TEATIME TUESDAYS

An old proverb says, "People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones." I ain't gonna lie; I should never throw stones, seeing as my house even has glass fixtures and furniture. As soon as my petty nature rises, I remember that at one point, I was the immediate past president of the "stay-doing dumbness" club! 

I was thrown for a loop when I checked this week's topic. Before now, I had never considered what this contrasting season could mean. After all, Ecclesiastes 3 is merely that scripture we resort to at funerals. Otherwise, we quote any couplet of the fourteen whenever the need arises, according to our circumstances. 

Staring at that line, 'a time to scatter stones,' had me a bit perplexed. First, the word 'scatter' means to throw in various random directions. Yet my childhood warning had me at odds with that thought. As children, we were often cautioned not to throw stones because they have no eyes! In other words, once released, their target is sometimes up to chance. Why, then, is Solomon telling us time is allocated for scattering stones? To scatter does not suggest any kind of order to me. To scatter anything, to me, spells chaos. 

Right then, I couldn't help recalling the number of times the Bible refers to stones or rocks in some way. Most famously, David defeated Goliath with a small stone. This, though, was one of those cases where the rock understood the assignment. It also says to me that rocks aren't solely for building, but when used unconventionally, a rock becomes a weapon. So, I had to question,"Is 'throwing' a means of scattering?"

Dancing these days has been relegated to having Meg the Stallion knees and the uncanny ability to gyrate a single side of one's gluteus maximus on command. Perchance, if your Tik Tok trend can hit a million views from your mastery of choreography, you, my friend, have reached the pinnacle of stardom. Well, let me tell you now, if that is the prerequisite, many of us are disqualified. 

Much like laughter, dance is awakened by the presence of something pleasant. And no, this isn't scientifically proven by experts, but I can say with all confidence, we've all witnessed how food that hits the spot can cause one to dance happily. Or we've seen how exciting news could result in a shimmy. Most of us can’t help but bounce to an imaginary beat when we've received something unexpected but hoped for. 

Similar to music, I think dance is universal. But I've noticed that one's dance capability is relative depending on who you ask. I would even venture to say that when it comes to dancing, movement and rhythm, a particular group of people of a certain pigmentation tend to feel they have the monopoly. #melaninainttheonlythingpoppin 

Ooooh, my Gawd, Solomon! Oh. My. God! (throws hands in the air and walks out)Sirrrr, didn't we just finish weeping? Now we gatta grieve too!!?? #seriously 

Listen, this wasn't sitting well with me, either. My spirit was quite perturbed. Spoiler alert: it's plenty more list to go—so hang tight! Anyway, for the record, grief is slightly different from weeping (not everyone who grieves cries)—though they often team up. 

Remember last week I had said weeping, among other things, is associated with grief, and when a person weeps, either they are experiencing great anguish or extraordinary loss. Well, grief or mourning is dealing with the loss part. Let's be clear, though, that 'loss' does not only apply to death. You can grieve something or someone who is very much alive. 

It would be super easy for me to sit here and tell you about the casualties of what I deemed my great loves. Or I can agonize over the one I felt got away. I could avidly relive every gory detail and paint a graphic picture of my 'woe is me, I'm undone'pity party. But as a matter of clarity rather than transparency, I would like to talk about the loss of my mothers. Yes, plural. #boafem

Regardless of their outward appearance, being a funny dude is the' milkshake (jokes) that will forever bring all the girls to the yard. It's just something about slapping a guy on the shoulder and throwing your head back to let out a boisterous, almost snorting laugh. #ahfuntimes

I don't know everything, but I do know more people would rather laugh than cry, and others laugh, so they don't cry. Either way, many people stand by the belief that laughter is like medicine to the soul. 

As a kid, I've always been told to stop grinning like an ole chessy-cat. My brother could say moo, and I'd be keeling over like he was the headliner of the original Kings of Comedy. But as I got older, laughter became my defence mechanism, bursting out at the most inopportune times, causing me to come across as silly rather than nervous. 

Other times, I could type 'LOL' eleventeen million times in a day and never crack a smile. During those pretentious spells, I found myself watching hours of comedic specials to pull myself out of a mental funk. I would pop jokes like emotional ibuprofen, and just like the actual drug, the high of that good old chuckle wore off rather quickly.

It is common to laugh out of shock or disbelief, as well as out of amazement or joy. Naturally, I asked myself, exactly how long does laughter's medicinal benefits last? Is it a be-all, end-all cure, or is it a temporary fix to mask how we truly feel? Realistically, how much laughter does one need to erase what may feel like a lifetime of getting the messy end of the stick? 

Unlike most folks, I get excited when I see the caption 'long post' alert. You get to learn so much about the person doing the posting. Chances are they are about to be transparent, and somehow, reading it acknowledges that you are not alone. As bad as it sounds, it kinda gives you solace.

As I reflected on this month of August, my mind wandered to two posts I had seen that broke my heart. Each in a slightly different way. In one piece, I read of a college student's journey. One so rough that I doubt I'd have the fortitude to see it through. And the other, I watched an old clip of a scholarship recipient’s acceptance speech. His story was so moving that it prompted me to reflect on how much of my high school life was taken for granted and borderline wasted. 

Aimlessly scrolling my timeline, I saw a radiant photo of a beautiful young lady regaled in her cap and gown. I didn't know her, but her smile caused me to pause. And there it was, long post alert. I began to read her testimony through her six-year tertiary experience. With each paragraph, my heart sank as she spoke of how she was battling sickle cells the whole time. Thinking back on my autoimmune condition, I could easily empathize. But what added insult to injury was, mid-degree, she encountered one of the worse crises she'd ever experienced. An episode that was so dire that she had to withdraw from classes for a semester. Now, if you know anything about The University of The Bahamas, that in and of itself is enough to make one weep.

Building—whether a house, an empire, a sand castle, a brand or even a bear, takes a concerted, almost deliberate effort to see it through.

I suppose those are just a few aspects of conceptualizing what it means to build up. We can also look at the concept of build-up from a different perspective. For instance, when it comes to germs and gunk. We might also consider the uplifting of one's esteem—whether by flattery, compliments or affirmations. By the same token, it can mean reinforcing the strength and sturdiness of a thing or restoration to increase its value. The ways to spin it are endless.

To 'build up' can also relate to the time before an event. A crescendo, if you will—the loudest point reached in a gradually increasing sound. I'll tell you the God's honest truth; what I never want to be is anticlimactic. Better yet, not live up to the hype.

As I mulled over the notion of building and how it applies to life, I remembered one of my favourite stories from the Bible—The Tower of Babel. 

