Some couponing info: Some of my neighbors know me well enough to just hand me their coupons if we meet at the mailbox. I'll also get extras from the post office that people throw on the table or on top of the recycle bin. Yes, these are typically more than I can use, but here are some things I've done lately:
1) My kids like the Dole Aguas Frescas. A 64 oz carton is $2. I cut out about 15 $1 off coupons and buy 3 at a time. They've been drinking them and making popsicles with them.
2) Leave the extras by the product in the store. For example, I cut out some $2 off L'oreal True Match face product coupons. There aren't many people of my complexion on this side of town, ahem, so the foundation and powder colors that match me like cappucino and nut brown were on clearance at HEB for under $6 (regularly $8-12). The pressed powders happened to be packaged with a free blush. So I got 2 liquid foundations, 2 powders, and 2 blushes for about $16 and left the rest of the coupons on the shelf.
3) Rose Art has a coupon for $1 off 3 or more of their products. Right now, you can get their glue and crayons and stuff for under 40 cents. The crayons are a quarter so I'm thinking I can get four packs free. The glue is 34 cents, so I can get 3 of them for 2 cents. Even if you don't have school age children, you can donate the stuff (that's my plan because I've collected SEVERAL of those).
4) Check for stores that are moving or going out of business or having clearance sales--I cleaned up at a Michael's out here last weekend. Lots of stuff deeply discounted, plus they had a 25% off your total purchase coupon. And when they have those 40 or 50% off one item coupons, I give everyone money and we all buy something, even four-year-old Deuce! Also, I got 4 collage picture frames, a butterfly for my wall, 3 potential centerpieces, numerous candles and other odds and ends at Kirkland's last weekend--my regular total would've been about $230. With clearance and a $25 off $75 coupon, I spent $54.17 with tax.
Yes coupons can be time consuming and can make you buy stuff you wouldn't ordinarily (I fall into that trap sometimes, I will admit), but they can also add up to big savings!
**Ooh, two of my biggest finds right now: 50 cents off Suave Deodorant and 50 cents off carefree, stayfree, and ob products. So you can get the small pack of carefree liners and the small container of Suave deodorant for under 50 cents.
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Showing posts with label My Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label My Life. Show all posts
Friday, July 27, 2012
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Make Me Blog!
Tell me what you like most about any interpersonal relationship--romantic, familial, whatever!
I'm thinking...
I'm thinking...
Friday, July 20, 2012
What I Might Be
I've had these thoughts/quotes/ideas/lyrics/words that keep coming to me in the last two weeks. Because I am superstitious, I think I have discerned a pattern.
First, I heard the Lao Tzu quote, "When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be."
Then, I took my 4-year-old nephew Deuce to the park and watched him attempt the monkey bars. I had a sad feeling suddenly because I remembered that I'd never learned to cross the monkey bars on my school playground. I'd always been too scared to let go of the one bar behind to grab hold of the next one in front.
On FaceBook, I read a friend proclaim, "I am working on being more audacious, shameless, & fearless. Love makes anything possible."
And I heard Erykah Badu croon to me on my Pandora station,
So, I wanted to weave together some deep philosophical thoughts on these things--my feeling that I am being prompted to let some things go to make room for others, to release some of the past so that I may live in the present and dream BIG for my future.
But I'm sleepy and not particularly prosaic this week :-) I do know, however, that I am ready to start the journey to becoming what I might be.
Isn't that an amazing, intriguing, frightening, exhilarating thing--what I might be? I'm ready for a little fearlessness, too, for in the words of the beloved Audre Lorde, "I realize that if I wait until I am no longer afraid to act, write, speak, be, I'll be sending messages on a Ouija board, cryptic complaints from the other side."
What I might be... I don't know who she is, but I'll bet y'all ain't ready for her!
XOXOXO
First, I heard the Lao Tzu quote, "When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be."
Then, I took my 4-year-old nephew Deuce to the park and watched him attempt the monkey bars. I had a sad feeling suddenly because I remembered that I'd never learned to cross the monkey bars on my school playground. I'd always been too scared to let go of the one bar behind to grab hold of the next one in front.
On FaceBook, I read a friend proclaim, "I am working on being more audacious, shameless, & fearless. Love makes anything possible."
And I heard Erykah Badu croon to me on my Pandora station,
Bag lady you gone hurt your back
Dragging all them bags like that
I guess nobody ever told you
All you must hold on to
Is you, is you, is you
One day all them bags gone get in your way
...
Girl I know sometimes it's hard
And we can't let go
...
Bag lady
Let it go, let it go, let it go, let it go
So, I wanted to weave together some deep philosophical thoughts on these things--my feeling that I am being prompted to let some things go to make room for others, to release some of the past so that I may live in the present and dream BIG for my future.
But I'm sleepy and not particularly prosaic this week :-) I do know, however, that I am ready to start the journey to becoming what I might be.
