Upside My Head (Pay Attention Now)

Pariah - A Review

2012-01-26T12:28:00.003-06:00

Last Friday, a group of friends came together to go see Pariah, a coming of age story featuring an African American lesbian teenager living in New York. It is a fabulous movie, specific to its characters and geography, but a coming of age story anyone could relate to. It was opening night for the movie and I was shocked and disappointed that the theater was not packed. In Minneapolis we have a huge GLBTQ community and we need to support films like this. But we were there and we loved it. I asked my friend Millicent if she would write a review and guest post it here. She agreed and it's great. But before you read it (below), watch the movie's trailer.

Pariah - A Review
by Millicent

Pariah was one of the best coming of age stories I have ever seen. Alike, the main character, was deeper than most teen characters are in films I’ve seen. She was tomboyish, but not overly so, like her best friend Laura. She liked alternative music, she was quiet and introspective. And she was a writer. Definitely not the stereotypical inner- city black, baby dyke. Her butch appearance during school was different from what was inside her. I liked the duality in this 17 year old budding lesbian. She knew who she was; she was just trying to find out how to express it.

I can relate to Alike. I, too, am a Black lesbian who grew up in a big city. When I was young it was hard to just be ‘me’. I wasn’t hard enough for the fem girls, and I definitely wasn’t fem enough for the butch dykes. And reading and bike riding and going to foreign films didn’t always sit well with some of the people I knew back in the day. To be a person who thinks for yourself sometimes leaves you alone to find your own way. It takes strength to be an individual, and Alike learns this in the movie.

The movie was different in the way it chose to show where Alike’s conflict came from. Her mother was in denial, of course, but she had support from her father, her sister, and her best friend. The real battle was going on inside her. Could she have the guts to confront her mother? Could she allow herself to seek out others who had the same interests as she did without losing her best friend? Could she find love and still be Alike? These are the issues she struggled with in the film, and unlike a lot of GLBT films that I see, she actually does something about her problems, and doesn’t die or get treated like dirt at the end. I don’t like tragedy for tragedy’s sake, and this film breaks the mold on typical ‘gay’ films.

It was great to see a rough dyke like Laura portrayed as a deeper character also. She was a good friend to Alike, and had issues with family and work. Her rugged exterior hid a softer side, and I think it was good to show mainstream audiences that these women are complex beings. What you see is not all there is. She reminded me of a lot of my friends from back home. I loved my rugged dyke girlfriends, and that tough exterior was and is often just a mask of who they really are.

Overall Pariah is a must-see for anyone wanting a coming of age story that is truthful and real. I liked it, and I may even buy a copy to add to my collection.

President Obama breaks off some Al Green!

2012-01-20T07:30:00.001-06:00

Sing it, Mr. President! So nice to seem him having some fun. This was at the end of a fundraiser at the historic Apollo Theater in Harlem.

His speech was amazing, too.

Sh*t we say to each other

2012-01-17T09:23:00.003-06:00

For the last few weeks a slew of videos have been passed around the internet about "shit [insert ] say," or "shit [insert] say to [insert]." Some people hate them, saying they perpetuate stereotypes. Other people love them, saying they are funny truths about what they experience and know.

I love them. I think humor is healing and humor is a great teaching tool. White people are the butt of a lot of the jokes. I'm guessing many people never knew until watching the videos that their words or behavior is offensive.

See for yourself:

But wait. I'm not laughing anymore. Kind of overwhelming isn't it, after watching 12 in a row. Imagine living with it. Every. Day. Or maybe you do live with it. Every. Day.

Jan. 19 update: If you want to dig into some intelligent analysis of all this, check out this post on Racialicious: Exploring the Problematic and Subversive Shit People Say [Meme-ology]

A little known quote from Dr. King about Native Americans

2012-01-16T20:52:00.000-06:00

A little known quote from Dr. King about Native Americans

Source: Supporting South Dakota Reservations

“Our nation was born in genocide when it embraced the doctrine that the original American, the Indian, was an inferior race. Even before there were large numbers of Negroes on our shores, the scar of racial hatred had already disfigured colonial society. From the sixteenth century forward, blood flowed in battles of racial supremacy. We are perhaps the only nation which tried as a matter of national policy to wipe its indigenous population. Moreover, we elevated that tragic experience into a noble crusade. Indeed, even today we have not permitted ourselves to reject or to feel remorse for this shameful episode. Our literature, our films, our drama, our folklore all exalt it.”

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

A true visionary who saw the interconnectedness among all in the fight for justice.

In honor of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr Holiday: Jan. 16, 2012

Soul Friday at Hell's Kitchen in Minneapolis!

2012-01-07T07:00:00.001-06:00

Soul Friday is February 3!

Soul Friday is a monthly dance party created for queer women of color and friends. Everybody welcome!

Spinning the best in old school, R&B, old and new hip-hop, house, and more.On the decks:
Shannon Blowtorch
Lady L
(and stay tuned for news about a new, special guest deejay!)

Lady L's Old school power hour from 9-10 p.m. Come early!

Late night food specials from from 9 p.m.- 1 a.m.

Drink specials! $3 Michelob Golden Light, PBR, and Miller tap; $5 Jameson; $4 Soul Friday shot; $7 Any beer special and shot of Jameson or SF shot.

9 p.m. to close
21+
$5 at the door

Hell's Kitchen
80 South 9th St
(just 1/2 block east of the Nicollet Mall), downtown Mpls.
There is a parking ramp adjacent to Hell's Kitchen and it's just four blocks from the Nicollet LRT

Join the Soul Friday Facebook page!

The Facebook event invitation can be found here.

Planning a birthday party or large group for Soul Friday? Call the Hell's Kitchen banquet coordinator at 612-238-1427 to make reservations and find out about our party package.

To get specific driving directions, go here.

The year of barely blogging

2011-12-22T06:36:00.005-06:00

My blog calendar says this will be my 45th post this year, down from 77 in 2010. I started out strong but have slowly faded to easy, occasional posts of You Tube videos, links to articles with just a little intro from me, or maybe if I'm feeling motivated, a playlist.

Lazy blogging.

When I launched this blog in December 2008, I was so energized by a platform where I could write freely, mix in multimedia, and have a say about things I cared about. For the most part I think I've been successful.

Yet the thrill is gone, at least for now.

2011 was a year chock full of news - from the tsunami and earthquake that rocked Japan to the Arab spring to the famine in Somalia, broken American politics, crazy Republican presidential hopefuls, the economy and #OWS, there was plenty I COULD have said. (Well I did say a little about almost all those things...)

But still, what gives?

Is blogging a dying platform? Have our attention spans become so compromised that we can't focus on anything longer than 140 characters? My Google Reader is full of unread posts from other bloggers. And personal blogs gone silent. Is your Reader in similar shape? So much good stuff being written and so few of us reading and participating.

I have built a small and loyal following during my blogging adventure and for that I am very grateful. I'm not sure I'm on my way to being done with this but I might be. Yet I don't want to stop. I think. I don't know.

We'll see what 2012 brings.

For now, I'll close out this last post of 2011 with a wish for you for the New Year: "May the odds be ever in your favor."

For everyone

2011-12-19T14:17:00.000-06:00

Read, internalize, repeat as often as is necessary.

Hilary Clinton takes bold, historic stance on GLBTQ human rights

2011-12-09T06:11:00.000-06:00

U.S. Secretary of State Hilary Clinton made history on Dec. 6 with her bold speech declaring "gay rights are human rights" when she spoke before the United Nations in Geneva, Switzerland in honor of Human Rights Day. She argues across cultures, religions, countries, and continents that GLBTQ rights are fundamental human rights. A speech for the history books, a clear step toward progress for all. Thank you, Hilary.

Some excerpts below, and full transcript of the speech can be found here:

"The first issue goes to the heart of the matter. Some have suggested that gay rights and human rights are separate and distinct; but, in fact, they are one and the same. Now, of course, 60 years ago, the governments that drafted and passed the Universal Declaration of Human Rights were not thinking about how it applied to the LGBT community. They also weren’t thinking about how it applied to indigenous people or children or people with disabilities or other marginalized groups. Yet in the past 60 years, we have come to recognize that members of these groups are entitled to the full measure of dignity and rights, because, like all people, they share a common humanity."

"The second issue is a question of whether homosexuality arises from a particular part of the world. Some seem to believe it is a Western phenomenon, and therefore people outside the West have grounds to reject it. Well, in reality, gay people are born into and belong to every society in the world. They are all ages, all races, all faiths; they are doctors and teachers, farmers and bankers, soldiers and athletes; and whether we know it, or whether we acknowledge it, they are our family, our friends, and our neighbors."

"Being gay is not a Western invention; it is a human reality. And protecting the human rights of all people, gay or straight, is not something that only Western governments do. South Africa’s constitution, written in the aftermath of Apartheid, protects the equality of all citizens, including gay people. In Colombia and Argentina, the rights of gays are also legally protected. In Nepal, the supreme court has ruled that equal rights apply to LGBT citizens. The Government of Mongolia has committed to pursue new legislation that will tackle anti-gay discrimination."

"The third, and perhaps most challenging, issue arises when people cite religious or cultural values as a reason to violate or not to protect the human rights of LGBT citizens. This is not unlike the justification offered for violent practices towards women like honor killings, widow burning, or female genital mutilation. Some people still defend those practices as part of a cultural tradition. But violence toward women isn’t cultural; it’s criminal. Likewise with slavery, what was once justified as sanctioned by God is now properly reviled as an unconscionable violation of human rights."

"The fourth issue is what history teaches us about how we make progress towards rights for all. Progress starts with honest discussion. Now, there are some who say and believe that all gay people are pedophiles, that homosexuality is a disease that can be caught or cured, or that gays recruit others to become gay. Well, these notions are simply not true. They are also unlikely to disappear if those who promote or accept them are dismissed out of hand rather than invited to share their fears and concerns. No one has ever abandoned a belief because he was forced to do so."

"A fifth and final question is how we do our part to bring the world to embrace human rights for all people including LGBT people. Yes, LGBT people must help lead this effort, as so many of you are. Their knowledge and experiences are invaluable and their courage inspirational. We know the names of brave LGBT activists who have literally given their lives for this cause, and there are many more whose names we will never know. But often those who are denied rights are least empowered to bring about the changes they seek. Acting alone, minorities can never achieve the majorities necessary for political change."

"So when any part of humanity is sidelined, the rest of us cannot sit on the sidelines. Every time a barrier to progress has fallen, it has taken a cooperative effort from those on both sides of the barrier. In the fight for women’s rights, the support of men remains crucial. The fight for racial equality has relied on contributions from people of all races. Combating Islamaphobia or anti-Semitism is a task for people of all faiths. And the same is true with this struggle for equality."

"I know that the thoughts I’ve shared today involve questions on which opinions are still evolving. As it has happened so many times before, opinion will converge once again with the truth, the immutable truth, that all persons are created free and equal in dignity and rights. We are called once more to make real the words of the Universal Declaration. Let us answer that call. Let us be on the right side of history, for our people, our nations, and future generations, whose lives will be shaped by the work we do today. I come before you with great hope and confidence that no matter how long the road ahead, we will travel it successfully together. Thank you very much."

Mary J Blige just keeps getting better

2011-12-08T20:14:00.001-06:00

Oh Mary J Blige,

I've been loving your music for a long time now. But I think I love most how your music has matured and evolved as you've aged. This song, "Need Someone," from your latest album My Life II..the journey continues makes me cry. So achingly beautiful. How far we both have come over the years. Yes, the journey continues.

My deepest thanks,

A devoted fan

Grandchild sings Hallelujah

2011-11-27T11:52:00.007-06:00

Young voice, full of heart. A direct connection between heaven and earth.

Now that we found love... let's prevent heart attacks

2011-11-09T07:53:00.002-06:00

Heavy D, one of my favorite hip hop artists, passed away yesterday at the very young age of 44. Word is emerging he died from a heart attack. So in honor of someone who helped shape hip hop and rap in the late 80s and early 90s, and whose songs were positive, life affirming and great dance jams, I offer two things.

My favorite Heavy D and the Boyz jam
Not only is this a classic to which I've logged hours on the dance floor, it's a brilliant use of sampling - and in doing so - bridged generations.

Know the symptoms of a heart attack and how to prevent one
One of my very best friends, also in her 40s, but healthy and not overweight, survived a heart attack because she knew the symptoms. Read her blog post about her experience, which includes links to valuable information for women: Young women get heart attacks, too. Men, check out this information here on prevention and symptoms.

Playlist: Passing over into the Infinite

2011-10-26T06:52:00.003-05:00

This is a playlist for honoring those we have lost, who have passed over into the great infinite. Many of the songs on this list are love songs. Feel them. They express the same feelings of love, life, longing, and loss that we experience with death. There are also songs of celebration. Feel them too, for while we grieve, we also embrace with joy the life and times shared, and the memories and spirit that lives on.

Passing over into the Infinite

1. Heavenly Day, Patty Griffin

2. Someone Like You, Adele

3. Blackbird, The Beatles

4. In My Life, The Beatles

5. Redemption Song, Bob Marley & The Wailers

6. I Shall Believe, Cheryl Crow

7. God Bless the Child, Jill Scott

8. Golden, Jill Scott

9. A Song For You (f/Christina Aguilera), Herbie Hancock

10. I See God In You, India.Arie

11. Many Rivers to Cross, Jimmy Cliff

12. What's Going On, Marvin Gaye

13. Mercy Mercy Me (The Ecology), Marvin Gaye

14. Still I Rise, Melky Sedeck

15. Skylark, k.d. lang

16. Closer To The Sky, Michael Franti

17. I Shall Be Released, Nina Simone

18. Sail Away, Randy Newman

19. Into the Mystic, Van Morrison

20. Up Above My Head (I Hear Music In the Air), Ruthie Foster

21. Love's In Need Of Love Today, Stevie Wonder

22. As, Stevie Wonder

23. Bandy Bandy, Zap Mama & Erykah Badu

24. Salala, Angélique Kidjo Feat. Peter Gabriel

25. Hallelujah, Brandi Carlile

26. Somewhere Over the Rainbow/What a Wonderful World, Israel Kamakawiwo'ole

This playlist can be found on iTunes here.