Evangelist Myley Cyrus, can describe many moments in our lives. I suppose when we read Solomon's synopsis of times and seasons, one tends to identify more with the negative aspects of each comparison. Psychologists refer to this as negativity bias because adverse events significantly impact our brains more than positive ones. #heavenhelpus

As I zeroed in on those last two words, break down. I realize that it can be a compound word as well. Immediately I knew this would give the phrase a different meaning. The single-word breakdown is a noun referring to the result of the action—while the two-word version, break down, is a verb that calls attention to the 'action' leading to the result. As I read various versions in the Bible of this scripture, whether it interchanged, tear down or break down, it used two words rather than its compound version. 

So let's explore the verb explanation of this phrase.

Break down—the action that leads to results. Or, in today's vernacular, "Make it make sense!" This begs an obvious question, "What actions have you or have you not taken that landed you where you are?"Better yet, "Are you willing to retrace your steps and make the necessary corrections?"

Yes, it a true that it takes time to heal but know that 'time is NOT the healer! "Healing" should not be a bandaid that we use to mask our wounds in the hopes that no one can see the imperfections. Having gone through both physical and emotional hurts, I believe that healing promotes overall health.

For clarity, healing isn't achieved by the wave of a magic wand, and it's not some weekend retreat that requires you to sit around a bond fire and sing kumbaya. But it is messy, painful, and requires effort from the injured party. For instance, PT won't work if you don't participate. The Therapist can't do the exercises for you, and the process won't accomplish what it should if you don't follow the instructions. Know that when you don't engage, you run the risk of whatever was broken or damaged, mending with irregularities.

My initial thought was to discuss healing as it relates to a therapist or managing your triggers and trauma responses, but those seem to get thrown at you at the speed of a viral video. Then I thought to talk about healing from the perspective of heartbreak, abandonment and rejection issues or the power of forgiveness; you know, the regular mulberry bush. #blahblahblah  But no, let's go in another direction. 

To hear the word 'kill' is off-putting. Actually, no, it's downright scary. Yet we've been so inundated with this word that we've become somewhat desensitized. 

I feel I should say, 'kill is not to be confused with murder—technically, they're not the same! But that's another story for another day.

I'll admit this is a heavy topic. One that made me wonder if tackling this list of seasons was a good idea, as I felt I was in over my head, and I began wondering if I was qualified to speak to any of it at all.

Yet, the more I mulled over this phrase in my mind, the more I heard something that had nothing to do with bloodshed—and it was there I let out a hallelujah.

The word harvest immediately takes me back to primary school when we had to bring canned goods and produce from home to give to the less fortunate. You knew it was a big deal because we'd have a special assembly that took weeks of preparation. Students brought their chairs from classrooms to the quadrangle, and special guests were treated like royalty. My favourite was when the choir would sing: "It's harvest, it's harvest, it's harvest time again. So bring ya pumpkin and watermelon,cassava, and peas and corn. Thank, thank, thank you, Lord. Thank you, Lord, again." 

As an adult, that whole ordeal now says one thing to me: 'harvest isn't for the benefit of one person.' I was reminded how the residual income of one moment had a rippling effect—and I like it. 

I spent a lot of my Christian life reading my Bible and praying in the hopes of getting something from God. Be it for an answer, a blessing, or a colossal intervention, it was rarely, if ever, for the sake of just spending time with Him whom I (supposedly) love. 

There are things you do in your free time, and then there are things you free your time to do. I believe that planting is a hobby people"do" with the hope that it works rather than expecting it to succeed. This opinion may be skewed as it's based on observing a person's reaction to witnessing their planted seed growing. It's as if seeing what they've planted actually flourishing—is a shock. 

As for me, when I think of planting, I think of an activity that requires me to get my hands dirty—problem numero uno. Then, I think of the consistency I'd need to ensure that what I plant actually grows—let the church say, 'ain't nobody gat time fa that.'

I'm already cringing at the idea of pests and the proper way to ward them off without harming the plant. Then there's feeding the plant—on top of wondering if I've given it enough water, too little water or too much water? What if the sun is too hot, or what if the sun doesn't shine at all. Does the plant need shade, or should I leave it to nature to do its thing? Do I place it into a pot or drop the seed any ole' where and say abracadabra? Do seeds need particular soil, or will any dirt do? Finally, does this exercise require special tools, or can I use any object that comes to my hands? Gosh, I'm exhausted just thinking about it. It's perhaps me being lazy, but planting doesn't sound enjoyable—it's giving hard work and inconvenience, and I'm not about that life.

You can go ahead and release the tension in your chest, as this is not a piece where I'm focused on last wills and testaments. Well, I suppose it'll depend on which lens you view the information through. 

Honestly, before we can even get to whether one hears, "Well done or depart from me, I never knew you," we'll have experienced several other instances that might feel worse than death. But like death, these situations may be sudden, or at other times you may battle the proverbial death bed to-do. Either way, rest assured, it's always only a matter of when. 

To die (not by Webster's description)signifiestime has expired or that 'a thing' has met its expected end. Basically, if you've ever had to grieve anything, you've probably had a brush with death.

I could be off base here, but I think most people who've not had the benefit of being born into wealth, if given a chance, would not choose the family they now have. Like most, what I may have opted for, would be based on affluence, privilege and geography.

When I hear the phrase 'A time to be born,' I can't help but reflect on that moment in most funerals when you're recapping the details of the deceased's life. You begin to compare it to Solomon's fourteen contrasting seasons and times—each serving a particular purpose. (see Ephesians 1-8) In fact, whenever my life seems halted in a juxtaposition, I think about these verses, wondering what phase I'm in and if I'm handling it with any grace at all. 

My physical birth occurred in the summer of 1980, amid the dreaded hurricane season. And most times, my life felt stuck in that dynamic—a period of storms brewing in rapid succession. Still, like those disturbances, I'm convinced nothing could stop my arrival; it was simply my time. 

So I used to work in a call center back in the day and ended up quitting weeks shy of my fifth anniversary. Let me tell you, though, saying that it was an eye-opening experience has to be the understatement of a lifetime. I learned in real-time during those many months that communication has nothing to do with what we say but what we hear. And while as an individual, I thought I had an excellent command of the English language, many days, I went home feeling like my elevator didn't go to the top floor.

At first, it was all kicks and giggles, as though it was curated for the newbies to be routed the colourful folks—you know, baptism by fire, I called it. Like, how were they doing this to us? How was it that every day, things I thought were standard verbiage became complex that I had to water it down? No lie, I was so excited for the opportunity to walk people through issues. Me, a problem solver. A superhero in my own right. #avengerassemble  Yet, I walked away from that experience, second-guessing everything I said before I said it, and I developed the annoying habit of over-explaining.

The other day, I was in a coffee shop drinking my water, minding my business. And by the other day, I mean pre-pandemic, and by water, I mean coffee. 

In came an elderly lady who sat next to me. We exchanged pleasantries, and by pleasantries, I mean a nod and a smile. 

She, too, was drinking her water. Although, I'm not sure she was minding her business because, from my peripheral vision, I could see her staring at me—rather intently. 

