The Lost Earring

               I love earrings. I wear my hair cropped close so the right earrings accentuate my face. I take my time buying earrings that are right for me, and with anything else, of course I end up liking some better than others. They grow on me because they end up being a good fit for my style.  I had a pair that I was especially fond of for no other reason than seem to add something a little extra.  They were silver and shaped like daisies. They became my go-to earrings; I wore them frequently.

               One day, I came home from being out and about and discovered that the earring had slipped from my ear; I had lost it. I had been a few places so there was no way to retrace my steps and find my earring. I'd lost earrings before--many times. No big deal, or so I though. But this one bothered me.  I hadn’t worked out that day so there was no reason for me to take them out, and I know I put them both in before I left that morning. Did I forget to secure it with an earring back? Why was I lamenting the loss of this one earring? I was puzzled until I dug deeper into my subconscious.

               The more I thought about the earring, the more it reminded me of lost relationships.  I thought about the people I continue to reach out to, but my texts and phone calls go unreturned.
  As unsettling as it is, I know I need to let go of what’s already gone.  I’ve spent too much time trying to figure out when the other one fell out. Did it slip away when I wasn't looking? Had the back fallen off long time ago and I just wasn't paying attention?  At this point, does it even matter?

             I am one of those people who hold onto things long after their expiration date. And while I logically know that everything changes, I'm not always willing to embrace change until I'm ready. But change happens with our without permission. When I took inventory, I realized that I have a few earrings in my jewerly box without a partner. I’m still holding onto them thinking that one day the mate will reappear. It’s kind of silly to have these random earrings unless I’m going to start a trend of wearing mismatched earrings. But I know that’s not my sense of style. For me, earrings work best in a pair;  I need two to make it work.  While I have come to the realization that there are some relationships in my life that are not working because half of the pair is missing, I’ve also checked to see if I am half of the missing pair in other relationships. Is someone looking for me, and I’ve slipped away? Do I need to check myself and find my way back?

             I have a compartment full of single earrings that I don’t know what to do with, so this weekend I'm lovingly tossing out the mis-matched earrings.  No more taking up precious space in the compartment of my life when they no longer have a purpose. Recognizing that they aren’t useful to me now, doesn’t de-value the role they played when they were part of a perfect pair. They added value at that time. And for that I am forever thankful. They're gone, but not forgotten. It’s time to move on.   There are new earrings to buy and new memories to create. The time in my life for something new, is past due.

Severing Ties

I had to sever ties with one of my best friends recently, and it's been hard not to just call her up and patch things up.  I never thought I'd miss her so much because we’ve been tight as a pair of too small Spanks. When I was down and I wanted somebody to pick me up, she did that for me. She was always there for me. But her absence has caused me to take a good look at myself and face My Truth.

As much as I appreciated her, I knew our relationship was built on lies and deceit. She told me what I wanted to know even when the truth was for my own good. When I was holding my breath to button my pants, and the waist band was slicing into my flesh, she turned her head and acted like she didn't see. She reassured me that I was just thick not fat. That I was sexy even as my Commodores Brickhouse expanded into condominium unit. And even though I knew our relationship was toxic, it didn’t stop us from being friends until The Truth came knocking so hard and loud that I couldn’t ignore it anymore.

So, when I took a long hard look at my life and the way things were going, I knew I had to end it; she never would. Severing ties with someone is never easy, but I knew it was best. I also knew that because of the kind of person that she was that she would make friends easily. It was just her way. There would be someone to take my place. A word to the wise: If you meet my friend, don’t get sucked into her web of deceit. She’ll seem cool at first, but once she gets real close, you’ll wish you’d never met her. My friend’s name: Denial.
Do we share the same friend or do you have a different friend that you need to let go of?

Is there a Peter Pan in Your Life?

Disclaimer: if you are not an enabling woman these comments are not directed at you. If you are not a man child, or a man child in the making, these comments are not directed at you. Those are my life observations and I am entitled to write about what I see and you are entitled to disagree.

If you want to date a man, then you have to raise a boy to be a man. Too often as women we allow the males in our lives to stay in a perpetual state of childhood, and then we wonder where all the good men are. Some of us need to look no further than the image in the mirror.

 I ran across this story recently and I had to shake my head as I read about the three men who fathered 78 children with 46 different women. How did that happen? What knocked me upside the head was the 46 women? How do you not know that you’re dealing with a man with other WOMEN and a boat load of kids? It reinforced for me a thought pattern that I’ve been running away from, but can’t escape: a lot of what’s wrong with men is women. Some of us are ruining men from the cradle to the grave.