And then there is this:

Fear of the A Word

2011-09-05T10:49:00.006-05:00

Alzheimer's, that is. And Dementia. Losing our minds, literally.

Most people know memory loss is a normal part of aging. But the very real terror of the possibility of getting Alzheimer's is a bit of a secret among my women friends who are 50 and older. We joke about our memory gaps, in part to ease our fears. (CRS or "Can't Remember Shit" is a favorite acronym of mine). But it's not funny when we have to whisper to each other at a party, "What is her name again?" And then, "Yes! How could I forget that!" We commiserate, but secretly worry. Do I have IT.

Most of us are still working, in top form, at the peak of our careers. Yet we don't let on at work that we forgot a name, make detailed to-do lists, sometimes forget where we are going from one meeting to the next (my smart phone saves me), and that we didn't set up that promised meeting right away because we forgot to put it on the aforementioned to-do list. Is anyone noticing?

At home, we head into the kitchen, full of purpose, and then wonder why we walked into the kitchen once we get there. Oh yeah, to see what I need to get at the store. How could I forget, just like that? I have started repeating stories so often that I now try to ask people before I begin one, "Have I told you this story yet?" I'm only 55. I've always had a bad memory, but...

Each time someone our age is in the news with that dreaded diagnosis of Early Onset Dementia or Early Alzheimer's we collectively think, "Could I be next?" I was stunned when we learned of Pat Summitt's Early Onset Dementia diagnosis just this summer - the type that will lead to Alzheimer's. Summitt is the head women's basketball coach at the University of Tennessee and the most winning coach in college basketball history, men's or women's. And she is only 59. She looked fine last season. She bravely came out with her story, and says she is taking medication and doing memory exercises with the hope of coaching for a few more seasons, with the help of her staff. News accounts say symptoms included missed meetings and forgotten plays. That's all?! What else did she and others notice?

Do men my age worry like this? I don't hear them talking about it if they do. It's true that women are diagnosed with Alzheimer's at a higher rate then men, but it seems to be a woman's worry. I know a few women with simple memory loss symptoms who have made appointments with their doctors or even at memory loss clinics just to be sure it is nothing more than age. No one has come back yet with the diagnosis of Early Onset Dementia or the "Big A." But we are worried, even terrified. We know more than one of us will come back with the dreaded diagnosis some day. Please. Not me. Ever.

Summitt's courage in going public is a wake up call to those of us worrying and wondering. To take those little lapses seriously. To not ignore if normal memory loss is getting worse and starting to interfere with how we function. To know the symptoms and get checked out.

An estimated 5.4 million Americans of all ages have Alzheimer’s disease in 2011. This figure includes 5.2 million people aged 65 and older, and 200,000 individuals under age 65 who have younger-onset Alzheimer’s. As we Baby Boomers age the percentages will continue to go up. (Source)

So it's okay to be worried, but we also need to be empowered with information. A great resource is the National Center for Biotechnology Information, U.S. National Library of Medicine. Learn more about Dementia from them here and about Alzheimer's here. And here is a great list of symptoms of Alzheimer's that includes a comparison to normal memory loss.

Okay, I'm pretty sure it's just a normal aging memory thing after reading that list.

Pretty sure.

Someone Like You

2011-08-29T08:34:00.002-05:00

Adele performing the classic "Someone Like You" live at the 2011 VMA awards last night. The chance to see these stunning, live performances is what makes suffering through music award shows worthwhile. Last unforgettable performance was P!nk's "Glitter in the Air" at the 2010 Grammys

Review: "The Help" doesn't help white people

2011-08-18T21:48:00.019-05:00

If you've missed the outpouring of negative reviews, tweets, and general outrage over the release of the movie version of The Help from voices in the African American community, you've had your head in the sand. To bring yourself up to speed, read these reviews before continuing with this post:

An Open Statement to the Fans of The Help, by the Association of Black Women Historians

Black-and-White Struggle with a Rosey Glow, by Nelson George

And for balance, here is an interesting interview with Octavia Spencer about her role as Minnie Jackson, one the of maids, and the movie overall.

Another great source for ongoing discussion of the movie is to search the hashtag #TheHelpMovie on Twitter. All kinds of people have lots to say.

I finally saw the movie tonight and came loaded for anger after reading all of that outrage. I was shocked to find myself liking it more than I thought I would. I could see and understand that the movie was a sugarcoated, whitewashed version of what really happened during Jim Crow, but it didn't send me into a fury. It didn't go far enough, but it wasn't that bad, through my lens. I was disappointed I didn't hate it.

That got me thinking about how differently black and white people are experiencing the movie and wondering why. Is there a white perspective on the movie, and if so, what is it?

Let's start with comedian Louis CK, who sums up things pretty well here:

Sadly what makes this spot so hilarious is that most white people are pretty clueless about our privilege.

We are also pretty clueless about the varied experiences of African American people of all education and economic backgrounds, from slavery to today.

I came of age in the sixties and early seventies, during the time in which The Help is set, and when the civil rights movement was in full force, changing our country forever. But I barely knew it was happening.

The environment I grew up in was virtually all-white, middle class suburbia. Anything I knew about Black people, slavery, Jim Crow, or the civil rights movement came from the history I was taught in school, what I saw on TV, or from the very brief, infrequent conversations we had about those topics at home. Which means I knew Jack, and what I did know was mostly distorted, watered down, or an outright lie. This is true for most white people.

I didn't begin to get another point of view until college, when I had my first opportunities to meet Black people, say stupid stuff in front of them, be called a racist, and thanks to the beginnings of African American Studies and Women's Studies programs, take classes that deconstructed the hell out of my naive reality.

More than 35 years and thousands of experiences later, I am no longer clueless. Yet I am clued-in just enough to understand that what I know about being African American is only by proxy, despite the fact that my most intimate and important relationships are with people who are Black, including my children, my grandchildren, and my spouse.

But I'm fortunate. Most white people stay in segregated enclaves and never get the chance to grow or to understand anything outside of our distorted realities.

So the stakes are very, very high for African American people whenever a movie comes out about The Black Experience, especially if it is a white person trying to tell the tale. (There is also the Tyler Perry debate, but that's a whole other post.)

No wonder people are seething at how The Help falls short, glossing over the exploitation and brutality of the time, and appropriating the real story of Black maids in the Jim Crow south by making the central character a white person who saves the day.

Which is exactly why movies like The Help are not helpful for white people. Most of us have not had enough experiences or education outside of our white worlds to have any critical context and perspective about what we are watching. We falsely think it is The Truth. Liberal white people in particular have a hard time wrapping our heads and hearts around the ugly truth of our nation's racial history without becoming paralyzed with guilt. Many liberal white people want desperately to believe that things are almost all better now, especially since we elected a Black man president.

The great racial divide is alive and well. Same country, two different worlds. And it's all playing out in reactions to this movie.

Read the screen grabs below from actor Wendell Pierce's Twitterstream. He recounts watching the movie with his mother, who was The Help at one point in her life, as was his grandmother. He sums up the great divide perfectly, 140 characters at a time. Especially this: "Watching the film in Uptown New Orleans to the sniffles of elderly white people while my 80 year old mother was seething, made clear [the] distinction."

Read from the bottom to the top:

Pierce: "The story was a sentimental primer of a palatable segregation that is Jim Crow light."

Yes. The The Help lets white people off the hook. It creates a partial truth that allows us to feel less guilty about Jim Crow and all the bad things our ancestors did during slavery because the feel-good outweighs the feel-bad, to keep our heads collectively in the sand about how we still benefit from all our privilege, and to be in denial about the incredible racist backlash caused by President Obama's election and how bad things still are for most Black people today.

There is an opportunity in all of this. White people, if you were moved by the movie (thanks in part to the amazing actors who play the maids) and are curious about the vocal controversy surrounding it, seek out knowledge about what it really meant to be The Help. We share this history. We need to understand it.

I recommend these books as a place to start:

Coming of Age in Mississippi, by Anne Moody

Beloved, by Toni Morrison

Kindred, by Octavia Butler

And here is a list of books offered up by Melissa Harris-Perry (@MHarrisPerry) after she did some scathing live tweeting while watching The Help. A great recounting of her tweets and an interview with her about the movie can be found here.

(Again, read from the bottom up.)

Note to readers: In all the searching I've done for reviews and responses, I've not found one critical piece by someone who is white. If you know of any, please leave them in the comments sections. Thank you.

Sept 18 Update: Read this great post by 74 year old Janet Cheatham Bell, an accomplished author who once worked as a maid.

Jill Scott's "Shame:" An anthem for strong women everywhere

2011-08-15T07:20:00.003-05:00

Dear Jill Scott,

I have loved you and your music since we first met through "Who is Jill Scott? Words and Sounds Vol. 1" in 2000. I've been jamming to your magnificence ever since. And you just keep getting better. Your new album, The Light of The Sun, is divine. And "Shame," the song and especially the video, is a new anthem for strong women everywhere. Thank you for what you bring to the world.

With love and respect,

Your loyal fan

I can 'fend on my own, I'm magnificent
I'm a Queen on my throne, I'm magnificent
I'm the magnificent (SAY WHAT! SAY WHAT!)
I'm the magnificent (SAY WHAT! SAY WHAT!)

P.S. If you don't have this CD yet, buy it, don't bootleg it. Support talented artists!

Famine in Somalia and the Horn of Africa - What to do, how to help

2011-08-07T07:14:00.017-05:00

photo via Nimo Farah

29,000 children under the age of five died from the famine in Somalia in the last 90 days. Over 800,000 more children are at risk to starve to death. Please read that again, slowly, and let it sink it. Imagine your children, your family. Make this personal. It is.

Something is very wrong with our collective humanity that there is not more global outrage and heartbreak over what is happening in Somalia and across the Horn of Africa. Where is the constant media coverage, the relief concerts, the major challenge grants for donations? In my social media streams I see mostly Somali and other East Africans focused on this. Why is not everyone doing everything they can?

Minnesota is home to the largest Somali community in North America. Our neighbors, literally. The people of Somalia are our global neighbors, literally and figuratively. Make it personal. It is.

Help be the change.

Here are three things you can do now to educate yourself, send money, and increase awareness of this crisis:

1. Listen to an archived on-air discussion with young Somali American leaders about the famine in Somalia:
An amazing coalition of young Somali American professionals from across the country came together on the Aug. 7 edition of the Somali Community Link radio program on KFAI radio to discuss this crisis and what can be done. An archive of the one-hour broadcast can be found here.

More information about the discussion:

Many Somali communities in Unites States have been mobilizing to raise awareness and funds for the severe drought ravaging half of Somalia’s population and millions of more people in the Horn of Africa. The energy behind many of these efforts has been from young professionals who are volunteering their time, skills and tapping into their networks for help.

A group of these dynamic young leaders from around the United States came together in an on-air radio discussion about what they’ve been doing in their communities and how the general public can help. Representatives from communities in Minnesota, Massachusetts, Virginia, Ohio, California, Texas were part of the discussion:

Nimo Farah, Minnesota (facilitator)
Ifrah Esse, Minnesota
Amal Hussein, Massachusetts
Hibak Kaflan, Virginia
Mohamed Ali, Ohio
Awil Egal, California
Sh. Mohamed Shakib Abqari, Texas

2. Send money

Send what money you can to help the relief efforts and encourage others to do the same. Nimo Farah of Minneapolis recommends this: Donate to Somali led organizations that use funds $1 for $1 and have volunteers on the ground with quick turn around time - The African Future and Welcome Amoud Foundation. If you prefer more mainstream organizations, a list of organizations can be found here.

3. Further educate yourself and become an advocate.

To learn more about the current famine, read the comprehensive July 7 testimony by US AID Assistant Administrator Nancy Lindborg to the Senate Foreign Relations Committee.

A brief excerpt:

...The drought currently plaguing the region is considered to be the worst in the Horn of Africa since the 1950s. This is a region long plagued by cyclical drought, but what used to be a ten-year cycle is now occurring every other year. In Somalia, the combined 2 effects of consecutive seasons of failed or poor rainfall coupled with conflict, have resulted in rising inflation, crop failure, livestock mortality, population displacement, food insecurity, and significant acute malnutrition rates in Somalia.

In January 2011, FSNAU [Food Security and Nutrition Analysis Unit] estimated that 2.4 million people in Somalia were in crisis. Their latest data indicate there are at least 2.85 million people in Somalia in need of life-saving assistance, a 19 percent increase in six months. That means that, of the estimated 9.9 million people living in Somalia, one in four is now in need of international aid to survive...

Background on the historical and political issues contributing to the crisis can be found in this recent CBS News article. Be sure to click on the links. Continuing coverage of the crisis can also be found on Al Jazeera English.

Once you have educated yourself, then spread the word about the severity of the crisis and the need for awareness and a global relief effort through your social media networks. Insist that the world take notice and do more!

One last thing, listen to this beautiful, haunting poem, somalia:nevermind, by Amir Sulaiman, which captures both the beauty and pain that is Somalia and the heartbreak of the global back-turning on its starvation.

Sept. Update: Read this amazing commentary by K'Naan: A Son Returns to the Agony of Somalia

Oh Valerie, In Summertime

2011-07-24T20:59:00.005-05:00

I've been listening to "Valerie" by Amy Winehouse ever since learning of her passing yesterday. So young, talented, and troubled. In listening to this song, a playlist started emerging in my head. A summer mix, heart open, heartfelt. A playlist where the artists connect only through the flow of my own feelings, in this season of the sun and light, of love and loss. But I think it works so I'm sharing it with you.