After what felt like an eternity, and by eternity I mean one sip of her water, she finally said,"Wow, you have beautiful skin!" I smiled, a bit uneasy and deflected by saying, "Yes, it's the weather, doing me all levels of justice!" And my urge to over-explain was brewing; I mean ready to bubble over. She looked at me, and in a matter-of-fact tone that only comes with an elderly badge of honour, she said, "Oh, hush, could you just take the compliment?" 

Feeling a little shame, I said coyly, "Yes, ma'am, thank you!" and we continued to chat briefly. As she left, I could no longer focus on my reason for being there. I had an overwhelming urge to dig deeper. "Why did her compliment make me uncomfortable?"

I saw a homeless man sitting on the side of the road the other day. Next to him was perhaps everything he owned, covered by a tarp, in a supermarket trolley. ⁣My heart sank, and I began wondering what could have possibly happened in this man's life that landed him in this position?

⁣Far be it from my pointless curiosity, something very profound got my attention. I was no longer fixated on his condition but instead that he sat there, in his state, reading a book. You'd think he'd be there lamenting over his many woes. I know I would. I'm talking, big ole pity party on lock! But no, he was there soaking in information. ⁣

⁣I don't know what book he was reading or why. But from observation alone, I concluded that his circumstance didn't define him as it might others. I realized he wasn't waiting for the conditions to be perfect for him to do something worthwhile or productive. To me, he appeared to start with what was in his reach.

⁣⁣

It feels like yesterday that I wrote about 'new year, new me season'that seems to descend upon us like the plagues of Egypt every 12 months. Ah yes, another round of cut-offs, clearing social media friend feeds and contact lists. And lest we forget the 300,000 vision board party flyers. I mean, nothing against it but seventy-five bucks for me to use my own glue stick, glitter, and scissors to create a homemade poster while someone stands in their cute-fit to the front of the room—hmm, no thanks. (insert trapsy emoji) 

Nonetheless, I was not at all enthused by the impending possibility of yet another 365 to make any major changes, other than to ensure my words matched my actions. Still, I was reminded of the sentiment that "The more things change, the more they remain the same." Or"There is nothing new under the sun!" Oh boy, I was about to descend into the rabbit hole of revolving thoughts.

To be completely honest, I was conflicted; you'll. On the one hand, the famous quote that says, 'the only constant in life is change,' denotes that change should happen, and if it's not, maybe something somewhere isn't growing. But then my life in Christendom echoes God doesn't change. So, do I change or nah? 

Suddenly, my thoughts of Christmases past were met with the harsh present-day reality that all things I'd hoped for to this end seemed out of reach with no end in sight. (Sigh) Bah Humbug!  The longer I pondered, the more I got irritated. The mere thought of my Christmas lather, rinse, repeat cycle was steady, giving me the heebie-jeebies.  "So, pretty girl like you een married yet?"was about to be the question I now consider more irritating than the near interrogations about my weight influxes.

In fact, any social outing where I'd face an opportunity to be grilled by all the insensitive people was gonna get me all in my feelings or force me to hurt some feelings. I wasn't interested in either parity. Believe me; I didn't need an office memo issued to remind me that I was growing older by the second. Nor did I need an update that my womb has somehow shrivelled up and become utterly useless (at least that's how they'd make you feel). While this time of year should be about togetherness, it's the pressure to 'be' that makes you wanna take a hard pass.

Disclaimer: Today's piece has nothing to do with Tyler and dem. Honestly, I've never even watched the show. Now that that's out of the way let's get to it.

I remember hearing a phrase not long ago, though I can't recall where—it was said. 'People don't want purpose; they want prizes.' As I pondered that thought, I couldn't help but look over my life and think of the motivation behind many of my so-called goals. There was no surprise there; it was more about me reaping benefits rather than pursuing the reason I was destined. 

All my life, I've heard the words' obedience is better than sacrifice!'Suffice it to say, while I always thought I knew exactly what this phrase meant, I can't explain what that initial thought process was. Meaning I can't put it into words that would make sense enough to make it make sense—if that makes sense. 

Needless to say, the first sentiment went up in flames. And as of late, I've found a new appreciation for this phrase—hang tight, and I'll cue you in soon enough. 

In my short life to date, I've made some questionable choices. I mean, downright nonsensical. Some of those choices were as blatant as seeing fire spewing from the stove but opting to take my bare hand and slap it on there regardless. Then, of course, cry. I mean, wailing that I got burned. 

My life is no Romeo and Juliet melodrama, but I've had a riveting mix of bitter and sweet moments. 

I've had what felt like eleventy thousand jobs but no Career.  As I’m sure, it sounds like a skyrillion relationships, too. Though in actuality, it's only been 4—at times, I'm talking about the same person but from a different vantage point. I even reckoned that I've had a bajillion places that, at some point, I called home. Not to forget the assortment of friends that garnished my various stages in life. I know to you, the listening audience, I sound like a mess—and you'd be mostly right. For a long time, perhaps I was. Even so, it's easy to sit in a seat of judgment, especially when sorrow (that is,heartbreak and sadness)looks different on everyone.

A friend of mine posted the other day on social media, "If I read, 'understood the assignment' one more time!" I hit the laughing emoji immediately because I could see her rolling her eyes as she typed it. 

Understanding the assignment seems to be the order of the day, but I'm curious to know how we can understand the assignment when we have no clue what it is in some instances. Actually, no, that is a bit presumptuous. I think we are focused on the wrong assignment. Yeah, maybe that's it. 

I think the assignment, more than anything else, is what's "Clearly Misunderstood"—this refers to someone who completely missed the point or did not understand something or someone. Many of us are walking around screaming at each other like Chris Tucker in Rush Hour, "Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?"And in kind, when people don't respond how we expect, rather than say it a different way, we keep repeating the same thing, only louder.

Right out the gate, there is nothing civil about war. No, all is NOT fair in love and war because if that were the case, then kingdoms would not have been divided over who couldn't marry whom, and Jesus' death would (a) never have happened or (b) not been so brutal.

A civil war is described as a battle between citizens of the same country. For the purpose of this exercise, we'll use the term metaphorically. It's no shocking surprise that most wars are first among people that are members of the same house. Crazy, right? Mark explains plainly how this is damaging, "If a house is divided against itself, that house cannot stand.Although, the NLT version is more direct when it says, "Similarly, a family splintered by feuding will fall apart."(Mark 3:25) Mmm-mmm-mmm, issa whole word right there! 

There are roughly 6,500 languages in the world. You're more than likely living in a place where most people speak your language, dare I even say, with almost the same accent. Yet you can feel like no one understands you. 

Still, you're in a place with everyone who looks similar to you—with the same skin hue, experiencing the same struggles, following the same patterns, in the same mundane job, going to the same predictable church service, and taking the same curated (fake) pictures for the gram. 

