Monday, March 27, 2017


Hello, hello, hello everyone!

It's an overcast, threatening-to-rain kinda day here is my neighborhood. The sun peeked out a few times but the cloud cover has thickened to it's a struggle.

I'll say there are moments of intense brightness.

Right now it's still cool in here. I have the ceiling fans going in every room and it feels good. Almost too cool but not quite.

The forecast is for 76 degrees and the humidity is on the high end -- 69 percent.

I'm hoping it doesn't start to feel like high humidity because I don't like high humidity. I prefer drier, which is why I miss living in the desert.

Although I still have a whole lot of filing to finish, I'm taking a break to watch Women's List: American Masters.

It's enlightening and empowering. Of course it's also bringing the tears. These women are phenomenal. There's a pilot, a comedian, an actor, a scientist, a fashion designer, a former secretary of state...

Check it out y'all.

So I had a date yesterday. More like a meet-and-greet. We went walking and talking. Good conversation and a good walk.

Nice enough guy. Our political and spiritual philosophies align. Our daily schedules, not so much. Although his schedule is flexible like mine, he's an early bird and I'm definitely a night owl.

Que sera, sera...

In other news, Baby Bliss is coming home between shifts. We're going to run some errands which will hopefully include lunch. It depends on what time her first shift ends.

My vote is for "soon". It's afternoon and I'm hungry.

Later folks!

Saturday, March 25, 2017


Good afternoon and Happy Saturday y'all!

Power to the people! ✊

I'm thankful to be in a jolly mood today. No tears yet.

Today is a busy day for me: re-packaging the meats for the freezer, laundry, filing, a bit of cleaning, taking out the trash, tightening my locs...

Yesterday was busy too. I did about a month's worth of shopping in a few days: my local healthy goods store, Aldi, TJMaxx, Ross, Dollar Tree, lunch at Chipotle.

I spent a couple of hundred bucks, excluding lunch. Most of it was spent on groceries; some was spent on one small gift for each of my grand dogs.

The babies: one girl (top) and one boy (bottom).

I no longer like pets in my living space because fur, parasites, fleas, vet visits, cleaning up the poop of another living being.

Growing up and into my early 20s, I had cats. I adored them; they loved me too, in their own way. (You cat people out there know what I mean.)

But once Baby Bliss was born, I lost the desire to have breathing balls of fluff laying about the house.

Call me a bad parent if you must but the only pet Baby Bliss ever had was a tetra named Sylvia. Sylvia lasted a few weeks with us. She died because Mr. Bliss kept turning the heat down despite it being a cold winter and me telling him the living room was too cold at night for Sylvia

Ah well...

However I did allow Baby Bliss to pet sit one weekend, to earn a Girl Scout badge. She was also allowed to pet sit for family friends at their homes, under my supervision. We also have family members with pets and she's spent lots of time with those critters as well.

So yes, a well-rounded childhood.

Any who, the real reason for this post has yet to be divulged.

Let me get to it.

This morning's last dream featured the author John Grisham. (Click the hyperlink if you aren't familiar with his work.)

He had come to visit at my friend's house. I don't know why.

(The friend in the dream is a former friend in waking life. She and I were friends from ninth grade until we parted company around age 33. The details of said parting are not to be divulged at the present moment.

In addition, why was it John Grisham and not Stephen King? I've read a Grisham or two in my life. I was even an extra in one of the movies made from one of his books. But King is one of my favorite writers. If we look at it in terms of how much of his writing I've read, King in my favorite author.

Grisham, who I've never met in person, didn't look like his photos at all. I guess he was the dream Grisham so what he looked like probably doesn't matter. And maybe he was just there as a representative of writing itself.

Okay so I'll take it that Grisham was the latter. Maybe Stephen King would have been too much for me, even in a dream. Yeah...)

So Mr. Grisham was at her house as was I. The exact wording of our conversation escapes me but I recall him offering to read some of my work and encouraging me to write more.

When I awoke, I had a renewed sense of purpose and I'm thankful.

I was starting to feel ambivalent about my writing. Not the aspect of it that I do for clients. Rather the writing that I'm supposed to be getting (back) to, with the goal of getting it out to the world via one or two online portals that will allow me to do so.

Other than this one of course.

Not that I don't appreciate the audience I have here. I do, I do!

I appreciate how each and every one of you takes time from your schedule to drop in here and have a read. Even if you don't comment, keep coming back. Hopefully there's something here that you find useful or entertaining.

What ever the reason, don't stop.

And when I get settled at one or two of those other places, I hope you will all join me.

Stay tuned for the invite.

Well folks, I hate to leave y'all but I'm hungry.

Gotta eat!




Hello folks.

It's me.

I was wondering if any of you were wondering where I am and how I'm doing.


Me too.

Some of you may already know that March is an emotionally difficult time for me.

It's the month Mr. Bliss went into hospital, then hospice, and finally, on the last day of the month, he took his final breath and traveled to the other side with my uncle.

