When the Words Don't Come

This is one of the pieces I started but never got even halfway through because life kept on lifing (and yes, I have adopted that as my default reason for everything). The main reason why I am returning to publish now is because it captures a unique turning point in my grief journey from this summer--right before the world turned inside out. After the page break, I am writing in real time again, so hopefully that will make this come together. --ADH

It has been a LONG time since I posted anything to this blog. I am still here, trying to sort everything out, but it is taking me longer than expected. I have so many unfinished drafts, so many stray thoughts, so much chaos and crazy going on inside my head. I don't know where to begin.

This is not an excuse. I am just not sure if I can focus long enough to complete anything right now. I am distracted, I am grieving, I am overwhelmed...I am lost. And I don't know how else to express any of what I am feeling, so I will just freestyle and hit publish even if this is the worst, most vulnerable piece of crap I've ever written. Here goes...

I am not as okay as I think I am on most days. I don't know if that makes much sense, but in essence, I put on my big girl panties every day to face the world, and then night comes, and I can't tell you if I seized it or if I squandered it. I haven't begun to deal with all of the final stuff I am supposed to handle with respect to my Mom. I haven't sent off half the Thank You notes. I didn't send half of the Father's Day cards with Thank You Notes because I got caught up in trying to make it to the end of the school year. I still have unsold Girl Scout cookies. I haven't gone back to my house for more than a few hours because I don't have the mental energy to combat unnecessary chaos. 

I cannot believe this is the first day of summer. 

I did do laundry. I did label most of the Kid's stuff for her first sleepaway camp starting in ten days. I did order the Hub a nice Father's Day gift that he seemed to appreciate. I do manage to take a shower every day.

On Sunday, I was in the kitchen chopping veggies and prepping for an impromptu family gathering, and it dawned on me that I am now the de facto matriarch of this band of feral cats. And in this most thankless role, it means that I need to think about everyone in this family, while they get to decide whether to completely ignore me. I mean that in the most complimentary way because the one person who does notice is my Dad. And he is part of the reason why I haven't completely given up.

Romantic Tragedies

One of my favorite romantic comedies (rom-coms) of all time is When Harry Met Sally, a movie that I especially love to watch this time of year. Not sure why it is my fall favorite (or why Sleepless in Seattle is my Winter favorite, or why You've Got Mail is my Spring go-to, and now that I am thinking about this, why I'm not sure if I have a summer favorite or why all of these movies feature Meg Ryan). I digress...

I recently re-watched WHMS a few weeks ago and thought of it as I was recently reading some epic foolishness on X (yeah, I concede and will no longer refer to it as Twitter since that was a happier platform). It was late at night, I was not in the mood for any of the heavier political debates of the day, so I decided to see what was trending on Black Twitter (which I will not rebrand). And baybee, y'all delivered!

So how does this relate to WHMS? Because the chatter was about first dates, and one of the running themes in that movie is disastrous first dates. In my old-married-lady mind, all I can say is WOW, not even close anymore. These days, I can't imagine if I would even get asked out on a date, let alone go through with one the way y'all act. 

Apparently, there were two disastrous first date videos that were being discussed, so your Busy Black Auntie has questions: why and WHET???

Chain, Chain, Chain of Fools

Why is the Cheesecake Factory not appropriate for a first date? Did somebody pass a law? Because back in the day when my BFF and I stumbled across this place while in high school, we marveled at its menu booklet and extensive cheesecake offerings. At the time, there was only one of these in our area, so it was quite the treat to go there and to come home with one of their decadent desserts.

Now I know you are thinking, that was 30+ years ago and well, you can find a Cheesecake Factory at almost any suburban mall that is still standing. Heck, I just learned that there is one in Downtown DC, so I get that the shine has kind of worn off. It isn't as special, and if you get all dressed up to go out on a date, perhaps you would like for the restaurant selection to be one where you can't just pull up to any mall that is still standing. I assume that same hesitance would be expected at other well-known, so-called high-end chain establishments, such as The Capital Grille, Ruth's Chris Steak House, Maggiano's, McCormick & Schmick's, or any other place that offers loyalty points and curbside pickup. I'm guessing that no one goes to Houston's like that anymore either...(and that was my joint too). Times change.

So tell me, where else would you go? You see, the entire point of a place like the Cheesecake Factory is to offer patrons a bunch of choices that don't adhere to one particular cuisine. It tries to be all things to all people so that anyone can find something to eat. It ain't fine dining, but it ain't Applebee's. It is safe, which is a reasonable choice to make if you don't know the person that well, but anticipate the possibility of what could develop from a dinner date as opposed to drinks...

Does it require much thought? No. So does that mean that the new outfit, manicure/pedicure, fresh hairdo, and high heels are being wasted on some dude in a polo shirt, khakis, and docksiders? Perhaps. Would that piss me off enough to whip out my phone to make a video to document the disaster-in-the-making for my single girlfriends on TikTok?

No. Because I would at least wait until after the date to put him on blast.

However, and this is important to highlight, I haven't been on a first date since the late 1990s. Not only were there no cellphone cameras or social media, but like I said in the set-up, once upon a time the Cheesecake Factory would have won him cool points for making an impressive and thoughtful choice. I was a broke-ass college/law student dating other broke-ass college/law students, so I realize that alters my perspective of what is considered to be a well-planned and thoughtful first date. Not only would I have been impressed by the choice of restaurant, but I would also have been thrilled that he offered to pick me up and drive. That is downright chivalrous! 

But here's the part that really got me--the complaint that the restaurant is a chain, as if most restaurants in most major cities aren't part of a corporate restaurant group or some Mom and Pop watering hole in the wall. Here in DC, every restaurant is either owned by José Andrés or some former Top Chef contestant, so what other options are there? If he had taken her to some suburban strip mall spot, I imagine her complaint would have been that he took her to some dinky checkered laminated tablecloth joint where they serve tacos or pasta. Which leads me back to the premise that the Cheesecake Factory is at least a safe choice because if it doesn't require a lot of thought, and that means fewer worries. That menu has options to accommodate food allergies, dietary restrictions, spicy or bland palates, a variety of drink preferences, and almost any cuisine you could imagine. If you can't find something to eat on their menu, then there's a reason why you're still going out on first dates.

You Say Oyster; I Say Hasta La Vista

Now this one had me crying, because whew chile, the ghetto! The audacity! The sheer ridiculousness! The fact that this warranted an article in Rolling Stones, so there goes my free articles for this month...(in case you've used your allotment too, you can read it here.)

I am not on TikTok, so forgive me for not knowing that there is an entire genre of videos where people film themselves eating called mukbang, and folks tune in to watch. I cannot even wrap my head around such foolishness, because that sounds like the very definition of food porn, but people have their various kinks, so we'll just leave it at that.

However, because I was clueless and unaware, it now makes sense why the woman mentioned that she agreed to the date because she needed "content". I could go on a rant about why this type of booshay is exactly why I refuse to refer to myself as a "content creator"--because I'm an artist, and I'm sensitive about my shit...(and that would take us too far off-topic). But at least now I understand a few things, such as why the future of humanity is in doubt if y'all find this entertaining.

The gist is that some woman in Atlanta videotaped herself on a date during which she consumed 48 oysters, a plate of potatoes, crab cakes, and then washed it all down with a few cocktails. The gentleman who invited her out apparently watched this, and during a lull in the action, excused himself and left her there with the bill and a pile of dishes. He must have had a slight change of heart because he texted her and offered to pay for his one drink, which appeared to be a glass of wine or some sparkling water in a goblet that looked untouched. Y'all, I can't even write about this without laughing. What in the world???

