My Friend G......................

I was talking with a friend today about our worth as a women. The conversation started with a walk down memory lane remembering men we'd dated in college and I mused that it was sad that I couldn't remember the names of men that had meant something to me. We started talking about women and our attachment to men and G made a brilliant observation that as women we often times give of ourselves so freely that we forget what we need in return. She said its easier for a man to get a woman into bed than it is to buy a car and that its sad that we ask so little for ourselves.

The striking thing to me was how right she was. I think of myself as a smart woman and I value myself a great deal, but as I think about my relationship history I realize that I never tell the other person what I need. I mean i'm not sure you're suppose to present a list, but I never say so when i'm not getting it. I feel like i shouldn't have to ask, like if it's the right person what he gives me will be enough and when it's not I assume he's not the one and move on; but what if I asked? I mean what if in the failed relationships I've walked away from I'd just have said "look man, call me more often", or "i need us to go outside of the apartment more" or,"i hate that you dont tip enough" whould they have ended differently. We ladies always talk about lack of communication being the downfall of a relationship so perhaps thats what ive been guilty of.

At the heart of what G was saying was the woman though. I mean what she was saying was less about what we need from men and more not ofering what we have to give without thought of the value so I guess more important than telling my partner what I need I should value what I have to give more and ask that he earn it.

My mother!!

I am the child of Traci Michelle Adedeji. She is this amazonian powerhouse that commands whatever room she enters and presents her brilliance with an eire ease and grace so much so that my sisters and I have nicknamed her Traci DIVA. The name fits perfectly for all the reasons I've just described, but also because when she walks there is always a curious wind blowing her hair and clothes into perfect place and the sense that she hears her own music to amp up the steps her three inch heels lead her forward with. She's the woman who kept her last name once she got rid of the asshole she was married to mainly because it was a conversation piece (sort of in the vein of Tina Turner at the courthouse divorcing Ike). She's the woman who is just as at home in baggy sweat pants and uggs as she is in the middle of a night club in a mini skirt and heels running a sexy game night. She is phenomenal, and brilliant, and beautiful, and quite a role model to have, but it seems like my sisters and I divided up her genes because I didn't get any of that sass and divaness and it occurs to me that in this next phase of my life I need some of them.

I recognize confidence and ease with people as things one has to acquire on their own, its just that it seems so easy for my mother, to be the focus of attention and to be able to express herself so brilliantly while I get hot, and my face starts to literally burn, and my speech speeds up and starts to slur, and I feel my ulcer acting up, so it puts me in a pretty precarious place with a hell of a learning curve to contend with. I have confidence that i'll get it together in a hurry, because what she did give me was the smart ass, overthinking, passionate, fighter genes in spades, I just find it interesting how different you can be from your parents, and how much those differences become evident as you get older.

A moment to refelct!!

When I consider my life, I've had two great loves. With one man I was loved so hard and so purely, but I was too self loathing and naive to think anyone could love me that much so I discounted it as puppy love. With the other I loved too blindly and wasn't loved enough in return so in the end he couldn't trust me to deal with the hard times that were ahead of us.

I reflect on these facts because I sit hear years later, quite a different woman than when I knew either one of these men, wondering if I had any of it to do over again would I.

Its a pretty hard thing to sit at the end of a phase of your life unsure if you've chosen wisely. I will say that to be loved that beautifully even though it didn't last makes fathoming life alone or without that degree of passion pretty sad, so I guess what im really reflecting on is whats in store next because when it comes down to it i guess I can't go back and change anything I can only make good use of what I know. This next phase should definitely be interesting!!

Just a thought.

With regard to the current state of dating as a 20 something I have to say that the whole idea has become a little bit of a chore. Forget about the crazy ratio of men to women, scratch the whole overworked under socialized aspect of our lives, forgo even the cliche "where do I even go to meet good people" argument, I'm talking about the actual discourse. It's exhausting.

Just a though. Why don't we all just rest our collective nerves and really be clear about: 1. who we are and 2. what we truly want. The knowing one's self is something that has to be done on your own time, before you even think about dating, but once you get that taken care of it’s onto really deciding honestly what you want. Don't be scared, there is someone out there for everyone.

If you want a random sexual partner there are plenty of women into that, if you want a casual date when the mood hits she's out there too, and if you are seriously looking for a partner there are more women out there than you can imagine that would be ideal. My point is just that if we all just start from a place of truth and of personal freedom to want what we want when we want it without apologies the likelihood of finding a match would be a lot higher and the whole dating prospect would be a lot less taxing.

Love this!!

