a good word revolution

From our vantage point, one positive word can make all the difference in the world. One positive view possesses the power to transform. It is our forever hope that among the thousands of words we illuminate, one will resonate and shift the vantage point of the receiver to a view of the world that vaporizes for at least a brief moment any and all negative emotion they ever could have visualized. l o V e!

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Thursday, June 29, 2017

i WOODY not, if i were u

Don't mind me. Just finished S1 of the fabulous Grace & Frankie on Netflix. 

RV life is kind of a Virginia Woolf's A Room of One's Own kind of writerly dream for me. 

We rented our first RV for our first trip to b o n n a r o o. We wanted AC, a potty, a shower, and a fridge. We got a fridge. 

The crew from Woody RV Rentals LLC. in Georgetown / Hutto delivered the Voyage Winnebago to my mother's house not in the same condition of their website's YouTube video. "She" (as the delivery men referred to the vehicle) {can I insert gag noises} arrived weathered. 

 
 
So, not that! ^^^

Like it had cigarette burns in the carpet!

Anyhoo. On y va.
 
PSA: Please, friends, DO NOT rent from Woody RV Rentals LLC's without checking out their property first. 

 

After carefully covering every inch of interior cloth with Lysol, Clorox wipes, and my mother's sheets, the five of us set off on this fantastic voyage from Ktown to the infamous Roo. 

About three minutes into the trip we realized that the rear AC unit was blowing out hot air. 

Yep. That happened. 

Then the cup holder / engine cover blew off inciting Farmer Guy to fear filled cursing. 

Then we stopped for an overnight sweltering stay in Hope, Arkansas at the Wal-Mart. We had to purchase a box fan and bug spray for a noticeably growing ant infestation. 

IKR? Interesting an ant infestation in an RV that had not been rented according to Woody's in over six months. Things that make you go hmmmm.

There was this faint odor settling. It became more and more less faint as the heat from the generator continued climbing toward Hell temperatures, but more about that in bit. 

And it WILL be addressed. In the words of Big Freedia....I didn't come to play with you hoes, I came to slay..." 

But later!!!

Because well... BONNAROO!!! Happy Roo! High five to you! Happy Roo! And high five to you!!!

Hands down Manchester, Tennessee during Bonnaroo, not Disney, is the happiest place on Earth. Well, maybe not Disney during the holiday season... it's a toss-up or maybe meme chose???

We arrived after midnight, the kids immediately scurried away to behold Kevin Abstract. Farmer Guy and I adjusted to this interesting landscape--- a sea of tents   enveloped by mountains of RVs sprinkled in starlight. 

And...

After a hard night sleep with that ever growing smell, I showered. It was fabulous and it was my last. The whole shower ---door, knob, spigot, and all crumbled shortly after that. I think all passengers got at least one shower.

But, nonetheless, Friday was epic. Big Freedia EPIC! TWERK IT OUT! Interesting side note, I thought I was like almost a demi twerk goddess after one lesson. I thought the media was kinda swarming me with my expert twerking skills, but, alas, I was bouncing next to LoLo Jones, Olympiad. That kind of epic. The day a full moon collided with Kaleo, Russ, Preservation Hall Jazz Band and, and, and U2. Yes, I did shed a tear. 

Big Freedia AND Bono in one day. On What stage in This tent. {Bonnaroovian inside joke} because at this point I claim citizenship - at least honorary. 

That was only Friday, and the smells inside of our traveling atopia became increasingly worse as we added to this problem sans proper shower avec mosh pit life. I even contemplated free showers bestowed by that one guy, but the fungal you know, is better than the... Nvm. 

Maybe one day, I can really blog about Bonnaroo EVERYTHING EVERYTHING (great YA, BTW), but this is a trash blog about Woody's in attempt to lovingly warn any person with children, or elderly travelers, hell any traveler with lungs to consider deeply before dealing with this company. 

