Wednesday’s Word

“We can either watch life from the sidelines, or actively participate . . . . Either we let self-doubt and feelings of inadequacy prevent us from realizing our potential, or embrace the fact that when we turn our attention away from ourselves, our potential is limitless.” – Christopher Reeve

On The Power of Experience

The determination to outwit one’s situation means that one has no models, only object lessons. – James Baldwin

All Aboard! Happiness Is a Journey

While rummaging through old papers today, I found this very inspiring note from Professor Paula Franzese, one of my favorite law school professors:

Dear Property Connoisseurs,

 Life will always be filled with challenges. It’s best to admit this to yourself and decide to be happy anyway. One of my favorite quotes, “For a long time it had seemed to me that life was about to begin – real life. But there was always some obstacle in the way, something to be gotten through first, some unfinished business, time still to be served, debts to be paid. Then life would begin. At last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life.”

This perspective has helped me to see that there is no way to happiness. Happiness is the way. So, treasure every moment you have. And treasure it more because you shared it with someone special, and remember that time waits for no one . . . . .  

So STOP waiting until you finish school, until you go back to school, until you lose ten pounds, until you gain ten pounds, until you start your dream job, until you get married, until you have kids, until your kids leave the house, until you are rich and famous, until you get a new home or car, until spring, until summer, until fall, until you die, to decide that there is no better time than right now to be HAPPY . . . . . HAPPINESS is a journey, not a destination.

Thought for the day:

                “Work like you don’t need the money,

                LOVE like you’ll never get hurt,

                And dance like there’s no one watching!”

 

What will you do TODAY to be HAPPY?     

Operation Clean House

Operation Clean House is in full effect. The bed in which granny’s home attendants slept is filled with more than a hundred books slated for donation, with four boxes of books scattered on the floor. It’s amazing how many books we’ve accumulated over the years. It’s time to start using the public library and buying more e-books. A friend suggested that I clean out one room at a time in order to avoid getting overwhelmed.  I’m still working on one hallway, and had to go take a nap to regroup. I finally bought a new shredder. Paper is the devil. Onward and upward!

Grannies Say the Darndest Things

Before Oprah or Dr. Phil, there was my Granny Poo.  Sometimes funny, other times sassy, she was a witty lady who always knew just what to say. She was full of wisdom and grace, and her words are a road map for life. A few days before she passed away, I sat in a recliner chair in her hospital room and made a list of all her funny and wise sayings. When she awoke the next morning, I stood beside her bed and read my list. “Granny, remember when you used to say,” I started off and then imitated her voice and gestures as I recited each quote. She looked up at me and smiled. It was the last time she ever really saw me and knew that I was there. The last time that there was any hint of recognition in her eyes when she looked at me. Perhaps the last time that she understood just how much she meant to me. After she passed away, I typed all of her quotes and included them in her funeral program as a tribute to her. When I think of my granny poo, I can hear her say:

1. Lord, may Your praise be continually in my mouth and acceptable in Your sight, Oh Lord, my strength and my redeemer.
2. I’m just your lil’ Sister McKinney in the Lord.
3. My anointing or calling doesn’t make me better than anyone else; it makes me responsible.
4. Lord, I’ll tell dying men and women about your goodness everywhere. These and many blessings we ask in Your name, Amen.
5. Never esteem anyone higher than yourself.
6. Jesus of Nazareth, reach out your nail-scarred hands.
7. God wants to bless you, but you have to stop thinking that you aren’t already worthy or qualified.
8. Why do you always wait ‘till the last minute? Do the hard part first.
9. Lord, we come boldly before the throne of grace. We know that you never failed us and we know that you never will.
10. If God never gives me another blessing, He’s been good to me.
11. Some things must be said because they must be said, and some things must be done because they must be done.
12. No mercy given, no mercy shown. No mercy shown, no mercy given.
13. Stay in your lane.
14. Stop kissin’ on me. You gon’ mess up my pretty skin!
15. I look to the hills from whence cometh my help, for my help cometh from the Lord.
16. He is the author and finisher of my faith.
17. We walk by faith, and not by sight.
18. I’m doing pretty good, thank God.
19. One day at a time.
20. Order in the court!
21. To God be the glory.
22. A delay is not a denial.
23. Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, and the evidence of things unseen.
24. With love and kindness have I drawn thee.
25. God is not the author of confusion.
26. In everything, let there be decency and order.
27. God sits high and looks low.
28. Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.
29. To whom much is given, much is required.
30. Clean your room!
31. There’s a time and a place for everything.
32. Let the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable in Your sight, Oh Lord, my strength and my redeemer.
33. The prayers of the righteous availeth much.
34. No weapon that is formed against me shall prosper, and every tongue that shall arise against me, in the judgment, He shall condemn.
35. God is good all the time, and all the time, God is good.
36. God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
37. Nothing can happen unless God permits it.

