I Never Heard Her Play

Though I never heard my grandmother play the organ, something inside me thrills to the swelling strains as I listen to organ music being piped by James Culp as I grade College Success reflections on the use of Morning Pages. Both are glorious. I thank you, Gaga, for giving me a cell-level appreciation of soul music!


Breakfast of Champions

I could’ve had anything that Publix had to offer. The choices were varied and fresh. I opted for two packets of instant raisin, date, walnut oatmeal with cocoa & cinnamon almonds, and a splash of Coffeemate’s Italian Cream. Decadent, I know, and a far cry from The Maker’s Diet, but I delighted in eating it and was fortified for the preparation of the split pea soup I have the pleasure of making for dinner should I decide against grilling the chicken breast and chopping the salad fixins. Simple pleasures are the best.

End Notes

Between shuttling M’Dear to and from Drama Camp and summer camp today, Our Father did me the honor to allow me to attend a farewell celebration for an esteemed colleague; sit with a friend whose live-in boyfriend has called it quits; visit a friend in the hospital, and attend a Casa de Paz in our neighborhood. Through it all I was given to understand precisely why obedience is better than sacrifice and what a blessing it is to know and attend my Father’s voice. I even received a tailor-made revelation at day’s end. Together with all the gifts I have already received and stand to receive by faith, Jesus allowed me to give thanks and praise that I know how to let go and hold on. Hallelujah!

Unconditional Love For Dummies:

A 13-Step Program For People Who Used To Find Love in All The Wrong Places
Sitting around the dinner table after one of our First Sunday potlucks, three women began laughing at the stupid things we’d either done or heard of someone doing in the name of love. Unconditionally of course, but not in the right direction. The only remedy, we decided, was to hold ourselves accountable for not reading the writing on the wall even after having prayed for revelation. We laughed till our sides’ ached. Title after title for books, chapters, sitcoms and dramas came to us but we were too drunk on monkey bread and having survived the tragedy of so many years spent in recovery from our own bad decisions to record them. This much I remember and promised to share.
STEP 1: Acknowledge, I was the one who…
Insert details of your part in said fiasco, then love yourself unconditionally by not doing that again.
STEP 2: Repeat.
Step 3: Refer to step 2 ten more times, teaching one more person to do the same each time.

A Recipe For Happiness

Potatoes Urbina
One package Potatoes O’Brien
desired amount of pepperoni slices
onion powder, coarse pepper, sea salt and season salt to taste. Coat pan with olive oil and heat until water droplets dance on its surface. Pour potato mixture to cover one layer of pan. Add seasonings and toss until well covered. Allow bottom to brown to a crisp while pepperoni is wilting on top and Seattle’s Best Hazelnut coffee is percolating.

Turn with spatula once. Let brown while cutting an avocado for garnish.
Serve and savour. Give yourself brownie points if you can identify the
website on the screen in the photo above. Better yet, enjoy seeking
your own true north.

And remember what Oswald Chambers says:

My worth to God in public is what I am in private.

Why Resist.

This quote was found on the Brevity website. At this stage of my life I find resistance a waste of time and energy. So I share this little indulgence with you.

Sometimes the most moving, altering moments of life are in fact only moments. Sometimes they are not destined to be novels, essays, or memoirs. Sometimes, there is no bigger picture. ~ April Monroe

Isn’t that delicious!


Innocently enough I click a link that comes from a trusted source. It takes me to the website for Putting the Movement Back Into Civil Rights Teaching. What I am not prepared for is the effect the photo that begins and ends their introductory feed has on me.

The little girl in the middle is wearing a dress similar to one I had at the same age. Had my hair been cut a few years earlier into what would become the signature natural I would wear for three decades, that could have been me in the photo. Something about her spindly arms raised, punctuated by her untested fists, affirming the power inherent in girls with brown skin made tears erupt. Power in several directions virtually short-circuited me. I shout Amandla to that!