Flowers for the Garden: PJ Morton's "Walk Alone"

stop making mountains out of molehills when they're not even real.  you need to go and follow your dreams.  it's not as hard as it seems...  -PJ Morton, "Mountains and Molehills"



this cd is giving me everything right now.  in particular, "Mountains and Molehills" is one of those songs that's my LIFE.  craziness.  inspiration at it's finest.  the entire cd is officially in heavy rotation in the car, on the laptop, and on the treadmill.

be encouraged, stars.

for more info on PJ Morton, follow him on twitter.

be.  fly.
rhythm

Thursday Throwback: Crayons

remember getting lost in the world of crayons?  coloring a really fly picture and giving it every ounce of your energy?  those were the days.  i liked to color using the technique my older brother taught me...a hard, solid outline and then a light shading-in with the same color.  fiyah!

i think i'll invest in a throwack box of crayons soon...there's no therapy like the soothing sensation of coloring...

be.  fly.

rhythm

"I Wonder" Wednesday: The Evolution of Dreams

*photo found at thebeanstock.com

sometimes we follow our dreams.  sometimes dreams follow us.

i've heard that when our dreams come true, they're so much better than we ever could have imagined.  i've always believed that...mainly because our imaginations tend to be limited to those things to which we can relate.  so even with a great imagination, we really have no frame of reference for what's possible.

so, often, as our dreams evolve, we begin to strive for things that weren't even on our radar initially.  this also happens as we begin to realize our own capabilities.

so, in light of all this, i wonder:

should the people who make up our support systems be expected to automatically support these new  dreams (or new incarnations of existing dreams)?  or should the loss of support from some people just be considered a natural part of the evolution of support systems?


related garden reading:

Ruby's Garden: Grandma's Hands

today would have been my maternal grandmother's 86th birthday.  she left this earth quite some time ago, but i still think of her fondly on her day.

she was the essential "big mama" in every way.  and she taught us girls that if our hair and feet looked good, everything in the middle would fall in place.  i still live by that (tryna stay on her level, lol).  she fed us well (and with love).  she gave whatever she could, whenever she could.

i wish i had a picture to post, but as a cousin reminded me today, she hated posing for pictures.  fly as she was.  hm.

happy birthday, Mimi.

be.  fly.
ruby's granddaughter

and i usually don't post videos that i can't embed, but i'll make an exception here (since it's Bill Withers)...just come back and say somethin' when you're done watchin' :)

Letter from the Garden: Dear Stars

Just keep tryin' and tryin'
It's just a matter of timing
Though the grindin' is tirin'
Don't let 'em stop you from smiling

Just keep tryin' and tryin'
Sooner or later you'll find it
It's surprisin' how inspirin'
It is to see you shining
'Cause in the dark of the night you're all I can see
And you sure look like a star to me...

-Cee-Lo, from Kelis' "Lil Star"
 

 

 

dear stars,

just a friendly reminder from the garden to "keep ya head up."  we're all working on things, big and small (though i assert: "no point in dreamin' small"), and sometimes a little encouragement goes a long way.  so keep shining, stars.  we never know who we are yet.
 
be.  fly.
rhythm

"I Wonder" Wednesdays: What's YOUR Gift?

Ruby's Garden: Zucchini

i was sitting here eating japanese takeout.  as i thought "mmmm, this zucchini is good," i then thought, "[the grandmother] would be so proud."  my maternal grandmother, god rest her soul, was one of many family members who was always up in arms about my eating habits as a child.  i was picky, and i didn't eat much of the few foods i did like.  i can say with certainty my grandmother would be shocked to see a) that i eat quite a bit now and b) that i eat vegetables at all, much less zucchini.  albeit, zucchini really tastes like whatever seasoning it's murrrrinated in, but that's neither here nor there.  whenever i would turn my nose up at [insert food here], my grandmother would say "chile, you don't know what's good!"  this included chitlins, so i'm not conceding that point.  ever.

so during this stream of consciousness, i thought, "i should blog about that," which led to "i should make a regular feature of rubyisms."  i think i'll do that.  and another out of my mother's isms (the lady is hilarious, and i've always joked and said i was going to make a book of them).

in search of my (grand)mother's garden...

be.  fly.
ruby's granddaughter




*photo: i "borrowed" this one since at the time of this writing, mine was devoured.  carry on.