Oh Valerie, In Summertime

1. Valerie, Amy Winehouse

2. To Know Him Is to Love Him (Live), Amy Winehouse

3. Love Is a Losing Game, Amy Winehouse

4. Here Comes the Sun, The Beatles

5. Blackbird, The Beatles

6. Beautiful Boy, John Lennon

7. In My Life, The Beatles

8. In My Secret Life, Leonard Cohen

9. Who By Fire, Leonard Cohen

10. Firefly, Michael Franti

11. Ganja Babe, Michael Franti

12. Come Away With Me, Norah Jones

13. Fast Car, Tracy Chapman

14. Glitter In the Air (Live),P!nk

15. A Child With The Blues: Izm Mix, Erykah Badu

16. Supermoon, Zap Mama

17. Bandy Bandy, Zap Mama (Featuring Erykah Badu)

This playlist can be found on iTunes, here

For a very thought provoking, moving article about the death of Amy Winehouse, addiction, and depression, read On The Death of Amy Winehouse, by Max Sparber

"Ku soo Dhawaada Xaafadeena" or "Welcome to our Neighborhood"

2011-07-22T11:22:00.000-05:00

Go see this play! An excerpt from the review by Britt Robson in MinnPost:

To be a Somali or East African youth in Minneapolis these days involves running a gauntlet of suspicion and strife. In their schools there are cultural frictions with white and African-American students and even among Somali, Ethiopian and Oromo themselves. In their homes there is the impossibly wide straddle between the controlling fears and expectations of their parents and other elders and the need to find and forge a sustainable identity in 21^st-century society. In their need for employment they are facing one of the most inhospitable work environments in American history. And a small but significant number of their brethren have been mysteriously recruited to go fight and die in the civil war of their native country, intensifying their exposure to the already magnified socio-religious passions and bureaucratic apparatus that fuels America’s “war on terror.”

But the resilience of immigrant youth is an abiding “feel good” part of our collective American experience, and rich fuel for our artistic narratives. Which is why “Ku soo Dhawaada Xaafadeena,” or “Welcome to our Neighborhood,” a play by, for, with and about the East African youth in the Cedar-Riverside neighborhood, running the next two weekends at the Cedar Cultural Center, seems especially well-timed…”

Love unfolding fiercely in the unbearable humid heat

2011-07-19T06:42:00.003-05:00

Lots of people think that Minnesota is frozen tundra 365 days a year. It's not. Our summers can be hot and humid, and occasionally, like right now, unbearably hot and humid. Our heat indexes have been surpassing those even in the most tropical parts of the world. Check out this comparison.

I'm grateful for my old window air conditioner and the relief it provides from this heatwave. The last time I remember heat and humidity this high for this long, my kids were babies and we lived in a small house in Powderhorn Park with no air conditioning. I remember the indoor temperatures were well into the 80s.

My daughter, now 25, was a tough baby who cried for hours on end, whose little soul was inconsolable no matter how much love I offered. Last night sitting on my hot, humid front porch, feeling the thick, sticky, still night air, my ceiling fan whirling, I remembered this old piece of writing about that time. About heat, humidity, a ceiling fan, a crying baby, and how Sade saved us from ourselves:

1986

It's the nights that are the longest. She is such a hard baby. Crying all the time. Never napping. I think she is reacting to her adoption, to being yanked from one life to another. And it's been unbearably hot and humid. She is so tiny, so fierce. But we are finding a way to each others hearts. I hope the worst is over. Last night was a turning point.

My toddler son was already asleep. It was just me, the baby, the heat, the night, the whirl of the ceiling fan, her sobs. She wouldn't stop crying. I put on some music, Sade, to help me keep it together. It was music I thought was made for lovers, but last night it was music for a desperate mother and an inconsolable daughter.

For hours we slow danced.

I always hope that you remember/What we have is strong and tender/In the middle of the madness/Hold on/It's about faith /It's about trust...

Barefoot on the wood floor, my sticky skin pressed close to her little body, as the music swirled and the fan whirled through the night air, her cries slowly, surely subsided and even more slowly, she let herself fall into my skin, allowed her head to slide down on my shoulder, her damp curly hair to rest softly against my sweaty neck. I let the record play over and over and we rocked and turned and swayed and sighed and sweated and slowly, so slowly, deep into the night, she finally fell asleep.

Nothing can come/Nothing can come/Nothing can come between us.

Love unfolding, fiercely.

Women's World Cup Soccer and being a female athlete

2011-07-18T07:43:00.006-05:00

In case you weren't paying attention, yesterday Japan beat the U.S. in an amazing match for the Women's World Cup Soccer title, complete with a shoot-out at the end.

This morning, I read an amazing piece on Tumblr by Holly Manthei, a woman who was on the 1995 U.S. team (they were third that year). Read it all - it's inspiring - but here is a highlight:

"...The stinging consolation for today’s loss is that we’ve arguably never fielded a more fit, more disciplined, more talented squad of women. The parity of the women’s game signifies more than just an isolated 4-year cyclical interest in hot chicks with pony tails and toned legs competing in this game invented by men. Today’s loss continues to symbolize Our Arrival. Our collective ascension to the podium where little girls can look at these women and announce with conviction, “I want to be like Hope Solo when I grow up...”

Back in 1999 when the women's team won the World Cup final in another stunning game, I was a mother of a soccer playing 13-year-old girl, and I ruminated about that win and what it meant to me, a competitive pre-Title IX athlete in the 70s, in my own commentary.

That commentary was published by the Star Tribune, and I am inspired to share it once again. Since that was pre-Internet links, here it is below, in JPEG format (which you probably can't read) and the original text I submitted to the paper. The march towards parity and equity continues:

I was a pre-Title IX female athlete. Twenty-seven years later, my 13-year-old daughter is one of the thousands of soccer-playing girls riding high after the women’s U.S. World Cup soccer victory. I can say from personal experience that the recent Republican-sponsored House resolution to pay tribute to the U.S. women’ soccer team without acknowledgement of Title IX and its impact on the evolution of women’s sports was grievously wrong.

In 1972-1973, I was a junior at a suburban Minneapolis high school. The coach of the boy’s varsity ski team asked me to tryout for the team. While I skied competitively for a local ski club, there was no girls varsity ski team at my high school, and thus, no opportunity for me to compete in varsity sports, at least in my sport of choice.

So I tried out for the boys’ team and made the third-pace slot. However, the Minnesota State High School League, the governing body for Minnesota high school sports, had a rule that girls could not compete on boys’ teams, even if they legitimately earned a place on the team. The League informed my school that the entire team would be disqualified if I competed in a varsity ski meet.

My parents decided to challenge the rule and took the issue to court. The courts ruled in our favor and I was allowed to compete for my high school. Suddenly, much to my embarrassment, I was in the news as a barrier breaker. In 1972, girl athletes such as myself who trained hard, developed muscles, and thrilled to aggressive competition, were typically viewed, especially among our peers, as weird. The last thing my fragile self-esteem needed was more attention for being a jock. I just wanted to ski.

However, I am absolutely grateful that I happened to be in the right place at the right time, and thanks to Title IX, did get to ski for my high school and earn two varsity letters, something for which I am very proud.

Since then, I have thrilled at the change in both opportunity and attitude for women’s sports and athletics. In 1999, from the Sunday afternoon jogger to the serious athlete, girls and women now have a full array of competitive sports and fitness activities in which to participate.

My athletic daughter is coming of age at a time when sports, sweat and muscles are just a normal part of being female. She started playing soccer when she was nine at the neighborhood park because all of her friends were signing up to play. She now plays in a competitive girls’ soccer league full of other girls who love to play hard. They yell, “Be aggressive!” at the beginning of games. They are praised for being tough on the field, for teamwork, for pushing to the max.

I think the best thing about the post-Title IX world of female sports is that these young girls don’t think twice about being competitive athletes. They have no idea that 27 years ago there were far fewer athletic opportunities for girls. They have no idea that the general attitude toward female athletes was indifference at best and contempt at worst.

My daughter didn’t even watch the U.S. Word Cup victory live. She had me tape it for later, when she got back from the mall. For her, it was not, as it was for me, a rearrange all your plans, historic, not to be missed event. It was a cool and important thing, but just one part of the fabric of her adolescent life. Yet, thanks to Title IX, she and millions of other girls don’t have to want to be like Mike when they imagine themselves champions. They can want to be like Brianna, Mia or Christine, and think its no big deal. Now that’s a revolution.

Say Hey and I love you!

2011-07-14T08:28:00.005-05:00

Nearly two years ago my granddaughter had a terrible fall from a window and fought for her life for a month in intensive care, with a long time of healing that followed. Today she is a healthy, happy six year old, fully recovered. The story of her fall is recounted in this post.

"Say Hey" by Michael Franti and Spearhead (both the song and the video) helped me get through that terrible time. I played it over and over in my car, singing, crying, hoping. I watched the video on the rare times I was home from the hospital. Eventually it made its way on to a playlist called "Warrior Girl" I made for my grandchild and the circle of family and friends helping her through.

"Say Hey" became our song together - grandma and grandchild.

Since then, when the song comes into rotation, usually while we are driving, I remind her that it's our song and we sing along together. It is a happy song for us, about our deep connection, our love, and about her survival.

Last weekend we went to Duluth with a friend and her child for a day-long family oriented music festival that culminated in a performance by Michael Franti and Spearhead.

It turned out to be a magical, emotional day for me, and a day of fun and adventure for her.

One of the free activities for kids was a climbing wall, which my grandchild tried for the first time yet scrambled up like an old pro - a spidergirl. Strong and unafraid. I was flooded with emotions, thinking "the girl who fell now climbs to the sky."

Later, when Franti and his band played, she danced and danced to every song, swirling and twirling as dusk turned to night, completely losing herself in the music and the moment.

But no "Say Hey."

Then, like magic, when the band came out for its encore, Franti invited "all children and people over 60" to the stage and he played our song. My grandchild and her friend made it on to the stage. I watched her up there, dancing and singing, and my heart burst open all over again. With love. With gratitude. And with deep appreciation for a song that seals our love with a great big fat sloppy kiss.

Rocking in the dance hall moving with you/Dancing in the night in the middle of June/My momma told me don’t lose you/Cause the best luck I had was you.

Say Hey and I love you/I love you/I love you/I love you.

Greatest video ever made of the greatest love song ever written

2011-07-12T22:45:00.006-05:00

"Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin/ Dance me through the panic 'til I'm gathered safely in/Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove/Dance me to the end of love..."

Yes. Please.

Summer blogging break

2011-07-01T15:18:00.003-05:00

I'll be back. Promise! Busy soaking up that fleeing Minnesota summer!

My Boys

2011-06-10T07:37:00.008-05:00

This is an old piece I wrote in 1994 when my son and his friends were heading through middle school. They are now all in their late twenties to early thirties, with families, jobs, and everyday lives. I post this today as we mourn for one of those friends, who was lost too soon to senseless violence this week; for those who fell off but are standing back up; for those who are still wobbling; and for those who made it up and out. I love and pray for you all.

(The names are all changed, but this story is true)

~~~

My Boys

Weekends can be long and wearing during Minnesota winters, especially for mothers and children. Kids get to you when you are locked inside with them for days, with windows shut tight, rooms dim and gloomy from the endless string of cold, overcast days. When I start to feel trapped and penned in, and I’m yelling at every minor infraction, I know it's time to escape, even if it means packing up a pile of kids and bringing them with me. Anything, just get me out of the house. On this particular Saturday afternoon, I am at a suburban movie theatre complex with my eleven year old son, Miles, and his two best friends, Walter and Michael. We have trekked out here from our neighborhood on the edge of downtown because it is the only place playing the movie they want to see (Ace Ventura Pet Detective), and the movie I want to see (Six Degrees of Separation), at about the same time.

After we buy our tickets, I watch the boys head to the video games to hang out until the last second before the movie begins. It's an afternoon matinee, so they know they don't need to hurry in for good seats. They are trying their best to be bad-assed little brothers from the 'hood. They are talking very loud, using street language, and hitting and shoving each other. They are dressed alike — jeans so big and sagging so low on their rears, I am afraid they might fall off; huge athletic t-shirts that feature basketball superstars and hang almost to their knees; and big clunky black gym shoes, the most expensive version of the cheaper end of Nike and Converse that they could cajole from their parents. Walter's thick, shoulder length sandy-colored locs are gathered in a big ponytail and shake when he walks. Michael's hair is shaved on the bottom half, and big, loopy black curls spring from the top half. He is wearing rose colored granny glasses. Miles has on his trademark ball cap, a blue one with Tar Heels written in big, cartoon letters across the front, and is walking like he's about to hit somebody.

I love these honey-colored boys. My boys. When I watch them I see sweet, scruffy, rowdy puppies who make you crazy with their energy, but are so lovable and dear that you forgive them the ripped up cushions on the couch and the shredded magazines on the floor. I love Michael's shyness and politeness - he is well trained by his mother. Never once has he forgotten to clear his plate from the table after finishing one of the dozens of frozen pizzas I have served him and Miles's other friends over the years. I love Walter's ease with adults, that way oldest children know how to get you into conversation and charm you by being witty and smart about topics you think most kids don't care about or understand. And Miles. I love him for his tender-heartedness and the fact that he'll still let me put my arm around him in public and even hugs me in front of his classmates when I pick him up early from school.

"Hey that's wack, you're wack," yells Michael, shy Michael.

I know what wack means (stupid, uncool), but I have no idea what the context is.

"I'm gonna beat your fuckin' face in," says sweet Miles.

"You're a punk," says Michael, and shoves Miles, hard.

"That's cold, " laughs Walter.

Miles jumps him, not laughing.

I spin fast forward and stop. I'm lost in a nightmare. I can't see anything but brown skinned teen-aged boys pulled over by the police – for no reason and for every reason. I see senseless violence for senseless reasons. I see dreams deferred or lost all together. I see guns, flashing lights, sobbing mothers and girlfriends on the ten o'clock news. I search hard for my boys, to see the faces of the ones who will come up and out, the ones going places, the ones who will make it. I look to see if their futures are long or will be cut short. I look hard, but they're all unrecognizable, I can't make out who's who, or who’s going where. "Not them, not us, not me," I pray as the dream ends badly and the lights go dark.

The straight people's unofficial guide to the 2011 TC Pride Festival

2011-06-02T08:05:00.008-05:00

Update: I wrote this last year, but updated it for 2011. Happy Pride!

