Music on My Mind

In retrospect, it’s been that kind of month.  And it’s been a good thing.  You see, while writing this blog, I usually listen to music, not TV.

Early in the month, it was a Sunday, I began organizing CD's already downloaded into my laptop into music lists. Thus I've got the option for continuous music, of my choosing, for hours at a time.  The Sunday I moved my Christian-Gospel CD’s to a list on the laptop, listening was practically like being at church.

Another time, I made a list of songs I determined ‘Michael Jackson –mellow’.   I didn’t realize that remarkable performer wrote so very many of his songs - nineteen of the thirty on the HISTORY double CD.   In addition, it was a welcome bonus last Thursday, when Facebook guided me to an online seat at Grauman’s Chinese Theater in Los Angeles for the ceremony immortalizing Michael Jackson’s talent. 

Also, for the first time in my life, this month I bought music over the internet, a couple songs, that were downloaded to my laptop.  That was fun, especially the price and the convenience.  One talent/CD was new to me – Paul Wilburn and a choir singing “The Song of Moses”.  I so enjoy the quiet peace it brings to my soul.  The other I bought was Etta James’ wonderful rendition of “At Last”.

Yesterday, I listened to Johnny Cash, an anthology DVD. His repertoire in a solid, clear voice tells thoughtful human condition stories, never failing to take me to another place.

Still, I didn’t realize how much music had impressed me this month until today.  I was busy researching what's been going on in Congress since the State of the Union speech last week.   The radio was playing popular music.  The disk jockey announced, “Coming up next, Rihanna and We Found Love in a Hopeless Place.”  For a change, the disk jockey's words caught my attention.  I was going to hear Rihanna!

I recalled having asked my granddaughter, “Can Rihanna sing?  Does she have a good voice or is she just a personality?”  The response was a resounding, “OH YES, she’s great!” (Or something like that.) I was well aware of Rihanna's hair, face and fashion but not her voice.  I listened closely and now I know she is a wonderful singer.

There’s more I could mention.  I never knew ‘Adele’, until this month – a fabulous singer.   

As I sign off, “Lets Stay Together” is soulfully rocking my emotions.  Music is wonderful. 

. . .against all odds. . .Sickle-Cell Disease

The first three words I’ve chosen to help introduce today’s post are associated with a number of creative projects by a variety of artists and organizations.  They are, however, an appropriate backdrop for the life my father lived to provide all he could for his wife and family.  ‘Against all odds’ also defines the struggle I observed, much later, as my son successfully navigated a life focused on family and career.

Today, I will talk about my son.  (Yes, my father’s stellar experiences are shared in Black Star Girl, my memoir.)

I had a son, John Darin Stith.  He was born in 1961.  He died in 2011. 

‘Darin’ was diagnosed with Sickle-Cell Disease at the age of 8 months.  We, his dad and I, had no previous knowledge about the chronic genetic condition.  Immediately we learned there was no cure and best-case scenario the life expectancy for our afflicted baby boy was 40 years.  ‘Not To Worry’ was our attitude and summarily optimistic response to the dire news.   “A cure will be forthcoming.”  We would do the very best for him – healthy regimens, food, exercise, environment, plus surround him with love, comfort, laughter, and care so when a sickle cell crisis did happen, with medications and treatment he would soon be back on the road to a normal life.

Treatment protocols did improve the prognosis for being able to delay and fight against the always-debilitating sickle-cell crisis events.   Hospitalization and intravenous fluids, pain medicine, antibiotics, plus oxygen and blood transfusions would get him back on his feet again.

A cure for Sickle-Cell Disease never came.

Through it all, year after year, Darin forged ahead.  He managed a quality life, focused on achieving his ambitions.  He pursued his education, fell in love, married, bought a home, and had two children; all the while my son worked and thrived in a business career he loved.

In between living this life, with little warning, sickle-cell crises would send him to the hospital’s emergency room then intensive care unit, cardiac care and at last, home again.  Each time there were very necessary new and precise diet plans and health management dictates to be merged into his daily habits.   All was critical in order for his body to compensate for various organs now functionally impaired due to a lifetime of crises resulting in a lack of blood and oxygen to those vital organs.

Against so many odds, my son survived to a within a few months of his 50^th birthday. 

In the end, his deteriorated heart and kidneys conspired to enable his final rest on September 14, 2011.

We mourn him, miss him, and cherish his memory.  I grieve for his presence and at the same time I know he does rest in peace.   I am grateful.

