What ever happened to Saturday mornings when children came downstairs in their pajamas to watch morning cartoons while Moms fixed breakfast fit for a king and Dads looked for stuff that wasn’t really broken to fix around the house. After breakfast and a good washing, everyone in the house would begin their chores. Children raced to hide a number of objects under their beds and in their closets in an attempt to trick their mommies and daddies into believing their rooms were clean. If ever a deceit could be pulled off the children would be free to go outside to find all of the rest of the children who had completed their chores. They would play and run and hide and seek and ride and kick and jump and laugh sometimes even through lunch. But one thing was for certain. The activation of those street lights would change their lives that Saturday and every Saturday to come. Those same lights that had remained tucked into plain sight all day would at some point betray each and every child governed by them. Their Saturday would abruptly end, but it was everything to them while it lasted. I miss that life.
When I was young, I was taught to treat others as you would want to be treated. Some call it Karma. Some call it the Golden Rule. Some just believe it to be righteous living. Whatever it was I became. I’ve given away nail polish to perfect strangers, clothes and accessories to friends that simply complimented or mentioned an appreciation for an item I was wearing at the time. Money to family and friends. Time. You name it, I’ve given it. However, I’ve only recently become someone that was able to receive. I’ve always shied away from compliments or offset them with a mention of some flaw. I’ve refused money for things I know I needed at the time. I’ve refused help and assistance in many forms. It wasn’t until recently I realized through all of my generosity, I have, in someways also refused to be loved as the woman God created me to be. I’ve always been capable of loving others but I’ve always had a problem with truly allowing them to love me back. Through very persistent friends and family members that refuse to take my “no” as their final answer, I’ve learned that it’s also okay to receive. It refuels. I treplenished. It rejuvenates and all of that is OK. No one has ever gotten very far on an empty tank.
Good Morning Bookers! I’ve lived a pretty fragile life beginning at a very young age. Through that I became extremely independent. Almost to a fault. In growing older and wiser, my hardest lesson has been learning that it’s okay to ask. Ask for anything. Anything you want. Anything you need. Clarity. Support. Fantasies. Desires. Favors. Help. Money. Prayer. WHATEVER! If you never ask you’ll never know whether or not you will receive. AND the most important part is you take away God’s opportunity to bless you AND allow someone else of HIS CHOOSING to be a blessing to you.
What’s real sexy is to be approached by a guy with bloodshot eyes, standing in front of any random corner/liquor store, wreaking of alcohol and looking like a professional liquor connoisseur and water conservationist. And whew, please don’t yell “Hey, You a fine tall sexy stallion!” That’s really makes me feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside (NOT). My mama told me not to talk to strangers when I was a child. However, I was once scolded by an associate of mine when I explained that under no circumstances do I feel obligated to even whisper a simple “Hello” to strange men on the street. He disagreed and considered that behavior to be rude. Well, call me Helen Keller ‘cause I hear no evil, see no evil.
Between the vagabonds walking around mopped headed with baggy skinny fit jeans and women getting kidnapped, raped, chopped and screwed like there’s no heaven or hell, I think I’ll take my chances being rude.
But you tell me. Are salutations deemed necessary regardless of the situation? Step up to the mic. What’s the What?
Ole School 80’s Crazy: Our first date was enjoyable. Karaoke and laughs over a decent meal. It’s birthday time for me and my girls and I celebrate all month. Well, Mr. Ole School 80’s Crazy is growing impatient and is asking why I haven’t shared any birthday celebration festivities with him. It’s NBA Championship time so I suggest we watch one of the games together tomorrow (which would have been Sunday). Sunday morning, Mr. Ole School 80’s Crazy calls and informs me that he’s at the Wharf buying seafood. (Passing Thought: That sounds good. I hope he’s not planning to invite me over his house. It’s too soon for all of that.) He explains some story about going over somebody’s house to prepare it or something. I’m now realizing that I found it often difficult to follow his style of conversation. Sometime before we got off the phone we agreed to meet at about 7-8PM at the same Sports Bar we’d originally met in. Earlier during our courtship Mr. Ole School 80’s Crazy had asked where I lived. I gave him the same general answer I give everyone. River Terrace. Anyone from this city knows exactly where that is. Around 7ish, Mr. Ole School 80’s Crazy calls and asks me for my address.
SSSSSCCCCCRREEEAAAAACCCCHHHH. Ummmm, that would be a NO SIR. Anyway, we finally agreed to meet at a mutual location. Well I get there and Mr. Ole School 80’s Crazy politely asks the waiter to bring him a carry out tray upon our arrival and seating. Wait a minute. We haven’t even ordered drinks. Why do you need a carry out tray. Well, ladies and gentlemen. He had decided to bring his very own seafood including Steamed Alaskan Crab Legs and Spiced Shrimp into the sports bar we had chosen to go to to watch the game. Ummmmmm, yea, so I really don’t think this is going to work out and I exit stage-right.