Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?
I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with my place of employment as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.
I recently finished reading a book by Joy-Ann Reid, one of my favorite journalists and all-around politically savvy Black women.
The Man Who Sold America isn’t your average informative novel. It has everything you want it to have. All the tea with a bit of spice, and the dark tales of a past that Trump doesn’t share openly.
I took my time with this book, and I am so glad I did. I wanted to savor it, understand the recounting of a number of important events, and linger with the metaphorical language and wit, too.
Below is my review, shared on Amazon and Goodreads:
It’s Exactly What I Thought It Would Be–Informative & Invigorating
Joy-Ann Reid pulls no punches in this book. She did her due diligence regarding research, and also weaved wittiness and metaphorical blends within every chapter, too.
Her journalistic history and editorial presence shines through on every page. Although incredibly informative, The Man Who Sold America isn’t boring. It is a book that will lasso you in, slap you on your leg, and bid you to pay attention.
It is a great reminder for a high percentage of Americans to remember “all that glitters isn’t gold.” Trump rode in on a golden horse, with a field of lies on his tongue, and shouted incessantly to a particular group of people who held the hem of his garments, and would not let go.
Reid does an incredible job posing different points. Bipartisan points were discussed and views and perspectives were shared from several people who were affiliated with Trump and found themselves in dire straits after their affiliation with him. Wherever he goes, trouble follows and it’s usually the monetarily destructive kind.
If you’re looking for your next favorite political read, this book is it! It has recaps of greed, lies & deceit, cover-ups, and a detailed overview of Trump’s past and claim to fame.
Make yourself at home with it. You won’t be disappointed.
I am reading Too Much and Never Enough by Mary L. Trump, Trump’s niece. And let me just say, I cannot wait to write the review for this book!
Both are going to go down as two of my favorite politically informative biographical-like novels!
To hear the words, “You have 20/20 vision,” and try to contain my emotion — keep my cool was a poor happenstance on my part. The emotion flowed out of me, and I am still overcome with it. I have keratoconus (as well as astigmatism in both eyes, and I am near-sighted), and I have been toggling between an Ophthalmologist/Corneal Specialist and an Optometrist (who specializes in corneal diseases) for four years. I have been wearing scleral contacts for three years… this, my third year, granted me 20/20 vision, something I had no immediate recognition of since I was about 12 years old.
It’s a blessing. It’s a wonder. It’s a miracle. I do not take it for granted, and I am thankful for everyone who has handled my vision care for the last four years. At this time, I do not have to have a procedure called Corneal Collagen Cross-linking to further assist with keratoconus, the contacts are doing — have been doing their job.
If I could properly describe what I am feeling right now, I would. But there are no words for it. NONE. I see God everywhere —literally now and figuratively, and He’s still on time.
To those of you who have been following my story about living with keratoconus since February of 2021, thank you for still being here. It’s been a long and tortuous journey, and I have had to make so many life changes to better enhance my vision, and I am so happy I did. I do not take any of it for granted, not one thing.
God is in the blessing business. I know because “he keeps on blessing me.” And just because this is one of my favorite gospel songs, I am sharing this version with you. Happy Thursday!
Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?
I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with my place of employment as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.
Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?
I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with my place of employment as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.
humidity is hovering
in the still dark air,
and I’m hot-flashing
out of nowhere,
yearning for a cool down.
summer is peeking
through the soon-to-be intensely
hotter weeks, trying to
make an earlier
appearance, and
I just want to walk
without sweat
congregating between my legs.
it’s going to be
another year of
panting like the dog,
as the dog days
arrive before they’re
due.
I drummed up this piece yesterday morning via notes on Substack. These little creative snippets come to me every day, and I am grateful for them. They’re getting me through the go-through.
Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?
I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with my place of employment as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.
Each year, I document how I mother while being childless, and I am inspired by so many women who are mothers in their own way. They have mothered the motherless, tended to the childless, cared for the wayward, and loved the newly orphaned and tormented. I know older sisters (myself included) who still mother their significantly younger siblings – they offer advice and pick them up in the middle of the night from clubs when they’ve had too much to drink and are far too inebriated to string full sentences together. They are Wonder Woman and Superwoman in ways I cannot fathom, while still managing to pull their lives together just in the nick of time to keep it from falling apart.
I have befriended aunts who have lived their lives centered around their nieces and nephews (myself included). They never miss a birthday, video call at all hours of the day to see their babies’ smiling faces, pop up at schools to surprise them with lunch, and will stomp a mudhole in an older kid bullying a baby of theirs and then ask that child, “Where is your mama so she can get some of this, too?” like it’s just a normal Tuesday during a regular week.
I know elder cousins acting as mothers for their younger cousins who have lost their way – the paths of life have worn them down to the nubs, and all they can do now is cry and weep and wail on their cousin’s shoulder. They are pillars in the face of adversity and can calm their blood-related loved ones down in seconds flat. I loved an elder cousin like this once. I still do, even though she is no longer here with us on this Earthly Plane. I admire these cousins – they are my suns and moons – light in an ever-increasing darkness.
Still, as the definitions apply:
I mother no one. I have mothered. I do motherly things. I can mother up and down the corners and edges of this world, but I did not give birth to a child. I have been all that I can be to my cousins, nieces, nephews, brothers, and sister, and so many more, but they are not mine. They do not belong to me. I did not vainly labor with any of them. I cannot recount delivery tales of anguish and agony, nor can I gloat about them taking after me when they do something of which I approve.
My ovaries did not contribute to society. My womb is barren – it is a prison cell for emptiness and passing hours. I have no desire to see it grow with a miniature version of me inside.
I am in awe of those who have taken the plunge. For the women who are mothers by definition and tradition, I tip my hat off to you. You have a job that never ends, and you receive no pay, no time off, and no vacation to rejuvenate your mind or spirit. You are often overlooked, cast into the shadows of endless time, and you do it all without complaint, although you want to. And you have your heart committed to this task until you or your child(ren) die. How heroic is that?!
I wait on the wings of hope, secretly wishing I could understand – gain just a glimpse of your life, then I remember . . . some of us are here to be what we can be, and we mother in other ways. I find a sense of solace within this reminder. You have my love and respect. You are to be championed every hour of each day.
As I sit here and type this message to each of you, I want you to know of your brilliance, of your patience, of your timeless selflessness that knows no bounds. If you are a mother and mothering the way you are meant to fit that role, you have my undying admiration. If you care when the word seems to fall off the tongues of menaces who have forgotten its meaning, I see you. If you are soldiering forward with $15.27 to your name and have prepared a meal for your children using $12.58 of that, I see you. You’ve got every other human being tracking you down and leaning against your chest yearning for a thirty-minute suckle at your breasts, yet you constantly put your children first and slam the door in their faces and verbally admonish their requests, know that I SEE YOU.
For the mothers who are not mothers, mothering in the face of time, barren wombs, lost hope, wayward siblings, and all of the missed marks of this world as you raise your gift of nurturing to higher heights, I see you. When the world says, “But you are not a mother,” I hear your cries in the middle of the night as you softly shout back to the women who hold the title only, “And neither are you!” I see you. When you’re stopped in the grocery store by a toddler who noticed your smile two aisles down and ran behind you to see it again, escaping his mother, you have a good heart, and that baby can tell, too. I SEE YOU.
For the motherless, childless, mothering mothers who still mother and always will, this is your day. And with it, do what you will. You have earned it, and with it, may I embrace you fully and wholly and center you when everything in this current realm is burning to the ground. Find love and hope in the eyes of a child you mothered and look at your reflection in their eyes.
A Cornered Gurl 
You must be logged in to post a comment.