Finding Balance

Splash!: San Diego,California

Pitta means, "That which digests things." The elements that govern Pitta are fire and water. Think of Pitta as the body's fire or metabolism. A famous Ayurvedic text defines the characteristics of Pitta dosha: hot and a little unctuous; sharp, burning; liquid and acidic; always flowing in an uncontrolled manner; pungent and sharp. Pitta contains fire, but it also contains water. It is the source of the flame, but not the flame itself.

Pitta is a power created by the interaction of water and fire. These forces symbolize transformation. For example, too much fire and too little water will cause the evaporation of the water. Too much water will result in the fire being put out. - excerpted from: Dipreg.com

Aaah...you know the feeling, when you know, "Yes, this is it; this is just what I was missing?" Yes, that feeling. I'm feeling wondrously refreshed, the gifts of the Universe are infinitely rewarding.

Peace and harmony

California Dreamin'

I am here.

Last night, after a full day of city traipsing and sight-seeing, I ate this.

Why yes, that is Chinese hot mustard you see atop everything.

And this is what happened next:

I sat at the table nearest the entrance anxiously awaiting her arrival. As she approached, I thought it could be her, though she appeared certain it was me. She took the seat facing me and as she leaned forward for the menu, slid a post-it note with a list of names and (619) exchanges between my chest and the table's ledge. Appearing as nervous as I was, she-quite poorly- feigned discontent with the menu and promptly exited.

Upon closer inspection of the post it note, I caught a glimpse of the bag in my periphery: in it, sat one rather large tub of Hellmann's mayonnaise. In this operation, my mission was to alert the people on the list that the "dope" was securely in my possession. The plan is now in motion. My success however was soon to come to an abrupt halt.

Just as I reached for the bag, and my fingertips-having just clipped the nail on my index finger too closely- came within a loose thread's reach of the handle, Malik Yoba -Uh huh...yes, the one from NY Undercover- grabbed my forearm formidably-although some might say it was rather sexy. "Look over there", he says and points to the window on my right. Through the window, I see John Tuturro-Yep, that one- he leads a group of uniformed officers toward the diner. "They know, they're onto us". Malik-giggle- hands over a map, -which looks quite like the one I picked up at the front desk of the resort- and shows me to the rear exit. It is there I am met by the same person I'd just met; only now, she is a he. He is actually the son of an acquaintance.

Clearly DJ (the he who was moments ago a she, but is really the son of an acquaintance) knows the ropes of the town and the operation, and takes the lead. We're running for what seems like hours and while I know intuitively that we are being chased, I can neither hear nor see anyone other than us two. We amble through an obstacle course-like system of beams and scaffolds covered in shades of yellow, green and orange wet paint. Panting and beginning to lose speed-I have zero endurance z-e-r-o, had this not been a dream I'd have been indicted, convicted and sentenced by now-we exchange the histories' of our careers as dope (Hellmann's mayonnaise) smugglers. He concedes the reason for his involvement is exclusive: a means to support his family. As I begin to proffer my reasoning, I spot "J-Murk" (Jordan's nom de guerre) tagged on one of the beams, in that moment all of my fear and fatigue dissipates and I exclaim, "I'm going to kill him!" DJ laughs.


Still fleeing, -Okay, more like near death trotting-we arrive at what I believe to be the end of a successful escape. A sense of relief befalls me. My accomplice stops at the scaffold's edge and says, "You never did tell me why you joined". "Oh"... I reply, "I just wanted to try something new". DJ lets out a machiavellian roar of laughter, turns his back to me, says, "Here's your chance" and jumps. Looking over what appears to be about 4 stories. Yes, about the height of the room I am currently occupying. I look over, pause in fear, pace anxiously, close my eyes and jump. With Crouching Tiger-like choreographic precision, I land atop the China Too: New York Style Chinese Cuisine restaurant and am immediately awakened by the pain in the wrist I'd been sleeping on.

