THURSDAY THOUGHTS: BEFORE ONE CHRISTMAS

Hindsight really is 20/20. 

On Monday and Tuesday, I would not have been able to convince anyone that I wasn't getting illegal collagen injections from a quack, back-alley plastic surgeon. 

Was it really a toothpaste allergy? After all, I did try the super-whitening sample for an entire week, on the cruise. How did I ignore the tingling? Did I think it was supposed to do that?

I, also, did kind of overdo it Monday afternoon, with the baking soda and peroxide, but it wasn't good 'ol, tried and true Arm and Hammer.

Could it have been cosmetics? Was it the lipstick? Didn't I remember the unusual stinging when I applied that gloss last week? 

Was it the peanuts I roasted?

 

Was it the costume jewelry?

 

Have I been eating right?

 Am I skipping vitamins? 

I was grasping for straws.  

I threw away old lipsticks and glosses, and my toothbrush. I was glad to find some hydrocortisone cream. 

It wasn't pretty...not at all. 

Then, I took to the internet and scared myself to death reading about my symptoms, looking at images, and ruling out the myriad of things that could be ailing me.

"I look like a duck", I lamented to my daughter, as she walked away to keep me from seeing the horrified look on her face. “No”, I thought. “That would be an insult to ducks everywhere”. 

I apologized to my fine-feathered friends. 

She laughed. Frankly, I didn't blame her. It was a completely human reaction. If my top lip hadn’t felt as if a paperweight had been surgically attached to it, I would have laughed, too. 

I was talking like Mushmouth and Light’nin.

Singing would be out of the question, I imagined. 

As I drifted off in a Benadryl-induced sleep on Monday, I told myself I might have to sit out the TV One Christmas event, on Tuesday night. 

I missed rehearsal Monday night. 

The Benadryl knocked me out. 

I woke up at 3 in the morning. 

My phone displayed all of the calls I'd missed, as I slept.  

"I think I may be able to pull it off if I "eat" the microphone", I told myself, as I drifted back to sleep. 

When I woke up on Tuesday morning, I looked as if I'd sparred with a heavyweight boxer, but my daughter reassured me that I looked a lot better than I did the day before. She's an honest young woman, so I believed her. Her words saved me a hesitant trip to the mirror, but I could see my lips just fine without it.

 

I profusely thanked God for ice, Benadryl, and water. 

When she finally reached me by phone, my “Vision” sister, Darlene, suggested cold compresses, and lots of liquids. "You've got to flush it out" she advised. 

I found a Huskies ice pack in the freezer, wrapped it in paper towels, and rested it on my lips, but it obscured my entire face. It occurred to me that I needed to do that in moderation, too. "No sense exchanging the gross swelling for frostbite", I thought.

As I felt my face ballooning, I think I repented for everything I'd ever done wrong in my entire life. I think I got saved all over again, too...."If my lips have harmed anyone in any way, I am truly, truly sorry, Lord. I need my lips, dear, sweet, Jesus. These lips right here? These lips right here are not, NOT television camera-ready. They're not breakfast, lunch, or dinner ready either. Lord, can you help a sistah out?" 

I was mad at the devil, but he wasn't the one who told me to put a hunk of no-name baking soda in my mouth, chase it with generic, undiluted, hydrogen peroxide, and brush vigorously.

My “Vision” sister, Rhonda picked me up around 2:30, and we headed to The Howard Theater for a 3:00 PM soundcheck. I'd decided that I would just hide myself way up on a riser...waaaaay in the back... behind a Christmas tree or something. 

When we got there, we were ushered to a gigantic tent, filled with dressing room compartments. It occurred to me to ask, "What song are we singing?" 

When they all said "Angels! Didn't you know? That's what we rehearsed last night!", I waited for someone to shout "April Fool!" 

That didn't happen. 

I had convinced myself that we would be singing something from the "Rejoice" CD, since it was a Christmas program we were taping. 

“ANGELS”? Oh, dear Lord! Okay...Where's my little Maurette? Is Maurette coming?”

I was going to have to be in full view, and there was no way I could dodge cameras. Maurette wasn't going to be there, so I would be singing her verse, too.

