SATURDAY THOUGHTS: O, WHAT A NIGHT

Richard asked Roger to let him hear what Darlene and I had done. 

"Turn up the volume!" 

Roger supposedly kept turning the knob and pushing buttons, but there was nothing but music and background vocals. 

Somehow, the lead vocals had disappeared from the track, and we were summoned back to Omega Studio in Rockville to record them again...I'm glad we were. 

I'd had a bit of a sore throat, and I didn't think I'd done my best the first time--and I'd been a little nervous, and a lot honored. 

It was my first recorded duet with one of my favorite DC singers, who, in my mind, was the vocal clone of Chaka Khan.

On trip two to the studio, Darlene had her kids in tow, and Richard ordered food for them. 

It seemed like he had ten hands, as he was serving the kids, opening ketchup and mustard packets, dividing up french fries, asking who liked what, and passing out forks and napkins. 

He was The Maestro AND Uncle Richard that day. 

It was hard to keep a straight face as we watched him through the glass, moving from one child to another, cutting bite-sized portions, wiping the table, passing out napkins, opening sodas--all of this while looking up periodically to direct us.

He looked up at one point, late in the song, stopped the tape, and said, "Hey, y'all, I was thinking..." (History has since revealed that if he EVER says, "I was thinking", you should just pray, and get your brain and throat ready.) 

He suggested, "Right during that chorus...right there. I want you to sing 'OOOOH, OOOOH, WHAT A NI-I-I-I-I-IGHT', okay?" 

He demonstrated how he wanted it sung. 

He did one of those perfect, southern-accent-tinged runs, then looked at us as if it was as common as breathing. 

First I just stared back at him, appreciating the confidence, and then I looked at Darlene, who nailed it on the first try. 

"Nessa, girl we got this", she laughed. 

 He wanted it done in harmony. 

"Darlene, you take the top". (Well, DUH? lol)

Darlene gave it "full out", and with all the signature sass of a Smallwood Singer.

I just closed my eyes and tried to hang on, hoping I could mimic her timing and texture.

It really was a fun session.

After we were done, Darlene's daughter told Richard she wanted to sing a song for him. 

We were all anxious to hear her sweet rendition of her favorite Smallwood composition, and she commenced to keep her own beat, by tapping her little foot on the floor. 

Then, with all the attitude, dance moves, and facial expressions of a pro, she sang the lead and background vocals of Kirk Franklin's "Stomp"...lol

That day is among my fondest memories as a member of Richard's Vision, and I love that Christmas project. 

You can still get it if you don't have it, and fill your home with even more holiday music. 

http://www.amazon.com/Rejoice-Richard-Smallwood/dp/B0000005CO/ref=tmm_acd_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=8-1&qid=1419105607

I don't recall that we've ever sung this song, live, before.

Darlene and I will tomorrow, though, with the help of the gracious music ministry of Friendship Baptist Church http://www.friendshipbaptistdc.org/  in SW, under the leadership of that hymn-loving, piano-playing, all around nice guy, Derrick M. Anderson Sr.---who is a faithful Smallwood Singers/ Vision supporter if there ever was one...: )

BEGINNING TO END

END OF AN ORDEAL

After 5 years in a Cuban prison, and a loss of 100 pounds and five teeth, one of the first foods Alan Gross enjoyed after his release, was popcorn.

You know that, and of course, the end of his imprisonment, made me, and my popcorn-loving self, smile. 

It's strange, however, that not everyone is elated that his ordeal has come to an end. 

Funny how some people are crying foul and complaining about Cuba's lack of Democracy.

If the complainers would only redirect some of that indignation, and recognize the audacity of their views. 

If they'd only work as diligently to ensure that democracy thrives for all...here...in America.

DC, after all, still has Eleanor Holmes Norton--a diligent, dedicated, but NON-voting member of the U.S. House of Representatives--while DC's population is certainly comparable to that of the state of Vermont. 

DC is still a colony.

Why doesn't that bother anyone?

Sounds like some people would rather that the poor man remained incarcerated and away from his family, than to at least try to move toward a new, honest, healthy relationship with the island nation.

  

I wonder how many Cubans have been longing for the lifting of the economic embargoes? 

