WEDNESDAY THOUGHTS: SENTIMENTAL VALUE

Over the years, I've tossed out a lot of things because they were broken, old, or worn. I've given away things for which I no longer had use, or felt someone else would appreciate more. I like the way my daughter puts it when it comes to keeping things or tossing them out: "How committed are you to that?"

I remember toys from my childhood. My "Teeny Tiny Tears", "Raggedy Ann" and all of the Barbies are gone. I do still have a few books, though: "The Story About Ping" and "I Had Trouble In Getting to Solla Sollew". One toy I've managed to keep, however, is the large stuffed poodle my Dad won at a carnival in the early 60's.
I was cleaning out a closet the other day and it tumbled out from its place atop a large suitcase. It's not white and fluffy like it used to be. It's a dull beige, and, as the suitcase testified, is shedding a little. One of the silver, oval eyes is missing, and there's only a remnant of the red, felt tongue that used to hang down. There also used to be a wide, satin ribbon, tied in a bow around its once supported neck. I can't remember if the ribbon was pink or blue...or white...

Even with all that is now wrong with it, I know I'll probably never part with it. It's one of the few things, other than photographs, that I still have from my childhood.
My Dad won another one like mine for my big sister. Her poodle is black and white. Mine is navy blue and white. We named them so many years ago. Today, I'm not sure which one is Napoleon Solo, and which is Illya Kuryakin. ( Yes. As kids, "The Man From U.N.C.L.E." was one of our favorite television shows. )

I took a break from the closet cleaning and phoned my Dad. I asked him if he remembered where he won the dogs. He said it may have been New York, but he didn't remember the exact place, or what game he was playing. All he knew was that he couldn't come home with just one stuffed toy, when, at the time he had two little daughters, so he spent an untold number of coins to make sure he had one for each of us.

I noticed the worn, yellowed tag on the bottom of the poodle reads, "ALLIED TOYS AND ENTERPRISES, LTD. TORONTO, CANADA". 

I haven't been able to find anything on the internet about the company. I'm really curious about when, where, how it was made, and perhaps, by whom. 

I did see a few stuffed animals on ebay that looked as if they could have been made by the same manufacturer. 

My curiosity isn't a part of a mission to part with my toy, though. I was sure that there would be some history; some even small amount of information that would help me find out where my Dad played carnival games so well.

I'd also like to know what's the best method to restore it to its original fluffy whiteness. I wonder what the dry cleaner would say if he saw me coming through the doors with the poodle. Who knows. Maybe it wouldn't be odd at all.

For a 50 or so year-old toy, though, it's held up very nicely.

THE BIRDS

There are those wonderful birds who genuinely respect and value what other birds do. Bless their generous, big hearts. They rightly, and gladly demonstrate their understanding and appreciation in tangible, adequate, negotiable, life-altering ways. Their presence and songs of encouragement are positively refreshing. The sooner one realizes that birds like them DO exist, the better. It will minimize the time it takes one to get a clue about self-serving birds who may occupy the same, or nearby trees. They expect what's coming to THEM in-full and on time. They will squawk, peck, and poop all over everything if it's not right, but for some odd reason, they think other birds should, and can exist on air alone.
There's a third, cunning, arrogant bird who only values and appreciates what IT does. When it comes to what it wants from other birds, it consistently expects something for little or nothing. It is evident in the opening lines of its manipulative song. It wants other birds to shine, but only if it adds feathers to its own nest. It tries to claim eggs that don't belong to it. It has the audacity to be noisy, preening, demanding, controlling, have unreasonable expectations, and act as if it is the reason for which all of the other birds even have a song to sing, let alone a branch from which to sing it.
How you respond to each bird--which ones flock to your yard, which ones you feed, tolerate, shoo, or allow to remain, is your call.
When you're already in the air and have been enjoying the sunshine as well as the rain, don't let some crazy bird come along and try to con you into thinking you need more exposure to the elements, you should be grateful for stale crumbs, and owe them any part of your existence. You know your REAL source full well.
Differentiate and discern the birds in your life, and proceed with wisdom. The degree and duration of harmony or dissonance you experience is entirely up to you...: )

FRIDAY THOUGHTS: HAPPY WORKER

The thing you love to do, though it may have some tedious, challenging, or time consuming aspects, should never become a chore. 

If you find yourself pouting, complaining, moaning about it, or wondering if you should have your head examined, it's probably not worth doing--or perhaps, not for you to do. 