~~~
The 2011 Twin Cities Pride Festival and Parade is this June 25-26. And it's a doozie of a celebration. The numbers alone hint at why:

The festival is huge -- the third largest in the nation.*
The Twin Cities GLBT community is vast, second only to San Francisco (by percentage of population).*
Minneapolis, as of 2000, had the third highest concentration of GLBT couples in the U.S. (Just imagine where we are now!)*

* Source: Demographics-Attendance, TC Pride 2008

Given that the Twin Cities is clearly swarming with we GLBT people and our allies, I find it hard to imagine that there are people with absolutely no reasonably close contact with anyone or anything gay. But just in case, I thought a guide for those ten straight people who live completely outside our world would be helpful.

So here is my Straight People's Unofficial Guide to the 2011 TC Pride Festival and Parade (and gay people in general):

Don't let all that flamboyance fool you, we can be as dull as the next person. At the same time, that seemingly achingly boring co-worker in the cube next to you just might be the most fabulous drag king or queen at the parade. You just don't know.

Our world is as diverse as yours. Given our hugeness, you can imagine there is a niche for everyone. We are hipsters, geeks, corporate types, suburbanites, city dwellers, rural folks, families, singles, couples, old people, young people, happy people, sad people. We are brown, black, tan, and white. We are rich, poor, and just getting by. You get my drift. And we will all be at the festival (or at least a representative sample will be there).

We claim many names to express our identities. The standards of course are gay, lesbian, bisexual. But we are also queer, dyke, boi, stud, femme, butch, bear, and on and on. The transgender community is fierce and strong here, complete with its own rhythms, language, and lifestyles. We are all in this together. I personally like to call myself "queer" because of its inclusiveness, but will use the more tame "lesbian" when needed.

When I came out almost 20 years ago in my late thirties and went to my first pride festival, it was somewhat daring to be a politician in the parade or a corporation with a tent hawking wares and showing support in the park. Times have changed! These days, the parade is way too long because so many politicians, churches, and businesses join in. In fact, some people don't like how "corporate" we've become. I think it's a wonderful sign of our normality, and of our political and buying clout.

Lots and lots of straight people come to the festival and parade. In fact, it is impossible to tell who is gay, straight, bisexual, or something else all together. Don't worry about going to Loring Park and being labeled as gay. We won't be able to tell, and neither will your neighbors if you wind up on TV. Beside, being gay is great. If you get mistaken for one of us, enjoy!

But lest you think this is a commentary on how "we are just like you but gay," here are a few of the ways our similarities to you part, and why we fight so hard for simple things like the right to marry, to be parents, to worship, to be ourselves.

Parenting/family. We are crawling with kids. Some of us (like me) had kids before we came out, and many others chose one of the many routes to becoming a parent while "in the life:" adoption, artificial insemination, fostering. My point is this. Most GLBT folks have to work really hard to become parents (it's pretty hard to get "knocked up" by accident in a same-gender relationship). Since that means we typically need to consciously choose to become parents, we are pretty committed to being good ones.

Worship. While many GLBT people can and do attend mostly straight places of worship, lots of us like to pray together, amongst ourselves. Religion is at the root of most good and much evil. It is used to raise up our common humanity and to create war. So, it's nice to pray where you know you are loved. I know of a church that is all African American, all gay and lesbian people. And they are holy rollers, living by "The Word," their way. I love this, deeply.

Marriage. You truly have to be living off the grid to have missed that GLBT people are fighting for our right to marry. Some people in the gay community are less enthused, wondering why we would want to engage in a practice that has failed so miserably in the straight world (the over 50% divorce rate being their proof point). But lots of us want to get married for all the reasons straight people want to tie the knot -- love, commitment, family, a nice party -- and legal protections. In Minnesota there is going to be a ballot this fall letting people vote on whether or not marriage can constitutionally be defined as only between a man and a woman. Now we have to spend all kinds of time fighting that idiotic piece of legislation instead of other more important social justice issues. Grrr.

Health care. This is actually connected to my marriage point. Those of us in committed relationships don't get access to family health care plans unless we happen to work for a company or organization that provides "domestic partner" benefits. This is expensive and dangerous as it results in many people going uninsured, including children.

Now that you are armed with more knowledge having read this guide, I invite you to come to our festival and parade and join in all the fun. I also invite you to join us in our fight for full equality and acceptance, in life and under the law. Happy Pride!

Freedom Band

Welcoming Church

We have political clout. And we vote

Yes s/he does

GLBTQ youth getting our support, supporting each other

Pride is a family affair for parents with wee ones...

...and with teen ones

Me, with random clown

Friends being festive, having fun

Photo source: My personal TC Pride photos 2007-2010

The Mothership returns to Chocolate City!

2011-05-20T07:19:00.001-05:00

The Mothership is landing at the Smithsonian. Party at the museum! One nation under a groove!

From the WaPo:

The funkiest UFO in the galaxy is about to land in Chocolate City.

The Mothership — the iconic stage prop made famous by legendary funk collectiveParliament-Funkadelic — has been acquired by the Smithsonian’s National Museum of African American History and Culture where it will help anchor a permanent music exhibition when the museum opens its doors in 2015....

...It’ll be somewhat of a homecoming. The group first formed as the Parliaments in Plainfield, New Jersey in the late 1950’s, but after morphing into a two-group collective — Parliamentand Funkadelic — it would go on to enjoy one of its most loyal followings in Washington. Parliament’s 1975 album “Chocolate City” gave the nation’s capital an unofficial nickname that still sticks today.

When the band lowered the Mothership from the rafters of the Capital Centre in Landover in 1977, the response was rapturous. Not only was it instantly stunning — it felt like a cosmic metaphor for the sense of possibility that followed the civil rights movement

How our prison policies look from abroad

2011-05-18T07:11:00.002-05:00

Watch this video clip of Steven Fry talking about our U.S. prison system and how "we may have found a way to reinstitute slavery." This is a comedy bit from a mainstream TV show in Great Britain, but it is spot on. And watch how the panel finds it more and more difficult to find anything funny to say. At all.

Remembering Harmon Killebrew

2011-05-17T12:30:00.000-05:00

Twins great Harmon Killebrew was one of the defining people of my childhood, my love of baseball, and my Minnesota Twins. I offer this memory in honor of his passing today.

1966. I am 10 years old and my Dad and I are on our way to a Twins game at the Met. My favorite games to go to are the evening double headers, called twi-night double headers.

I love the black summer sky against the huge, blazing lights that ring the upper deck of the stadium. I love the insect dance around the lights, the color of the grass under fake night light, frosty malts, Harmon Killebrew, Tony Oliva, Bob Allison, Rod Carew, and the dream of catching a pop fly with my mitt. I love the organ and the seventh inning stretch and the cracking sound of wood meeting rawhide. I love looking through the binoculars and watching pitchers spit chewing tobacco. I love watching bat boys at the dug out, wondering how anyone could be so lucky to have such a job. I am a die-hard fan.

My mom makes me wear a dress to the game, which I hate. She means well, but does not support my tomboy tendencies as they are to her, unladylike. But I am indeed a tomboy and serious about catching a fly ball. I am a girl in a boys world. I want to fit in, to wear my jeans, Converse All Stars, Twins t-shirt and ball cap. The dress is messing with my groove, and possibly my catching abilities. But I do as I am told, wear the dress, and keep my well worn, well oiled mitt on my right hand, lefty that I am, and hope for the best.

I do not get bored, ever, even deep into the second game. I yell loudly for my team. Sometimes the guys in the stands turn around to see who is doing all that screaming. My Dad always says people give him dirty looks, thinking he's keeping this poor kid up way too late at night, making me sit through two games. Truth is, I am the one making him sit through the games. I am the biggest Twins fan in the family. That my Dad takes me to see eighteen innings of baseball is my surest sign he really loves me.

The second game is the magic game for me. The deep night of summer, the lights, the endless feeling of it all. And then there's this, what we all are waiting for: Harmon Killebrew up to bat, two out, players on first and third, bottom of the eighth. The mighty Killebrew takes a hard swing and crack, the ball flies up and in a long, slow arch, begins its descent out over the backfield fence and into the dark night. The fans go wild, and we cheer the runners home. One, two, three. Revelry, wonder. My own field of dreams.

I still have the mitt.

Thanks for the memories, Harmon Killebrew.

First Lady Michelle Obama gets down!

2011-05-04T12:05:00.001-05:00

I love this so much! First Lady Michelle Obama getting down with a bunch of D.C. middle schoolers. Watch her do the Dougie AND the Running Man!

Flap over Obama's birth is rooted in racism

2011-04-27T08:53:00.010-05:00

President Barack Hussein Obama, our all-American president

In case you have been asleep for the last couple of years, a whole bunch of right wing wing-nuts keep working hard to spread a lie: That our president, Barack Hussein Obama, was not born here and is Muslim*. Conspiracy theories about the alleged cover-up of this so called "truth" abound. Just do a little Google search and see for yourself. There is even a name for them: "birthers."

It's nothing but a bunch of racist crap.

It's because he's African American, his father is Kenyan, and his name is not Tom, Dick, or even Hillary. Right wing conservatives and racist people of every stripe are terrified of a Black man in power, a Black man as President of the United States.

Today the White House released President Obama's official birth certificate to try to put an end to this nonsense. It's the "long form" that is not released when anyone in Hawaii asks for an official copy. It's the sealed one, kept in a vault. The official copy Obama already released, the kind that all Hawaiians get was apparently not enough to stop the "birthers" and their lunatic idiocy.

The "long form" birth certificate, just released

The normal official birth certificate that all Hawaiians get.

My guess is that even releasing the sealed birth certificate and the briefing Obama plans to hold on the topic today won't stop the conspiracy theories, the fear, the paranoia, anti-Muslim hatred, the racism.

And that makes me sick.

*And what if he was Muslim? There are no restrictions on religion and eligibility to be president.

The amazing Baratunde Thurston speaks with rage and sadness about this issue:

Goldie Taylor, in a guest op-ed on Rachel Maddow breaks it down in a big way. "...This was constructed to de-legitimize the presidency of a black man..."

~~~

Update: President Obama speaks to this issue with class and grace in his briefing on this matter. I love my president. I wonder what he does with his rage...

March 30: President Obama skews Trump, releases birth video and more at White House Correspondence Dinner. Take that, crazies. Bam! I love my President.

All American Family

2011-04-20T17:25:00.002-05:00

Recently I was thinking about the composition of my extended family and it goes something like this:

European American, African American, Mexican American, Moroccan/Arab American, French, Costa Rican American, Paraguayan American and Puerto Rican;

Christian, Muslim, Mormon, Buddhist, Agnostic;

Straight, queer;

Differently abled;

Birthed, adopted, step;

Married, divorced, partnered, blended, single;

Born in U.S., immigrant;

Professionals, trades, artists, laborers, students, unemployed;

Veterans, currently serving, pacifist;

Democrat, Republican, Independent;

One years old to 81 years old.

Like I said, an all American family. Don’t even try to define us in any other way.

Image: The Flag Story Quilt, Faith Ringgold, 1985

Image: The Flag is Bleeding, by Faith Ringgold, 1967

Double Nickels!

2011-04-15T13:22:00.005-05:00

I turn 55 in a couple of days. Double nickels! I like to make playlists each year on my birthday that reflect both songs in current heavy rotation and the atmosphere of my life at that point in time. This year's playlist celebrates continuing to live life fully and bravely, having good fun always, and the eclectic musical universe that is my ever-changing soundtrack.

Double Nickels

by DJ Dancing Diva

1. Golden, Jill Scott

2. Wade In the Water, Eva Cassidy

3. Rolling In the Deep, Adele

4. (Sittin' on) The Dock of the Bay, Otis Redding

5. Salala, Angélique Kidjo Feat. Peter Gabriel

6. Homeless, Paul Simon

7. Beautiful Boy, John Lennon

8. Closer To The Sky, Michael Franti

9. A Song for You, Leon Russell

10. As, Stevie Wonder

11. I Will Always Love You, Whitney Houston

12. Love Shack, The B-52's

13. Boogie Oogie Oogie, A Taste of Honey

14. Bop Gun (One Nation), Ice Cube

15. Sexy M.F., Prince

16. It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp, Djay and Shug (this one kind of throws you, right?!)

17. Papa Was a Rollin' Stone, (DJ Jazzy Jeff and Pete Kuzma Solefull Mix) The Temptations

18. Hallelujah, Leonard Cohen

On iTunes? You can find this playlist on Ping, here.

From random tweet to headline news

2011-04-12T16:45:00.003-05:00

Twitterville is my favorite social media hood. Anything goes on Twitter - from the conversational to politics to breaking news to tumbling governments. And it's awake and lively 24/7. A happening kind of place.

I probably send out 5-10 tweets a day into the Twitterverse from @dancingdiva. Most of my tweets are a bit inane, sometimes funny, bits of "news" from a day in my life, or idle chit-chat with my tweeps. Nothing newsworthy, or so I thought.

Never once did I imagine that one of those little random tweets would translate into a story about reactions to rising gas prices featured "A1-above-the-fold" in the April 12 Star Tribune (and on the home page of its online edition). And that the story lede would jump off with, well, me:

Ann Freeman was filling up her Pontiac Vibe, watching the numbers on the pump spin so fast they blurred, when she noticed something she'd never seen before.

"I had never broken 40 bucks on gas before," she said, muttering to herself: "This is ridiculous."

She went home, got out her bicycle and took it in for a tuneup.

"My knees aren't what they used to be," Freeman, 54, said Monday afternoon. "But thanks to higher gas prices, I am motivated to drive less, ride more, save money and consume less..."

The rest of the story can be found here. (My favorite part is the guy who changed his match.com radius from 50 to 25 miles. What if his yet-to-be-found soul mate lives 35 miles away?!)

Here's the Twitter-tale:

The original tweet (from my phone, in my car, at the gas station)

The re-tweet or RT

The "ask" by a reporter looking for angles for his story

The result: From tweet to headline news

So what's your guess? Will today's random tweet become tomorrow's news?

Between the Bars: Letters from inside the joint

2011-04-08T09:43:00.007-05:00

Ever received a letter from prison?

Most people don't know much or care about those who are behind bars, assuming all are monsters. Some are. Most are not. Most are so much more than the crimes they committed. Human beings with hopes, dreams, children, parents, grandparents. More like us than not.

Want to know more?

An amazing blog provides incarcerated people the chance to share their experiences. Between the Bars scans letters sent from prison and posts them. When people comment, they scan those and mail them back to the prisoners.

The blog is a platform for the 1% of Americans who are behind bars and denied access to the Internet. Go read the posts. Get between the bars. Glimpse lives hidden from view. A couple of examples are below (these are screen shots. Go to the blog to read more).

Loving Marvin Gaye

2011-04-01T09:16:00.005-05:00

The original 1974 "Anthology" album cover

Twenty-seven years ago today we lost the late, great Marvin Gaye on the eve of his 45th birthday. I fell in love with the man and the music as a teenager in the 70s. I remember sitting in my bedroom, door shut, playing "Marvin Gaye's Anthology" over and over on my record player, arm open for continuous repeat, reading the liner notes on the album cover, looking at his handsome face, and dreaming of the future. Today, all these years later, his music is always in heavy rotation - in my mind, on my iPod, and yes, even on vinyl - those old original albums still scratching the magic out.

An amazing recording of him performing his classics live.The messages are as relevant today as they were then.

No Nukes

2011-03-20T22:56:00.008-05:00

Over the last week the world has watched in horror as the earthquake/tsunami-caused disaster at Japan's Fukushima Daiichi nuclear power plant has unfolded.

The news is full of people wondering why Japan would build nuclear power plants near fault lines and in reach of tsunami waves. And wondering in general about the safety of nuclear power.

Sadly, it's taken this tragedy to awaken a whole new generation of people to the terror of nuclear power and to remind the rest of us who seem to have forgotten our nuclear past.

The first nuclear power plant accident happened in 1979 at Three Mile Island in Pennsylvania. The second nuclear accident in 1986, the worst, was at the Chernobyl plant in what is now the Ukraine. Two accidents just seven years apart scared a lot of us into political activism against nuclear power. We were dubbed "No Nukers." Here in the Twin Cities, you could identify us by the green and white "No Nukes" posters in our windows or on bumper stickers on our cars.

I searched the interwebs in vain this morning for an image of that exact same sign. It seems to have faded from view, echoing the fading of the anti-nuclear movement that went with it. The image posted below is close, but like a distant memory, it's not quite right.

I've been surprised by some activists today who are emphatically "green" but until last week viewed nuclear power as a safe and cleaner energy source. Even President Obama just called for an expansion of nuclear power program as part of an environmentally healthier energy platform.

It saddens me that we let the warnings go dark and that it took this accident, the outcome of which is still unknown, to focus our lenses once again on the terrible risk of nuclear power.

I remember Chernobyl vividly. My second child was a baby. I remember being terrified my children might have been exposed, that radiation might have traveled all the way to the midwest. I remember thinking of the mothers with young children who lived in range of Chernobyl and were exposed. I wondered what terror they must feel, not knowing how the radiation would impact their children and themselves.

Now we know more, and it's not pretty. People died. There were and are increased rates of several cancers and other health impacts. There is a large area surrounding the plant that is still hot. People can't live there. Can't grow or eat food from there. The animals and plants carry high levels of radiation. An article in the March 20 New York Times, Lessons from Chernobyl for Japan, paints a haunting portrait of Chernobyl today. Most frightening is the tons of very highly radioactive material that live beneath the plant:

"...200 tons of melted nuclear fuel and debris, which burned through the floor and hardened, in one spot, into the shape of an elephant’s foot. This mass remains so highly radioactive that scientists cannot approach it"

But consider Chernobyl a cautionary tale. Plutonium, one of the hazardous radioactive materials needed to make nuclear power, stays in the environment and stays toxic. We are storing the spent fuel rods from our nuclear plants in water filled containment vessels located here and there across the planet because we can't make it go away. It lays in wait, lethal to humans and other living things for another 250,000 years, give or take a few.

So as the disaster at Fukushima Daiichi unfolds and we are scared for the people of Japan, remember the consequences of this won't fade with the next news cycle or the one after that, or even after that.

This is just the beginning.

A March 21 photo of the damaged Fukushima Daiichi plant from a CCN story that says plans are now underway to "...possibly encase one or more of the reactors in concrete, a last-ditch effort similar to what was done after the 1986 meltdown at the Chernobyl nuclear plant in the former Soviet Union..."

In honor of the March 19 super moon

2011-03-19T08:30:00.003-05:00

On March 19, 2011 the planet will be treated to a rare super moon, it's first in 19 years. Larger, glowing brighter from the skies to us, rising from the east at sunset, a thing of beauty to enjoy. And to reflect upon this: We are but one people, sharing one planet, and the same glowing moon. What are you doing to make positive change to our whirling, swirling, twirling home?

In honor of this occasion, listen to the divine Zap Mama's Supermoon.

Peace.

Unpack your white privilege with LOLcats!

2011-03-14T22:01:00.002-05:00

In the late 80s Peggy McIntosh penned her now famous essay "White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack."

Ever since then, white people have had the most serious, earnest, difficult conversations about white privilege, unpacking our personal knapsacks, and, well, being white. I have led or sat in many such sessions, so I can attest to how hard this work is for we white people and how seriously those of us who engage in it take it. Seriously serious. As in makes-me-wonder-about-white-people-and-our-collective-sense-of-humor-or-lack-thereof serious.

Don't get me wrong. This work is important and necessary. Doing the work changed and continues to change my life. But seriously white people, can we learn by laughing at ourselves once in a while?!

FOR EXAMPLE....

This week, thanks to my friend the amazing Erica (AKA Swirlspice) I learned about the invisibul backpak LOLcats. They were spawned in 2008 so I'm late to the table, but maybe you are, too.

Check out the whole thing here, but I have to post a couple of examples to give you a taste:

See we can be funny! (That is, if the creators of most of these kittehs are white. Maybe they're not.)

But seriously, I do wonder this: Do white people have to have read the essay, have to be engaged in the work, to get the humor in this?

Maybe we have to get serious before we can laugh.

Check our this post on the same topic on the blog "Stuff White People Do." Be sure to read the comment thread.

Related posts:
My Big Fat White Privileged Life
Louis CK on being white

Lizz Wright at the Dakota Jazz Club!

2011-02-22T12:51:00.005-06:00

The amazing Lizz Wright will be performing at the Dakota Jazz Club in downtown Minneapolis on Feb. 23 and I have a ticket! A review will be forthcoming, but in the meantime, a gem of a video as a preview:

My review in profile:

Lizz Wright warmed our winter weary souls with her silky, deep voice during the early set at the Dakota Jazz Club last night. She sprinkled her set with familiar songs from her recordings, covers, and a little gospel.

Her voice was all that I expected, and hearing it live for the first time was a treat. Her band was spot on. Even so, I left the performance wanting more. She is not an animated performer and sings with her eyes mostly closed, and I was sitting to the right of the stage, where I could only see her in profile. The sum total of these factors left me leaning in, trying to get more connected - to Wright and to her performance. She seemed tired, like this was just another gig on a long tour. Or perhaps she was saving her energy for the second set.

The audience was surprisingly middle aged and white. Is this her typical fan base or did the rather staid audience keep her a bit more tucked inside? A sharp contrast to Rachelle Ferrell's performance last year at the Dakota, where the audience was wildly diverse and packed with local singing talent. There the audience was offering up so much love that at one point Ferrell passed the mic out into the crowd and was delighted at the high octane singing offered back to her. We were with her and she was with us. That's the rare concert I yearn for and hoped for last night.

A quote from my review of that show:

The music was a conversation between Ferrell, her musicians, the audience, and the universe. We were of the music, in the music, together. From amazing turns on classics like "Summertime" to a bluesy song whose title I missed about someone getting off her neck and off her back, the air we collectively were breathing was infused with music created, interpreted for that moment only, for us, for her. Simply breathtaking.

The Dakota offered seats for those who wanted to stay for Wright's second set, and after reading Jon Bream's review in the Star Tribune, I'm wishing I had taken them up on their offer. It sounds like she brought more of herself and her full-on gospel to the late night set, which would have been worth being short on sleep - but satiated - today.

Lizz Wright in profile, the view from my seat

We were just kids, too

2011-02-16T07:04:00.017-06:00

A couple of weeks ago I finally read Patti Smith's remarkable book, "Just Kids." I captured my immediate reaction to the book in this brief review on my Tumblr:

READ THIS BOOK!

Patti Smith has delivered a love song, a prose poem, a elegy to her life with Robert Mapplethorpe, and to a time and place when the word of possibilities was cracking open for those of us who came of age in the 60s and 70s. If you are of that age, this book will make your heart tremble with memory. If you are a young hipster, this book will tell you who the people are that you may see only as aging baby boomers, or your parents.
Read this review of the book, which includes a recent video of Patti Smith performing “Because the Night.” I love watching her perform this classic at her age now, being as authentic to her soul as she was 30 or 40 years ago. She looks fabulous — an older version of her younger self, not attempting in any way to be anyone other that who she is.

A friend, who is a young hipster in her late twenties, responded with this:

[Just Kids] just totally made me lustful for living in the Chelsea Hotel while catching glimpses of boroughs and digging through used book bins and traveling to Paris with zero money.

Me too, my friend. But more than creating a longing for Patti Smith's time and place gone by, Just Kids cracked open for me with vivid clarity another time, not long after hers, when I was a young artist who was part of the art scene on the West Bank in Minneapolis during the mid- to late-seventies. So indulge me as I remember my own time and place gone by.

We were just kids, too. Many of us met as BFA (Bachelor of Fine Arts) students in the studio arts program at the University of Minnesota. Most of us, but not all, were recent arrivals from our white, suburban, middle class childhoods. Which made it possible to romanticize our roach infested run-down apartments, our student loan-financed poverty, and the self imposed austerity of thrift store clothes and broken down furniture as artist's chic (I once dragged a mattress from a dumpster for my bed). We imagined ourselves bohemians, visionaries, artists, and activists.

We were a decade too young to be hippies, born in the mid-fifties (Smith, born in 1946 is ten years older than me). So as we created and lived our own wannabe version of her New York art scene, we were copying the recent past.

We drank coffee by day and pondered the meaning of life and art, liberally quoting from Anaïs Nin, Allen Ginsberg, Nietzsche, and all the beat poets. We roamed the West Bank by night, frequenting the the Viking, Palmers, and the 400 Bar where we listened to Koerner, Ray, and Glover and other local greats. We danced to Willie Murphy and the Bumblebees at the Mixed Blood Theater and in the old Dania Hall. Our Chelsea Hotel was the Holtzermann Building on Cedar Avenue, a block long string of storefronts with oddly shaped converted warehouse one-room apartments above them.

Many of the music influences Smith references were also ours, such as Jim Morrison and the Doors, but she was our influence, too. Horses was released in 1975. When I first heard Gloria on that album, which begins with Smith seductively, defiantly declaring "Jesus died for somebody's sins but not mine," before cranking into a punk rock cover of that old classic, she became my female artist/musician hero. When I later learned that line was from "Oath," a poem she had already written, I loved her even more and knew that in her art l could find inspiration for the art I longed to create.

Like Smith, I knew I always wanted to be an artist and starting writing poetry and painting when I was twelve or so. I would walk from our suburban rambler to Southdale, where there was a book store with a large art section. I'd stand there with all the adults paging through arts books of Modigliani, Monet, Van Gogh, Matisse, and Rothko, astounded and inspired. I'd then walk home and paint feverishly or write poetry.

When I got to college my goal was to become a great artist. My urge was to mix mediums, genres, and to make experimental, performance art. In the seventies, the studio arts program at the University of Minnesota was housed in a run-down former warehouse and the professors were hugely influenced by abstract expressionism and the New York art scene of fifties. de Kooning was to be our model by which our own art should be judged.

There wasn't a lot of room for experimentation, but I gravitated to the teachers who encouraged it. I scribbled lines of my poetry into drawings and painting, blurred lines between paint, pencil, and oil pastel. But I wanted more. I wanted performance art. So when a visiting artist offered a course in just that, I leaped to enroll. I vividly remember my first attempt at a "performance piece." On an early spring day, I walked the teacher and class single file into the woods outside the studio arts building and near the Mississippi River to the discovery of a small pond I had fashioned with goldfish swimming (and dying) in it. Traffic's "The Low Spark of High Heeled Boys" was playing on a cassette deck and then as I turned down the sound, I read a poem I had penned about the environment, how "man" was destroying it, and how all the pollution would one day kill all living things.

Really, really bad stuff. Forgive me for I was just a kid. But know this - without Patti Smith, I would have never imagined I could stretch the boundaries of what I could claim as art.

After finishing Just Kids and having this flood of memories open, I was wild for Patti Smith all over again. I downloaded Horses, played it on repeat in my car for a week, and watched a recent live performance of "Because the Night" on You Tube over and over. Most of all, I yearned to know more of who Patti Smith is now, in her mid-sixties. I imagined sitting down the two of us - me, a regular person, and her, the godmother of punk, famous poet and writer, and a member of the Rock and Roll Hall of fame - and chilling and chatting about music, art, poetry, kids, motherhood. About our aging selves and that time really not so very long ago when we were both... just kids.

Patti Smith, then and now.

Esperanza Spalding wins at Grammys!

2011-02-14T06:27:00.001-06:00

See why. Love her:

Esperanza Spalding | Chamber Music Society EPK from Concord Music Group on Vimeo.

Watching history: Mubarak steps down

2011-02-11T11:55:00.008-06:00

Sometimes there are no words. Today, after 18 days of peaceful protest by the Egyptian people, Hosni Mubarak stepped down from his 30 year reign as dictator and the hope for a peaceful transition to democracy in Egypt begins. I had the good fortune, thanks to Twitter and Al Jazeera English, to watch and experience the moment live. The revolution will be televised, live-streamed, tweeted, Facebooked, and tumbled.

The moment, captured in the online live feed from Al Jazeera English:

My Twitter feed during this historic moment:

"For Egypt, it was the moral force of non-violence that bent the arch of history toward justice."
President Barack Obama, in remarks following the news Mubarak had stepped down.

See full remarks in video below.

Playlists for the cause: Honoring Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr

2011-01-17T08:30:00.001-06:00

In honor of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr and all who continue the struggle.

For the Cause

1. What's Going On, Marvin Gaye

2. Mercy Mercy Me (The Ecology, Marvin Gaye

3. A Change Is Gonna Come, Neville Brothers

4. Sister Rosa, Neville Brothers

5. Will The Circle Be Unbroken, Neville Brothers

6. Skylark, Cassandra Wilson

7. The World Is A Ghetto, War

8. Peace Sign, War

9. Say It Loud (I'm Black And I'm Proud), James Brown

10. God Bless the Child, Jill Scott

11. Blackbird, Dionne Farris

12. Summertime. Nina Simone

13. I Shall Be Released, Nina Simone

14. Family Affair, Sly & The Family Stone

15. Living For The City, Stevie Wonder

16. Happy Birthday, Hotter Than July

17. Why? (The King Of Love Is Dead), Nina Simone

To find this playlist on iTunes via Ping, go here.

Protest and Peace

1. For What It's Worth, Buffalo Springfield
2. He Got Game, Public Enemy
3. Fight the Power, Public Enemy
4. The Message, Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five
5. Many Rivers to Cross, Jimmy Cliff
6. Rivers of Babylon, The Melodians
7. Raining Revolution, Arrested Development
8. Give A Man A Fish, Arrested Development
9. People Everyday, Arrested Development
10. To Zion, Lauryn Hill
11. Get Up Stand Up, Bob Marley &The Wailers
12. Redemption Song, Bob Marley & The Wailers

To find this playlist on iTunes via Ping, go here.

Martin Lufer King: Lessons from Kindergarten

2011-01-15T17:43:00.009-06:00

Today is the birthday of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. He would be 82 if he had survived his assassination in 1968 at the age of 39. Monday we have a national holiday to celebrate his life and his contributions.

This means that last week learning about Dr. King was in lesson plans in schools across the country, including in my granddaughter's kindergarten class. In honor of Dr. King, I offer up what she learned, as told by her to me during a snowy car ride last night.

Me: What did you learn in school today, honey?

Grandchild (GC): We learned all about Martin Lufer King.

Me: Tell me what you learned.

GC: Martin Lufer King was a man who wanted to make things fair for everyone. He was fighting for that and then he got shot. He got shot by a white man. But even though he got shot they still took down all the white signs.

Me: Why do you think the man shot him?

GC: He didn't want things to be fair. He was a white man who didn't want things to be fair.

Me: Did you learn that Martin Luther King was African American?

GC: Yesssss! Grandma!!! (As in, "Duh!")

Me: Did you know that you are African American?

GC: What the??!!! (Truly shocked)

Me: Yes you are. Martin Luther King especially wanted things to be more fair for people who are African American.

GC: Like taking the white signs down.

Me: Exactly. Do you know what your mom is?

GC: A regular person?

From the mouth of babes.