Myriam Leger, one of the production staff, came over to me and immediately started moving hair out of my face. "I want to see your face!" she scolded.

As the tech handed me my microphone, he said, "You seem a bit overwhelmed. Relax. It'll be okay". 

Everyone kept assuring me that the swelling wasn't as bad as I thought. Makeup artist, Fred Sanders, did a wonderful, delicate job on most of my face--but I decided I'd tackle my too slowly deflating lips, myself.

(It's funny. As I age, the allergies my Mom had, seem to be visiting me. 

I have to get rid of jewelry that has even a trace of nickel. 

I guess the next thing I’ll be doing is using dye/ perfume free products, and tossing out lots of makeup.  Like Mommy, I will enter the world of Almay, and all other things hypoallergenic, I suppose, but I have to applaud Cover Girl for the collaboration with Olay--and some old school castor oil saved the day, too.

There was a lot of "hurry up and wait" that night, but as I look back, I'm thankful for all of the delays, and lineup changes. Iyanla Vanzant sensed how tired we were, as we waited backstage. She smiled, and calmly, but firmly said to each of us, “Fix your face, Beloved”. 

It was the equivalent to being told, “Stand up straight”. 

By the time we did take the stage, thanks to the Benadryl, I was looking a little closer to human--but I did eat that mike, just the same---just in case.

Local drummer, Danny McCrimmon, was seated in the balcony, and snapped a few photos. I was glad that the moment was captured. I'd been a fan of Iyanla Vanzant since the "Starting Over" series, and there she was being maternally empowering and encouraging to me as I sang...It really was special---allergic reaction and all.

There are always lessons to learn. 

Richard offered a good one: "Stick to the tried and true". Ms. Vanzant offered a comical, but on-time one as well, that promoted patience, graciousness, and humility. I’ll never forget it.

“Fix your face”.

#tvonechristmas

#richardsmallwood

#iyanlavanzant

TUESDAY THOUGHTS: IN MY DREAMS

Yesterday I dreamed my friends Troy and Jason were desperately trying to wake me. 

There was a show about to start aboard the ship, and I'd overslept....
I don't usually remember my dreams in great detail, just that I did dream something. 

Perhaps it's because I get up and start busying myself with other things, during whatever prime window of time is best for recalling the night's featured movie of the mind.

Last night, however,  I dreamed I'd left open the window nearest my bed. 

I woke up in the dream, and noticed a rotting hollow tree, that was almost the height of the building. 

Then, I saw something move toward my window. 

I thought it was a branch extended toward me, but it was a huge snake. 

I looked down, and was suddenly frightened because the snake was coiled around the tree from top to bottom. When it saw me, though, it's head retreated and hid, but I could still see the rest of its body coiled around the tree, and its tail moving in the grass. 

I was screaming at it, "I can see you!" 

I reached for a vase that had stones in the bottom of it. I emptied the rocks onto the bed and was about to start throwing them at the snake, when something told me, "Don't do THAT! Close the window!" 

I hurried and closed it, and watched the snake uncoil. 

Then I REALLY woke up, and noticed the actual tree outside my window was being shaken violently by the wind.

I started to call someone, but it's too early for phones to be ringing, and in the words of the great philosopher Tamar Braxton, "Ain't nobody got time for that." 

So, out of curiosity, I turned to the internet for a possible explanation. 

I'm not spooky, by any stretch of the imagination, and don't take stock in a lot of things, but I read Tony Crisp's interpretations at Dreamhawk.com. 

I have to say, they were quite interesting. http://dreamhawk.com/dream-dictionary/snake/

MONDAY THOUGHTS: HAIR DAYS

The 7th Annual Capital Jazz Super Cruise is over. I'm so grateful. It was such a beautiful, relaxing time.

I stepped off of the Carnival Freedom, when the ship docked in La Romana, minus a usual accessory. 

It was hot--much too hot to don anything that would add degrees to my life. 

My personal summers are a force to be reckoned with all by themselves, and the hovering warmth of a Caribbean day certainly needs no embellishment. So, I did something I very rarely do. I broke a long standing unnecessary habit.

Hair has been a bit of an accessory for me for a long time. Frankly it's easier when traveling or planning for a performance to just grab a wig, or weave up. 