And folks had jokes, good ones, so there isn't any additional spin I can offer to make this any more or less ridiculous. I can't imagine that there is even a legitimate side to be taken because who da fuq doesn't realize that entire scenario was a future SNL skit? I mean, dude sat there and watched her eat four trays of oysters and didn't try one? If this was in fact a real date, at what point didn't she realize that they weren't having any conversation because she was too busy slurping oysters or adjusting her camera? Where is his video, because surely, there is alternative plate-by-plate commentary? Was he gone for a lot longer than she realized, as in hours? What kind of cheap reject oysters are they serving for $15/dozen in a city that isn't on the water (we don't have deals like that and I live in a coastal city)? 

And how can we be sure that this was NOT just an elaborate set-up for one of those food porn videos because according to the article, dude came back and they left together!!! You know what, nevermind.

Ice Scream, You Screen?

Ok, this one is a bonus I recall seeing from the summer, when somebody's spoiled child got on Blue Ivy's internet to complain that a meeting for ice cream was a waste of her time. I'm wondering if this was the same chick who scoffed at the Cheesecake Factory; but it doesn't matter because she's still out here kissing frogs and wishing on stars as if this is all some Disney movie.

Or she's lactose intolerant, because I cannot imagine that someone would pass on an ice cream date after this hotter than July summer we just had. Some guy offers to meet you and treat you to some ice cream and you decline because you would have preferred that he put more thought into planning your first meeting? A first meeting at Starbuck's or Applebee's involves more effort and planning? Okay.

You could have worn a sundress with pockets on a first date, but you said no thanks I would rather go all out with the nails, hair, and heels because all of that involves e-f-f-o-r-t. Sis, you do know that if the issue really was lactose intolerance, you could have had sorbet...with sprinkles! GTFOHWTBS

It's a Date, Not a Trip to the Dry Cleaners

Lest you think I only have smoke for these whiny women, Imma need these baby boys to grow up and to stop itemizing their actions as if anybody other than your little friends are keeping score. Courtship requires much more of you than just expressing interest in a woman, and at the end of the night, no one owes you anything. Which, ironically, is one of the reasons why WHMS is such a great film to use as a frame of reference for modern dating and romance. Too many of you are out here thinking like Harry--that women are only worthy of your time if you can get some (or as you young people like to describe having sex, if you think you can smash).

And throughout the movie, it is clear that sex isn't that hard to get. According to Harry, sex is the singular reason why most men interact with women and why platonic male/female friendships are impossible to maintain. It's a persuasive thought bubble, even when he runs into Sally for a second time and talks about his pending nuptials. He admits to wanting to settle down because he had grown tired of the single life. However, when he meets Sally a third time five years later while in the process of getting divorced, he makes the choice to befriend her, which allows him to have a more meaningful relationship with her while reverting to his earlier stance of only dating to pursue sex. Becoming friends with her exposes him to developing genuine feelings, which finally breaks him of his pursuit of superficial and unfulfilling dalliances with women. 

In other words, these transactional situationships that y'all brag about on social media for clicks and comments are similarly unfulfilling and inadequate. Some of these women who are down to smash after your bare minimal effort will reciprocate by giving you next to nothing in return. Because you ain't nobody special to her either; yet y'all want to get on social media to complain that you can't write love songs about these women. No, and they aren't willing to sign onto becoming your maid and mama for as long as you both shall live, so there's that.

And one more thing, because some of you who describe yourselves as "nice guys" don't seem to understand that not being a psychopath still doesn't entitle you to anything. Rejection happens, but you don't stop applying for jobs, so why stop dating? As the old folks used to say (and I guess I am now old folks as well), there are a lot more fish in the sea. There are plenty of women out there who will appreciate your effort. 

A Jerry Springer Moment: Final Thoughts

Auntie isn't suggesting that anybody should settle, but instead of being disappointed that your date took you to the Cheesecake Factory, you might try to get past that and find out more about the IT guy who probably built up the courage for weeks to ask you out. I bet he doesn't live in his mother's basement nor does he have to pick up his kids in the McDonald's parking lot every other weekend. But you do you. To every dude who thinks that women are only agreeing to dates with you for the free meal, you do know that having an adult conversation in advance of making the date can save you a LOT in the long run. That means that instead of exchanging a bunch of text messages or DMs, you might need to press this green button to communicate. Imagine that!

I said this a few months ago but will repeat it here in case you missed it: relationships are between the two people involved, not the spectators who have gathered to see how the car crashes. If you are more concerned about posting your every move and expressing every profound thought you have on social media, then your engagement isn't with that other person, it is with your audience. No wonder why y'all are so bitter and disillusioned. You spend more time "creating content" for these elaborately staged encounters instead of experiencing life.

Once the people get their fill of you and your Truman Show drama, what comes next? Because some of you are so needy for attention, I worry that losing followers or engagement is a bigger deal than having an embarrassing viral story written about you. By next weekend, we will have someone else's dating disaster to deconstruct...so how do you plan to top that?

Days Like This

One random day in September is designated as National Daughters Day and that means a lot of pictures of smiling parents with their little Princesses. A few days later, for National Sons Day there are lots of handsome young men brightening my timeline. Then, right at midnight as the clock barely strikes 12, some of y'all started posting status updates of you sucking on lemons...

Why do y'all insist on ruining EVERYTHING?

After I saw a status update written by a fifth disgruntled person complaining that there was no day to celebrate her because she had no children, I sent out a tweet thread to express my frustration. Yes, that was hella passive aggressive because it didn't respond directly to her, and perhaps writing this piece will be seen in much the same way since I won't be personally posting it on anyone's personal page. But if you happen to read this and begin to wonder if this is about you, then yes, it is, and yes, I am judging you.

What ever happened to just letting people share their good news, putting on a fake smile, and then talking about them later? When did everybody become so sensitive? I know that social media allows everyone to share every single feeling and opinion, but damn, some of y'all aren't happy unless you post something to make everyone else miserable.

I noticed this a few years ago around Mother's Day. I have written about my own issues with that particular holiday, but mostly on my blogs. And I am pretty clear that my issues were never tied up in feeling any kind of way about not being a mother at the time. It was mostly about my own mother and the issues I had with her. I don't think (and I am open to being corrected if this isn't true) I ever saw this as a reason to make other women feel bad about celebrating their mothers or feeling special about being mothers themselves. In fact, I was big on celebrating every woman in my life who had some kind of mothering influence on me, and to this day, I try to send cards to every Aunt, cousin, sister-in-law, friend, and whomever to celebrate them.

I did all of that before I joined the Mommy club in 2015. Since then, I have softened in my feelings, but again, mostly towards my own mother. I don't have any grand expectations for how I should be celebrated except to take a picture with my daughter every year. Anyone who follows me knows that I am generally happy to take a picture with her for just about any reason at any point in the year, as long as I look decent enough to be in the shot. So there's that. 

However, one year I saw a post that listed all of the reasons why some people might not be as joyous as others, and I took note of the various categories of grief and loss listed that may be triggering. I empathized, and it made me pause to think about how in focusing on my own issues, I had never noticed that others might actually be suffering through a day that I merely had to endure. When Father's Day rolled around, I took note of the gripes, mainly from those who felt the absence of their fathers (or co-parents).

