When I was 19 years old I left the religion of my family and began to study the Bible with Jehovah's Witnesses. I wanted to know what God expected of us. What was His plan for humans? Is this life all there is? Was He disappointed in us? What happens to us when we died? Why are people so divided by religion? Why does racism exist? Can the Bible teach us to love one another?

As I learned I wanted to serve this God. I attended the Breevoort Congregation in Brooklyn, NY. There were only two White people that attended the congregation and they lived at the Bethel Home - the building that for many years had the writing above it that said, READ THE BIBLE DAILY. One of them looked out for my cousins, coming over on Friday evenings to watch movies with them, talk to them and encourage them. His name was Ron. My cousins dodged him most Fridays and Ron would spend the time with me and my aunt. One evening time got away from us and it was dark when he left the apartment. I thought about riding back to Bethel with him, to protect him. He said he would be okay, but he was beaten at the train station. He was sent to another area in Brooklyn.

When I went to live in New Mexico I contacted the Witnesses there to continue my studies. A White sister came by to talk with me. She was not old enough to be my mother, but was not my age either. I was lonely out there and she was a great person to hang out with. We would go to the zoo, museum, up in the mountains and shopping in El Paso.

One day she took me to her favorite diner. As soon as I saw the building, I got a funny feeling. When we stepped inside I knew they didn't want me there. Everyone stopped eating and looked towards the door at us. She didn't notice, though. "Hi, Sonny!" she said, smiling as we took a seat at the counter. "Can we go someplace else?" I asked her quietly. "Why? I know the place don't look like much, but the food is good! Isn't it Sonny?" she said to him, laughing alone. He was now beet red in the face, his lips pressed together tightly. But she didn't notice. 'Let me get two pancakes and a smoked sausage. Give me a cup of coffee," she said. She turned to me, "What are you going to have?" I wanted to go! "I'll just have some tea," I said. Even though I was sitting at the counter where I could see him cooking, there was no way I was going to eat anything he prepared. He gave her a cup of coffee and prepared her pancakes. Noticing that I didn't have my tea she reminded him. He got a Styrofoam cup and poured hot water in it and set it down in front of me. As he set it down the cup either melted and the top part of it broke, or it broke from the force of him setting it down. The hot water spread across the counter. I quickly stood to prevent it from scalding me. I again turned to her, "I want to go!" I said softly, but with much feeling. "Get her a regular cup, Sonny" she said. He put a nasty towel down on the counter to catch the water and left it there for me to wipe up. "Can we please go? These people do not want me here!" I said. But she didn't notice. "Sonny, clean this mess up, please," she said. He came back and wiped it up and took the dirty towel away. I glanced at the people sitting at the tables. They had all stopped eating and were watching this show. "Can we please go?" I said again, this time loud enough for Sonny to hear. He set another cup of hot water down, this time in a real cup, but with a plastic spoon. When I lifted the spoon from the water, it had melted. "I will wait for you in the car. Give me the keys!" I said to her. "Sonny?" she said to him. "You know better than that!" Sonny replied. She came with me, throwing  $5 on the counter.

She tried to explain what had happened. She was trying to find the logic in that situation. She had been going to this diner since she was a little girl. She had to admit that she had never seen any Black people in there before, but she didn't know it was because we were not welcome. As I sat there in the car with her, watching her cry and try to find a way to understand what just happened, she found it easier to believe that there had to be some other reason for his behavior. She could not grasp that it was because my skin is not White. I stopped studying the Bible with her after that event. It wasn't because I was mad with God because He was not responsible for this. It was because I had lived for a time in NC. I had marched in demonstrations fighting for my civil rights as a child. I had been tear gassed. I had been arrested. I had been called Nigger. I had been humiliated by White people. I stopped because I wanted to worship a God whose members didn't care what color a person was. And this woman, who no doubt loved God, had her head in the sand when it came to racism. To me, it was easier for her to rationalize what happened as Sonny having a bad day, as opposed to the truth, which was he was a racist. 

A couple of years later, after the fired for knowledge continued to burn in me, I contacted the Kingdom Hall of Jehovah's Witnesses.  I said to the brother that answered the phone, "I want to study the Bible with a White person. I want this person to be old, in their fifties or older (I was only 23 or 24 - so 50s was old). I want her to have raised sons that went to Bethel (a major sacrifice for God - comparable to Timothy going to serve God). I want her to love all people regardless of their skin color. I wanted someone that truly loved her brothers and sisters. The day she was due to arrive we had a Texas hail storm the size of eggs fell from the sky. I knew she wasn't going to come out in this weather. Dottie knocked on my door, her umbrella was destroyed by the hail, and her face was bruised. She stepped in, smiling warmly and kissed and hugged me tenderly. We became the best of friends, but it was hard for me at first. I kept looking for a sign that she was not what she appeared to be. My thinking was this; if a person really allowed what the Bible teaches to reach their heart there is no way they would ever think they were superior to anyone.

She had been in the Truth for over 30 years. She had raised two grown men that had both gone to Bethel and served. One had been there for four years and the other twelve.  Her husband was so opposed to it and how she was raising their sons, that he had beaten her when she was younger. He had broken her ankle so many times it had been replaced and her heel sunk down when she stepped, making it look like an accordion. I told her my story of growing up in the south. She showed me from the Bible how God feels about injustices. Since Sunday school I knew the Lord’s Prayer, but never knew what I was really praying for. Now I knew. I dedicated my life to God on February 24, 1984 by getting baptised. When I returned from the Convention in Dallas, Dottie and I got together. “I have never been able to have any of the Witnesses to my home for a meal because of my husband. You have nothing to stop you. Show hospitality to your brothers and sisters. For your baby, have someone to your home every week. It can be for a meal, or dessert. I will bake bread to give you on Sundays until you tell me to stop. Do it for me, please,” she said. I know that the power of the Bible.

Hebrews 4:12 says, “For the word of God is alive and exerts power and is sharper than any two-edged sword and pierces even to the dividing of soul and spirit, and of joints from the marrow, and is able to discern thoughts and intentions of the heart.”

Karma

For six months I have been waiting, hoping and praying that my attorney has filed the lawsuit against the landlord that locked me out of my place of business, then sold everything I owned; $21,000 worth of equipment for the $2,000 I owned her. She had told me that it was her place of business and she could do whatever she wanted. Her father owned the business before her and he never had any problems with people complaining about that little clause in the lease that says "if you are 30 days late with your rent payment, the owner has the right to lock you out and claim all of your belongings, (i.e. computers, telephones, file cabinets, etc.). My attorney never filed the lawsuit. He never answered any of my calls, (27 calls), emails, (19), or letters (3). Now she has lost the business to foreclosure. I owe $6,178 for my equipment, which I have to pay back and I may never get my money. Some other stylists are enjoying my equipment and I am stuck having to pay this bill.

Now she knows what it feels like to lose something you hold dear. Karma! Everything that has ever been said about it is true!

In the meantime I have to find another attorney and hope I can at least get this part of my bill paid.

Just Stop it Already! Stop Complaining!

I have never liked confrontations, so I try to nip things in the bud before they reach the point where  I have to confront someone in anger. Unfortunately, sometimes; some rare occasion will develop where no matter how many times you let a person know that their behavior makes you feel some type of way, they don't get it. Let me explain what I mean by that so I don't totally confuse you. I have known a woman for many, many years. When I first met her I quickly realized that she is addicted to drama. She seems to thrive from it. Things that you and I may take as nothing big, to her is something very, very big AND she has to share it with everyone that will listen. If she burnt the toast that morning before coming to work, and someone asks how was her morning, she will spend twenty minutes talking about this mishap with the toast. Everything, and I do mean everything is a big production and it really doesn't have to be. Not only does she discuss the little things, but when something is going on in the life of anyone in her family, their issue is now her issue. You guessed it! She also has to discuss that as well.