If you ever see an opportunity to lend a voice to the call for finding a cure for Sickle-Cell Disease, please do so.

And Your Day?

‘Daddy insisted Sunday was a day of rest whether we went to church or not; no one was expected to work, not even do chores.’ So begins a paragraph in my memoir Black Star Girl.  As a youngster, going to Sunday school and church service was the expected routine.   Mother fixed a special Sunday dinner, and, we ‘rested’.   (I remember reading books and especially reading and rereading the Sunday comics, listening to the radio, and quietly entertaining myself.)  It was a relaxed day.

Raising my own family, though we may not have gone to church every Sunday, I continued to hold Sunday in a different light; a day of family resting and relaxing catching up with each other – not trying to accomplish some task.  I’m sure my motivation evolved from being taught the biblical story of creation; the Lord rested ‘on the seventh day’.  My thinking is it’s a good thing, for what ever reason, that there be a day in our hectic lives, once a week, when we mortals slow down, be rejuvenated personally and with one another.  I think it is a healthy plan.

"You're dreaming," you say.  I know. With more on everyone’s plate today than my parents or I even imagined, adults and children, from a young age, have commitments that leave little time for self, let alone family bonding. For me, I must admit, in recent years, the best quality time I’ve spent with the young people in my family (or their parents) was while filling a role helping rush them to their next activity.

Nevertheless, I'll continue an effort to control the world around me to realize the benefits of a planned day of rest and relaxation.  I’ve done a good job this Sunday.  

History - Briefly

History is a ‘Like’ of mine.  Those of you on Facebook know what that means.  A good dose of HISTORY comes my way everyday on my Facebook Page.

Today is the anniversary of the death of England’s King Henry VIII.   It happened in 1547.  My how time flies!

I shudder thinking of Henry VIII.   Married six times; two marriages ended when he had those once loved ladies beheaded.

Anne Boleyn, I knew about, for sure.  Today’s whetted interest in the gruesome King’s life embellished my knowledge.  Now I know his other decapitated wife was Catherine Howard.

Reminded of both of these historical facts and much more, my thinking – “So much for the ‘good ole days!”

What Made You Laugh Today?

What a great day this has been.   For some reason I’m cloaked in a feeling of well-being.  Why am I happy?  I remember laughing, smiling frequently, but cannot recall one humorous sight, event, story or joke.

I got my haircut.  In the past there’s been a few horrible haircutting experiences.   Once, unhappy, driving home, sobbing, tears were so heavy I had to pull off the highway and get myself under control.  Well, that wasn’t the story this time.  I was thrilled with my new cut. Looking in the mirror, I grinned, a wide grin, because I was pleased.

At one point today, I walked through a door graciously opened for me and there, sitting midway the room, was a woman I used to chat with somewhat regularly but I had not seen for a year perhaps. What a delight.  We laughed and talked.   Joy caused that laughter.

Earlier, I reviewed my checkbook postings worried because the ATM’s reported balance was considerably less than I expected.  I found the error.  It was mine.  For almost a month, I had failed to account for debit card purchase amounts. Amazed about my carelessness and yes, relieved to resolve the mystery … shaking my head side to side, I smiled.

Then there was the great conversation I had with a young lady, a teenager I’m thinking.   I was interested in her middle school curriculum.  Telling about Language Arts, she volunteered that for some reason she wrote really well.   Once her teacher was so pleased with her writing, she was asked to read the completed homework assignment to the class.  “I have it with me. You want to read it?” she asked.  It was fabulous, very impressive work.  More than that, her quiet self-confidence and pride of accomplishment was encouraging.  The future is in good hands.  I smiled, proud of her.

Bottom line, for me, laughter is good medicine and so are smiles!  And neither have to be generated by a joke, visual or vocal!  What made you laugh today?

Apathy Not Allowed

This descendant of a slave comes from a proud line of independent hardworking, forward planning, and thinking men and woman.  That’s why I wanted my children to know the details of my family’s life before they were born – why I wrote a book.  I wanted Black Star Girl to inspire self-reliance and instill young people with the thinking and action qualities I appreciated in my parents.

“Things will change and you must be ready for different opportunities,” John W. Woods, Jr. told his children.  It was in the early ‘50’s.  It was when segregation and discrimination stood in the way of black men, women, and children being able to do what they wanted.  My father’s life was managed by racist laws and society, as was every black person.  I, for one, followed my dad’s sound advice and had a professional career in Corporate America.

