Most of my days are spent thusly: I wake up and grab a cup of coffee, start rooting around the kitchen for breakfast, and then begin the ritual of taking out the carrying tray that I take up to my mother. Mornings are hard for her and I bring her food to her since it’s hard to get up and moving. She usually needs her water bottles refilled because, as a person with congestive heart failure, she tends to retain too much water. With a weakened heart, it’s difficult to get a lot of exercise and without circulation to her heart and body and then the process begins of holding onto too much fluid. It’s a vicious cycle and this disease is a real mystery. The procedure of bringing her food starts again at lunch and then once more at dinner. In between those times I can be found doing things that summer is made for: laundry, tennis, bike rides, reading, and writing. I’m really going to struggle when I have to go back to work, but that’s nothing compared to what she’s going to have to do in order to make her meals when I’m gone.

This morning when I went upstairs I stayed a while to chat while she got situated in her big comfy chair that she eats in and we started talking about the books we are reading. I made a confession to her.

“This book I’m reading, The Help, is annoying me to no end. I’m not even halfway done with it yet and I hate it. HATE it. I’m tempted to write a review of it and I’m not even finished.”

“Don’t do that. Finish the book first. You know better and plus, it might get better. You never know.”

She asked me what it was that I hated about it and I admitted that I’m fearful that Skeeter, one of the three characters narrating the book, will end up being the Great White Savior to the Black maids in the story. I’m so bothered by the fact that the author IS MY AGE and grew up with a Black maid. Her characters have great voices (I’m listening to it on Audible, but I mean that in both ways) and she makes convincing cases for their interactions with one another. One of the white women asks some of The Help, Aibileen, about educational integration:  “You wouldn’t want to go to a school full of white people, would you?” As expected, the Black maid agrees with everything she’s asked and by “agree” I mean that she tells them just what they want to hear. No one is asking her the important questions, though. In 1962 Mississippi we are to expect that when blacks start disagreeing with their masters employers they will find themselves jobless.

The other thing bothering me in this book is that I’m not at all convinced that Skeeter’s romance is anything but convenient. Not for the lackadaisical nature of people getting romantically involved when it’s advantageous, but it seems too convenient for the plot and where I think it’s heading. (See what I’m doing here? I’m trying not to give any spoilers for those who haven’t read it yet even though I’m not done reading so it’s like a unspoiled unspoiler.)

So then I started reading the surrounding controversy of this book (the ones that didn’t offer spoilers) and was astounded SIMPLY ASTOUNDED at how many people were defending the complicated loving relationships between Black maids and the White families they served. It was all very we-love-them-and-they-care-for-us-and-then-we’re-expected-to-care-for-them-when-they-get-older-that’s-just-the-way-we-do-things-you-wouldn’t-understand and it made me want to vomit. Attachment and dependence are huge themes of this book so far. So, I should be glad that someone like my grandmother got to raise YOUR family and then you’ll take care of her health bills later on when she gets sick? Excellent plan. Let’s write about it and glorify it.

Honestly, I want to rip out my own eyelashes over this nonsense.

Even before I finish this book (and I will finish this book because I have to do that once I start and I’m also doing it for a book club I’m in) I will state my distaste for the fact that a White author is doing the speaking for her Black help. Kathryn Stockett probably had in mind to force this to meet somewhere in the middle and I’m finding that a hard pill to swallow. It reminded me of a quote that I can’t attribute to anyone at the moment that reads: “You can’t make both ends meet while you’re sitting on one.”

“Colored people and white people are just so…different.” one of the characters, Miss Hilly, naively and foolishly points out. While I would hate to naively and foolishly call Stockett a racist, I will just offer this video from the incredibly pointed and opinionated Jay Smooth (whose videos I keep up with on his website Ill Doctrine) to speak for me.

Mallory came over last weekend to help take care of her grandmother while I was away.  Mason was also here in between his work shifts. They made sure the dog was taken care of, too, but they really helped by making sure the routine was kept up to keep their grandma on a schedule. They watched movies and when they stopped to see that “Corrina, Corrina” was on my mother joked, “That’s what I need. A Black maid.” to which Mallory replied, “Umm, Gramma? You’ve already GOT one of those.”

Which reminds me. It’s time to go get dinner made, take it to mom, and finish reading my book. I’ll let you know how it ends.

Not that kind of recycling. A different kind. This is a post that I started writing about four years ago. If you’re a reader who has been with me that long then this will be a familiar reading. If you’re new, welcome! So glad you could make it. 

The series of these posts was The Allen Series and this is a true story. 

