Days of My Life

Let’s just call this the week of Miles, shall we? Today’s post is to the tune of Miles D.’s “Yesterdays.” So imagine it as though I have a soundtrack. (Wish I knew how to make that happen.)

I know I still owe you the holiday posts, but life just keeps on happening and it moves so fast. Reminds me of Desiree’s “Gotta Be.” “The world keeps on spinning, can’t stop it if you try to, the best part is danger staring you in the face…” And so life goes on, but I’ll get back to them on a slow day. They will still be relevant whenever they come.

But for today, I admonish you to stop and reflect on your today that will soon become your yesterday and be mindful of what you speak into your tomorrow. You’ve heard it before. Yesterday is gone, tomorrow isn’t promised, so live your life for today. And I would add to do it now more than ever with all that is going on in the world around us.

Let’s move on to the reason for today’s post. D.O.A. And it is as morbid as it sounds—dead on arrival. That’s what her words were. An associate of mine by two degrees has my prayers and sympathy today as she and her one-year-old prepare to bury her husband. Although this is still life, I pray that’s a road none of you nor I ever have to take.

For the sake of anonymity, let’s just say the day was a Monday. Well, on that day she received one of those forwards designed to help you get to know someone better. You know the ones with questions that you have to answer and forward to the people on your list. One of the questions was whether or not she would give her life for her mate. Her answer was “No, I wouldn’t give my life for him,” but she tried to clean it up by saying it would depend on the situation. Little did she know that the answer required of her was for real. And by Wednesday morning her husband was dead. In their home. He neglected to take some seizure medication and hit his head and died. D.O.A. Was there really a choice given to her between her husband’s life and hers? I don’t know. I doubt we’ll ever know, but what we do know is enough for us to learn from.

Now I wasn’t there, so I can’t say all the details. All I can say is that I know her heart must hurt, and oh how I’m sure she does wish that she could resend her response that she sent to all of her friends regarding the questions. What a follow-up message they received. Obviously, she’s not responsible for her husband’s death. As far as I know, she didn’t stop him from taking his pills. I just grieve for the unnecessary amount of guilt that her careless words must have caused. Then I think of my own careless words that are sometimes uttered too freely. Because the reality is that we can’t change our yesterdays, even when we sincerely wish we could. And there are times, even recently, when I wish I could, but that’s not a luxury afforded us. The luxury we have is the free will to make the best possible choices with our today.

So, why doesn’t that make us more mindful of how we live our today? It should. It really should. She may not have been able to alter the eventuality of her husband’s death, but at least her own words would not have to haunt her. She wouldn’t have to wonder what she could have done or if God is somehow punishing her. (For the record, we can be pretty sure that He’s not since He’s the giver of every good and perfect gift. And it’s funny how He always gets the blame when it’s very seldom that He moves but we always do—move away from Him that is. And such is the matter of life. ) But if we can accept that He created the whole world with just three words, “Let there be…,” then maybe we can conceive that words do have creative power. And, well, maybe we can choose ours a tad bit more carefully.

In the meantime, keep her in your prayers as she goes through the process that will take her from Miles’ “Yesterdays” to Iyanla’s Yesterday, I Cried and Mary Mary belting out “I’ve cried my last tears yesterday.” What a long one it may be.

Keep the faith and stay strong.

Just my thoughts.
NLC

That’s what I’m listening to by Miles Davis because that’s how I feel. “It Never Entered My Mind.” One of the absolutely most beautiful Miles tunes I know. Well, that and “Yesterdays.” My affinity for them grew out of a phenomenal friendship, and ironically, the affinity has outlived the friendship. Nevertheless, they always suit me when I’m pensive. And that I am tonight. I’m tired but I’m also mellow. So to call it a night or a morning rather, well, it never entered my mind.

