Shaved Legs

I shaved my legs this morning, just as I shaved them yesterday and the day before, as

Far back as fifth grade when an older boy looked at the soft brown hair highlighted against my pale

Skin and made a disparaging remark about my burgeoning femininity. His words inflicted

Shame on my body. Where before I’d felt they were a part of me, now my legs were alien

Enemies, beings that had sprouted unsightly fur seemingly overnight with no advance

Warning. As soon as school dismissed I hurried home and beseeched my mom for my own

Razor. Oh, you don’t want to start shaving, just yet, she said, Once started, you cannot stop.

Yet she gave in, instructing me in the depilatory arts. And damned if she wasn’t right.

  

Make it Stop

I am a white middle-aged woman. I once accidentally drove with an expired license tag for over a month. When I was stopped by a young police officer I batted my eyelashes and got a warm smile and nothing more than a warning to “take care of that as soon as possible, miss!”

When he pulled me over for the offense, I have to admit that my heart began beating faster, and I’m sure my blood pressure shot up. I had no idea why I’d been stopped, but having been taught my entire life that police officers are there to protect and serve I sat quietly in my seat as he approached my car.

“Are you aware that your license plate expired in March?” He asked.

“Oh!” I exclaimed, “I had no idea. I’m so sorry!”

“License, registration and proof of insurance, please,” he requested.

“Sure, no problem.”

I fished my license and insurance card out of my purse and leaned over to get the registration out of the glove compartment. It took me awhile because my hands were shaking a bit. Finally I found the correct document and presented it to the officer with a smile.

“I can’t believe I didn’t take care of this! We are in the middle of a transfer and this just got lost in the shuffle.”

“Oh? Where are you moving?”

“Dodge City,” I said. 

We chatted briefly about the distance to Dodge City from Great Bend and how he had an aunt who lived there. He then gave me a dimpled smile and sent me off with a warning.

As he drove away in his squad car I sat relieved. Whew! Dodged a bullet, as we say.

For black men in this country, the standards are different. They do not always get the feeling that the police are there to serve and protect, and with good reason. Routine traffic stops like the one I recounted often have fatal consequences for the black driver and/or his passenger(s). In other words, they don’t get to dodge the bullet.

We have a serious problem in this country. There is a different standard for people of color. Blacks are detained for “walking while black” if they don’t appear to belong in certain neighborhoods. They are profiled and stopped for minor traffic incidents and often they do not survive. 

And then, at a peaceful Black Lives Matter demonstration in Dallas, Texas, a disturbed young black man did the unthinkable, opening fire on police officers who were mingling with and offering protection to those assembled. He killed five officers and left others injured. Five men who were protecting the rights of citizens to lawfully protest didn’t get to dodge those bullets that ended their lives.

I’ve cried a lot this week. Cried for two young black men who joined many others who’ve been killed for minor infractions and for the policemen whose lives were lost on Friday night. We can mourn them all. There is no conflict of interest. 

The right wing media has begun demonizing these black victims. Rumors are flying: “he was a bank robber,” “he might’ve been a pedophile….” Even before the blood had dried on the pavement their names were being dragged through the media mud, without a shred of evidence or proof of either being true.

The Dallas event, a peaceful, unity building affair, has likewise been painted by the right in a completely different color: “I hear they (Blacks) were taunting and threatening the police,” “I hear it was really ugly down there.” And yet, I have friends of all ethnicities who attended and said it was a life affirming event, right up until the shooting.

This didn’t start out as a condemnation of the right wing media, but the more I wrote the more angry at them I became. People who listen exclusively to Rush Limbaugh and his ilk, or watch only FOX news are being fed a line that is not only false, but dangerous. 

I want it to just stop. I want us to remember that we are all in this together, that the rights of every single human being on the face of this earth are equally important. I don’t want special treatment based on the color of my skin. 

Peace, people. I’m going to go cry some more.

  

As My Tea Gently Steeps.

I quite like this piece by ellenbest24.wordpress.com. I hope you’ll visit her site.

Singing Life

songs of the many,
sweet, soft voices
young and hope-filled or
gravelly, world weary,
ancient,
tinged with loss.

songs of experience,
joy imbued,
world on a string, or
blues immersed,
beer soaked,
whisky nourished.

there is a time
for every song to be heard,
even the lyrics
that tear at the heart
must be given voice
under the sun.

likewise in the midst
of despair, joyous
exclamations may erupt
guiding injured
human souls
beyond the pain.

  

WordPress Milestone

  
I knew my second anniversary with WordPress was imminent, but couldn’t remember the exact date. Thank goodness one of us was keeping tabs.

Two years ago today I was sitting in the exact same spot in which I find myself now. I was bored and lonely and addicted to more than one computer game: Bejeweled Blitz, Plants vs. Zombies, and a couple with names I don’t recall, but one had to do with building castles and the other with raising dragons. It was a sad life. 

Oh, I had Facebook, but my tendency to say exactly what I thought had alienated a good many of my friends. My liberal political leanings aren’t shared by many of my family members or childhood friends. 