As mothers, grandmothers, sisters, aunts, cousins, wives, baby mamas and whatever other roles we find ourselves in, it’s time for us take responsibility and stop coddling the boys and men in our lives; it’s time to cut the cord. How can we complain when we’re co-contributors to the madness that is men?

 We cook, clean and care for them when they can do it for themselves. We fill in the gaps again and again when they come up short—begging teachers for make-up work, cursing people out when they get in trouble, making up excuses for their shortcomings, co-signing for car loans, letting them live off us, giving them everything we can without asking for anything in return. And when this spoiled man child becomes an adult (in the legal sense), he still expects someone to cater, to him. And if he works his charms on the ladies just as he did on the women who raised him, he can pick up where he left off without missing a beat. Is there a man-child still holding your hand?

•  He needs you to co-sign for a car loan, but only if he can get the car he wants.
•  Her ran out of money because_______ (fill in the blank) and he needs you to help him out.
•  Women keep getting pregnant by him, and it’s their fault. 
•  He changes job frequently, if he has one at all.
•  As long as someone else can help, they should help him.
•  He thinks he’s the man of the house but doesn't contribute to the household. 

 Some of us rationalize that it’s hard out here for a man; it is. And it’s hard out here for a woman as well. We are natural nurturers, but we have to know when nurturing becomes smothering and we’re stunting male growth.

We have to let them grow up, even if it means watching them fall and get back up again. If we want good men, we have to raise good boys.

You Can't Pretty Ugly

You can't pretty ugly. That's the conclusion I've come to after tuning into non-reality, reality TV. I kept hearing about these shows and their cast of characters that I was clueless about, so I decided to watch a few episodes, and was quickly reminded of the lyrics of a Jill Scott song that says, “Everything ain’t for everybody.”

People will liken my distaste for reality TV to that of being bougie or of liking things that are intellectually stimulating or thought-provoking. And yes, I do like watching, reading, listening to or talking about things that make me think. But I also like mindless, guilty pleasure stuff as well. One of my favorite pastimes is watching stupid comedies, and I love Beverly Jenkins African-American historical romance novels.

I know that not all idiots watch Maury and the plethora of judge shows. Humans beings are complicated creatures and most of us contradict ourselves in one way or another. Our complexity makes life so much more interesting. I get it; I understand why so many of us are glued to the TV and sucked into the lives of the “stars” of reality TV. It does make for compelling viewing as we become voyeurs in the real-life soap opera of the somewhat rich and famous. We fantasize about what it would be like to have money and status—to chase the promised, but elusive American Dream. We want to see what we think we might be missing.

So for a few weeks I tuned in too, but it got old for me fast because what I saw was pretty sad. The women are in their designer finest. They strut around in their Christian Louboutin shoes, working the wonders of the best weave that money can buy. They have perfectly manicured nails, toothpaste lover’s dream teeth courtesy of veneers and enough plastic parts to fill a landfill or two. On the outside, the women are beautiful, but it doesn’t cover up the ugly that reeks out week after week. I know it’s all about editing and ratings so much of what is passed off as real isn’t. But there’s enough backstabbing, gossiping and hater-aid being passed around to send everybody into rehab. The viewers take solace in the fact that our lives aren’t that bad. And we understand that the money-magic wand cannot fix all that ails us. But it doesn’t stop us from wondering what if we had that money what would we do?

Years ago, I promised myself that I would remove toxic people from my life, and I had until I started watching some of these shows. Feeling tired after an episode, I realized that watching these women is poisonous to my spirit. I had to hit the channel changer on my remote. I like Unsung and Life After because they’re about life’s trials, tribulations, tragedies, and triumphs. A bunch of whining women with too much time on their hands doesn’t give me the slightest bit of pleasure. Life happens to all of us--rich, poor, well-known and unknown. And I like tuning into the lives of people who wrestle with adversity and win.

The Relationship Circus

Washing my car the other day, I was privy to what should have been a private conversation between a young woman and young man at the car wash. From the snatches of conversation I heard as I vacuumed out my car, it seemed as though she was giving him the business for disrespecting her.

I shook my head as I listened to her emotionally charged tongue lashing wondering why she was giving so much energy to man that she knew wasn't hers. She acknowledged that she was the jump-off and claimed to have understood the nature of his relationship with this other woman.

Listening to her reminded of how often we become ring masters of our very own three-ring circus. Step right up as we engage in death-defying acrobatic stunts to prove our worth, turn summersaults and backflips, and jump through hoops to demonstrate our loyalty and committment. It's amazing how often we don the clown suit under the guise of love.

Some of us have teetered on the tightrope between sanity and insanity--leaning toward the latter trying to hold on,on an already slippery slope. A word of caution to the ring masters: step out of the ring before it's too late, and you seal your own fate.