The end of story ass-kicker:

As I slept, Joe busied himself by watching Netflix on the laptop. When I woke this morning-for the third and final time: I had to jot this dream on a paper towel at 4:00 am-, I asked him what he watched, "NOVA: What Are Dreams", he said. Wide-eyed stare.

Peace

Bad Words: Part One, Perhaps

How do I preface this? Let's see...(and, bare with me because this may be a more-than-one-post deal.)

We all know words, in and of themselves aren't inherently bad, context is key. I've recently experienced a few, well several, but a few stand out as being particularly puzzling. Well, no; they aren't really puzzling. You see, I understand the power of words, if not the particular power of these words; especially not to the extent in which power has been assigned.

First instance: A few months ago whilst buying some necessities at Sally's Beauty Supply there was a robbery. Cues Batman music and totally wishes I could find a Bam! to add right here...damn that would rock. Sorry. As I stood at the front register trying to convince myself that I needed any number of mud packs, foot creams and hair serums, I heard a commotion happening in the back of the store. The cashier looked up in the spy-cam-mirror-doodad as the other store employee-who'd just minutes earlier told me she had a baby 8 weeks ago, engaged in a verbal altercation with the Beauty Supplies Bandit.

"What did you just put in your bag, take it out!" The employee scolded. "I don't got nothing bitch", the bandit retorts. No, that's not the bad word, keep reading. "Get outta my way!" "Don't you tell me nothing", says the employee, in a pretty good mom voice for a newbie. And, then the woman says, "Do you want to see what's in my bag bitch?! Do you?! Do you?!" And, the employee screams "Oh my god she has a gun! Call the police!" Don't ask me why I am still waiting to pay for my beauty supplies, ahem necessities. Thinking back, who cares if my feet were a little rough and dry whilst tagged and hanging stiffly from a morgue slab. Grimaces.

And, now for the bad word part:

As the Beauty Supplies Bandit is exiting right behind me- Man do I ever need a "Yikes!" right here.-New Mom follows suit and peers out the window to get the license plate info. The now quite shaken cashier is soon connected with a 911 operator and says, "There's been a robbery and she says she has a gun" Pause. Hang on, she's swiping my card now. "Um...Sally Beauty Supply-[address omitted to stave off crazy blogger stalkers] a woman, yes...um..uh..an er, um ethnic woman. She's about 5'-I dunno short, uh...maybe 5'7." She recounts as she looks to New Mom for reassurance. 5'7 is not short. What am I then, microscopic? The cashier looks to me and says, "What would you say she was?" I say, "That's about right." But, what I want to say is, " She was Black, what the hell does ethnic look like? Just say BLACK, it's not a bad word."

Anyway, I didn't say that, but I've been thinking about it for months. Clearly, I'm not hoping I get the opportunity to say it next time, but I've been wondering if there were others who struggle with using the word Black? Or perhaps there is some other identifier of which you are uncomfortable. Please share.



Note: You can certainly use the Anonymous commenting feature for this post if you so desire, all input is appreciated.

Peace and understanding

Random Thought Thursday

This week in random thoughts: A List of random faves

Love

A crooked-tooth smile

The semi-colon

Wildflowers

Imported beer

Stretching cats

Old t-shirts

Old books

Ok...old stuff

The Portuguese language

My greying hair

Mischievous children

Fat men

This song

Writing short stories about nothing in particular

Children's books

Napping

Pound cake

Hummus

Tuesdays

Quiet

.

A Bit of R n' R

“Who among us hasn't envied a cat's ability to ignore the cares of daily life and to relax completely?” -Karen Brademeyer

I am on vacation, and will therefor be remotely blogging or perhaps, not. The plan is not to have a plan, but rather to-like Blu here- live, sleep, breathe, and exist completely unmoved by, yet consumed still, by each unplanned, unscheduled, obligations-free, rich foods and beer filled moment.

Peace is a sleeping cat

A Story Untold

I went out for a walk to settle the upset of my most recent bout with people drunkenness and happened upon this abandoned bouquet of wildflowers. So much for settling as I've spent the past two days trying to piece their story together, as well as wishing I'd have been of the quick, clear-thinking mind to scoop them up and enjoy them as a gift to me, from the Universe. What do you think their untold story is?

