Run with it...

I had an unspoken agreement with myself not to blog about Michael Jackson. That's such a funny statement coming from me, who at age 8 was his "biggest fan." However, with such extensive coverage of his life and death over the past several days, I figured there would be no reason for me to add my two cents. Well, in the wee hours, something changed, and while I know somewhere in TV-land, even at this hour, there is a tribute of some sort still going on, I have to share the two lessons in life I got from the King of Pop loud and clear.

(1) Michael Jackson did his thing. Are you doing yours?

Sure we are going to miss him, but will he ever truly be gone? Think about it. He made his mark on the world a million times over. Whether or not he got everything right while he was here, he was given a gift to reach the masses, and he used it. When that much talent is invested into an individual (and we all have it on some level), you better believe there is a great deal of responsibility that goes with it. He certainly did not hide his light under a bushel but set it on a hill for all the world to see. He touched the world with the work of his hands (and feet), and he left a trail of light and inspiration for others to come after him and continue the work. Somewhere down the line, a spark he ignited has or will bring somebody to the knowledge of divine purpose.

(2) If you don't plan on dying early, take care of yourself.

Just like talent, good health is a gift from God, and just like talent, we are allowed to do whatever we want with it. If it is indeed possible for one to die before his or her time, Michael Jackson showed us how to do it. If he weighed a hundred pounds when he died, it was with all his clothes on. The man was frail -- and apparently deathly ill. No, you don't have to be sick to go when your time comes, but the fact remains that we are given one vessel, one body, in which to live out our lives and purpose. If we neglect it, abuse it, misuse it, our vessel can malfunction and stop short of what was intended.

Taking care of our physical bodies (eating right, getting enough rest and exercise, not ingesting recreational toxins, etc.) is our responsibility. Likewise, so is preserving our mental and spiritual health (through professionals if needed) but most especially through connecting with our Creator and daily unloading our hearts and minds so that we don't lose sleep, miss meals, or poison ourselves with an overdose of the same and the other harmful things we turn to for self-medication.

As I think about this, I'm reminded of my father, a very talented man I never got the chance to know because his life ended just as mine was beginning. I was 10, he was 28. Twenty-eight. Full of promise and inner demons that won the battle for his vessel. It is such a shame when very young people die. We say they died before their time, that they left their work undone. Is that possible? My father had his own set of goals and dreams that were never realized, but was his purpose fulfilled on earth? Well, I'm here. Maybe like Michael Jackson, my father's painfully short life was just the spark to light the torch I was intended to pick up and run with.

Are you running with yours?

"Your Black is Beautiful, Baby."

I'm not going to be able to be my usual flippant self in this entry. Something happened that made me just want to cry then dry my eyes and find somebody to smack. My heartbreakingly handsome, extremely thoughtful, highly sensitive and deliciously dark-skinned son informed me that he did not like his skin and wanted to be "just a little bit brown" instead. It took me off guard. I mean he's only four, and until now, I never knew he had a problem with his self image. Why does he have a problem with his self image? Can somebody tell me? I mean, really. Is there any good reason for a child that young to hate the skin he's in?

Anyone who knows us also knows that my son adores his mother. That's an understatement. The boy things I hang the sun every morning just for him. He's his daddy's biggest rival for my attention, and he recently announced to hid doctor with great pride that "Mommy is going to be my wife when I turn 25." So, knowing how he worships the skin I'm in, I pointed out that his skin ans my skin are close to the same shade. He quickly pointed out that his daddy and little brother are just a little bit brown. I kept trying to find ways to quicky end the conversation until one look in his persistent and teary eyes told ne he was very serious. Now it was my turn to start blinking back the sting behind my eyes. I needed something, anything to help me show him how beautiful his skin is. Then I saw it.

My new copy of Upscale magazine with Tyrese on the cover looking smooth wearing a tailored suit and all of his glorious blackness.

I showed him the magazine and asked him, "who does that look like?" He looked at the magazine, then at me, then back at the magazine and finally said with a piece of a smile, "Me?" I smiled back at him. We talked about how cool the man looked and how special he must be to be on the front of Mommy's book. When the conversation waned, he asked, "Am I really going to look like that when I get 25?" (because to him 25 is grown up).