Some of us have our head in the mouth of the lion, and maybe because we've been there for so long, or we think we know the nature of the beast, we don't know get out while we still have our heads. So, take my advice and pull out before the lion swallows you whole, and rips a hole in your soul.

When Jesus Won't Do

Since childhood, my mother has always listened to the church. And one evening recently as I sat on the edge of my mother’s bed keeping company with her I had an epiphany: What do you do when Jesus won’t Do?
My mother’s regular program ended, but she didn’t change the channel. So, when tidbits of the Joyce Meyers show floated throughout the room, I had a flashback to the 90s and the image of the WWJD? armbands popped into my head as Myers explained that as humans we fail and hurt the people we love, but that the love of Christ never fails or hurts us. I left before the broadcast ended, but the thought of What happens when Jesus won’t do? stayed behind in my mind.

Don’t misunderstand me: Aspiring to be more Christ-like is wonderful, but sometimes it’s overwhelming to ask: What would Jesus do? and then do it. Sometimes I need to see a human being in the flesh doing what I want to do despite life’s challenges. And in those times, I turn to people around me because I am rich in family and friends who have stood down adversity.

My chest balloons with pride when I see the First Family, and though I am inspired by their presence in the White House; I don’t aspire to be like them or anyone else out of my reach. My heroes are not celebrities, but ordinary people who do extraordinary things in my mind’s eye. So, often times instead of asking WWJD?, I roll through the Rolodex of my mind and ask, What would ______do? Case in point: we know that Jesus wasn’t a dapper dresser, so one day recently not long after the Joyce Meyers broadcast, I was going to go to the store with a Jesus-like mindset: Take me as I am, but decided against it and asked, What would Rhonda do? instead.

Rhonda is my oldest niece and she never leaves the house looking like less than her best. It is a trait that drives me crazy because I’m usually the one waiting for her, but is also a trait that I admire because she always looks good—dressed up or dressed down. So, I plugged up the iron. Yesterday, I had a come-to-Jennifer moment because it was my mentor and friend, and not Jesus who prodded me to get off my butt and get back on my blog.

I know people who have climbed every conceivable mountain; I know people who I can aspire to be like because I love the way they live their lives. So, when I ask What Would _______ doI I know that I am indirectly asking WWJD? and I am satisfied with the answer.

2011 Blizzard Musings

Whereas Mother Nature might be the great equalizer, the clean-up after reminds of the inequities we still face in our society. Forecasts for a blizzard to hit Chicago were projected far in advance thanks to the wonders of modern technology, so people were able to prepare as much as humanly possible for a date with Mother Nature, and a date it was—strong winds, knee deep snow and dropping temperatures.
The morning after the storm I stepped out on my porch to visually drink the raw beauty of nature. The houses, treetops, bushes cars and sidewalks were all gently blanketed by the purity of whiteness. Then later as the sun yawned and stretched across the noon sky, life emerged from the stillness people started coming out--to shovel, dig out, talk and laugh—all while marveling at the mass accumulation of snow.

I live in Roseland, a neighborhood best known in the last decade or so for murder and mayhem. Who can forget the beating death of Darion Albert when it was caught on tape and went viral for the world to see? But on Wednesday morning, we were a group of neighbors, many of whom have known each other for years outside clearing away the residual of the storm that engulfed our city and I wondered where the news crews were on a day like to today when something good was happening in the ‘hood.
After two days of peace and quiet, lazing around and catching up, it was it was back to work on Friday. People had shoveled out and left piles of snow in the street, and there were no signs of city trucks coming our way. So, I had to get my Honda Accord SE that sits low to the ground over a mountain of snow. It was not working, but my neighbors came out and assisted. As I drove to work I saw that the inequities that we face daily had returned as Mother Nature retreated.

On the Southside of Chicago, streets are not shoveled and snow is not as readily picked up as it is on the north side and in the suburbs. Even in areas where people do shovel their walkways, our blocks our plagued by so many abandoned buildings that for every house that has a clean sidewalk, there is a house or two buried in snow.
Mother Nature may not discriminate, but city services do.

Drinking the Kool-Aid. . .or not

Until the recent scandal involving alleged acts of seduction and sexual impropriety, I knew only vaguely of Bishop Eddie Long. I’m not a fan of mega churches. They seem large and impersonal, and I don’t understand why the preachers need things like jets and really expensive cars. Maybe I shy away because as a child growing up in the 70s, my family didn’t do Church. We didn’t start every Sunday at Sunday school and end the day with the evening service. Church for us was Sunday morning radio, Jubilee Showcase and once a year on Easter Sunday. It wasn’t that we didn’t believe in God, it’s just that the path wasn’t straight and narrow. We were raised Christian, Baptist to be more specific but there was a sprinkling of indigenous African religion and some Eastern spiritualism, so I learned that the path to God was a winding one with many forks in the road.

