The Next Sunrise

I was not mortified, incensed or even angry when I saw the cartoon depiction of the monkey getting shot by the stereotypical, fat white cops, and the caption that stated they’d have to get someone else to write the stimulus bill. I wanted to know what everyone was going to do. Were we going to organize? I thought surely by the next sunrise something big was going to happen.

A day after the nonsense was printed, I received an email telling me about the offense and I replied stop! Keep your eye on the prize. Our President, Barack Obama didn’t write the stimulus bill. He signed it. When President Obama came into office in January, he asked for economists from around the nation to assemble in Washington and come up with a stimulus package that would be a vehicle to help turn our economy around. African-American, White, Indian and Asian economists are the writers of the stimulus bill.

I do know the real meaning behind the cartoon. I also know it’s a felony to threaten the President, so the words in the depiction were chosen carefully. Don’t get me wrong. I am bothered by the fact that their ignorance has a forum, but what bothers me more is our indignation without a direction. Do you think they didn’t know we were going to express our anger? Of course! Before the depiction was printed, it had already been run by their attorneys. If the situation were reversed, our servers would have been hacked, and the building we worked in would have no lights. Please!

History has taught us that when we get angry we act, but now we should act responsibly. Do you think the people on the Underground Railroad had time to write letters and then do nothing? No! They decided they didn’t want to be slaves anymore, devised a plan, sang songs and acted. By the next sunrise. . . Masta and Missy woke up and . . .slaves gone! Rosa Parks sat down, Martin Luther King stood up! What are we doing?

By the next sunrise what will your righteous indignation have done for our Country? Since when do we need to buy those newspapers, listen to those stations and support those individuals when their purpose is to offend, denigrate and strip us of our personhood? Since when are we defined by the lead in someone else’s pencil? It’s 2009, and I don’t believe the Emancipation Proclamation was written with an expiration date.

By the next sunrise the newspaper people ought to know that this new administration and the voters are too smart to be sidetracked by buffoonery, but are more interested in how we can help our President change our nation. By the next sunrise they should know that ALL cops take their jobs seriously and need the help of citizens and do not appreciate being mocked by the media. As a caution: They might want to travel under the speed limit just in case they encounter a PETA supporting, monkey loving officer who is eager to help his community raise much needed revenue. By the next sunrise they should know our purpose is to improve our economy, healthcare, jobs and bring our troops home. We don’t support individuals who mock the leadership of our nation even though we did not, do not, have not, and won’t always agree with everything. We are a civilized, respectful people who believe in change. By the next sunrise somebody ought to know what we stand for, and it should be for more than just righteous indignation!

What is Beautiful?

Today I sat in the doctor's office and had to wait my turn. There were a lot of sick people in there, and those of us without insurance have to be especially patient. But we've grown accustomed to waiting, and the older I get, the more patient I've become. A mother brought her young daughter in who was full of energy. Frankly, I couldn't tell who was sick. This little girl was the color of the sun, with green-gray eyes that were inquisitive, and I could tell she gave her mother a run for her money. I smiled to myself. Twenty-one years ago, I was that mother. Peeling my son off of ceilings, writing checks to everyone for broken this and that, apologizing for every ravaged, chewed up, torn up, demolished thing in their homes until we just stopped going places cause we ran out of payola.

I am my mother now, bundled in sweeping sweaters. I have no time or patience for coats, buttons or zippers. I would rather wrap myself in things and be unwrapped, then be ensnared by contraptions. I travel with paper; I am always a writer. This beautiful Aaliyah was three chairs away from me, unable to talk, but able to stand and bellow at the sickly people across the room. Annoyed, they rolled their eyes at her. I laughed mom's inward chuckle. "Yes, child get on their nerves, cause you're not going to bother me." Her mother's eyes closed and I thought, "Oh, no, little sister. this isn't free daycare. Wake up and take care of this baby."
But Aaliyah had her charm. Being Mildred's daughter as I am, I gave Aaliyah the eyebrow that I have perfected, and I said in this scratchy voice that has become my own until five each evening, "There's no screaming when you're talking to me. You understand?" Necks clicked as heads turned. Who talks to a child like they're a person?
Aaliyah surprised everyone in the room but me. She nodded her one and a half year old head. "Get down off that chair and come here. I've got some paper for you to write on."
Little sister's head lolled. She was obviously the sick one. Aaliyah surprised me. Her eyebrow slid up. I thought, Oh, you're a smart one. You've been here before.
"Get down now."
No one spoke. This was a showdown of generations and I guess Aaliyah figured I didn't look that sick! Her bottom hit the seat and she came over to me. I rubbed her back and said, "You're the best girl in the world. Draw something for mama." Little sister had awakened, her mouth agape. Aaliyah was studying the construction of the pen. She took it into her left hand and stroked the paper. Ink appeared and she was glad! Her eyes lit up and I clapped. "You're amazing, Aaliyah. Draw something else for mama." She then tried her right hand and I could tell that felt better. Little sister dug tissue from her bag and wiped her tears. "She's never done this before."
They called my name, "Carmen Green?"
I stood up and tore the sheet from my pad and handed it to little sister. "Your daughter is smart. Teach her, she's ready to learn."
I have an ear infection. I left with amoxicillan, but my day was so much better because I'd been blessed by meeting a little girl named Aaliyah.