When I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia, my doctor told me several things that can cause flare ups, or extend a flare up - stress. I can manage my stress by not answering the phone when a bill collector calls, telling my child No about something they want from me, and picking those who I want to allow in my tiny little circle. What I couldn't manage at first was calling this friend and having her spend the next hour or so telling me in great detail about every single thing going on in the lives of all the people she deals with. Unable to interject any worthwhile comments, I would be forced to just listen as she hopped from one person to another, going on and on. I could literally feel my pain escalating and I would do nothing about it. Last year I decided that was it, I had to put a stop to it. I called to talk to her about it. Unfortunately, before I could get the words out, she launched into her normal complaining. I kept trying to get a word in edge-wise, because after all I was the one who called her! Finally, in frustration I told her that I had another call and would call her back. I just had to get her off the phone! The next day I attempted it again. Normally, I ask "How are you doing?" which leaves the door open for her to tell me all the stuff she normally tells me, but this particular call was going to be different. I didn't ask how she was doing, instead I began to tell her why I called. I think I may have gotten out three or four words before she started to tell me the same thing she had told me the day before and many days prior...I stopped her though. I wanted her to hear me for a change. "Did you pray about this?" I asked. "Yes, I did. Anyway, I was telling..." she said. "Then leave it alone. When you pray about something, just leave it alone. You don't have to discuss it with anyone, just God," I said. "I told Him. What I was saying yesterday was that..." she said. "You already told me about it. So, just leave it alone. I called you because..." I said. "Let me just finish. So, I was telling..." she said. "I can't keep doing this. Why are you telling me this? There is nothing I can do about it, if you prayed about it, just leave it alone!" I said. "Okay! So, anyway..." she said, determined to get it out again. I laid the phone down on the bed. I went to the bathroom and brushed my teeth. I picked up the phone and she was still talking. I washed my face and moisturized. I picked up the phone and she was still talking. I took a shower, dried off and she was still talking. I got dressed and she was still talking, never once realizing I wasn't there listening. That was very sad to me. It confirmed to me that she didn't care about me as a friend. If I tell you I don't want to hear it, then stop talking about it.  I attempted to tell her again and again and again, yet she never heard me. So, I stopped calling her.

My health and well-being is more important to me than the relationship we have. Most of us have enough going on in our own lives to deal with, we don't want to carry the third and fourth hand burdens of others. If listening to someones perceived problems is detrimental to my health I will make the decision not to listen to the drama. There is power in the human tongue - power to uplift and power to tear down. Prior to opening our mouths to talk, we make a decision about the words we are going to say - whether to uplift or tear down. Here we are living in a world where every single day something traumatic and dramatic is going on in the world. People are losing their jobs and going mad killing folk and beheading former co-workers. Children are being snatched off the street and go missing; some for years. Little babies are being abused and abandoned. Senior citizens can't even walk down the street in their own neighborhoods without someone walking up and punching them in the face just for sport. People are going to bed hungry, homeless, cold and alone. These are major issues that effects all of us in one way or another. So, what kind of person would think they are the only one with problems? What kind of person can be told I don't want to hear it and continues to talk about it? That is a selfish and insensitive person.

No one wants to hear complaining all of the time. It saps our joy! It robs the listener of their own happiness because it brings them down. It ruins our day. It makes us sick, literally. It shows a lack of faith. It is debilitating. It causes unnecessary anger. It ruins, and ends friendships. Stop complaining! If you are dealing with something, just know that you are not the only one in the whole world dealing with something. The only people on the earth not dealing with something are under the earth - they are dead! So, if everyone is dealing with something, wouldn't it mean more to a person to encourage them, to pray for and with them? Wouldn't it mean more to send a card, write an encouraging note or letter? If you know your sister or brother is going through something, wouldn't it be more loving to say something to make them feel better?

I am not going to let anyone else drag me down with complaining! Each of us have the power to make that decision. If you have told this person you are not going to listen anymore and they don't love you enough to stop, leave them alone. It will be uncomfortable at first, but you've given them the opportunity to stop and they didn't. When they approach you with the guilty feelings, "You don't call me no more," tell them why. Then move on!

Being A Storyteller Is In My Blood

I grew up around a very animated family. Every weekend my father got together with his sisters, cousins, friends and they ate, drank liquor and told stories. All of them had kids so we would be carted off to one room and told to stay there; however we never listened. As soon as the coast was clear we would sneak to wherever they were and hide in the shadows to listen. Many of the stories I heard, I would later repeat to my friends. The kids thought I was the coolest thing since Tootsie Roll Pops! (I know, I’m telling my age)

In 1995, I got a job working at the library in the Children’s Outreach Department, where I met a woman that told stories for a living. Imagine my surprise when I found out that this was a legitimate business! I could not believe it! I accompanied one of the storytellers to her program and was further surprised to see how the little children were in total awe of her. I knew I could do this and wanted more information about it.

She told me she was starting a storytelling organization and invited me to attend a meeting with her the following Saturday in Fayetteville, North Carolina. There were about twenty people at the meeting, and the group was discussing the National Association of Black Storytellers, Inc.’s mission statement, goals and objectives. In order to be an affiliate of the Nationals there were certain things that we had to do. At each meeting, someone was asked to share a story. I was mesmerized! I had so many stories inside of me, and no one was telling that kind of story. Most of the stories I heard were folktales, rarely did anyone tell a personal story and I felt they were just as important. I believed from our personal stories, the lesson behind folktales could be co-mingled.

My first storytelling festival was held that same year in Philadelphia. Several of my co-workers were going to go to the festival so, the library agreed to pay for the entire trip, registration and our food. My friend and co-worker, Rhonda and I were going to share a room together. When we arrived in Philly that morning, I walked around the neighborhood checking it out. There were an Italian grocery store and bakery around the corner and each morning they made fresh bread. I ate there every single day we were in the city. The first event we went to was amazing. We boarded a boat and road around the harbor while enjoy dinner, listening to stories and drumming.

I never saw so many beautiful people, all wearing colorful African clothing. Everywhere I looked there was drumming, singing, dancing and of course, storytelling! I got to hear all types of stories. It was truly eye-opening! I HAD to do this! I began to work on my techniques alone, and then share my stories with my children because I knew they would be honest and tell me whether or not I was holding their interest.

The North Carolina Association of Black Storytellers, Incorporated  became an affiliate of the Nationals, and our membership began to grow. Everyone I met I told about the organization and many people joined us. In 1999, we hosted the National festival here. I worked hard to make our festival a success. I was so busy running around doing things for the festival, and I missed it. I don’t know if it were good or not!

Since then, I have been fortunate to be on the stage at the National Black Theatre Festival for the past ten festivals. Members of NCABS have been on the stage at the National Black Storytellers Festival and Conference. We have been guest storytellers at the African American Cultural Festival in our state’s capital. The female members of our group have shared slave narratives for the United States Colored Troops Symposium and Conference that is held annual in various cities in NC and DC. We give honor to world renowned storyteller, Jackie Torrance each year in her hometown of Salisbury, NC. Our journey has taken us from Rochester to Tampa; from NC to San Diego. It has been amazing! What’s your story? 

Walking In These Shoes I Wear

I love to play tennis, though I am not that great. I like to entertain my friends and family and will prepare wonderful new recipes just for them. I have a passion for the outdoors and enjoy working in my flower garden and shopping at garden centers for new and exotic plants and flowers. I could have been one of those dancers on Soul Train! Dancing comes natural for me because my father was always dancing and having a good time. He often would say when he went to a party; now the party can begin because I’m here! I went back to school at fifty-two to get my degree in cosmetology and opened a hair salon when I graduated. I have catered lunches for hairstylists who were unable to leave their busy salons and get their own lunches. I am a professional storyteller and have traveled all over the country sharing stories and motivational experiences.

These are just a few of the things that I have a passion and talent for. God has truly blessed me in many areas and I am thankful. However, two years ago I began to feel tired quickly after just minor tasks. I started having severe pains in my lower back, shoulders and knees. I went back and forth to my doctor several times complaining of these aches and pains. He diagnosed me with arthritis and gave me a prescription for a pain medicine that would help me. It caused my lips and face to swell and I was prescribed something else. It caused me to have terrible pains in my stomach and I could not take them either. One night I couldn’t sleep, though I was very tired. The next morning I could hardly walk so I went to the ER. Several different tests were run; MRI, CAT scan, blood work, and urology tests. Nothing could be found! Defeated, depressed and so very, very tired I went home with a prescription for Oxycodone for the pain. I took one as soon as I walked in the door. I woke up nearly a day and a half later! Finally, after running back and forth for nearly two years I was finally diagnosed with fibromyalgia. By then, I was depressed because I could no longer do the things I enjoyed. Tennis, dancing, working in my garden and dancing were all too difficult for me to accomplish. I had opened a hair salon and lost it within a few months. I was devastated and lay in the bed many, many nights wondering why God wouldn’t just take my life. I was tired of living, but knew I could not take my own life. I was so miserable!

