Category: Prose

Exploring New Worlds: Shonda Rhimes, Year of Yes

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I read the book and now, I want more!

Year of Yes by Shonda Rhimes. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

I love the fact that I have family members and friends who recommend books or buy them for me when they KNOW I’ll love the content.

In the book, Shonda speaks about how a comment from her sister about her limitations of herself regarding fears prevents her from saying yes to anything, and that jolted something alive in her to change that.

A younger cousin of mine told me about Shonda Rhimes’ Year of Yes because she truly enjoyed it in its audiobook form. She gave me the gist of it and hyped it up enthusiastically, too.

I had to see for myself, and I’m glad I did. Here is the Amazon review for it:

“My Cousin Recommended This Book!

And I’m awfully glad she did! Firstly, I didn’t expect to read what I just read. I’ll be honest, I didn’t know what to expect.

It’s Shonda Rhimes! Of course, I was thinking, in the back of my mind, the woman can downright write, so it ought to be good. But this was/is much better than good. It’s phenomenal!

Secondly, I hadn’t factored in the reality that she’d let us into her personal life just a bit with this book, and lo and behold, she did!

I felt like a member of her family thumbing through the pages, laughing, sighing, and crying. Not only is Year of Yes well-written, it is full of humor and grit and witty retorts.

I sank into so many scenes as they were told from the writer’s point of view and recollection. I connected with various happenings in her life as a writer, and her love life reminded me of mine as well.

There is so much to explore and unpack in this book, and I am happy to have had the opportunity to do so. I assure you, it IS a work of art that is worth your time.”

I absolutely adore it when a recommendation does not steer me wrong. And this book is now a favorite of mine!

When You’re Asked To Be a Spanx Helper, You Help

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This was not my calling, but I was called anyway.

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It was a humid Sunday morning, and I was washing my hands at the sink in the women’s bathroom of my then church. A fellow usher/acquaintance came thundering through the door.

Her glasses were tilted slightly, her forehead had several beads of sweat congregating on it like the people in the pews of the sanctuary. She huffed and puffed and nearly blew the walls down, and then loudly said to me . . .

“Tre, girl!!! Help me!”

Before I could respond, this acquaintance lifted up her form-fitting black dress to her hips and tugged at a modern-day corset that seemed to be making its way down a path it was not supposed to go.

I stood there for a few seconds with wet hands, perplexed by this human who was exasperated and waiting for my assistance. I quickly dried my hands.

This was new territory for me. So many questions were running through my mind. What do I do? Where do I start? Should we just remove this thing altogether?! Why is she even asking me for help?!

So, I did what any nervously questioning human being would do. I slowly stepped behind her and said, “What do I do?”

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She began pulling her dress up even further and then called instructions out to me military style. This isn’t the kind of company I’d normally keep and at this intimate level of care, I worried that I was going to do something wrong.

“Pull the Spanx down, while I shimmy out of it.” Everything floated through my highly anointed yet VERY bisexual mind as I listened to this attractive woman in obvious discomfort instruct me on how to remove a conflicted piece of clothing from her voluptuous and striking body.

DO WHAT?! YOU WANT ME TO DO WHAT?!

I coughed to signal nervousness and then cleared my throat. “You want me to do what now, Jewel?!”

“Pull it down while I try to shimmy free. But don’t pull at it hard, pull slowly. Be gentle. Don’t tear the sides.”

UM . . .

This was my first real encounter with Spanx. The way my brain works is I began wondering why she put this God-forsaken thing on in the first place. Let your curves be free, love . . . is what I truly wanted to say. But she was wearing a form-fitting black dress, in church, during the summer months, and maybe there was something beneficial I didn’t know about to this torture.

I tugged at what felt like leather hide for minutes while she wiggled her hips feverishly to escape the clutches of the manufactured bone-crushing fabric. What seemed like forever, but was probably more like five minutes later, she was free.

She pushed her glasses perfectly on her nose, smoothed her dress down, tidied up her bun, folded the Spanx up and slapped them in her purse, then called to me . . . “Ooh, Tre! Girl, you are a lifesaver! Thank you!”