You can muster up your best maturity act, keep your mouth shut, put on a half-baked smile, and go through the motions until the job is done, but there's nothing like looking forward to being on the job, working, and and liking it. 

There's something special about experiencing how a thing can, or should be done. It lets you know that, when it comes to what supposedly goes along with certain territories, some boundary lines have been deceptive or missing.

The atmosphere, within which the thing you love to do is done, should be as comfortable as humanly possible. I just think one does one's best work when one is relaxed, calm, happy, secure, supported, and free of the bad variety of stress. Being surrounded by pleasant people who share your love for what you do helps, too.

The requirements aren't always equivalent to the rewards for the work you do. 

Sometimes they don't match up at all. But when things are right, you just plain forget it's work! 

I wouldn't recommend walking off and forgetting your pay, but it has been known to happen when everything about the task pointed to a blessed, memorable good time.

When you consent to do the job, it's always good to know what goes along with it before hand. 

"Some folks get on the job and want to revolutionize it; always asking, 'Why do I have to do that?", my Dad always says. 

Some things simply come with the job. Other things, unfortunately, are unnecessarily added when people get a little power hungry, don't think workers have enough to do, won't ask for help, or are Nervous Nellies who have little faith in the abilities of the people they've secured to get the job done.

Look. The only thing that's brain surgery, IS brain surgery. Everything does not require drama, curt language, impatience, rudeness, and/ or nasty attitudes. Frankly, NOTHING does. 

Some things, even important things, can be done in a manner that doesn't drive everyone involved to explore the mystery of hard liquor. 

The minute things start to feel unreasonably weighty, oppressive, and strained, the work may continue, but the dispositions of the workers plummet. 

A whole slew of barked demands don't go over so well if they're not buffered by a whole slew of reasons why, that are worth the while of the worker. 

Sometimes people laugh, and conclude there's not enough money in the world to put up with craziness of any kind, no mater how appealing an opportunity may seem. There's not a thing wrong with having the job and being happy.

Want people to be happy workers? Give them something to be happy about. 

Proper tools, 

conducive environment, 

adequate time, 

assistance if needed, 

concise answers, 

genuine respect, 

timely information, 

helpful resources, 

fair compensation, 

consideration, and

understanding.

Those things really do help. 

No one wants to look around and wonder when slavery came back in style. 

Competent, cooperative, dependable, consistently efficient people don't ever have to be treated like crap. 

Being in charge doesn't call for arbitrary cruelty. How you handle people just might determine the caliber and amount of work you get from them. 

Beware. Everyone has not happily, or voluntarily switched into "heartily as unto the Lord" gear. 

Get on an arrogant trip and forget you're dealing with adult human beings, and you might be promptly offered a cheek to kiss-- and it won't be one of the ones on the face, either.

Surprises on the job don't have to be shockers, and flexibility is always a good thing. 

Do whatever helps you to do a better job, even if it means going the extra mile. 

You do that for yourself, believe it or not. 

No one need ever know what method or manipulative you utilized to help you master a thing. What they will notice is whether you come to the table sharp and ready, or frazzled and lost. 

Anyone looking for failure to occur, will be disappointed.

Along with being a happy worker, is an appreciation and respect for the individual or entity that will be held responsible if the work falls short. 

It's one thing to be given authority and be someone in which confidence is placed. It's another to take what one has been tasked to do seriously--even if one's name will never be called. 

It's okay to prepare, be ready, and do a great job, even if the work is fun.

The task of the month has begun. 

It's funny how you realize you don't really know what you think you know until you have to study it closely. 

There's lots to learn, but it's certainly worth learning. 

I'm in "listening to learn" mode again, and loving it...: )

PROBLEM SOLVED

Frustrated people in your midst? Fed-up folk sulking around? Angry friends or family constantly complaining? Maybe they didn't start out that way. Perhaps they used to have faith in systems. Perhaps they used to live by established rules and procedures. Perhaps they were never wave makers. Then they had a problem that wouldn't go away; an issue that seemed to be one that would take no time to fix. They didn't take matters into their own hands. They reached out to every agency that is supposedly designated to handle their particular issue. They respected chains of command and got nowhere. They proposed what seemed to be rational ideas and were shot down. There was always someone or some entity calling for their continued patience and understanding, or to make matters worse, trying to convince them that the problem really wasn't "that bad". It was usually someone who, if the tables were turned, wouldn't have dealt with the issue for one day, let alone months or years. There was always someone pleading that there's a better way, but they didn't provide a map, just discouragement, especially when it seems like solutions were being found. The problem persisted or got worse and still nothing was done about it. Proper channels were tried again and again, and then, the phrase known to transform Mild-mannered Citizen into Crazed Tornado Man was uttered: "There's nothing we can do." The only way to handle the problem was, not to address the person or entity causing it, and not to handle it themselves, but to inconvenience themselves, incur expense, or just learn to live with it.