Today, I was thinking we, the electorate, have all become a deftly managed people.  Those of us who have not succumbed to apathy are readily available at the whim of our multi-faceted media to debate the issues backroom strategy puts before us.  I don’t notice infrastructure deterioration, Job Development and our banking industry’s insufficient response to consumer needs among those issues given detailed attention.

I hope, while local and national election campaigning is consuming the time, energy, planning and performance of those seeking to hold office (and their supporters and party members) and essentially no other business is getting done, we the voters will not be apathetic. 

Ours is a democratic system of government - of the people, for the people, by the people. We should participate fully in the business at hand.  Gather information and be ready to Vote for the candidate of your choice in every election. Will you?

State of The Union -- TFOTM

Thoughtfully considering my personal assessment of the State of the Union, after listening to President Obama and the Republican response, I went looking for The Facts of The Matter.  Could I find facts, numbers, and data supporting what I believe?  We are doing better.

A fact is, the average annual unemployment rate this January is 8.5%.   The rate reported last year, same time, was 9.4%.  The State of the Union, the condition of our nation in this important aspect is better.  I firmly believe men and women who want to work should have work.  In fact, let’s get a National Job Drive up and running.

There I go, fantasizing.  Why would I suggest our political leaders do something innovative, now? They’re solidly into another election campaign season and it’s going to stay rough – for you and me. We’ll have two and a half political parties jousting amongst themselves constantly.  The objective: to insure they do nothing that enables the other to actually contribute good for the benefit of the majority. There will be candidate promises, declarations, fact twisting, words, and more words from one end of the country to the other.  At the same time, ‘ain’t mucha nothin’ gonna be accomplished in Washington. 


  

WHO IS TIM THOMAS?

I’ll tell you who Tim Thomas is.  He’s a professional hockey player, hmmm … why did I almost write ‘hockey puck’.  He’s a newsmaker – ‘snubbed the White House' - the headlines report.  I never heard of him before.  Today, tho’ he’s secured a corner of the national stage for a few hours.

Who has snubbed the White House?  I did the search.  It seemed to me it’s happened a lot since January 20, 2009, when Barack Obama took the Presidential oath of office on the Capital steps there in Washington, DC.  Yes, I’m race sensitive, not at all race fixated, just race sensitive.   I say, “understandable”.  I was born and educated when segregation and discrimination was the law of the land, either overtly or subtly.  The struggle for Civil Rights was just gearing up during my college years.  I overcame what was - to be who I am - a teeny bit flawed.  When my President, these days, is snubbed, I’m nauseous and my back rankles. He is there by the vote of the people after all. (And, I welcome your ‘search’.  You may be surprised to see where my political preferences rested.)  I have digressed. 

Who has snubbed the White House before Mr. Thomas?   Then Pittsburgh Steeler James Harrison in 2006 snubbed Bush’43 and Obama, as well, in 2009; Dan Hampton a former Chicago Bear also snubbed the White House last fall.  So Tim Thomas joins a small class, one I do not appreciate.  My pollyanna personality thrives on ‘doing the right thing’ or graciously being absent.  Making a political speech to decline an invitation extended by the President of the United States to visit the house that belongs to all of us, irks me.  

Tim Thomas could have gone, as a member of the celebrated winning team, I wish he had been there.  He could have posed with his victorious team, looking proud and smart. He would have been able to bring to small children his first hand view of this government of ours in action.  Using his free speech he could prominently display the group photo and use the experience to awe and inspire our youth and their involvement in government to make this land of ours the grand America he envisions.   Perhaps his visit to Washington would have done much to impress his little fans to VOTE as soon as they can, for whomever they want to contribute to the decisions that form the quality town, city, State, or America they prefer.  Unlike competitive sports, the VOTE tally determines the winner of the prize. 

Blue Monday

The beginning of this day is gray, but I don’t think at all ‘blue’ in the sense of being a ‘blue Monday’. (Yes, I know there is a designated ‘blue Monday’, it was last week, the third Monday in January.)  Anyway, no one is unhappy and depressed in this home today.  It’s supposed to reach 52 degrees.  The snow, untouched on portions of my driveway, should melt freely.  But it is Monday and today I wanted to write about ‘blue’, Blue Ivy.

The level of interest I have for the reasoning that resulted in Blue Ivy being the perfect name for a new baby far exceeds my thoughts for why Apple was the perfect name given to another baby girl some years ago.  Each of my brand new babies was also the Apple of my Eye.  But, why Blue Ivy?