To compensate for my loneliness I’d begun reading a couple of friends’ blogs. One had just started hers and it was so charming and comforting that I began thinking perhaps I could do something similar. In the weeks prior I’d had some interesting and mildly humorous incidents in my life and thought, “I can do this! All I have to do is record all the goofy things in my life.”

Now, as awkward as I am, I couldn’t write a daily blog based solely on personal mishaps, and soon I was just writing filler until something good came along. Sometimes I did something wacky on purpose just so I could write about it. If you look back through my early archives I’m sure those posts are easy to spot.

Then I had an epiphany of sorts and just began writing for myself. That’s when the poetry started, along with a few short pieces of fiction. Occasionally I’m asked why I’ve never published anything and my answers vary. Honestly, I’m not sure anything I’ve written is worthy of being published outside of WordPress, and I’m clueless in the business of publishing, to boot.

I still compose and publish everything on my iPhone, and I still publish at least one post per day. 

Reading my stats is pary of the fun of publishing on WordPress.

My favorite part of blogging is the connection I’ve made with other bloggers from all across the world. I read posts from writers in Great Britain and India, Germany and Italy, Australia and South Africa, among many others. We comment on each others’ lives and offer our own insights. We learn from one another.

I’m fascinated to read of the differences in our cultures and comforted to note how very much alike we are. We all just want the best possible lives for ourselves and our loved ones. 

Every now and again I decide it’s time to stop blogging. I mean, it’s a good deal of work and there are likely much more profitable ways to spend my days. But then some random thought pops into my head demanding I write about it, and I begin frantically punching letters into words and words into sentences on my iPhone keyboard before the idea fades into oblivion. 

After two years of blogging I’m still somewhat of a pariah on Facebook; although, I’ve found a couple of groups of like minded friends with whom to share congenial conversations–some I’ve met through WordPress. I’ve weaned myself from every computer game except Words With Friends. I’m less lonely and better informed. Blogging has, corny as it might sound, saved my life, or at least my sanity. 

Now, what should I write about tomorrow?

Peace, people.

One Question

http://hw-mobile.worldstarhiphop.com/u/vid/2016/01/xojL4Vq0C6a7_mobile.mp4?ri=512000&rs=850
I hope with all my heart that the attached link will work. This is the best argument/non-argument for racial equality.

Peace, people.

Inefficiency Expert

Here’s a riddle: If a domestic goddess has spent the morning doing laundry and ends up with a load of towels, washcloths, undies, and socks to be folded and subsequently put away, how many trips will it take her to complete the job?

Answer: (choose one)

A) 4 (one to load the washer, one to transfer load to the dryer, one to carry the items to a place for folding, one to carry the items to their storage place)

B) 25+ (one to load the washer, one to transfer the load, one to carry the items to a place of folding, 21+ roundtrips to put away items by category and/ or purpose.)

If you picked A, you don’t know this domestic goddess very well. B is the proper response. Why, you might ask, would anyone be dumb enough to operate with B as the template? 

My Fitbit made me do it.  

sorry for the blur, but the number shown is the number of steps I’ve taken today just doing laundry.
 

July in Tallahassee, Florida, is hot as blue blazes and humid, to boot. Exercising outside is best done early in the morning or late in the evening. Since I slept until 8 a.m., I missed out on the prime walking time. 

Studly Doright feels slighted if I go walking during the evening (besides, that’s when the creepy crawlies are about), so I had to find a way to get my steps in without leaving Doright Manor. Thus, I’ve become an inefficiency expert. 

As the day progresses, I’ll make multiple trips from the laundry room to the master bedroom to hang clothes one at a time. If I leave the house I’ll gather shopping bags separately for individual trips to and from the car. At the grocery store I’ll determine the route that is least efficient, often crisscrossing the store a dozen times.

For me, this exercise routine is second nature. I’ve always done every task possible in the most illogical way, so capitalizing on this tendency is a win-win. Now, with my Fitbit I have a witness. And it has yet to scoff at my methods. I can’t say the same for Studly Doright.

Peace, people.

  

Wings

Flying seemed like a fine idea, so she stepped onto the balcony and climbed up on the wrought

Iron railing. Too bad, she thought, her wings hadn’t yet come in. Maybe, like wisdom

Teeth there’d be a firm pushing through tender skin as molars tearing gums. A fresh, 

Lilac-scented breeze brushed her cheeks, while the warm spring air caressed her bare 

Arms. It would be a shame to leave on such a pleasant day. Maybe tomorrow her wings

Would sprout, the skies casting grey instead of blue, the wind full of ragweed causing her to sneeze 

Vigorously. Then she would fly away swiftly just to prove she could. Carefully, she 

Climbed down and plucked a lilac from a nearby bush. Ignoring the odd tingling between 

Her shoulder blades, she tucked the flower behind one ear and slipped inside the French 

Doors where beige plush carpeting tickled the bottoms of her bare feet eliciting a giggle.

  

Room for Words

  
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