I was in so much pain and so tired that getting dressed and going to my Christian meetings were impossible for me. I just lay around suffering silently. I had been prescribed so many medications and none of them did anything to relieve the pain and despair I felt. I began to pray to God to just let me go to sleep and never wake up. I didn’t think I could take it anymore. Every day that I awoke, I would feel so disgusted, I would cry quietly. I couldn’t work and help with my share of the bills like I wanted to. I had gone on a trip with my daughter and had overheard her friend talking about me to her mother; saying that I was using my daughter. I feared that I would tell this woman off, and no longer wanted her in my home. To me she was disrespectful, but then she only knew to say this because obviously my daughter had been complaining to her. I resented my daughter and had to pray to fight those feelings. I wanted my own place to live. I felt like I was spinning on that wheel that hamsters have in their cage, yet never going anywhere. Each night I cried myself to sleep and in a couple of hours I would be wide awake. I was prescribed an anti-depressant, but didn’t like the way it made me feel and stopped taking them after a couple of days or so. I just wanted to die! That was all I thought about. When I was growing up, my father often told me that no matter how bad times got you never told anyone your business. My grandmother, whom he got that advice from told me the same thing. So, now I am in therapy and it is very difficult to let this woman into my space, to let her see the fiber of my being. I wear this mask that hides my pain. I smile, laugh often and pretend that I am not dying on the inside. I need to trust her that she will allow me to open up, to tell her what it is that I am feeling without thinking I am violating some instilled wisdom passed from generations of folk that also wore the mask. 

And so it is with someone who suffers from clinical depression. People who see me say, “You don’t look sick!” and that makes me feel even worst. I want to shout at them, “How do you think I ought to look? Don’t you know if I looked like how I feel, I would never leave the house? Be glad that I don’t look like I am sick!” Some will remind me of someone they think is doing worse than I am. Someone else will suggest I just pray about it and move on. Most of the people who say something, are not doing it to be hurtful, they honestly may not know what to say. I would really rather they don’t say anything in that case. Just tell me you miss me and keep it moving. The worst thing is to assume that you know how I feel. I am so tired of being sick and tired! Sometimes I will not get any calls from my Christian sisters and brothers. That is one of the worst things to feel, abandonment from those who profess to care and love me. I remember that even though Jesus had 12 apostles, he was truly very close with Peter. Even though he got angry with Peter once, he had special feelings for him. It was Peter he gave the keys to the kingdom to. I found that one person to care about me in a dear man I call Brother Kinney. He calls me every week to check on me. I love him dearly and sometimes, in my despair it is his face that keeps me going.

I know how Robin Williams felt in his final hours. Many people that suffer with clinical depression can attest to this fact. It is a struggle for us, every day is. We each have something that keeps us holding on. And as we struggle through each day, we know we have no idea what tomorrow may bring. So, we take it one day at a time. Perhaps that day was too much for Robin. Perhaps that day he just said, “I cannot do it any longer, Lord.” We don’t because we were not there. However, I know his despair because I face it each and every day. I have had to step away from a person that I used to call a friend because she complains about every single thing going on, not in her life, but in all of her children’s, grandchildren’s and great grandchildren’s lives and I can’t take her anymore. I tried to explain to her to stop complaining about everything, pray about it and leave it alone if you can’t change it. To me, complaining ALL the time is a selfish act! No one wants to hear that ALL the time. We are encouraged by God to speak consolingly to the distressed souls, be kind and patient to all. Even in my darkest hour, thus far I try to say something encouraging to someone else. There is much to be thankful for. I know this and even if I wake up each day, I know there is a reason for my being here and I am fighting to appreciate that fact and to continue to feel blessed about it. 

What I Hope We Learn From Robin William's Tragic Death

I was checking my email yesterday when I saw the news feed that Robin Williams had died. I felt as if someone had kicked me in the stomach. I forgot about my email as I read the article and others that talked about the loss of this wonderfully talented man. I cried as if a member of my own family had died.

I first saw Robin Williams on the Mork & Mindy Show back in the 80’s. Every week I tuned in to enjoy the show. We’ve seen him grow into a phenomenal actor over the years. We know of the work he did for US troops. We’ve seen him play Pop Eye, Mrs. Doubtfire and recently I saw him in a very disturbing episode of Law & Order SVU where he was portraying a dark and demented character.

As we learned of the details of his death, should that make us lose respect for him? Is suicide so foreign to us that we can’t wrap our minds around the fact that he took his own life? Is he now no longer worthy of our tears? Is it time to judge him? I am appalled at the insensitive comments I’ve read. There have been some that are so very insensitive, I want to smack the taste out of their mouths, if I were still a violent person. It’s been reported that Todd Bridges said Robin Williams is selfish and his suicide is an act of a coward. People have said “He’s going to hell for this!” “What did he have to be depressed about? He was a millionaire!” “Depressed! He was an addict and alcoholic, that’s why he was depressed!”

Depression is a mental disease. This disease has been around for centuries. The Bible mentions several people that were depressed. On one occasion the prophet Elijah was so grief stricken that he prayed for God to take his life. – 1Kings 19:4. Ammon, King Solomon’s son was asked, “Why are you, the king’s son so depressed every morning? Why not tell me?” – 2Samuel 13:4. Being that God is a God of Love, he cares about us so deeply he wants us all to be happy. In Psalm 34:18, the psalmist tells us, “Jehovah is near to those that are broken at heart; and those who are crushed in spirit he saves.” “If you kept a record of our sins, who could escape being condemned? But your forgive us, so that we should stand in awe of you.” – Psalm 130:3-4

God gives us strength and hope. We also have a responsibility-(1Thessalonians 5:14) “…to speak consolingly to those who are depressed, support the weak, be patient toward all.” We are encouraged to throw all our anxiety on God because he cares for us. -1Peter 5:7

Clinical depression is not the same as sadness, or having a bad day. It goes beyond that. Pharmacists have developed medicines to help with depression, but many patients feel worst, so they may not continue taking their meds. According to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention “studies have consistently found that the overwhelming majority of people who die by suicide-  90% or more –had a mental disorder at the time of their deaths, often, however; these disorders had not been recognized, diagnosed or adequately treated.” Professional assistance is available because it is not possible to climb out of the pit of despair without assistance. We are living each day of our lives in a world filled with despair. It is easy to feel hopeless in light of the times. However, we can rest our hope in the promises God has made; for instance in Revelation 21:3-4, “The tent of God is with mankind, and he will reside with them, and they will be his people. And God himself will be with them. He will wipe out every tear from their eyes, and death will be no more, neither will mourning nor outcry, or pain be anymore. The former things will pass away.” So, instead of us judging the actions of someone that has committed suicide in a  negative light, why not think about that person you know that is suddenly withdrawn, quiet and depressed. Why not call and check on them and offer your support? Sometimes a listening ear is all that we need. Sometimes we just need someone to act like they really care, to be there for us. 

I’ve heard people say suicide is the unforgivable sin, probably quoting something their minister, pastor or bishop told them. However, the Bible tells us about only one unforgivable sin and it is not suicide, but grieving God’s Holy Spirit. Some people said he is going to burn in Hell, another lie the church has told its members to keep them enslaved and clothed in darkness. How can you say God is love, he loves us yet when we die he’ll torture our dead body in a burning hell for eternity? What would be the purpose of Him doing that, when he so lovingly offers us the hope of a resurrection? –John 5:29

I encourage anyone reading my blog to check out the scriptures I listed for yourself in your Bible. Find out what it really teaches; shake off the shackles of false religion that has held you bound in ignorance, hatred, condemnation and intolerance or other people’s pain.

THE CRACK OF DAWN

“The Crack of Dawn!” I used to think that was an expression that meant the night was over and the dawn was coming. That is until I was invited by two storytellers that lived in the mountains of Asheville. They were hosting their first annual storytelling event up there and we were invited to come up. I was excited and was ready to go! I, Sparkle, Mardia along with two drummers – Marty and Hashem loaded up the car and up to the mountains we went. When we got there we dropped our things at the bed and breakfast were going to be staying at and then went to the park to join the storytellers. They were catching fish to eat for their dinner. I wasn’t into that and wondered if there was another way to get my fish. There was, I batted my eyes at one mountain man and he gave me two nice fish, he cleaned them and filleted them as well. The only seasoning on the table was salt, pepper and there was no cornmeal. After watching the fish turn golden brown and float to the top I removed them from the hot oil and dropped in my cute little purple and red potatoes. I had never seen a potato that was purple and red on the inside. After eating, we rode back to town and got us some real food from a diner that served home cooking. I had the chicken fried steak with gravy, mashed potatoes and fried green tomatoes.