Well, blue is an absolutely lovely hue, in fact my favorite. Blue, historically the color assigned to a baby boy, thus is not a top of the mind rationale for the name selection in this case. Blue is serene, to me, denotes peace and tranquility.  Blue is royal.  But ‘Blue Ivy’, I’m puzzled.

After considerable thought, I gave my most cherished brand new Bulldog puppy, the surname “Blue”.  Notarized on his AKC registered papers, the official name of that beautiful bulldog was Pugslee Woods Blue.  Pugslee being a creation derived from his father’s name (Pugsly) and my middle name (Lee); Woods gave him another family name, my maiden name. The last name, Blue was absolutely ideal, a tribute to my four-year old grandson’s relentless begging for the puppy.  That loving little boy was also gung-ho for - not the Red, nor the Green, nor the Yellow but the BLUE Power Ranger.

Perhaps Blue Ivy’s father (or mother) also preferred the Blue Power Ranger!

Life Stories

A story continues. . .A pang of sadness slowed my activity as I saw the headline that Joe Paterno had passed.   May he rest in peace. 

            His life, one of high glory and honor, has ended while questions are being answered and issues resolved.  News reports have me seeing his glory and honor, rightly earned and applauded, as now overshadowed.  I am sad about that. My reason for even weighing in on this is to lift up how important it is, to ourselves and to others, to be alert and discerning individuals as we handle our responsibilities day by day.  I am often criticized for how I question pertinent detail.  I will continue to do so.

A page turns. . .Gabrielle Giffords announced she is resigning her Congressional seat.  Unfathomable tragedy brought this about.  Yet, prayer, I believe, and her unbelievable strength, resiliency, determination, plus the skill, dedication and perseverance of the medical community brought this about, i.e., – Congresswoman Giffords made the announcement.  Think about that magnificent fact. No One Made It for Her.  She was able.  I Say, Thank You, Dear God.  And, I believe we will hear from her again, from Washington if she so desires.  The page will turn again.

A life ends. . .This week Etta James, a fabulous rhythm and blues singer from ‘back in the day’, passed away.  May she rest in peace.  Ms. James had been critically ill for a while.  I remember her talent and a passionate song style that appealed to my romantic daydreaming.

            The more significant memory for me, though, may be Etta James, not singing her trademark song “At Last” for President and Mrs. Obama at an Inaugural Ball. Beyoncé, who had portrayed the legendary singer in the movie Cadillac Records, performed the song.  A beautiful rendition – perhaps I might have thought it was Etta if it had been only vocal and not visual.

            I can’t put my hand on the 45rpm I thought I had, but at my first opportunity, having never seen the movie, I will rent the DVD of Cadillac Records.  Etta James’ memory lingers on for me.

When Weather Permits

I allow myself to do exactly what I want to do, moment-to-moment, when weather permits.  This snowy Saturday was such a day.  .  .  a pressureless day.  (Could 'pressureless' possibly wind up being designated the best new word of 2012? First time I've seen it used in a sentence.)  Anyway, I’m sure you know I’m saying, i.e., it was a relaxing day.

Oh, I shoveled snow – I had to since snow-packed footprints on walks and steps aggravate me.  And reading’s a favorite relaxing habit of mine.  Thus, I shoveled my way to the morning Record buried under more than 3” of the stuff on the front walk.  I was back inside soon enough, cozy with my daily paper and morning cup of coffee.

Checking Facebook Friend news has become a welcome and relaxing ritual everyday.  The beautiful snow scenes posted encouraged me to continue snuggling inside.  Learning a friends’ mother had suffered a stroke saddened and humbled me.  She is on the mend. (Please pray for her and for the well being of all those sick.) 

I watched a movie…was going to flip away from it then knew it would be good for my brain – the kid was a scientist. It was a Disney animated film I had never heard of, “Meet the Robinsons”.  It was one of those time machine stories, kept me untangling ‘then’ and ‘now’ characters.

Later surfing TV, while pulling together material for next month’s presentation about writing my book, Black Star Girl, I stumbled upon a VH1 reality show called “Love & Hip Hop”.  Boy, these reality shows!  The world has become an enticing stage, hasn’t it?  With lights, camera, action!