Me: That's right. She's a regular person who is African American like you.

GC: Grandma what are you?

Me: I'm a white American.

GC: Can I be white, too?

Me: You are part of all the colors of people.

GC: I am not! I am light brown. I am right between you and Mommy.

Me: Yes you are right between us. Always. (Emphasis: nestled between us with love)

GC: Grandma did you know we don't have school on Monday to celebrate Martin Lufer King? Can we go ice skating and sledding?

Me: Yes we can. If it's not too cold.

And so we celebrate our dream.

Women's Prison Book Project pancake breakfast fundraiser

2011-01-15T15:44:00.000-06:00

The Women's Prison Book Project is an amazing organization. They have been caring about women and prison reform at the most basic grassroots level for many years. Support them by attending this great community event. Or you can donate books, or volunteer to help sort and send books.

Facebook event page is here.

President Obama's speech at Memorial Service in Tuscon, AZ

2011-01-12T21:00:00.005-06:00

An amazing heartfelt, speech. Tears spilling across the country for all the right reasons around this tragedy and all that ails us. My president, our president does it again.

January 12, 2011

Remarks of President Barack Obama – As Prepared for Delivery

At a Memorial Service for the Victims of the Shooting in Tucson, Arizona

University of Arizona, McKale Memorial Center

Tucson, Arizona

January 12, 2011

As Prepared for Delivery—

To the families of those we’ve lost; to all who called them friends; to the students of this university, the public servants gathered tonight, and the people of Tucson and Arizona: I have come here tonight as an American who, like all Americans, kneels to pray with you today, and will stand by you tomorrow.

There is nothing I can say that will fill the sudden hole torn in your hearts. But know this: the hopes of a nation are here tonight. We mourn with you for the fallen. We join you in your grief. And we add our faith to yours that Representative Gabrielle Giffords and the other living victims of this tragedy pull through.

As Scripture tells us:

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
the holy place where the Most High dwells.
God is within her, she will not fall;
God will help her at break of day.

On Saturday morning, Gabby, her staff, and many of her constituents gathered outside a supermarket to exercise their right to peaceful assembly and free speech. They were fulfilling a central tenet of the democracy envisioned by our founders – representatives of the people answering to their constituents, so as to carry their concerns to our nation’s capital. Gabby called it “Congress on Your Corner” – just an updated version of government of and by and for the people.

That is the quintessentially American scene that was shattered by a gunman’s bullets. And the six people who lost their lives on Saturday – they too represented what is best in America.

Judge John Roll served our legal system for nearly 40 years. A graduate of this university and its law school, Judge Roll was recommended for the federal bench by John McCain twenty years ago, appointed by President George H.W. Bush, and rose to become Arizona’s chief federal judge. His colleagues described him as the hardest-working judge within the Ninth Circuit. He was on his way back from attending Mass, as he did every day, when he decided to stop by and say hi to his Representative. John is survived by his loving wife, Maureen, his three sons, and his five grandchildren.

George and Dorothy Morris – “Dot” to her friends – were high school sweethearts who got married and had two daughters. They did everything together, traveling the open road in their RV, enjoying what their friends called a 50-year honeymoon. Saturday morning, they went by the Safeway to hear what their Congresswoman had to say. When gunfire rang out, George, a former Marine, instinctively tried to shield his wife. Both were shot. Dot passed away.

A New Jersey native, Phyllis Schneck retired to Tucson to beat the snow. But in the summer, she would return East, where her world revolved around her 3 children, 7 grandchildren, and 2 year-old great-granddaughter. A gifted quilter, she’d often work under her favorite tree, or sometimes sew aprons with the logos of the Jets and the Giants to give out at the church where she volunteered. A Republican, she took a liking to Gabby, and wanted to get to know her better.

Dorwan and Mavy Stoddard grew up in Tucson together – about seventy years ago. They moved apart and started their own respective families, but after both were widowed they found their way back here, to, as one of Mavy’s daughters put it, “be boyfriend and girlfriend again.” When they weren’t out on the road in their motor home, you could find them just up the road, helping folks in need at the Mountain Avenue Church of Christ. A retired construction worker, Dorwan spent his spare time fixing up the church along with their dog, Tux. His final act of selflessness was to dive on top of his wife, sacrificing his life for hers.

Everything Gabe Zimmerman did, he did with passion – but his true passion was people. As Gabby’s outreach director, he made the cares of thousands of her constituents his own, seeing to it that seniors got the Medicare benefits they had earned, that veterans got the medals and care they deserved, that government was working for ordinary folks. He died doing what he loved – talking with people and seeing how he could help. Gabe is survived by his parents, Ross and Emily, his brother, Ben, and his fiancée, Kelly, who he planned to marry next year.

And then there is nine year-old Christina Taylor Green. Christina was an A student, a dancer, a gymnast, and a swimmer. She often proclaimed that she wanted to be the first woman to play in the major leagues, and as the only girl on her Little League team, no one put it past her. She showed an appreciation for life uncommon for a girl her age, and would remind her mother, “We are so blessed. We have the best life.” And she’d pay those blessings back by participating in a charity that helped children who were less fortunate.

Our hearts are broken by their sudden passing. Our hearts are broken – and yet, our hearts also have reason for fullness.

Our hearts are full of hope and thanks for the 13 Americans who survived the shooting, including the congresswoman many of them went to see on Saturday. I have just come from the University Medical Center, just a mile from here, where our friend Gabby courageously fights to recover even as we speak. And I can tell you this – she knows we’re here and she knows we love her and she knows that we will be rooting for her throughout what will be a difficult journey.

And our hearts are full of gratitude for those who saved others. We are grateful for Daniel Hernandez, a volunteer in Gabby’s office who ran through the chaos to minister to his boss, tending to her wounds to keep her alive. We are grateful for the men who tackled the gunman as he stopped to reload. We are grateful for a petite 61 year-old, Patricia Maisch, who wrestled away the killer’s ammunition, undoubtedly saving some lives. And we are grateful for the doctors and nurses and emergency medics who worked wonders to heal those who’d been hurt.

These men and women remind us that heroism is found not only on the fields of battle. They remind us that heroism does not require special training or physical strength. Heroism is here, all around us, in the hearts of so many of our fellow citizens, just waiting to be summoned – as it was on Saturday morning.

Their actions, their selflessness, also pose a challenge to each of us. It raises the question of what, beyond the prayers and expressions of concern, is required of us going forward. How can we honor the fallen? How can we be true to their memory?

You see, when a tragedy like this strikes, it is part of our nature to demand explanations – to try to impose some order on the chaos, and make sense out of that which seems senseless. Already we’ve seen a national conversation commence, not only about the motivations behind these killings, but about everything from the merits of gun safety laws to the adequacy of our mental health systems. Much of this process, of debating what might be done to prevent such tragedies in the future, is an essential ingredient in our exercise of self-government.

But at a time when our discourse has become so sharply polarized – at a time when we are far too eager to lay the blame for all that ails the world at the feet of those who think differently than we do – it’s important for us to pause for a moment and make sure that we are talking with each other in a way that heals, not a way that wounds.
Scripture tells us that there is evil in the world, and that terrible things happen for reasons that defy human understanding. In the words of Job, “when I looked for light, then came darkness.” Bad things happen, and we must guard against simple explanations in the aftermath.

For the truth is that none of us can know exactly what triggered this vicious attack. None of us can know with any certainty what might have stopped those shots from being fired, or what thoughts lurked in the inner recesses of a violent man’s mind.

So yes, we must examine all the facts behind this tragedy. We cannot and will not be passive in the face of such violence. We should be willing to challenge old assumptions in order to lessen the prospects of violence in the future.

But what we can’t do is use this tragedy as one more occasion to turn on one another. As we discuss these issues, let each of us do so with a good dose of humility. Rather than pointing fingers or assigning blame, let us use this occasion to expand our moral imaginations, to listen to each other more carefully, to sharpen our instincts for empathy, and remind ourselves of all the ways our hopes and dreams are bound together.

After all, that’s what most of us do when we lose someone in our family – especially if the loss is unexpected. We’re shaken from our routines, and forced to look inward. We reflect on the past. Did we spend enough time with an aging parent, we wonder. Did we express our gratitude for all the sacrifices they made for us? Did we tell a spouse just how desperately we loved them, not just once in awhile but every single day?

So sudden loss causes us to look backward – but it also forces us to look forward, to reflect on the present and the future, on the manner in which we live our lives and nurture our relationships with those who are still with us. We may ask ourselves if we’ve shown enough kindness and generosity and compassion to the people in our lives. Perhaps we question whether we are doing right by our children, or our community, and whether our priorities are in order. We recognize our own mortality, and are reminded that in the fleeting time we have on this earth, what matters is not wealth, or status, or power, or fame – but rather, how well we have loved, and what small part we have played in bettering the lives of others.

That process of reflection, of making sure we align our values with our actions – that, I believe, is what a tragedy like this requires. For those who were harmed, those who were killed – they are part of our family, an American family 300 million strong. We may not have known them personally, but we surely see ourselves in them. In George and Dot, in Dorwan and Mavy, we sense the abiding love we have for our own husbands, our own wives, our own life partners. Phyllis – she’s our mom or grandma; Gabe our brother or son. In Judge Roll, we recognize not only a man who prized his family and doing his job well, but also a man who embodied America’s fidelity to the law. In Gabby, we see a reflection of our public spiritedness, that desire to participate in that sometimes frustrating, sometimes contentious, but always necessary and never-ending process to form a more perfect union.

And in Christina…in Christina we see all of our children. So curious, so trusting, so energetic and full of magic.

So deserving of our love.

And so deserving of our good example. If this tragedy prompts reflection and debate, as it should, let’s make sure it’s worthy of those we have lost. Let’s make sure it’s not on the usual plane of politics and point scoring and pettiness that drifts away with the next news cycle.

The loss of these wonderful people should make every one of us strive to be better in our private lives – to be better friends and neighbors, co-workers and parents. And if, as has been discussed in recent days, their deaths help usher in more civility in our public discourse, let’s remember that it is not because a simple lack of civility caused this tragedy, but rather because only a more civil and honest public discourse can help us face up to our challenges as a nation, in a way that would make them proud. It should be because we want to live up to the example of public servants like John Roll and Gabby Giffords, who knew first and foremost that we are all Americans, and that we can question each other’s ideas without questioning each other’s love of country, and that our task, working together, is to constantly widen the circle of our concern so that we bequeath the American dream to future generations.

I believe we can be better. Those who died here, those who saved lives here – they help me believe. We may not be able to stop all evil in the world, but I know that how we treat one another is entirely up to us. I believe that for all our imperfections, we are full of decency and goodness, and that the forces that divide us are not as strong as those that unite us.

That’s what I believe, in part because that’s what a child like Christina Taylor Green believed. Imagine: here was a young girl who was just becoming aware of our democracy; just beginning to understand the obligations of citizenship; just starting to glimpse the fact that someday she too might play a part in shaping her nation’s future. She had been elected to her student council; she saw public service as something exciting, something hopeful. She was off to meet her congresswoman, someone she was sure was good and important and might be a role model. She saw all this through the eyes of a child, undimmed by the cynicism or vitriol that we adults all too often just take for granted.
I want us to live up to her expectations. I want our democracy to be as good as she imagined it. All of us – we should do everything we can to make sure this country lives up to our children’s expectations.

Christina was given to us on September 11^th, 2001, one of 50 babies born that day to be pictured in a book called “Faces of Hope.” On either side of her photo in that book were simple wishes for a child’s life. “I hope you help those in need,” read one. “I hope you know all of the words to the National Anthem and sing it with your hand over your heart. I hope you jump in rain puddles.”

If there are rain puddles in heaven, Christina is jumping in them today. And here on Earth, we place our hands over our hearts, and commit ourselves as Americans to forging a country that is forever worthy of her gentle, happy spirit.

May God bless and keep those we’ve lost in restful and eternal peace. May He love and watch over the survivors. And may He bless the United States of America.

###

Huckleberry Finn and the N-Word

2011-01-05T07:54:00.013-06:00

As soon as I read the news that a Mark Twain scholar was working with NewSouth books to publish a new version of Huckleberry Finn that replaces the oft used "N-word" with "slave," I began to compose a blog post in my head lambasting changing the book.

My first thought was whether or not I would actually use the N-word in the post. I had noticed that lots of white folks were using it in their commentaries, possibly taking some delight in the rare chance to use a word forbidden to our mouths. I decided to not join them, as much as I think the idea of removing it from the book is wrong on about a thousand revisionist levels, which have been opined about everywhere at this point. (Do your own Google search to read for yourself).

I ascribe to the view that African American people can do what they want with the word -- reclaim it, use it affectionately among themselves, rail against other black folks who use it affectionately among themselves -- but that there is never a reason for white folks to use the word.

My family has a complicated relationship with the word. My adult kids, my grandkids, and my spouse are black. I am white. When my kids were growing up, I did not allow the word in our home, no matter how its use was intended (my son and his friends, as teenagers, used the word like punctuation amongst themselves). And who was I to say, "No?" Well, I was the mom, that's who, and I demanded our home be N-word free. Not that it stopped them, but it stopped them in our house.

Then, seven years ago, my now-spouse came into my life, complete with her comfort with using the word in all of its affectionate permutations. "My (N-word)!," she would exclaim to other black friends, making some of them uncomfortable. They suggested substituting "nickel," especially in mixed crowds, as in "My Nickel!" She does the best she can, and it's become a humorous inside joke among our friends.

So how does this all relate to Huckleberry Finn? While it is wrong to remove the word from the book, the use of it does create challenges for teachers teaching the book, especially if the teacher is white and the classroom is white or racially mixed. I've heard horrible stories from black friends about sitting through lessons about slavery or Jim Crow taught by an ill-informed white teacher or how bad it felt to be the only black kid in the class during those lessons.

The answer, however, is not to revise the book -- and our history along with it -- it's to teach the teachers how to address books like Huckleberry Finn (and the use of the N-word) in a way that advances children's understanding of racism, the history of race in our country, and our current oh-so-not-very "post-racial" America.

For example, how many white kids who listen to rap think it's okay to use the N-word because it is all over the music. And what about it being all over the music? Let's talk about that, teachers. Huckleberry Finn could be the perfect "then and now" to jump into that discussion.

So last night, after all this was swirling in my head for a few hours, I was riding in the car with my 28 year old son, who still embraces using the N-word with his homies, and I decided to ask his opinion. It went something like this (minus his frequent use of the N-word, which I will not write, even to capture the "flava" of our conversation here):

Me: So did you hear about the new version of Huckleberry Finn they are going to release?

Son: That old racist book, what's up with that?

Me: They are doing a version where they replace the "N-word" with "slave."

Son: Well that's a bunch of shit.

Me: The people doing it think it will make it easier to teach in classes.

Son: Well hell yeah, because that book be teaching white kids about the word and then they think they can use it.

Me: But it's part of our history and an opportunity to talk about racism if the teacher does it right.

Son: If a white teacher or a white kid had used "(N-word)" in class, I would of had to have hit them, and then I would have been sent to the principle's office, kicked out of school, and just been labeled another (N-word) who acts violent in school.

Me: But I thought you said changing the book is wrong.

Son: It is. But I still woulda had to have hit them.

Conversation ends. His cell phone rings. "Wassup (N-word)?!"

My point exactly, I think. Well sort of.

Be sure to read these two excellent related posts from the perspective from Elon James White of "This Week in Blackness" fame: His self described "snarky" and "serious" versions.

Whatchya all been reading on this blog?

2011-01-02T12:03:00.008-06:00

Happy New Year! To kick off 2011, I thought I'd do my own little "best of" list of posts from 2010, using my free, not completely reliable stat counter as my source. So, drum roll please... here's either what's best, or at least what got read most. I guess that makes this list some tiny little bloggish version of the People's Choice Awards. The first two are the runaway winners. Enjoy.

1. I don't know my Somali neighbors (the comments are the best part of the post)
2. The straight people's unofficial guide to the 2010 TC Pride Festival
3. Fair Sentencing Act of 2010
4. Young women get heart attacks, too (guest post)
5. The AARP strikes fear and denial in 50-somethings
6. Helping Hands (about my granddaughter's fall from a window and how HCMC saved her)
7. Vuvuzela stirs up hornets nest
8. It's my fault, too (about the Gulf oil spill)
9. "The kids are all right" transcends being queer
10. #browntwitterbird (the best meme of 2010!)
11. Thanks to DADT I met my spouse
12. 13 years of surviving breast cancer

And a bonus post since it is actually from 2009 but still gets lots of random visits:
Birthday playlist for aging baby boomers

Thank you to everyone who has supported this blog, whether a loyal reader or occasional visitor!
I appreciate you!

An open letter to Chris Rock from Dr. Goddess: How dare you demean Oprah

2010-12-29T09:10:00.005-06:00

By Dr. Goddess, aka Kimberly C. Ellis, Ph.D. She hurls some righteous fury at Chris Rock for depreciating humor about Oprah Winfrey during the Kennedy Center Honors (Oprah was a well-deserved honoree).

Read her full post here.

An excerpt:

Dear Chris Rock,
Like America’s conscience, I want to erase this moment in history but I can’t.
You’ve disgusted me to no end. I cannot believe I just witnessed your tasteless, callous, immature, disrespectful and unfunny “comedic tribute” to Oprah Winfrey. It was already borderline for you to joke about her money on such an occasion but you went way too far by cracking a sex joke about Oprah on the day she received her highest honor for the arts in the nation, by the President of the United States of America, in the Kennedy Center Honors…
…How dare you disrespect a woman who has given America and the world so much spirit, hope and humanity even with the cars, sweaters and ipads via her medium of communications? How dare you, the only Black man, aside from Sidney Poitier, allowed to even give her such a solitary honor, take your short period of time in which to honor her and choose to focus on her body or make ANY type of sex joke to her at all, let alone in front of her peers and the world!!! You inappropriate imbecile!
Not only would that have been inappropriate to do to ANY woman but to be so disrespectful to Oprah Winfrey (!!!), under the guise of comedy…??? I don’t even have enough adjectives to describe the depth of Oprah’s beauty and humanity and how you trounced upon it. I’m aware Oprah is not perfect; but in the hour of her ultimate tribute, why, why, why did she have to be made to feel uncomfortable and why did it have to be YOU to do her so wrong? Were you somehow UNAWARE that Oprah is a survivor of child sexual abuse and that, MAYBE, just MAYBE your sex joke might be inappropriate? Did you, for a fleeting moment, give any thought to America’s sordid racial history and abuse of Black womens’ bodies, in particular, to consider that making an interracial sex joke about someone with whom she’s clearly not engaged, would be unacceptable?…

Amen!

Here's a video that captures the heart of being a Kennedy Center honoree:

Kwanzaa was a chosen (interracial) family affair

2010-12-27T08:17:00.002-06:00

My chosen family. We banded together over time beginning in about 1985 as a potpourri of multiracial families who mostly lived in or near the Powderhorn Park area of Minneapolis.

Twenty five years later we still connect. Our now adult kids consider each other "cousins" and we adults "auntie," "uncle," "friend." And the grandkids are hatching. Some of them are friends, and even call each other "cousin." Our chosen family is now three generations strong.

We still camp together once a year on Memorial weekend - the original parents, now in our fifties and sixties; the "kids," now in their twenties and thirties; and the next generation, who are toddlers, preschoolers, and grade schoolers. We've added new families along the way - the circle is ever expanding, ever welcoming.

But back in the day one of our most important times of celebration was Kwanzaa. We gathered yearly on New Year's Day and embraced all of its meaning and all of who we were. I wrote the piece below in the early nineties as a celebration of us, my chosen family.

Happy Kwanzaa!

