As a little girl, I looked at my mother as the strongest person I knew. I was scared to death of her, but as I grew up watching her work hard and handling things, I knew that strength would make sense one day. I doubted that I would inherit any of that strength, though. I was such an introvert and so quiet and to myself that I didn’t believe that strength could find its way past those very tall walls. But it did, and I now understand what it all means.
As an adult, I realize that my mother was not the only strong woman in my family. She was just modeling that which she had observed growing up. So when I look around at my granny, my mom, my aunts and cousins, all I see is the strength that all these women carry. Some may not recognize the power that they have inside, but it is there. It is inherent; one of those things that try as you might, you cannot ignore.
That strength showed up in volumes on Tuesday. Through all of our pain and heartache, that quiet strength could not be contained. It flowed freely between the women in my family. It held our hands and calmed our voices and quieted our spirits when we needed it most. That strength that the women in my family possess helped us to turn our faces to the skies above and pray for peace and justice. That strength helped us to say goodbye, even if we didn’t understand the reason behind leaving.
My mother is still the strongest person that I know, but her name is no longer alone on that list. I’ve added my granny, my aunts and my cousins…and myself. I know that strength that flows through them, flows through me. I know, after all that my life has been through the past few years, that I am stronger than I give myself credit for. I can’t take any credit for it; it was given to me as a gift. A gift that, on Tuesday, tempered the storm that raged inside, and made me grasp that superwoman runs in my family.
‘Cause even when I’m a mess, I still put on a vest with an ‘S” on my chest,
As a lover of hip-hop, I cringe at the state it is currently in. Hip-hop for me use to be the way that Black America saw the world. The music infused the struggles and challenges of growing up in this country that we love, but sometimes does not give that love in return. Hip-Hop has now become full of songs about strippers and money; there is little to no depth left.
I divorced Hip-Hop about two years ago. I was just fed up with being inundated with nonsensical words and the decrease of artistic expression. But like many divorcees, I often returned to check what Hip-Hop was up to…I needed it to still be okay after my exit. The interludes were brief, the conversation short, the listening sporadic. Yet I still held out hope that one day, it would return to the form I fell in love with.
Watch the Throne embraces everything I love about Hip-Hop. It is brash and witty, consistent and engaging, and the words enter your brain begging you to hear it. It is not loose rhymes over tight beats; Watch the Throne is an experience from beginning to end. Do I even have to say that I am a fan of Jay and Kanye? Even as a fan, or because of it, I am most critical of these two artists. I expect excellence, and when they don’t deliver it, I am disappointed. ‘Ye redeemed himself with My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, the CD that was my favorite of last year. I’ve been relying, however, on old Jay-Z CDs to keep him inside my circle of favorites. I get the whole “I’m retired” thing; but if you are going to continue to rhyme, make it good. That’s all I ask as a fan.
Listening to Watch the Throne, I realized something: Jay and Kanye don’t have to be what we want them to be. They are quite fine just the way they are. Two very rich and very big Hip-Hop stars who hold the world in their hands. The argument that they do not introduce ideas and situations that the every day person can relate to is bullshit. If your dream is not bigger than you, then you need to get another dream…I think Deion Sanders said this during his Hall of Fame induction. And that is the absolute truth. Watch the Throne is about a life that we may not know, but it is so interesting, so compelling, that we should want to know what that life is like. Watch the Throne is about dreams, and achieving them, and dealing with the repercussions of that achievement.
My only gripe with Watch the Throne is the song New Day. Nina Simone should never be auto-tuned…ever. I don’t care if the world was ending and the only way to save it was to put that beautiful voice on auto-tune to sing to the world. It is blasphemous to wreck Ms. Nina’s voice with a vocoder that takes away from the sheer beauty of hearing her honey around the words she sings. New Day has an excellent idea and the words are poignant; I wish they would’ve just left Ms. Nina alone.
All in all, Watch the Throne meets my expectations, even exceeds them. It won’t get me and Hip-Hop back together again, but maybe it will push me to stay in touch more often.
When I think of a person with strength, I think of Mary J. Blige. Mary is the essence of going through a storm and rising like the phoenix, renewed and restored. I love Mary now, fabulous and free…but I also loved her back then, hard and hurt.
My favorite Mary J. Blige CD isn’t the one you would think. Although I loved My Life, and consider it a for sure classic, I hear nothing but pain when I listen to it. That’s understandable, given the situation and environment Mary was in back then. I knew that pain would eventually be broken, and a new Mary would emerge. I found healing and moving on listening to Mary J.’s self-titled CD, Mary.
This is my favorite CD because I could hear Mary shedding all of that misery and emerging as someone who believed in herself. That is beautiful to me. Recognizing your own power is a freeing experience, and you can hear Mary beginning to step into the spot reserved for her so long ago on this CD. Her voice is stronger and more mature, the lyrics are purposeful, and each is a strong step forward. Plus, any CD with a song titled Beautiful Ones tends to show up on my favorites list (hint, hint).
I put this CD on when I want to think beyond whatever is troubling me. When I need a reminder that the sun is on its way over that mountain in front of me, I listen to Mary.
I’m sitting here at my laptop, having my morning coffee while my Chihuahua, Max, taps my arm trying to get me to pet him. It’s about 67° outside, and my computer room is chilly. I’ve got Anita Baker playing in the background, and the rest of my house is quiet. I am enjoying being still.
