The year of barely blogging

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

Read, internalize, repeat as often as is necessary.

 

Hilary Clinton takes bold, historic stance on GLBTQ human rights

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

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

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


  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                     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, Vi​rginia, 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

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"

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…”

Related posts:
I Don't Know My Somali Neighbors 
She's Covered it All: The Hajib as Power

Love unfolding fiercely in the unbearable humid heat

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

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!

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

"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

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

My Boys

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, Quincy Blue, 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. 


~~~


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, Anthony, and his two best friends, Jamal and Dean. 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. Jamal's thick, shoulder length sandy-colored locs are gathered in a big ponytail and shake when he walks. Dean'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. Anthony 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 Dean'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 Anthony's other friends over the years. I love Jamal'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 Anthony. 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 Dean, shy Dean.

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 Anthony.

"You're a punk," says Dean, and shoves Anthony, hard.

"That's cold, " laughs Jamal.

Anthony 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, guns, flashing lights, sobbing mothers and girlfriends on the ten o'clock news. I search hard for my boys, my honey colored boys, but I can't see them, I can't make out who's who. "Not them, not us, not me," I pray as the lights go dark.

The Mothership returns to Chocolate City!

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