Once a Lady, Always a Lady

Granny was always a classy lady. Her hair always looked pretty and she always smelled good. Before she knew about the stores Bath & Body Works or Victoria’s Secret, granny was already mixing lotions, perfumes and body sprays to make sweet-smelling concoctions. When I was about twelve years old, we visited a friend who was in the end stages of A.I.D.S. and suffering from dementia.  When granny walked into his hospital room, he suddenly yelled out, “Annie Lee, you smell so good you make my balls jump!” I wasn’t quite sure what “balls” meant, but granny’s blushing and dumbstruck face hinted that her sweet smell had set off the wrong kind of alarms. Everything had to be just right. Granny’s clothes and even her undergarments. And her breasts had to sit just right too. Today, I found granny’s bra inserts. You know, the ones that are made out of a spongy material, are flesh colored, and look like half-breasts – made complete by little nipples sticking out. The only problem is that they were peach-colored – hardly the color of granny’s brown flesh. And granny could hardly be called small-breasted. But, she rocked those lil’ bad boys every day. “You should get you some. Maybe your clothes would fit better,” she used to tell me – the President, Secretary and Treasurer of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee. She wore those things wherever she went, including the hospital. During one such hospitalization, an x-ray tech noticed that she had them on as he prepared her for an MRI. “What are those?” he asked her. “You know what they are,” she said coyly. It always amazes me that granny was not ashamed to walk around with the breasts of a white sponge woman. She managed to lose her teeth, but she held on to those sponge breasts until she was discharged. Well, once a lady, always a lady.

Making Room

Today was a milestone: it was the first time I let some of granny’s things go since her passing. When a friend mentioned that she needed a black or brown purse to carry to work, I rambled through my collection of purses and settled upon a brown purse I had bought for granny while in Paris a few years ago. The purse still contained a safety pin that granny had pinned inside. “Aww, this one belonged to my granny,” I said nostalgically. “Let me see if I can find something else for you,” I added, intending to keep the purse. But, I couldn’t find another purse as fitting as that one. “I think this is the one,” I told her. “Are you sure you want to give it away,” she asked. I held it up and looked at it again. After handing it to my friend and taking it back several times, I finally said, “My granny is not in this purse. My granny is not this purse, so take it.” I then handed the purse to her. After she left with some more of granny’s things, sadness overcame me – but only briefly. This is what granny would have wanted, and she is not her things. We cannot keep everything that belonged to our deceased loved ones. And we cannot make room for the new, if we do not let go of the old and make room.

All the Cool Kids Are in Speech Therapy (or, so I tell myself)

I’m currently reading writer David Sedaris’ book of essays titled “Me Talk Pretty One Day.” In his essay “Go Carolina,” he chronicles his speech therapy sessions to cure his childhood lisp. I was amazed by the way in which he had adapted to having a lisp – he read a thesaurus and found alternative words that did not contain the letter “s.” As a result, he developed a vocabulary that far-exceeded his ten years. I can also identify with his essay, and remember my own speech therapy sessions as a child. When my kindergarten teacher complained to granny that I didn’t speak very well, granny replied, “Well, maybe she’s just not ready to talk.” My recurrent seizures, the first of which had occurred when I was just six months old, were probably more to blame for my reticence than stubbornness. My teacher made the mistake of suggesting to granny that I was “borderline retarded.” “She’s only five. What do you want from her,” granny responded. Yea! You tell ‘em granny! But, my teacher clearly did not realize who she was dealing with. When she threatened to hold me back in kindergarten, granny threatened to call the NAACP and sue my school for race discrimination. I have said it more than once, and I’ll say it again: my granny was a superhero. She was determined to prevent me from becoming just another little brown child relegated to the educational purgagtory known as “special ed,” when all I needed was just a little extra TLC. My teacher conceded, promoted me to the next grade, and placed me in the class right before you get to “special ed.” Well, I guess you can’t win every battle. But, I did get a little extra TLC in the form of speech therapy at school. After recently discovering one of my old clinic cards for a children’s developmental disabilities clinic, I learned that granny had also taken me to speech therapy outside of school. I also found some childhood development pamphlets. “Granny was serious about helping her lil’ no-talking grandbaby,” I thought as I looked at passages she had underlined.