This is my very first time writing a bad public review of an establishment. I might be doing it allll wrong. 
 
PSA: Please, friends, DO NOT rent from Woody RV Rentals LLC's without checking out their property first. 

 

On Woody RV Rentals LLC: They are trash. Which I think is a rather harsh term that the kids are using, but quite applicable in this scenario. 

Yep! The smell was the septic system, not properly filtering in the proper way spilling black water and waste right onto the great farms of Tennessee in the midst of 60K happy campers!

While we squeamishly waited, Farmer Guy now aka Hero Guy had to fix reconnect or whatever, with his own gloved hands apparently just in time for us all not to die of toxic shock (maybe not TSS, but toxic inhalation) in Manchester Heaven. 

Also thanks to the Bonnaroo logisticians for having an uhmazing line up like Chance the Rapper, Flume, Travis Scott, Lorde, The Weeknd, E.T.C. We didn't spend a whole lot of time in that possibly hazardous Voyage Winnebago, that maybe will now be retired. I repeat out of love, for them and for you ---their VOYAGE WINNEBAGO is trash. 

"Are you ready for your miracle????" Thank you, Chance. 

That Monday, with the Voyage engine light on, we left our magical memories in Manchester with inside RV sweltering temps streaming about 92 degrees for our 14 hour drive home. 

Yasss! Our skin looked flawless when we landed in Texas to receive our whopping one day rental discount for our over TWO THOUSAND dollar rental from Woody's. Oh, and a free first day of our very next rental!!! And Woody's doesn't do one day rentals. Okay???

About 2h's off of 2g's???

Okay, again. Ant Infestation!!??!!

"I didn't come to play with these hoes, I came to slay..."

PSA: Please, friends, DO NOT rent from Woody RV Rentals LLC's without checking out their property first. 

Don't mind me if I'm over here over sharing this announcement with the desire of saving someone's vacation. 

Because A: Not everyone's septic saver will be hooping to Red Hot Chili Peppers under a sparkly firework filled sky. 

And B: I'm from the 254--- I can show you better than I can tell you. Y'all wanna see photos???

#saveavacay
 
PSA: Please, friends, DO NOT rent from Woody RV Rentals LLC's without checking out their property first. 

 

l o v e

 

Wednesday, November 9, 2016

w o r l d

Pssssssst! I have a secret to share....

There is nothing wrong with your world. Fix the vibration. l o v e

Tuesday, March 15, 2016

m a r c h & m a g i c h (repost)

"Faction before blood." Hmmmmmm...Rather - faction and b l o o d

We do all, we are Divergent:

a b n e g a t i o n
e r u d i t e 
d a u n t l e s s 
a m i t y 
c a n d o r

Kudos to Veronica Roth for these f a b u l o u s words! Haven't seen the movie yet, but just finished the book. s m a r t world building!

Here's another faction...the m a g i c h! My brand new word for a sect that I don't see referenced often.

magich
[maj-eech]

noun, plural ma-gich-es

f. la magich
m. le magich

1. your MAma's GIrlfriend's CHildren.
2. magical serendipitous fantasy parallel universe subliminal bond.
3. the offspring(s) of your play aunt.

Treesia, my older magich, attended UNT.

When you were young, you played with these m a g i c h e s , while your mothers shared "tea".

I assume the mamas talked shop, traded recipes, reviewed articles and books. They probably chatted about their loves and passions. Maybe they debated education, politics, religion, diets and parenting styles. Surely, they consulted and advised on fashions, fads and all issues personal. 

I know they talked about us.

I know because I am a mother, and I have girlfriend tea. And we talk.

"What's the t e a, Girl?"

Our tea is not always as traditional as an old school version. 

If I see a f a n t a s t i c blog on "how to talk to your daughter about her body", I immediately text it to all of my mama girlfriends. We discuss and v o w to affirm our children like the article suggests. We begin to talk with our girls differently creating a similar experience for our children. 