I decided years ago to forgo relaxers, but rarely allowed my own hair to see the light of day, or be seen by others. I called myself protecting it. 

I love the way it feels. Thick and healthy like it was when I was a little girl. Maybe I convinced myself it was just faster and more convenient to wear someone else's hair, skip the curling irons and the like, cornrow my own hair, and go. 

I still don't remember when I stopped regularly doing my own hair. I'm sure there was some performance involved.

The other day, I guess I must have felt differently. Enough people certainly let me know I looked differently. 

"I didn't know who you were! You should do that more often. You have a different energy!" one friend told me. 

“A different energy”. 

I liked that. 

My 53rd birthday is fast approaching. I could use all the energy I can get! Who knew all I had to do was let my hair come out to play? Did I imagine a bit more of a spring in my step? Nope. It was definitely there. Free and uninhibited is a good thing.

Eight days aboard a cruise ship, being mesmerized by the seascape, surrounded by amazing music, delicious food, and talented, good friends was refreshing for me. At the Graham Central Station concert I was singing along and having a ball. I felt calm and happy. I was reminded of high school sock hops and college days when even the thought of wearing a wig was non-existent. Funny, but the wig never did make another appearance until it emerged from my suitcase yesterday. It looked a little dissed. Will I accept another friend's challenge and ditch it and others for good? Will I join my daughter and other friends and "come out of bondage"? Who knows. All I do know, as a woman of a certain age, is that is it's cool to be cool.

Today has been one of introspection. The happy feeling; the feeling of serenity doesn't have to end. I haven't done much other than check mail, email, and phone messages. Part of the freeing feeling was being disconnected from phones and computers. I almost forgot that today was a holiday. 

What a fitting way to spend the day--celebrating freedom of any kind. 

TUESDAY THOUGHTS: BAG LADY

I'd contemplated how I was going to maneuver all of the bags I'd accumulated. 

Between the bags from the laundry, the cleaners, Ross, 7-Eleven, CVS, and Beauty Island, I was loaded down. 

It was getting dark. 

It had been a really good day. 

I'd managed to run every errand, but I was a little tired. 

I'd only stopped to return a suit that had clearly looked better on the hanger than it did on me. 

I hadn't planned to stay, and didn't realize how long I'd browsed in the new Ross store in Rivertowne, until I saw the clock in the car. 

I thought about stopping for a pizza, but that would have been one more thing to carry. 

I wondered what kind of bag lady I looked like, as I went from the car to the door.

When you KNOW you're going to have to make several trips, but delude yourself into thinking you can consolidate and save time, you run the risk of bodily injury, or at least providing a hilarious scene for passersby.

 

Laziness has consequences. You break something, or spill something, or a bag bursts. 

I remembered something my Dad always says: "Lazy people work hard."  

I'd managed to get everything out of the car, and into the building. 

Just as I was about to drag the biggest bag up one step at a time,  there was a knock on the glass door, and I saw the badge. 

I opened the door, and without any fanfare, I had a hero/angel asking me how far up the stairs I was going. 

DC Police Officer Carter saw me. 

He handed me his pen, paperwork, and clipboard, and then scooped up the heaviest bag as if it was a feather.  

I'd added at least three bags to the already heavy bag with the intention of taking them out once I got inside, but he just grabbed the whole thing before I could say a word). 

Have you ever had a vision of yourself falling into a pitiful heap? 

I imagined myself on a Life Alert commercial, all sprawled and broken, in the stairwell, surrounded by my laundry, dry cleaning, groceries and mail. 

I imagined that, as I tried to sling the bag, Santa Claus-style, across my back, the weight of it sent me sailing backward down the stairs, unable to grab the railing. 

I saw it all in my mind. 

That's when I laughed at myself and decided, "Don't be lazy or stupid. Take as many trips as you need to get the bags upstairs". 

Turns out, I didn't have to.

Gracious, unsolicited, help really does come along when you need it. 

Chivalry and good citizenship lives! Yay!

TUESDAY THOUGHTS: SUBSTITUTE TEACHER TALES

The majority of the students, in the last class of the day, decided that there would be no reading, writing, discussion, or ANYTHING involving the novel they'd been assigned to read. 

