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?
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
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
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
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