The storytelling event was the next day and we had a ball. There was a hayride thingy and more storytelling out in this wooded area. I was more concerned about rattlesnakes and those big behind mosquitoes than anything. We were invited to walk across a hanging bridge. It was dark out and I couldn’t even see the bridge but I was scared! I could hear the rushing water below and I knew I couldn’t swim…no, I was not walking across the bridge and didn’t care what was on the other side. We were expected to return the next morning at 5am to enjoy our final day. We were going to be there at “the crack of dawn.” I was thinking about that expression as I went to sleep and anticipation kept me in this restless state. The next morning down to the river we went…well at least the ladies went. We couldn’t get the guys up.

When we got there, in the darkness we could see the outlines of several people already there – about twenty of them it looked like. Our hostess, Gloria has such a mesmerizing voice. She commands silence and respect; two things that are easy to display any time of the day, but at 5 am...well. She told us to stand, cross our arms and hold hands with the person next to you. Then she wanted us to repeat after her. I don’t like that game too much mainly because I never know what folks are wanting you to repeat until you get to the end. Shoot! You could be asked to call on the demons or something. I like to wait until I hear the entire thing and if I am so inclined to do so, I will repeat after you, but this saying a few words, waiting to hear the folks repeat it, then saying some more, then waiting to hear the folks repeat it, then saying some more and then waiting…I don’t do that. So, she said the words and folks repeated it and I stood there silently waiting and chose afterwards that even though she wasn’t calling on the demons…I still didn’t want to repeat it. Then she asked us to call out the name of an ancestor or someone that was no longer with us – a friend or something. People began to call out the names and then she started singing “That’s What Friends Are For.” By now it is beginning to get light. And she called us all to silence so we can hear the “crack” of dawn. Up until that point I thought it was an expression. But that morning, standing by the bubbling brook, orange, purple and blue colors running across the sky, surrounded by these beautiful folk all holding hands, and humming softly, I HEARD the sun as it broke through the darkness and cast its light on the day. I heard! So, the next time you are up at that hour, go on outside and be real quiet and listen and know the true meaning of “The Crack of Dawn.”

A Series of Unfortunate Events

When I was a little girl I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wanted to be a writer, baker, and hairstylist. I also wanted to own a very large home so that people could stay a few days with me, I would feed them, tell them a story and they would go on about their business. I wanted to be a bartender and I wanted help the poor.  By the time I reached 52 there were only two things left on my list. I hadn't become a hair stylist and I hadn't gotten the large house where I could entertain people. By now I knew that was called a Bed & Breakfast. So, I started cosmetology school. I had a goal and that was to finish my 1500 required hours in nine months. I took my state boards and got licensed.

In April of 2012 I opened a hair salon in West Salem Square. There were other salons in the building, but it wasn't even a deterrent for me. This was the perfect location. It was located within a 1 mile radius of Winston Salem state University, Salem College, Salem Academy, North Carolina School of the Art, The Gateway Y and all of downtown. I knew it would be a successful place to open a business. 

I purchased top of the line equipment - $6,178 worth of equipment. I invested another $19,000 in supplies, tools, artwork, paint, computer, etc. I was so excited! My hair salon was called Zuri Hair Studio. Zuri is Swahili for beauty or beautiful. I contacted the Boys and Girls Club manager and offered free hair care services to the young ladies that went there. I also contacted the director of Dress for Success to offer hair care services to the ladies that signed up with them. I signed up with a company called Merchant Services, Inc. to process my merchant account. It would take 3-6 weeks before I got the equipment. Who knew that when I wrote the checks for my rent and salon furniture in May that my world would never be the same.

My checks bounced because Merchant Services, Inc. had taken all my money! Every single dime I owned. They would take small amounts like .99 or $1.10 and then make a huge withdrawal until they had wiped me out. I asked members of my family to help me and it was easier for them to talk about me like I had a tail than to help me. Finally, I asked the right family member and he gave me the money to get caught up on the rent.  A friend of mine loaned me the money for July's rent. In June I applied for a loan with a microloan company here and was told I would have an answer in 2-6 weeks. My landlord and the company I got my furniture from were very patient and understanding. 

Each day I worked and had a good day, I would leave some money with the landlord to help towards my rent because I didn't want it to get too far behind. As the 6 weeks ended, I still had not heard anything about my loan. I started calling the loan officer and leaving him messages. I left him email messages, Facebook messages, and text messages. On November 13th I was on my way to a conference when the manager of my building where I had my salon called to tell me she was going to change the locks on my salon. I told her that I was on my way out of town, I would call her when I returned. I added, that hopefully I would be able to sell some books and make enough money to get back in the space and all would be good. A few minutes later the loan officer send me a text to say that his program had limited funds, and they decided to give it to another applicant that they felt had a better business deal.

I called Margaret on Monday to let her know that I thought it best to get my things out of the space and try it again later. Margaret told me that she would hold my items until I had paid my bill in full. I told her that I would feel better if I had them, and she insisted that they would be safe. In December I was talking to a friend of mine that works at the Forsyth County Attorney's office. I told her what happened to me and she informed me that the landlord cannot hold my items in lieu of the rent. She has to let me get them. I called Margaret back to let her know what I had learned and told her I wanted to come by on Saturday and get my things. She told me that they could hold my items, that I should read page three of my lease. On page 3 there is a sentence that says, "if the tenant is 30 days late on the rent, the landlord has the right to take possession of the space and all that is contained therein, i.e. computers, phones, etc." I called my friend back and read her this statement in the lease, to which she said, "It doesn't matter what she put in the lease, the law is the law and she has violated the law. She needs to let you get your stuff!" I called Margaret back and told her what I had been told by the County Attorney's office. She told me that this has been in their lease for over twenty years and they had never had any problems. She told me she was tired of discussing this with me and told me the next time for me to call and talk to Johnna. I told her to transfer me to her. I was put into her voicemail. I left her a message. Two days  later Johnna called me to see what it is I wanted. I told her that she cannot hold my items in lieu of the rent. She told me this was her business and she could do whatever she wanted to do. 

I called the Legal Shield, who was previously Prepaid Legal Services and spoke to an attorney. Her name was Shana. She could not believe this had happened to me and was going to take my case. I felt so relieved. The very next day, Shana called me to say that I didn't have a case and that I should just forget it. I wanted a second opinion and she gave me the number to dial to request one. I spoke to Mike a couple of days later.I told him what was going on and he asked me what did I expect to happen, what would I like the final outcome to be. I told this idiot I had invested over $25,000 into my business. I wanted to get my items back. I only owed the landlord $2,100. I asked him did he think that sounded fair. He said, "Do you have the money to pay her?" I told him I didn't. But I had $1,000 and wanted to make that offer. He called her and she told him I owed her $4,000 and she would not settled for less than $3,000. He called to tell me this. I asked him to see if she would take it in three payments, because I had $1,000 I could give her at the time.

I waited to hear from him again and finally after a week I called him. He seemed aggravated, "What is it now?" "You were supposed to get back with me to tell me what Johnna said," I said. "Said about what?" he asked. It seems our memory of what took place in our last conversation was different. He told me that I was supposed to call Johnna Hewitt, not him. When I called her, she had a yard sale and sold all of my items! "I'm not a hair stylist. But I do have a building full of them and they needed hair supplies and I had  some so I sold it! What?" she says. I told her that I would come by and get the pictures of my grand child. I had an entire wall with pictures of my 5 year old grandbaby wearing different hairstyles. She informed me that she had sold everything, except a chair.

I was sick! I thought I was having a heart attack. I spent the night in the ER and a few nights later I was back there again! I made an appointment with my regular doctor and was diagnosed with fibromyalgia. 

I started doing research and decided to call my friend back at the county attorney's office. I wanted to know the exact statute that tells how to do a commercial eviction. With that information I contacted NOLO. I explained to the attorney what had happened to me. She referred me to three different attorneys. I contacted each of them. They listened, shocked and decided that they would definitely help me out, but I first needed to give them a $10,000 retainer or more! I didn't have that kind of money!