~~~~~

Family

It was our interracial families that brought us first together, but it's our history that binds us still. I feel drenched, no quenched, as I watch us at our annual Kwanzaa gathering at Karen's house this New Year's Day. We draw together in ritualistic ways, each year a rhythm of camping, storytelling, of gathering up this chosen family of ten families, our Kwanzaa ritual embedded at the center of the cycle. It's like the Thanksgivings of my childhood family, the cousins, aunts and uncles gathered 'round, each meal the same — turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, a salad with pomegranate seeds, cranberry sauce, two pies for dessert, pumpkin or mince meat, cool whip or ice cream, a comfort to be counted on.

Kwanzaa is an African American celebration, by black people for black people. But we claim it too, all of us, together. It's a refuge really, no one staring, no one glaring at our vibrant messy mix — black, white, Puerto Rican, Mexican, married, single, divorced, widowed, straight, lesbian. Our rowdy children flow among us, a striking swirl of texture, line, shape and hue.

We bring food and gifts to share. Black beans and rice, chicken wings, Pamela's Florida gumbo, my spicy black-eyed peas, sweet potato pie, Kathy's North Dakota double chocolate bars.

The gifts, called zawadis, are songs, games, crafts, stories or poetry. Tonight each zawadi seems a perfect reflection of the giver. Like Katie's, who's a social worker, who loves anything that helps us share our feelings. Tonight she gives each of us a page of mailing labels and a marker. She tells us to write down "people praises" on the labels, then walk around and stick them on each other. Soon our shirts are covered with stupid, corny messages that make us laugh, make me cry.

You're nice.
I like your style.
Your feet are cute.
You dare to be different.
You make me smile.

Even the boys play. Usually they circle around the edges of our gatherings, hanging back, hanging tough, hanging cool. But tonight, Oberika, who is fourteen and obsessed with slasher movies, slides past me and slyly slips his praise on me — Thanks for being nice to me. And from my son Anthony — You're the best mom in the world.

We catch up on our lives and offer up our pain here. The daughter who ran away, the failing marriage, the struggle with MS, the house lost to unpaid debt.

I remember the night I read some of my secret lesbian poetry. Still married, still not out, I chose to break my long silence here.

The Kwanzaa after Karen's husband Donnie died, his best friend Terryl read a poem for him and we all lit candles for him. Then, to honor him, we put on some funky funky funkadelic music and danced and danced for him.

Tonight we're funkified again. We line up for Jr. Walker and the All Stars and as the saxaphone blasts and the beat slams down we clap and shout while each dancer takes a run down the chute. The little kids jump up and down, teenagers do the tootsie roll, and we parents bump and grind the best we can.

The house fills with our noise, every corner, every inch awash in us. It's chaos — too many kids, not enough room, too much motion, but we don't care. I close my eyes and zoom away high into space like a camera for the closing take. I look again and see us still, a little speck of light, sparkling in our corner of the black black night.

January, 1995

(Quilt painting also by me, 1987)

Don't Ask Don't Tell: Repealed!

2010-12-22T09:45:00.001-06:00

Thank you, President Obama.

In signing the bill into law he said it all:

"We are not a nation that says, 'Don't ask, don't tell,' " Mr. Obama told the audience. "We are a nation that says, 'Out of many, we are one.' "

Amen.

Thank you, Senator Hendon

2010-12-03T09:32:00.000-06:00

Illinois Senator Ricky Hendon voicing his support for legislation to legalize civil unions. Amen, Senator Hendon, and thank you.

In honor of Rosa Parks

2010-12-01T13:09:00.002-06:00

In honor of Rosa Parks and the 55th anniversary of the day she took a stand by taking a seat and changed the world.

The Neville Brothers: Sister Rosa

Yes. Thank you.