This is what Sunday mornings should be…easy. Sunday mornings evoke a peace that should be respected and soaked up. There is no running around today, no errands to run, no places to be. Rest and relaxation are on the menu today, and I’m going to take the time to allow Sunday to lay on me and calm my spirits.
My goal for next week is to remain consistent. I want to stand on my convictions, believe that my dream is bigger than me, and walk out on faith that I can achieve and conquer it. Everyone needs a day to restore, reflect, and rebound…this is my day.
My boy turns 16 today. Like always, I’m all in my feelings about it. I did it when Jordyn went to kindergarten, I did it when he turned 13, and I’ll do it when he graduates and goes to college.
I think back to when Jordyn was born. Such a big boy (8lbs, 8 ozs.). I remember my first thought was, “His hands are so big!” But I loved him. Even before I knew him, I loved him. The picture over there is my favorite one. He is 3 months old, and the cutest thing I ever saw. But the picture is more than that of a cute baby; it epitomizes the joy that he brings to my life daily.
I complain. I nag. I yell, I fuss. Sometimes I just want him to go away for a while so I can catch my breath. Between running him back and forth to school and football practice, to never being able to eat my leftovers because he got to them first, I feel a little overwhelmed from time to time. I then catch my breath and remember how blessed I am.
I am blessed because God gave me this beautiful gift to love. I am blessed because even though sometimes I can’t pay Jordyn to remember to take out the trash or clean his room, he is the one bright spot in my life that I can count on. I don’t know what I would do without him…he is my joy.
It’s getting more and more where he won’t need me as much. I see signs of him pulling away, and I feel conflicted. You see, I want him to grow up and experience life. I want him to bump into his own walls and learn the lessons life has in store for him. I want him to fall in love and have someone break his heart, then have the audacity to fall in love again. But I also just want to stand in front of him like the lioness I have been for the past 16 years and protect him from all of that. But I can’t, and I won’t.
My boy is a good boy. He’s mischievous, and quick to laughter. He has a kind heart, and is infallibly generous and polite. Today on his 16th birthday, I look back and remember the baby I once vowed to love and protect. I also look ahead and see that he is becoming the man his father and I want him to be.
I thought I’d jump back into blogging regularly with one of my favorite things to talk about: music. My love for music knows no bounds; it ranges from the most gutter Hip-Hop to the most beautiful piece of classical music. A good tune is a good tune, period. And once a week, I’ll take you on a journey to visit my favorite CD…in no particular order, of course.
This week is Compositions byAnita Baker. Can I start with the lyrics first? I mean, anytime you hear a line in a song that grabs your heart and gives it a long heartfelt squeeze, you have to respect the song. For me, one of those lyrics can be found on this CD, which is just pure love oozing from Anita’s vocal cords. That voice (!) wrapped around those words is just a little bit of heaven on earth.
More than the lyrics is the orchestration behind Anita. You get the feeling that she’s in some smoky jazz club, with the spotlight directly on her. Behind her are her band members, close enough to see her hints at what to play next, but just far away that they are firmly ensconced in the background. But the thing about a great band is that it is much better for them to be heard, and not seen. You can hear every single instrument on every single song…one is not bigger than the other. Beautiful and balanced.
I pity you if you have never put Compositions on and chilled by the fireplace with a glass of wine and candles lit all over. Pity you, I say.
The tattoo? Well, the tattoo was the result of an impulsive decision Friday night. My friend and I were attending an outdoor concert and noticed that there was a little tattoo shop across from where we were sitting. During one of our wandering moments, we walked over to check it out.
Once we were in there, I decided why not? Why shouldn’t I do this now? Why wait until November when I turn 40 (which was my original plan)? I was going to get a tattoo, another one, so this opportunity just presented itself.
Now a little history on why I chose the phoenix. My first tattoo is of a butterfly. I got that one when I turned 30. Back then, I felt my wings forming, felt myself coming into womanhood and wanted something that would constantly remind me to spread those wings and fly. Having lived through the past 10 years since that tat, I wanted my next one to say something about perseverance and resiliency. Because that is what I do: I persevere. I am resilient.
So I started researching. And came across the story of the phoenix. The phoenix is a sacred bird of the Egyptians. At the end of its lifespan, which can be as long as 1000 years, it builds a nest that ignites. Out of the dust and ashes, out of the fire, out of all of that trauma, a new phoenix arises. That’s how I feel about where I am right now. I’ve been through the dust and ashes, I’ve been burned, and I have experienced trauma. But everything about me still standing here feels brand new. I see things through brand new eyes, I hear through brand new ears, I feel with brand new skin. I have been reincarnated as a much better, stronger, beautiful version of my old self.
I am blessed, and I know it. I look at this new tattoo and it will forever remind me to rise. It will forever make me think that no matter what life throws at me, I will persevere. It will forever mean to me that I am strong, that I am free, that I am unique. That in itself is a huge gift that I thank God for every day.
The tattoo? Well, the tattoo was the result of an impulsive decision Friday night. My friend and I were attending an outdoor concert and noticed that there was a little tattoo shop across from where we were sitting. During one of our wandering moments, we walked over to check it out.