Sister Story: White House Staffers

First Lady Michelle Obama has announced a year-long mentoring that will be facilitated at the White House.  High school girls from the surrounding neighborhood will be paired with senior White House staff members, including senior advisor Valerie Jarrett, domestic policy advisor Melody Barnes, Obama's chief of staff Susan Sher and social secretary Desiree Rogers, reports the Washington Post.  source: EURweb.com.

We each need to mentor at least one young person.  Period.  Young people can never have too many mentors.  Find something you're good at, and share it with someone younger than you.  He or she could b 5 or 25.  You could help with math or creating a resume.  Do something.  Make a difference.  *Jumping off my soap box now*

Be.  (Help someone) Fly.
rhythm

Coming Home...

round and roud the world will spin.  oh, the circle never ends.  so you know that i'll be coming home... -john legend, "coming home"

this past weekend was homecoming at my alma mater.  sometimes i hesitate to use the term "alma mater," as it's literally translated as "mother of my soul," or more loosely, "nourishing mother."  but i'm beginning to understand and accept that this beautiful institution was indeed a nourishing mother for me.  so much of who i am as a woman, particularly a young black woman, can be directly attributed to having attended this HBCU.  and i'm proud to count it as one of my influential mothers.

walking that campus and seeing my brothers and sisters, some warmly familiar and some new, i felt like i was indeed coming home.  i get this feeling every october, and yet i somehow manage to forget how good it feels until the next time.  and for some reason, visiting that home makes me feel so good about growing older, emphasis on growth.  in that space, i am able to better appreciate the things that i have accomplished since living and learning there.  and i have a sense of renewal, with which i can continue to move forward towards accomplishing more goals.

i love my alma mater.  and i'm grateful for the people and memories that make it so beautiful.

be.  fly.
rhythm

Hope Springs Eternal

love and light, sistergarteners. i added some seeds to my garden. quite a bit of water and sunshine, too.

i don't really know where the beginning of this story is (perhaps in a womb somewhere 20-"some-odd" years ago), so i'll just start somewhere in the middle. a few weeks ago, i attended the hope springs institute's first annual women's poetry and performance retreat. according to their website, hope springs is "a retreat center in the Appalachian foothills, [and] a place of rest, peace and benevolence. It is situated in an exceptional natural environment, and offers educational programs that help people live mindful, creative, healthy lives." after my experience there, i'm at a bit of a loss for words, so those will have to do for now. i can only add that i was on sacred ground-- "holy in ways my words can't explain, but maybe three little birds could" (-rhythm, "Soul Reacher- Bob Marley" from Libations, Vol. 1). yep, i just quoted myself.

i've been avoiding writing about this experience for a few reasons. first, i simply don't have the words to describe the magnitude to which this experience affected my life. secondly, a part of me wants to keep the experience sacred and personal. so to that end, i've decided not to share many details. when anyone has asked me "how was it?" my response has been, "life changing." that's the best i can do. for the benefit of the sister- (and brother)garteners, i'll add that the housing was welcoming and comfortable. the food was AMAZING...so much so i made myself miserable on the second day with a lovely combination of heartburn and plain old glutton-belly. the women were inspiring...i have made vital bonds. the land and sacred spaces were nurturing. the whole long weekend actually was a retreat in every sense of the word. i was well taken care of.

i'd be remiss if i didn't mention the writing workshops. every day, i was faced with the challenge of reaching deep within myself and pouring the contents (beautiful, ugly, or otherwise) out on the page. and as writers (and in particular poets), we challenge ourselves to do this often, in an effort to honor the gift we have been given. but as humans, we also can retreat from this challenge when the ugly gets too ugly. i am so eternally grateful that the truth and beauty of hope springs wouldn't allow me to do that. i dug deep. deeper than i could have imagined. and i found so much healing in that journey and in the supportive circle of women (and a blessed angel-baby) from various geographic locations, racial and ethnic backgrounds, religions, sexual orientations, and ages. and i began to peel back a few more layers of my true self. most importantly, i was reminded to keep peeling.