Hallelujah - Annie Lennox Style

2010-11-30T21:41:00.001-06:00

Breathtaking. Been loving Annie Lennox since the Eurythmics and Sweet Dreams. The Leonard Cohen original of this song is like no other, but this cover will make you weep all over again. "Love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah"

Give to the Max

2010-11-16T09:49:00.002-06:00

Today is "Give to the Max" day in Minnesota, a terrific initiative led by GiveMN to encourage giving to your favorite causes and organizations. The biggest challenge about the day is seeing plugs to give to so many great organizations. It makes me think about how much fun it would be to be rich and give so much to so many. But did you know what on average, lower income people give a higher percentage of their incomes to charity than do rich people? You don't have to rich to give.

So this year I decided to contribute a little more to two organizations than a small amount to several.

I chose the Minnesota Citizen's Council on Crime and Justice (CCJ). Here's why:

A message from CCJ's president Pamela Alexander:

Frederick Douglas said, “Where justice is denied, where poverty is enforced, where ignorance prevails. . . neither persons nor property will be safe.” While these words are more than 100 years old, they resonate against all the complexities of the 21st century American legal system. The Council on Crime and Justice stands as a bulwark at the crossroad of law and justice.We work to address the racial disparities in Minnesota's criminal justice system, improve school performance among at-risk students, and explore how restorative justice works within families where domestic abuse is present.
CCJ continues its comprehensive advocacy efforts to improve employment opportunities for people with criminal records, address the urgent and increasing need for victims’ services with particular focus on children exposed to domestic violence. By helping to keep incarcerated fathers connected to their families and children CCJ can prepare these fathers for a successful release. Our continuing legislative efforts focus on shaping the public and legislative debate on issues of import to both victims and offenders. Through these efforts and with your help we can demonstrate the value of action-oriented research, effective demonstration models and outcome based programs that make a positive difference in people's lives.

You can help to make the difference between recidivism and reintegration, between childhood and child horrors, between a handout and a hand up. Your support is critical to the success of these programs and projects. Thank you for your interest, consideration and continued support.

In other words, a place that cares about and advocates for people most others could care less about: the disenfranchised and those who love them. Like my son. Like my family. To donate go here.

I also chose the Minneapolis YWCA Early Childhood Programs. Here's why:

The YWCA of Minneapolis believes all children deserve a high quality early childhood education. This belief is backed with over 30 years of proven excellence and measurable results.
100% of YWCA preschoolers test ready for kindergarten surpassing the state average of 60%. And 96% of children, infant through kindergarten, are on-track with age appropriate development.
Last year the three urban YWCA Children’s Centers served:
435 children from 307 households
67% of families were low-income households
60% of all households are at or below poverty level
56% were single parent households, primarily lead by mothers
79% were children of color

(And they have cared for my grandchild since she was a toddler, providing safe, affordable, loving care, and the preschool program she needed to be ready for kindergarten this fall.)

To donate go here.

When it's dark I get SAD

2010-11-11T19:07:00.000-06:00

When it's dark I get sad. Seasonal Affective Disorder, that is - SAD. Such a clever acronym for this thing that feels so heavy, like someone poured molasses on my normally sunny, sparkly soul.

SAD is a recognized mood illness that happens for most people during the late fall and winter months, especially in winter climes like Minnesota. You can read all about the symptoms and more here.

People used to think it was fake, probably because it mostly women are diagnosed with it. It takes the medical community a while to take us seriously sometimes. But it's in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-IV), so it has been anointed as real.

I'll admit that I was personally skeptical about SAD and resisted the diagnosis when my doctor made it about five years ago. In my childhood family rules for living included, "Just snap out of it," "Don't cry over spilled milk," "Mind over matter," and "When the going gets tough, the tough get going."

So I blamed myself for my fall and winter low energy, for the overwhelming urge once home from work to get into "comfy clothes," get under a blanket on the sofa, pour a glass of wine, ignore phone calls and texts, and watch bad TV. (I actually voted more than once during American Idol last winter. Now that's depressing.)

I never got "SAD" until recently. At least I don't think I did. I grew up in Minnesota and when I was a kid, winter was my favorite time of year. I loved skating, sledding, skiing, and snowball fights with the neighbor kids. My mom believed getting outside was good for us and I remember being bundled up and sent out for hours at a time. We had fun.

As an adult I was a single parent. There was no time to be "SAD." Exhausted and stressed maybe, but lethargic and withdrawn? Not a chance. I'd get home from work and start my second job which included cooking, cleaning, and arm wrestling two kids through homework they had no interest in doing. Maybe I had SAD then but I was stretched too thin to notice (and clueless that feeling so stressed could have indeed been a symptom).

It's probably no coincidence that I started noticing the symptoms for SAD once I was an empty nester and had the time and space to melt on the sofa at night.

I'm coming to accept that I indeed have SAD. If I look back at my journal entries, every year they start to get gloomy around November and lighten up by mid-February. I am a child of the sun and light. During the heat of summer I'm my own comic midsummer night's dream, twirling in the giddy glow of a happy, satisfied soul.

It's hard to come down from that summer high every fall.

I do stuff to deal with getting SAD. I have a light box (it's actually called a "Happy Light") that sends 10,000 lux of simulated daylight my way 30 minutes each day as I drink my morning coffee. The light is bright and annoying. I'd like it better, I think, if it also gave off heat and actually felt a bit like sunshine. I take a Vitamin D supplement (though sunlight is the best Vitamin D therapy), and work on eating right and exercise. And having fun, the best Rx of all. If all else fails, I add a low dose anti-depressant to the mix.

But this year, as we passed the Summer Solstice (meaning the days were going to start getting shorter), I went back into denial and was determined to be the master of my moods (mind over matter, remember) and to keep that easy, breezy, summer girl feeling all year long, without any help, even as we haplessly cascaded toward the fall and winter, the monochrome gray, and the long, dark nights.

I held on valiantly until daylight savings ended, despite all the tell-tale signs that SAD was creeping around the bend again. Once I admitted the comfy clothes, blanket, sofa, and lack of desire for a social life had gripped me once again, I capitulated, and am back on my anti-SAD routine for yet another winter.

I'd like to think I could will my winter blues away. Maybe I'll move to the desert some day. But until then (or maybe just in general), I have to accept when it's dark, I get SAD.

Transgender basketball player makes history

2010-11-08T07:28:00.007-06:00

Kye Allums

When I first read about this, I was moved to tears by the bravery and guts of Kye Allums, the first openly transgender player in NCAA Division I women's basketball history. And I feel an almost maternal, home-state sense of pride in this barrier breaking young person since Allums grew up in Hugo, Minnesota, and was a star on the Centennial High School basketball team.

Big props also to George Washington University for their support of Allums as this wall comes tumbling down for athletes. The locker room closet is still fierce.

While Allums wants to be identified as male, he is not taking any hormones or doing any medical protocols in order not to risk eligibility to play. Read the whole story on outsports.com. A few excerpts here:

"Not many people noticed a slight change on the George Washington University website earlier this year. It concerned a player on the school’s women’s basketball team named Kay-Kay Allums. Just a couple letters were taken away, a Y was moved and an E was added to form the player’s new name: Kye Allums. To most people it was meaningless, but to Allums the change was the most significant of his lifetime.

“A name is just a bunch of letters, but the letters make up a word and the words that make up my name have so many more emotions behind them,” Allums said. "My old name, that’s just not me. When I hear Kye, everything feels okay, everything is right.”

For the last 20 years, Kay-Kay Allums had appeared to the world as female. She was born with the anatomy that other women have. Her mom tried to dress her in only the most feminine clothes. But inside was a man waiting to burst out of the female body he was born in.

On Nov. 13, Kye Allums will introduce himself to the NCAA basketball world at the Best Buy Classic in Minneapolis in a game against the University of Wisconsin-Green Bay. When he steps foot on the court, Allums will be the first publicly transgender person to play NCAA Div. 1 college basketball.

Allums grew up in the small town of Hugo, Minn., a half hour north of Minneapolis. Head coach Mike Bozeman scheduled the tournament appearance as a homecoming for him, long before he transitioned to male. The junior guard’s inaugural game identifying as a man will also be the first time he has played in front of his hometown crowd. While Allums is making a change now, most of his family and friends will recognize him as the same old Kye..."

Here is a video that shows a self-assured Allums talking about being transgender:

You go, Kye!

Related recently released report: "On the Team: Equal Opportunities for Transgender Student Athletes"

Marvin Gaye live: "What's Going On / What's Happening Brother"

2010-10-28T07:36:00.003-05:00

Amazing live performance of music that defined my generation and is still hauntingly relevant today. Sing it, Marvin Gaye! Beautiful, beautiful video that intermixes live performance clips with scenes from those times.

She's covered it all: the hajib as power

2010-10-25T17:20:00.010-05:00

Last month when I posted "I don't know my Somali neighbors," I never imagined the outpouring of positive responses. I did not imagine Somali and other East African people reaching out to me (and my readers) with information, perspective, and with open hands of friendship. But they did. And my world is forever changed.

In particular I've met and embraced a kindred spirit - Nimo Farah - a young, fierce, open-hearted woman who reposted my blog, offered up her wisdom, and then invited me for coffee. Since then we have begun the journey of real friendship, our commonalities of the soul far outweighing the differences of culture, age, religious practice, and lived experiences.

New friends, old souls, kindred spirits

I had the chance to hear Nimo read her poetry recently and she lit the room on fire with her passion. I am very excited that she has agreed to guest post one of those poems here.

So please welcome Nimo Farah. I invite you to find a place to sit down, perhaps with a cup of tea, to take in this amazing poem.

~~~

Covered

by Nimo Farah

She's covered it all

Draped body dancing freely

The breeze moved her layers of colorful textiles

Intermingling with the air

The trees embrace her

And the sun baths her

She belongs with them without a battle

But in the gray concrete jungle, she does not blend

You spot her from a mile, get nervous by her style

She doesn't pretend

You wish she did not stand out or blend in

There is no pleasing you without baring the skin

You want her to be normal

to blend with them

You think you are the judge of normal

But she's got a normal all her own.

She's covered it all

You wonder who this woman is

And who does she think she is?

She's covered it all,

And you want to be the judge of her beauty

So you scan her up and down

Fashion foreign to you

Her style flows like the Nile

No price on her apparel

No names or nouns for her attire

You see nothing familiar using your eyes

And you're not really concerned with who she really is

Or her intelligence

If every you're willing to spot her soul, she's willing to wear a smile

But you'd rather strip away her garments

Like a peeled fruit you want to leave her naked

But she knows the fate of a peeled fruit

Caressed by the air it is delicate and darkens

You want to caress her with your eyes

Spoil her with your stare

You wonder who this woman is

And who does she think she is?

She's covered it all.

You spot her in the hot summer sun

She continues not to share her skin

You wonder how she withstands the temper of the sun

She's brave with her ways but you want her to be free

So that she can dance in your dreams

You want to separate her body from spirit

Have one without the other

She resists like leaves resisting the wind

You wonder who this woman is

And who does she think she is?

She's covered it all.

And this you should know

Her garments are powerful!

They connect her with her mother

They're holy scripture

Linking her to the essence and strength of her creator

She loves the texture

And when she ties her scarves with her dresses

She makes strong ropes, escapes wars

Covered up she is superwoman

Walking through violent raindrops, sandstorms

And even bullets.

Her garments are more than material

They tell the stories of her struggle

As she roamed the world chasing peace

Her garments covered her scars

And healed her battle wounds

It is the hijab that was her shield from fear

The hijab that was her security blanket as an infant

Sentimental and sacred

And a test and a protest!

And if you are really wondering who this woman is

She is a woman warrior

With her hijab as her cape!

She's covered it all.

And honestly you don't care to know the depth beyond her exterior

So you bully her with your gaze

Til she shows you inches of her skin

But she's not

Not that kind of woman

She's a woman warrior with her hijab as her cape

And her powers remain a secret

She's covered it all.

~~~

Nimo Farah embraces her experiences as a refugee-Muslim-woman living in America but believes the human spirit it too multi-dimensional to categorize and classify. Exposed to many cultures and struggles, she is inspired to write about and celebrate the resilience, complexity, and compassion of the human spirit. She aspires to be a keeper of her ancestors' rich oral traditions and mother tongue; both are at the brink of being endangered.

Fierce poet, Minnesota style

Dancing at the Red Sea

"She is a woman warrior with her hajib as her cape..."

NAACP and school choice in the Mpls Public Schools

2010-10-14T09:55:00.000-05:00

A story in today's Star Tribune talks about NAACP and their how their efforts to fight for quality education for children of color in the Mpls Public Schools has a double-edged sword, as school choice options may have contributed to the current problems leading to the recommendation to close North High School:

The Minneapolis branch of the NAACP on Wednesday urged parents to consider pulling their children out of the Minneapolis School District in response to Superintendent Bernadeia Johnson’s recommendation to close North High School. Citing multiple school closures on the city’s North Side and low test scores in those that remain, Minneapolis NAACP President Booker Hodges accused Johnson and school board members of failing to educate north Minneapolis’ children, most of whom are black….

But….

As the engine behind the “Choice is Yours” program, the Minneapolis NAACP may have unwittingly played a role in the mass exodus of students from north Minneapolis to suburban districts.
In the late 1990s, the organization’s local leadership sued the state, arguing that state policies and practices concentrated poverty in Minneapolis, making it impossible for Minneapolis schools to adequately educate students.
A March 2000 settlement allowed more Minneapolis families access to suburban schools and magnet programs.
Interest was minimal at first but has increased in recent years, with hundreds of families leaving city schools for neighboring districts...

My perspective: The option for poor urban families of color to choose higher performing suburban schools for their children is only fair. The likely closing of North High is a sad unintended consequence. If the Minneapolis Public Schools were given adequate funds to address the educational needs of its very diverse, mostly poor student body, families would not have left in the first place. Who wants to send their child across town if you have a great school right down the block?

I love my (curly kinky) hair, Sesame Street style

2010-10-14T07:16:00.001-05:00

A wonderful celebration of fierce, curly, kinky hair and loving its beauty and all you can do with it! How I wish this had been around when my daughter was small...but it's in the queue to show my granddaughter, who I think has worn every style sported in the video.