I shook my head in total disbelief but I didn’t want to be rude. “Cool beans, Jewel. You’re most welcome.”

After she left the bathroom, I washed my hands again, stared at the mirror, and said to myself, “What in the world just happened?”

A fellow usher/acquaintance was being tortured by a piece of clothing, and well . . . it was my calling to help.

*Names changed for the purposes of privacy and respect.

Running With the Clouds Part V

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Dominique’s Miracle (Microfiction)

Dominique is a twenty-eight-year-old teacher from Little Rock who has been waiting for a kidney for sixteen months.

Sixteen months . . .

Every day is a struggle for her. How much energy would she use explaining trigonometry to seventeen year olds? Who would be the first to see sweat pour from her fingertips at 1:15 PM?

Dialysis on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday . . . try not to die Saturday and Sunday. And then, Miranda happened.

She’s a match. The perfect match.

Soon, there’ll be no more waiting.

Part I, Part II, Part III, & Part IV

Running With the Clouds Part IV

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Miranda’s Suicide Letter (Microfiction)

Here is my end-of-life note. Please give it to my brother, Jake, once it’s been manhandled & pondered over by authorities.

I, Miranda Charlley Powers, offer the organs in my body to anyone in dire need & waiting for a transplant. My heart, lungs, kidneys, & liver, please distribute accordingly.

But my bone marrow . . . this is for Jake. There’s a Bone Marrow Specialist who believes his method of application can save my brother. See to it that he’s contacted immediately.

More than anything, I want Jake to live.

–MCP

Part I, Part II, & Part III

Two Things Thursday #24

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1. Small Hours by Amber Navran via YouTube
2. Jamaica Kincaid Quote

1. Small Hours is a short mix of nothing but goodness from Amber Navran, lead singer of the group Moonchild. Even though she isn’t a wailer or a singer with deep lungs like Jill Scott or Algebra Blessett, she can definitely hold her own against them.

She is a beast behind massive beats and stellar production with her variations of scatting and rhythmic tuning and vocal tones. I love how she can interchange jazz vocals with a bit of pop and bop, too. When I listen to her, I can hear so many vocalists chiming in through her voice from the 60s, 70s, and 80s.

It’s odd to see/hear her performing alone. Apparently, she has dropped an entire solo album recently, and I am so far behind on this, but I shall be sitting down one day to give it the listen I’m sure it deserves.

I hope you enjoyed the above YouTube video share of Small Hours. I love everything about it! I just hate that it’s not long enough. A song like that should LEGIT be three minutes (at least), IMHO.

2. Jamaica Kincaid Quote is the second share for today. Jamaica is an author, gardener, and a Professor of African American and African studies. She is the author of the following books: Annie John (one of my favorites), A Small Place, and Lucy. And this list does not even begin to cover her achievements in the writing world. I own all three books and I thoroughly enjoyed them. I’ve read Lucy and Annie John twice.

The above quote hit home so hard that I had to share it. Many of us believe we know who we are. We believe we have gotten ourselves down to a TEE. But really, do we? As human beings, we are constantly evolving and growing, so it’s almost impossible to truly know who we are. Therefore, emerging as this mystery Ms. Kincaid refers to.

The question is really, how many of us are willing to admit this?

My Youngest Nephew, Thyrie Says “Hello.”

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Thyrie (pronounced “Theory”) Torie-Devon, my youngest nephew, says “Hello.”

My brother TJ sent the above video to me last night, and I couldn’t help but to smile while viewing it. Thyrie sounds like a grown man and is my little “Uncle Grandpa.”

He’s only two years old yet one would think, upon hearing his voice, he’s older.

I haven’t seen him in person, yet. With them living in Jacksonville, Florida, that distance is a bit of a hike for me. But my brother and I agreed last night, we’ll have to make some time next year for us to all hang out together.

And honestly, I can’t wait for that to happen. It’ll have to be early spring or in autumn because I DO NOT do the deep South in the summer months. No, thank you!

I hope this video put a smile on your face just as it did mine.

Happy Sunday!

**Special thanks to my kiddo brother, TJ, for giving me permission to share this video.