                                *     *     *     *     *

Was told today of a little boy who ‘just doesn’t like to read’.  I personally know of three teenagers who ‘hate’ to read.  That saddens me because reading fosters thinking and thinking leads to imagination then creativity which insures progress.  That’s my thinking.  I’m also thinking the proliferation of visual entertainment may be the deterrent to young people appreciating a good book.

Reading remains my favorite relaxing activity, whether weather permits, or not.

A Movie Review

Red Tails, the new movie about the Tuskegee Airmen opened in theaters today, and we saw it early this morning.

I’m no stranger to the Tuskegee Airmen's story.  The group was formed when I was a little girl. I learned of their struggle for respect in the face of racism, and finally the fighter pilots' heroic contributions in World War II, as it was all happening. Daily, my brothers and I would listen in on the grownups' conversations to know what was going on as war news came to them. 

This George Lucas film, which I deem an inside story of the Tuskegee Airmen, entertains, thrills, and warms your heart.  It is raw and real, as characters and dialogue afford thorough insight into the role discrimination played as battle strategy was planned and executed at that time.

Honestly I wasn’t overjoyed about going to a war story movie.  Harsh noise, shooting, fighting, bombing, battles and destruction I don’t like.  Red Tails included all of the above along with strong camaraderie, challenged friendships, pride in accomplishment, and love.  It is a winning story, beautifully told. I was ecstatic about the experience.

Oh yes, we learned 92 others were in the theater with us for that 10:30 a.m. first viewing this first day of Red Tails’ release.  When the film ended, putting on my coat, only mentally joining in the applause, absorbed in reading the credits, I told myself, “You will see this again.” 

Mothers - Safety and Security

Home from college one summer, I remember my mother saying with pride, “none of my children have ever broken a bone.” Throughout a childhood of fun, sometimes reckless, in Zanesville, Ohio, then in northern Ohio - Williamsfield, dairy-farming country - not one of my four brothers, three sisters, nor I suffered a broken arm, broken leg, broken anything.  Mother’s pride-filled claim held throughout her lifetime. 

I’ve thought, also with pride, “none of my children have ever been fingerprinted.”  Didn’t actually speak the words, and likely only acknowledged the thought while watching the fingerprinting of culprits on TV.  Raising my kids I hoped and prayed they would act in accordance with their quality upbringing.  I was a working mother.  I relied on their moment-to-moment good judgment in choosing what they did and whom they did it with, and also on them not being in the wrong place at the wrong time.  In those years, as far as I was concerned, there was no good connotation related to my child being fingerprinted.

It’s all changed. Fingerprinting is now used for security purposes.  Parents are encouraged to have young children fingerprinted. Employees in certain industries are fingerprinted.  Some Boards of Education require their elected members to be fingerprinted.  Many of those Board members reject the requirement as an unnecessary invasion of privacy.  (I tend to agree and will be attentive to how the conflict is resolved.)

Recently I learned of a major bank requiring fingerprinting in order to cash a check, written on that bank, but presented by a person who did not have an account with them.  “I had to pay $6 and be fingerprinted,” complained my obviously devastated daughter that evening in a telephone conversation.

No longer can this mother claim, "none of my children have ever been fingerprinted".

10% Income Tax Cut Across The Board!

Could it be true I will have more money to spend because the State is asking for less from every Income Tax payer?  

The provision, proposed for my State’s Fiscal -Year 2012 budget, is the leading news item this morning.

Haven’t seen the details; television news and talk show personalities repetitiously embedded the scant and somehow provocative information in my brain as I fixed my morning coffee. 

No I’m not happy!  I’m chagrined.

How in the world will the government function for the benefit of every sector of the population with less income -10% less?  Times are tough, have been tough for several years now.

The unemployment rate in the State is above 8%.  That’s a lot of people not working, not bringing in a paycheck, men and women who used to have jobs, health benefits, savings plans, a means to provide for their families.  Keeping hope alive in the household where the breadwinner is unemployed or underemployed is vital for healthy communities and to realize a high level of student achievement in the school systems.  Optimism and consistent supportive attention to education is difficult to maintain when the tragedy of job loss drives what happens behind the closed doors of home.

Thinking about it, no doubt there will be a Job Development Initiative in the 2012 fiscal plans for my State.   My government leaders must know JOBS are the critical necessity, not a 10% reduction in income tax receipts.

The Gift of Money

I would be a contented philanthropist.  If only I had money.  I’ve discovered giving away money is one of the most gratifying experiences for me.  Definitely, I am not a person with money to arbitrarily give away.  Perhaps the largest sum I’ve handed to an unexpecting person was five-dollars.  