What is beautiful and how do you capture it in your writing? How do you depict beauty without saying she's beautiful? He's handsome?

Love Recovery

Recently I met a woman who had just been unceremoniously dumped by her boyfriend of 3 months. They'd been close. Cruising on the river, spending time together on weekends, sharing texts over favorite news shows, and common professions. So when a little difference of opinion ended in an abrupt hang up, she thought a nice text of support would smooth over any difficulties. He didn't call at all the next day. Or the day after. Upset, she left a voice, then email, then text msg of support. Finally, in a text since she hadn't heard from him, she told him if he wanted to break up, she understood. To this he replied, "What are you talking about?"

Since that night over a week ago, they have not actually spoken; he wouldn't take her calls. He put on on another social networking site a message that he wanted change--never stating what that change was. When she posted on her site that she had finally gotten rid of a long-lasting stress--unrelated to him, he shot her the first communique in days "are you talking about me?"

This begs the question, was he looking for a reason to get out of what she thought was a perfect relationship? Were there signs that things were going wrong that she hadn't paid attention to?

She's confused and hurt. What should be her love recovery plan? She's pressed delete on his phone number, social sites and his email. But what else can she do to stop her mind from circling the vodka-laced drain hole of what happened? What will help her stop feeling like she got backed over by a tractor driven laughing man?

I've already formed my opinion, but I'm curious to see what you think, bloggers.

Yes We Can-repost from Harlequin.com

Yes We Can

The politics of our country have always been of interest to me. As a little girl, I remember being at rally’s with my mother, and I would sit under tables with other little girls who looked like me, afro puff balls on the tops of our heads, our eyes wide, our parents with their fists thrust into the air shouting, “I Am Somebody!” So I was especially interested in a young black man named Barack Obama and what his discussion was about when I became aware of him at the DNC four years ago.

Mr. Obama’s speech ignited the nation and caused me and many who didn’t already know him to get to know him. The natural question came to my mind, can he help us?
What I didn’t know was that this very question was being echoed around the world. When Mr. Obama announced his candidacy, I was energized. I was a graduate student, single working mom with two jobs, living my life, but I wanted to help. I couldn’t do much, but that didn’t stop me from donating a dollar here, five dollars there and having an opinion. I emailed the campaign my suggestions and thoughts often. August 7, 2008, I was sitting in my tiny dorm room at Fairleigh Dickinson University doing homework for my MFA degree, and the Obama campaign called and asked for my resume. They were interested in me working for them. I was thrilled! I ultimately did not take any official position with the campaign, the workload of school and work too enormous, but I still worked on the strategy team, and was still part of the steam that made that great engine run.

From election night until this day, I completely understand what the spirit of Yes We Can means. I am not a woman of wealthy means, but it isn’t the depth of wealth in my pockets, but the willingness in my heart to work that matters. Yes We Can embodies the true spirit in all of us who want our Country to change for the better, and are willing to do what is necessary to see that it happens.