I’ve always loved reading and writing. As a child, I would spend my summers sitting on my porch reading books and writing poetry. I still have those books of poems, which one of my junior high school teachers helped me type on a word processor so that I could create my first book. We never finished my book. “Maybe you’d do better in math if you spent less time reading and more time on your math homework,” one of granny’s friends once told me. Although “mind your business” ran through my head, I simply looked at her like she was crazy and continued reading one of my books from the series The Babysitters’ Club. Poet, magazine editor, and short story writer were among my childhood fantasy careers. My teachers sent me to special writing programs and suggested that I try to get my writing published. I’ve always worked on one school magazine or another. Even my grandmother suggested that I become a writer. But, I wonder why I loved writing so much. I wonder why I felt I could better express myself through writing, and preferred writing to speaking. I wonder whether, like Mr. Sedaris, my writing became a coping mechanism to deal with what others deemed to be a speech impediment or developmental disability. It’s funny how life turns out, and how our experiences influence who we become later in life. In any event, I’m not doing so bad for a “borderline retarded” lil’ brown girl.

No Pain, No Gain

I spent the weekend preparing the house for my real estate agent’s visit today. As I moved, sorted, discarded, mopped and swept, I heard my granny’s common refrain, “J, clean your room!” Granny should be happy now. I examined every nook and cranny that the agent might peek her head into, wiping away dust and cobwebs. I inspected the basement and climbed onto the roof to clear away leaves. “You’re lookin’ like your grandmother! That’s what she used to do,” a neighbor said as she and her brother looked up at me. I thought to myself, “I know, and climbing on roofs is highly overrated.” I tore down plastic from windows that hadn’t seen sunlight since plastic was invented. Granny was addicted to tape, plastic and caulking and left signs of said addictions everywhere. She has booby-trapped the house and is probably in Heaven laughing right now. As I placed one of granny’s old wigs in a drawer (lest the real estate agent think I was a weirdo for having it out), I cried. “Granny, I miss you so much,” I said. After a final “dirty draws” check of the house, I met with the agent and signed my listing agreement. I am finally on my way. My back, thigh, calves and toes hurt so much that I don’t feel like eating anything more than the three cookies I had for lunch. I suppose pain is necessary for progress. So, I’ll pop some Tylenols and call it a night! Onward and upward!

Notes on Decluttering

I’ve been getting the house ready for the realtor’s visit tomorrow. I’m excited about this new journey. However, I’ve procrastinated about going through granny’s belongings to see what needs to be donated and what I will keep. Thus far, I have only managed to set aside one bag of granny’s clothing and have designated more of her things for the “to-keep” pile than the “donate” pile. During this decluttering process, I realized that granny wasn’t the only pack rat in this house. I’ve got clothes, papers, books, and other things I had long forgotten about. All of this talk of moving and starting life anew has forced me to finally go through all of our stuff.  And it has also reminded me of why it’s important to periodically declutter and get rid of things: because you’ll collapse from exhaustion at the thought of moving these things to another house. Although I’ve already set aside 140 books to donate, I’m starting to rethink my decision to keep all of my law school text books. And then there are some of my books that the Salvation Army doesn’t even want. Aside from avoiding the monumental task of moving everything you’ve ever owned since you were born, decluttering also allows you to weed through all of the extraneous things and get to the things that matter most. Today, I discovered that granny kept every bill, check, or bank statement she had ever received.  Those will be headed for the shredder. But, I also found my grandmother’s original birth certificate, letters between her and her siblings, a reference letter her pastor had written on her behalf, a notebook my granny took notes in while caring for her sick mother in 1977, certificates she had been awarded, and a delicately embroidered purse with matching silver gloves. I also found several of her Bibles, in which she had scribbled interesting notes. As I looked through the copy of Iyanla Vanzant’s Acts of Faith that I gave her in 1995, I re-read her notes and passages she had underlined, checked or circled. These items, more precious than her bank statements from 1982, tell a story about who my grandmother was and what she thought. Reading her words gives me a front row view of her feelings, vulnerabilities, hurts, and humanity. I look forward to continuing my treasure hunt for the things I will take with me when we travel to our new home.