It was Christmas season, in fact Christmas evening three or four years ago.  I had spent the festive day with a family in South Jersey, and as planned, although a bit later than I had hoped to, I began the drive north to my home, all by myself.  It was cold, and very close to dark.  Snow and ice were banked on roadsides. Neither snow nor rain was falling but the dampness in the air promised fresh snow might be my companion before I completed the little more than 100-mile drive.

The night was quiet, very few cars on the local streets and highways.  It would be an uneventful trip.  I didn’t need gas, wasn’t in trouble, but I would top off my tank; a habit of mine before getting on the turnpike.  If I don’t, what would have been a nice drive is ruined because I fantasize about getting caught in unbelievable traffic congestion and running out of gas because of an idling engine. So, if at all possible I start with a full tank.  That night the nearby gas station was closed.  It was Christmas. Not worried I continued on to another station I preferred, anyway.  They pumped a favorite brand.

Some six or seven miles farther along, out on the highway was the station.  It looked deserted except the lights at the pumps told me it wasn’t.  I positioned my vehicle as required, gas tank driver’s side ready for the attendant.  There he was, late teens I would guess, if that old, coming from the building, pushing a cap onto his blond head, not rushing, meandering, shoulders sagging.  “Fill it up, please,” I said pleasantly, for sure, but not overly smiling.   I figured, pleasant was enough, after all he obviously didn’t appreciate having to work on Christmas.

Staying with the gas nozzle refueling, he didn’t offer conversation and neither did I.  “ Sixteen dollars,” he said having finished.   I gave him a ten, a five and a one.  “Thanks,” he mumbled.  Then I handed him a five-dollar bill. “Merry Christmas,” I said.  His look was shock, disbelief and gratitude. It was a look that made me think he wanted to buy something and all he needed was five dollars more and now he had it. 

“Thank you,” he said, looking directly at me, “Merry Christmas”.

His face that moment is one of my best random memories, my favorite gift that year. 

.

In Summary

The hour is approaching when the Holiday is coming to a close.

Not going to say much on the subject.

Did that yesterday.

Unfortunately though, I can’t seem to wrap my mind around a different subject to introduce or explore.

After all, it is Dr. King’s Holiday.  And, it was a struggle over many years to make this newest Federal Holiday a reality.

And as I posted yesterday, his life’s work is an emotional look back for me.  This Monday evening I’m still engaged in the day and what it means.

Through our nation's Civil Rights Movement, equality and justice for all became the law of this land of ours - in my lifetime, thanks to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. 

In summary, it was an extremely difficult time that must always be remembered for the life altering sacrifices of many and for what the successful struggle meant to America and to the world.  

The Hero of My Lifetime

Melancholy…. I didn’t acknowledge the dull sense of sadness I was experiencing until the sun was low in the late afternoon sky.  Hours of listening to my Christian/gospel music this Sunday at home my spirit was lifted, I thought I was content.   But, as it does each year when the Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. birthday is celebrated, melancholy visited me.

Today, my mind relived the mayhem during my lifetime that was Dr. King’s non-violent Civil Rights Movement; saw and heard the people, mostly black but many whites also--all ages - men, women, and teenagers, spat upon, attacked by dogs, hosed, jailed, beat, kicked, maimed, even killed as they persisted in demanding fair treatment, equal rights for all in the democracy we lived in called America. 

“Get your education”, my daddy told me as a child, “one day you will have opportunities; will not be discriminated against because of your race.  America will change.” My father died in 1960. He saw only the beginning of the last chapters of concentrated attention by Dr. King and so many other folk dedicated to right wrongs and bring about justice and social change.   I’m fully aware that due to their courageous sacrifices, and me being prepared, my father’s words became my good life.   (Referencing Black Star Girl, my memoir.)

Yes, remembering Dr. King, shot by a sniper at 39 years of age, and his remarkable leadership from at least the age of 26, fills me with melancholy, but also tremendous thanksgiving.   Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. is, indeed, the hero of my lifetime.

HAITI

What to do? 

I’m morose.  I have been, off and on, for the past couple of days.  It’s all because of the reports – about Haiti.

The 2^nd anniversary of the earthquake brought news front and center of current conditions in that country.

It wasn’t good news. The pictures hurt, brought tears.  Just looking at them you feel the miserable existence of our neighbors, albeit they are thousands of miles away.