Thus, it was no surprise to note that Valentine's Day had become yet another holiday where scrolling through Facebook felt like a day of navigating an emotional minefield. Mind you, I don't care for that one either...but I dare not say that aloud and expect not to annoy someone who would point to the Hub and slow blink. Therefore, as social media created other holidays for pets, lefties, coffee drinkers, tacos, etc., I actually felt relieved that people could find other reasons to express their pride.

WRONG. Apparently, some people who don't have children, significant others, or parents they like also don't have pets, are right-handed, drink tea, and don't eat tacos. So for them, any day that is specially designated to honor others is another day to complain. If only I could only empathize with feeling that left out...

Social media is a carefully curated form of social interaction. Which means, on any given day, it is probably someone's birthday or anniversary. Someone might be celebrating a new job, starting a business, achieving their fitness goals, or just happy to be alive. Sadly, others might also be experiencing the death of a loved one, the loss of a job, the end of a marriage, or barely making it through some horrific natural disaster. People choose to share all of these tragedies and triumphs, and most of their friends and acquaintances know how to express the appropriate sentiments.  

Therefore, for the life of me, I don't understand the need to be the cloud in other people's rainbow. Why is it necessary to point out that some people grew up without their father on Father's Day? We know that it isn't a day to celebrate deadbeats. Are you hoping to shame the guy who abandoned his family into finally reaching out to make amends, or is it intended to make everyone else whose father was present in their lives feel bad? You want an entire day to celebrate your awesome wonderfulness? It is called your birthday, or you can pick a day to dress up and toss confetti on your Instagram profile just to see who comments. I bet at least 20 folks will hit the 👍 or 💓 just because.

I get that some of these holidays aren't inclusive, but in an age when everyone gets participation trophies just for showing up, I don't see why you can't find a way to barge in with your own folding chair, if that's what you want. Someone suggested that a day designated for sons and daughters wasn't considerate of non-binary offspring and guess what, I won't question it if you decide to tack on a disclaimer so that your kids don't feel slighted. If there are missing letters in the LGBTQIA+ acronym that don't describe you on National Coming Out Day, just tell us how to acknowledge your truth. When someone schedules an event that conflicts with your religious observances, trust that it is not because they don't care, it is because they probably didn't know any better. And if there really is a holiday or celebration that is inapplicable to you, then just scroll by. It takes more energy to get offended by something that has nothing to do with you.

I joined in on the National Daughters Day posting a day or two after the fact and even joked that I thought it was all rather silly. But then it occurred to me that after 18 months of being shut in, disconnected, and stuck in a cycle of endless angst and grief, seeing all of those smiling children on my timeline was a good thing. I don't have a son, but that didn't stop me from liking those #BoyJoy pics a few days later. I don't have a lot of what some of y'all have, but life is too short to wallow in my feelings about not being able to join the fun of Boss's Day on October 16 (unless I can celebrate not having one). Given the state of the world these days, having anything to celebrate is worthy of acknowledgment. 

So back to Mother's Day, which is fraught with all kinds of complicated feelings. Does it have to be that way? Can you find some happiness for the new mother, some compassion for the mother who has lost a child, or the imperfect mothers who did the best that they knew how? If you aren't a mother, can you celebrate someone else who is, just because? My attitude on Mother's Day changed after my Mom's diagnosis, then it changed after I had my own child and I began to appreciate what she managed to accomplish with three of us. Then it really changed as I had more friends who lost their mothers. Instead of complaining, can you find the space in your heart to reassure that single mother that she can make it or to comfort someone who is grieving their mother that they were loved? 

If you still feel left out, you can borrow my kid on National Aunts and Uncles Day (July 26) while I enjoy my bagel with a coffee milkshake in peace. 

Ten years ago, in this very space, I heralded the joys of being an anti-parent. Also ten years ago, not long after I wrote that piece, I learned that my Mom had Alzheimer's. I am sharing that not to elicit your sympathy, but to highlight how life unfolds in the most unexpected of ways. There is beauty, there is pain, and as we know from Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, a time and a season for everything under Heaven. 

Celebrate yourself! Go on an exotic vacation, have brunch and happy hour get-togethers with friends. Share the good news of your job promotions, your new home purchase, your newly published book,  your new exercise obsession, and whatever else you have going on. If you don't have anything fantastic going on in your life, who cares? It is social media--make up something and keep it moving. The thing is, you don't need a designated day to feel special because you ARE special!

Fatigue Is Not Fatal

Lawd, my Mama would have cussed all of these people out over this virus by now...but since she can't, I will speak for her. Have you people lost your effing minds? Okay, my mother didn't use the f-word as freely as I do, but if looks could kill:

Her looks could be as lethal as this virus y'all keep playing around with. WTF is wrong with you people? How hard is it to wear a mask? Seriously? It isn't as if we've never had to wear something uncomfortable before.

As children, we wore those highly flammable death suits every Halloween. You remember the plastic face masks with slits in it for seeing and breathing. They were hot as hell, no matter how cold it actually was on Halloween night, and really, no one could see anything out of those tiny eye holes, so we wore them on top of our heads between houses. We wore those crappy masks until the elastic popped off, along with those full body hazmat suits that were supposed to be the costume. And we wore the same horrible ensemble multiple times: to the school Halloween party, to the community center party/church Harvest Festival, and then trick or treating. Don't tell me that you don't have fond memories of that!

How many of you went to Catholic school? Do you remember those gray flannel slacks, clip-on ties, and v-neck sweater vests that the boys had to wear? How about the jumpers that the girls had to wear with knee socks and saddle shoes? What about Peter Pan shirt collars? Luckily I escaped having to wear any of that, but I did have to wear a seer sucker weskit and a blazer bearing our school's crest. If you need a visual for either, think of the same suit Matlock wore, but for a high school girl. If you came up with Blair Warner from The Facts of Life, you would be right (sans necktie).

Have you ever worked a job with a dress code or a uniform? Do you honestly think flight attendants want to wear high heels while pushing that heavy drink cart down the aisle at 35,000 feet? Do people who wear uniforms ever look happy to be at work? In addition to whatever 'team' gear they must wear, they also need to affix a customer service smile to deal with the public or face the consequences of a Karen demanding to see a manager.

You want to talk about COVID fatigue? Well yeah, we are all TIRED as fuck of COVID. We're tired of hearing about it as the lead story on the news. We are tired of seeing the daily infection figures go up. We are tired of virtual schooling our children. We are tired of Zoom meetings. We are sick of our own cooking. We've forgotten how to wear real shoes and anything other than sweats or yoga pants. Or caftans and turbans.

My child recently wore her Easter dress with white shoes to a family function in November because in April when she was supposed to wear that outfit to church, we were on lockdown. Why bother to adhere to arbitrary etiquette rules when those were the only dress shoes that still fit her feet? It isn't like we're leaving the house to go anywhere formal again until next Easter anyway. She has seen every episode of every kid's show on PBS Kids, Disney, and Nick Jr., so now she has graduated to the cartoons that I watched at her age. She's practicing cursive and reading chapter books. She's five...I expect that by the end of this school year, she will be ready for 6th grade. 