When I was young, I felt that people tried to scare me to Jesus with their Biblical scriptures of hell and damnation, and even though I eventually joined Church and became an active member, something was always missing. As much as I appreciated the preacher’s words, I never became a walking testimonial for the pastor. One of those people who preface everything by saying, Pastor So-and-So or Bishop Somebody said. I never walked in what I think is blind faith. I always had questions. Unlike the Jim Jones followers, I never drank the Kool-Aid. I still don’t. I maybe dip my finger in it, and taste it. I may even sip it, but I never gulp it. I used to feel bad about this, but I’ve come to accept this is just who I am. I respect and admire people for who they are, wherever they might be in life, but I never forget that they are simply people. So, if I sip, I’m less likely to get choked on their humanity. Some of us gulp; some of us sip. Some of us don't partake at all. Drink or don't drink; it's up you.

Up in the Air

Have you ever seen the George Clooney movie, Up in the Air? The movie takes its title from the main character, Ryan Bingam's quest for frequent flier miles as he zig zags across the country firing people. Bingam loves his job and is very efficient at it because he is detached from the people in his life. He is single, no children and has two sisters that he keeps in touch with via phone from time to time. I watched the movie thinking his job sucks never imagining that I would soon meet the likes of Ryan Bingam.

After sixteen years in the classroom, I decided to expand my career opportunities by becoming a mentor teacher. So, I left the comfort and security of the classroom to go from school to school helping beginning teachers become better teachers. Even though my work was challenging and sometimes disheartening, I took joy in the fact that I had an active role in shaping the minds of our children. All that changed on Wednesday, June 16, 2010.


I reported for a mandatory meeting at 8:30 a.m. and before 9:00 am, my career flight was canceled. After 18 years of service to the children in the Chicago Public School system I began my rapid descent to the bottom with no safety net--no pay out for my 10 weeks worth of sick days, no insurance after June 30, no regard for my tenured status or my commitment to the students in CPS. I stayed after being urged to get out of CPS students be damned.

Just as in the movie, two professionally dressed people (in my case, women) read from the prepared script and handed us our lives in brown envelopes addressed to each one of us individually. In there were our letters of "honorable termination", explanations of how we were further being screwed because of a loophole in our union contract, a sheet of FAQs, information on unemployment and health insurance which cost nearly as much as the maximum unemployment benefits.

Everything that was up in the air came crashing down in that surreal moment. Do you know what it feels like to fall and not know where you're going to land? Do you know how scary it is because you don't know what you'll slam into on the way down? Do you know what it feels like to not know if you're going to land on your feet, fall to your knees, or be flat on your back?


Me and 54 of my colleagues crash landed and now we have to sort through the debris that's left so we can get ready for the next leg of this journey. Bingam prided himself on not carrying excess baggage which made it easier for him to disconnect. Maybe we should take a lesson from Bingam and pack lightly but what's the point of traveling if you're not going to enjoy the trip?

The Face of Kindness

It has not been a holiday season of joy, but one of challenge and strife. On Christmas Day I woke up with no heat in the house; a problem that plagued me from that day to this. I also had to deal with some devastating news about the health of a family member, and my own elderly mother not being able to join us for Christmas dinner because of her own health issues. A few family squabbles didn't do anything to make Christmas neither merry nor bright.

Early Monday morning, I got up to go to Home Depot to get a thermostat to see if that would solve my heating problem, and some vanilla chai tea, but Dunkin Doughnuts was out of my-go-to-drink when I need warming inside. Dejected, I headed back to my car, a black Honda Accord and pressed the button to pop the lock--or at least that's what I thought I did. I opened the door to black leather seats--definitely not my car! I closed the door quickly thinking, Oh my God! Somebody might think I'm trying to steal their car. I walked away a little startled still trying to figure out where I'd parked my car. I lose my car in parking lots all the time, and it still frustrates me because I don't why I can't keep up with my own car.

A man's voice reached out to me and asked, "Ms, are you ok? You look like some thing's wrong," he said as his words caressed me from the coldness of the season. I can only imagine what my face must have looked like because I know I having a telling face, and I joke with friends that I'd probably make a lousy Poker Player.

When I looked to see where the voice was coming from, I saw a man watching me as he sat in his car with a young boy. "No, I'm ok, I replied. I'm just looking for my car."

"Do you know where it is?"

"Yes, I see it. There it is. Thank you."

On a cold December morning during this subdued holiday season, I found kindness in the voice of a stranger, and his small gesture made my dimmed holiday light shine brighter.