Nostalgic

On my 47th journey around the sun, I found myself in a familiar place and a nostalgic coping method of dealing with life: My Shoe Chronicle Posts. On Wednesday, January 10th, Sadie and I did our daily check-in. She said she was feeling "gitty." A few hours later, she called to let me know that her physical therapist called her primary physician because her heart rate was low. He suggested she go to the ER. My brother took her. Not even hours later, she was admitted. We were told that she would have to get a pacemaker on my birthday.  

Her procedure was scheduled for 9:45 am on January 11th. As I was getting ready to go to the hospital, she called me around 8:26 am to tell me Happy Birthday and that they had pushed her procedure up to "NOW" because her heart rate had dipped ever lower. We got to the hospital, and her room door was open. Of course, her bed was gone. I pulled my laptop to do some grading. While I did not have lavish plans for my birthday, I didn't plan to be at the hospital. I was spending time talking on the phone and noticed the time. It was well after 10 am. The procedure was only supposed to last 45 minutes. Now, between lack of sleep, the unexpectancy of this ordeal, and anxiety was a concern. I went to the nurses' station to get an update. She immediately told me that they just finished up and she should be up in 15 minutes.

The view was amazing in her room. But the best view was when they rolled her back in and, after, they hooked up the monitors. My first words to her were, "You gotta have all the attention on my birthday huh?" She responded back, "I'll got $2 for you." The nurses gave me an update on everything--she asked when she would eat? I went downstairs as Keith went with me but went straight to breakfast. My birthday celebration lunch was in the hospital's cafeteria. I indulged in a Hook and Ladder sandwich and an Orange crush for my birthday. After eating that, we went upstairs. They finally brought her lunch. She ate the sandwich in two bites saying, "I hungry, shit I ain't eat since last night!"

After confirming that there were no dietary restrictions, I got her a cheeseburger, added tomatoes, and ordered onion rings, packets of mustard and ketchup, and a "ninja ale."I doctored up her burger, cut it in half, and she went to town. Mustard and ketchup were all over her gown, and they were medical devices. About 3 bites into her sandwich and one onion ring, transportation takes her to get an ECHO. She asked if they could postpone taking her until she ate, but that was no!

After 24-plus hours of madness, her heart rate went from 32 to 77 with the pacemaker. She's still in the hospital with hopes of being released. For those of you who are new to following me, The Shoe Chronicles were posted each day as we attended radiation to fight both stomach and gallbladder cancers. When I worked outside, I would post pics of my shoe game and a daily update with something positive to get me through.  What is so crazy is that I am now turning into a sneakerhead since I no longer have to tussle with corporate Americans in an office. Instead, I work from the comforts of a bedroom converted into an office. I no longer have to wear suits, dresses, skirts and heels. I found it coincidental I turned 47, Sadie's birthday year was 47, and her heart rate with the pacemaker was beating at 77, my birthday year.

I want to thank each of you for your birthday wishes. My apologies for not responding, but I had to use that energy to play the hand I was dealt with. This is an appreciated post to each of you and Sadie. Shout out to the excellent staff at Roper and my fellow Michigan fan who works there. Go Blue!

#47yearsyoung #itsStillCapricornSeason #weblogg #stillagirlworthfightingfor #iwrites #2024 #GoBlue #ShoeChronicles #stockx #NikeAirMax1CO.JPMichiganHeadtoHead 

https://www.agirlworthfightingfor.com/2024/01/nostalgic.html

Senses

A teammate called me via Microsoft Teams regarding a question about a student. After answering her questions, we started talking. We shared a few laughs and joked around. She talked about her upcoming time off in August just in case we needed to follow up with each other...and suddenly, she started crying. I paused to confirm that she was crying. We weren't sharing videos. In fact, I was working with my house frock, no earrings, and ruffled hair. Yet I stared at the screen as if I could verify if she was crying. All I saw was her profile pic in the middle of my black screen. I closed my eyes, so I could hear clearly.