"and that's all i have to say about that." -forrest gump

be. fly.

rhythm

Kindergarten for Woman

kaihalulu


"The universe is one great kindergarten for [wo/]man. Everything that exists has brought with it its own peculiar lesson. The mountain teaches stability and grandeur; the ocean immensity and change. Forests, lakes, and rivers, clouds and winds, stars and flowers, stupendous glaciers and crystal snowflakes - every form of animate or inanimate existence, leaves its impress upon the soul of [wo/]man." ~Orison Swett Marden

be. fly.

rhythm

Flowers for the Garden: BLACKsummers'night

he's back. and right on time.

maxwell's long-awaited release, BLACKsummers'night finds his ever-loyal fan base ready to fully immerse themselves in his smooth, sultry grooves. he does not disappoint. the first of a slated trilogy is a masterpiece in my oh-so-humble opinion. it has been (and will remain) in HEAVY rotation for this music-lover.

but this isn't an album review so much as it is commentary on my love of music...the most giving flowers in my garden. whenever i get new music, i imagine myself as a child unwrapping and devouring a sloppy cheeseburger. it's true. ketchup at the corners of my mouth, licking my fingers, not daring to stop and wipe my mouth because i'm totally in the moment. that's not me being poetic. this is really what i feel like every time. interestingly enough, i only eat veggie burgers in real life. but in these moments, the symbolic burgers are ALL BEEF. but i digress. i DEVOURED this cd tuesday and haven't stopped playing it since. [insert cheesy (lol) metaphor about food for the soul]. off the cuff, "fistful of tears" was my instant favorite, but the cd is such a solid package, the tracks will likely all take turns being my favorites.

i even had a very healing moment during my first listen, for which i'm deeply grateful.

after a rough month, i was in dire need of some new (great) music. and i will forever remember maxwell and BLACKsummers'night for being so perfect in this time.

Living a Legacy

the month of june was full of death. it probably was no more than any other month, but when one loses her own father and the king of pop within a matter of weeks, loss seems magnified. and there were, of course, the deaths of farrah fawcett, ed mcmahon, and billy mays as well. i'm almost afraid to turn on the morning news at this point...

for a number of reasons, mj's death affected me tremendously. initially, i was shocked. soon after, i realized i was so physically, mentally, and emotionally drained from the death of my father that i didn't even have space to mourn michael as i might have otherwise. it's a bizarre feeling to not really know where i fall on the spectrum of fans reacting to his death.

i realized something else while indulging in the persistant michael mania (music and videos, not the media melee that immediately ensued). it was as if everything i had been feeling over the previous 3 weeks was now being shared by people all over the world. the sadness, confusion, loss, and celebration and appreciation of life were almost universal. and then a deep sadness came over me as it occured to me, i felt such an overwhelming sense of loss when my father died, and i'm an adult. what must mj's children feel like right now? and i realize young children lose parents all the time, but unfortunately, these children are also targets for the same kinds of people that sought to take advantage of their father. but i digress.

at some point between mourning and celebration of both of these men, i began to think about legacy. hearing my father's family and childhood friends recount stories of him helping them in some way introduced me to a side of him that i certainly recognized but couldn't have appreciated in that way; i knew him as my father, not much as a man independent of that role. i began to think of how people will remember me when i'm gone...what character traits will stand out the most to them? and examining the impact mj had on the world in his 50 years of life begged the same questions, but regarding my contributions to art and humanity on a larger scale.

i haven't come up with any answers, but i'm determined to do just that in the way that i live.

Shining Down

you thought i was down...you thought i was gone...thought i wasn't around...that i left you alone....but look up in the sky. just look up in the sky. see that i'm everywhere, everywhere...shining down on you. ~matthew santos on lupe fiasco's "shining down"

it's been a while, sistergarteners.

to put it mildly, my garden has survived a storm over the last couple of weeks. my father died. in a quest to accept the reality of this loss, i've made an effort to avoid all the euphemisms that come with death. because i'm still in the phase of not really believing the finality of it all. i still get the urge to pick up the phone to check on him, and i still sometimes think, "well what if..." and try to finish the sentence with some possible way for me to see him again. and not in heaven. i mean here on earth. yes, my brain is still adjusting.

fortunately for me, i've had an amazing group of family, friends, poets, and colleagues tending my garden while i was unable to. one of whom, perhaps still unaware of my loss, sent me a leaked lupe fiasco song called "shining down." the hook sounded like an answer from my father to a question i had been asking him all day. and i'm learning to accept that answer.

i'm not nearly far along enough in the process of healing to give any sage advice, nor am i the type to give advice, sage or otherwise. but i always find solace in the most interesting places, so maybe someone will find it here.

meanwhile, i'll be looking up in the sky.