Peace and quiet

And The Winner Is...

Congratulations, Jennifer!

I hope it brings you great joy, I love having it as part of my ever-growing home library.

Random Thought Thursday

For some odd reason, I often add an "e" to random-just did it again, only to immediately catch the error, backspace and get rid of it. Does that ever happen to you? Wild.

Anyway, I digress-that was quicker than usual, eh? So today and yesterday and many days and years before it, I've often wondered, why doesn't money grow on trees? With the imminent arrival of Spring, I'm thinking now would be a good time to pick some of said "tree-growing monies" and buy some of my fantastic favorites from Etsy:

Left to right: Elegant Orange pincushion by: Nakpunar, Soft sculpture nesting bowls by: B Taylor Quilts, Mercado burlap bag by The Everyday Dog Studio, Vintage boho ruffle dress by Nickie Frye, Vintage mustard melamine cups and creamer by: Something Quite Nice, Original abstract books painting by Earth Arts.

Sighs. But, you and I both know money doesn't grow on trees and quails don't carry collapsible shopping bags on wheels; I love the birds and trees just the same though, I suppose. Grimaces.

Peace and parsimony

A Gift

"Lifelines: The Black Book of Proverbs" by: Askhari Johnson Hodari and Yvonne McCalla Sobers is a gift. I received this book a few weeks ago in exchange for reviewing it here at Tea & Honey Bread. It is a collection of some of the most beautiful quotes and sayings I'd never read. Through the years, lover of words that I am, I've amassed quite a collection of quote and poetry books: this one comes close only to "The Prophet" by: Kahlil Gibran. From birth to death and rebirth, with all milestones between, "Lifelines", has a proverb for you.

This book is available for purchase at Amazon.com, and I am offering one [1] copy to a lucky Tea & Honey Bread reader. To enter, leave a comment on this post, between now and Saturday, March 20th at midnight. A winner will be drawn randomly and announced on Sunday morning, apres cafe. If you do not have a blog, please include your e-mail address in the comment section so I am able to reach you should you win.

Good fortune will not happen to you;

good fortune is given to him who seeks it-Egypt

Peace and good fortune

Random Thought Thursday

Fine art photo by Aufilde on Etsy available for purchase [here]

...reading, wording, writing, thinking, working, rewording, rewriting, rethinking, reworking, re-reading, sighing, rewording, rewriting, rethinking, reworking, rereading, rubbing temples, rewording, rewriting, rethinking, reworking, rereading, cussing, rewording...ad infinitum.

Since I was about eight, I envisioned the inner-mechanics of my mind as being fueled by a little mouse. (I think this came from a Pavlovian response experiment I saw on NOVA or 3-2-1 Contact as a child) Well, the mouse is older and growing increasingly more uncooperative at this point. At times I think I hear him sighing and stomping and cussing up there, as I order him about in unspecific and seemingly futile direction mayhaps, he will just pack up and exit through my ear someday.

Do you ever wonder how messages get around in your head? I'd love to hear your theories.

Peace and frustrated little messenger mice

Idol Banter

Aah Idol, is it just me or is this the worst season the judges have ever had? I'm not sure they know what they're looking for in any of these contestants and in turn they are making it hell for them, all of them. Tuesday night when Kara told early favorite Katie Stevens, "You don't know who you are." I scowled and thought, shit I wouldn't know either after being subjected to all of the judges haranguing. And, tonight she critiqued sixteen year old, Aaron Kelly with some foolish fodder about him not relating to his song choice because sixteen year old's know nothing about the content of said song. To which I sneered and told her right to her TV face that she has no clue what 16 year old's know because she doesn't have one. Which of course has as much to do with her ability to judge the competition as it has with his ability to sing the damn song. Rolls eyes.

Here's the deal-in my expert, has sung a song, bought a few, written at least one for a dirty little pimply boy-some time before the age of sixteen, and bore witness (albeit unauthorized) to the songwriting and performance prowess of my own previously dirty little 16 year old boy- opinion, ready?