She was finally taking time off to grieve losing her husband last year. I faintly remember some correspondence that went out. I tried my hardest to comfort her through my headset. If she was 3 feet away, she would be comforted with a hug, as I told her.  Instead, she is hundreds of miles away physically and millions of gigabps away virtually. I told her she needed to grieve in a way she would only understand. She told me that it just felt good to be able to cry. She's a widow with sons. In her attempt to be a strong mother for her kids, she wasn't there for herself. Her virtual work friends were all guys in different states who lacked sister-girl empathy. I said well, anytime you need to talk, cry, vent --whatever; you can contact me. We ended our conversation, and I went about my way. 

I've never met her in person. I've only spoken to her four times during my two-year-plus tenure at my job via Microsoft Teams or emails. In fact, throw in one or two chat interactions to the list. I used her profile picture to paint a picture of how I thought she was in her moment of transparency. That picture was for me to understand her more in an attempt to dissect her. I often study people, but it's easier to study people with a sense of vision. I had to lean to my hearing and let the empath in me take over.

I felt blessed to be available in her time of need. I felt blessed that although I wasn't able to touch her physically or see her---- my ears worked enough to activate my heart to grieve with her momentarily. I felt blessed because my light shined enough in a realm for this woman who had never met me to feel vulnerable enough to have a moment. I finally realized that my affiliation does not dictate my identity. I felt blessed to know that the light within that I felt was dim, illuminates bright enough today. I felt blessed to be a vessel.

Life leaves me in awe at times. I've always seemed to meet strangers who will just walk up to me and open up. I'd like to point out things that should be discussed with a licensed counselor. I'm still working on my facial expression to obey my calling. I used to run from it by being available to everyone instead of the right ones; those subtle inboxes, people waiting in line and we initiate a conversation, those people who witness the same things I saw, or someone holding the door for me. Most importantly, those whose reciprocity matches my level. Your light must shine as bright as mine to light up people, places, and things together. Be you in this world. Be available for the right people. Use your senses, most importantly, common sense. Oftentimes I find myself in places where I don't know anyone. But then again, there ain't never a stranger I've met that I didn't feel as if I didn't know. I'm writing this in my office as I sit in the dark. 

 

https://www.agirlworthfightingfor.com/2023/07/senses.html

Quicksand

 

I was sitting at my desk, thinking about all the ---ain't no other way to put it but, SH*T I had to do. The list is so long, that I'm going to need to use an 8 1/2 by 11 sheet of paper. That sheet is either going to have double columns or an arrow pointing to the right with the words, "turn over" is going to be written in the smaller than normal last line of its margin. 

All of this was after a virtual breakdown on the other side of my Facebook inbox messages with Keith. I told him what was going on with me and my mental and he did what he does, which I love. He offered a vague solution with in-depth reasoning behind it. The man knows that I am an overthinker and his conversations feed it just enough for it to build up momentum and then crash into a brick wall--that often generates a solution for me. My thought process then generates a vine of creativity that sparks a flame. When that flame is lit, my thought pattern blooms into colorful murals of words in my head,  the fond memories of the highest pitch of laughter notes from my past, and the Tony-Award-winning reenactment of scenes from my childhood--which births my steps of healing; writing.

While checking my work emails, I began to write a recommendation letter for a student. I pulled up the link to access it. In order to complete the process, I had to go into an old system. While pulling up the old system, I saw another email that needed to be answered, I was about to reply to it, but I stopped. Then I remembered that I needed to check the response of another email I had sent earlier with a consult. Then my phone alert went off. I found myself inboxing someone and offering encouraging words. Then I remembered that I had to call someone back from yesterday whose call I missed. As well as check on an appointment for Kailee and me. Then I had a text message that I was supposed to write down a number that I needed to follow up with. And I kept on saying that I needed to call and check on so and so because I hadn't spoken to them in a while. And then I was supposed to check some personal emails that were left unanswered for over a week.  Pure frustration, and lack of focus with a sprinkle of a hint of anxiety, would not allow me to figure out which to work on first, so I didn't do any of them.

