You’re free now, Mane

Yesterday my uncle passed away in Ferriday, Louisiana.

Louis Evans. We called him Mane.

After spending seven months suspended in a strange state that balanced between unconsciousness and slight recognition of the outside world, his body and spirit became one.

He became free. I am deeply hurt and saddened, but at peace with what the universe has decided.

Mane was what you call a man’s man. They don’t make them like him anymore. Mane spent his life working long, hard hours in mills, plants, and on labor sites to provide for his family and embodying what it means to be a “real man.”

He was not a rich man in terms of cash flow. He was, however, rich in creativity, pride, and love for his family.

Mane was a self-taught artist who created amazing drawings and sculptures. Without spending one day in an art class learning about symmetry, lines, lighting, color palettes, or how greats like Van Gogh did it, he created works of art from a god-given innate talent and ability.

Mane was a simple man who could be made happy with his favorite music and movies, and travels down memory lane after a good meal.

Curtis Mayfield was one of my uncle’s favorite musicians. My fondest memories of him include his joy when his sister—my mom—would visit and bring along his favorite cassette tapes and VHS recordings of musical performances.

He’d sit in his rocking chair and rock and nod his head and tap his fingers to the beat on the chair arm.

I loved my uncle. I miss my uncle. I wish he could have seen so much more of this world.

He spent his entire life in Ferriday and dreamed of one day getting on an airplane and seeing what existed outside of it.

My mother and I had plans to make that happen for him.

He deserved to see and do the things that so many of us take for granted.

Mane, you were the closest thing I had to a dad. I love you and long for more years with you.

But I know you’re free now. In so many ways.

Your time on this earth will not be forgotten.

12:01 AM

Interesting title, isn't it?

What does it mean?

If you regularly peruse USAJobs in search of  a federal job, then this time may mean something to you.

It may mean "Oh crap! I forgot to apply for that job at the Department of So and So! Why god, whyyyyy!"

But if you're like me, 12:01 AM, Monday through Friday represents hope. It represents a new chance that today is your day to see the job of your dreams.

You see, 12:01 AM is the time that the new jobs for the day appear on the site. It's like Christmas...the anticipation of what could be there as you enter your keyword, city or state, and filter by announcements posted 'Today.'

If you're a federal employee in the competitive service or a veteran with preference, you're lucky enough to get the best of both worlds. New jobs open up that only you can apply to. You also get to apply as a US citizen.

Must be nice.

But if you're like me, just a regular US citizen with no points at all, then 12:01 AM has a more special meaning. You want to see the jobs as soon as possible to get your application in before the thousands of others with the same dream.

You dare yourself to venture over to the Federal employee side to see that the available jobs has doubled. You torture yourself and check to see if your dream job is there.

It is.

Who may apply? Not you.

Undeterred, you go back to where you belong. You're in luck, one job has appeared that you can apply to.

After you apply begins your anxious wait for an answer. Your wait may be three days after the closing. Two weeks. Two months. Maybe even six months before you get the final verdict that you already figured out when the phone never rang.

I wrote all this to let you know you're not alone. We US Citizens with no merit promotion, no vet preference, no special hiring authority, no nothing but our resumes, our questionnaires and our desire to serve our country through civil service......we are here.

And as we wait for 12:01 to start our new shift of checking religiously throughout the day, we aren't going anywhere.

Addiction

Around 2pm today, I was sitting at my desk and feeling a bit sluggish after having not gotten much sleep last night. I decided to take a quick walk to Starbucks for a venti misto, no foam. I walked through the busy food court like I always do and checked out my side profile in store windows like I always do. But something caught my eye that disturbed me greatly....it was a stunning realization.

I looked pregnant. 

The flowy summer dress I wore today looked like a maternity dress to me. My son just turned one a few days ago. My abdominal muscles have still not recovered. I could hardly believe how pregnant I looked in this dress. I knew I had some belly pudge going on that I've been battling with. But this was stunning to me. 