I Loved: Crystal Bowersox, Didi Benami, Lacey Brown, Lee Dewyze, Alex Lambert, and while it pains me to admit it, Michael Lynche: he irks me like white shoes after Labor Day.

I Hated: Kara DioGuardi, Paige Miles, Aaron Kelly and Kara DioGuardi some mo'.

Who's Outta There? Lilly Scott, Paige Miles, Todrick Hall, and regrettably, Andrew Garcia

Peace and good luck to the Top 12

Friends in High Places

Finally, my bones didn't crack and scare her off. Truth: I was creeping around the front yard willing my toes and knees and hips silent just to get this shot!

Peace and pretty little birds nesting

Sweet Tea Tuesdays

I have my own weekly column over at Moms of Hue. Tries to look poised-y'know like a TV anchorperson, whilst doing happy dance in chair. Weekly, I’ll broach a range of relevant, current topics from my perspective as well as that of other phenomenal women, and men. I invite you, all of you to pull up a chair, and bring your thoughts and experiences to the discussion as you join me for Sweet Tea Tuesdays over at Moms of Hue.

Today's discussion is "Friendship", here is an excerpt:

For all intents and purposes, Stephanie and I were destined to be friends: we’re both women of color, we’re sisters, daughters, aunts, imagined albeit faithful concubines of R&B singer Maxwell and professional teeth-sucking side eye shootin’ I got your actin’ up in public even if you aren’t my child mothers. Yet, we share a dissimilarity that has historically reduced friendships, marriages, families, empires and nations to ruins: religion. For the full story, "grab" the glass of sweet tea and join the discussion.

Peace and Sweet tea

Ahem...

No one talks about it, but it happens to us all, all of us. You take a stance for or against something or someone. You...Gasps and widens eyes-well one eye, the other is all frellin' pink and yucky! Bob forbid, admit to a passionate dislike for children, animals, cupcakes or yoga. You like Glenn Beck, Sarah Palin, Michael Vick or low-waisted skinny jeans, whatever it is you've done it and woke up the next day to find you've lost a follower. Or, if you're particularly neurotic- Clears throat,looks over both shoulders and leans in closer to keyboard-yeah I don't know why either, but that's how I type a "secret".-you check your followers and F5 all day after defending the rights of Nadya Suleman. Much like the in/famously overused Hip Hop adage, "Bloggin' ain't easy."

I've lost followers before, and for the most part it has left me unscathed. Potentially loses a few more sensitive ones right there. And, I wouldn't exactly say that I'm scathing now, I mean...the timing is a tad inopportune and all, but I'll live. What bothers me most though, is wondering who the heck it was! I don't even care what I could have said, because chances are I'll say it or something like it again, but who are you AWOL follower? Are you a man? Woman? Are you tall? Short? Young? Young at heart? Do you have a moustache? I hear they're making a comeback. Shudders. Mayhaps you have a moustache of the menopausal variety? A mayonnaise moustache? Root beer float? Egg cream?! I understand these things, I'll make special provisions-just y'know come back damn it!

Okay good, it's done-there I said it. Now, I'll just obsess over whether they've read it! Laughs in delirium.

Peace, like seriously

Random Thought Thursday: Emotion Olympics

Photo courtesy of nowpublic.com

At some point during a relatively normal for an un/homeschooling, business owner/operator/manager/slave, I could feel my brows start to furl, my muscles tensed, my hands became clammy and tingly like something was about to happen, and oh was it ever. This was my Facebook status at 12:09:

Tameka Allen-Mercado says from the stands, "No. 1 Foul Mood Swing is approaching the finish line, she twists, she turns...Serotonin plummets and she scores! Yes, Ladies and gentlemen Foul Mood Swing has done it AGAIN! It's an upset, the crowd boos and hisses-and we're outta here 'til the next time!"