One day I got dressed and went to the courthouse. I was desperate! I walked all over that courthouse speaking to every attorney I saw that was not busy. I was there four hours before I met an attorney named Melanie. She told me to contact Wake Forest School of Law that she knows that some former students had started a law practice that was taking clients pro bono! I called them right in front of her. I hugged that lady and was so glad to have met her. I made an appointment to speak with Earnest Bailey the next week. I took all of my paperwork - my lease, the letter from the collection company wanting me to pay them $4300 for back rent, the letters the NC Attorney General's Office wrote to Merchant Services, Inc., all of my text messages from Margaret, the manager of West Salem Square, pictures of my salon, my inventory and prices of all of the items I had in my salon, what few receipts I had in my possession. His office was not pro bono, but they had deeply discounted fees. He took my case and their fees are just $80 an hour.

He showed me there are two ways to evict a commercial tenant. One way is called self-help. With self-help, the landlord sends the tenant a certified letter stating that they are default of the rent and if not paid in full within a "reasonable" time - usually 30 days, the landlord will then take possession of the space. If the tenant has not paid the rent, the landlord then must send another certified letter stating that he has taken possession of his space. The tenant now has 30 days to remove all of his items and leave the space clean and in the same condition that it was in when they moved in.

The other way is by filing the paperwork with the courts and having the paperwork served to the tenant. If the rent is not paid before the court day, a Magistrate will determine whether the tenant is in breach of the leasing agreement. The tenant is given thirty days to remove their items from the space and leave it in the same condition it was in when they moved in. That is the law, there is no gray area where the landlord can interject their own brand of handling things. 

I have looked at pictures of the other salons in that building - pictures they post on Facebook, Instagram and youtube and I see my items in their salons and it angers me! My items meant nothing to Johnna Hewitt! I can't even wrap my mind around how she can even think this is acceptable. Just because her father put that clause in his lease twenty years ago or so, doesn't mean it was right. All it meant is that no one had ever spoke up for themselves, no one ever challenged their actions. It is wrong on so many levels and I cannot sit back and do nothing. This is about more than just me - it is about every single tenant, African American and White that has taken a space in that building with high hopes of having a successful business, but may face an unforeseen situation (like mine) and get behind in rent. Will Johnna Hewitt decide to liquidate their business? Will she sell everything you worked hard to establish or stick it in the basement to sell later, not taking in account how hard you may have worked to make your dream a reality? She has received a grant from the City of Winston Salem. They are actively promoting her place of business as the place to start up a a new business for entrepreneurs. So is Forsyth Tech's Small Business Association. But, it is not a good place to start if she has the power to take over your business inventory and sale it. 

I will contact every organization I can think of to prevent this from happening to anyone else.

My First Love

 My name is Darby West and I am a Daddy’s girl. From the moment that he saw me I was his Tootsie roll. I have been carrying that name for ever and will carry it forever more. My Daddy was not a perfect man, but he was perfect for me. He had a very tumultuous relationship and moved out to find peace. That search led him to a peaceful woman and the two of them had a son. He used to come to the Bronx on Fridays to drop off money and to see his babies. Whenever he entered the building he would sing out and in our building – a tenement on 245^th Street and Bruckner Blvd, the acoustics were so strong that it would carry him up to the fourth floor where we lived. “Daddy! Daddy!” we would all call out and run to the door. He always came with penny candy in his pockets. We would run straight for those pockets. He would hug us, kiss us and love us up! Because of the tension in the house, he would just drop the money off, spend a few minutes with us and leave, promising to come back on Friday. We would all run to the living room and look out the window as he walked across the street. He would wave at us and blow us a kiss before going up the block to the train station. We would look out that window until he was out of sight and beyond that.

At five my baby brother, Ron and I went to live with him in Queens. When I started first grade I went to live with my auntie Sugar Prune. She was So prissy! I was only five, but she was trying to teach me how to be a lady. When I sat down, if I were wearing a dress, I was to take my hands and smooth down the back of my dress, before I sat down, then I had to cross my legs at that ankles so no  one could see my underwear. My hands were supposed to be placed in my lap. When my favorite boy cousins came by I could not play in the yard with them because I could hurt myself, skin my knees, break a nail or sweat out my press and curl. My Daddy took me from there and I went to live with him again.

It is said that most little girls marry a man like their father. I didn’t do that. Both of my husbands were the exact opposite of my Daddy. I did meet a man that was like him, though. The first time I saw him he was coming to visit my cousin one Friday evening. They were going out to a disco that night. When I opened the door to let him in, he didn’t even look at me.  I was invisible to him. I had my hair tied up, and wore an old pair of shorts and a too big t-shirt. My aunt told me that if I wanted to get his attention to fix myself up. The next Friday night when he came by I was ready for him. My curly afro was hooked up nicely. I had on my halter top, patched jeans, and my Buffalo shoes. Gold hoops were in my ears. He looked at me that time, but kept walking to the back. Soon my cousin called me, “Yo! Tootsie, c’mere!” He introduced me to his friend, “This is my boy, Charlie.” He didn’t even have to tell me his name because ever since I met him I had been writing in my notebook – Charles loves Tootsie. Tootsie loves Charles.

Charles and I got to know one another and one of the things that I didn’t like about him is that he didn’t know when to stop drinking. It was a shame too, because I really cared about him. However, I knew how difficult like could be with an alcoholic and I wasn’t going to put myself in that position.  I went on about my life, marrying a man that shared his name, but nothing else.

When I got divorced and returned to New York it was Charles that met me at the airport.  I wasn’t ready for a relationship at the time; I just wanted to wallow in misery. That winter he and my cousin came by the house. “Get up, get dressed!” my cousin ordered. I didn’t want to go, but I got dressed and joined them. Charles’ mother was having a party. There was about three feet of snow piled up beside her gate where they had cleared the sidewalk. The party was going strong when we arrived. There was plenty of food, cake, and liquor. Charles took that first drink and we danced. By midnight the red Solo cup appeared to be glued to his hand. Every time I saw him he was sipping from it. I knew that five years had passed, but he was the same old person. Around four my cousin came looking for Charles. I hadn’t seen him in a while. His sister told us she saw him go outside, but she thought he must have come back in because his coat was still on the bed. We got his coat and went out to look for him. There he was lying face down in that pile of snow, drunk as Cootie Brown. We struggled to help him up, and there was a yellow stain in the snow. My cousin was furious! He was going on and on about his Norvegese shoes. “Every time we go somewhere this is the crap that happens! Yo, man! I am sick of this!” he fumed.

We helped him put on his coat. “I’m sorry man! I know I promised you I wasn’t going to drink. But I saw Tootsie, and she was looking so good!” My cousin slapped him across the cheek. “Shut up! You ain’t good enough for my cousin!” he shouted at him. We tried to get him to walk, but he was too drunk. Charles and I waited for my cousin to show up with the car. He was leaning against the gate of someone’s house, still mumbling about how fine I looked, and he was sorry. Just as we got ready to help him to the car, this dude threw up on us! My legs and the front of my coat were covered in huge chunks of whatever food this fool had eaten. I was so disgusted I nearly threw up. We had to go back inside and clean the mess off. My cousin fussed at him all the way back to Brooklyn.

No, I never married a man like my father. My Daddy liked liquor too. He did stop drinking though in his later years. He mellowed out and became deep. It wasn’t a deepness that entirely with old age. Sometimes after taking a toke or three of gunja, anybody can get deep and start philosophising.  When I was getting married for the second time he came to NC to give me away, along with my auntie and one of her friends. After everybody had gone to bed we were up talking. “Why are you getting married this late in the game? How old are you now, forty or forty-five?” he asked. “Forty-five? Come on, Daddy! You know I ain’t forty-five. Try thirty-five!” I said, laughing. “How long have you known this cat?” he asked. “Six months,” I replied. He shook his head. “Six months? Naw! You don’t know this dude. And he doesn’t know you. You need to put that on ice. Why can’t you just live with him for a while, see what he is really about. Don’t rush into this,” he said.

We never had a really deep conversation like that in a long time, a long time. The last deep conversation we had was when I was feeling my friend Kevin in Hampton, VA. I was trying to decide should I return to Virginia and give him a chance even though I wasn’t in love, but he appeared to be. My daddy looked me in the eye and said, “Love? Who said anything about love? Did I say anything about you falling in love? What I said is…and you need to listen because I usually sell this advice. For you, I’ll give it to you free. Love is like a boil It rises on your behind and busts in your heart. Don’t fall in love with these cats out here. Let them fall in love with you! And that my dear is the truth and the whole truth!” “Daddy, are you sober?” I asked. “I ain’t had nothing to drink today,” he replied. “But are you sober?” “Nope! But I know what I’m talking about,” he smiled.