Does COVID bore you? Because if the answer if yes, this is when Audrey Mae's voice comes out of me loud and clear: THEN READ A DAMN BOOK! If you have read all of the books in your room, then go write one! (Yes, she used to say that to me, and here we are). Look, it's NaNoWriMo in case people are still doing that, or you can buy more books to put on that bookshelf in the background of your Zoom calls.

Yes I know, vaccines are almost ready. But I will wait my turn because impatience is going to undermine whatever progress could come because y'all just won't stay inside!

I get it, people are social animals and we want to hang out with friends and family. We want to do stuff, see stuff, buy stuff. I want to wander around Target with a cart full of stuff and then run random non-urgent errands because that was my quiet time. I miss getting glammed up for church. I miss running late for everything. The Kid used to have a packed social calendar full of birthday parties and while I don't miss driving to the ends of the earth to find new bouncy house places, I do miss seeing her refuse to engage with the others for no good reason. It's the little things...

COVID fatigue is real, but it isn't fatal. 

I know people believe that we're at the point of Sharknado hysteria. Much ado about nothing. I've seen the posts and tweets where people argue that they will take their chances because they refuse to live in fear. That's cool, but what is so scary about wearing a mask? You can choose your own style. You can customize it to reflect your personality. You only have to wear it in public. We're not on lockdown again, so I'm trying to understand the resistance. And if you stay your ass in the house, then this is not even an issue for you (then you only have worry about what is in your Zoom background).

Help me understand how your personal liberty and freedom are at stake when you can choose whether to go anywhere. You can choose to go into the specialty pet shop where they sell those organic gluten-free dog biscuits, or you can call ahead and arrange for curbside delivery. That's freedom! You can choose to complain about the state of the world on social media or you can go out and protest it. Those are your rights! Do you realize how privileged we are to complain about voluntary disease mitigation--where we have the option to engage in pre-COVID life and the only request is that we wear a mask and carry hand sanitizer?

It has been formally recommended that people not travel or gather in large groups for Thanksgiving. No one is going to stand outside your house with a counter to limit the number of people who get to go in. You won't get fined and in all likelihood, you may luck out like we did two weekends ago when we visited family. There are precautions you can take in advance to minimize exposure. So I'm not even going to judge you for considering a small family or friend gathering because it has been a long eight months, especially if you live alone. I don't live with my parents, but I will be making sure that they get a decent Thanksgiving meal, so I'm not throwing stones from the porch of my glass house.

But for it's worth, I was still stressed the fuck out about our visit to New York, got a COVID test, and then spent ten days in quarantine. 

 

Therefore, I am suggesting that there is a difference between acceptable risk and wanton disregard. Everyone has the right to determine what is an acceptable amount of risk. What we should not do is wantonly disregard the lives of others. All of the political rhetoric and posturing aside, this disease hasn't been a respecter of person or position. Anybody can get it and most of the people who have been infected have survived. Yet, too many people have died for it to be taken for granted. Taking precaution is not giving into fear. 

I am urging caution. I am saying that in the face of an ever-changing pandemic, where the rest of the world is also preparing to go back on some form of lockdown, now is not the time to get careless or to tempt fate. Now is not the time to dig in and believe that this is all part of some elaborate hoax. Over the past eight months, I have had friends lose relatives, close down businesses, cancel weddings, have babies that no one can meet in person, and give up jobs that they loved because they could not balance every added responsibility of this 'rona life. And this is the sad part--wait until someone dies and you can't attend their memorial because you were five minutes late (because you had to set your Kid up for her virtual school day), you barely found something decent to wear, and the room had reached capacity anyway with family. 

Yeah, I am tired of COVID. This has been the most emotionally draining period of my life, so I am relieved to scale back expectations this holiday season. It has been enough for me to keep up with virtual school, my parents, my spending (yeah right), my social justice work, and still find time to be the Busy Black Woman. Yet, this pandemic has forced me to finally trust God about His timing. I have been challenged to believe in myself more (because everybody else is too busy re-assessing their own lives). I have been blessed with opportunities to finally see my writing reach more people. I am still finding my voice, but so is everyone else I know.

If you were raised in the church like me, you recall how those old saints used to admonish us to wait on the Lord (Psalm 27). They used to sing that He may not come when you want, but He'll be there right on time. They preached legendary sermons from one verse in Isaiah 40:31. So if we have to wait a little while longer for society to open up safely, then let's do that. It takes faith to believe that is possible, and to trust that God is with us in the midst of this pandemic. 

Once I was sent to my room to find something constructive to do, my Mom would give me about an hour or so before checking in to see if I was still complaining of boredom. I learned early on to always have something to do, and that is applicable now as we enter into this holiday season. In her words, there are 50-11 million other things you can do to keep from being bored and to keep from spreading COVID.

How Are You, Sis?

Over the past three months, I have randomly sent that message in a text to various friends of mine. I always feel that I should check up on more friends and definitely on more of my relatives, then I try to rationalize my neglect...I am the Busy Black Woman, after all. But still, if I have not checked in with you yet, trust that I will do my best over these next few weeks.

Because I need you to survive. I need us to get through these public heath crises of pandemic and racism. I need us to have the strength to keep marching and protesting and agitating for our babies, our siblings, our parents, and our neighbors. I need us to make it.

Thus, in the midst of the crazy, I have done the opposite of what I would normally do. I have not been down to Black Lives Matter Plaza to join any protest marches. I haven't written much for the blog in days. Instead, I have been in my back yard, sitting in the sun and sowing seeds/food scraps in the container garden that was intended as a stay-at-home project to occupy my daughter. It has now become a necessary retreat for my peace of mind.

Lord knows I need it. As the outside world reels from COVID and protests against racial injustice, my Mom has been hospitalized for dehydration and other health concerns. We'll be facing a very different care dynamic once she returns home. My daughter has been lashing out in anger, frustration, and distress as the isolation from friends, family, and normal routines has dragged on for over three months. My temper is short. I barely have enough energy to do anything significant.

I have friends who have lost parents and loved ones in this pandemic. Folks have lost jobs and businesses. I have stopped commenting on the actions of the DESPOTUS because those of us who are perpetually horrified remain so, while those of you who have an insatiable appetite for his crap sandwiches are all lined up for that rally in Tulsa (please wear a mask). I had thought that Dr. Fauci was ghosting us, but there have been sightings. However, nothing he has said in those periodic pop-up appearances has been reassuring...


I started on this piece when the news was shared about the sudden death of the staff writer from This Is Us, a show I used to watch (no I haven't taken the time to catch up). Her name was Jas Waters. At first, I thought she was another COVID-19 tragedy, and was all prepared to lament the disproportionate health outcomes for people of color, but then the truth was revealed. She had committed suicide, so my lament turned to that other health disparity that we're not discussing because we would rather focus on racist food packaging.

Black woman cannot save the world if we cannot save ourselves.

However, before I drill down on that point, I need to go back and emphasize that the world is literally upside down for so many of us because nothing is as it should be. So everything is messing with people in untold ways. The sad story of Jas Waters reminded me of Lorna Breen, the New York emergency room doctor who committed suicide weeks earlier. She had recovered from COVID and was convalescing at home in Virginia with her parents. But the emotional toll of watching countless people die was too much for her, but it was only a 12 hour news story that we just shrugged off because mental health only becomes a big deal when it manifests in harm to others.