Part I : Huck Finn All Grown Up

When I first met Allen I was wary of him because of his appearance. Since we became friends I’ve often described him to people who wanted to know who this oddity was. This is what I say: He’s in his 60s, has a full beard, bushy white hair, a few missing teeth, and thick glasses that are probably fifteen years out of fashion. His ensemble is complete by black tennis shoes and overalls. He probably weighs about 130 pounds soaking wet because I’m sure that bushy beard and hair can hold a good 10 pounds. I’d seen him on my way out the door of school several times. Only a “hi” or “goodnight” ever left my lips as I passed him when I walked out to my car. 

Mid school-year I decided it was easier to grade papers late into the evening in my classroom rather than take them home where a toddler and two school age children resided. My husband always supported me in this because if I did work at home other things would distract me and I could never get caught up with grades. It was one such evening that I stayed so late that Allen had made his way down to my classroom to clean the boards, vaccuum, and empty the trash. In my mind I recall thinking about how he looked what Huckleberry Finn would look like all grown up. He looked like a man who had a hard life. Never without his broom or a pack of cigarettes. I glanced up and said a quick hello before concentrating back on the papers on my desk. “Please don’t talk to me. Please leave me alone,” I thought. He came in and worked for a bit before making a motion to have a conversation. I knew it was coming and in my mind was wishing him away. I didn’t feel like small talk tonight. It was already past 7:00 pm and I had too much to do. Plus, look at this guy! He was a janitor and I was a teacher and what could we possibly discuss?

He spoke first. “Do you know which of the teachers is the one who is teaching the Holocaust and Anne Frank?” This was his opener? He wants to know about WWII stuff that’s been up in my classroom? He must have seen my notes on the chalkboard “Yeah. That would be me. My 8th graders are reading it right now. Why do you ask?” He told me that he had always liked history and spent some time visiting the museum dedicated to her in Amsterdam. Immediately I dropped my pen on the desk and looked over at him. Had this man actually been to Europe? This old janitor who emptied my trash daily? I was all at once jealous, intrigued, confused. “When did you go there?” Even as I said it I knew that the emphasis on “you” was too great and I betrayed my thoughts to him. He just sighed a little and answered, “When I was studying at the University of Leeds. I visited most of Europe in the early sixties.” 

Our conversation lasted another 2 hours. Slowly, I began to be drawn in to the tale of his life. His love of crows, his disdain for one of my favorite characters (Atticus Finch – gasp!) and his colorful life that led him to his current position. Our talk was all over the map. We talked about everything and nothing had any particular flow to it, but we kept up together. He wasn’t just smart. He wasn’t just intelligent. He was incredible to a degree that even as I conversed with him I knew he was a once in a lifetime kind of person. I spoke slowly, thought deeply, and tried to make this time last with him. Deliberately, I knew this needed to be impressed on my brain so I played everything in slow motion. But it was time to leave. My whole face smiled as we said goodnight and as I extended my hand to shake his he took it, kissed it and told me it was a pleasure talking to me. The janitor told me it was a pleasure. I was hooked.

The next day this note was on my desk:
I filled out the questionnaire you gave your students. Is that ok? It’s under your copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. Do like that book? You realize that Atticus isn’t the character he purports to be, right?
Allen

to be continued
 

©Mocha Momma

One of my co-workers has a love of all things Hello Kitty which makes me automatically love her because if you like Hello Kitty then you automatically come into a relationship with 100 bonus points. If, however, you don’t like Hello Kitty then I have to question your ability to be the world’s only living heart donor. It’s Hello Kitty, for crying out loud! Hello. Kitty. She’s been a favorite of mine since I was a little girl and there’s something about the magic of her that doesn’t end when you grow up. Here is some evidence:

Cute. Colorful. Cuddly. Should probably be a world leader in my opinion.

My co-worker is new to the building and she has this fluffy, very soft Hello Kitty doll that sits on the top of her shelf. One of her other really awesome qualities is keeping a bowl full of candy on the corner of her desk. After Halloween she was stocked up on all the good candy and the reason for these current too-tight-jeans is all her fault. Well, her and the gazillion or so Snickers candy bars I ate whenever I went near her desk. She has since put her candy bowl up higher in her office and today when I walked in I found that someone had put Hello Kitty in a compromising position. 

This is not my handiwork. I mean, I’m known to play pranks on people. But this was not me.

I can’t tell if Hello Kitty has committed suicide or if she’s drunk and passed out in the bowl. What other reason could there be? Do you think Hello Kitty is a big drinker?

This weekend I spent time with my sisters and parents in Chicago (a difficult feat, to say the least – my parents are divorced and one of my sisters isn’t speaking to my father) and it was the most wonderful family time. I’m too exhausted to write much. Here. Have pictures. In fact, have pictures with smudges in the left-hand corner!