I then wondered how many of my coworkers noticed. How many, if any, wondered if I was expecting and not announcing yet. I was overcome with shame as I sucked in my tummy as best I could; got my coffee; and scurried back to my desk, looking at people's faces to see if they were glancing down at me. 

I had a Carrie fantasy where I imagined the food court spinning and everyone staring at my belly and pointing, while my wicked mother harps in the background "they're all going to laugh at you...they're all going to laugh at you!"

I reached the safety of my floor and spotted a coworker who I started to talk to about my revelation that I looked to be expecting again. 

I was assured that people didn't think that...but received no assurance that no I did not look pregnant. 

I knew then that  a drastic change was needed. 

I told my coworker who I often speak with about food and dieting that sugar addiction (my ailment) is one of the few addictions that you can't hide. 

If I was a drug addict, gambling addict, alcoholic, or sex addict, my secret shame would be my own business unless my behavior became concerning enough that people started to have suspicions. But other than that, I would look as normal as anyone else. 

Food addiction is something that you cannot hide for long before you body tells the world your secret. As you walk around checking out your side profile in store windows; as you sit down and instinctively tug at your blouse or shirt to remove it from your folds of fat; as clothes refuse to accommodate you in the dressing room; as you sit on the bus or train and other commuters board and decide not to sit next to you because your thighs are taking up just a tad too much of their would-be seat; as you dress for fall or winter during the hot summer months because you just don't have the body to flaunt in clothes more appropriate for the season. 

As you do all these things, people notice. Your addiction and struggle is showing. You can be in a room full of non-food/sugar addicts and you will be the only who stands out for having the least amount of willpower out of everyone else. 

Food. Sugar. Carbs. Salt. Whatever your vice. It's a vice you share with strangers every day. They look at you and know at least one thing about you. When you're fat, everyone knows at least one thing about you. But you don't get the same privilege unless you actually know them.

Life is funny like that. 

I made an appointment today for a holistic approach to weight loss. Looking at myself today confirmed that what I've been doing is not working. Perhaps some insight will assist. 

I had to say something

My friend texted me this morning that a Baton Rouge man's shooting was "hard to watch." I didn't know what she was talking about, I was still on the train heading in to work and rarely have time to catch the news while rushing out to work.. Being from Baton Rouge, LA, I was naturally curious and immediately went online to see what had occurred.

I then saw his face. A face that reminded me of men I've met along this journey called life. His gold teeth caught my attention first. Yep, he's from home I thought. Gold teeth is something I grew up seeing and I associate them with the South, with Louisiana--with home. I didn't realize until I left home that gold teeth were considered "ghetto" or something only "backwards blacks" in the South wore. The men and women I knew with gold teeth were smart, hardworking, and very prideful people who wore them as a form of cultural expression. Perhaps people outside of the area simply couldn't understand our culture outside of jambalaya and gumbo, I thought, and didn't appreciate what a special people we were.

I read with growing sorrow of what happened to Alton Sterling and couldn't bring myself to watch the video, though the warnings of "Graphic," and "Not safe for work" let me know it was a little different than the other shootings that made the news.

It was. It was gut wrenching to realize this man's final moments as he lay restrained. The fear he must have felt, the helplessness....the bullets ripping through his flesh.

I've been emotional all day. Hundreds of murders every year. I would say like most people in this country, I have become somewhat desensitized. Bullet-riddled bodies drop to the pavement every single day across America. So why is this guy different?

For me, it was his face. We're around the same age, I wondered if we'd ever crossed paths. I had a personal connection to this man and to this place. North Foster Boulevard. My mother and I drove up and down that road hundreds of times. He could have been my uncle who lives near the shooting. My uncle is not a rich man, he's a musician who supports himself doing odd jobs. That could have been him selling cds to make ends meet.

He could have been my cousin.