(And a wonderful novel it was. I rather enjoyed reading a great deal of it during my lunch break.) 

They decided they'd rather show me who was really in charge. 

In the words of the great philosopher, Tamar Braxton, "They tried it".

  

If they'd only known how much I wanted to teach them the wonderful lesson their instructor had planned. It just wasn't to be, I guess. 

What ELSE was NOT going to be, was the continuation of their lousy behavior, or the planting of any seed that would make them think they would be allowed to repeat their antics, in the future, with anyone else.

In the interest of the next unsuspecting person who comes along, I just couldn't allow them to leave thinking that anything they did, or said, was okay. 

I mean, "Please take your seat" is such a simple, non-threatening request. It's not offensive in the least, is it?

A person would really like to earn his or her salary. When it comes to the final class of the day, I don't feel as if I did. 

I left the school a bit sad. 

I took their behavior personally, and that was a huge mistake. 

I must not do that again.

It's so early in the year, and some students are messing up already-- academically and behaviorally. That concerns me greatly, and I don't have a child enrolled in school any more.

There's something about the sight of a substitute teacher that activates the bladders of, and initiates chronic thirst in some students. 

Suddenly everyone has to leave the room. 

It's an emergency. 

You see more interpretive dancing than you ever imagined, coupled with pleas of "I gotta pee!" coming at you in ever-increasing volume. 

Reminding students of the window of time between classes, and how it is designed so perfectly for visiting the restroom, their lockers, or anywhere else in the school, just makes some students even more hostile. 

They had been counting on goofing off between classes, and being allowed to roam the halls. 

They fully expect you to give them a pass to do it. 

They cite Mr. or Miss So-and-So, who always allows them to go where they want, as if that's supposed to shame you into granting their wishes. 

You want to be liked, don't you? 

Saying "No" erases any chances of that. 

So, they threaten you with ceasing to work, as if their failure to do their assignment for the day is going to somehow make you less intelligent.

The sight of a substitute teacher erases all memory of school rules and procedures. 

All of a sudden, there's someone trying to tell YOU what to do, as if you haven't been clued in. 

Seeing a sub inspires the smart-aleck in some students, and the bully in others. 

One little boy quipped, "I think I'm gonna get somebody fired today". 

(Ooooh, if he only knew--I was there because I chose to be, not because I had to be. )

There's also an imp from the deep recesses of hell who screams, "Sub!!!", and immediately possesses the spirits of certain little darlings, and makes them believe they are suddenly in the presence of someone for whom they should show little, or no respect. Suddenly, you have no humanity. You're just an intruder who has the nerve to want to teach. 

You must be terrorized, and sent screaming out of the building never to return again. 

How dare you come to a school, and expect learning to take place.

So, before "Loud, Out-of-control Teacher" was allowed to make a rare, scary appearance, "Calm, Peace-loving Teacher" told them to gather all of their things, lined them up, and marched them ALL to the Principal's Office. 

I hated to do it. 

Classroom management had never been a weak point, but I felt a bit outnumbered and overwhelmed today. 

It was a shame, too. The day had begun so nicely. The other classes had been delightful and, for the most part, stayed on task.

On the way to the principal's office, some tried to run, hide, or go in the opposite direction, but the sense of right and wrong in them miraculously prevailed, and they joined the line. 

The Principal instructed me to march them all to the Dean of Students. 

The Dean was a man who happily reminded me of every drill sergeant in every film where there was a terrifying, no-nonsense drill sergeant character. 

He was Sgt. Emil Foley, Sgt. Nathan West, and Sgt. Vince Carter all rolled up into one. 

Suddenly, the imp that had overtaken their good sense in the classroom, released them from its grip, and we were, once again, in the presence of wide-eyed, innocent children. 

They snapped out of their delusion, remembered why they came to school, realized they'd gone too far, and contemplated that their butts were indeed, grass.

Their pitiful choruses of  "What'd I do?" and "I ain't even do nothing!" fell on unsympathetic, deaf ears.
I separated the relieved and grateful wheat from the tares, because of course, not ALL of the little darlings forgot their manners this afternoon. 

Phone numbers and names were collected, and calls were made. 

Today, after school detention was a little crowded.

The swift action of The Dean and his assistant let me know that consequences still exist. 