I miss my pops. I don’t need a certain date of the month to honor my Daddy. I can do that any time I want to. I can close my eyes and remember what his hair feels like, soft like cotton. I can smell the Old Spice he used too much of. I can see his smiling face and that twinkle in his eye. Each time…every single time I think of him, I feel blessed that I was given to him, my first love – Walter Lee Greene.

WHAT IF...?

What if all of the mistakes that we made in our lives could be used to help someone else walk a straighter path if we but shared them? If I poured out my heart to you, shed tears for you, wept with you in order to help you see that you don't need to make the mistakes that I did, would you change your course?

What if all of the men or women that we have met in our lives and shared a piece of ourselves with were able to sit down together and we discussed what went wrong in our relationship, what made you stop loving me, or me stop loving you, or why you never loved me, or me never loving you...could we forgive each other and move on with our lives so that we don't make the same mistakes again with someone else?

What if I could wipe the slate totally clean and start over from this point in my life, what sort of person would I be then? Would I be as sensitive to other's needs as I am now? Would I be able to see the cup as half full instead of half empty? Would I find the joy in a laughing baby, or the sound of a bubbling stream?  Would I understand why some people sit all day long on the side of a river bank and yet only catch one or two fish, when it is not the food they seek, but the solitude?  Would I know the difference between being lonely and being alone, and yes there is a difference...?  

Would I be able to tell the difference between a look of love and one of lust and would I prefer the first look?  Would I know that I am beautiful without someone telling me that I am, and appreciate it more when I speak it myself?  Would I be able to  recognize when a man is being truly honest when he says that he will be there, if I had not known the lies of one that said those same words but never meant them?  Would I love myself as much now after going through my life thus far if I had not been down the paths of mistakes that I have walked blindly down?

I am so glad that He called me and invited me to come to Him. I truly appreciate that God is so forgiving and is able to restore us and cleanse our minds and hearts and make us and mold us, if we but let Him. I am so much better now. I am wiser and stronger and beautiful. Can I assist you, my lost friend, my lost sister, my lost brother? Can I share my past paths with you, so you can be redirected and realigned with God's help? 

What if I could... What if He could? What sort of person are you to be?

RACISM - IT IS A BIG DEAL (Pt. 1)

When I lived in Texas I met an interracial couple who had two small children. The wife was African American and her husband was White. She had been married before and had a child by her first husband who was also African American. Together she and her new husband had a child. He was originally from Minnesota, if I am not mistaken and she was from Texas. She was very aware of racism; however, in his all White town he grew up not knowing any African Americans, never having any contact with us at all. When he joined the Army, of course that changed. She and him worked together closely in their unit and as result they became very close and eventually fell in love. He told me that on their first date, their very first date he was met with racism. He said when they walked into a restaurant together he honestly didn’t notice anyone staring at them. He said when she pointed it out to him he still thought she was being paranoid, because he honestly didn’t think it existed. That all changed the day he was called a Nigger Lover as he played in a park with his wife and children. That was the day he came to understand what his wife had been telling him all along, and that he knew it was a big deal; that she was not being paranoid.

If it were not a big deal, there would never have been a Nat Turner, Harriet Tubman, Sojourner Truth or Margaret Garner. There would not have been an Underground Railroad. There would not have been a Civil Rights Bill. There would not have been a Martin Luther King, Jr. fighting for the rights of my people. No need for the Southern Leadership Conference, no need for Rosa Parks to go to the back of the bus, no need for “Colored” signs. There would be no need for a song to be written called “Strange Fruit” in honor of all of those Black men, women and children that lost their lives as they bodies swung from tree limbs as entertainment for White audiences. There would be no need to abolish slavery, segregation, or apartheid. There would be no jails full with Black and brown people. There would be no Indian reservations. The name Willie Lynch would mean nothing to any of us. The name Nelson Mandela would not be written down in history. If racism were not a big deal there would be no need to expose folks like Don Imus who referred to the Rutgers’s female basketball team as “nappy headed hos”. Or Marge Schott, the owner of the Cincinnati Red’s baseball team who referred to the African American ball players as “million dollar niggers”. Or Paula Deen who referred to the African Americans who worked in her restaurant as “niggers”, but didn’t see anything wrong with that because we called each other the same word and didn’t get offended by it. Or Jimmy “the Greek” Snyder, who was a sports broadcaster on NBC who explained the African American male athlete by saying this nonsense, “The black is a better athlete to begin with because he’s been bred to be that way, because of his high thighs and big thighs that goes up into his back, and they can jump higher and run faster because of their bigger thighs and he’s bred to be the better athlete because this goes back all the way to the Civil War when during the slave trade … the slave owner would breed his big black to his big woman so that he could have a big black kid.” Or Donald Sterling, who can sleep with a Black/Mexican woman, but doesn’t want her to invite her people to his games, or to take pictures with us, post it on the Internet, or act like she likes us. To him all we are is a way to make that dollar. 

If it were not a big deal, these men and women would not have lost the respect of their communities, business partners, or the support of their own peers, and their jobs. Until you walk in our shoes you will never understand the lasting scars, the lasting pain of racism. I have never been whipped with a leather strap until my skin tore, the muscles and bones exposed, flesh hanging from the wound, the muscles quivering, but I know it hurts. That is the sad effects of racism.

Like ·  · Promote · Share

Who We Really Are (Part One)

I had so many things I wanted to say on my blog yesterday, but got sidetracked and didn't get a chance to write anything. Do you know that feeling that lingers around you when you know you should have done something, but didn't wanted to get up and start writing. Instead, I watched Part 2 of Love & Hip Hop. Why? Why? Why?

On this second part, Monique, who was hosting the show and trying to maintain some order, started right off letting them know they were all expected to stay in their seat, there would be no fighting. 

Amina is pregnant and let Peter Gunz know by taking the pregnancy test stick from her bra and giving it to him. She recognizes that she is no different from Tara. He is cheating on her with other women besides Tara. Peter walked off the stage and at first refused to return. Later he said he wanted to talk to Tara, not Amina. He would only come back if Amina was not on the stage. She is escorted off, kicking and yelling. Peter returns wearing dark shades and obviously shaken. He apologizes to Tara for everything. Tara was his ride and die chick for 13 years. She is the mother of his children. Without even warning her, he came home one day and told her he had married Amina, however he continued staying with Tara, disrespecting both women and didn't even wear his wedding ring. He acknowledged he is too old for this behavior. Other things went on, but Peter Gunz stayed on my mind. I wondered what happened to him. A lot of "stuff" we experience in life, the way we are molded, trained, developed can be traced right on back to our mom and pop. I have been in therapy before. (need to still be in therapy), but one of the first things asked is, tell me about your childhood.

No one wakes up one day and says I will be a liar, use women, be a cheat, unreliable, belligerent, conniving, trifling...Prior to watching this show I also watched Fatal Attractions where a minister - a so-called man of God had married a woman that had a child by a previous relationship, sixteen year old Shantell. The family moved to Mobile, Alabama and had six children together. While delivering her 8th child she died in childbirth. The church family is heartbroken. But the pastor seems to be doing well raising the children with the help of Shantell -until the day she is stopped by a concerned neighbor as she walks down the street barefoot in the cold. As the story unfolds we learn that the pastor had been sexually assaulting Shantell since she was 11. Her mother suspected, and finally found out when she was 16 and caught the pastor in the church bathroom fondling Shantell. At home she threatens the pastor by saying she was calling he police and he strangles her. He makes Shantell help me get the body to the car and the two of them dig the grave behind a church in a nearby city. Then a few days later he has a change of heart and goes and digs the body up, wraps it in thick plastic puts it in a freezer, also with the help of Shantell. The freezer is stored in the storage room of their home.  Now she is 19 and pregnant by her stepfather, and he is also messing around with her 14 year old sister- who is his birth daughter. Just too much craziness before bedtime! 

Once all of this story is unfolded the pastor is charged with murder, child abuse, sexual child abuse and a host of other things. The 14 year old didn't have to testify, but Shantell took the stand. I wondered what kind of woman will she grow up to be. How will she have a s successful relationship with a man? What about the other children, especially the one that he had started molesting. This is one of the reasons we end up with adult men and women that are lost, don't know how to treat people, are sad, angry, lost, and need help. I feel badly for Peter Gunz, but I have confidence that he will change if he seeks help. 

Be Careful What You Watch Before Bed

Last night I was bored and couldn't find anything to watch on TV. I came upon a show about stuff that happens in the ER. A little boy was being seen because he had stuffed some foreign objects into his ear on a dare. The doctors were discussing how to handle getting the objects out when I turned to this channel. I watched a little bit and then I turned because I didn't want to see the actual removal process.