Isn't that an amazing, intriguing, frightening, exhilarating thing--what I might be? I'm ready for a little fearlessness, too, for in the words of the beloved Audre Lorde, "I realize that if I wait until I am no longer afraid to act, write, speak, be, I'll be sending messages on a Ouija board, cryptic complaints from the other side."
What I might be... I don't know who she is, but I'll bet y'all ain't ready for her!
XOXOXO
Sunday, June 17, 2012
On Gardens and Growing, Sowing and Reaping, and LOVE!
"Sow for yourselves righteousness, reap the fruit of unfailing love," Hosea 10:12.
My dissertation/manuscript was heavily inspired by Jacqueline Jones's Labor of Love, Labor of Sorrow. In the dedication, I thanked my mama for sharing her life story and told her, "I always knew we were your labor of love. I hope that you are proud of the fruits."
For some reason, I am heavily invested in those kinds of metaphors, the ideas of people planting and sowing and harvesting, particularly the idea that we sow now to provide a bountiful harvest for our children. One of my favorite Bible verses is Psalm 126:5--"They that sow in tears shall reap in joy."
I also love John 4:37-38--"Thus the saying ‘One sows and another reaps’ is true. I sent you to reap what you have not worked for. Others have done the hard work, and you have reaped the benefits of their labor.” And every time I was called to do the devotion, I read Ecclesiastes 3, including, "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven... a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted."
My mother STILL will keep me in line with warnings like these:
What's my point on this Father's Day? Here it comes: I've given my mother a lot of credit for planting and tending and weeding and nurturing us. But my dad was an excellent gardener, as well. Because this is just my second Father's Day without him, there is still so much I am working through. I have to bite my tongue when friends talk about their relationships with their dads sometimes--my dad would frown heavily upon the feelings of resentment I have and my desire to say, "SO???? My daddy loved me and did things for my over-grown ass too!"
But I have come to the point that I remember more often with smiles than tears. And I want to thank my dad, via the words of an old poem, for his wonderful work sowing and reaping. I think we're some okay harvests :-)) I hope he knows that we take his model seriously and are always planting for this generation of grandchildren he loved so.
Happy Father's Day!
Our Father Kept A Garden
Our Father kept a garden,
A garden of the heart;
He planted all the good things,
That gave our lives their start.
He turned us to the sunshine,
And encouraged us to dream,
Fostering and nurturing
The seeds of self-esteem.
And when the winds and rain came,
He protected us enough;
But not too much because he knew
We would stand up strong and tough.
His strong and good example,
Taught us right from wrong;
Markers for our pathway that will
Last a lifetime long.
We are our Father's garden,
We are his legacy.
Thank you Dad, we love you,
Because you sowed our dreams!
My dissertation/manuscript was heavily inspired by Jacqueline Jones's Labor of Love, Labor of Sorrow. In the dedication, I thanked my mama for sharing her life story and told her, "I always knew we were your labor of love. I hope that you are proud of the fruits."
For some reason, I am heavily invested in those kinds of metaphors, the ideas of people planting and sowing and harvesting, particularly the idea that we sow now to provide a bountiful harvest for our children. One of my favorite Bible verses is Psalm 126:5--"They that sow in tears shall reap in joy."
I also love John 4:37-38--"Thus the saying ‘One sows and another reaps’ is true. I sent you to reap what you have not worked for. Others have done the hard work, and you have reaped the benefits of their labor.” And every time I was called to do the devotion, I read Ecclesiastes 3, including, "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven... a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted."
My mother STILL will keep me in line with warnings like these:
"Whatever one sows, that will he also reap," (Galatians 6:7)
"As I have seen, those who plow iniquity and sow trouble reap the same," (Job 4:8)
"Whoever sows injustice will reap calamity, and the rod of his fury will fail,"(Proverbs 22:8)
"For they have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind," (Hosea 8:7)
What's my point on this Father's Day? Here it comes: I've given my mother a lot of credit for planting and tending and weeding and nurturing us. But my dad was an excellent gardener, as well. Because this is just my second Father's Day without him, there is still so much I am working through. I have to bite my tongue when friends talk about their relationships with their dads sometimes--my dad would frown heavily upon the feelings of resentment I have and my desire to say, "SO???? My daddy loved me and did things for my over-grown ass too!"
But I have come to the point that I remember more often with smiles than tears. And I want to thank my dad, via the words of an old poem, for his wonderful work sowing and reaping. I think we're some okay harvests :-)) I hope he knows that we take his model seriously and are always planting for this generation of grandchildren he loved so.
Happy Father's Day!
Our Father Kept A Garden
Our Father kept a garden,
A garden of the heart;
He planted all the good things,
That gave our lives their start.
He turned us to the sunshine,
And encouraged us to dream,
Fostering and nurturing
The seeds of self-esteem.
And when the winds and rain came,
He protected us enough;
But not too much because he knew
We would stand up strong and tough.
His strong and good example,
Taught us right from wrong;
Markers for our pathway that will
Last a lifetime long.