I'm not sure if you all know this poem and I'm the lsat one to the e.e. Cummings party but i was watching a movie and it was recited and i fell in love!!! so here it is.........

i carry your heart with me
e.e.cummings

i carry your heart with me
(i carry it in my heart)
i am never without it
(anywhere i go you go, my dear;
and whatever is done by only me
is your doing, my darling)
i fear no fate(for you are my fate, my sweet)
i want no world
(for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud
of the bud and the sky of the sky
of a tree called life;
which grows higher than the soul can hope
or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

I was moved and I hope you are too!!!!!!!

A friend of mine wrote this beautiful piece about intrigue and I was moved by it becuse at its essence what he's saying is that we have to take the time to honor the million little things that make up the people in our lives. I think it's a brilliant point because its thoes things thoes qulities people offer to shae with us and thoes moments we share being affected by them that are the blessings God is bringing to our lives, so by not taking the time to honor them we are effectually blocking them. Please take a moment to read this and to let it youch you the way it did me and hopefully you are able to remember to honor your loved ones and yourself cus God knows its way to easy to forget!!!!!

Intrigue

By Rondell Clarkson

See…I love y'all. I do. I really, really do. I love to see you. I love to watch you. I love to listen to you-hold on, let me clarify. I love to listen to your insights, to listen to your feelings. You give everything-not just to me but in general. You always seem to lose sight of yourself-even when you don't realize it. Your hopes, dreams, and fears are always the same thing. Meaning, no thought is simple, it has sides, angles, posi-negs attached.

Wait, I'm tripping. Let's start at the beginning. Not the "beginning" but the beginning for me. I am admittedly and even notoriously shallow, so the curve of your cheeks, the shape of your lips, the glimmer of your eyes, the style of your hair, the shape of your chin and nose are huge. They grab me. Your neck holds me and pulls my vision down to neat shoulders, precious collarbones, and smooth, kissable upper chest area. The v of your cleavage like an arrow pointing down pulls my gaze to your…round, firm, soft, high, low, long-from 32A to 44DD doesn't matter as long as they are well-kept and neat.

The tummy, the waist, flat, pudgy, voluptuous-it's all good. You know how to show what you want and take attention away from it as well it's called style, grace…smooth. More important is that the hips which follow force the sides of the waist to curve out. I don't need an hourglass; I'll take a bottle of Hennessey. Proportion outdoes all the "t&a" anyone can be blessed with.

Thighs built to wrap around my waist or ears and made to withstand any and all punishment that I can and will put upon them. Calves, rock hard, shapely, defined…making me want to watch you dance.

The feet? Well, y'all saw "Boomerang", right? HAHAHA

But next comes the talking and listening. You never listen as much as you talk. And, of course, you bore me to death if your topics of conversation are always carry-overs from talk shows and magazines-especially about "pop-culture". I just know that there is so much more to you-I see it and so I seek it. Stimulate me with the "real you", the "you" underneath you, the pure side.

I love when you tell me about past relationships-with men or family and friends. You see, when you talk about things that have affected your feelings or your outlook on life, your become passionate, defensive, vulnerable…real. Your love is as potent as your pain. The good days equal the bad-that is what makes you so…you.

Now, since I am selfish, I'll talk about the other parts. You know, how your smile can bring out the sun. Also, how your frown can put me into a bottomless pit. Yeah, you can lift me up, motivate me…and just as easily pull me down and introvert me. The perfect analogy is a sexual one. You touch me, tease me, and get me rock hard, testosterone over the limit, pulsing, pounding, and adrenaline off the charts. Then, when you deem it necessary, you pull it all out of me, leaving me flaccid and weakened…and then you have the magic/power to get me right back up again—amazing.

You want to teach me how to love-to love like you do. I don't listen because I cannot. What distinguishes you from me is that you can love the way you do-hard, fast, unrelenting, unashamed, forceful, vengeful, spiritual…unconditional. I am not capable of love the way that you love. My attributes and gifts do not generally foster things like unconditional love. Do not misunderstand, for I want to love you the same way-you are more than deserving of that little bit. And, I will try…I will give everything that I can, but I will never be enough. My love will never match yours.

You are mother. Every aspect of your is compassion and nurturing. How easily do my eyes adjust to you? How easily do my ears recognize you? How easily you can get me to respond to you? Do you not realize that if I were capable of having this effect on you, that I too would have a womb?

We are capable of very different things; things that we desire but do not possess. I think this is why we are "attracted" to each other. Attraction is just the desire to possess what we are not capable of. By myself, I cannot walk into a room and have all eyes turn to me, love me and/or hate me just because of how I look. But I can open the door for you and let you step into the room before me. The eyes will turn to you and through you I will, too, feel those eyes, as you can become an extension of me and I of you.