In the wee hours of the morning a sharp pain hit my right ear with such a sting I woke up. Had that pain happened on my arm, leg or something I would have immediately felt comfortable saying it was a bug biting me. Well, it was inside my ear and my first thought was Oh no! I have a bug in my ear. I grabbed my tablet and turned it on. While waiting for it to come on the pain of the bite became an throbbing sensation. I Googled how to get a bug out of your ear.  I click on the YouTube video, but was too uneasy to actually "watch" how to do it. I read the instructions instead. First I had to insert with a dropper some type of oil in my ear that would kill the insect. There were about three illustrations on what type of tool to use to get the oil into the ear. One of them was with a dropper that you use for medicine. So, I get up to check in the bathroom for a bottle of medicine with a dropper. In the kitchen I find a child's bottle of Tylenol. I fill a cup with hot water and rinse out all of the Tylenol. I shake the water out of the dropper, and pour some olive oil into the lid of the bottle and suck up some olive oil. I drop some into my ear and cringe as the oil makes it way down into my ear canal. It is just making a blooping sound as it enters the area. I was then suppose to lay down on my side and allow the oil to do what it do - which is to kill this pesty bug. After a few minutes I turn on the opposite side and allow the oil to drain from my ear. The next step was to fill a bottle or cup that has a spout with warm water and pour it in a steady stream into the effected ear and watch carefully as the bug is washed from the ear because it has to be examined to make sure it all came out. One of the illustrations shows a bottle like dish detergent comes in. So, back to the kitchen I go and empty the detergent out of the bottle, rinse it with hot and cold water until it runs free of suds. I fill it with warm water and head to the bathroom where I lay a down over the sink and begin to squeeze water into my ear. Water is going every where. It is running down my face, down my chin and neck and wetting the front of my pajamas. It is wetting my hair and running down the back of my neck. It has wet up the mirror, the counter and the floor. I am standing on a squishy rug. I am making a big mess, but I am determined to get this nasty bug out of my ear! I look at myself in the mirror and I look like a dern fool! I smile first, and remember the TV show I watched before going to sleep. I start laughing and can't stop! 

Now I have to Google how to get water out of my ear! 

Don't Let Your Left Hand Know What Your Right Hand is Doing...Why Not?

When I was growing up I often heard my grandmother use the expression, "Don't let your left hand know what your right hand is doing," but I it took me a while to get what she meant by it. I sometimes wish I had her here to give me a gentle reminder. If I could hear a little "BOING" sound as a reminder would be a wonderful thing.

There have been two instances in the past couple of months when I truly wish I had her here. I am going to tell you about both of them. 

Instance One: I am a professional storyteller and a member of The National Association of Black Storytellers, Inc.(NABS) and its affiliate - The North Carolina Association of Black Storytellers, Inc. (NCABS) Each year NABS has a storytelling festival/conference in a city that is hosting the event. It is a very interesting, educational, and exciting festival. I do not like to miss them. They have featured storytellers, spoken word artists, workshops, etc. We go out to the community and into the schools and/or universities. 

At last year's festival I decided I wanted to be a featured storyteller. I kept contemplating it and shared that goal with an acquaintance. BOING As soon as I said it, I knew I should have kept my mouth shut. You see, over the years I have come to know that people will listen to you talk about your dreams and goals, but not necessarily share in your enthusiasm. Sometimes it is obvious how they feel by their response, but sometimes you have to read between the lines, look at their facial expressions (what are their eyes saying), or you may get it on the back end.

So, I shared this goal with her and immediately she responded by saying, "Not everyone can be a featured storyteller!" What does that mean? Does it mean that YOU don't think I am good enough? Do you think I ought to sit down somewhere and come up with another goal? What? See, that comment was a back end comment. The person isn't bold enough to tell me what she really feels, so she throws this underhanded insult out and knows that I will spend a little time wondering what is meant, and perhaps become discouraged and not attempt to try to obtain my goal. She does this because she doesn't have any goals to do what you just shared with her. It is just as insensitive as if she had just come out and said "Are you crazy? You can't be a featured storyteller because you can't tell a story!" Well, now her comment is in my head. What will I do with it? I dismissed it. I know what I am capable of doing, and I have a whole entire year to improve and be ready. 

Now it is time to send in my featured storyteller application. There are some things that I have to include and I begin to work on getting everything I need together so I can get it in before the deadline. As I check off the list I realize that I really need a video of my performance. For several years I have performed at the National Black Theatre Festival and I know that my performance is videotaped, so I contact them to see about getting a copy of a taped performance. That doesn't work out because no one is returning my phone calls. I then contact another person, and she doesn't follow through either. But I don't panic. I just make an audio of me telling a story and include it with my packet and move on to check off something else. Now, I am excited and like a silly person I repeat my goal to the same woman that said to me last year, "Not everyone can be a featured storyteller!" What does she say this year? She says, "I know I am not good enough to be no featured storyteller or I would have applied already. I've been attending the festivals way before you started coming to them. I know what's required to be up there with the best of the best! But you go on, girl!" So, now 1/2 of what she meant from last year's comment has been spoken. "She knows she's not good enough!" Okay then! What I gleaned from that is this: I've been going to the storytelling festivals longer than you have, before you even knew about them. And though I have attended the workshops and the performances I doubt myself as an artist and therefore I never thought I was good enough to take the stage. Now here you come along, only been going since '95 and you think you got this? You think you're ready to be a featured storyteller after just nineteen years? Are you crazy? You will never make it! If I haven't tried, what makes you think you're ready to try? That's what I gleaned from that negative, back end remark.  Do I care? No! I send in my packet and know that if it is God's will I will be selected and if not this year, I can apply again next year or the year after that, or the year after that! 

A couple of days later I get a voicemail left on my phone to call her. I do, and immediately she asks me if I still want to apply to be a featured storyteller. Now I pause because I'm wondering what made her think of that. I know she doesn't read her email so she doesn't know about the deadline date. There are one or two responses I could give. I could just answer her question - DO YOU STILL WANT TO APPLY TO BE A FEATURED STORYTELLER? The short and true answer would be NO, because I have already applied. (which would be bordering on lying) or a simple YES. I chose to say YES and brace myself for the next negative back end comment. "Well, go head on Miss Featured Storyteller! Miss Featured Storyteller!" and a very strange, almost sinister laugh follows. BOING BOING BOING BOING and then a slap upside the head. Every time she calls me now she refers to me as Miss Featured Storyteller. This can serve two different purposes. If I am selected this year then she has told the truth by calling me that. She has actually helped in calling it into existence. LOL But, if I am not selected this year she can always say, "Well, don't feel bad about it. I ain't good enough either!"

Second One: I am going to wait on that one because I think it may still be unfolding. You know me, I will get back with you in a few days. Just be patient.

OF THIS I AM SURE

I don't know if it comes with age or experience, but there are certain things that happen in life that I know for sure. I think I'm safe in saying it is a combination of both. When I was a young woman I spent so much time trying to please others, always biting my tongue to keep peace, never standing up for myself to certain people. I allowed them to attempt to change me, to make me something that I was not, and did not want to be. By being silent, I gave them power over me, and though I tugged and stiffened, my silence gave them the impression that they had succeeded. What they had succeeded in doing was making my life miserable and made me always be on the defensive - silently. Inside I was fuming, cussing mad, but outside I held it in. As a result I was diagnosed with ulcers in my twenties. After that diagnosis, I began to speak up. If I were not happy, I let the person know.

I came to realize that some people live such miserable lives, trapped in a relationship where they cannot speak out for fear of being made fun of, not taken seriously, or to be belittled that when they get the chance to be the aggressor they take it. The best thing you can do for a person like that is just to leave them alone, separate yourself from them. You don't have to submit to that abuse, and that is certainly what it is.

There are women out there that dislike you so much that they will feign a relationship with you, just so they can be aware of your every move. When you have a conversation with them, they challenge everything that you say. We've all met them. If you say the sky is blue, they will challenge you with the sky is actually green. If you say its up, they say its down. They use endearing terms like the B-word in reference to you. I have never found anything endearing about being called a female dog. If you have a man, look out because this is the type of woman that will make a pass at your man. Oh yeah! If you get word of it, she will say that she was doing you a favor to see if he was faithful. Everybody that smiles in your face is not your friend. In fact, your friends list may only have a couple or three names on it. Call these folk what they are, you will certainly be happier for it. HATERS!