My answer: "Yep, well, that is if you don't turn into just a little bit brown." He had a puzzled look on his face and asked, "Mommy, do you like that boy [Tyrese]?" I knew where his thoughts we going. "Oh, yes, baby," I said, "you know Mommy loves a chocolate man." I hugged him close, and after about a minute he pulled away, head held high. "Then I'm going to be a chocolate man just like that boy!"

Those. Those are the moments that both warm and pain a mother's heart.

Just when you complain about not finding enough time to write, fate turns your toe and puts you on crutches with an acute fracture of the fifth phalanx. Now it's just me and the laptop. Who will I blame now if my characters just sit and stare at each other? Wow. I just thought of something. I may be on crutches for my trip to Vegas. Nice. Let's see how long it takes me to get through the security checkpoint. And how am I supposed to wear my presentation powersuit in this contraption on my foot. Does anyone know where I can find some stylish orthopedic platforms?

Black Writer's Reunion & Conference 2009

Although the Black Writer's Reunion & Conference has been a favorite writer's haven for several years, this will be my first time attending. I have the added pleasure of being a conference presenter this year, educating fellow and aspiring writers on the growing virtues of a career in Technical Writing.

This year's conference will be held in Las Vegas, Nevada, at the beautiful Golden Nugget Hotel & Casino. Check out the event and list of scheduled presenters (which include ReShonda Tate Billingsley, Gwyne Forster, Lutishia Lovely, and many more) at www.blackwriters.org. Don't let the conference venue fool you. Whether you are aspiring writer, and accomplished author, and avid reader or all of the above, BWRC 2009 will definitely not be a gamble. You are guaranteed a memorable experience! I hope to see you there!

If for some reason you cannot make it, be sure to check back here for photos of the event and conference highlights.

Back at it...

People kept asking me to leave the Senegal trip photos and journal up. I think finally the interest has waned. I (think) I have done my final formal presentation on the trip and everything I learned. So, now it's time to move forward with the blogging. Admittedly, if you know me, you know I keep a written journal that I'm much more dedicated to. I can never seem to stay faithful to this blogging thing, but I'm going to try...again. (Perhaps if I stay off the social networking sites--the latest craze being facebook--I would have more to say here every day.) I do see the value in it. It's a way to stay connected to those who may care to see my perspective on the world or those who are intent on following my writing...I owe you a lot, by the way...

So, my thought for today...
Is there a way to put the benefits of sleep into a capsule? I swear there are not enough hours in the day to get stuff done. We say it all the time, and we hear it all the time. I was reading once that Einstein slept 12 hours a day...12 hours!? I kept reading that thinking surely they must have meant 1 - 2 hours. (I mean, really, does he look rested to you?)

How could anybody be that productive sleeping half of the day? It's hard enough for me to get six hours and feel like I'm getting anything done. I know that means I have too much going on in my life...too many distractions. I suppose if I were more focused on what really matters (and less on the things we feel we just "have to do," my waking hours would be more productive and I could sign out for 12 hours too...

A Brief Senegal Slideshow...

I would never have guessed it, but I took nearly 800 pictures while in Senegal! Even flickr.com wouldn't let me upload them all without paying for a pro account (which I'm still considering). In the meantime, I thought you all might enjoy a slideshow of my favorite memories from the trip. Enjoy!

A Day Like Any Other?

I did this for my boys today.

It's the first "Stars and Stripes" cake I have ever made. But what better way to instill a sense of patriotism in a 2 year old and a 4 year old than with cake?

They are napping right now, but they will see it when they wake up--just in time to join a few friends and family members for a barbecue and to play on the swings in the backyard. What a life they have. Right now, they have no concept of what it means to have won one's independence. It will be years still before they fully understand the tumultuous history of this country and what this day represents.

Although I worry about the world they have to grow up in, I thank God that they are here now rather than 50+ years ago. Perhaps it is my recent return from Africa that inspired the thought this morning, but one of the first phrases that came to mind was "What to the Slave is the 4th of July?", so I thought I would post a link to Frederick Douglass's Independence Day Speech at Rochester, 1852.

Independence...how sweet it is.