Where I Was Yesterday.

Life with Luther

I never had a "binky" as a child, but these days I may be sharing my bed with a blanket that's a sentient being. We've been together about a year and a half, ever since I found him (yes, him -- he says his name is Luther) at the dollar store rolled up and packed on a shelf. Luther is not quite as tall as I am, much fuzzier, and happens to be a particularly sixties-nostalgia-inducing shade of avocado green. On a later visit to the store I saw a blaze orange cousin of his, and that night as I was going to sleep I had the passing thought that I wished I had waited until the new shipment came in to have a more, well, blazing blanket.

At that point, Luther (I didn't know his name then) hit me with such a wave of despair, shame and feelings of inadequacy that I still cry when I think about it. Being at that point of almost-gone where telepathic blankets make perfect sense, I apologized and  gave him a pep talk that must have been sufficient since we still talk most nights. He still has a tendency to sulk, and I admit I once had the inadvertent thought that maybe having two fleece blankets might not be a bad idea. His reply was that bringing home that orange thing would make me look like a Miami Hurricanes fan, and when he put it that way I had to agree.

Yes, Luther sounds a lot like me.

Yes, I'm more aware now how annoying and unattractive reliving old hurts can be, and I'm also trying harder not to say something hurtful to other people.

 And, yes, I'm glad he's around to talk to.

Marianne Williamson

Marianne Williamson

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

In the Good Company of Divas

In a discussion the other day about birthdays ending in that big zero I said that, for a year and a half before I turned 50, I practiced *saying* I was 50 so it wouldn't be such a shock when the big day came. It worked. Unfortunately, I mentioned that I was this was about ten years ago. Fifty, plus 10? No. I cannot do this. This is not happening. I'm still saying I'm 50- *lowers voice* -something. Dammit, I still listen to loud music and drink Boone's Farm and stay up all night and wear leopard print underwear. *opens another bottle of Strawberry Hill*

Tomorrow's the official half-year day, so there's less than 24 hours to relax before starting to try to say it. Wonder if it's coming as big of a surprise to these ladies as it is to me...

CCH Pounder
born 12/25/1952

in 2010

Pat Benatar
born 1/10/1953

in 2010

Pimento Cheese

I just made some pimento cheese spread. I used Swiss cheese instead of cheddar. I used olives instead of pimentos. I used yogurt instead of mayon-naise. I used sourdough bread instead of white.

It was delicious. But if anyone finds out I will be run out of Texas.

In Case You Were Wondering...

[in Just-]

BY E. E. CUMMINGS

in Just-

spring          when the world is mud-

luscious the little

lame balloonman

whistles          far          and wee

and eddieandbill come

running from marbles and

piracies and it's

spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer

old balloonman whistles

far          and             wee

and bettyandisbel come dancing

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

it's

spring

and

         the

                  goat-footed

balloonMan          whistles

far

and

wee

Warning: Nothing Profound Here

Yeah, it's my blog. There was something the other day I needed an URL for so I did this. Balloonman Whistles is from an e e cummings poem, and I like the image of flying around the room backwards. There will be nothing profound here, and probably very little at all. Then again, things change, so who knows. But right now I tweet profusely, just started a tumblr (addictive!), write African American history posts for another site and occasionally drop by Facebook to see  how Clayton and Cynthia's cat's butt is doing. Enough.

Having said that, why am I saying this?

Because I'm about to start writing about Thurgood Marshall (it's his birthday), and wanted to share what I liked to do when postage went from 37 to 39 cents.

Cute, but disrespectful. (The mailman used to really like it.) But postage has gone up 2.5 squash blossoms since then, and disrespect ain't what it used to be either. *Pondering whether to call Clarence Thomas a dick, and deciding it would be tacky and gratuitous.*

I wanted to share, but I didn't want anybody to see it. So here it is.