I still can't bring myself to watch the full video. It's just too much for me right now. Lately I've just been more susceptible than usual to bad news and am working to make space for more positive energy. But when your mornings start like this, it's a little hard

I saw his son break down during a press conference today. At 15 and just entering young adulthood, a boy needs his father. I hope there is a village willing to step in and provide him the guidance he will need.

I hugged my two sons a little tighter when I got home. They are so innocent and have no idea what the world is like. I don't want them to find out, but I know they have to. We all have to learn the truth.

That tomorrow is not promised. Life is not fair. People do bad things. And we will never figure out why.

Good night.

Sunday nights since March 2014

It's Sunday night. I'm at the laptop with two class assignments due by 11:59 p.m. As I write this post the time is 7:27 p.m.

Most Sundays night since March 2014 have ended up the same way. Down to the wire, trying to finish an assignment that I had no time to complete during the work week. This is one of those Sundays. The kids are away at a cookout (wait a minute, it's the 4th of July weekend and I'm doing school work). So you'd think that would leave me ample time to get work done. Wrong.

I'm stuck on a journal assignment that I don't quite understand. Here's the prompt:

After reviewing this module’s resources, compare and contrast Rory Sutherland’s concept of “frame of reference” marketing to that of expensive and magnificent solutions. Assess the ideal of branding and rebranding through “positioning” and “frame of reference.”

Now one of my texts, Kellogg on Branding, speaks of frame of reference from a marketing perspective and defines it as "a statement of the target's goal that will be served by consuming the brand....the frame of reference may guide the choice of targets, identify situations in which the brand might be used, and define relevant competitors."

Okay, I think I got that. However, Rory Sutherland's "frame of reference" TED Talk focuses on how situations can be reframed to provide a different perception. One example he provides is saying "I'm unemployed" versus "I'm taking a year off." The situation is the same...not having a job. But the latter's perception is that of choice or having the ability to take a year off and not needing a job. 

So what I'm trying to do is apply this concept to marketing and I'm having a hard time. 

Oh well, let me get back to work. I actually have an integrated marketing plan to also finalize. 

My master's is so close I can almost taste it!

Black Confessions and Bronze Thrills: Black romance magazines (cont'd)

Some years back I wrote a blog post on the black romance magazines. It was an ode to my hormonal teenage years when I desperately sought out anything that could offer me a preview of what was in store for me when I "got grown."

While I loved them dearly, I was critical of the glaring editorial errors that sometimes made a story unreadable. But I continued to buy them because they were special to me and captivated me, and helped me realize that I too wanted to write stories.

Well years later, I still have most of those magazines. The ones from the 90s are worn, and a couple are missing their covers, but everything else is in tact. I didn't realize the response I'd receive from that post.

I've received feedback from people directly involved with these magazines and it inspired to me highlight these publications once again.

These days, women who enjoy black romance are no longer able to go to the grocery store and pick these up (correct me if I'm wrong). We have websites we can go to for black erotica. And of course, we have gritty, raunchy urban lit books. But not these magazines.

Please let me (and others) know if there are any equivalents out there. It's amazing how much we have available to us now through social media, blogs, sites, and apps....yet some things remain hard to come by. Like magazines that let us live vicariously through the sex and love lives of characters, who much like ourselves, are just trying to figure out this thing called love.

Before I go, I want to give a shout out to the ads these magazines used to have. How many of you remember the lucky talismans, the love potients, the padded underwear, the psychics and healers, the wigs and hair pieces? It's a little funny now to look at these ads and not see a website or an '@' address to follow them on Twitter and Instagram. Just a PO Pox and a phone number.

One small step for writers-kind

Boy have I been neglecting this blog. The thing I started as a creative release has become pushed to the side as I juggled work, school, my pursuits of professional development, and being a mom to my two and half year old and my almost one-year old. I've been busy. But not that busy. One should never give up the things that give them release and make them happy. My writing has always been that. This post marks my one small step back.