I wonder how many have been waiting for an open door; a new political policy; new relations between nations that would allow them and their loved ones to travel freely to see one another?

 

I don't know. 

Some things just don't have to be difficult...do they?

CAREGIVER DIARIES: THE NEED FOR ADVOCATES

Many of our elders aren’t screening calls, or ignoring caller ID. 

Many have use for, but aren't huge fans of cell phones, and are frustrated by, or skeptical of technology, and social media in general. 

The trusty ol' home phone is just fine with many of our elder relatives and friends. The phone rings? 

They answer. 

Why not? It’s what they’ve always done. 

Consider, too, depending on their temperament or living situation, that they simply enjoy having someone to talk to. 

Telemarketers are happy to oblige, if they think a sale is imminent. 

Many seniors are thrifty. 

If someone is making a pitch, they perk up and listen. 

If they hear the words "save you money" or “reduce your current bill”, they may happily take the bait.

I'm not saying that all telemarketers are unscrupulous shysters, but some are, and they target the pockets, wallets, and purses of vulnerable seniors.

Individuals and businesses that take advantage of the often fixed resources, and trust of seasoned citizens are...okay...I can't type that.

Let’s just assume that special corner in hell we hear about, is specifically reserved for their ilk.

Make sure your seasoned loved ones and friends who aren't so tech savvy, or are suffering from Alzheimer's, or dementia, have not been coerced into the following:

1. contributing to bogus missions trips, by individuals operating independently from their places of worship.

2. switching their electricity, phone, and gas utilities to fly by night, substandard companies (that, should there be an emergency or equipment failure, have to use the infrastructure of existing, reliable companies anyway.)

3. opening multiple lines of credit for home improvement projects

4. signing up for subscriptions, clubs, recurring payments, or direct debits that require an act of Congress to stop.

5. Giving too much personal information, particularly their social security or bank account numbers, or birth date over the phone.

Also, check for correspondence and bills from extended warranty companies, questionable charities, political organizations, prescription drug, and landscaping companies. 

Some notices will often appear to be legitimate; they’ll come enclosed in pink envelopes (implying a late bill), be stamped with “final notice”, or use the name of companies with which seasoned citizens currently do business. 

Correspondence that come with “gifts” like address labels, greeting cards, calendars, bookmarks, tote bags, t-shirts, or coins, make some seniors feel obligated, or think they have to return the manipulative favor. The more they reply, the more mail they’ll get.

If the seasoned citizen in your life seems to be inundated with snail mail, particularly bills for nonexistent goods or services, be alert...respectfully take a look, make some calls, and invest in a good shredder.

Handle it.

Seniors need extra eyes so that they’re not such easy targets. Shame may keep them quiet about being scammed, particularly if they had a reputation of being sharp, in control, discerning, and conscientious, but as their caregiver and advocate, nip the scams in the bud.

#caregivers

#scams

SUNDAY THOUGHTS: BILLINGSLEY HOUSE

I didn't know it existed. 

It is a perfect, beautiful venue in which to host an event.

It's a sight to behold...uh...once you get there...through the gate that opens like the Addams Family's...by way of those narrow, winding roads...in the dark...through the eery trees (with vertical branches that dangle like snakes)...across that little bridge (Are we supposed to be driving across this?).

The ride seemed to last forever, and a couple of times the road seemed to run out.

It conjured up "Roots", "Roots II" AND "12 Years a Slave".

I suddenly felt like singing a Negro spiritual, and wondered how fast I could run if I had to.

When you're expecting to see something and you don't, and all you see is more darkness, you might get a little anxious. 

When you think you've arrived, and realize you actually haven't, you may wonder if you've taken a wrong turn. 

For a minute it seemed like we were just going deeper and deeper into the woods, and unwittingly staging a perfect missing person's scenario.

You imagine your car is going to get stuck in some mud, and you're going to be found months later living off of Patuxent River fish.

If you happen to go there at night, fill your tank...check your tires...charge your phone...pack a flashlight, a blanket, and some non-perishable items.

Turn on your high beams...Pray...Drive slowly...Forget GPS. 

You need Harriett Tubman, William Still, and Sojourner Truth.