After all of that two childhood memories came to mind. I turned away from my work computer and opened up my personal computer and began to write. I remembered being in the garden of my grandparents' house in Huger. That's pronounced Hue-gee. I can recall that Friday afternoon we had arrived.  Something went on special at school that day, I couldn't remember what it was. Momma had my hair in some ponytails with navy blue and hunter green ribbons. I think every girl had that plaid skirt with navy blue, hunter green, and streaks of black. Mama had me coordinated with some navy blue knee-high socks and I rocked my navy blue hard bottom shoes that were purchased from Kassis and Brothers. All a result of having wide feet at a young age, that country barefooted life.

We somehow parked in the back of the house that day, instead of on the side of the house in the driveway. I remember mama's pale yellow Ford LTD with a few rust stains on the back, was parked strategically aligned with the tops of those sweet plum trees that I found myself under. I was feeling so cute, that I couldn't keep still. It had rained that day and it seemed that the sun peeked out to check out my fly. I could tell the ground was wet and avoided some puddles. I took one step after twirling around in my skirt, as soon as I was about to stick my landing,  I lost my ground partially on my right foot. I thought I hit a soft spot when actually it was quicksand. Within seconds, my entire right leg was submerged. In my rage of panic, as I began sinking, I remembered that if you were ever stuck in quicksand to "be still" and not panic and you could escape. I stopped fighting and I was able to pull myself out. I don't remember all the details of how I got out, but I do remember my navy socks and shoes were a color that was not in my skirt. All I could think of was if I had just kept my balance, how I would still be cute without the mess. But it wasn't just the balance, it was the lack of preparation for the unknown.

Then my mind went back to my middle school years, after the death of my grandfather. M grandmother moved into the city and was a resident of Joseph Floyd Manor. Her sister lived on the 11th floor. She stayed on the 9th floor. My auntie used a cane or walker at times. I loved when my granny cooked and I took the stairs up to her apartment. She had left the south and stayed up north for some time. When she returned home she had adapted to her northern traditions and despised those of the south that she had left behind. I adored the decorations in her apartment. She was flashy for her age. I often wondered how her younger days were, her beauty was evident and flawless in the past and then present. Her favorite meal was smoked oysters and grits. I took her food to her one day. She was in her bed, I got everything situated for her. During our conversation, I said, "Yes Ma'am" as any preteen would do who was reared by God-fearing elders would. She told me not to say that and gave her reasoning behind it, as she felt it was a southern thing and this newfound northerner was not having it. I told my granny about it, and she assured me that would not fly with her. One of the many contradictions of life was introduced to me. Damn if you, damn if you don't.

The next time I returned with dinner, my trained southern mannerisms blurted out the word, "Yes Ma'am" again, and boy did I get it. I can't remember everything, but I remember her saying, "Stop saying Yes Ma'am, you ain't no slave and I ain't a master!" That interaction never made sense to me until today. The fact that my aunt was dropping real jewels of wisdom for me before I became a woman with a degree, a family, a career, and extracurricular activities. The fact that a little chubby chick with dimples lost her stature temporarily in quicksand was a precursor.

Keith's words of advice were to "slow down eliminate distraction and focus." He reminded me that on a daily basis, I'm being pulled in so many directions. All because of using those damn words, my aunt yelled at me for saying "Yes Ma'am" to the point that I am sinking. The more I say it, the more and more I step into a batch of quicksand.  Thankfully, I have been able to be rescued time after time. But in order to truly rescue myself in this season, I have to "be still." Little did I know, that life would be based on many contradictions the older I get. Here at 45, the biggest contradiction of life is that as a black educated woman, I have to work hard, and show that I am capable of multitasking every plate handed to me, all while looking good at doing it, while today I feel like a complete mess inside.  And the mere fact that if I don't do it, I'm considered lazy and that's far from the truth as I know it. One thing for sure, two things for certain; in any solution, a mess is evident. In this season, an external mess is way better than an internal mess. I have to protect my beauty inside. The external I can always clean up. I write this as I prepare my untheatrical thoughts for that recommendation letter for my student.