While we're all leading separate lives, is it really our commonalities that bind us and the difference that set us apart? Or, could it be that we're all in the same trenches, together, although we may live apart?

When I think of being alone, it's the silence that makes that feeling a reality. It's the absence of discourse that forces you to be painfully aware it's just you in a room. Even when a room is full of people, and there is chatter in every crevice, if no one is speaking to you, it's the same as two strangers sitting on a park bench. They are alone, but together. 


I've experienced several kinds of silence in relationships. There was a silence where words weren't needed: a smile, a touch, a nod, a furrowed brow, or widened eyes. Even the subtleties of body language were an entirely enjoyable and understood conversation. 


Then there was silence where no words were adequate to explain what was happening. All I knew was the silence became deafening, and anything said would have cued an avalanche. That type of quiet makes you feel alone, misunderstood, unheard and completely disregarded, all while next to someone. It's that silence that makes two people start questioning the intent and sincerity of every word and action.


I've also experienced self-induced solitude. The kind that comes when you start cleaning the emotional closet. Categorizing people based on how they regard you or lack thereof. But there is no loneliness like being alone in a room full of people. There's no alone like walking into an event holding hands with someone you've just had a thirty-minute car ride quieter than the night before Christmas.  It makes me wonder how is loneliness greater in an overly connected world, or is it worst knowing that you're never alone, even when you always feel like it? And is silence and loneliness interchangeable?

I can't speak for anyone else, but I often wonder if God was serious when He picked me! When I think of my inhibitions or those things I can't share with the world, I'm like,"Whew Lord, are You sure You want me to represent You?"

In life, I think it's natural to observe people, and sometimes low-key wanna be like them. Well, no, let me speak for myself. There was a point I wanted to be quiet and reserved. Ladylike and dainty with grace and poise and elegance—and if you know me in real life, you'd know most of which, I'm NOT! 

Let me just put it out there; I've exercised this defence a few times in my life. "Oh, I thought your text said it started at 7:30 pm, not 7:00 pm!" Yeah, I wanted to be late, so I didn't get stuck doing something I knew I'd be called on to do.

I've even sent a text to the right wrong number cause I knew its contents was gonna get a reaction. I, too, have said some mean things with a smile that I knew was below the belt cause we all know how to plant seeds of doubt in a person about themselves and then pass it off as, "Girl, I was only joking!" But was I, though?

I recently read somewhere how in ancient Greek plays, one man would play multiple roles. Onstage, he wore one mask, then went backstage to put on a new mask for playing another role. This person was called the 'hupokrites,' that's where we get the word 'hypocrite.'

Hypocrisy is the practice of claiming to have moral standards or beliefs to which one's own behaviour does not conform; pretense. Layman's terms, we be lying, aka we say one thing and do the next—aka (for my saints), we don't practice what we preach.

Though this has nothing to do with the pandemic, masks should not be worn to display oneself to some and not others. It shows a lack of authenticity. I believe God wants us to be exactly who He made us to be, no matter who is watching.

Having a choice means there are multiple options available. So how can one be faced with an 'only choice?' 

This oxymoron occurs when contradictory words are used together. In this case, there are multiple options when it comes to "choice."And when we say "only,"we mean one thing only. You see how they are very different, almost opposing? In reality, there will always be more than one choice. So what in the dickens can I be meaning? I'm glad you asked; stay tuned!

I'm sure you've heard phrases like, "You just like ya pa (father)!" "You're the spitting image of your mother." Or, "I wanna be like you when I grow up."Shoot, back in the 90's everyone was singing,"I wanna be like Mike!"  

On the other hand, there are well-known brands, and then there are generic brands. There is a clear and distinct contrast between designer pieces and their knockoff. And there are palatable differences between authentic Italian pizza and pizza bought from the frozen food section. 

Either way, deep in the recesses of who we are, we want to be set apart; we desire to be 'the first.'We want to be that standard by which all bars are set. Humans, at their core, want to be the chef's kiss to anything they put their hands to.  

This oxymoron, is one of those things we say without much thought on how weird it sounds. How can something simulated (replicated) also be deemed real? Is it because of all this visual stimulation that we've lost sight of what's real? How can we enjoy what's implied but stay dialled in to what is real?

You'll know Petty? Well, let me tell you'll 'bout her. She was me, and I was she! My petty was like the Lebron James of relationships. I could go from ultimate beast mode to milking a flop like someone just bulldozed me with their 7'ft. 1'in. 325lbs body! Like many, I embraced the petty; I became one with the petty. I put 'she on like a warm winter coat as the chill of a Swiss Alps winter softly kissed my sun-deprived cheeks. I was giving childish. I was giving shady. I was giving spiteful. I mean, I was serving passive-aggressive like I was Cash Money taking over for the 99's & 2000's. ”Hi there, welcome to Pettyville—where the odds are always against you!”

What in the ee-i-ee i-o!!?? Did someone really just take the thing you created, slapped a different label on it and tried to pass it off as their own? Wow—this happens more often than you might think.  At first, I use to be upset about it, until I remembered the famous saying: "Imitation is the highest form of flattery (Oscar Wilde). Then it dawned on me, if you're being duplicated, emulated, or fabricated in any shape or form, then you must be doing something right. But then again, can it be that most people are merely existing rather than functioning?Content in their pineapple under the sea?

Back in my 20's, I used to be a shoe fanatic. I could go weeks strutting like a foot model without a repeat. Unfortunately, while my extensive collection was fashionable, most of them weren't comfortable. Yes, they were nice to look at but let me tell you, many days, these puppies were crying. Now that I'm older, I think the idiom "Beauty is pain" makes absolutely no sense. 

My initial approach to the shoe game was similar to that of most women, who feel that having a 'corn' on every toe and two on the pinky is a small price to pay to be a show stopper. There’s no better remedy than to have other ladies ogling over you to numb the feeling of your throbbing feet. 

I was among the women who would sooner opt out of an event before choosing comfort over style. But, seriously, having said that out loud, does that make any sense to you? Likewise, when life starts to squeeze us, we'll look for any loophole to tap out. Meanwhile, some women will wrap up every bunion, blister and sprained ankle while hobbling on crutches before they retire the coveted stilettos. It all makes me wonder: "Why then are we peeved when life comes chomping at our Achilles heel?"

Ahhhh, drama—it's been the focal point of life since before I was a twinkle in my father's eyes. Well, more like, since Adam threw Eve under the bus, really. When I was younger, nothing could compare to the Young and the Restless episodes featuring Victor & Nikki Newman, who, by the way, has been doing drama literally since I was born. Who could get enough of Brooke (I don't even know her last name), sis, done married every Forester man, in some cases twice (Bold and the Beautiful)? What is more enthralling than screaming "You idiot!" at a television screen living vicariously through the characters you think are real? Well, let's just say NOTHING beats reality. 