You may begin to think you saw them on the road waving for you to keep goin'.

Don't be surprised if you suddenly consider the plight of runaway slaves, and what your choice would have been had you lived in that ghastly era. 

You will consider, as you go, the gravity and bravery of their decisions to run for it....Okay...just kidding.

Those high beams, though? I'm not kidding. Use them...and do drive slowly.
The width of the road only accommodates one vehicle.

The Billingsley House has got to be among the best kept secrets in Maryland. 

The young staff there was very gracious, the food was delicious, and again, it's beautiful. 

Just know that you won't see it right off of 301 via Route 4. 

Once you get onto WSSC property, you still have a little bit of a field trip. 

You may think to yourself (or say out loud) "What the____?"

"What happened to the road?"

"Oh, Lawd, where am I?"

Don't be alarmed. Just follow the Drinking Gourd--or the many signs that a conscientious party host, like my cousin Frannie, will think to post all along the narrow way.

When you see the house, you'll breathe a sigh of relief, and start singing, ("You're out of the woods, you're out of the dark, you're out of the night! Step into the Sun, step into the light..."), or laugh...at yourself...and be thankful for the struggles of previous generations....after all, you're an invited guest at a party on a plantation. You're not the help.

When you leave, you'll be keenly aware that no one is viciously chasing you to bring you back. 

If you do go back, it'll be by choice, because it really is a beautiful place--in what was once the largest slave-owning county in the state of Maryland. 

BEGINNING TO END

FRIDAY THOUGHTS: WHAT YOU SAY

It seems that, each day, internet users are facing and embracing the notion that there is no such thing as privacy.

As we cruise along the Information Superhighway, icily spewing, or gently sharing our thoughts, opinions, ideas, and images, we are not alone. 

Clicking "send", "enter", "save", or "post" seems to be taking its place among others of life's critical decisions. 

Every day someone's actions and words are landing them in piping-hot you-know-what. 

Once they're mired in it, they need help getting out. They need protection from the faceless masses manning laptops and smartphones. 

Who keeps the latest round of keyboard-happy, offended human beings from being restless, appalled, retaliatory, and poised to comment with ever-increasing venom and snarky-ness? 

"Who you gonna call" when your thoughts aren't between you and your intended recipient, but you and all of cyberspace?

"What You Say, Think and Believe When You Assume You're Among Like-minded People and No One Else Is Listening" is oozing through computer screens like "The Blob". 

I am particularly amused by those who, in the aftermath of an attack of verbal diarrhea aimed at Black people, seek counsel from the good Reverends Jackson and Sharpton. Respected as they are, it's funny how people obviously think the two of them have Moses-like power to turn the heads and govern the thoughts of the entire Black population. 

People think it's their job to weed out the troublemakers, and facilitate the laying down of weapons--verbal or otherwise. 

Those who find themselves branded racists because of their racist comments, also seem to think that those two aforementioned, iconic men of the cloth, have Hitler-like power to brainwash Black folks into sheer anarchy.

I'm on the sweet side of 50 and I STILL haven't found the secret meeting place where all Black folk assemble to vote on what we all like or hate, support or reject. Where is this hallowed convention where we go to decide who's the designated Wizard of Black Oz? Who are the appointed apology investigators who mete out pardons and mercy for us all? 

It's sad and telling when people think that members of a particular ethnic group all share a collective brain whenever: 

Someone says or posts something in jest. 

Someone deliberately berates someone else in an email, or in private. Someone is overheard via a live mike, an open door, or a phone in speaker mode.

 

Loose lips are betraying speakers and writers every day, and messy talebearers (and hackers) don't mind sharing with us all. 

When the you-know-what hits the internet fan, some Chatty Kathies or Typing Tessies, skip introspection and sincere remorse and move immediately into panic mode. 

"Hey. I might actually need the person or people I've criticized, demeaned, ridiculed,  misjudged, deceived, spitefully used, or embarrassed".  

"Oops. My employment may be compromised! Did I forget I have a job and am a representative of a business that depends upon the very consumers I've offended?"

