Every Day Like Saturday (or Sunday ;-))

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There is obviously some merit to waiting until the weekend to stay
up/out late and recuperate. And perhaps it’s not the wisest thing to
do – for your body or otherwise – to get 3-4 hours of sleep and
attempt to be productive at school, work or anywhere else. BUT I now
believe there are some merit, reward and even gratification in living
every day like it’s the weekend. There’s just something about saying I
am not going to wait until Friday or Saturday to do something special
…. something enjoyable … something naughty.  I am learning that there
is great pleasure in living each day as if it were Saturday (or Sunday
– take your pick). Here’s to the option of having the weekend any day
of the week!



How Many of Us Have Them …

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This weekend, I had two very special people in town: one of my
favorite aunts and a very dear and special friend. They both reminded
me of the value of friendships. Not acquaintances; not associates; not
even peripheral “road dogs,” but TRUE friends. Some of us – self
included – use this word so loosely that we forget what it really
means. But I am talking about the people that you can tell any and
everything to. Those who never judge you, even when they see you
walking into a train wreck. Those people who challenge and inspire you
in “every way imaginable” (Jill Scott). Those few people who seem to
somehow be in a placement or placements in life where they understand
your journey and may be able to offer valuable insight or travel the
path with you. Those people who remind you that you are a diamond in
the rough and it’s okay to be you. Those people who recharge you,
invigorate you, remind you that it’s not okay just to be okay. The
people who know when to call your cards, who love you unconditionally,
who help bring you back to your center. The people who you may not
talk to every day, every week or even every month, but when you do
it’s as if you haven’t missed a beat. Those who forgive you and don’t
remind you of the moments (as many as they may be) of your own stuff
that stood in the way of friendship. Those that help you heal. Those
that allow you to love on them and comfort them … to inspire them and
invigorate them. Those who are there … in one way, shape or form. But
those who also know when to step back, give space and not take it
personally. Those who honor your “secrets” and see enough of
themselves in you that they “get you.” Those people who you couldn’t
imagine your journey without. Those friends … I believe that we all
have them. I hope we all cherish them and remind them every chance we
get how much we love and appreciate them. Those rare angels that we
are paired with. Today I am so very thankful for FRIENDS regardless of
how we met: lovers, family or just plain ole friends!!!!!

People Come Into Your Life for a Reason

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This is beautiful and so true … thanks C.T.



This Is Me …

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I think it probably started in high school. There was some notion that I couldn’t possibly be smart AND really enjoy having a good time. Or not even remotely cute (yes, I said it) and have some sort of brain. For some reason it had to be either/or: on the Honor Roll or cheerleader dating football player; investing in and concerned about my future or boy crazy and being a typical teenager. It just seemed much easier to box me in as the girl who would definitely never or always … Then I came to college and it was the same thing all over again. There is absolutely no way I could be an academic scholar and spend virtually every single weekend at someone’s club on someone’s dance floor. It was around this time that I began the mystery of many circles … my “school” friends and my “fun” friends; my “soul” friends and my ‘social” friends. Friends who I partied with and friends who I studied with. Perhaps this was the beginning of what would inevitably become quite a limiting space to exist in. I am not talking about clear and even necessary boundaries, with – for example – colleagues or people who are associates and not necessarily friends. I am talking about the constant banter from people I have known for ages who continue to try to put me in their box. Even as recent as this weekend, I get comments like “I never knew …” or “what is going on …” or “I never thought …” Perhaps everyone – to some extent – exists at some level in this space. Their good girl (or guy)/bad girl (or guy) notion; their private self and public self. And once again, this may be necessary in many circles. But I find it terribly limiting, sometimes crippling and a burden to exist in at times.

I haven’t written a single piece of poetry in ages, but I think this
one is timely. This is me:

I am both brilliant and brave
A lover and a loner
Both sexy and simple
Often complex, but also compassionate
Fearful and Fearless
Ordinary and extraordinary
All woman and sometimes a wimp
Clueless and critical
Private and an open book
Loving and longing
Waiting and wanting
Giving and open to receiving
Renewed and rejected
Servant, saint and …
This is me. All of me. Without your limits. Your boxes. Your
expectations. All of me.


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Leasing Sign: Cape Town, South Africa 

A few weeks ago I was hanging out with a friend – who I hope does not follow my blog J. As we were talking, the subject of Facebook came up. We began ranting out our qualms with the social media tool. And then my friend shared with me that s/he loves watching the “train wrecks” that occur on FB; that people fall hopelessly in love or have some sort of extreme high – which they share publicly – and inevitably experience an equally drastic fall. This stuck with me and I began thinking about censorship, particularly my own after this conversation.

I thought about as much as I think people tend to share a little too much on FB, I enjoy seeing and reading about (humble and good-willed) success stories in personal and professional lives.  I love seeing people fall helplessly in love over and over again. I love seeing pics from events I’ve missed for one reason or another, and my friend’s smiling faces as they enjoy life. And along with that, I enjoy the gentle and subtle reminders that these people are real just like me;  experience the ups AND the downs of life just like me; are imperfect just like me; make mistakes just like me; and are determined to make the best of life in spite of – just like me. With that said, I am less inclined to relate to those who portray the “perfect life” at all times – if even on FB – than I am in share the good and bad days.

But going back to my friend’s comment, I thought how many are or may be – like her/him – waiting for the inevitable train wreck??? How many are waiting to say I told you so? Or I knew it all along? Or secretly rejoicing in another’s defeat? How many are waiting for the fall …

And just as these thoughts had taken up too much residence in my mind, I read the post of a fellow blogger who I adore. In it, she revealed some very personal details about her life and struggles with self-esteem. Her post- the extreme openness, honesty and vulnerability – reminded me that there will always be someone waiting for the fall, but that shouldn’t hinder my standing moments. I will not be censored.

That’s all.

Strange Fruit

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Photo: Gum Tree, Cape Town South Africa 


Since I decided to create my blog, I haven’t really thought too much about who my target audience is or if there is a common (desired) theme to my blog. I’ve taken it week by week and posted as my heart desires. But this week as I was reading for class, I realized that it would be socially irresponsible of me to not post about current events, social justice issues, issues that affect me and/or my surrounding community (surrounding meaning this world). Last week I posted a clip from “Wolf.” This week I am posting the words to “Strange Fruit.” Most/many are familiar with the rendition by Billie Holiday.

This came about as I was reading “The Cross and the Lynching Tree” for class. If you have a moment, pick it up. Here you go:

Southern trees bear strange fruit
Blood on the leaves, ad blood at the root
Black bodies swingin’ in the Southern breeze
Strange fruit hangin’ from the poplar trees

Pastoral scene of the gallant South
The bulgin’ eyes and the twisted mouth
Scent of magnolias sweet and fresh
Then the sudden smell of burnin’ flesh

Here is a fruit for the crows to pluck
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck
For the sun to rot, for the tree to drop
Here is a strange and bitter crop





Untitled …

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A classmate played this film in class this week … as you can imagine we all watched in silence … I dare you to watch. And respond.



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