I went to Washington for the inauguration of President Obama. The inauguration balls were wonderful, but it was the people-watching that so captivated me. There were languages I didn’t understand, strangers I hugged, tears I cried, people I prayed with, hands I held and shoulders I rubbed. I will never forget what President Barack Obama has done for us, and I have no idea what his legacy will be. I do know that we are just as responsible as he is to ensure his success. He said “. . .The road will not be easy. . .” But I’m asking you, has it ever? From being stolen from Africa to slavery in America, from the Underground Railroad to freedom, from the Great Depression to Civil Rights, from the inauguration of President Barack Obama, January 20, 2009 to God only knows. Help him help us. www.change.gov

Carmen Green

A New Day

Last Night a monumental occurrence took place in our country that should not go without comment from the writers of our world, including me. I'm no pundit, no talking-head, but I certainly feel compelled to share my feelings on this election. I've been an Obama supporter since he began his campaign. I've watched the speeches, not all of them but a fair amount, and when I had an opinion, I wrote to the President-elect--which is the way I always addressed President-elect Obama, and voiced my opinion. People that have known me throughout my life know that I'm not short on opinions, so I was surprised when the campaign called this past August and asked for my resume. I was in school, in the middle of residency, completing my Master's Degree in creative writing. I was so honored and of course I emailed my resume right away. I never officially worked for the campaign. But I still sent opinions, I still sent strategy ideas, and the campaign still made me feel as if they needed me.

Last night I was at Dugans on Flat Shoals Rd in Atlanta, and it felt great to be with people who were all rooting for Obama. When the Breaking News banner came up on the TVs, though we'd been watching since the first results were posted, there was this amazing roar, deafening and powerful beyond measure.
President-elect Barack Obama has won the White House.
Strangers hugged strangers, fists pumped the air, a charge ricocheted through the room. Tears flowed freely from men and women. There was no shame, only pride and joy beyond measure. If you didn't know his name, you heard it then OBAMA, OBAMA. President-elect OBAMA. I stood there, dry-eyed. I didn't want to miss a thing. I wanted to savor the moment, soak it all in so I could tell my future grandchildren. Then my children started calling.

Mom, did you. . .yes, baby. . .Mommy, I voted. . .I know. I love you. . .Mom, I never thought I'd see this day. . .I know. Me either. I love you. My children, 21, 19, 16, now understood the significance of why I took them as toddlers to stand in line with a bag of Cheerios to keep them quiet; the year my son bruised his ACL and he was on crutches and I made him stand in line as I talked about suffrage; the day I made my daughter turn off David somebody to listen to Michelle Obama give her speech to the DNC.

They know it's important because I told them it is. Because I said so. Because they're old enough now to have discernment, because now as they move into adulthood they will take these lessons and one day share them with their children. I cast my vote October 14 for me, and for my mother who died last year. I know she's proud. I'm overjoyed. I know God's will be done.

Just Being Me,

Carmen

Double Rainbow

There are times when you have to read between the lines of life. When we have to step between what makes sense and doesn't and find our own reality. I just recently emailed a person I know only in the vaguest sense to impart some wisdom. I felt a struggle coming on, an inner turmoil that made him want to holler. There are times when nice is just too nice and words can't fix loneliness or bury pain. When you are who you are and everyone wants a piece of you. When perception meets reality, but your reality isn't what everyone perceives. I sensed this in the words that weren't on his message board. My final words to him--find those sincere hands that will clap for you.

"Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.
Hebrews 11.1

Yesterday here in Georgia, it rained for the first time in 25 days. Around 7 PM, a beautiful rainbow appeared around the lake, and my daughter and I went outside and drank in the beauty of God's amazing grace. About 7:30 PM, a second rainbow appeared and in between both drifted shades of gray clouds. That's where I live my life. Between two beautiful rainbows where there may be an occasional drifting gray cloud.
I called my neighbors, standing on my deck in the drizzle and we all smiled, staring up into the sky. They called out their children and it was a rainbow reunion. There was no food, no plan, no talking. Just us and God's gift.

My advice--actively seek happiness.

Just Being Me,

Carmen

Sangria!

For the past ten days I was a writer in residence because I'm completing my Master's Degree. The program it's not easy either. My training in writing began like most of you, with scribbles, cooed over by an adoring loved one who declared you an immediate genius. My mother was quite the mom, but she didn't coo undeservedly. Her version of praise went like this: "That's nice, but next time try and color INSIDE the line." Well. Okay then. Needless to say, I've been coloring inside the lines for years now and have entered into the thesis module of this educational program. Let me tell you, this ain't no cake walk.

What I learned from mom is that excellence is earned. Listen.
I also know that I must write. Not just for pay. I must write for me.

I've got to go now. My thesis is calling.

As for the title--life is often challenging--and we've all heard the when life gives you lemons. . .well, I say when life gives you grapes, make Red Sangria Wine. The recipe is below.

Red Sangria Wine
Red Wine, Saki, grape juice, apple, juice, plum juice, pomegranate juice, orange slice, pineapple slice, pears, cut strawberries and lime slices.