Quit rolling your eyes, calm down and don't get your knickers in a bunch. Today is not me pontificating or expounding on the wordlike I'm a member of the clergy. Nah, that's what your pastor is for. I'm just a girl who sits in the pews like you, and I'm ready to tell my story. Well, at least another one of my stories. 

I'm gonna tell you about my journey. The one on how a personal relationship with God has a lot less to do with the rhetoric we do on Sundays and more about what's done in those spaces when you think no one can see you. Or behind closed doors when you feel no one is watching.

Let's cut to the chase; taking responsibility can be embarrassing, humbling, painful, and downright costly. Therefore, owning your actions requires two crucial factors; eliminating blame and getting rid of excuses.

Lately, it's become common practice to say that adulting is ghetto. That's now comical to me because, as teens, we couldn't wait to be rid of the people who dictated our every move. For reasons I have yet to grasp, we could not then appreciate the level of responsibility it took to parent us. I'd give at least one kidney to go back to a time when my most significant decisions were what to buy from the lunch lady and what whacky style I would fix my hair in next.  But no, like so many of you, I didn't appreciate what it meant to be free of worry or stress. Nope, I wished myself right into bills that come faster than people when they hear the government giving out free things.

Seeing the words: 'Access denied' has to be one of the most infuriating encounters. I mean, right up there with discovering you have a flat tire while dashing out the door on your way to work. Funnily enough, this tends to happen when you're in a mad rush or trying to meet a tight deadline. Being unable to obtain what virtually belongs to you seems a bit unfair. Even if it's because of something as trivial as forgetting your passcode, having an expired key card or perhaps not having the key at all. Yet isn't it amazing how many people think being available means they should be accessible too?

Picture it, you see a woman, she's dressed to the gawds. Hair done, nails done,  everything did (in my Drake's voice)! I mean, this chick is snatched from head to toe. You give her the once over, and since she looks so nice, you owe it to her to look twice. But that's where you stopped, at her toes. Although her shoes are designer, I'm talking; they are kuttee (cute); something distracts you and catches your attention at the same time. And there it was, winking at you, the pinky toe that won't quit. I mean, it's working like it was hammer time. Well, that's me. I'm the pinky toe. No matter how much I wanted to blend into the in-crowd, I always stuck out. Forget the sore thumb; I stuck out like a little phalange of a wide-width foot trying to fit in a narrow shoe. 

It turns out Adulting is much like the schoolyard, only with better toys, more lunch money and a later curfew. There's still a cool kids table and a corner for the jocks who only like the popular girlie girls. There are still the wallflowers who are underestimated and misunderstood. And let's not forget the 'I wish I had a little more of this and a little less of that' body-conscious chicks—only now having credit affords many the opportunity for a nip n' tuck. (insert drumroll) Then there are the bullies, the people that don't know who they are, so they make fun of you because, well, they don't know who they are!


High school is now called the workplace. Funday is the staff party, and afterschool clubs are known as happy hour. Assembly is the dreaded staff meeting, report card day is the end-of-year review, and teachers are nothing more than annoying supervisors, only now, in most cases, you are probably better qualified to do their job. Bullies are called Negative Nacy's and Karen's, who always have a problem and find fault in everything you do—usually, these folks have no life of their own. There, of course, is still that one person that's the butt of all the jokes and, on the flip side, there's the most charismatic individual that everyone gravitates toward. AKA,'the popular kid' that it's more beneficial to befriend than to be enemies with. Like I said, adulting—nothing more than a playground for grown-ups.

In my late teens and early twenties, I remember breaking up with Bugga-boo every five minutes and twenty seconds. Argh! Looking back, that was so silly and super annoying. Why was I like that? 

I suppose it had much to do with emotional immaturity. Me, falling face forward into the status quo of"Reasons why women don't be makin' no sense!" First, I succumbed to a highly contagious disease that many women suffer from, known as the tomfoolery disorder. The most common symptoms are the words fine, nothing and whatever. When it wasn't that, then I caught a bout of good ole-fashioned catty-iitis―where symptoms resulted in slamming down phones and flinging doors shut. As if that wasn't bad enough, I, too, caught the sourpuss bug, which resulted in the incessant need to keep bringing up the past. I mean, rehashing "once upon a time's" more furious than a volcano erupting. (Talk about hell hath no fury...) All of it culminating into an era of what I refer to as the rise of the "Petty Crockers." These days, we don't bother to go through all that; we use the handy dandy block and delete. 

Secure the bag, sis! Get 'dem coins, miss! Where the money resides! Everywhere we turn these days,it's all about the Benjamins baby. It's no wonder when the word' priorityarises, the first thing that comes to mind is 'the budget.' While that's all good and well, I believe that your relationship with money reveals a lot about what you prioritize most in life. What you spend money on first usually indicates who or what has your heart.

I recently heard a sermon snippet where the preacher was listing things in your body that you could live without.  I'd never really given it that much thought simply because we see so many people around us functioning without certain extremities. I mean, that in and of itself shows that life is very doable without some stuff. That made me conclude priorities are not always determined by what's most important on the list but by knowing what you can do without. However, neither of these two extremes can't be understood or achieved without discipline and self-control.

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears(in the words of Mark Anthony): To live in a state of denial means every day you wake up and choose violence. Your rejection of reality doesn't make it any less real, nor does your refusal to accept it make it go away.

Have you ever looked back over your life and asked yourself, "What in the Whitney and Bobby was I thinking?" Well, I was sis, sis was me! It all started in the last season (unbeknown to me) of a relationship. I woke up one day and realized the relationship I thought I was in and wanted so badly did not exist. There I was, with this romanticized view of the 'good woman'behind 'the great man.' But in actuality, there was a woman, and there was a man, but they were not moving together. The picture was a far cry from the negative.

I searched high and low for a definition of clarity that would explain exactly what I want to say next. Definitions.net did it justice and defines the word as: free from obscurity and easy to understand.So to be clear, one must be able to first see and then understand.

Secondly, gaining clarity calls for being in control of your thoughts. Research shows we have anywhere from 50,000 to 80,000 thoughts a day! How can you tell anyone else what you think if the things you're considering don't even make sense to you?

From the very moment you open your eyes in the morning, everything you do from that moment on is based on a choice. Snooze or not snooze? Pray or don't pray? Shower, bath or nah? Sweats or jammies? Coffee, tea or both? Toast or cereal? 

On the flip side, there are some things that dictate your life but are based on decisions that have nothing to do with you. Like, you can't decide who your parents are. Nor can you determine when or where you're born, neither when you'll die. All you have at any moment is the moment you have in the now. I heard a preacher say that the understanding of life is not so much found in the answers but in the depth of the question.

All of this then made me wonder, is it your choice whether your life is empty or full? And can you choose what fills your life or what you'll lack? Ultimately can you decide to be or not to be? 