This c o l l e c t i v e parenting consciousness can even be a side comment in tea conversation. 

"Martial Arts had such a positive impact on Is." 

Weeks after this tea comment, I enrolled my son into a martial arts program. 

This co-creation comes in a m y r i a d of forms.

There are many influences outside of your family of origin that deeply affect your upbringing. I will boldly say that we are possibly more alike in experience with our magiches than many other people on the planet. The same b o o k s lined our shelves, the same television programs were watched, the same foods plated our dinner tables, we may have even shared a holiday or a day trip or two - because our mamas were friends.

For some reason this relationship escaped my heart's magnitude until a few days ago. I couldn't define who I lost to onlookers. My speech shattered. I couldn't quite explain my connection to this love. 

Now I have the word, the words.

I lost a s u b l i m e and fabulous magich. This world lost Nefeterius Akeli McPherson.

You see, I'm the older magich, the Big Tee, at least that is what Ms. Martha, our nanny called me. 

She was Little Tee.

Then along came a Baby Tee. I love you, Tamara.

I'm not quite sure how it all m a g i c h a l l y worked with me being eldest, but Little Tee has always been in my periphery - a validation across the aisle.

If you have magiches...

You don't even know why you know all about these people's lives. It would make much more sense if they were actually a limb on your genealogical t r e e, or if you had chosen the relationship on your own.When we talked as adults we didn't have to 'catch up' on on-goings and recent events - not because of social media or gossip, but because our mamas already told us. 

We participated in a lot of the same experiences, probably at the orchestration of our dear mothers. They all get to take j o y and ownership of 'their' childrens' successes, the mama group also share pain together with 'their' childrens' losses.

They become theirs, we become theirs. Sarabis holding down Pride Rock.

J'aime mes magiches

My mom called last week to tell me, Little Tee only had hours to live. A quake shocked my soul. I don't know a world without her. We arranged for the Fabulous Mo Creole to escort Mama Rose three hours away to quickly be at her l o n g time friend's side. Thank you, Mo Creole

I wanted to play it super somber, and super cool. I wanted to hold a supportive s l a s h comforting role. Then I heard my anthem for the week...

Turn Down! For What?

I listened, prayed, kicked, screamed, cried and laughed a bit. I questioned the fairness of all things g o o d. Then my pen hit the paper and I drafted the w o r d list that I rattled off at her wake of all the things we were able to share by having mamas that were d e a r friends.

Thank you, Farmer Guy, Manchild, Daughter and Puppy G i n g e r for escorting me across Texas for this magichal trip.

Thank you, Enterprise for surprisingly renting me a car with a n g e l West Virginia plates.



These 'honest' gifts that we received as w o r d s

Because of our mama's friendship, we do...

Mothers
Friends, Girlfriends, Grace and Graceful. 
Lipstick and Smiles. 
Positivity and Kindness. 
Education and Degrees. More Education and Degrees. 
Children and Community. 
Social and Activism.
Flowers, Beauty and Travel.
Parties and Celebrations
Sweets and Food. 
Black. 
Volunteer and Intern. 
Cheer and Mascots (Cardinals, Mustangs and Eagles). 
Piano Lessons and Fashion. 
Justice and Integrity. 
Thank yous and Gratitude. 
Work. 
Life, Death.
and Tea.


And so it is.

See Tee's b e a u t i f u l inspirational story and fund Cancer Sucks.

Click here: http://www.indiegogo.com/projects/cancer-sucks-a-cheer-up-story 


l o v e   

Wednesday, November 25, 2015

I CAN Alphabets!



Consider using the I CAN Alphabets as a journal for your classroom.