It doesn't take people long to realize how difficult it is to operate with more than one face in our unfiltered social networking climate. Anticipating backlash (particularly a drastic loss of revenue, public embarrassment, or the severing of critical personal or working relationships). offenders make a frantic switch into damage-control mode. They then hunt for the person who they think is the peacekeeping mouthpiece of everyone else. Surely that person will bring calm and understanding. Everyone will join internet hands, take up internet brooms, and sweep the hurtful words under the internet rug. 

Unfortunately, the person they choose as savior may serve to expose just how out of touch, narrow minded, and woefully ignorant they really are. 

It's amazing, surprising, and even a bit frightening when people think you always and instinctively take your moral and intellectual cues from total strangers just because they're functioning with a bit more melanin. When someone says something incredibly stupid, who do they call to gain redemption? Here's an idea: Seek the individual or individuals one has offended, but don't make it a habit.

I suppose a person WOULD be "ready to heal" once the extent of their disdain of others is exposed. Why wouldn't someone take full responsibility for the opinions they form, the filters they ignore, the games they play, or the tact they choose not to employ? 

When they're caught and confronted with undisputed, albeit improperly obtained, proof, what is it for which they are sorry? 

Is it for being exposed or being jerks?

Some are quite sincere, but many apologies are tricky, especially the variety issued while one is furiously backpedaling and covering one's behind. It's a multitask that fails miserably. Some apologies are reduced to mere optics, and trotted out when people realize they've been snared in their own webs of manipulation, deceit and shadiness.

It takes a lot of nerve to depend upon or expect the assistance of those one has mistreated in order to be freed from one's own tightly woven snare. Gratitude and change is in order when one is forgiven, not business as usual.
I'd prefer that people stop apologizing for how they feel, and what they do and say, particularly if they don't mean it. If the only change on the horizon is yet more apologies crafted in different ways, good luck with forging healthy, lasting, trusting relationships, harmonious homes, and productive workplaces.

Ah, those smiling faces. It's so much better to know where people stand, even if their stances aren't favorable. At least you're not blindsided, disappointed, forming doomed alliances, or constantly dragging yourself out from underneath buses.

Perhaps the citizens of cyberspace should revisit grandmotherly advice:
"Every action has consequences."
"Put yourself in their shoes".
"Think before you speak."
"Do the right thing the first time."
"Mind your own business."
"If you don't want it known, keep your mouth shut."
"Tell the truth, and you won't have to think up a lie."
"If it doesn't come out in the wash, it will come out in the rinse".

TRAFFIC STOP

The officer gave me a warning. I guess I didn't stop long enough before I turned on red...I couldn't believe I was trembling...I was heading home from Rivertowne. As I approached the intersection at Indian Head Highway and Livingston Road, I looked to my left to see if cars were headed north. My way was clear, so I made a right turn. I've made that turn hundreds of times. I was nearing the next light when the I saw the flashing lights and heard the siren behind me. I was startled, pumped the brake, drifted to the left lane and stopped. I kept saying to myself, "What did I do? What did I do?"
I got my purse and took out my wallet as the officer approached. I let down the window and he shined his flashlight into the car. I could hear my Mother's voice, "Know when to turn it on and when to turn it off". In other words, be the poster child for law abiding citizens, don't make any sudden moves, and break out your best English. "Good evening officer". I couldn't believe my voice cracked. He'd actually frightened me. I'm sure my eyes had enlarged. "May I see your license and registration?" I asked him, "What did I do?" I heard a little girl's voice. It wasn't mine. He saw my hands shaking as I searched for my driver's license, and told me to calm down. "It's just a traffic stop. Happens all the time. It's okay. Calm down. It's just that you didn't come to a complete stop before you turned on red back there."  I could not find my license! It's always in the same place, but my hands were shaking so much I couldn't find it. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes but couldn't figure out why I was about to cry. He shined his flashlight into the car again so that I could keep searching. When I found my license, I handed it to him and he told me he'd be just a minute. My heart was racing. I couldn't believe how I was reacting! He came back to the car, handed me my license and told me I was okay. "Just be careful back there next time, Ma'am."  I said thank you, and put the car in gear. I drove home and took my groceries inside. My stomach was in knots. 
He seemed sad that he'd frightened me. The look on his face was almost remorseful. I was sad that he was sad.

The news really does affect us.