Like I said in the beginning…I love you. There is so much to you…so much about you…so much around you.

Please, do not be offended if I cannot help but stare. Intrigue was a word made up for what is going on within me while I stare—I cannot explain it. There is just…"something"…that makes me stare. Other men understand. We cannot express what it is in words, so we say…we are intrigued. Know that you are beautiful, awesome and all other positive, and even most negative adjectives. You are so much all at once. You are…woman.

Perspective

Yeah, so I've been up most of the night. Insomnia is pretty bad these days. Anyhow I was up around 3am and found myself thinking about my life and what I'm doing with it. I guess it sort of boils down to perspective.

I have a tendency, every now and then, to misplace sight of the bigger picture. I confuse the work in process facets of my life with the ones that are on track and get consumed with over thinking instead of living.

In perspective I'm blessed and should be perfectly happy. In the recesses of my mind, at 3am, my job, my love life, my focus is all screwed up.

I always assumed that if I took care of the things I could control, or at least made preparation for, the other, uncontrollable things would fall into place. I go to college, prepare for a career, eventually, with hard work I'll end up where I want. I have a firm grasp on who I am as a person, a woman, a partner and the type of relationship I want so I date, meet and spend time with different people, set expectation and really know what I need to be happy, eventually god will send me the man of my life.

It's all well and good to know these things but what do you do in those 3am moments when doubt and fear creep in. I guess it all comes back to perspective. It's a funny things perspective. It relies so closely on a fixed point. My fixed point has always been the end result, what I want the sum of my life to be. I measure where I am at any point against where I want to end up. So I suppose to answer my question is that at 3am when doubt creeps in I stop thinking, I take my tail to sleep, and when I wake up remember the bigger picture and reset my perspective.

It takes a village.......

In our community we hear the call to responsibility for our kids in the form of the African ideal of it taking a village to raise a child. The notion that it takes a community of people committed to the well being of our kids to ensure their proper upbringing. This idea was on my spirit this morning because I met a young man named Haneef on Thursday that is in desperate need of a village and is being rejected at every turn.

Thursday afternoon around noon I'm working from home and there's a ring at my door. I answer and standing there soaking wet from the cold rain storm is Haneef Lasiter looking for directions. His story seemed a little suspect, but in that moment all the things I learned from Culture of Fear weren't telling me I should be afraid so I let the child in to figure out what the heck was going on. It was striking to me that a kid was wandering around when he should be in school, but what was more shocking was that when I asked who we could call he said his father wouldn't care and that he didn't have a mother. He said he had extended family he could go to but that no one would be home until after four so I decided to let him wait.

I gave the boy some lunch and tried to get useful information from him since he didn't have a viable number to give me at the time. He told me what school he went to and as he watched tv I tried to get to the bottom of the situation. I called his school and the principal told me he had been reported as a runaway and that I had to call the police, but had no other sense of duty to this child beyond letting me know he's in a bad situation and to let the police handle it. With a now escalated situation I calmed my nerves and called the police and explained that the child was reported as missing according to the school and had shown up on my doorstep. The response was that they would come to get him but that I should try to and keep him at my location.

Since I was told not to tell him the police were coming I gave him a snack and my computer to keep him occupied. Three and a half hours later I was starting to get worried so I called the police back trying to sus out when they would arrive. The officer I got transferred to proceeded to tell me that not only was Haneef's not the only case that needed attention but that the situation was mainly my fault. That the child is 14 not 4 and that I'm not suppose to let strangers into my house for milk and cookies (it was a meatloaf sandwich coke and sweet potato pie, but it didn't seen prudent to mention it) and that my liability is now in jeopardy if the child gets hurt or if he or his parents make the situation into more than it is. Shocked and pissed all I could think about was the fact that priorities these days are truly out of whack. I get all the legal issues but A CHILD IS MISSING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The only issue in that moment should be insuring that a child is safe. After I finished getting berated the officer told me that they were coming to get the child and that if his people wanted to come get him that would be ok too. That struck me as odd as well because it would be my thinking that once a kid is reported missing it becomes a police matter. Anyhow I get Haneef to call his family to let them know he's safe and another 40 minutes go by(still no police) and all I can think is that I have the police coming so I have to try to get him to stay. I offer hot chocolate and then he decided something is up and he wants to leave. At this point with not much confidence in the police and feeling increasingly nervous he's just going to leave I tell him that I had called the police because his father reported him missing and they were going to come and get him. I tried to explain that if there was really a problem at home they won't take him there and that police custody would be the safest place for him even though I only half believed it. He started to get a little panicky telling me that he hates the police and that he's dealt with them before to no avail and that he has a tendency to get violent when they are around. I had a quick OH SHIT moment and decided that at this point if he was going to go to his aunts house it was reasonably safe for him to leave. He decides hes going to leave after now an hour after my last call call to the police to get some help. I call them back to say the kid has decided to leave and ten minutes later the patrolman show up. They take my info and leave not indicating whether they're going to try and find him on his way to his aunts or anything so the situation is out of my hands. I redial his people to say he wanted to leave and that he said he was coming to them and left it at that feeling like I dropped the ball and that there was another kid out there feeling let down.