This made me question, "Is it possible to become too familiar in a relationship?" After all, isn't that the goal? To know you as I know myself?

Truth be told, the more you know about people, potentially the less you like them. Usually, the folks you encounter act as a mirror. Sometimes it's a two-way, where you can see them, but they can't see you, or it's just as we know it to be—and what is presented is what is reflected. What a person represents can sometimes show you precisely who you are. Honestly, most of us don't like that feeling. How dare you reveal to me my flaws? How dare you reflect me to me without a filter? I firmly believe in any relationship, be it platonic or otherwise; we're either projecting or reflecting. 

According to one online dictionary, there are 13 definitions for the word toxic. Most of which are derivatives of poison. So essentially, what we're doing when we hold on to our unhealthy traits is the equivalent of scattering droplets of contaminants as we do when setting traps for rodents. We are purposefully and intentionally (whether you admit it or not)destroying whatever we come in contact with. So if you are out here staying toxic even after being told, then fam, you're selfish, trapsy, and must simply hate people.

I remember reading somewhere that you can't be salty and single. Immediately my melanin neck roll ensued, followed by the appropriate "Ooh really now?"dose of sarcasm. Now, what was more real than the statement itself was that at that moment, I wasn't ready to face the truth of what that conversation would reveal. That admission suddenly made me aware that being salty is usually birthed in insecurity and nourished by fear.

It's these would be insignificant facts that made me remember one thing. The more I learn, the less I know.Yet, for most of my life, 'I'had the audacity to think I knew more than I really do. Could no one tell me nothing! This, of course, played out in several intervals during my life. First, as a teenager, when I wanted to defy parental rules. Then in the workplace, when I couldn't stand being corrected, especially openly. But more predominantly in relationships where I thought I was the foremost authority on most subject matters. I don't know; somehow, I kept catching the Black Friday sales on Audacity. I was fully stocked. I mean never rationing or in short supply.

Yikes! So many decisions, so little time. Should I really wear white, or should I choose a hue, less colourful than my past?  Timeless lace or sparkling crystals? A chignon, soft-curls or my signature cut? An empire waist, a princess cut or ball gown? Train or no train, veil or no veil? In a garden or a church? Spring or Fall?  Roses or lilies? Morning or afternoon? A reception or nah? An entourage or the faithful few? Open seating or arranged seating? No garter and bouquet toss, or should I keep the tradition? Limousine or a vintage car? A wedding registry or monetary appeal? Themed or no theme? E-vites or invitations? Should I write my own vows or stick with the norm? You know what forget this, I'm just gonna elope.

Even now, in the still of the most nights, as articles dance around in my head, so does the nagging question of, "what if?" That one question that plagues many and taunts us into believing we've missed some golden opportunity. I say, why not flip the script on that thinking? What if your moving out of position was the other person's opportunity to dodge a bullet? What if you acting a plump fool was their blessing in disguise? Sometimes, the benefit is for the antagonist (the villain of the story) and not the protagonist (the hero of the story). 

Sidebar:There is a caveat to Standing back. It is not only a process by which you look for flaws. It's also about seeing what is right in front of you. Stepping back helps you recognize the gift in what you already have, why you should be grateful and clues you in on how to ensure your grass always stays green!

After reading the message, I was immediately reminded of the phrase, ".....it's like finding a needle in a haystack."The old cliche suggests it's nearly impossible to find something that small, lost or hidden (you) in something relatively that enormous (the world). You see, that was how I lived my life. No matter how many stages I graced, or how many microphones I stood behind, a large part of me never felt good enough to be there. Isn't that how most of us see ourselves, though? Who me? I'm just a small fry. Who me? I'm not that important. Nah, I'm okay right here behind the scenes.

When individuals encounter you, are they moved to put you into escrow (let's call that engagement), which they'll be moved to close (let's call that marriage)? Or are you what they consider a foreclosure (you fail to met obligations), and they are forced to keep looking? Are you considered a starter home (girlfriend) or a forever (dream) home (a wife)? Will they find you too much of a liability because you've not been upgraded in the last 20 years? Or will they conclude that you have good bones, character, and dare say you're worth the investment? Basically, when people encounter you, will they love it or list it?

DMX asked a very pertinent question in his song Good Girls, Bad Guys. "Why do (good girls) like bad guys, knowin' that bad guys tell mad lies?"What's even funnier than the irony of the question is that we get mad when they do. Logically speaking, you can't be angry at someone who does precisely what they already told you they'd do. Or can you?

Recently, for some odd reason, I keep seeing the caption—"broken crayons still colour."  For a long time, I too subscribed to this notion that its okay to be broken and functional. I now see this phrase in a whole new light, as it suggests to me that in your broken state, you're still effective. The lie detector determines THIS IS A LIE! Contrary to popular belief, while some broken things still work, don't be fooled, they do not operate at full capacity. Obviously, since people have a tendency to replace broken things. By virtue that the body has been created to heal itself, this tells me 'wholeness'was the original blueprint for our lives. Sadly, we have succumbed to this fake-it-til'-you-make-it culture-so much so, that it's hard to detect an issue at first glance. Do me a favour, abandon team brokenness rocks, aye!

In 2011, I caught fire. Yes, I mean, I was going up in flames, while doing a rather typical everyday task.  One that I had done at least a thousand times before. Simply cooking dinner. Maybe I'll tell you guys all the gory details some other time. But for now, more than the fire itself,  I want to delve into the aftermath. As my bandages were being changed every couple of days, three things about that routine stood out to me.  Firstly, the process was embarrassing. Secondly, it was painful. And lastly, the wound had a god-awful smell.  The whole ordeal just got to me to thinking differently about healing. I soon concluded that it's near impossible for recovery, of any kind, to be peaches and creme.  Healing is messy, its painful, and proper healing doesn't happen overnight. As uncomfortable as it was, I didn't miss a day of work. But there was no way I could be shouting YOLO either. 

If you're reading this article in search of the answer to this question, sorry, you won't find it here. I'm single, what the heck do I know? Like you, this sister has more questions than answers. An inquiring mind wants to know what exactly is 'irreconcilable differences' and is there such a thing as 'me time' in marriage? Better yet, how much of homeslice's annoying habits does a wife endure (like if mister forgets to put down the seat) before she spazzes out and vice-versa?  But more importantly, who is responsible for bringing home the bacon and is the person who brings it, exempt from cooking it? I suppose it depends on who you ask, just what kind of answers you'll get to any of these questions. What I do know is, from my little tuffet, couples seem to be getting divorced quicker than Popeyes sold-out of the spicy chicken sandwich!  

We have at one time, or the other heard someone say, "I don't give two hoots what you say about me!" When I hear that, I automatically want to say, "Ah, stop lying!" Then again, I suppose it won't be fair that I think the statement is untrue for the person saying it.  All I know is this, that statement is not the case for everyone. Even when 'they' say it is. Deep down inside, we often care a little more than we'd like to admit. 

