no one cares about your car

Before I met my darling husband, I awkwardly navigated the life that is being young, single and, perhaps not so ready to mingle but doesn’t want to be alone like pretty much every young, single adult ever. The amount of awkward that was me was ridiculous.

Kids, I can’t express enough to you how thankful I am that you never knew the young, single me. The fact that you’re alive is a miracle! No, really. It is.

But I was a kind of normal, single young woman and I wanted more than anything in the whole world to have somebody who loves me. So I did what most single, young people my age did – after I went to church and Bible Study that my aunt and uncle encouraged me to go to. They meant well. Like me, they wanted me to meet people and make friends but perhaps I was too awkward even for their church and College/Singles Bible Study. So, after Bible Study, I headed over to the local 18 and older club. Many thanks to that one girl in Bible Study who told me about it too.

No kids, the club is not where I met your father. 

Does anyone really meet their forever love and soulmate in the club?

I did mingle…and danced…and maybe drank a little…and maybe mingled some more…and came to appreciate the fact that the club was not the place where I would find my soulmate.

Wanna see my car? It’s a 260ZX and like super cool.

And it blah-blah-blah-blah…

Truth be told, it was a kind of cool car back when I was single and mingling. It’s an even cooler car decades later in 2017. But if the most exciting thing about a guy was his car, I was not mingling anymore.

My darling husband drove a 1973 Pinto Wagon when we met in 1982. I could have cared less about that car because to me there was so much more about this guy – his smile, his eyes, his wit, his attention to what I was thinking that was so much more important than his car…or the 260ZX owned by the bro up in the club.

To the bro in the club, and the Bible Study and anywhere then it’s not about the car that you drive. It never was about the car that you drive.

And today, years later, I am happy to discover that for my daughters and for their friends, that no one cares about the car you drive, bro. No one. Really.

Tonight I shall sleep the blissful slumber that is the truth that I have raised up my daughters right…and the mamas of their friends have too.

March goodness

It’s been a good week.

Obviously a good week because it was my birthday and because it is March and March is consistently a good time for so many reasons…including the fact that it is my birthday.

A birthday my favorite son forgot. Yes. He. Did. He’s still my favorite son.

My favorite son who just so happens to have some pretty good taste in music as he introduces me to his latest discovery. Yes, he asked me if I had ever heard of Radiohead…as we were together listening to Radiohead.

It was a good week to honor the strong women that my darling husband and I have raised. I can’t imagine that there will ever come a day where I am not in awe that these humans share my DNA…mine!

It’s the perfect time to save computer-simulated lives…

and wonder where the hell is the computer-simulated code team already. Next week is my date with the mannikin. I am certain that there will be dirty talk.

It’s the perfect time to warm your bare toes in the sunshine…and ignore the weeds…or, better yet, watch your darling husband and favorite son pull the weeds whilst warming your toes in the March sunshine.

It’s also the perfect time to drive around the Valley with the roof open …allergies be damned.

Oh, and let’s not forget Daylight Saving Time because, in spite of everything wrong with Daylight Saving Time, turning the clocks ahead one hour means after dinner walks with views like this. It also means that I am back in the same time zone as darling daughter #4.

For me, March is good, so very good.

Only those with tenacity can march forward in March. ~ Ernest Agyemang Yeboah

 

a classy woman who says fuck a lot

In a world where alternative facts are more true than what one’s actual eyes actually see and where NyQuil texting is an actual excuse for bad behavior, marchers in Washington DC, New York City, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Boston, Portland, Oakland and literally everywhere in the United States and across the globe should be held responsible for the things that Madonna said during live news feeds yesterday.

What a time to be alive y’all!!!

I am not responsible for anything Madonna (or anyone else involved in yesterday’s unprecedented event) might say. I do agree that to our detractors that insist that this march will never add up to anything, fuck you. Millions marched peacefully everywhere. Law enforcement officials in Washington, New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Portland and Oakland report no arrests or property damage during those peaceful assemblies. The movement is not done yet either as we launch 10 actions in the first100 days that literally anyone and everyone can participate in. We welcome to the revolution of love, to the rebellion, to our refusal as women to accept this new age of tyranny, where not just women are in danger but all marginalized people, where being uniquely different right now might truly be considered a crime. It took this horrific moment of darkness to wake us the fuck up.

Yesterday was amazing on so many levels. For me this was the best.

From a daughter to her mother…a woman who absolutely says fuck a lot. Am I classy? I don’t know. Perhaps not. But I am a mother who says fuck a lot; and a mother of four wonderful women who make me very proud and say fuck a lot too.

with clarity

Voting today for me was not hard. With clarity and confidence of my heart, my mind and my soul, I entered my polling place and voted.

No second thoughts, voting my conscious or for God, no choosing of the lesser of two evils, no protest or throw-away vote for me. This election I knew what my choices would be; and I made those choices with my son standing beside me.

CRAZY to consider that four years from now HE will be voting!

Yes, for me the choice was an easy one. I understand that it was not so for others. Still, I hope that if you can, that you voted. It’s our right, our privilege and also our duty. IT’s around 4 PM as I write this here in California so I know it’s not too late.

Go!

Vote!

One of my own struggled even this morning still with the decision she must make. I’m still confused, her text said. We discussed this in the days leading up to this morning. But it still was not for me to decide for her. She knew my choice…my choice. I didn’t tell her who to vote for. Instead I told her about the first time her namesake voted.

Before my opportunity to vote in a Presidential election, I shared with bright-eyed enthusiasm my excitement to vote with my Great Grandmother Austa Valentine. She chuckled and told me about her own first time; which was THE FIRST TIME  for American women. History tells me choices and opportunities for women like her were very few. She was a wife, she was a mother. But, thanks to the 19th Amendment, she was a woman who could vote. Her recollection to me was going to the polling place accompanied by her husband. She feared at any moment her husband, the precinct worker or someone else would tell her that this all was a mistake; that there was no ballot for her to mark because there was no right to vote for women, for her. But it never happened. She marked her ballot and placed it in the box and done! She voted! Who did she vote for, I wondered. Ah, your ballot is always a secret, she said to me with a wink. She leaned closer and confided that she voted for Harding, like her husband did…but in years to come, she didn’t always vote for the same candidate as he did.

Austa Valentine will likely always be my favorite.

Vote for her, I told my daughter. Vote for your namesake and her legacy…me, you and your girls.

Yes, I voted with clarity and with confidence today but I also voted with tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat thinking of Austa Valentine, my daughters, my grand daughters and the history that we might be making

There never will be equality until women help to make laws and elect lawmakers ~ Susan B. Anthony

their canvas

Hollie: What do you think of me doing this for Mima’s hair today?

Fallon: I think this is better for Mima’s hair!

She also declared that she is a better braider than her mama..because she is!

Well my darling Fallon, someday, I will gladly sit in your chair and my hair shall be your canvas…someday when day-glo, rainbow, unicorn hair is not a flagrant work place dress code violation.

Not today.

Today I will revel in a few hours of mommy-daughter time while I sit in my daughter’s chair watching her create with amazing colors and textures…and I will feel pretty…and thankful. Thankful for this time. Our time. Our time together…mother and daughter…artist and canvas.