Throughout this pandemic, people have been posting those well-meaning (yet meaningless) status updates where they implore others to reach out if they need help. Let me tell you, that shit is as annoying as those like-if-you-love-Jesus chain letters. If I need a suicide hotline number, I promise that I won't be scrolling through your FB timeline to find it. And heaven forbid, in the moment when one's mind wanders to that dark place, I hope the the last person I would want to speak to is a stranger. I would like to know that I could turn to a friend.

And that is always the unspoken problem with depression. In the times of greatest need, no one wants to talk about it. I had a rough week, and after crying, eating, drinking, and sleeping my way through an emotional roller coaster, I am still not that keen on discussing my feelings. It is too exhausting. And I am not in the mood for a disingenuous pep talk about how I can make it through if I just blah, blah, blah. Don't worry, I'm not suicidal, but I completely understand how someone who is on the edge can prefer disengagement to outreach.

Thus when someone asks, it is so much easier to lie and say that things are okay. That is the most noncommittal and honest assessment I can offer most of the time. And while I know that if someone is responding to my texts with that same mindset, saying okay doesn't set off the alarm bells for me to spring into Busy Black Superwoman mode (yeah, sometimes I must amp up my mutant powers for good).

I can't save you if I am also drowning. And let's real talk the fact that what I really mean by 'saving' anybody is just listening and possibly going to the liquor store. We can tread water together.

I won't conclude this piece with any profound insights. These past few weeks have been Hell. We might have to endure several more weeks of disaster before shit evens out, and that might be worse than where things are now. If we only have control over our response, then let's start there by taking these calls for self-care seriously. If that is bath salts, candles, loose teas, gardening, hiking, and yoga, or going to bed in the middle of the day with a pint of ice cream, a fifth of vodka, or some racist pancake mix--so be it.

I am joking about that last part. DO not eat anymore racist foods. And if you find yourself reaching for the vodka more often than you are heading outside to take a walk or to garden, then be honest about that. When someone asks how you are, tell them the truth, that you are not okay. They might not be able to say or do anything useful to help, but knowing that people care is important. People do care and they will mourn you (but you won't know that). If no one has reached out to inquire about your well-being, then start the ball rolling on your end. You might save two lives with one phone call or random text.

Fried Chicken Wednesday: Cue the Blacklash

I don't know what day we're on and I'm sure that today isn't still Wednesday, but dammit, I'm pissed. I have been posting similar rants on my Facebook page over the foolishness and stupidity of others during this pandemic, and it gets more frustrating with each passing week.

I don't understand why it is so hard to convince people that this is a deadly virus. Don't quote annual flu statistics or car crash fatalities when there have been more people to die of this virus in this country in three months than the number of American casualties recorded from the Vietnam War. It is NOT a badge of honor to lead the world in fatalities. And it isn't just your local coffee shop or nail salon that was impacted but it has been EVERY coffee shop and EVERY nail salon on the entire planet, save that one combo unit in Antarctica, that have all been impacted! EVERYBODY has to start over from scratch.

I don't know how else to say it. So I will consult my Google translator and say Coronavirus has shut down the world in other languages to see if it becomes clearer:

Coronavirus het die wêreld gesluit. (Afrikaans)
Karōnābhā'irāsa biśbakē bandha karē diyēchē. (Bengali)
Koronavirusŭt zatvori sveta. (Bulgarian)
Coronavirus har lukket verden ned. (Danish)
Coronavirus heeft de wereld gesloten. (Dutch)
Koronavirus on sulkenut maailman. (Finnish)
Le coronavirus a fermé le monde. (French)
Coronavirus hat die Welt geschlossen. (German)
A koronavírus leállította a világot. (Hungarian)
Coronavirus ha chiuso il mondo. (Italian)
Koronauirusu ga sekai o heisa shita. (Japanese)
Kolona baileoseuga sesang-eul dad-assseubnida. (Korean)
Koronavirusot go zatvori svetot. (Macedonian)
Coronavirus har strengt verden. (Norwegian)
Koronawirus zamknął świat. (Polish)
Coronavirusul a închis lumea. (Romanian)
Coronavirus apagó el mundo. (Spanish)
Coronavirus funga dunia. (Swahili)
Coronavirus dị pid taw lng lok. (Thai)
Coronavirus dünyayı kapattı. (Turkish)
Koronavirus zakryv svit. (Ukranian)
Coronavirus đã đóng cửa thế giới. (Vietnamese)
Koronavirus hat farmakhn di velt. (Yiddish)
Coronavirus ku aye. (Yoruba)

And if it still doesn't make sense to you then I guess I could try some universal language like Morse code, pig Latin, American sign language, or the NATO phonetic alphabet (but I don't have time for any of that shit), so to sum up:

And yes, I know American sign language isn't a universal language. That isn't the point; however, coronavirus is a Charlie Foxtrot or in Busy Black Woman parlance, chicken fried poop.

My other point is that I have complied with the stay at home orders issued by my local government, neighboring jurisdictions, and acting-President Andrew Cuomo. I have been supporting local restaurants by eating their over-priced take out. I have put on a cheerful face during my daughter's daily community meetings even though I would much rather be doing anything else. I am still laminating lessons that the Kid may or may not feel like doing because free-range Montessori children are special like that. I have done my part to keep the economy going by shopping online, and I have been recycling all of the excessive packaging too. I plan to start a garden. I might even join a CSA to get more variety in my produce until my aforementioned garden bears fruit. I have donated to all of the worthy causes that my friends have asked me to support because I know that needs are acute right now.

I am doing what was asked of me to help flatten the curve. I have been wearing a mask and maintaining my social distance from my parents and other family. I'm not asking for a medal, but dammit my nails look like they haven't been done since March. We won't even discuss the state of my hair or my marriage. 

So when I follow the directives and only venture so far as to take a leisurely stroll through my neighborhood and see that almost no one else is wearing a mask, that angers me. It upsets me that people take their kids with them on errands and don't have their faces covered, while my Kid looks like a cartoon gunslinger in her bandana. This entitled heifer's entire existence irritates my soul--like what medical condition does she have that prevents her from wearing a mask, debilitating arrogance? Why isn't this human gem not the subject of an eyewitness news segment reporting how her ass got beat down by an angry mob? Amid human interest stories of the people who've lose their lives and livelihoods, we're treated to this self-involved and unapologetic bullshit, eloquently dismantled and exposed for its chicanery by the always on point Very Smart Brothas. And then there is this fuckery right here from Miss Anne's great, great, great granddaughter who was raised not to see color:

I am so tired. But I don't own a gun and let's face it, I'm Black so any kind of confrontation I might attempt to won't end well. If I could be so cavalier as to assume that I am safe simply because no one I know has died yet...but I can't because I know of several people who have lost family in that ever increasing number, including a cousin. So yeah, I hate you people. I hate your smug sense of entitlement. I hate your hypocrisy. And I know, I can't do anything about this except seethe and rail against you on this blog or or my Facebook page.

I don't wish you any ill will though. I refuse to repay your oblivious narcissism with the requisite wish that you learn first-hand what it must be like to lose someone in this pandemic and then have it shrugged off like the way you would swat a fly. I bet if dogs were dying of COVID-19, y'all would care. I know, people die everyday and if you have ever uttered those words in response to someone else's loss during this crisis, I pray that you never experience the sting of having that sentiment spat back at you from some similarly insensitive prick.

This is the point where I am supposed to wrap up my little sermonnette with a hymn of forgiveness for the crimes and sins you have committed, but absolving you will not set me free. No thank you, but I don't drink bleach. I refuse to believe that in all of this, there is some silver lining that will result in a better world...for you. I refuse to accept that a return to your normal is what's best.