Why do I say "with my uncle", you ask?

It's because one day when he was in hospital, we were having a conversation and he began talking about a man he'd been seeing.

When I questioned him (who, when, where), he said my uncle's name. My uncle, one of my father's many brothers, has been dead for many many years and Mr. Bliss had never met him. Perhaps he had heard me talk about my uncle but I can't be sure.

I don't recall talking about my uncle much at all. In fact, he might have died before I met Mr. Bliss.

Regardless, I was shocked when my husband called my uncle's name. I think that's when I really believed Mr. Bliss was dying.

He told me some things about my uncle that I later called to ask my dad about. Eerie when it was all true.

So now I believe my uncle was the person (or maybe one of the people) who came to help Mr. Bliss with his transition.

My dad and I have talked about this occasionally over the past several years.

I don't like to be sad and weepy as much as I have been over the past couple of weeks. But it's like the events leading up to Mr. Bliss's death have embedded themselves in my psyche and every March 1, they begin to slowly spill forth.

This year is year five.

In previous years I've sometimes felt like I've actually relived the events, day by day. This year I'm just sad and weepy. Everything remotely sad that comes into my awareness makes me cry.

There are a lot of things I don't want to see on telly, some songs I don't want to listen to on the radio, some things I don't want to see on social media...

But I remain thankful for my resilience. I cry then move on to the next thing. When I'm overwhelmed with sadness, I cry again. And again, I move to the next thing after.

Although I love and miss him as much as I ever have, I don't feel as bad as I has been in previous years.

For that, I'm thankful as well.

Today is March 25. Six more days to go.

I'll make it.


Friday, February 17, 2017


Happy happy Friday folks!

I've been watching "Liberty & Slavery: The Paradox of America's Foundation".

It's a reminder that February is African-American History month here in the USA. When I was a girl, (last year or the year before), February was known as "Black History month".

As times change, terms change. What was once Oriental is now Asian. The formerly colored and Negro became Black and then African-American.

I actually prefer the term "colored" because as we know, race and ethnicity in America are always tied to other people's perception of who someone is based on skin color.

How sadly juvenile.

I would be willing to bet a precious sum that a high percentage of Americans (of any skin color) hear the term African-American and automatically picture someone with dark skin.

But it is what it is.

Again, I prefer the term "colored", as outdated and politically incorrect as some might think it is. If people are to be grouped by skin color, the term "African-American" doesn't work for my family. Neither does "Black".

Scientific research has revealed that all life began on the continent of Africa. If that is so, aren't all Americans actually African-Americans?

What makes my skin color so important in America?

My skin is shades of what I consider light-medium brown with a golden undertone. My daughter's skin is several shades lighter than mine with a yellowish undertone. My grandma's skin is a shade or two lighter than my daughter's; grandma has a pinkish undertone; the color of her skin would allow her to pass for white if she chose to do so. My momma's skin color falls in between the my daughter's and my grandma's, with a slight olive undertone. My momma has a sister who's skin is about the same color as mine, with a slight reddish undertone. My momma also has a sister whose skin tone falls between my daughter's and grandmother's but this sister's skin has a reddish undertone. My daddy is many shades darker than me, with a reddish undertone.

Not one of us has skin that is black, although my daddy's skin is very dark. But we all, with the exception of grandma, have enough melanin in our skin to never be mistaken for what this country calls white or caucasian.

My skin is not white so it's "colored". I am a woman of color, or a colored woman. I don't know why it's offensive but I have my own ideas about why we've been made to think so.

Anyone who isn't white is a person of color. Group us all together and it poses a problem for those who like to keep people separated by any of several demographic markers.

Makes it easier to control people when they're segregated into smaller groups and taught to look at others as "them".

And that's all I'm going to say about that. It's not news so I don't need to delve any further.

What I will say, in the same vein but different topic, is that I'm thankful for all the good people I've been meeting along the way.

Here's what I mean: Some days I don't have time to fix my hair the way I want or it just doesn't cooperate.

The solution: wrap my hair in a piece of fabric that coordinates with my outfit and skip on out of here.

Lately I've been noticing that on the days I wear my hair wrapped, a lot of white people seem to go out of their way to compliment me, speak nicely to me, smile at me, and are just kind to me in some way.

I'm not sure if they think I might be Muslim and they're trying to show some small inkling of support and caring but I think so. Of course I could be wrong however, on days I don't wrap my hair, it doesn't happen. 😁

Every one of these instances is like a an infusion of love and tenderness that I store in my psyche to draw upon when needed.

What ever the reason, I'm thankful for those experiences because I know that all around America there are hundreds of thousands of people, probably millions, who are doing the same thing.

This is my great big "thank you" to you all. The when, what, and how doesn't matter. What matters is that you all continue because it is these small acts of kindness that will get us through the snafu that is the current presidential cycle.

As we move forward, may we let our hearts, spirits, and actions overflow with love and kindness for ourselves and each other.

Please and thank you.