I is for Invigorated
dynamic characters.
Dynamic characters change and grow throughout our stories. They go from this to that. After completing each story, flip through the pages of Invigorated. Did any of the characters shift from being one word to another? Why? If they didn’t change they were static characters.
Ebenezer Scrooge is a ‘g’. He travels from green to grace. We can write his name on the ‘g’ page of Invigorated. Scrooge was primarily concerned with his riches (green). By the end of Dickens’s  A Christmas Carol, Scrooge is full of grace.
Words you are not familiar with, find the definition and record them right on their page.

C is for Character
literary terms.
Record the definitions of writing / literary terms on pages of your pictureless papers above each word. Below the pictureless word, draw or document examples from the assigned text.

A is for Apple
your pictureless pages.
For your reading notes for this class. Paper clip the first page of A is for Apple for easy access. On pages of Apple, take your class notes, make your own notes, ask your questions, scribble on the page, color, record, collage. You may even tear out a page or two and give to a friend.  There is a message from me to you on each page. l o v e

N is for Never Night
your Alphabet Book.
From one of our literary selections or all, write your own alphabet book at the bottom of each Night page. Words you love. New words. Words from a few different reads. One or many! Can’t wait to see what you come up with! Share with us on facebook!
fabulous

Sunday, October 25, 2015

p r e t t y ta - tas

Each year I repost this blog for remembrance. A couple of weeks ago my dear friend had a double mastectomy. Thanks to Angelina Jolie, we can all feel more hopeful about reconstruction and selfies

*Goal of the year---- MONTHLY BREAST SELF EXAMINATIONS!  Love


 It's all pink again!


 Last October, I don't remember.


This year, each ribbon follows me and leaves pink traces behind my eyelids.  This year- the year of biopsies, the year of lumpectomy, the year my mother had a mastectomy.

Adrea is in the habit of sending by post (that in itself is fabulous).  Sometimes the treats from my partner breathe through their packaging, forcing my children to rattle the contents.  That time they were pictureless word cards.  Each card presented one of the words we claim on post sized cards, business sized cards, or itty bitty cards.  They were gorgeous.  I traveled with them half across the state to share with my mother during the post chemo / pre-surgery / pre-radiation hospital moments.

Mom twisted them around and palmed them.  I saw fear vanishing from her.  When the anesthesiologist entered, he began to share the process.  First, we will do this, then that, the important thing is to clear your mind.

"We have words for that, Mom, from the 'nothing' series."

The doctor was intrigued.  I shared p i c t u r e l e s s with him- Clear Clouds, Memory Music, Invisible Icicles.  He deemed them appropriate and darling.  He modified my mother's instructions to a p i c t u r e l e s s place.

In a childlike voice my mother asked for surgical tape.  When he returned she began praying and taping positive word cards on her body.  Then, my fear vanished.  This is l i f e and life is b e a u t i f u l.

Each hospital employee, visitor, and friend that witnessed that moment became instantly radiant.  The words connected us, protected us, and let us breathe through those moments one moment at a time.


It's all pink again!


BTW, MaRose is doing f a b u l o u s l y!

Friday, September 11, 2015

India.Arie - I Choose (lyrics)

wearing w h i t e with w a y n e

Wow, what uh week!  

I'm going p l a c e s I've never gone, so I'm doing things I've never done. 

One should not wear w h i t e after Labor Day. Okayyyyyyyyyy? Why not? Why is that even a thing? It's c o o l if you're attending a white party mid-winter, or getting b e t r o t h e d. Why not in Texas when it is still over a gazillion degrees?

This is a scary thought for me -- wearing white after LD. Would a giant b l a c k Southern m a m a hand of etiquette reach down and s q u i s h me from the sky? 

Scary.

When do traditions i n t e r t w i n e with superstitions and then t u m b l e into fear? 

I hear Carrie Bradshaw. 

Not the fire and brimstone kind, nor the black cat passing. The kind of traditions slash superstitions that your mama, grandma and them i c e onto your eating black eyed peas for the New Year finishing. 