We are our Father's garden,
We are his legacy.
Thank you Dad, we love you,
Because you sowed our dreams!
Monday, March 26, 2012
My Mama and the Storm
My mama is the kind of devout, sanctified-church-raised Christian who "gets the Holy Ghost." She claps her hands. She cries out. She dances. She might run. Whatever she feels the spirit moves her to do.
And my sister and I, who are not particularly demonstrative or particularly religious, look at each other. Sometimes, I make a dry comment which irritates my beloved best friend who tells me gently, "You don't know her story. You don't know why she gets happy."
Last night, someone posted the words to the song "I Told the Storm" on Facebook. Every time I hear that song, I think of my mama's praise. My BFF is right; I don't know her whole story. But I know a few of the things she has come through and it is enough to make someone "shout."
My mom was born to a single mother in the rural South in 1949. Now, having felt stigmatized myself as a single mother a half-century later, I can't imagine how hard my grandmother's life and the lives of her children were. But my mama has told me about the nights when there wasn't quite enough to eat, the days when someone else fed them, the clean but patched and repaired clothes, the condescension of her step-grandmother who once told a social services caseworker that my grandmother and my mother wouldn't amount to much, because my great-grandmother hadn't been worth anything before she died.
My mama has told me, for my book, about her work in an industry that was physically and emotionally demanding, exploitative, and exhaustive. She has told me about her unrealized dreams of being a teacher or a hair dresser.
And she didn't have to tell me about the ups and downs of negotiating a four-decade marriage. I witnessed enough. I adored my father, love him still, but being a good father didn't always make him a good husband. That is not my story to tell, but my mother endured much.
I have seen my mother sacrifice so much for her family, for us--her hard-headed, smirking, dry-commenting children. I've seen her weather storms--money problems, job loss, caring for and losing a sick parent and sibling, settling arguments, rescuing cash-strapped children, diabetes etc, etc. So when I hear, "I Told the Storm," I think of my mama.
And I cry.
But these are good tears. Because I don't know her whole testimony. But I know she has survived with her smile and her spirit intact. She's still clapping her hands. She's still crying out. She's still dancing. She's still running. She still has faith, not only in her God, but in the worth and goodness of people. And she's telling her storms just what the lyrics say:
My mama has that kind of joy another old song refers to: unsinkable joy that the world didn't give and the world can't take away. I believe part of Psalm 30:5 is inscribed on her heart: "weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning."
Y'all, I adore my mama.
I can't even explain how good she has been to and for me.
________________
I Told the Storm Lyrics:
Even though your winds blow I want you to know
You cause me no alarm cause I'm safe in His arms
Even though your rain falls I can still make this call
Let there be peace now I can say go away
I command you to move today
Because of faith I have a brand new day
The sun will shine and I will be okay
Thats what I told the storm
(the storm, the storm)
Chorus
I told the storm (oh yes i did)
to pass (ohhhhh..)
storm you cant last (go away)
go away (I command..)
I command you to move today
(oh storm)Storm (when God speaks) when God speaks
Storm (you don't have a choice in the matter, you have to cease)
You have to cease (yes thats....)
thats what I told the storm (what I told the storm)
(repeat once more)
Hook
I told the storm
(No weapons formed against me shall prosper I dont have to worry about a thing)
I told the storm
(Im more than a conqueror through Jesus Christ, and he's gonna bring me out alright)
I told the storm
(It's amazing grace thats brought me safe thus far, and grace is gonna lead me home)
I told the storm
(I stood on solid ground and told my storm and you need to tell your storm today)
Vamp 1
(Oh wind) Wind stop blowing
(Flood stop flowing) Flood stop flowing
(Lightening stop flashing) Lightening stop flashing
(Breakers stop dashing) Breakers stop dashing
(Darkness go away) Darkness go away
(Clouds move away) Clouds move away
(That's what I told...) That's what I told the storm
Vamp 2
(Oh death) Death can't take me
(Job can't make me) Job can't make me
(No matter how the fares of this world...) Bills can't break me ( may seem to way me down)
Disease can't shake me
You won't drown me
My God surrounds me
That's what I told the storm
(repeat vamp 2 one more time)
That's what I told the storm (repeat until end and fade)
And my sister and I, who are not particularly demonstrative or particularly religious, look at each other. Sometimes, I make a dry comment which irritates my beloved best friend who tells me gently, "You don't know her story. You don't know why she gets happy."
Last night, someone posted the words to the song "I Told the Storm" on Facebook. Every time I hear that song, I think of my mama's praise. My BFF is right; I don't know her whole story. But I know a few of the things she has come through and it is enough to make someone "shout."
My mom was born to a single mother in the rural South in 1949. Now, having felt stigmatized myself as a single mother a half-century later, I can't imagine how hard my grandmother's life and the lives of her children were. But my mama has told me about the nights when there wasn't quite enough to eat, the days when someone else fed them, the clean but patched and repaired clothes, the condescension of her step-grandmother who once told a social services caseworker that my grandmother and my mother wouldn't amount to much, because my great-grandmother hadn't been worth anything before she died.
