One of my new favorite sites and why I wear shoes in public:
The People of Walmart.
Please to enjoy this gem

-r

In Sickness and Health

Please to note: your blogger will sound like a heartless bitch today.

So, in the last month the eldest four members of my family have been hospitalized. Seriously. At some point in the last 30 days, Mom, my aunt Charleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeene, my uncle, Marvo, Marvo! and Bubbe, my grandmother all have been admitted to a hospital for various ailments and observations. While I thank a higher power for them being out on the road to recovery, I can also say that I am SICK of sickness.

Thursday I got a call at work as I tried to level up in Mafia Wars prepared for storytime. It was Mom on the line calmly stating, "You won't believe this! They're admitting me and preparing me for emergency surgery!" After I regained the ability to think (obviously someone was pranking me although I was at a loss for why) I told my mom I would be right there. A flash of annoyance hit me as I thrust crap into my bag and tried to find my keys on my desk; my mom had been complaining of shoulder pain for over a week at this point but had yet to visit her doctor. She had gone to the local Emergency Department however as a person with a chronic health problem (aka kidney failure) she SHOULD be keeping her regular doctors in the loop. Mom felt that the advice from our local hospital was good enough yet the infection that developed in her shoulder indicated otherwise.

The drive to the hospital allowed me time to calm down. Upon arrival my mother declared herself sleepy (adrenaline from the news had worn off), demanded to know why I was there ('cause you called?), thanked me for coming (as if!) and asked where The Bee was (um, school?). I realize that she was worried and scared but once again annoyance flared inside of me. Just take care of yourself was my thought! But as I sat with my mom through some of her registration it hit me: as a relatively healthy woman who sees a doctor once a year for routine visits, I have the luxury of making the odd stand alone specialist appointment. For my mom, aunt and uncle, having renal failure or a new kidney means that at least once a week someone is sticking them, drawing labs, performing dialysis, evaluating their lives.

What a pain in the ass! While I waited in the short procedure unit (Presby, morale SUCKS and it shows!) I put myself in her shoes and was able to understand that no one wants to be sick, weak and unable to take care of themselves as they once were. It's a matter of one's body NOT doing what one wants and one desperately trying to retain some control over some sort of normal life. While we waited (and waited and waited) for transport, a rare moment as Mom spoke of her frustration that her grands always see her sick and sore.

She's on the mend and I can empathize more when the mom that I knew is felled by the mom that is not well. Especially when I get a call that draws me out of bed for a bottle of water when she's tethered to her machine.

Sigh!

Hospitals still make me sick.

-r

Where the bitchiness comes full circle: Of course, because it's all about me, I felt guilty. I had been wishing for time off and I guess I've gotten my Monkey's Paw.

Did you get hired?

On why dating is like looking for a job.


This is not to say that a relationship is work (painfully rolling my eyes) but dating is like looking for a job. Don't believe me? I've asked some of my employment challenged friends how their job searches are going and the answers they share sound suspiciously like something I would say when asked if there is a special dude in my life.


The search:

Online, in person, whatever. The word is spread that you are looking.

Casually you may mention it to a friend who has just waxed excitedly about what she and Mr. Man did the night before, your tone full of envy yet happy for her happiness. Your family, well intentioned we hope, may suggest that the doctor that just examined her/him is FINE and that hey, you once worked in a hospital and may have something in common right? Someone keeps poking you on Facebook (which, in my humble opinion) is like playing tag at recess.



The Pre-Interview:

You've met him* and now you have to find out if he is the one for you. Dating is hard in this cyber age! There are tons of ways to scope out a dude before you have even spoken with him! You chat on the phone, online, through e-mails. There are text or Instant Message or e-mail or write on your wall (if you Facebook). Oh yes! I can call you too. Cell, home, work, blah, blah, blah! And still not be sure if this is it.



The Interview:

Now it's time for the date. You dress to impress, hair did, clothes right. And as you eat you make polite conversation about general topics just beyond the small talk range but close enough to it so as not to offend.



Second interview:

Same as the first, a little bit louder and little bit worse!

Seriously, you go out on another date because you clicked. Talk is still light but a bit more personal. You can relax a wee bit more because you realize that there is a reason to get your hope up. Do you seal the deal with a kiss**, hug, more?

Now if, like your blogger, you are a Black Woman, you are ecstatic that you HAVE a date considering the dire news that keeps floating around about the lack of mates for Black women. Don't settle cause the news isn't that bad. Its a trip but there is hope. You'll have to kiss a bunch of frogs before you find your prince. Remember this because all that glitters may not be gold.

Once you land dude, you relax and, if you are me, you can release a little of the crazy. Just a little cause it's bubbling under the surface waiting to unleash it's ugly head.

I see you reading this with a smirk. Don't judge me!