#quicksand #weblog #agirlworthfightingfor #yesmaam #beauty #cotradictions

https://www.agirlworthfightingfor.com/2022/07/quicksand.html

Mashed

I can recall my days of being on "The Hill" in Huger, that's

pronounced Hue-gee. My grandfather died in 1987, after which my granny fell into a state of depression being in the house they built, then mostly all alone. Except for those times that we made our way over there for weekends and holidays. I only had the privilege of knowing, "Margaree" for 6018 days and Granddaddy for 3,894. But within those short times, the lessons taught and love displayed, I can never put a value on.

This week, Keith and I made our way to the Chef Store. I am a clearance Queen. In fact my siblings and I are the clearance kids. But I find the better deals and I call everybody to see if they want it. My  personal gift of love. Well Gerald, my oldest brother called to tell me about a case of chicken being on sale. I heard the "75" part. When we got there, I saw the boxes of chicken with "75" on them. We picked up two boxes. Before making our way on the chicken aisle, we picked up "hamburger meat" as I like to call it for $.75 per pound. So we assumed the chicken had followed suit. Keith had started calling people about the deal. I wanted to confirm, so I asked a worker and it was "75" dollars per case for a 40 lb box.  3 boxes and a big shame turned into one box of wings and 20lbs of Hamburger meat.

Today, I decided to cook an old school meal: fried chicken, pork and beans with rice. I wanted to try a buttermilk bath on the chicken. I washed, seasoned and marinated the chicken. In betwixt cooking the chicken, rice and pork and beans, I found time to make me a seafood bag. The Juicy Crab could never.

My first batch of chicken cooked too fast. I will admit it's been over a year since I fried chicken. I set the first batch to the side, because I realized it wasn't done.  I cooked the next batch on much lower heat. Then, I remembered the words Margaree had first said and what Sadie reiterated after she left me. Whenever I cooked chicken to ensure no one bit into raw chicken, "you have to mash it to see if it's done."

Fried chicken can look like it's done physically. Beautifully browned, then when we break the skin, we can see blood-- proving that it's still raw.

I began to "mash" each piece of chicken. You see, if the chicken is not done, when you mash the chicken you hear the grease "accelerate" to accommodate the extra juices from it not being done.  You know the sound of throwing frozen french fries into hot grease. The louder the noise, the rawer the chicken. If the chicken is done, you hear little to nothing.

It reminded me of how we see a person who looks good on the outside, but oh the insides! How the designer jewelery, clothing or well out together individual could be underdone.Those with the biggest bark are often the ones with the most emptiest insides.  Some choose to let the external beauty flourish, while the internal beauty is flawed. While some discover the process to become done-- with the raw pain and hurt that life has given them. In this season, I've learned to listen to the words from individuals more so than there actions. To be honest, nothing surprises me  as to what I see anymore, because the pandemic has kept us inside, but to hear what comes out  an individual's mouth is immeasurable. These days in the spoils of life, it seems life we are thrown in hot pot of grease. It's overwhelming, we often look for some form of rescue, which could be best compared to pulling the chicken out the grease before it's done. But if we remain steadfast as we are being "mashed", we will see all that uncooked mess in us is almost done, we just have to listen. I'm writing this as I'm sitting on the couch feeling the cool breeze of the ceiling fan, after cooking. 

#ItsDone #AGirlWorthFightingFor #WeBlogging #InThisSeason

We do what we have to when we have to

Today I packed up and checked out my baby from her freshman dormitory. My girl finished her first year of college and our GPA is looking real 3.7 ish...I will take it. She defied the odds and wasn't another negative statistic in the African American community. As I was waiting on my personal barista to take her Calculus Final, I  noticed  I was sharing the space with other mothers in this parking lot, who were waiting on their children as well. 