All it Needed Was Some Mulch...

i have a dirty little secret. actually, to most of my neighbors, it's no secret at all. the fiancé and i have one of the worst lawns on our street. okay, probably THE worst. and our house is positioned near the entrance of the subdivision, between 3 houses beautifully maintained by middle-aged, all-around handy/crafty men who all seem to be at least semi-retired, one of whom we secretly refer to as "world's greatest dad," because when he's not sculpting the front lawn, he's playing softball with his young daughters or volunteering to repaint the sign on the front of the subdivision. all this to say these men and their perfectly manicured lawns make the young unmarried (gasp!) couple look even worse by comparison. i even park my car on the street instead of the driveway in an attempt to hide the pitiful grass and patches of dirt and rocks. it kinda reminds me of a balding man hanging on to a few sprigs of hair in the front.



well, after a much-needed trip home to south carolina for my 10-year high school reunion (double gasp!), a dear friend's graduation, and pre-mother's day quality time, i returned to a totally different lawn! the beloved had cut the grass (a constant struggle with this philadelphia boy), spread grass seeds for the bald spots, and remulched the little flower bed. the azaleas, hostas, and lilies his mother helped me plant last year had bloomed while i was away, and he had added fresh mulch. it looked like a whole new lawn, and most significantly, a whole new garden. before a couple of hours of work, the situation was so bleak i was walking a couple of extra feet to and from my car, parked inconveniently on the street. now i was proud of my pitiful yard's progress.



almost a week later, the oh-so-obvious metaphor dawned on me (you did know this was all leading to a metaphor, right?). the pitiful space didn't need a complete overhaul. it just needed some attention. but somewhere along the way, i had become so hopeless about the outlook that i wasn't even trying anymore. and i had slowly begun to do the same with my career as a writer and performing artist; gradually giving it less and less attention until eventually (without this revelation) i might have ended up so discouraged by the rejection letters and closed doors that i wouldn't try anymore. thankfully, i have been reminded that grass takes time to grow. and it needs water, sun rays, and sometimes seeds (particularly when it's been damaged).



so there's my gardening lesson for the day. remember to tend your garden even if it's the ugliest on the block. or something like that. i should write fortune cookies.



peace, sistergarteners...

To Be Young, Gifted, and...Humble

...to be young, gifted, and black/oh, what a lovely precious dream... ~nina simone, "to be young, gifted, and black" (simone/irvine)

of all the versions of "to be young, gifted, and black," donny hathaway's is my favorite, which is not common for me since it's not the original, but i happen to think that musically, donny could do no wrong. so, i'm biased. anyway, i never knew (before looking for an info link to share with the sistergarten) that ms. nina co-wrote the song as a tribute to her dear friend lorainne hansberry. i learn something new every day...but i digress (per usual).

i thought of this song as a result of some things that have been turning over in my mind during the last few weeks. i've been thinking a lot about being humble (or being humbled, by force, which is a totally different animal). over the past 6 months or so, i've been collecting a (virtual) pile of rejection letters from literary agents and publishers who have mostly replied "great work, no thanks" (to paraphrase). and then earlier this week, i got a "no thanks" from a famous poetry retreat for artists of color (who shall remain nameless 'cause i'm a hater at the moment); no "great work" on that one. no feedback at all, actually. at any rate, a series of things (including said rejections) has prompted me to ask myself, "do people just not get it, or am i just not giving what i think i am?" this question, once posed rhetorically aloud, was answered by the fiancé with (after a long lecture)...wait for it, wait for it...a kanye west reference.