It occurred to me that managing depression is a sport of sorts; you have to be totally dedicated in your practice and commitment to maximum sparkle. I'm not sure exactly what I should be practicing just yet. Feigning a smile through clenched teeth with furled brows, tense muscles and clammy, tingly hands seems a lot more y'know crazy-like, than being depressed. But for now, I have something to think about, and so do you...and all because of my obsession with a certain callipygous figure skater. Gotta love the Greeks!

Peace and randomosity

Idol Ladies Recap

Crystal Bowersox is the TRUTH-that is all...well, not really...

I Loved: Crystal Bowersox, Lilly Scott, Katelyn Epperly

I Hated: The Judges

I Voted for: No one.

I was in an unsparkly mood yesterday...so instead I ate veggie bacon and microwave pancakes. Y'all know I'm subject to bouts of non-compliance.

So, is it just me or did Haeley Vaughn perform like a grinnin' banshee since the auditions? Why are they just now getting around to telling her that she needs a year of training? You don't wait until someone crashes and burns to suggest a driver's license. Shakes fist at neck-rollin' ass Kara DioGuardi. (You must see the video, go on click it...hilarity ensues at 3:50)

Who's outta there? I'm worried about Didi Benami, after her Bill Withers' song debacle, I needed Somebody To Lean On. "I'm callin' on you brother, I need a hand...yes, for the remote, press mute-toute de suite!" And, Michelle Delamor needs to thank the hair gods-seriously, her mane is the main attraction, her chops-Rolls neck like DioGuardi, not so much!

Peace and necktitude

Oy Vey, American Idol

Picture taken for Fox by Patrick Ecclestein, stolen by me for this unpaid blog.

Let me preface this by saying that I'm a brisk walking, almost running contradiction. Truly, I'm a sorta frilly feminist sans body hair who longs to have the ass of a well built, figure skating man. Are you a believer yet? Well, my relationship with American Idol is much the same.

For starts, as an artist and overall creative carbon-based being, there is nothing I hate more than competing. Except of course when I know I'm unequivocally better than everyone else. Art competition is an oxymoron in my opinion; based on the sheer subjectivity of art and the clear objectivity of competition. Which brings me to this season's, and probably subsequent seasons when I wasn't paying attention or had better fodder to blog about- American Idol. Somewhere between David Cook's Billie Jean and Kris Allen's Heartless, artists thought, "Oh hey this show isn't just for cookie-cutter, bubble gum, pop star, wanna be's- maybe I'll audition"...and, this my dear friends is where it all went to shit.

American Idol's sole purpose is to promote and propagate the cookie-cutter, bubble gum, pop star wanna be's-and, I watch and vote for them every damn season. Le sigh. Tonight's lowdown:

I loved:

Alex Lambert-Everybody Knows

Casey James-I Don't Wanna be
Lee Dewyze-Lips of an Angel

I hated:

Michael Lynche-A Man's World
Todrick Hall-What's Love Gotta Do With It
Aaron Kelly-My Girl

I voted for:

Andrew Garcia-You Give Me Somethin'
Alex Lambert-Everybody Knows
Jermaine Sellers-What's Going On
John Park-Gravity

Huh?! Yes, I threw in some misunderstood underdog votes 4 each, I think...okay maybe 6 for someone and 2 for another-it all got pretty confusing after a while. This kind of foolery is for youngsters and politicians. I believe in my bleeding, conflicted, artistic heart that these people are thoroughly confused and misunderstood by the judges yammering. They're artists damn it! They just want to make art. They see a song on a list and think, "Oh hey, I like that song. That's a happy, sappy, deep, blah blah song. I know the words. I'll sing that song. Yeah! That's the song!" They're not thinking about demographics and stuff, and on that merit alone they got my vote! Their voices were sound, as far as week two singing goes. I don't tune in for posture and other politics-okay, I lied...I totally have a political theory about Idol, but y'know-that's for another time.

Who's outta there? I'm worried about Andrew Garcia and John Park, but I'll never watch again if...Ooh, there I go again, let me stop lying. Your slightly less conflicting thoughts?

Peace, cookies and bubble gum!