The next day still feeling worried about Haneef I call his school back to update the principal and am told he's not in school and basically that they have given up hope for the kid because he is a frequent runaway with emotional problems. This abandonment of Haneef was weighing on my spirit all day and I felt like I let him down by not getting him into police custody the night before. God must have had a plan because that evening I look out my dining room window and there Haneef, walking down my street. I call him over and ask what the hell happened to him and why he didn't go to school and whether he'd made it to his aunts house. His story was again off balance and not completely believable with bits about sleeping in building hallways and wandering the street but it boiled down to not wanting to go with the police. A few minutes into him being inside my friend Derrick shows up. Family I tell you that this was one of the times I will always use as proof that God is real because he sent this man who has been through more trials and more heartache than anyone should ever have to go through; who has risen above it all to be one of the most brilliant, strong, responsible, faithful fathers and husbands I know of to the situation as an example to this child of how God brings people through bad situations. Anyhow Derrick proceeds to tell Haneef his story and about how as a man there are things you have to endure to get through a point in your life. He gets Haneef to open up more and to eventually call his father. As a side note during all this, which has taken about four hours, we've called child services and the police explaining the situation and like the day before they say they're sending someone out. Finally Derrick has gotten Haneef to call his father. Derrick talks to the father first man to man explaining the situation and the father's response is that his son is a runaway let the police handle it. We get Haneef to speak to his dad and he asks his father to come get him and the response is the same "Let the police deal with you". By midnight Derrick has to get home to his family and he leaves so Haneef and I wait another two hours. In that time I've gotten my district leader and assemblywoman to call the police and still no response. I call back and they say they have a backlog and at this point just bring him to the precinct. I convince this tired abandoned kid to trust that the police will do right even though I don't really believe it and we go. I give the officer, who is among six others relaxing and joking behind the glass, the information and turn Haneef over 39 hours after first meeting him.

I sit here this afternoon feeling let down. Let down by the police that seemed to only see another young black face instead of a child in need, let down by Haneef's parents who let him down by not taking responsibility for their child, let down by myself for not taking him to the police myself in the first place, and let down by our society that has become so afraid of crime and of what could happen that it allows a Haneef to even be possible. This kid picked my neighborhood because he figured its quiet and nice and that someone would help him and the response he got was slammed doors and no assistance. I opened mine not thinking about the safety issues involved but I'm considered naive and reckless by most of the people I've relaid this story to. When did we abandon basic decency, when did a lost kid change meaning depending on the neighborhood he's in or the color of his skin. I feel this afternoon like we have to do better as a people.

How dare we talk about the drug dealers on the corners like some far removed miscreant that has nothing to do with our culture. You don't seen white kids standing on the corner selling drugs. There is a loathing for the base instincts of criminal activity in the inner city but no acknowledgment of the part we all play in it. Haneef, if left to his own devices, will be that boy clocking on the corner if someone doesn't take him into their fold and teach him there's a different life. There are Haneefs and Haneefahs all around us who don't know how to be good kids because we are failing them in that education. How dare we turn up out noses at a lost kid; that turned up nose will turn that unhappy kid into an angry man robbing you on your way home from work or stealing your car. Where do we start to reclaim these children in these deplorable situations? Where is the line drawn when it comes to how much help to give? I have no idea but I sit here this afternoon disappointed and a little defeated praying that my Haneef doesn't get disappointed yet again.

What inspired me today!!

"History is not a procession of illustrious people. It's about what happens to a people. Millions of anonymous people is what history is about."

James Baldwin

I love this quote because it speaks so powerfully to the idea of my project; that as a black chef I have a responsibility to identifying these anonymous names and tell the overlooked story of our contribution to food history. This quote just made me reaffirm what im doing. I'm also finding the generosity of so many chefs in my community overwhelming. That we're all connected and all on the same page with reference to the need for this sort of project is also cool to know. Anyhow I love James Baldwin, but am particularly in love with this quote.