We will not be reverting to the state of passively acquiescing to your double and triple standards for evading accountability. We've seen how you regard our sons and daughters as threats, declared guilty for the crime of merely existing; then in order to receive justice, we must redeem our dead as innocent and worthy of life itself. We see how some of you have been more than willing to sacrifice your own parents to this virus because well, death is inevitable. We have lived for centuries with your sadism and refuse to descend to that level. We will not participate in this existential debate--this Morton's fork (yes, there is a use for philosophy in practical life) where a face mask is deemed more threatening than an assault rifle.

Coronavirus has brought an end to the world as we knew it. Period. I won't be translating that for you because you already know it to be true, but in case you're in doubt, here is a visual aid:

The Quarantine Chronicles, Chapter One

Busy Black Woman's Quarantine Log, Stardate 042020 (doesn't matter which day) and we're in week #5 of social distancing due to the crisis currently known as COVID-19. I've been in three Zoom chat rooms today, two virtual dance parties, and have more laminating to do before falling asleep in my clothes again.

I thought that was a much better opening than what I initially wrote last week when I started this piece, which was this--->  By now, I figure that every blogger has written a version of this subject. And I figure I might as well add mine to the atmosphere since there are plenty of folks out there who are bored and actually care if I have gone bonkers yet...not yet. But the Kid is asleep and I just had a drink.

I don't know what day of the week it is. I'm joking, but seriously, does it matter? Unless it is Sunday, and then it only matters until the Livestream of Bedside Baptist is over and I turn right back into the un-showered pumpkin life I've been living.

The time of day doesn't matter much anymore either, unless it is 6:45am when I need to be awake to administer a daily prayer call. Administer is the official way of saying it is my job to remind the callers to mute their phones. That happens to be very important because some people seem to believe those instructions don't apply to them personally (trust me, we can hear your toilet flush). But bless them. Afterwards I get to decide if I will go back to sleep or scroll through my phone. Although that is typically a 50/50 split, I have determined that sleep is a better option. Y'all aren't saying anything important between 7 and 9am. Twitter has devolved into a middle school bathroom wall, a first wives club support group, or a Klan rally.

And I should clarify what I meant by that--time of day is important, but now that I am no longer in a constant rush to get anywhere I am always on time! Yes, you read that right. Unless I am experiencing some technical glitches (which are common now that everybody is on Blue Ivy's internet), but I haven't been late for church or the Kid's daily community meetings, which are the only two 'places' I have to be. The only thing I have to worry about is whether I am wearing the same shirt for more than two days in a row.

I have been spending more time in my kitchen, and after a few days I was reminded why I hate being in there--it's a damn broom closet. Don't get me wrong, I love to cook and this kitchen has been too small for 18 years. However, it seems a lot smaller now that my Kid likes to spend time in there with our Alexa Echo, a Christmas gift that I finally decided to connect last month. By the way, Alexa is better described as a smart-ass speaker. Instead of complying with my commands, she opts to present me with similar stuff I can buy from Amazon.

Homeschooling. Apparently, my Pre-K 4 (now five year old) is only expected to do an hour of work each day. But I am supposed to put in up to eight hours or more of prep work. And maybe, if she feels like doing anything other than littering my living room with thousands of little toys, she'll put in a good ten minutes before she loses interest or gets distracted. And then I will get pissed because I spent the better part of the day before cutting and pasting and laminating this stuff, and I turn into Mommy Dearest. And then the Over-Protective Indulgent Pushover Papi comes to her rescue. And then they retreat to the tiny ass kitchen to bake cookies and yell at Alexa.

Wash, rinse, and repeat. So let's not even discuss laundry.

Let's see what I am forgetting...online shopping. Here is where I have a moral dilemma. Do I need to buy candles and hair care products? No, but I want these small business owners to make it. Same with restaurant take-out. Did I need to have that over-priced shrimp po' boy with truffle fries, those exotic gourmet tacos, or that expensive box of fried chicken from the re-branded French cafe when we have food at home? Yes, because those outings are essential to my sanity. I need to leave the house every few days to get away from little Miss Free-Range Montessori and her OPIP Papi. What about the delivery workers? Well, I don't feel right about having someone expose themselves to deliver something to my house that I can get myself. But isn't that also true about the cooks at the restaurants, the cashiers at the grocery store, and the mail carriers? Shouldn't I be donating that money to a food or diaper bank instead? Do you see why I am so stressed out about everything? That's why I need my expensive hand-poured candles!

And liquor. During this crisis, I am grateful for the blessing of wine clubs and my local Costco where I can buy liquor in bulk. I am thankful that my city declared liquor stores to be essential. Between homeschooling, Alexa, laminating, unwashed laundry, contemplating the meaning of life, and these daily press briefings, I got plenty of reasons to drink.

Since I have had time to ponder the meaning of life, I can tell you that coronavirus has intensified my every insecurity. I am a brooding, moody, emotionally walled up bad Mommy who didn't organize a Zoom birthday party for her full-moon stir crazy daughter. Unlike the rest of the creative community who can offer their captive audiences some form of entertainment, all I have to offer is over-thought snark. I wish I had better inter-personal relationship skills. I'm 46 years old and still socially awkward AF in the midst of social distancing. I don't know which is worse, grief or depression. I could really use a hug. And some fries.

Yet, I can tell you that I don't feel so bad about not finishing my 2020 vision board. I still intend to post indexes for all of those music playlists that I have been working on, even if it takes me until June July to catch up. I've decided to wait until my book gets published to tell several people what I really think about them (yeah, I know, I have to find time to write it). 

However, here are a few other observations to put things into perspective: in the midst of a private tantrum over some petty slight, it dawned on me that I would rather have someone to be mad at for their bad habits and histrionic behavior than not. Every day I read heartbreaking stories of sudden loss: health care providers serving on the front lines, elderly residents of nursing facilities, and others who just happened to get infected. Like this woman whose viral Facebook post highlighted the cruel and random irony of this pandemic--she got sick and died two weeks later. Or this church leader who defied the social distancing guidelines and also died shortly thereafter. This fool participated in a #CoronaChallenge and went around licking toilets (no word on his current condition). This woman lost her husband and son within days of each other, and the photos of this elderly couple holding hands before they both died have gone viral. None of these people's lives should be dismissed as expendable casualties so that the rest of us can return to 'normal' life. So eff this dude, these protestors, their Troll King, and Laura Ingraham too.

This has been hard on everyone. I don't presume to know just how much of a challenge this disruption has been for anyone specifically, and I won't try to guilt-shame those whose situations appear to look rosier on the surface. I won't rain on anyone's parade. Just do your best--I won't talk about your gray roots if you don't talk about my yoga pants. Stay inside, wash your hands, and let's survive this.

The Road to Perdition

The current occupant of the White House (whose name shall not be written here), did something last week that was beyond vile, even for him. So I am going to pray for him.

Yep, you read that right. I won't call him out by name because God knows my heart, but I will write his initials at the bottom of my weekly prayer list. From now on, I will whisper a quick #BeBest whenever I encounter his orange scowl glaring back at me. I might even go to the Shrine to buy myself a rosary. Yes, my beloved, he finally did something to earn my sympathy for his wretched and venomous soul--he mocked God. He took to the stage at the National Prayer Breakfast to crow about his acquittal, and then had the temerity to publicly proclaim that Nancy Pelosi, a devout Catholic mother of five and grandmother of nine, was lying when she said that she prays for him.

