six-month pictures of your five-minus-one
and say “you shore do have a lot of grandbabies”
we never bothered to correct him because
what’s the harm in overestimating your hand in creation
maybe it’s just that he could see the futureso your fingertips trace the photos
like the wings of a butterfly
“look here at Arbra and G.S.
they’re both gone now”
and you choked on a tear
“and this… is my mother…
it’s almost scary how much
your mother looks like her.
you know, Les, I feel so cheated.
I never had a mother.
I never had a grandmother.
I don’t even know what kind of person she was
or what her laugh sounded like.
all I know is my dad never loved another woman
like he loved her”
and all I can tell you is that
despite having no example to follow
you made the best mother
and the best grandmother
and I’m thankful to know the sound of your laughter
and I’m thankful to have known what makes you cry
and to see the pride
and tears in your eyesIII.
we’ve been to hell and back
on many an occasion
told me I was special from day one
tuesday’s child… full of grace
sprang from the heart of a woman-child
with but an eighteen year headstart
on the marathon of the ages
I’ve grown accustomed to hearing
about your beauty and poise and contagious joy
how bubbly your laugh and beautiful your smile
and sparkling your green eyes
but your beauty to me comes not from
how many heads you still turn
at high school football games
you were beautiful singing me to sleep
“I love you Leslie…
oh yes I do…
I don’t love anyone…
as much as you…”
at age three those words made me cry
you were beautiful while trying to hide your pain
while staring it in the face
because I had my father’s eyes
you were beautiful when your second
little girl
slipped through the fingers of your heart
and into eternity
you were beautiful when you held me
in steamy bathrooms wheezing
unable to afford hospital beds but
providing the best medicine
you are beautiful now
when you smile at your baby girl
walking across stages
chasing papers
and cry with your baby girl
picking up the pieces of her heart
you are beautiful when you pray
and beautiful when you speak
you are beautiful when you sleepand beautiful when you… live
you bear not only an uncanny physical resemblance
to your grandmother
but a spiritualemotional one as well
you have begun the next pattern
in the woven tapestry of life
and as long as words are spoken
and dreams are unbroken…you are living
If a white person wants to look for a ghost, don’t follow. Just sayin.
Somehow in high school, I had a knack for doing lots of dumb stuff but not getting in trouble. My friends and I were basically “good kids” (church youth group, good students, etc.) but loved to play pranks, clown, push limits and generally get into stuff. Growing up in a small town, there wasn’t much to do, so we had to come up with our own ideas. Sometimes those ideas proved less than wise.
Another thing about small towns is that there are lots of urban legends. We had the Farrenberg Light, Blue Baby, and the Hart Cemetery GLOWING TOMBSTONE… omg111eleventyftwbbq! One late summer night in about 1995ish, several of us decided to go find this glowing tombstone and see if the legend was real.
We were an unlikely group, to say the least. I was driving my grandfather’s brown Ford pickup truck, and had a friend riding with me (I think Mary). Our friend Lorrie was driving a second car, and had April H., Mike S. and his brother Meechie with her. Mary, Lorrie and I are white girls. April is black. Mike is a black guy who grew up in our tiny country town. His brother Meechie, on the other hand, was visiting for the summer from Chicago. Bless his heart, he didn’t know any better but to follow us crazy white people into the woods.
Hart Cemetery is an old Civil War-era graveyard, a little bit north of town out in the middle of nowhere where there are no street lights. It’s one of those places where you have to know where you’re going to get there. I was in the lead as we turned down a dark dirt road and slowly crept to the end. The graves were off to our right, mixed in with gnarly limbs, tall grass and mud. I looked in my rear view mirror and saw one set of headlights. They were still behind me… cool. I kept driving. Suddenly I noticed a second set of headlights. We were being followed!
I turned around at the end of the dirt road and was facing the direction we had come from, back toward the main road, keeping my headlights on. I tried to make out the vehicle. I parked and rolled my window down, and April yelled up to me “I think it’s the Highway Patrol!” She would know. Her dad was a State Trooper. She was right — red and blue lit up the night. “$@#%! Are we in trouble? Is this illegal? Are we supposed to be here?” A little late for that now.
The female patrolman (patrolperson?) shined her flashlight in my eyes and told me to get out of the truck. I was terrified. The others started to get out and she ordered everyone (except me) back in the cars. Great. I was gonna be the one to go to jail, lose my college scholarships, embarrass my family, go to federal pound me in the ass prison… whatever nightmares I could think up. The officer told me to get in her squad car… in the FRONT seat. I thought you always got put in the back if you’re being arrested. Hmm.