I woke up this morning and logged in to work. Cleaned out the truck of the first batch of items from her dorm that were in my truck since Sunday. I ignored Keith's offer of help and simply replied I got it. I didn't get it until this morning. Saying to myself, girl you dumb. I made my way to Orangeburg, and to my baby. Her roommate had left. The chaos was on the right side of the room. I took a few bites of my sandwich that  I stopped to get. I was hungry, but when I talked to Kailee, she mentioned that she didn't eat. Somehow, my hunger was irrelevant. My determination was to make sure, my daughter ate to be prepared for her final at 3:30 pm. I started packing the truck, taking the heaviest, bulkiest items first. As we were almost done, she got an email from her instructor stating that she could take the final early. I kicked it into overtime. We were done within 15 minutes and I reassured her to take her time with her final, I was going to sit in the truck or peruse the big City of Orangeburg as she took her final.

 I met a mother who was walking around campus with her baby in his cap and gown. My congratulatory words to both mother and child were highly reciprocated with words of thanks and that "my baby did it look." I spoke with another mother in which I could see the frustration on her face. Sis told me that she lived in Spartanburg. She works overnight. She worked a 10-hour last night and got off at 2 am. She took a nap, dropped the other children off, and headed her. She said she had to go to work tonight. Which entailed driving back to Spartanburg. Her frustration was that she had to go to work tonight and her daughter still hadn't packed everything and her space was almost gone in her SUV. The plan was to toss what couldn't fit. We chatted and encouraged each other. I met her there, but I left her there. I pray traveling mercies for my sister and a smooth night at work.

I saw a lot of Mamas today, only a few dads. They were driving the vehicles, hauling stuff out, etc..etc..

It made me think of the responsibilities that we have as mothers. From a single mother's perspective, it's rarely a time you can say no-- because we are all our children have in our minds. This mentality is usually that of protection. Not knowing what would hurt more; our, "No" or the disconnected parent's "No." The fact that we do what we have to when we have is often overshadowed by why we do it. The strength of a woman is often the "presumption" that we have to be strong, we must display perseverance and we must go on.

As we embark upon the Mother's Day Holiday, take a day ladies to celebrate your excellence, your uniqueness--celebrate you. Being a mother doesn't equate to giving birth physically, it's the mentality of caring for a child that isn't yours. Providing that motherly instinct when needed. The truth of the matter is I was a "mother" well before the day the doctors cut me on or about 1 pm on that Saturday, November 16, 2002. All those kids, I babysat, changed their diapers, and picked them up from school-- I may have been labeled "Auntie" but it added to my Mom resume.

Ladies, this is a note of appreciation, love, and unity for you. I know how it is. And by "it is" we can write an entire book series with several spinoffs. Hey Mama...hold your head up high. Take a deep breath and know that you got this. I know you are tired at times, frustrated, and torn between empathy and sympathy for the world. I wish you an early Happy Mother's Day. To those who are mourning your Mother, know that her greatness will remain an everlasting memory to you. She may not be here physically, but will always be with you spiritually. In fact, you see a new piece of her each day in you. I wrote this while I was in Orangeburg today and I am just now posting.

#agirlworthfightingfor

#webloggin

#Iwrites

#HappyMuddahsDay

https://www.agirlworthfightingfor.com/2022/05/we-do-what-we-have-to-when-we-have-to.html

Go For It

The last two nights we faced tremendous storms here in South Carolina. Accounts of power outages, severe weather--the weathermen indeed earned their coins.  In fact yesterday, in Moncks Corner, there was a tornado that was formed, but it didn't touch the ground.  Last night as I lay on the couch and listened to the "storm." There were moments when the lightning was so sharp and sounded as if it was about to hit home. There were moments when the thunder rumbled and the ground rattled. There were moments when the wind and rain fought over who would be the loudest and strongest. I at first was watching television, but the constant reminders of the storm and the warnings from the weathermen got tired. I turned it off. Not take the warnings in vain, but it seemed overwhelming. I just felt that it was overkill. I mean I know I was in the midst of a storm. Everyone knew what they personally were enduring and was dealing with it in their own way. I'm old school. Everything was off, except the hallway light. I had my cell phone in my hand, but when that loud crack of lightning hit, that phone got tossed on the couch. When the lightning or thunder would subside, I would pick up the phone again.  I was going against the Southern code. Knowing good and well, if my maternal grandmother was around, that phone would not have been anywhere in my vicinity  After a few strolls of Tik Tok and a couple of games of online spades, I eventually went to sleep after I felt the storm had reached its peak. I was used to the storm and thought I knew what to expect.