"You wait til' I get to heaven, I ga' tell Eve bout her........!" Hey, you! Pique down, missy! Can we please, for the love of God, let Eve rest in peace already? From the time I could tie my shoes, poor Eve has been dragged through the mud for eating the apple or whatever it was that she ate in the garden. Since before humans discovered fire, my girl has been catching flack for everything from P.M.S. to chapter 7 bankruptcy. At this point, I just want to resurrect Johnny Cochran to get the indicted Eve off the hook. I mean, if he could do it for OJ........well then.

If it isn't bad enough that I've yet to subscribe to my lifetime membership of cuffing season, I am well into my 30's and still out here having to list my sister as my emergency contact. Honestly, my last prospect should have been it. So what in the name of sweet baby Jesus happened? While that's really neither here nor there, all I know is if one more church mother tells me she's praying God sends my 'Boaz,' I'm fitting to lose my cotton-picking mind.

I ain't calling no names, but 'someone' got the notion that home of the Star-Spangled Banner is no longer fit to be called 'great'! Though from where I sit, this island girl thinks the 'Land of the Free' is just fine. But then again, my time there is usually brief. I shop, eat, take in the sites, and make my way back home. I don't have to live there, so what do I know? My two days of visitation is not to be compared to someone else's lifetime occupancy!

Welcome to the Family!

Before you think I've been around the world and still can't find my baby (if you miss that, you too young), know that some of these attributes belong to the same person. On the flip side of that, I have single gal-pals, single mom friends, divorced friends, single never been married friends, and then, there is my seasoned and married crew. Meanwhile, I'm here being at peace and seeing the good in what I deem my devastating bad breaks. Still, I can't help but mull over things some folks don't like acknowledging, much less talking about. I seriously want an unfiltered answer from someone real, "Is marriage honest to goodness beautiful, or does it quickly evolve into nothing more than an old ball and chain?"

Captin's Log:pre-pandemic—when everyone was busy, and life was fast-paced, and calendars everywhere were booked and busy. Almost no time to meditate or give careful consideration before life-altering decisions were made. Everything impulsive, powered by the need for instant gratification. People were obsessed with the all mighty dollar—working excessively long hours, just to make more money, to purchase more things they'll essentially have no time to enjoy. Yet somehow, even that was not enough. 

Ahh, yes! We've officially entered the 'New Year, New Me' season. We dedicate this special time of year to deleting people from our Facebook friends list and blocking numbers in our contact list. Let's not forget setting yet another weight loss journey goal and my all-time favourite, the laundry list of New Year 'I wrote it cause it sounds deep,'Resolutions. To me, ringing in a New Year often feels like that moment when I finally learn to manoeuvre through the latest iOS updates, and then Apple says, "Bump that!" and come out with a whole new phone. "Sigh!"

Aviation United By AviationZ chatted with Author, Blogger, Ghostwriter Raquel Sherron about Dating.

Raquel chats about her background, and is there a perfect date? What to expect on a date or a first date, Online dating apps, why do we always see the positives on dating apps (pictures, career, hobbies) and rarely the negative? She discusses what ghosting is and why it can happen?  Is dating too much hassle, and is it better to concentrate on your own needs, and is it possible to be happy single? We also discuss her podcast Tea Time Tuesday's & much more.

Link:  https://avz1.podbean.com/e/dating-with-author-%c2%b7-blogger-%c2%b7-ghostwriter-raquel-sherron/

"Oh, the Who-Manity!" in my best Grinch voice. No, I'm not gonna draw some mind-blowing parallel to Whoville, where Cindy-Lou Who resides. On the other hand, I would like to take you walking through Whoville, where all the Whos are allowed to steal our happiness, leaving us all Grinchy, and we never understand why!

Even if you're not a die-hard GOT fan, you've probably heard the phrase"Winter is Coming." It is the watchword of the House Stark, which is one of the great houses of Westeros—or so I've read. A mantra of sorts aimed to remind the house not to think of life as a beach where you sip bottomless Mai Tai's while being kissed by the sun but to be constantly vigilant. Winter—for many, is synonymous with Christmas. And though we sing about it being the most 'wonderful' time of the year, wintertends to signify something quite different from jolly old St. Nick and his reindeer posse.

How in the pa-rum-pum-pum-pum did Kevin end up in the same situation one year later? Honestly, who am I to judge? I've realized I'd been asking myself that same question at least a dozen times per year. 

If there was ever a phrase that suited me to-a-T, it would have to be when Kevin Mclasiter said to his mom, "This house is so full of people, it makes me sick! When I grow up and get married, I'm living alone!" Married but alone, huh? Interesting concept. At some point in life, we perhaps were all so fed-up with our family that we wished they would all disappear. But true to form, in an ironic twist of fate, those Wet Bandit's would be right there. Lurking through the windows of our souls, whispering ever so mischievously, "Merry Christmas, little fella. We know that you're in there and that you're all alone."  

I hate to admit it, but I might have been a bit of a mean girl as I roamed the halls of my high school in the early '90s.  It took me a long time to say that aloud because I had somehow convinced myself it was me surviving the battle of the fittest.  I learned late in life that you don't have to be rude to express your opinion, and being aggressive doesn't necessarily represent your strength.  

If you need to step on other people to make yourself feel good, then that's a surefire sign that you popping off is more about your shortcomings than the other person. It's like whatchamacall-him used to tell me, "If you punch me in my mouth, it doesn't stop bleeding because you said sorry!" While as an adult, I may have regretted those words and actions as a teen, it didn't mean that I wasn't enrolled in the school of life. And it was eagerly waiting to test me. Fate was somewhere around the corner waiting to jump me like I'd stole its lunch money.

I'm sure you thought I was gonna be here talking bout women and reproduction. Nah, come on, you know better than that. I'm never talking about what I'm actually talking about. Well, maybe a little bit. All I know is Benny Hill was on to something when he said, "Have you noticed that all the people in favour of birth control are already born?"

Please raise your right hand: Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you, God?  Response: I do! If you've never been in a court of law, then you have at least seen this scenario play out on screen in some tv drama. But in these here streets, people swear by any extreme to get the other party to believe what they are saying to be true. Rhetoric like: I'll put my hand on the Bible! On God! On my mama! On my kids, on my life even, has said everyone, who was probably lying. 

Doing the same thing repeatedly and then expecting a different result is known as insanity. So what should we call doing the same thing over and over already knowing the outcome? I suppose it's what my Bahamian peeps call being the conch! Conch, a cultural food staple, is usually beaten with a mallet before cooking-depending on the dish. Using a 'lil elbow grease, this Mollusca is pounded until it is thin and almost mangled, so it becomes extra tender in the stewing process. I reckon sometimes applying pressure and heat really does bring out your full potential. I must caution you though, too much heat to the conch makes it rubbery, and therefore good-for-nothing. But like the conch, some relationships had beaten me to a pulp. Still, after everything I had done to barely pull it together, yes sir, you know it! Muscle memory triggered yet another round of tenderization.