My mama has told me, for my book, about her work in an industry that was physically and emotionally demanding, exploitative, and exhaustive. She has told me about her unrealized dreams of being a teacher or a hair dresser.
And she didn't have to tell me about the ups and downs of negotiating a four-decade marriage. I witnessed enough. I adored my father, love him still, but being a good father didn't always make him a good husband. That is not my story to tell, but my mother endured much.
I have seen my mother sacrifice so much for her family, for us--her hard-headed, smirking, dry-commenting children. I've seen her weather storms--money problems, job loss, caring for and losing a sick parent and sibling, settling arguments, rescuing cash-strapped children, diabetes etc, etc. So when I hear, "I Told the Storm," I think of my mama.
And I cry.
But these are good tears. Because I don't know her whole testimony. But I know she has survived with her smile and her spirit intact. She's still clapping her hands. She's still crying out. She's still dancing. She's still running. She still has faith, not only in her God, but in the worth and goodness of people. And she's telling her storms just what the lyrics say:
Wind stop blowing
Flood stop flowing
Lightning stop flashing
Breakers stop dashing
Darkness go away
Clouds move away
That's what I told the storm
Death can't take me
Job can't make me
Bills can't break me
Disease can't shake me
You won't drown me
My God surrounds me
That's what I told the storm!
My mama has that kind of joy another old song refers to: unsinkable joy that the world didn't give and the world can't take away. I believe part of Psalm 30:5 is inscribed on her heart: "weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning."
Y'all, I adore my mama.
I can't even explain how good she has been to and for me.
________________
I Told the Storm Lyrics:
Even though your winds blow I want you to know
You cause me no alarm cause I'm safe in His arms
Even though your rain falls I can still make this call
Let there be peace now I can say go away
I command you to move today
Because of faith I have a brand new day
The sun will shine and I will be okay
Thats what I told the storm
(the storm, the storm)
Chorus
I told the storm (oh yes i did)
to pass (ohhhhh..)
storm you cant last (go away)
go away (I command..)
I command you to move today
(oh storm)Storm (when God speaks) when God speaks
Storm (you don't have a choice in the matter, you have to cease)
You have to cease (yes thats....)
thats what I told the storm (what I told the storm)
(repeat once more)
Hook
I told the storm
(No weapons formed against me shall prosper I dont have to worry about a thing)
I told the storm
(Im more than a conqueror through Jesus Christ, and he's gonna bring me out alright)
I told the storm
(It's amazing grace thats brought me safe thus far, and grace is gonna lead me home)
I told the storm
(I stood on solid ground and told my storm and you need to tell your storm today)
Vamp 1
(Oh wind) Wind stop blowing
(Flood stop flowing) Flood stop flowing
(Lightening stop flashing) Lightening stop flashing
(Breakers stop dashing) Breakers stop dashing
(Darkness go away) Darkness go away
(Clouds move away) Clouds move away
(That's what I told...) That's what I told the storm
Vamp 2
(Oh death) Death can't take me
(Job can't make me) Job can't make me
(No matter how the fares of this world...) Bills can't break me ( may seem to way me down)
Disease can't shake me
You won't drown me
My God surrounds me
That's what I told the storm
(repeat vamp 2 one more time)
That's what I told the storm (repeat until end and fade)
Sunday, March 25, 2012
A Look into My Mind...
You wonder how the mind of someone with an attention deficit works? Let me tell you my last three hours:
read,
spontaneously decide to go for breakfast,
write, write, write,
daydream about a jazz song I used in my civil rights class,
go to Abbey Lincoln on youtube,
think about Elle Varner and switch to her,
stern admonishment to myself to focus,
write, write, write,
see a reference to the Great Dismal Swamp,
wonder what's the difference between a swamp and marsh,
realize I can't define either,
look both up,
began reading a dissertation about the melding of cultures in the Great Dismal Swamp,
intrigued by the existence of maroon colonies there,
began to search for more info on that,
FOCUS, elle!
write, write...
hey maybe I need a break,
read 10 pages, the heroine in the book roasted some tomatoes,
ooh that would be good!
let me go to foodnetwork.com and look up a good recipe...
hey, the Neelys baked tomatoes yesterday--let me see when that comes back on, is there a bug caught between my blinds and window?
why yes there is! somebody come kill it!
focus, girl.
write...
take time from what I am working on to jot down more words for the blog post I am writing out by hand about Trayvon Martin
I am now appropriately medicated, but that is going to make me soooo sleepy. But until then, write, write, write...
Uh-oh, my nephew just asked me to help him find baseball movies on Netflix...
