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.

Tattoos and "I Do"s

the possibilities are infinite.



chances are i'll be a tattooed bride.

i have quite a few tattoos, of which, 2 pretty sizable ones show in my superfantastical uber vintage-glam wedding gown. initially, the style of dress i was considering would cover the tattoos, though covering them was coincidence; i happened to be interested in more modest gowns. but as most brides will tell you, what you think you want and what you fall in love with may be from two completely different planets (in some cases that applies to the groom himself).

so i guess i already am a tattooed bride. what i should have said is that chances are tattoos will be on full display at my wedding.

even when i thought my own tattoos would be covered by my then undiscovered wedding dress, i was considering having my brideswomen cover theirs with either their dress styles or tattoo makeup. i think it was partly the assumption that most bridesmaids do cover and partly the knowledge that my mom would prefer it that way. but once i found THE dress and it happened to be one that would show the two prominent tattoos on my upper back (i'm being très vague here, as the fiancé occasionally reads sistergarten and he's not privy to dress information), i had to decide: to cover or not to cover. the more i thought about it (all of this happened in the span of a weekend), the more i began to think about why i was thinking about it at all. covering my tattoos won't make me not tattooed. it will just keep wedding guests from seeing the tattoos. and while that practice may serve a very specific purpose in the workplace, it won't serve me on my wedding day. and while my mother doesn't care for any of my body art, she's very loving and supportive, and i'm sure she'll eventually support my decision to completely be myself on my wedding day. or at least i think she will. maybe. i hope :).

the initial conversation went a little something like this (via text):

me: i'm thinking of not covering my tattoos for the wedding.
mama: what you talkin' 'bout willis?
me: we'll talk tomorrow. get some rest.

she's awesome.

so, i've made the decision that all tattoos great and small will be allowed and welcomed on the bride, brideswomen, and groomsmen alike. for some lovely images of tattooed brides, visit the offbeat bride website.

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...