No. It's not that "there's nothing that can be done". Yes, there may be legal, even compassion-based ramifications, but "nothing" is usually a lie. Someone or something is being a deliberate hindrance. Someone or something is benefiting from the existence of the problem. The nuisance is serving as an advantage to someone or something. Often, there's nothing that someone or something can, chooses, or wants to do because they either don't care, or the issue is not directly affecting them or their family. Something CAN be done, but the incentive to do it is missing in action.
Hindering progress, minimizing the suffering of others, and displaying disgust when problems are solved are signs that there was never an intention to remedy a problem in the first place. Some things are allowed to go to pot. Someone is hoping, even banking, that others will simply give up.

Is turning to social networking sites and putting people and entities on blast for their inaction the only way to get problems solved these days? Seems like it. It's amazing how quickly things get done when inefficiency, neglect and carelessness is exposed for millions to see.
When it shows up on twitter or facebook, it's difficult to ignore. When the right pair of eyes read about it, express disgust, ask, "Why?" or "Why not?", it's fascinating to see how promptly systems work toward solving problems that have been lingering for a long time.

MONDAY THOUGHTS: BLESSED

I was a little misty on Saturday morning-- the whole day, actually. It was my daughter's 30th birthday.

From the time I heard some poor woman's primal screaming and grunting, and realized she was me, until experiencing the peace that followed, as the attending nurse lay my newborn baby on my chest just long enough for me to hold her, I prayed, and have continued to pray, "Lord, please cover my child." 

I remember looking at her tiny face, and wondering what college she would attend--because she would definitely be going. 

She was a little Black girl in America. College was already on the table, although she was just minutes old. 

I remembered my parents' words to me, "You have to be twice as good. Get that piece of paper. It says you have potential."

I suppose, out of a centuries-long habit in the African-American community, I repeated the  same mantra to my baby over the years. My cousin Frances is right in her assessment. "I had never seen a little kid who would rather read than play."

I remember Dr. Monica 

Smith-Waisa saying, "It's a girl!". 

I replied, "I know". 

I wanted a little girl. 

I’d prayed for a little girl. God answered my prayer, and then some. 

In the early 80’s, they didn't kick you out of the hospital as quickly as they seem to do today. 

I had, both, kidney and urinary tract infections, and my baby had to be placed into an incubator. Fortunately, she was given a clean bill of health, and, I was reassured, the occurrence of Ulnar Polydactyly was hereditary, quite common, and required only a bit of black string and a several days to be corrected. (Amazingly, I had never noticed the small scars on the sides of her paternal grandmother and great grandmother's hands.)

There had been so many people in the delivery room. (Somehow it leaked that the woman in labor had 3 kidneys.) I couldn't breast feed because of the antibiotics I was taking. By the time I was off of them, she had become a die-hard fan of Isomil soybean formula. I swear she looked at my breast as if it was an alien. The puzzled and irritated look on her face convinced me that if she could talk, she would have said, "Lady, thanks, but would you please get that weird thing out of my face? Where is my bottle?"

For my entire pregnancy, her name was "Desiree". Her dad suggested "Melissa" or "Melonie". We'd liked "Janelle", but it seemed as if every little girl born in 1982 was named "Janelle". We decided on "Lisa". My cousin Lisa Trusclair, and high school classmate Lisa Aveilhe were two of the nicest people on earth, I'd thought., so was my middle school classmate Jimmel Dunn. That's how she came to be named Lisa Jimmelle. I hadn't even considered what "Lisa" meant. "Consecrated to God". 

I also hadn't considered the alliteration that would cause her classmates and family friends to call her, affectionately of course, by her whole name. 

Before she could master the "L" sound she proudly, and adorably introduced herself as "Risa Jimerre Rock".

The ride home from Washington Hospital Center, 30 years ago, was interesting to say the least. The route we took gave me glimpses of despair and trouble. Sirens were blaring, as police cruisers and ambulances raced through the streets. I saw thick exhaust coming from cars, trucks, and buses, homelessness, people shouting and fighting with each other, and drunkenness. 

Suddenly the colors, smells, and sounds of everything seemed different. 