And y'all, he didn't drop dead on the spot.

I tweeted about this because his hubris is what my Great Aunt Sarah would have called the living gall. That this man, who sounds like he needs extensive practice in even invoking God without accidentally, on purpose saying who me used the occasion of a prayer breakfast to attack the faith of someone else is contemptible. That this modern-day King Nebuchadnezzar would suggest that he has been through Hell because he was being investigated for doing what he did, and then stacked the deck so that he could get away with it is laughable. That this thin-skinned, gold-plated phony would form his lips to question the faith of others, knowing this his hope is built on nothing less than lies, spray tan, and the fear he riles up in his followers is Machiavellian. The living gall.

I am not a Catholic, but my Dad is a devout Catholic and I went to parochial school for six years. I don't personally know Nancy Pelosi, but I did come into contact with her on a regular basis when I worked on the Hill twenty years ago. Of course I am an admirer, but I can confidently make this observation based other Catholic women I've known, like my Great Aunt Sarah--Nancy Patricia D'Alesandro Pelosi from Baltimore is the real deal. So a man who once had his own beliefs called into doubt by the Pope (and rightfully so in hindsight), is in no position to analyze someone else's faith.

Let me break this down for you--Catholic women, who incidentally are very much like the Black Protestant women I know and have known, pray for everybody. EVERYBODY. The Lord's Prayer (Matthew 6: 9-13), which gets a daily recitation by most Catholics in some form or another, includes the line: forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. That's not a throwaway phrase. During Mass, the priest makes a point of reminding the congregation that it is the duty of the faithful to forgive even our enemies. Forgiveness is a central component of Catholic dogma.

Thus, every day that Pelosi and every other Christian utters the words of that prayer, we are interceding for him. As far as I am concerned, attacking her like that as she was seated on the dais less than 50 feet away from him was an attack on Catholicism, and by extension Christianity itself. Of course, that isn't even the bottom for this President, who has no respect for anyone or anything. He also attacked Mitt Romney, whose faith I know a lot less about, but am no less convinced of his sincerity. So it should worry everyone that our country is being led by a craven, remorseless, haughty reprobate, and we are headed for much worse than a collapse of the American empire.

We are in the fiery furnace (Daniel 3). The question is not whether we will be recovered unscathed or unsinged from the flames. The question is whether this evil king will repent or go mad. We know that he won't repent in the short-term, as his lust for vengeance never quenches. He gleefully destroys norms and lives for sport. He openly mocks and rejects the notion of forgiveness, and that's why we must pray for him. Not for the ill will he deserves, but that a measure of grace might cause him a Saul-on-the-road-to-Damascus conversion before it is too late and his unending quest for retribution consumes him.

Mind you, praying for our enemies does not mean that we won't fight against them. It is because we pray for them that we have the ability to stand and resist. Praying women like my Great Aunt Sarah, my Black Baptist grandmothers, Speaker Pelosi, and Ann Romney (yeah, I'm including her in the prayer circle too) weren't/aren't easily cowed by the bluff and bluster of megalomania. Some of these women have faced much worse than tough talk and insults--fire hoses, riots, chronic illness, personal tragedy, raising children, etc...

Which is why it is important to note that we end the Lord's Prayer with the plea to deliver us from evil. What that deliverance looks like is entirely up to God, and we accept that it might not come in the manner that we would like, but we continue to make the request. This DESPOTUS might believe that his acquittal was a deliverance of some kind, but that was entirely too easy. And one thing praying women know is that troubles don't last always, and blessings and miracles are worth the wait.

The Busy Black Woman Holiday Gift Guide (2019)

One never knows how a seemingly random idea can turn into a major project. On Christmas morning last year, I decided to take a few photos of the gifts I had bought from some local and small businesses, just on a whim. I thought I had gotten some cool stuff, and wanted to share those finds with my friends and followers. Then I posted some photos and this index to the blog, with no real plan for any next steps.

Then at some point during the past year, I decided to make my personal support of small, Black, women-owned, and local businesses a theme of the blog and on its Instagram page. If you happen to follow me on either my personal or blog pages, then you know that I have a seemingly endless supply of tee shirts (not including the ones associated with this blog, but I digress). In addition to the usual randomness, I use the IG page to follow many entrepreneurs, and have been blessed to connect with several of them in real life.

So as the 2019 Holiday Season comes to a close, I wanted to take time again to provide an index of gifts and companies that were featured in the Busy Black Woman Holiday Giving Guide. As always, whenever I have big plans, life happens, but what else is new? However, this year I thought ahead...What would the Oprah do (#WWTOD)?

Well, without my own magazine, staff, or an unlimited budget, I began posting my finds in on my social media in November until I was done with my shopping. The fact that I didn't finish posting until Christmas Eve notwithstanding, my hope is that you will use this as a year-long reference to answer the elusive 'how-do-I-support-Black-businesses' question. .

Get Your Paper Together
At some point this year, the major retailers finally got the notice that families of color might like to see Santa rendered in our likeness. I know that probably annoys some folks (Meghan 'Santa-is-white-and-Jesus-too' Kelly), but check it, Santa is whomever dons the suit. If you were lucky enough to score a roll or two of mainstream retail Santa paper, that's great; otherwise, place your orders now with Copper and Brass Paper Goods or Midnight Reflections. You will note that both Santas made appearances throughout the Gift Guide this year. I plan to add Clarence Claus from Greentop Gifts to my stash for the sake of variety, and you can also check out Etsy to see a few other whimsical multicultural options.

You Get a Box!
I still roll with the Izzy and Liv Brown Sugar Box, which expanded this year to include two children's boxes and a men's box. I haven't signed up with any other subscriptions yet, but the Because of Them We Can Box is topping my list for my now tween Niece. If you are a sorority sister, there are the Ivy Storehouse Box, the Dear Delta Box, and the Finer Things Box...and now that this has become a thing, I'm sure you will find something therein to fit your needs accordingly.

Stylin' and Profilin'
I featured hometown shirts on the IG page since DC finally hit the big leagues by winning the Stanley Cup, the WNBA Championships, and the World Series this year. I have always been proud to showcase hometown pride, so here are a few of my favorites: Ask Me Tees, Bailiwick Clothing, Check It Enterprises, CrankRock, I'm So DC (the hardest working sister in the urrea), and On Us Tees. Get one (or more)!

I want to shout out my Spelman Sisters who helped me to *bling* it during my Reunion weekend: Ourglass Apparel, SpelHouse Swag, and DiviniCo (who designed our class tee).

Lighting the Way
Candles are the new thing in small business, so now that the Kid is a little older, I have been excited to discover new and unique scent combinations. On our holiday trip to NYC, I discovered the honey-rich scents of Lomar Farms made from beeswax. I received some incense from the Posh Candle Company in an Izzy and Liv box, so I decided to try the candles, and in addition to the intense scents, the names are most intriguing. I also shopped with KSM Candle Company in Baltimore and Isabis this year.

Books, Puzzles and Notes
After attending the East of the River Book Festival last year (so sad to miss it this time), I have been excited to collect books from new and emerging authors for the young people in my life. I also made a point of shopping at the independent bookstores, such as Mahogany Books in DC and Grandma's Place in Harlem, which yielded some offerings I might not have found otherwise. Some highlights include The Nutcracker in Harlem, The Undefeated, Hair Love, She Stood for Freedom, and A is for Ancestors.