This morning, I awoke to the sun peeking through the blinds. I didn't look outside to see what it looked like. I just knew that the sun was confirmation of what was, and was no longer. That what the weathermen said was going to happen, didn't happen to me personally. If I didn't go through the "storm" these last two days, I wouldn't have necessarily known there was a storm. That there were tornadoes, power outages, flooding, or wind damage. I mean, I am sure there are signs of visible damage that's out there, that I haven't seen. Hopefully, power and internet have been restored to those who lost it. Hopefully, those who lost sleep the last two nights will gain it tonight. Hopefully, the damage is minimal for those who experienced it. Hopefully, those who lost peace because of the storms will find it. Today should serve as a reminder that "trouble doesn't last always." It should remind you of the many storms in life you weathered and survived.  I write this as I am sipping the last few drops of coffee in my "go for it" mug.  To whoever is reading this, the storm is over now. Assess your damages, begin your repairs and live as if nothing happened. Go For It. 

#GoForIt #AGirlWorthFightingFor

Scrambled

Over the past week, I began declaring openly the same prayer, mantra, or spell, as some may say. It started with "show me how much better it" and ended with "I am ready." Well, let me say from April 25th to May 1st- God, the Universe, My ancestors, and guardians have been shaking things up. My life has genuinely been scrambled.

In a normal state of mess, I would try my hardest to fix things and people. Over the past week, my mind, body, soul, and discernment urged me to let things be. It seems like, over the past week, my mindset has changed. My embracement of peace is so divine. I can't think of an eclectic way of explaining it. Some of it hurt, but the rest I am in love with.

My focus on things that were on the backburner has now been pulled to the front, and those things that I had been eyeing its completing cooking progression have directly been placed on the warming spot on the stove. I truly learned that no response is a response.

What was so crazy is that as I was cooking breakfast this morning, I had a revelation. I cooked a turkey and cheese omelet with some turkey sausage. The means of preparation for this meal took a lot to get the finished product. I first sautéed some chopped onions, bell peppers, and mushrooms. I usually tear a piece of wax paper and chop my veggies on my cutting board. After chopping my veggies and my turkey meat, the way wax paper was torn and soggy; I could no longer use it after a few flips. There was nothing unused that you could use.This confirmed that some things, some people, some places could no longer serve a purpose in my life because of their state, so I needed to discard them.

I tossed in 3 turkey sausage links as my veggies were sautéing. It didn't take long; I removed the sausage and placed it on a plate.

My next focus was to cook my eggs: my country, ghetto bougie self, only uses free-range brown eggs at this point in my life. I handled the eggs with delicacy. Knowing that the egg's shell is delicate, I have to crack it to get the desired content, but I have to make sure that it isn't exposed before being ready. Seeing the yokes of the eggs in the bowl reminded me of the delicate nature in which we have to handle life's situations. When we open up to specific people or see them for who they are, we don't know what's inside waiting to come out and when it does, how do we cook or handle it?

Finally, I completed the omelet by adding my remaining ingredients. Before I plated the omelet, I threw those three pieces of turkey sausage back on the burner. I needed to reheat it, I know it was warm, but I wanted it hot. This reminded me of revisiting things that I started in the past that I needed to finish while the fire was burning.

This meal was actually for Keith. I returned to the stove and decided that I wanted just a scrambled egg for myself. The frying pan was still greased with olive oil. The burner was still warm. I cracked the egg in the corner of the pan, where a nice pocket of oil was. I didn't turn it back on the burner. The egg cooked just fine without the extra heat and any other additions. Symbolic of often our need as humans to just let things be is evident. Everything that we need is there. The egg may not have cooked as fast as it would have, had I turned on the heat, but it cooked.

I write this as I take the last fork full of my scrambled egg. For those struggling with life, the conditions in which we conquer life don't matter. It's ultimately the finished product that does—prayers for your journey in life. I am ready for mine.

#agirlworthfightingfor #scrambled