While stopped at a light on North Capitol Street, a disheveled man came up to the passenger window. It was pre-mandatory car seat days. I was holding my infant in my arms, and the man, who perhaps days before would have seemed harmless, and would have even gotten a few dollars and a smile from me, instead seemed menacing. He frightened me. I wasn't charitable that day, and was happy the light turned green. I actually thought, "What have I done to her? What have I brought her in to?" 

I knew it was not about me any longer. I was on a mission. My baby had to be okay. She had to succeed. She had to be better, stronger, and wiser than me. I was a mother. 

I really prayed all the way from Washington Hospital Center to my parent's house back in September 1982. Mommy had insisted that her house be the first place I went, upon being discharged. She said I would need help. She said I needed at least 30 days to recuperate. That was the old-school rule. She wouldn't let me do anything. I wanted to wash my hair. She forbade it. I wanted to go downstairs and wash clothes. She definitely forbade that, and had a fit when she caught me coming back up the stairs after I'd defied her. She said, "You just had a baby!" as if I had forgotten. "You're not supposed to be walking up and down stairs!" I remember her mumbling something about a "hard head" and "You're gonna feel that when you're older".

I am a witness that God is faithful, loving, forgiving and kind. There are some things in life that are a complete mess. Your child just can't be included among them. Of all the people who abuse you, reject you, use you, disappoint you, break your heart, curse you, or leave you for dead, you pray your child/ children won't be in the number. 

You pray that you can live in a manner that won't make your child ashamed of, or embarrassed by you. Of all the things you screw up, fail miserably at, lose, give up on, walk away from, or leave for others to do, you just don't want parenting to be on that list. You never want your child to look at you one day and say, "You can't tell me anything." 

You don't get a manual; you just go with what you know. What I knew was that, at home, my needs were always met, and a relationship with God was essential. That was enough to go on, because there were days I actually wondered, "Can I do this? Can I really be responsible for another human being?" 

If I did anything right, I prayed it would be mothering, and fortunately, I had my own mother, Lisa's grandmothers, and other wonderful women to whom I could look for guidance. I was happy to talk to two of them by phone on Saturday morning. Betty Elzie and Carrie White always were great sources of wisdom.

Before I eventually became a single parent, I don't think I paid much attention to the struggles of women who, for whatever reason, headed their households. All I knew was mommy-daddy-children. 

Mommy-child seemed a little scary and uncertain at first. Betty and Carrie, by their own experiences and triumphs, helped me to see that I wasn't the only woman on Earth trying to, and succeeding in wearing so many hats. "You're not the first and you won't be the last, but you can do this.", they both told me. "Everything is going to be alright. You're going to look back, one day, and laugh."

 It is impossible to gloss over the role that grace and mercy play in your life, if you are a parent. Given so many factors; when you look around, even if you have the highest expectations and set the strictest standards, you have to know that, in the life of your child, there are no guarantees. Even in the face of success, you realize that it could have been the other way. You could have been the mother who was a regular at the hospital, mental institution, ICU, jail, or rehab facility. You could have been the one constantly visiting the principal's office, counselor's office, truant officer's office, probation officer's office, bail bondsman's office, halfway house, drug treatment center, penitentiary, or graveyard. You could have been, but you weren't. 

You, instead, attended awards ceremonies, receptions, assemblies, recitals, promotional exercises, graduations. You got good news.

There’s an AARP card in my wallet! It bears some strange new significance today. I have a wonderful 30 year-old. 

She is lovely, brilliant, generous, responsible, beautiful inside and out, wise, witty, caring, talented, loves God, and has never given me a day of trouble. (Well... except for the baby powder incident, but that was definitely payback for the brown face powder incident I wrought upon my dear departed Mother's white bedspread-- which she had to wash in a wringer washing machine, but I digress). 

If my daughter is 30, then that makes me...? 

Oh, never mind. Math has never been my ministry.

My baby has exceeded all of my dreams, wishes, and expectations for her. 

If she weren't my daughter, I would be honored to have her as a friend...: )

PHOTO BOOKS

Making photo books at shutterfly.com has been one of my favorite things to do for quite some time. The site helped me to realize a goal of self-publishing my poetry and art. I was sorry to read that their classic custom path books with die-cut covers will be discontinued. Here is the last one I made. I'll use the option to replace the die-cut cover with a hard photo cover, but I'll miss the look of the die-cut.

Click here to view this photo book larger

Visit Shutterfly.com to create your own personalized photobook.