She ran my plates and found out the truck wasn’t mine. She asked me who ___ ___ was (my grandfather), so I explained that I’m-borrowing-their-truck-I-swear-and-you-can-call-them-except-they’re-probably-asleep-and-have-you-ever-met-my-parents-they-work-for-the-school-system-I-swear-I’m-not-a-criminal-oh-my-god-seriously-I-didn’t-steal-it…
Finally I got the courage. “Are we in trouble for something?” By this time, the officer had rolled down her window, and our friend’s car was parked beside her about ten feet away, driver’s side to driver’s side. “Well that depends. What are y’all doin out here?” I looked over at Lorrie. “Should I just tell her?” “Sure… I guess.”
“Officer, we’re looking for a glowing tombstone.” She cracked up laughing and said, “Oh, that’s all? I thought you were gonna get drunk and tear up the graves.” She told us all we could get out of the cars. We all stood around talking and joking for a few minutes. She was asking each of us where we were from, and someone let it slip that Meechie was from the ‘hood, visiting his country brother for the summer. “Watch this,” she whispered to me.
She flipped on her siren for a split second. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP! Meechie hit the dirt. “F%&K! What the hell? Man, I don’t like the cops!” LMAO! Then came the crazy part. After the laughter died down, she said, “Really, there’s supposed to be a glowing tombstone out here? Let’s look for it!”
I was dumbfounded, relieved, amused and curious all at the same time. I got back into her patrol car and we drove down the paths between the graves looking for the legendary tombstone. We gave up after a couple of minutes, never having found it. She told us to be careful, drove back down the road and left. A few minutes later, we were bored and headed back to town.
We got back to April’s house and told her dad what had happened, and about her making me get into the front seat of the car. He asked us the name of the officer. “You know she’s a lesbian, right? She probably thought you were cute,” he said to me. They gave me a hard time for years.
The moral of the story? White people are crazy. I guess. LOL
It’s hard to find the words
I think part of why I stopped blogging for a bit was that I was tired. Tired of the primaries. Tired of arguing with “friends.” Tired of campaigning and debating and donating and registering… I didn’t even write about election night, which was one of the happiest, yet most surreal nights of my life. That night sailed so quickly by that it almost felt too easy… like we slipped into port on calm waters. The storm had come weeks and months before. We finally could breathe. We shouted. We cried. We hugged. We rejoiced.
It’s almost midnight. It’s the eve of the day I believed would come, yet still seems too good to be true. Some have asked me what I saw in Barack back in 2002 that made me say, “That man’s going to be President one day.” Of course, it’s undeniable that he’s special. Once in a generation. Exceptional. But what I saw in him was not what *he* could do, but what he could inspire *us* to do… and to be. Barack Obama, back when he was a “nobody,” inspired me. He got me interested in things like community organizing, nuclear non-proliferation, net neutrality, and sustainable energy. Then I saw what he did at the 2004 DNC and knew… *knew* his time would come.
I am unable to find the words to adequately express the magnitude of what we’re about to witness. This nation is not what any of us thought it was. One individual has helped us see what we can be.
Tomorrow, I’m taking a vacation day to relax at home and witness history. Like Michelle, I have always loved my country but have not always been proud. Once again, I am truly proud of my country. Tomorrow, when they play “Hail to the Chief” for the first time for President Barack Obama, I know I’ll cry tears of joy. This is one of those times I’m happy to truly be alive.
Let’s do this
I think I’m ready to do this again. Been trying to think of an “angle” for my blog resurrection. I’ve always kind of treated this is a kind of diary-open-to-the-world, but I’ve realized lately that I have other things to say. Things that someone might actually want to read. I’ve never before considered things like building a readership or participating in the “blog community,” but I think it’s time.
Reggie Miller looks like the velociraptor.
So I got bored at work today and had a little fun with Photoshop. Notice the ball in the velociraptor’s little hands. Paws? Claws? Talons? Whatever.
Woooooooooo lawd cheezus. President Sexy Chocolate Cinnamon.
THIS merits coming out of blog hiatus.
Step up ya game, fellas. LOL
Should I?
Thinking about resurrecting this blog. I’ve gotten so distracted and… disinterested. But so much has happened that I don’t want to forget. Hmm.
Remembering Matthew Horning, 7 years later
Today I remember Matthew Horning.
Seven years ago this morning, Matthew was beginning his day at work in the North Tower of the World Trade Center. He never made it home.
Two years ago I joined an effort called the 2,996 Project to honor and remember those killed on 9/11. I was randomly assigned to pay tribute to Matthew. Since that time, I’ve made contact with some of Matthew’s family and friends. I’m so proud to do my small part to keep his memory alive.
This morning at work, I put a picture of Matthew up on the board outside my office door with a small note of remembrance. Living in Tennessee, most of the people I know never met anyone directly involved with 9/11. My hope is that this small gesture will be a point of connection. Matthew was a real person – someone who loved, hoped, dreamed, laughed, cheered, argued, believed, worked, and loved some more. There is a huge Matthew-shaped hole in many people’s hearts that will never be filled.
I never met him, but I will remember him every September 11th, and many days in between.
Happy Birthday, Barack!
Happy 47th birthday, Senator. Let’s celebrate next year in the White House. 