I don't know how I get anything done.
read,
spontaneously decide to go for breakfast,
write, write, write,
daydream about a jazz song I used in my civil rights class,
go to Abbey Lincoln on youtube,
think about Elle Varner and switch to her,
stern admonishment to myself to focus,
write, write, write,
see a reference to the Great Dismal Swamp,
wonder what's the difference between a swamp and marsh,
realize I can't define either,
look both up,
began reading a dissertation about the melding of cultures in the Great Dismal Swamp,
intrigued by the existence of maroon colonies there,
began to search for more info on that,
FOCUS, elle!
write, write...
hey maybe I need a break,
read 10 pages, the heroine in the book roasted some tomatoes,
ooh that would be good!
let me go to foodnetwork.com and look up a good recipe...
hey, the Neelys baked tomatoes yesterday--let me see when that comes back on, is there a bug caught between my blinds and window?
why yes there is! somebody come kill it!
focus, girl.
write...
take time from what I am working on to jot down more words for the blog post I am writing out by hand about Trayvon Martin
I am now appropriately medicated, but that is going to make me soooo sleepy. But until then, write, write, write...
Uh-oh, my nephew just asked me to help him find baseball movies on Netflix...
I don't know how I get anything done.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Melissa Harris-Perry on "The Help"
Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy
And me, on films like The Help.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Sweetest Thing I've Ever Known...
While we were at home for my son's grandfather's funeral, my nephew told him, "I hope you don't cry."
I got ready to fuss at him. "Why? It's okay if he cries. It's his grandpa!"
"Because," my nephew said, "When he cries, I get tears in my eyes. I want to cry to. I don't know. Like when he hurt his nose in basketball and he was lying on the court, I cried, too. It's like we have the same power."
And of course, I melted. "That's love," I told him gently.
And he was right. Love is the sweetest power. I am so glad my son has someone who loves him so much. They've pretty much been raised like brothers (my sister and I lived together for years and now, my nephew lives with me) but just to hear that love put in halting, eleven-year-old words...
It's the sweetest thing I've ever known.
I got ready to fuss at him. "Why? It's okay if he cries. It's his grandpa!"
"Because," my nephew said, "When he cries, I get tears in my eyes. I want to cry to. I don't know. Like when he hurt his nose in basketball and he was lying on the court, I cried, too. It's like we have the same power."
And of course, I melted. "That's love," I told him gently.
And he was right. Love is the sweetest power. I am so glad my son has someone who loves him so much. They've pretty much been raised like brothers (my sister and I lived together for years and now, my nephew lives with me) but just to hear that love put in halting, eleven-year-old words...
It's the sweetest thing I've ever known.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Big Guy
For 13.5 years, my kid has had a variety of nicknames. His dad and I call him Mooch; my mama calls him Toot-a-loo (he gone kill me for that one), my brother calls him LuLu, and his PawPaw (Mr. S) called him "Big Guy." Once upon a time, when he was a little bitty thing, he rejected all the nicknames, and instructed people to call him only by his first name. He hurt his PawPaw's feelings. Now, I am a big believer in calling people what they choose, but I knew Mr. S was coming from a place of love and affection. I asked my little one if he had a particular objection to "Big Guy." He said no. I told him that PawPaw called him that because he was growing up so fast and was such a big boy that the name fit. He liked that idea so much that he went to tell Mr. S that he could resume calling him "Big Guy" ASAP. :-))
Yesterday, the voice that so lovingly called my little man "Big Guy" was silenced. My child has no more grandfathers walking this earth, but I am so glad for my son that he had grandfathers that loved him so. Rest In Peace, Mr. S. Thank you for your kindness and for loving my child so completely. My sympathies to the family and a special hug and kiss to my son's little brother, who shared a special kind of companionship with his PawPaw.
Yesterday, the voice that so lovingly called my little man "Big Guy" was silenced. My child has no more grandfathers walking this earth, but I am so glad for my son that he had grandfathers that loved him so. Rest In Peace, Mr. S. Thank you for your kindness and for loving my child so completely. My sympathies to the family and a special hug and kiss to my son's little brother, who shared a special kind of companionship with his PawPaw.
Monday, February 06, 2012
I'm Here
I'm still here. Busy, but persevering. Feeling this song. I have a connection with Ms. Celie, after all.
"I'm Here"
I don't need you to love me
I've got my sister, I can't feel her now
She may not be here, but she's still mine
'n I know, she still loves me
I've got my children, I can't hold them now
They may not be here, but they still mine
'n I know
I know I still love them
Hey
Got my house
It still keeps the cold out
Got my chair
When my body can't hold out
Got my hands doin things like they s'post to
Showing my heart to the folks that I'm close to
I got my eyes though they don't see as far now
They see more 'bout how things really are now
I'm gonna take a deep breath
Hey
I'm gonna hold my head up
Gonna put my shoulders back
And look you straight in the eye
I'm gonna flirt with somebody
When they walk by
I'm gonna sing out
Sing out yeah
I believe I have inside of me
Everything that I need to live a bountiful life
With all the love inside of me
I'll stand as tall as the tallest tree
And I'm thankful for each day that I'm given
Both the easy and the hard ones I'm livin'
But most of all
Yes I'm thankful for lovin' who I really am
I'm beautiful
Yes I'm beautiful
And I'm here
Yes you are, you are here.