Off my soapbox. Got some things brewing and that's all I care to share for now. I need to look for some shoes that will make me look awesome.

Updating my resume,
-r


*I'm guessing this could also apply to men but fellows let a sister know if she is wrong please!
** I'm hot to trot so this is for other people. Kidding...some!

Track rats

Like a mall rat but this rat is found on a track

Dare I say it...I'm becoming a regular at the gym. Well regular enough that the guy at the desk gives me a head nod as I check-in, although truthfully he is probably confusing me with Buffy who also attends the same gym and is quite vocal about wanting to wear a scarf during her workout but I digress. I have been putting my money where my mouth is and working towards becoming a runner and not just saying that I run.

Buffy and I hit the track yesterday after we both acknowledged that
1. We didn't want to drive to the gym
2. It was just too darned nice out to hide in said gym and
3. The treadmill will give you a false positive.

We returned to our old stomping (pun intended) grounds, the smallish but accessible, Pennwood High. As we got back into the old routine of walk one lap, run one lap I had to remind myself of a few things: it's OK to be out of breath (cause I'm running after all), stop worrying about what people think (cause no one cares) and four year-olds have way more energy than someone NINE times their ages.

Huffing and puffing aka out of breath.
For some only Rachee known reason I think the idea of me huffing and puffing as I run is offensive to those nearby. While I believe myself to be a reasonably intelligent woman and I wrap my head around the notion that running is exerting energy which will cause a physical change to the body, there are times that I am still shy about sounding like a panting dig. The sweaty, erm, glow is OK but gasping for air always hurtles me back to gym class and Mr. Pugh's insistence that I run the 600 yard dash. [shiver, the memory is taking over...I'm back now]

Q: What has two thumbs and doesn't give a crap?
A: The other people at the track.
Again, my conceit led me to believe that someone really cared about how fast I run, whether I completed the laps as I said (briskly walk one, run one) and other things that obviously my judgemental butt was projecting. No one cares! Not that lady on her bike, the coaches waiting for the end of practice or the other people, to quote Buffy, getting it in.

Four Year-olds are friggin' fast!
One of my daycare kids was playing near the track as Buffy and I chugged along. After I scooped him up for a hug, he then thought I should race him every time I came near. And those little legs were fast! Without going into detail (which includes pained gasps for breath from me and him skipping to play with his brother) let me just say my legs are still tight even after stretching, a shower and a short massage.

Verdict:
Really good time. I feel like I may actually shave a minute or two off of my last 5K (A Reindeer Run from December).

Making tracks,
-r

PS: We saw a bunny chilling in someone's front yard on our way there!

In the Merry Land of After I Move, I'll get it *all* together...supposedly

For weeks I have been stumbling over books, getting tangled in yarn and doing the closet shuffle because I was going to be moving soon and when, and only then, I moved would I get it together enough to be organized and have things where they belong which of course would lead me to the life I feel I should lead (uber mom/librarian chick/ hooker diva among other titles). Despite all evidence that has pointed to the contrary, I continued to believe that the life I thought I was destined to lead was a mere packed box away and, by some miraculous intervention from Gayle O'Neill, life would be a orgy of labeled shelves and color coded files.

However, my move has turned into an event that I lovingly call an 'et cetera move' as it has taken me weeks to move *JUST* the we don't need these NOW items and other things shall be moved in some time in the nearish future. Part of me is scared shitless (yeah, I cursed); this is the first time that I have ever lived alone having gone from mom's house to married life house and back. I am also anxious, nervous and excited. I am ready for this new thing for my daughter and I and while I have reservations, I will not give them any strength by obsessing (much) over them (Thanks Debbie!).

As circumstances in and out of my control stall my move, I have finally decided to stop fretting (as much) and to use this time to clear out the clutter, regain control of my space and combat CHAOS (Can't Have Anybody Over Syndrome). The merry land of after I move was beginning to sound like the familiar refrain of the dieter: when I lose weight I can do blah blah with my life. As we all know, if your life sucks now and is not the way you want it, it will suck just as much when you move, lose weight, get a new dress, etc.

The clearing of clutter is tough. I can empathize with the folks on Hoarders however if anyone finds a dead cat in my house please kick my ass. Clearing the clutter also allowed me to find money, lost hooks, books and a sweater I swore my mom permanently borrowed. I think that this may be he beginning of a wonderful habit. Now if only I can find my shoe...

Not waiting,

-r

Crochet celebration!

All hookers (and knitters too!) are invited to join a crochet celebration on Saturday May 29th from 11:00 AM to 3:00 PM at the Lansdowne Public Library!

A Free one day event featuring:

Crochet & Knitting Circles - Charitable Giving
Show & Share - Great free give-A-Ways and more!


Lansdowne Library 55 South Lansdowne Ave.
Lansdowne, PA 19050
One block south of Baltimore Ave. & Lansdowne Ave.
Hosted by M. Smith for more info email mwazacrochet@comcast.net

See you there!