I spit on broom straws that b r u s h over my shoes. I edit all over traditions in my forthcoming middle - grade novel, d i r t that is due to my publisher in a couple of weeks. 

Egads!!!! Yes, a couple of weeks. Needing a touch of accountability.

Traditions and superstitions, even in my d r e a d e d op-positional defiance, have become like a guiding principle. Merde!

Sweetness and I listen to India Arie and Matched by Ally Condie. Condie creates this Giver-like post-modern world were the shoulds abound. "Everyone in this house does what he or she is supposed to do." We just finished scenes chronicling Grandpa's 'Final Banquet'. Not to justify a spoiler alert, people live until eighty years of age in this world made p e r f e c t with statistics. 

Something about this concept makes me want to live, and live more free. So, after a few dissolves of Sedalia, I'm still sitting, but I'm still in the place of wanting to live free. 

What if I just did stuff, not all of the stuff I should?

When thinking about such things, I often seek Dyer. W a y n e Dyer one of my long time b e a u t i f u l angels recently left this p l a n e. He has coached me many times through crazylane with his w o r d s

R I P

I pull my tattered copy of Dyer's Your Erroneous Zones from the shelf next to my bed. The index has a listing for traditions. 

"The important thing is to determine for yourself which rules work, and are necessary to preserve order in our culture and which can be broken without harm to yourself or others. There is no percentage in rebelling just for the sake of rebelling, but there are great rewards in being your own person and living your life according to your own standards." - Wayne Dyer

Uh--nouncement!!!

On the day that Farmer Guy started his new big time g r o w e r gig, I wore white. 

Yesterday -- after Labor Day. Work!

Carry on... Abbybama, Manchild and Sweetness... split the pole if you c h o o s e. #facingfears #911 #facingfearson911

l o v e

Sunday, August 9, 2015

Chris von Halle on #iwriteYA

Check out the a u t h o r of The Fourth Generation, Chris von Halle over on free cotton
http://freecottonclub.blogspot.com

Title: The Fourth Generation
Author: Chris von Halle  /@ChrisvonHalle

In the future, no adults exist. Ever since the plague swept the world 100 years ago, no one has lived past seventeen.
Sixteen-year-old Gorin, a collector of curious artifacts left over from the pre-plague civilization, is on the verge of perishing from that deadly epidemic. And his last wish is to find a way to visit the rulers’ reputedly magnificent, off-limits mansion.
Up against the clock, he and his friend Stausha steal into the mansion and discover a secret more horrifying than they ever could’ve imagined—a secret that holds the key to the survival of the whole human race. 



It's c u r i o u s! You can purchase The Fourth Generation!

Sunday, July 26, 2015

the age of m i r a c l e s

I found it interesting that a b e a t i f u l lady's post prior to her teenaged son's funeral stated that she expected a m i r a c l e. That seemed to be the sort of thing one asked for prior to a death, not prior to a funeral. I guessed Mary could have expected the same.

See, I met this charming lady in a charming b o u t i q u e, during a magnificent Toms sale. Or so I thought. We chatted a bit, then realized that on an occasion we stood next to each other during a yoga Saturday at the Y. I remembered her toes. H a p p e n s t a n c e our same aged children were students when Carver commenced all day every day GT school year. Those p e s k y intelligent six graders.

We talked for about an hour on those couches at Alter'd State about: marriage, e d u c a t i o n, divorce, about being single parents, artists we both knew around town, dating, y o g a and shoes, specifically, Toms.

Of course we became fb f r i e n d s right then and there. Where had she been all of my Midland life?

Sometimes people just get into your spirit. It's a s u b t l e thing.

Our same aged children, I digress. Heavy s i g h...

S w e e t n e s s  rushed from her room during one of the last mornings before the end of school and announced, "Something is wrong with a boy!"

"Dear, what are you talking about?"

Her response reminded me to d e c i p h e r it later since it was chock full of... and on Ig, and then on Snapchat, and then someone texted.