"I'm Here"
I don't need you to love me
I've got my sister, I can't feel her now
She may not be here, but she's still mine
'n I know, she still loves me
I've got my children, I can't hold them now
They may not be here, but they still mine
'n I know
I know I still love them
Hey
Got my house
It still keeps the cold out
Got my chair
When my body can't hold out
Got my hands doin things like they s'post to
Showing my heart to the folks that I'm close to
I got my eyes though they don't see as far now
They see more 'bout how things really are now
I'm gonna take a deep breath
Hey
I'm gonna hold my head up
Gonna put my shoulders back
And look you straight in the eye
I'm gonna flirt with somebody
When they walk by
I'm gonna sing out
Sing out yeah
I believe I have inside of me
Everything that I need to live a bountiful life
With all the love inside of me
I'll stand as tall as the tallest tree
And I'm thankful for each day that I'm given
Both the easy and the hard ones I'm livin'
But most of all
Yes I'm thankful for lovin' who I really am
I'm beautiful
Yes I'm beautiful
And I'm here
Yes you are, you are here.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Slip, Slip, Slip
Today is already the last day of January. I am so tired, but it is not necessarily in an unpleasant way. But I am amazed sometimes by how time seems to slip, slip, slip by me. I want to throw up my hand, plead to catch my breath, rest for a minute.
We don't get that option. I am torn between one of my father's favorite sayings, "You can sleep when you die" and my desire just to be perfectly still for untold moments.
I don't know how to make peace between those two.
We don't get that option. I am torn between one of my father's favorite sayings, "You can sleep when you die" and my desire just to be perfectly still for untold moments.
I don't know how to make peace between those two.
Friday, January 27, 2012
In Which I Try to Share a Recipe, Sans Pictures or Close Care to What I Am Saying
Warning: This is not a "healthy" recipe, and I am a fat chick. If you think that you might feel compelled to judge or wish potentially devastating illness upon me, please read no further.
Did I tell y'all about the best scalloped (maybe au gratin) potatoes ever that I just made?
I didn't?
Let me rectify that.
So, I needed a side dish and was totally unmotivated to go to the store. I took stock of what was here. Potatoes, half and half, packaged shredded cheese, onions, bell peppers, garlic and some other staple-y stuff.
I know! I'll make scalloped potatoes!
So I did. It was a day that I didn't have to go on campus, but I still had errands to run. I grabbed 5 or 6 or so Idaho potatoes( which I typically hate because they are so dirty, but they are the least expensive and I have 3 boys to feed), scrubbed them, and sliced them on the mandolin. I put them in a bowl with water, a little salt, and a little white vinegar and put them in the fridge. I also diced maybe a quarter of a yellow onion (or a half, I love onion) half of a particularly small bell pepper and two cloves of garlic. Put them in bowls with tops and refrigerated.
Errands, errands, errands.
I returned a few hours later. Began with my cheese sauce--heated 3 tablespoons of butter (not margarine!), added 2.5 tablespoons of flour (no I don't do exactly equal because I am scared of being overpowered by flour). Whisk, whisk, whisk on a low to medium low heat. Keep it moving and keep it blonde. You do NOT want a burned roux. Just... yuck, trust me. In the meantime, I heated 2 cups of half and half with 1.5 cups of 1% milk (no particular reason for this mixture, that's what I had here) and turned my oven to 375 degrees. After about five minutes, I added my warmed dairy products to my roux. You can turn up the temp a little. Stir, let it thicken, stir, etc. When it is just about right (after several minutes is all I can say) add two cups of shredded cheese (cheddar blends work here--I had one called a cheddar melt. I also like the American and cheddar blend. Had it been for a holiday, I would've done one cup of cheddar melt OR American/cheddar blend plus one cup of gruyere), and a dash, I mean a dash--no more than two, of nutmeg. I can't stand for nutmeg to be too strong in cheese sauces. Now taste for salt. Do this after you add the cheese because cheese is salty.
While your sauce was thickening, you know what your lazy self should've been doing? Arranging your potatoes in a greased baking dish then tossing them with your onion and bell pepper and garlic and maybe a a half teaspoon to a teaspoon of seasoned salt. At this point, you can pour the cheese sauce all over them and mix all well. Cover with foil. Put in your preheated oven for 50 or 60 minutes. Remove the foil and, just for the hell of it, sprinkle some of the mozzarella you had left from pizza day on top. Bake a few minutes more. Then let that mozzarella bubble and do amazing, delicious things under the broiler.
Be prepared for your children and/or other loved ones to weep upon your feet.
Did I tell y'all about the best scalloped (maybe au gratin) potatoes ever that I just made?
I didn't?
Let me rectify that.