And I’ll let that rest for a bit because I usually rail against the use of the ambiguous “it,” asking my students what “it” is. For me, “it” is where I am right now. As in Where I am Never Entered My Mind. So I guess that’s the beauty of “it.” You can always fill in the blank. Where I am right now is definitely a lot wiser than I was five years ago, two weeks ago, or even three days ago. Experience does that to you, and while I had a situation that swung back around on the circle of life, the kind that stays stuck on repeat until you master the lesson and are free to move on, I handled it a whole lot differently this time than in the past. So maybe I got a promotion. Maybe I’ve graduated to a new level and get to click on “next.” I hope so, but that remains to be seen. The best is yet to come. And as I acknowledge that I ramble, these are always…

Just my thoughts
NLC
Look forward to me posting regularly again. I’m back from beyond. Tomorrow’s a brand new day. Embrace each moment.

Early this morning I was up wishing folks a Happy King Day. Hailing from Georgia and all, King day has always been big. In fact, that’s an understatement. Parades. Programs. Ceremonies. If you were Black, you reached back–and remembered the dream.

A friend and I were remembering this morning how things were before the holiday became national. She and her sisters one year wore a black t-shirt to school in SC that said, “I Have a Dream.” Of course, this prompted plenty of convo with the white classmates and turned into a teachable moment. I remember how even though the holiday wasn’t recognized nationally, all the Black kids in Savannah either skipped school or the parents pulled them out and we all went to the requisite parade, Civic Center program, church services and every other program the “Black city” held that day. My mother’s justification was that if the city could shut down and close school for the all-white St. Patrick’s Day parade and drunken celebration, there was no way she was sending her Black child to school on a day that should’ve been a local holiday as well. And she dared any teacher or administrator to challenge her about it.

Shoot, it was prestigious to be the young child who won the theme contest for the parade. In addition to a piece of money and press coverage, you got to ride in the parade. And everybody had to look nice, especially as the parade went through the projects of Black Savannah. After all, we had a dream to represent. Something to stand for.

But those were the days before crime took over the city and crack became the new kool.aid. Before the Ricky Givens gang made SAV a household name in the crime underworld. Before we’d ever heard of the notorious Miami Boys drug ring. Before peaceful citizens began being shot in parks for gang initiation. Before Ms. Savannah made national news for being a Black beauty queen in an all-white contest who shot her Black boyfriend for cheating on her. A sensational “crime of passion.” Before Midnight in the Garden of Evil became a fanatic tourism draw. Before Forrest Gump immortalized a box of chocolate in Forsyth Park. That was back when the Black community felt like we still had something left to fight for, no matter how symbolic.

But today, in this time of pseudo racial harmony (since we’ve left “real” racism in the 60’s), when the King holiday is finally legalized and recognized across the 50 states, we are free to stay home. We may curl up and turn over in our beds and really dream a dream. Some of us are still free to go in to yet another day at work. And in our late stage capitalist society, we are free to join the department stores and commemorate the King legacy with a sale–the only state where we are truly all equal.

After all, isn’t that what my uncles marched for? What one died for? What my grandmother cried for? What my father busted rednecks upside the head for? What my auntie cleaned and scraped behind white folks for to help pay for her kids’ educations? So they could afford to dream a sale? So her grandkids could be free to drop out at will? Free to fill the local and state prisons? Free to think welfare is a pension plan and food stamps like poker chips? Free to be educated and forget those who came before? Free to forget they are descendants of the people who refused to die in this great home of the free and land of the brave? Free to fight for freedom abroad when Katrina exposed that Blacks still aren’t free at home?

Free at last. Free at last. Thank God almighty, we are free at last.

Long live the Dream. Peace and power.

NLC

Yeah, yeah, we all know I have work to do, but check this out.

*Disclaimer: The following post is not about an actual person. Should it resemble actual events that are taking place in your life or the life of someone you know, even if you and NLC have spoken about the following subject, this is all fiction. Any resemblance to a real person or event is entirely coincidental.*

Now, hypothetically, Jack and Jill are engaged. In the early days of their relationship, Jill let it be known that she was celibate and strictly into monogamy if their relationship ever became sexual. Jill also let it be known that were they to get engaged, she would consider it as good as the marriage contract. Therefore, if the engagement ended without wedding bells, she was keeping the ring. So, skip to a year later. The happy couple are sexually involved and happily engaged. They are IN LOVE with all the sweet, syrupy trimmings that a new love can bring. Jill done dropped the draws and declared Jack–THE ONE.