Just now, though, online, I stumbled upon an article written by a Tommy Lee Morris.  .  . “By the numbers: Haiti Earthquake Two Years Later”.  It was actually a Yahoo News Report.   The reported facts lifted my spirits.  I hope you find the article and read it also.

The numbers living in tents have been significantly reduced. 

Thousands of new homes have been built.    Additionally, perhaps triple the numbers built have been repaired to livable conditions.

I’m no longer morose.  Progress is made, significant progress considering the horrendous mountains of ruble that had to be dispensed with before much of anything could be done.  And I know what to do now.  Yes, conditions are still deplorable for many, meaning progress must continue.  The catastrophic cholera epidemic must be tackled.  Generosity and a discerning eye on the attentions and resources extended to rescue the still displaced Haitians, is critical.  Caring oversight has to be constant.  I'll help however I can,  most likely through my church.  And, I'll pray. 

What Happens To A Blog?

Talk to me like I’m a First Grader.*

(Hmmm, first graders are quite savvy these days.  Actually, I’m thinking, there are some out there who may know what happens to a blog.)  Nevertheless, as a new blogger, having a great time sitting down everyday focusing on meeting the challenge to write words I feel good about publishing, I’ve not been able to ignore questions floating around in my head.

After I’ve laboriously pulled my fragmented, helter-skelter thoughts together into somewhat cohesive language, conveying, finally, to me, a premise that is either entertaining, instructive, enlightening, thoughtful, whatever….where could those words land as a result of posting the blog?

Can some entity use my creation, without my knowledge?   Are blogs Intellectual Property?   Tell me?  Talk to me like I’m a kindergartner.*

Is it possible bloggers may see their words or phrases in advertisements, without having given permission?  Could a blog become part of a think-tank dialogue for people engaged in promoting any type of business, product, or service?  Can anyone tell me what is the full scope of what happens to a blog once it is published as I have published this?   Please let me know. Talk to me like I’m a pre-schooler.*

* Mimics dialogue heard in the movie Philadelphia, a favorite of mine, from several decades ago.

My Dad and the Tuskegee Airmen

Today an email came promoting George Lucas' new movie about the Tuskegee Airmen (Red Tails).  I recalled the significance of the Tuskegee Airmen in my father's life which I wrote about in Black Star Girl.  I share below.  The time is @ 1944 during World War II.  The place is Zanesville, Ohio.

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      I never knew if my dad wanted to be in the war.  I’ve felt he was conflicted about wanting to serve. I heard him and other men with disgust in their voices speak of the limited soldiering Negroes were permitted because discrimination against them in the military was as bad as it was in their daily lives.  The segregation of whites from blacks prevailed just as it did in the Southern states.  “They’ll only let us cook, shine shoes, clean the latrines,” my father and others mourned.  Daddy always did his best to avoid being where he was disrespected, mistreated because of his race.  He wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it in the military.  Perhaps my proud father was thankful he wasn’t eligible and didn’t have to be demeaned in the role he played to gain the victories dearly sought and prayed for.

      Then black troops were given weapons and sent to the front lines.  Eventually the Tuskegee Airmen, trained to be fighter pilots, participated in missions against the Germans.  After hearing that kind of news, the men in our neighborhood were energized and hopeful about actually fighting in defense of their country.

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Red Tails is expected in theaters January 20^th.   That’s next week!   I’m thinking a lot of folks should go see it with a number of friends and family.  I’ll do my best to be counted among those supporting the film, seeing the exciting story.

Tuskegee Airmen, the first African-American fighter pilots inspired my dad, his contemporaries, and, for sure, America’s black communities during a critical time in our nation's history.  I think it's wonderful younger generations will now get to know about these brave fighting men in what has been deemed an intriguing and edge-of-your-seat action movie.   

Parenting and My Dad

I loved my dad very much.  I didn’t know it until I had children of my own. Perhaps his determined, focused parenting overshadowed, in my mind, the love between father and daughter that motivated his actions.

Still, I can’t remember ever holding my father’s hand.

I can’t remember my dad hugging me; me hugging him.

But, there was no absent black father in my home.  And, as the family grew, numbering eight children, his parenting interest in one child, was no more or less than for any other.  Remembering and treasuring my diligent father, compelled me to write a book – document and celebrate what my dads’ life meant to mine

I remember daddy going to work day after day very early in the morning and coming home, most days well after dark, tired, white bib overalls dusty and grimy,

I remember times laughing and playing together along with my brothers and sisters.