Foolishness ISN'T tolerated everywhere. 

Teachers ARE supported.

A classroom can have smart boards, computers, and every state-of-the art piece of equipment known to man; money can flow into a school like a river, but without order, NOTHING will be taught or learned, except how to waste extraordinary amounts of time and energy.

I was reminded, by a very wise person, that I can only control myself. 

It definitely helped the sad feeling to dissipate. 

I just hate to see anyone hurting themselves while foolishly thinking they're hurting someone else. 

I can want others to respond certain ways, but there's never a guarantee. 

I loved the novel. I suppose I wanted them to be interested in it, too. 

Another person's failure to do what's right, doesn't diminish my actions, or imply that I am somehow weak, or incompetent. 

There are a lot of willing people just itching to help others. 

Help has to be wanted, though, and the necessity of it has to be recognized.

A teacher--even a substitute teacher-- can have all of the hopes and expectations in the world, but he or she cannot force learning, or interest, or cooperation. One can only hope that good home training will prevail.

People have to want to learn, and the importance of a good education, and good manners are lessons that have to be taught--the earlier the better.

I won't give up, though. 

I really do love teaching.

WEDNESDAY THOUGHTS: IMAGES

The 1938 film "Kentucky", starring Loretta Young, was on television this morning. 

I've seen it twice. 

As an Afican-American woman, who's lived through "colored", "Negro", "Black", "Afro-American" and the like, and witnessed "Black History Week" morph into a whole month, I wondered if one can actually watch a film like "Kentucky" in 2011 and just be entertained?

Each time one hears "Yessuh boss", does it do something to one's insides? 

Is little "Susie Mae" with her braids sticking out all over the place, regarded any differently than Pippi Lingstockings? 

Is the maid any different than Shirley Booth's "Hazel"? 

When one sees the starched and pressed dignity, and hears the articulate dialogue of the white actors alongside the labored mumbles, drawls, unnecessary laughter, and shabby costumes of the black actors, is the deliberate difference too much to take? 

Just when you're about to change the channel, you become keenly aware that the cast of uncredited actors could probably tell quite a story of their own. Maybe they didn't feel demeaned at all. They were after all, ACTING. 

Who were they? 

Where are they, or their offspring now?

Every time I watch an old movie or classic TV show, I wonder about the fate of the obscure actors in the scenes, and if anyone has bothered to document their participation.

It's not a new revelation, but as a lover of old movies, I've always noted the manner in which African-American actors and actresses were so frequently portrayed. 

"Kentucky" is a period piece, I know, but are we being portrayed with any more, or less dignity in movies today? 

When African-Americans are in control of how African-Americans are represented on the big and small screen, are we doing any better to improve the way we are perceived, or just feeding into long existing stereotypes, and keeping some viewers comfortable with the tropes and opinions they prefer?

I hate to say it, but based on some contemporary videos and films, I'd rather watch "Kentucky".

ThisTV, a favorite network of mine, is airing "Ana Lucasta" with Eartha Kitt and Sammy Davis, Jr. tonight. 

I'll be watching.

I suppose we have come a long way in film and TV, and have lots to applaud, but we still have a long way to go.

#representationmatters

QUALITY TIME

I had a very pleasant day with my Dad. I was a little taken aback when he announced he would be turning over the teaching of his Sunday School class to one of his mentees. I know how much he enjoys teaching. I think it's one of the primary activities that keeps him engaged and alert. The class itself has morphed into a bit of a family and the socializing is good for him, too.
He still wants to stay on top of things and study ( even though he's concerned about eye strain these days ) so it's pretty cool studying with him, and being a scribe of sorts. Even with access to the internet, he's still sharper than most when it comes to where to find things in the Bible. If he ever really gets the hang of his computer and smart phone, he'll be unstoppable.
Biblegateway and other Bible related websites fascinate him as far as the speed at which passages can be accessed, and how parallel study doesn't involve a table full of big books. I don't think it ever really took him a week to prepare for his class, I think he just loved to study that much. "Better to have more information than you need than to not have enough", he always says.

Today I was grateful for time, patience, energy, common interest--and the ability to write legibly. Dad still prefers his spiral bound notebooks...: )