for a bit of background, i've had a love/hate relationship with mr. west for years. but to be honest, i've begun to understand him a bit more over the last year or so. and in the midst of this kanye west comparison (as i'm thinking, "did he seriously just compare me to kanye?" and trying to determine if it was an insult or a compliment), i began to identify with 'ye and his larger-than-life ego. i have, as of late, suspected that his ego is the result of many years of having to prove to others that he is as talented as he says he is. and, in fact, he has since conceded this point (check out www.kanyeuniversecity.com/blog and search for "ego," as i'm unable to link). so i've decided to use the kanye method and start telling everyone how great i am. how, in fact, i am the best writer and poet of the 21st century...the maya angelou of my generation! okay, so i'm not really going to do that (nor do i think that way), but i do have a newfound respect for him as an artist who's not modest for the sake of politeness. as a naturally modest (and quite shy) person, i would not choose to emulate his model, but i can take a page from it for my internal dialogue.

so, enough about kanye, as i don't even own any of his music (aside from what he has contributed to some of my favorite artists' work, namely john legend [or "homeschool" as i call him] and estelle). my point is that as artists and as people, we have to remind ourselves of the greatness of our contributions, even when others can't/don't/won't recognize it. now, whether or not you choose to rant onstage at an awards show (or on your blog or social networking page) is at your discretion. but at the minimum, rant within. believe that you are as good as you believe you are (yes, i meant that exactly that way). and if you're not, at least you won't know it :).

they say that i won't last too long on broadway. i'll catch a greyhound bus for home, they all say. but they're dead wrong--i know they are. 'cause i can play THIS HERE GUITAR. and i won't quit 'til i'm a star...on broadway... ~george benson, "on broadway" (mann/weil)

In Search of Gardens...

...scared to have kids and do like daddy did/'cause i'm so scared of failin'... ~anthony hamilton, "comin' from where i'm from"

so many black men are afraid to be fathers (or afraid to try to be good fathers) because of the failures of their own fathers. and i'm sure this is true of most men who lack good father figures, but i'm also sure it's more prevalent in the black community, given our history of fatherlessness, tracing back to slavery.

so, i was recently have a conversation on this very topic. and the prevailing question seemed to be: nature or nurture? what makes the difference between 1) men (of any race and/or background) who become bad fathers (or avoid fatherhood) due to fatherlessness and 2) men who become great fathers despite fatherlessness. for the sake of this conversation, "fatherlessness" refers to the occurence of absent fathers as well as seldom-present or emotionally absent fathers. so, is it simply an innate difference in personality and character of the young man (or can personality even be innate)? or is it a matter of the other male influences in his life? or is it a combination of these and any number of other factors?

as i approach marriage and hopefully parenthood, i am giving more thought to what experiences have made me who i am. as alice walker once wrote, "in search of my mother's garden, i found my own." in my life that means that in beginning to understand my mother as a woman (not just as "mama"), i begin to learn a lot about myself as a woman, and actually, vice versa. and to take it a step further, i'm naturally thinking of my future children's gardens and how they will be shaped by my own.

so, as this began as an examination of the effects of fatherlessness on young men, it seems to have come full circle as an examination of the effects of parents on children. what say you, sister(and brother)garteners?

fathers be good to your daughters/daughters will love like you do/girls become lovers who turn into mothers/so mothers be good to your daughters, too... ~john mayer, "daughters"

Garden Tools...

so, now i have a blog. it's official. i've come up with a theme, a vision, and some ideas. no more excuses, right?

so, welcome to sistergarten. i'll try not to overuse metaphors about kindergarten and gardening, but i am a poet, so i can't make any promises. and if i do, you shouldn't believe them, because my philosophies may change tomorrow.

i envision sistergarten as an interactive space to share, learn, and grow. the space is open to all who enter open and respectfully. that includes the menfolk :). sistergarten is woman-centered, not women-only. and though i innately come from the perspective of a black woman in america, i value and appreciate the experiences of all women and hope to capture that here. as for the men, they contribute to our experiences on myriad levels, so we need to recognize their presence in our gardens (even when they're trampling over the tulips).

so, please feel free to share your views and share this blog with minded friends (they don't have to be like-minded. they just need a decent level of sense about them, lol).

tools needed for this journey: mind, spirit, curiosity, and a decent internet connection.

be. fly.

rhythm