Evil step-sisters, wicked queens, big-bad wolves, little boys who lie, a beast, 'thee' prince charming, talking animals, the trickster masquerading as a gentleman, I mean the list of relatable characters goes on. Sarcasm aside, have you seriously ever considered the storyline of a fairytale? There is some seriously twisted stuff that happens! The kind of things that ironically have an identical parallel to real life. I mean just downright discouraging. Just like a fairytale, real life-is sprinkled with good and evil, the heroine and the villain, obstacles, and overcoming them. 

Going outside your house these days without a mask can almost get you charged with indecent exposure. Everything is such a mood that we can no longer tell the difference between regular folk, erring on the side of caution, versus those who wish to exploit this dilemma for personal gain. As if it's not bad enough that we have been ordered to stay indoors ("Yay," screams all the introverts), we are now required to stand 6-feet apart to minimize physical contact. We not singing Diana Ross','Reach out and touch'round here.

Olivia Pope, cannot 'it's handled' your life to normalcy. Unfortunately, you can't swipe left on your problems to make them vanish, and you can't put a filter on your issues to make them look cute and flawless. Iyanla Vanzant may be able to muster an excellent tear-jerking conversation, but even she, nor anyone for that matter, can't 'fix' what isn't acknowledged.

"What you talkin' bout Willis?" I'm so glad you asked. I use to think that my feelings betrayed me. I use to think when I needed them to be contained, they spewed out like hot lava, when a volcano erupts. After I pulled a scene and calmed down, no matter how much I apologised, that image of me acting the fool was etched in the mind of that individual. I'm sure someone out there has updated my name to 'skitzo' in their contact list. On the heels of the Easter season, I think it's safe to say many people feel someone kind of way about Judas. Jesus didn't. He understood Judas was part of the big picture. Now that's not a hall pass for you to act the fool for no reason.

I know people of my pigmentation and churchgoers alike, may never agree, but hear me when I say this, "Therapy is NOT only for the person that just flew over the cuckoo's nest!"Okay, let's level--if you have a heart condition, you’d fly your tail to a cardiologist simply because he specializes in that, right? Well jumpin' Jehoshaphat, why won't you go to see someone that specializes in helping you fix your broken emotions? No, you'd rather be out here spewing toxic juice on people, like being slimed on Nickelodeon’s Double Dare! This is not rocket science people-Go. Fix. Your. Emotions. Until then, you need to quarantine yourself as if you've just contracted COVID-19.

Can somebody, anybody, please tell me how to play the hand you're dealt, in the relationship game of life? I can't even count the number of incidences that had me on the perpetual date, break-up, and make-up merry-go-round. I nearly pulled every strand of hair from my head, and if you know me that's already very little hair. Ultimately, all I wanted to do was look up to the sky and scream, "God, that's enough already!" What kind of luck could I have possibly had to keep repeating the same relationship disasters for the last 20-years? I suppose the answer to all these questions can be summed up to a condition I like to call CSI (Children of Israel Syndrome). Yes sir, round that same mountain, like the earth rotating around the sun. All while happily singing the Micky D's theme song, "Bah dah dah dah da, I'm lovin' it!"Sidebar: In case you think that God has you on some lifetime, naughty list, no friend, it's you (just like me) that's stuck on the slow-bus, taking forever to catch the hint.

So, rumour had it that Idris told R n' B Singer K. Michelle, he could never be committed to just one woman. Then low and behold, People's Magazine 2018's Sexist Man Alive turned around and not only committed to a different woman but even gave that sista his last name. He met his now-wife in 2017, was engaged to her by 2018 and sealed the deal in 2019.  I'll tell you (and as bad as it may sound) it was a smidgen comforting to know situations like this don't just happen to us, regular people. Yes. I said it. Sorry, not sorry! In my book, what Idris was really saying is, "No K, I'm just not moved to commit to you!"

Men are always telling us (women) the truth. We either don't like it or we're just not listening!

By definition, an 'edge' is considered the outside limit of an object or area.  It's the place furthest from the center, that provides a border. I suppose if we translate that into relationship terminology, we can refer to 'edges' as boundaries. I've said it before and I'll say it again, I'm the girl that has to learn everything the hard way. I was that kid who you'd tell the stove is hot and I'd just have to touch it to see if it was as hot as you said it is.  Yes, I'm that girl and I don't want you to be like me.  I want you to learn from my dumbness. One boundary that I kept moving further and further back-is tolerance. The outline that dictates what I should and should not accept.  One thing is for sure, the saying holds true, what you allow is what will continue.

When I was growing up, we girls prided ourselves on being sugar and spice and everything nice. While little boys were said to be made of snips and snails and puppy dog tails.  Yet while as kids, we said 'yuck' to the thought of the opposite sex, as adults, it's all we seem to crave. Though boys pulling a girl's pigtails was regarded as a sign of affection, it has morphed into something a lot less desirable-like catcalling.  Still, we've just grown into women hoping and wishing that the popular boy teases us so we'd at least feel relevant. I tell you, it's hard for a single chick in these pews!

As the offering pan passed me and I observed what we call 'gift-giving', I smiled to myself, though I'm not sure for a good reason. I realized that sometimes 'we' can be just like that pan. Being passed from hand to hand, but not everyone, we make contact with deposits or leaves something tangible. Several thoughts raced through my mind. Chief among them was how I could begin to limit 'what' goes in and 'who' gives into my symbolic pan. Women are known as 'receivers', and what we are given is often multiplied. I'm learning more each day that that can be positive or negative.

Look, it's not so much that there are bad men as much as you've just made bad choices in men and vice versa. When it comes to 'his and hers,'one item is meant for the male and the other the female. Only now, with the aroma of equality in the air, 'his and hers' are seen more apart than together.

Back in my day, Campbell's Soup bought out a new line of what they called Chunky Soup. These more giant cans of extra-plump ingredients boasted of being so hearty that it can be as filling as having a full course home-cooked meal. The thing is, the mixture is so thick and beefy that although it's a soup typically eaten with a spoon, it's so rich it could also be eaten with a fork. In relationship terminology: Get you a girl that can do both!

Curiosity got me thinking about where the phrase 'trick or treat'came from. While there are many tales out there, I came across one that took my train of thought in a whole other direction.  The phrase is a subtle suggestion that if a "treat" (candy) is given, then the child will not perform a "trick" (mischief) on the owner of the house. Hmmm, interesting, right? More than the 'trick' or the 'treat,' the word child stands out to me. It screams, "Give me what I want (frills and thrills), or else I'll throw a tantrum!" Yea. That about sums it up.  I mean, doesn't that sound a lot like the relationship encounters we see today?