So, I needed a side dish and was totally unmotivated to go to the store. I took stock of what was here. Potatoes, half and half, packaged shredded cheese, onions, bell peppers, garlic and some other staple-y stuff.
I know! I'll make scalloped potatoes!
So I did. It was a day that I didn't have to go on campus, but I still had errands to run. I grabbed 5 or 6 or so Idaho potatoes( which I typically hate because they are so dirty, but they are the least expensive and I have 3 boys to feed), scrubbed them, and sliced them on the mandolin. I put them in a bowl with water, a little salt, and a little white vinegar and put them in the fridge. I also diced maybe a quarter of a yellow onion (or a half, I love onion) half of a particularly small bell pepper and two cloves of garlic. Put them in bowls with tops and refrigerated.
Errands, errands, errands.
I returned a few hours later. Began with my cheese sauce--heated 3 tablespoons of butter (not margarine!), added 2.5 tablespoons of flour (no I don't do exactly equal because I am scared of being overpowered by flour). Whisk, whisk, whisk on a low to medium low heat. Keep it moving and keep it blonde. You do NOT want a burned roux. Just... yuck, trust me. In the meantime, I heated 2 cups of half and half with 1.5 cups of 1% milk (no particular reason for this mixture, that's what I had here) and turned my oven to 375 degrees. After about five minutes, I added my warmed dairy products to my roux. You can turn up the temp a little. Stir, let it thicken, stir, etc. When it is just about right (after several minutes is all I can say) add two cups of shredded cheese (cheddar blends work here--I had one called a cheddar melt. I also like the American and cheddar blend. Had it been for a holiday, I would've done one cup of cheddar melt OR American/cheddar blend plus one cup of gruyere), and a dash, I mean a dash--no more than two, of nutmeg. I can't stand for nutmeg to be too strong in cheese sauces. Now taste for salt. Do this after you add the cheese because cheese is salty.
While your sauce was thickening, you know what your lazy self should've been doing? Arranging your potatoes in a greased baking dish then tossing them with your onion and bell pepper and garlic and maybe a a half teaspoon to a teaspoon of seasoned salt. At this point, you can pour the cheese sauce all over them and mix all well. Cover with foil. Put in your preheated oven for 50 or 60 minutes. Remove the foil and, just for the hell of it, sprinkle some of the mozzarella you had left from pizza day on top. Bake a few minutes more. Then let that mozzarella bubble and do amazing, delicious things under the broiler.
Be prepared for your children and/or other loved ones to weep upon your feet.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Well...
Not a lot to say right now. But I sat down. And I wrote. And since I am off today, I hope to come up with something else. But count this as my obligatory post-every-weekday-until-you-get-back-into-the-habit post.
21 days to develop a habit, I heard.
I'm on my way!
21 days to develop a habit, I heard.
I'm on my way!
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Ugh!
Went outside and the passenger side mirror on my car was broken. I just had both of the door mirrors replaced last February!
Grumbly elle is grumbly.
Ugh!
Grumbly elle is grumbly.
Ugh!
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
You Already Know
The downfalls of going to a small, independently owned liquor store:
I have a weakness in which I indulge every weekend: Sour Apple Martinis. I like cosmos. I love margaritas. Malibu w/pineapple is my bar drink. And my girls are turning me into a flavored-Ciroc fan. But when it comes to what I am going to mix at home, it's all about that sour apple, for some reason!
Friday night, I walked into my friendly neighborhood store for my "weekend libation."
"I want something new this weekend," I proclaimed.
"Mm-hmm," said the clerk.
I walked all around, with this silent perusal: "Do I want rum? I don't feel like rum! Ugh, gin makes me sick! No vodka! I'm tired of weekend martinis!" Etc. Etc.
I walked to the counter and looked behind there.
"I really want something new."
"You say that every time," the clerk reminded me.
I stood, indecisive, while she asked me about my son. "13, right?" said the store's owner.
"And going on 23, tall as he is!" said the clerk.
I sighed. The clerk decided to make it easy on me. "I already know," she said. She grabbed the sour apple pucker and some vodka. "Go to the grocery store and get your juice. It's too expensive here!"
I couldn't do anything except laugh...
And pay for my stuff.
I have a weakness in which I indulge every weekend: Sour Apple Martinis. I like cosmos. I love margaritas. Malibu w/pineapple is my bar drink. And my girls are turning me into a flavored-Ciroc fan. But when it comes to what I am going to mix at home, it's all about that sour apple, for some reason!
Friday night, I walked into my friendly neighborhood store for my "weekend libation."
"I want something new this weekend," I proclaimed.
"Mm-hmm," said the clerk.
I walked all around, with this silent perusal: "Do I want rum? I don't feel like rum! Ugh, gin makes me sick! No vodka! I'm tired of weekend martinis!" Etc. Etc.
I walked to the counter and looked behind there.
"I really want something new."
"You say that every time," the clerk reminded me.