So here's the thing.

I was thinking this morning about how the choices we make. How the ones that seem so simple turn out to be the most influential and the ones that in the midst of them seem like the most monumental of your life end up being the easiest ones to follow through on.

I guess the idea of choice was on my mid because I'm two months into the decision to cater full time and I am still scared as hell. I suppose a god dose of fear is healthy but it is just striking to me that I'm still worried. Cest la vie I suppose, I just wonder will the anxiety ever go away.........We shall see!

Cooking for the cause

Very inspiring story. I think this is a story we should all know about and im so proud of NPR and the Kitchen Sisters for telling it!! Here's the story and the link to the page with all sort of extras like the radio feed, awesome pictures and links to related stories at the end!!

The Club From Nowhere: Cooking for Civil Rights

by The Kitchen Sisters and Jamie York

In the 1950s, a group of Montgomery, Ala., women baked and sold pies, cookies and cakes in beauty salons and on street corners to help fund the Montgomery bus boycott.

The Club from Nowhere, as the group was known, was the brainchild of Georgia Gilmore, a cafeteria worker fired for her organizing efforts. She was one of the unsung heroes of the civil rights era. The Kitchen Sisters and producer Jamie York tell her story.

Story Notes: The Intersection of Food and Community

We've been thinking about Georgia Gilmore and The Club From Nowhere ever since John T. Edge, from the Southern Foodways Alliance at the University of Mississippi, called our Hidden Kitchens phone line last year to tell us about her secret civil rights kitchen in Montgomery, Ala. Any woman who could raise money selling pies and cakes out of beauty parlors to buy gas and station wagons to haul people to work during the 1955-56 bus boycott that Rosa Parks triggered was someone we wanted to chronicle.

Edge and his cronies at the Center for Southern Culture are doing some of the most compelling and imaginative work on the intersection of food and community. They are a deep well of oral history, thinkers who have been a rich resource for the Hidden Kitchens series.

Last year, the focus of the Southern Foodways Alliance's annual conference was Race and Food. This year, it's sugar. Their Keeper of the Flame Award for 2004 went to Martha Hawkins, a onetime welfare mother who now runs a restaurant in her home in Montgomery. Hawkins sees her work as being in league with the cooks who fed the civil rights movement and claims Georgia Gilmore as one of her inspirations.

Chris McNair, a photographer in Birmingham, Ala., is someone you should know about. McNair opens his studio (McNair Studio) to the public each Sunday for a buffet breakfast prepared by one of his daughters. His daughter Denise was one of the little girls killed in the bombing of the 16th Street Baptist Church in 1963. For many years Mr. McNair refused to talk about the bombing, but a few years ago he discovered that even young blacks in Birmingham didn't know the history of the civil rights movement. So he has created a "niche" in his studio dedicated to Denise, and he invites the public to come in and learn about the civil rights era, and eat some wonderful food to boot (biscuits, bacon, eggs and some amazing grits, we are told).

Our co-producer Jamie York traveled to Montgomery to conduct interviews for this story and sends us this note.

"It's impossible to really know Georgia Gilmore without tasting her cooking. I traveled to Montgomery to talk with those who knew her and was lucky to get close. As fate would have it, I mistakenly arrived at the home of Mark Gilmore, Ms. Gilmore's son, at the impolite time of 1 p.m. on a Sunday.

"Mark and his family had just gotten home from church; I felt awful for interrupting their large Sunday dinner. But Mark and his wife couldn't have been more pleased. First I was made to feel welcome, then I was made to feel full. I got some small taste for what it was like to be a guest at Ms. Gilmore's table. While Mark's wife served me sweet potatoes, cornbread, fried chicken, greens and sweet tea, Mark told stories about his mother.

"The short walk from Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s home to Georgia's block is as nondescript and historically significant as a Civil War battlefield. It's hard not to think about the potential for change that those few blocks represent.

"I came to talk to folks about Ms. Gilmore's cooking, but I was told repeatedly that, like most people, she was also struggling to raise her children, make a living and support her community. But it is her cooking which remains a touchstone for people in Montgomery when they think of 'the movement.' She elevated her day-to-day work -- doing the cooking -- into something greater. Anyone lucky enough to have eaten one of her meals associates it with that place and what that time demanded."

-- The Kitchen Sisters

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=4509998

The Beginning!

So this is the beginning of what im hoping will a place for the organization of all my random thoughts. I'm going to commit to putting something own daily even if its just a cool link or a little personal update.