WTH was she talking about?

The day continued.  That night I caught the news that Farmer Guy watched. I intentionally NEVER c a u g h t the news. There it was, and there it was. 

She. She and him. He laid in a hospital bed, while his mother raised praying, praising hands at his side.

The she that I never saw off line again. The she that I thought a couple of weeks earlier to ask if she wanted to blog on pictureless, but didn't.

All of the s u d d e n I felt it. I hadn't even known this person existed in my s p i r i t until that very moment. I don't know when it happened, but in the moment I felt that pain, I knew she was there.

I wanted her m i r a c l e for her. 

Even at the funeral I wanted her miracle for her. I didn't attend the funeral, but I did. With a Harry Potter book in hand and a cup a tea, I sat outside of the services across the street at the GMFL football field on the aluminum b l e a c h e r s top row. Yes, I lovingly stalked a funeral. I waited for the miracle.

White butterflies danced over grasses. The clouds made intricate figurines, none that spelled his name.

Nothing much to see here.  Keep it m o v i n g.

Tires screeched, and I saw two ginormous cutie pie dogs, one a chocolate lab puppy, jaunting around all unsupervised all Homeward Bound like. A young couple out for their mid morning outing  stopped their truck on a rescue mission of pets that clearly did not belong to them. P u p s went one way, and so did the couple. P u p s ran into the field, so did the couple. This went on and on and on. They spent the entirety of the service trying to c o r r a l the playful two into the back of their truck bed. Success.

I watched them calling the numbers on the tags, and utilizing the help of two boys passing through to complete the task. I became m e s m e r i z e d by the unfolding drama, and the lengths average people really will go to save the day.

Well NO miracles happened... I really expected to see, h e a r or feel something. I wanted to report to this beautiful grieving mother that a miracle did happen, but I sent her well wishes from aclose. Started for my car and ran into a lady I see every now and then. We chatted it up about k i s m e t.

Later that day while perusing the obituary for this young teen, it noted that he had a strong affection for saving stray animals. Tickled, I s m i l ed a bit and softened. I can say that the miracle, not grandiose restoring sight in nature, did in fact take place - a fifteen year old's miracle. 

Love


Friday, June 26, 2015

After the Nothing, #LoveWins

'Bout a week ago.

It has been one week since THE collision. We are physically f i n e... we all walked away, but we had to lose some things at the scene. Bruises, aches and scrapes quickly fade.

I don't know what happened, and you can keep asking me. I was asleep in the passenger's seat. I heard Farmer Guy exclaim, "Oh, no!"

While the surround s o u n d air-bags inflate the mix-tape stops in the space of complete s i l e n c e.

And then n o t h i n g.

Nothing about my elation that Minister Robert Muhammad retweeted my t w e e t about seeing him at l o v e airport. Nothing about the Minnesota Pho restaurant not having vegetarian offerings. Nothing about un-social media. Nothing about bills. Nothing about bickering. Nothing about f l a g s (loving Bree Newsome, btw). Nothing about posers. Nothing about terrorists. Nothing about politics. Nothing about work. Nothing about who can m a r r y whom. Nothing about the Meyer's amazing Cress and Lunar Chronicles. Nothing about smoke and mirrors.

Nuhting about Nuhting.

Maybe a lot, not all, but a lot of life is exactly that... Much a d o about nothing.

The only thought that I can sort of remember in the v a c u u m...

So, this is it.

Ase! So it was.

Sound f l o w e d once again into too much.

"Is everyone okay? Is everyone okay?" The level headed Sweetness questioned.

While the Manchild sprung into Power Ranger a c t i o n.

M o m e n t s into smoked fumes and jammed doors, we exited.

After the nothing, love b l e w through, above, and around the entire perimeter. #lovewins

Love

#lovewins #iamexcitedformygrandchildren #lovewins #freebree

Oh, and #freemindsfreepeople (#fmfp2015)!