I stood, indecisive, while she asked me about my son. "13, right?" said the store's owner.
"And going on 23, tall as he is!" said the clerk.
I sighed. The clerk decided to make it easy on me. "I already know," she said. She grabbed the sour apple pucker and some vodka. "Go to the grocery store and get your juice. It's too expensive here!"
I couldn't do anything except laugh...
And pay for my stuff.
Monday, January 16, 2012
My Soul Looks Back...
Everything has me weepy today on the observation of MLK, Jr.'s birthday, feeling sentimental as an African American historian and a product of the rural South.
Everything. Like, in the midst of re-reading Michelle Alexander's The New Jim Crow (I'm teaching it (again) this Spring), I have (previously) run across Cara's review of the book and, just today, this interview with the author and other scholars bearing the grim subtitle "How a Racist Criminal Justice System Rolled Back the Gains of the Civil Rights Era." This article also centers the book and the school-to-prison-pipeline that acts in some of the same systematic ways as the old system of Jim Crow. As I read them, I am disheartened, overwhelmed, teary-eyed. And I thought, "My God, so far to go!"
Everything. Like the fact that I have never watched The Great Debaters but today caught the last ten minutes of it with my boys. I was struck by the young man at the end who spoke of our duty to resist unjust laws, of the fear and shame with which African Americans lived, of a world in which you could stumble upon a lynch mob and do nothing but hide, hoping to save your own life. As I watched, I felt awe-struck, angry, teary-eyed. And I thought, "My God, how far we've come."
Far enough that I, the granddaughter of domestics and sharecroppers, will get up tomorrow and go to my job as an assistant professor at a public university after making sure my kids are safely off to school, once upon a time little more than a dream for most teenaged black boys whose lives were dictated by agricultural needs.
You know, I've never known for sure if the words to that old song are "My Soul Looks Back in Wonder" or "My Soul Looks Back and Wonders." I don't worry about it much, because either is fitting when I look back over the course of the history of people of African descent in this country. So far we've come. Every once in a while, I do take a moment, reflect, feel gratitude, feel strengthened, realize the resilience that comes from past victories and defeats. This is one of those days.
And then I remember, So far we have to go. And I get back to business.
Everything. Like, in the midst of re-reading Michelle Alexander's The New Jim Crow (I'm teaching it (again) this Spring), I have (previously) run across Cara's review of the book and, just today, this interview with the author and other scholars bearing the grim subtitle "How a Racist Criminal Justice System Rolled Back the Gains of the Civil Rights Era." This article also centers the book and the school-to-prison-pipeline that acts in some of the same systematic ways as the old system of Jim Crow. As I read them, I am disheartened, overwhelmed, teary-eyed. And I thought, "My God, so far to go!"
Everything. Like the fact that I have never watched The Great Debaters but today caught the last ten minutes of it with my boys. I was struck by the young man at the end who spoke of our duty to resist unjust laws, of the fear and shame with which African Americans lived, of a world in which you could stumble upon a lynch mob and do nothing but hide, hoping to save your own life. As I watched, I felt awe-struck, angry, teary-eyed. And I thought, "My God, how far we've come."
Far enough that I, the granddaughter of domestics and sharecroppers, will get up tomorrow and go to my job as an assistant professor at a public university after making sure my kids are safely off to school, once upon a time little more than a dream for most teenaged black boys whose lives were dictated by agricultural needs.
You know, I've never known for sure if the words to that old song are "My Soul Looks Back in Wonder" or "My Soul Looks Back and Wonders." I don't worry about it much, because either is fitting when I look back over the course of the history of people of African descent in this country. So far we've come. Every once in a while, I do take a moment, reflect, feel gratitude, feel strengthened, realize the resilience that comes from past victories and defeats. This is one of those days.
And then I remember, So far we have to go. And I get back to business.
Foodie in the Making!
The kid and I were watching Paula Deen and one of her sons talking about their years running "The Bag Lady." He was inspired. First, he told me he'd take my food and sell it door-to-door or at businesses. Aware of his own charm, he said, "I'd get ridiculous prices for it, too." Then he said, "We should get a van and drive it around the city and cook."
"Like a food truck?" I asked.
"Yeah!"
"You know the health department is all over those. We have to work hard and keep it super clean!"
I figured that would change his mind, he-of-the-science-project-on-growing-random-things-bedroom. But who I am to discourage my child's entrepreneurship/ideas? Maybe he'll really do it one day!
"Like a food truck?" I asked.
"Yeah!"
"You know the health department is all over those. We have to work hard and keep it super clean!"
I figured that would change his mind, he-of-the-science-project-on-growing-random-things-bedroom. But who I am to discourage my child's entrepreneurship/ideas? Maybe he'll really do it one day!
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Happy Birthday, Dr. King!
I used to love this commercial--well, the song in particular.
Happy Birthday, Dr. King. Your life was a gift, treasured and beloved.
Happy Birthday, Dr. King. Your life was a gift, treasured and beloved.
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