Old photos, from when I was just months old, show his devotion to family.

I remember his involvement in what I was taught, my personal development, his interest in how I conducted myself from as early as the age of four.

Throughout my childhood and youth, he had plans for my future, requiring certain behaviors and standards from me. 

Nothing was more important to John W. Woods, Jr. than his children, and their education, their future.

His other passion, from before he married my mother, was the game of baseball.  

His part ownership of a baseball team, The Zanesville Black Stars, didn’t survive the financial challenges of providing for a growing family.   He gave up the team, putting family first.

My life wouldn’t be what it is if not for the father I had.   Thus Black Star Girl (www.blackstargirl.com) is my legacy, a tribute to him, for his grandchildren he never knew.  It also represents for the many black fathers whose diligence gave our nation proficient black leadership in business and the professions when hurdles were high and encouragement low from many sectors of society.   My dad was not unique.  We just don’t hear enough about that Great Society of black men that he represents in the pages of the memoir, my book, Black Star Girl.

If HGTV Visited Me

On a clear sunshine filled mid-morning, showing my home to possible buyers, the House Hunter real estate agent would say, “I’m showing you this property because it is a strong lovely structure, in a family neighborhood.  It’s a home with good features.  Needs some attention, well perhaps a lot of attention.  Just stick with me. It will surprise you.” (And it will.)

“Oh,” the ‘perhaps buyer’ will say, eyes looking up, forward, and askance, having moved from the small foyer immediately into the living room, “this place needs a lot of work.

“When was it last painted?“

“That little window over there - must be replaced.  And, hopefully there’s hardwoods under these carpets.” 

“It’s certainly not the open floor plan, I prefer.”  

Questioning whether a wall or two were load bearing, they will, nevertheless, speak positively about the high ceilings, and the charming bay window, a focal point of the extended living room. 

They may have positive vibes seeing the open, brightly carpeted staircase curving graciously before evolving into an enclosed ascent to the second floor.  The staircase, not at all narrow, becomes private, which has its merits.

Will they like the dining room?  Probably not, it’s cozy (translation, tight). Knocking down a wall would fix that.

Essentially their examination of each of the many rooms, used in various ways in this 100-year-old house, will elicit more of the same caliber of observation from the house hunters, UNTIL they enter the kitchen area. 

There, beautiful sunbeams will bathe the heart of my house in a fusion of inviting light and warmth. A grand window welcomes the glorious sunlight as it welcomes all –”come, make yourselves at home”, it says.   Maybe HGTV’s visit will not have been in vain.

I Wish . . .

Granted, it is no longer December/Christmas time when wishing for special things is expected.  Still I have a wish, a long held wish brought to mind by the morning news.  They are going to announce the 2012 selection(s) for the Baseball Hall of Fame.

I wish Elston Howard would be selected for induction into The Baseball Hall of Fame

The former all-star catcher in the New York Yankee’s organization would have to be voted in via the Veteran’s Committee.   He deserves the honor.  

Even though I lived in the mid-west, was not a Yankee fan, I remember the hysteria Elston Howard generated with his glove and his bat helping defeat the team of my choice. Research shows he played his final game in 1968 and died in 1980 at the age of 51.  During a career that started in 1955 he was outstanding as a fielder, a catcher; great with the bat, an MVP and many times on all-star teams.  Elston Howard was an all-star off the field as a family man, as well.

How glorious it would be to wake up one morning, come downstairs, get the morning paper off the lawn and open it to read, “ELSTON HOWARD named to The Baseball Hall of Fame”.   I Wish!

"Welcome", from This New Blogger

It's on my first 'To Do List' of Year 2012 - number 9 of 24 tasks. (I gave myself two weeks to get all 24 tasks out of the way.)

Number 9 orders me to "Begin a 'Daily Blog' ... if only maintained in WP for the first week."  My plan was to be easy on me. After all, I knew nothing about doing a Blog.  Now, all I know I found out just 30 minutes ago and here I am composing for publication.  I've got hutzpah!  No run through on Word Perfect for this Blog Virgin!

I did read an acceptable Blog can be any length, and it is well past midnight where I live, plus my granddaughter just called from her campus dorm to urge me to go to bed, adding,"how is your bronchitis?"  (Oops! I'm writing like I talk....I do digress!!!)  The point is, this initial effort of Blog writing is lengthy enough.  Good Night and be sure to check back for "not everything I think".