Completed yarnthing

My comfort zone had been scarves, hats and granny squares but when I saw Vickie Howell's 'Pop Goes Crochet' I was ready for a new project.

The items in the books seem doable, possible and they are so definitely something that I could, and will, wear.

I loved 'The Serena' a mesh like tank top and was ready to boogie. Carefully, oh so carefully I counted measured and took my time to make this top but either I fell asleep during a few rows of hooking or there was a mistake in the directions and my top is now for The Bee.





Ribbing for along the bottom







Mesh top.







My lovely tween model








From the back







The finished product.







ANTM in the making.

Looking for the next project,
-r

Soundtrack for getting back on track.

I've created a monster.

Last year when I first asked my friend Bookwoman to run with me in the Philadelphia Marathon she, unlike me* weighed all of her options and made an informed decision before agreeing to participate. Bookwoman actually read, and finished, the books to motivate the non-runner, bought the proper shoes (not relying on discounted shoes from Kohl's) and actually motivated me as I bitched and moaned through scenic Philadelphia. After I swore that 'it' (it being running) was out of my system, Bookwoman's enthusiasm and the overwhelming jealousy that ate me up inspiration I felt for the races she was competing in encouraged a change of heart. Rachée is running again baby!

Bookwoman has signed up for races now through the end of May and has even started recruiting people (namely me and Buffy). In an effort to not repeat my last race result I have made myself actually go to the gym that I joined last year.** Due to the crazy weather (rain, biting temps and the like) I have yet to hit the track but the gym is close by, waiting, albeit near the dangerously wonderful Five Guys (excuse me while I wipe drool from my mouth) and I'm there. I'm glad I'm back; I felt the spark of excitement that I once got a high from when I pounded the track, the exhilarating thrill that I, Rachée, was actually running (ok, wogging) again.

Soundtrack for getting back into the race:
Back for Good by Take That. Enough said.
Blame it on the Boogie by the Jackson Five. My lack of running CANNOT be blamed on the sunshine, or the moonlight, or the good times but...the boogie.
Sooner or Later by Les Brown & his orchestra.
The Safety Dance by Men Without Hats because we should all safely assume that Rachée will get it together.
You Can't Stop the Beat from Hairspray. Rachée is back baby!

Loading up my play list,
-r





*I jumped blindly into the race. I asked myself, "How hard could running 26 miles be?" and the answer as I later found out is damned hard!

** The added weather is getting warmer and more flesh will be showing was also a great motivator.

Heat

While sitting at my desk messing about planning for the next week, I was privy to a heated curse filled exchange between two drivers on the street outside my window. As I made eye contact with a patron (a horrified looking mom who had been playing and reading books with her two young children but stopped once the chorus of 'eff yous' reached its crescendo) I remembered how a few short years ago that would have been me screaming and cussing, with total disregard to The Bee riding along in the back seat or the danger that I could possibly be in. Eventually after a few more "eff yous" and questions about each driver's mother's heritage both cars went on their way, leaving me to shake my head and be thankful for growing as a person.

During a totally dark period in my life I was a piece of work. Jumping to conclusions, angry, ready to go toe to toe over something that, in retrospect, was so not worth the time or effort. As I recall some of my shenanigans I am honestly ashamed of my behavior. Screaming obscenities as I drove, arguing with total strangers over minutiae, carrying that crap back home. Wow! It's exhausting to think of it! And scary. I think of all of the dangerous situations that I had put myself in: yelling at drivers, jumping out of my car to tell someone where to go and how to get there, even aggressively "standing my ground" over some slight, real or (mostly) imagined. Even after a really bad time (redacted cause I'm still not quite ready to share) I would carry on, performing as if I were on stage and ...for what? Who needed me to yell and tell them that they were a pain in the ass or dumb ass or some other type of ass? There were several events that would have made smarter women calm down but I was not to be silenced. I am not exactly sure what made me to mentally and literally take a deep breath to relax enough to stop sweating the small things but I can say that it has been a relief not being angry, not having to keep track of stores that I cannot visit due to Rachée behaving badly - again, and a wonderful, wonderful thing to not have The Bee look at me fearfully after I have yelled and screamed along the streets at someone who did some inconsequential thing to me.

I like to think that I am different Rachée. I still get angry but how I CHOOSE to handle it is differently. I can still get my point across without entertaining onlookers and I don't have to be a stereotype (You know the one, Black woman snapping her head, hands on hip and screaming. That was me!).

With the warmer weather on track, I suspect that there may be more arguing between bad drivers, people upset about slow pedestrians and all in between. It pleases me to know that I can choose to be a part of the nonsense or that I can keep a total relaxed attitude and move onto the next positive thing.

NOT being a topic at your dinner table,
-r