Jack dropped approximately 10 G’s, give or take a couple thousand, on Jill’s ring. That was the budget he set for a ring, and it had nothing to do with whether he could afford more or less. The man just believes in a budget and he shopped around well. He found the most exquisite and unique ring possible within his price range with about an H/I clarity. Emerald cut, baguettes, platinum, the whole nine. It was a nice ring.

Here’s where it gets dicey. Jack is happy in his relationship, but he gets a little greedy about a month or so before the nuptials. He decides to revisit an old friend for “old time’s sake.” You know, just one last hoorah with no strings attached. And he’s convinced that Jill will never find out because what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Well, Old Girlfriend lost the “confidential” part of the booty call confidentiality agreement, and word got back to Jill. In short, Jill reminded Jack of her up front policy and cut him loose even though Jack was apologetic. Jack was d.e.v.a.s.t.a.t.e.d. He knew his Jill was the real thing and regretted ever being cocky enough to step out for his pre-wedding fling. He was apologetic and sorry until he could take no more of Jill’s rejection, and then he got mad when he thought about his investment in the ring. He began to think of ways to get his money back and asked Jill for the ring. Now, that elicited a response. A resounding “H”-”E”- double hockey sticks NO!!!” All up in arms, Jack threatened legal action, and things began to get ugly from there.

Now, is Jack wrong for asking, or is Jill for not giving it back since she was willing to let the relationship go? And should Jill be willing to forgive Jack this one indiscretion and just let it go? How could things have been handled differently? And how serious is the ring really in the whole engagement deal? What do you think?

I have never been engaged, so I’m just throwing it out there. Hypothetically, of course.
NativeLovechild

Okay, here’s the deal. I’ve known for about three years that this time was coming, and I thought all along that I was planning for it. But unh, unh. Not exactly what happened. I mean, I spent a lot of time formulating my ideas and all. I’m good at that. Know what I plan to do, and now it’s time to do it. Here’s the problem. I.procrastinate.grandly. I can knock out a deadline, but always at the last minute. And I produce quality work, so it seems that my system works for me, right? Well, it does, but not really, I guess. The stress can’t be healthy and so I know there’s got to be a better way? But what is it? Someone help me PLEASE!!!! I haven’t met a better procrastinator than myself, and I don’t procrastinate on everything. Just the important stuff. Like my dissertation. Which I let sit in park for a whole semester and now I want to be done in May. HA!!!! But guess what? I really will finish and get it done, but at what cost? I have notes and research but nothing written. And now I have to hustle to write a chapter and a half a month (oh, approx. 50 pages, incl. further research) to make a mid-March deadline. Can you see how sleep is quickly becoming a part of my past? Right along with my already not so active social life? Can you see it all just slipping away? I hear this is normal but usually spread out over a longer period of time.

I told my mom last night that I feel like, you know, walking, running, jogging, exercising. Her reply: Don’t walk, run, or jog. Just write. Quite succinctly put. And quite necessary. Sometimes direct language is all my flighty nature can comprehend. So here’s my plan. I’m going to research, work, and write until I’m doing it in my sleep. In the meantime, I’m open to suggestions for time management. REALLY, I NEED THEM. And I’m open to suggestions for a vacation spot. Any nice places near you? I’m open to travel to resorts, nice locales, places near water… You get my drift, serene spots. I know I’m going to need some me time in the midst of the madness, so I plan to dip out one weekend and take my writing stuff with me. So, please, I beg you, I implore you, help me out and help me get my time management under control. I can tell you how to manage yours but can’t see how to cross the street with mine.

Until next time,
NLC