My sister, her boyfriend, and my 2 nephews spent all day with us on Saturday. We ate the most delicious pancakes IN THE WORLD I DARE YOU TO FIND BETTER.

I tried on some of my sister’s shoes. She said I may borrow these lovelies for my trip to San Francisco next month.

We went to Grant Park where we saw a group of people being photographed for a Quinceañera. This little guy wasn’t so interested in the pictures, but loved his cane.

Taking a break from a lot of walking and the hot sun.

Reflections from The Bean in Millennium Park.

I think her mother has a camera in her hand a bit too much.

The faces that spit water. Perfect day for an impromptu splash!

Also, tell me how you’ve been. Are you feeling well? Getting audited by the IRS? Finding beautiful seashells on your summer trips? Been to any good movies lately? Do you like that new Estelle song featuring Kanye West? Me, too!

It’s going to be my summer anthem.

This week in therapy I had probably the hardest time yet. It’s no fun intentionally being vulnerable and out of control, but there you have it: it’s a necessity. You probably don’t want to hear all about it, but I will share the most touching and profound thing my therapist said to me last night.

I feel like you always have this hard-shell exterior and try to keep it together but you have a thin veneer. At any moment I could reach over with a pin and just graze the surface and you will shatter.

Right after that I read these healing, reparative words at Jen Gray:

“ today i was reminded that for the most part,
we are all trying to do the best we can.
and that encouragement works wonders over
criticism.”

Too true, dear readers. Too true.

Enough of that sappy moment there, but I thought that was such a great insight because I know that no matter how many things I divulge about myself online it is only that which I am willing to share at the moment I decide to sit down and write. This endeavor is merely a reservoir for the leftover thoughts that consume me during the day. I’m craving dark chocolate and pretzels this week. That should explain it.

In the midst of a rather difficult week, I came home from work yesterday to find two things at my door. A gift card from Sandra to Sephora, the makeup company that literally sucks me into the store with a Jedi force and compliments me on my eye color and asks, “Could I try just a little of this color on you? Just for fun?” Normally, I wouldn’t comply but the guy with the blue mascara on his lashes and extra plump lips who seduced me with his knowledge of wrinkle cream did a number on me and I walked out with 30 bucks of eyeshadow. I say that it sucks me in, but we all know who the sucker is here.

The other thing awaiting me on my doorstep was this coffee mug from MeL.

MeL, who wants my full lips and to whom I advise this: When walking into Sephora, honey, they will hold lip liner to your temple and force you to purchase glossing products. It ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.

First, Mrs. RW bestowed upon me an Excellent Blog Award.

Here are my excellent picks based on their consistently well-written words. They sure do write a good sentence.

1. Stay At Aum Mom, MeL – She always writes her name with a capital M and a capital L. She’s a sassy gal and she knows it.

2. EbonyMommy – Always a good read with phenomenal pictures. Check out her boys at Easter and just try not to want to put their heads inside your mouth to taste their goodness. Just try.

3. AngryBlackBitch – You’ll get used to the swearing and pray this woman is on your side during Debate Team Finals.

4. defective yeti – I clicked on his name the first time I saw it because it made me snort. Now I click on his name just to see inside his brain.

5. run jen run - She probably tires of me linking her, but if you had seen her in that Ms. Pac Man outfit or snuggled her curly locks, you’d agree. Make her stop hounding me about TequilaCon ‘08, please. I can’t drink away my daughter’s college graduation weekend, Jenny! I can’t!

Next, Lara awarded me the Blogs of Distinction Award. They make me “laugh, cry, think or sigh”. These are my tender spot reads. Before reading them in my feeder I know that happy thoughts are to come.

1. The Silent K – She makes me want to take her yoga classes and get all downward-facing-dog with her. In a good way.

2. Jen Lemen – While the warm and fuzzy approaches dizzying levels in my head to read her, I remember that she is real and vulnerable and the best kind of artsy-fartsy.

3. Adie Loves Polly – She’s four years old, for crying out loud. Simplicity at the highest point of beauty. Polly is her Polaroid and she takes pictures with quaint captions of her thoughts or words. Jesus, get thee a tissue.

4. Leah Peah – One day I noticed that I read all her posts with my head cocked to the side. That’s what I do when I’m sitting down with a dear friend enjoying their words. It’s my vulnerable, yes I’m hearing you, honey, and I love what you’re saying stance. Apparently.

5. Chookooloonks Photography – Karen sent me a Christmas card last December with a sunflower on it and said that it’s difficult to look at one without smiling. Such wisdom, this one.