In the middle of the night you will be awaken by a noise. You will not be sure if it came from outside, or inside. You strain, trying to listen out for it again, but you never hear it again. But, now you are awake and uneasy. You will not be able to go back to sleep until you get up and walk through your home making sure all the doors are secured and the windows locked. Are you brave enough to do it alone? I am not, so I usually get my son to walk through with me. When I wake him, he is hot! Silently, but quickly I am following close behind him looking around. Of course, there is no one else in the house. When you lay back down, get comfortable and warm again, there's the noise again. Its just the Devil. He knows he only has a little while left, so he is extremely busy! If he can't sleep, you will not be able to sleep either. (I only know this because my grandmother used to say it...I'm really not 100% on board with that one yet)

There is no shortcut to weight loss. There is no pill, no drops, no green frothy drink, or fruity smoothie that can substitute real, long term weight loss. I had never had a problem with my weight. Then in 1993 I got married to a man and his parents. Those three drove me crazy. In one year I had gained over 100 pounds! Mind, you I was pregnant, but the baby only weighed 8lbs, so all of the rest of that was pure fat! Since I had never been fat before, I was either in denial or crazy. The same sexy clothes I wore at a size 7/8 or a 9/10 I was wearing at a size 22W (W = wide load). I had to overhear someone saying that I was fat before I took a look in the mirror and saw that she was right. I was a big, big girl! I joined a gym. I changed my eating habits. If I got up and had a bowl of Raisin Bran for breakfast and a glass of juice, that was a nutritious breakfast. I didn't have to try and make up for it at lunch by going to an all you can eat buffet and acting like I was setting up residency there. I changed my diet plan. I now had a salad and 1/2 sandwich for lunch, or a bowl of soup and 1/2 sandwich. I kept the weight off for many years. I am a stress eater, and as a result I have gained about 35 of those pounds back. I am back on track and have started eating healthy and exercising again. to get the added weight off.

I finally relearned, and accepted that people come and go and once their purpose in our lives have been fulfilled that's it. It's over and instead of chasing them, trying to use guilt to remind them of how we used to be, just let them go. Make new friends, and keep it moving. Don't whine about it, it isn't attractive.

Within thirty minutes of meeting a man, you will be exposed to everything you need to know about him to make a decision as to whether you want to see him again. Trust me on this one. If you are supposed to meet at 7:30 and he arrives at 7 and waits impatiently for you to get there, has an attitude when you finally walk into the room, let that be the last date. You see, this man is impatient about everything. He is also demanding and not trustworthy. He will make you feel inferior and unworthy of him and will sap all of your self esteem before you can blink. Let him go. Now, suppose he arrives at 8:00 or after. You've been sitting there waiting and waiting and he comes in all nonchalant, like he is on time. As he is talking to you, his eyes are roaming the room as if he is looking for someone, someone better perhaps. He wants to know what you do for a living, does it pay well, where you live, what kind of car you drive, do you have family here...too many personal questions - and those are very personal, is letting you know that as soon as he gets a chance he is putting his stakes down at your crib. We pick up the vibes and we ignore them. When he starts tripping, and he will start tripping, we have the nerve to act so hurt, shocked even that he treated us this way after all we've done for him. Stop it, ladies. Seriously!

There is nothing wrong with my natural hair. This is the stuff that God blessed me with. I love my hair. It doesn't matter if I am wearing it curly, locked, puffs, braids, or twists, I love my hair. I have worn it relaxed too. I am not going to knock the sisters who are relaxed, no! But, they need to also know they don't have the right to knock the natural sisters either. I've read comments from some of these relaxed sisters saying stuff like, "I wish that sistah would comb her hair!" "She needs to cut that mess off of her head!" And don't even let me talk about the things I've seen people write about Blue Ivy Carter! Poor baby! As for me I am going to be natural and proud of it. As African Americans We put so much stock in our hair that it is truly a multi-billion dollar business. Now that there is this "natural revolution" the big markets have picked up on that and now they are trying to turn our natural hair care into a multi-billion dollar business. There are hair care products on the market for natural hair that are priced at $54 for a 4 oz jar of  "hair smoothie" or "stretching creme". Back in the day when we were all natural, we would shampoo and condition our hair, put some pomade or oils on it, braid it or twist it and have these big beautiful Afros. Now we have to have stretching cremes, hair smoothies,some stuff I can't spell , so-called herb based products all selling for huge amounts of money. We don't need that ladies. Trust me on this one too.

To be happy, truly happy with our lives, we must first of all have a relationship with God. We must get to know Him, live our lives in harmony with what He expects, or at least try. We have to treat others the way we want to be treated. We have to help our fellow man. The strong carrying the weak...it's in the Bible. We should be eating healthy, drinking plenty of water, cutting back or cutting out caffeine, processed foods, refined sugars, limiting our salt intake and EXERCISE. We have to limit our association with toxic people, they can literally make us sick. Yeah! All that blah, blah, blah, blah, blah is tiring, and sickening. If your friends are not uplifting you, encouraging you, promoting what you have going on in your live, let them go. Sing often, dance often and laugh always. Be happy!

My First Experience with Oil Pulling

I was on Facebook the other day and saw a post about "Oil Pulling". I had never heard of it before, so I went online and did some research on the topic. Oil pulling or oil swishing is an Indian folk remedy. What you do is take one or two teaspoons of vegetable based oil ( coconut, olive oil or some other type oil). If you are using coconut oil, which is the most recommended form of oil, you let it melt in your mouth and begin to gently move it around, and over your tongue, and through your teeth. You don't gargle with it like you would do a mouthwash because you will keep this in your mouth for twenty minutes and you will tire quickly. You just gently move it around. As it mixes with your saliva, you mouth will become full and you just have to continue for the recommended twenty minutes. When you spit it out, do so in a trash bin, as the oil will conceal again and stop up your sink if you spit it in the sink. After you spit it out, immediately rinse your mouth out with very warm salted water, several times. Brush your teeth and you're done. It is best to do this first thing in the morning. Once a day is enough, but some people practice this three times a day. You will notice how white your teeth become, how pink and healthy your gums will look and how fresh your breath is. However, there are other benefits. Oil pulling is said to help with diabetes, heart disease and high blood pressure. Because of the anti-inflammatory properties in coconut oil it also helps with arthritis, painful joints, and sore muscles. The oil actually "pulls" toxins from the body, so make sure not to swallow any of it.

I have fibromyalgia and decided to try it this morning. I also hoped that I would benefit from whiter teeth, healthier gums and fresher breath. I put one teaspoon of coconut oil in my mouth and it reminded me immediately of Crisco. I gagged and spit it out. I kept gagging afterwards and I hoped I didn't throw up because there is nothing more disgusting that bile throw up. I took some deep breaths and attempted it again. This time I didn't put quite so much on the spoon. I put it on the tip of my tongue and held it against my front teeth. The strong smell of coconut made me nauseous and again I gagged and had to spit it out. I paced back and forth in the kitchen and began to talk to myself. "Darby, you can do this! Stop it! What's wrong with you? Just do it!" I put some more on the spoon and this time when I put it in my mouth I thought about some of the foods I love that have coconut in it. I tried to enjoy the smell as I waited for it to melt in my mouth. Once it was liquefied, I went to the bathroom and stood there, trying to breath in short breaths. I leaned forward so that there would be no danger of me swallowing the oil and I began to move it around in my mouth gently. I just kept breathing gently, trying to think of it as mouth wash and eventually my gag reflexes relaxed and I was fine. I was able to hold my head up and continue to swish the liquid around my mouth. I looked at my cell phone to see if twenty minutes had passed, and it had not. In fact it had only been ten minutes. I tried to hold on for ten more minutes, but after a couple minutes I had to spit the oil out. I then swished the warm salted water in my mouth, doing so three or four times. In my mind I could feel that there was more oil in my mouth, it had made its way down my throat and had hardened, preventing me from being able to swallow. I went to the kitchen sink where the water seemed to be hotter. I filled up a cup with the hot water and added salt and swished that new mixture around and gargled, allowing some to go down my throat. I started coughing and threw up the salty water all over the mirror! I was so disgusted, I threw up again. I brushed my teeth and gargled with Listerine. 

I did notice that my teeth were very smooth when I ran my tongue across them, and they were whiter. I don't know if I will try it again tomorrow morning, but I would like to and not experience this drama I just mentioned.