I stocked up on some puzzles for the upcoming Winter birthday party season from Puzzle Huddle, but I also discovered Little Likes Kids, so I can change things up a bit with games now. For the preteen girls, I think these stickers and journals by Oh So Paper are cute. For the folks who are organized and like to plan things, might I recommend the Arrivista Planner, and my cousin who can teach you some techniques for using it.

Looking Good Girl
Continuing with the tradition that began with Madame C.J. Walker, the market for Black-owned hair care products has expanded from online retail and neighborhood beauty supply to the mainstream. I know that people feel some kind of way about the ethnic hair care aisle, but thanks to brands like Jane Carter, Oyin Handmade, Design Essentials, and Thank God I'm Natural, there are companies like The Lip Bar on the cosmetic aisle at Target. Mented Cosmetics is now available at the Herald Square Macy's and of course Fenty Beauty and Pat McGrath are available at Sephora.

Great products and tools are still available online, such as the Grace Eleyae sleep cap, the Felicia Leatherwood detangler brush (or one of the knock-offs), and the Puff Cuff. Of course, local stores and small pop ups are great for finding products such as Hunny Bunny, Play Pits, and Oasis Soul.

You Wear it Well
What is a pop up without jewelry? This year, I have been breaking out of my comfort zone to embrace new textures and bolder patterns, so Beaded Souls, Hair Free Girl, and Me Two Designs happen to be a few of the jewelry designers whose pieces I've added to my daily rotation. I just discovered Amber Poitier this holiday, so I will be looking to add a few of her pieces in the future.

Miscellaneous
Here is an index of the other businesses I patronized at some point in the year:
Anna + Pookie
Bags by Sistah PG
Bases Loaded Authentic Clothing and Kaps (B.L.A.C.K.) 
Brown Girl Beauty Co-op
BZB International 
Capital City Mambo Sauce
Chat's Liquors
Crowned Charms
Diggin Her Roots Boutique
Heeey SugaFoot! 
Here's the Scoop Ice Cream
Homemade Healing
Ivy's Tea Company
Jacq's Dolls
Jaida A Photography
Jazzabon Creations 
NiLu Gift Shop
Petals, Ribbons and Beyond
Sweet Mossie's Stew Pots
TruGlory Greetings
Unique Aksents
Vegan Skin by Paul Joseph 
Vintage Glam Tea Party & Co.
Yvonne Ex

The Nile List is an effort that was started by one of my Spelman Sisters this year to provide an online guide of Black Businesses, so you should assume that my list isn't nearly as comprehensive...but you get the point. Happy Shopping!

Pay It Forward

I was in packing mode on Sunday morning as my family prepared to vacate our hotel room and as always, it was my job to manage that aspect of our departure. I think it was shortly after the Hub took the bags and the Kid down to the lobby for check-out that this news was the lead story:

Billionaire Robert F. Smith Just Changed the Game

It took me a minute to process what I had just heard, but again, when struggling to make the late check-out, one must focus on the task at hand. It was not until we were on the way to the airport that I took time to really absorb the significance of this gift. Mind you, I had heard of Robert F. Smith because as one of a handful of Black billionaires, his money moves are always BIG news. When it was announced that he would be the commencement speaker, I figured it was in an effort to coax enough money from him to fund some new construction and add his name to a building or two on campus. Because that is what insanely rich people do.

Except, in the tradition of insanely rich Black people who get invited to speak at Morehouse College, there is always a twist. Somehow, these young men inspire rich Black people to invest in them personally. Oprah did it. Ray Charles did it. The comedian who used to be America's Dad did it (well, actually his big investment was at Spelman, but his late son was a Morehouse Man and he gave them a substantial gift as well). There are so many names among the Who's Who of Black folks that have supported Morehouse in some way that it is easy to lose track.

So before you read any further, let me simply say that if you intend sing in the chorus of haters who: (1) complain that certain HBCUs always receive these types of gifts; (2) are pissed that your graduation speaker only offered advice; (3) are mad that his wife isn't Black; and/or (4) just live to complain because that is the only way you get attention, you can stop here.

Let's be very clear about what Brother Smith (now that he is an honorary Morehouse Man) did in pledging to pay off their student loan debt. He gave those young brothers a clean financial slate upon which empires could be built. He helped their parents. He improved their credit ratings. He cleared the pathway for young brothers to follow dreams instead of chasing dollars. He saved marriages, delivered healthy babies, funded new business ventures, greenlit screenplays, built clean water wells and schools in Africa, fed starving artists, burnt mortgages, funded new treatments for cancer and other chronic diseases, closed the digital divide, and otherwise changed life trajectories in all kinds of untold ways. Brother Smith applied venture capital principles and determined that a $40 million investment in these 396 young men would reap greater benefits than etching his name on the facade of a building.

But enough about him because there are so many news articles circulating today about this man that I doubt he will get a full night of sleep in the coming weeks. Folks will be coming out of the woodwork for his money. However once the hooplah does subside, I hope he has inspired a renewed interest in HBCU philanthropy by the so-called Talented Tenth. But not just among the summer in the Hamptons/Martha's Vineyard set, but it needs to challenge all of us achieving Negroes to #HBCUJustGive.

I know, I am a scratched record with respect to that point, but the beauty of this gift is how it should inspire more of us to touch young lives through alumni giving. I may never be able to write a check for someone else in an amount that would change their life, but who can say that I haven't already? Perhaps the modest amount of money I have donated paid someone's overdue rent or maybe it helped someone else cover the cost of books for a semester. College costs a lot more than just tuition, and it is possible that the amount of money my classmates raised since December could have paid for a full year, including room and board, and other expenses.

Those are examples of the type of support that we can provide on the front end or during the course of matriculation for some students. Our support is also needed by the institutions directly in order to expand academic programs, fund special initiatives, or even to rehabilitate/replace crumbling infrastructure. My freshman year dorm still doesn't have air conditioning, which I could laugh off as a rite of passage...or I can acknowledge the fact that it has been 29 years since I endured that late summer Georgia heat and we weren't dealing with climate change then.

Thus, the fundamental question raised by Robert F. Smith's generosity is what can I do.

My answer: I can continue to use this little soap box of mine to encourage small scale philanthropy. And I can put my little bit of money where my mouth is and continue to make donations to my own alma mater as well as to advocate giving for other HBCUs. I can work with my classmates to increase our fundraising yield for 2024 because when I think about the minor miracle that was performed in six months:

If you are a hater who kept reading, ask yourself what you could do instead. How could you bless the life of a young person if you re-channeled that negative energy? If you believe that this gift was somehow unearned, look in the mirror and ask what grace you have been given in life to get you to this point. If you are critical that this was a show-boating maneuver, then I'm wondering what country you've been living in for the past two and a half years. If you are salty because you are still repaying loan debt, I can't offer much comfort from the same sinking ship, but would you really wish this burden on others? If you are waiting on another billionaire bailout, let me know what Betsy DeVos offers by way of loan forgiveness.

You do not need to be rich to make a difference. Generations of Black people with far less than we have today built these institutions with skills and ingenuity. Our job is to sustain and expand for the generations that follow us. So in the words of the man who kept another alleged billionaire out of the news cycle for a good 24 hours, "We are enough to take care of our community." #HBCUJustGive