...and then...

When I'm not scribbling lines of poetry on Q'doba receipts or dialogue quips on my daughter's homework (hey ... Yale will not be asking for copies of her worksheet on words that start with "th"), I'm pretending to be a marketing consultant. Actually, I'm pretty good at what I do (I'm allowed to say that, right?) I only say "pretending" because I'm one of those people who always thinks they could and should be better, especially since I started working independently 6 yrs ago. I used to recoil from the [whisper] overachiever label ... but I used to think I'd be a Size 10 again, too. Right. Get over it. Anyhoo, I was hired to plan a 99th birthday gala for the first African-American woman to become a licensed mortician in the State of Wisconsin (I know). But, this sista was smooth, you hear me?! She's still vibrant and eloquent and graceful and warm and funny, simply amazing. I put together a photo montage for the reception and din...

I know I promised a moment-by-moment of Mahagony & Jive's show, but anything above "outstanding" is truly saying too much. The venue was a chic, and still cozy. The crowd was lively, and still fertile. The hosts were skilled, and still raw (what?! with the peanut butter & jelly sandwiches?!?!). The show was well done, well attended and much-appreciated. The lineup included myself, Christa Bell (Seattle), Bassey Ipke (NYC) & Queen Sheba (Atlanta). I carry a great deal of respect for all three of these performers; so it was an honor to share the mic with them: One of Those Tribute Poems This is my first Official Ride-your-jock Poem I’ve heard plenty of poetry with well-crafted lines to stutter my breathing and collide my palms into spasmatic applause but I’ve always found tribute poems to be crude flat & simple still beautiful well-written powerful seductuctive, even but I vowed to never write one And then her signature bit me with a whip dipped in some...

I admit it. I'm giddy. Giddy like a school girl putting on her first formal gown ("school girl?" "gown?" yes, I'm getting old). Anyhoo ... I'm part of a lineup for a show that Mahagony Browne and Jive Poetic have put together in NYC called Women Take Back the Mic: me, Queen Sheba, Bassey Ipkey and Christa Bell. When I agreed to do the show, I had no idea that I would be in such illustrious company! Thick? Maybe. But I truly admire the pen skills of these women. In fact, I'm honored (my husband teases that I'm "honored" about everything ... but I can't help it, I am!) to be on the bill. Anyhoo ... I wanted to log in my "before" excitement. I'll key in an "after" play-by-play tomorrow while I'm sitting in JFK at the butt-crack of dawn waiting for my flight home.

Okay, so I'm putting on my maid costume, right? My oldest daughter earned a small part in a community theater production of the classic Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and --somehow -- found myself hoodwinked into being a servant named Sookey. Sookey , for the love of Snoopy. But the costume (complete with full apron and a little kerchief hat) was the easiest to get used to. The tough part was -sheesh! the amount of time this effort has gobbled from my life. Selfish, yes. But I'm entitled to be human, right? The first week, I had to send an email to the director and make a plea for a relaxed schedule. "She's five ... has only two lines in the 150-minute production ... and ... she's five. Kindergarten is going to be oh, so rough after getting into bed after 9 and 10 pm 3-4 nights a week. Not to mention the four year old I have to drag along, too ..." I stamped the experience as the Worst Great Idea I'd had in a long time. Damn rec center activities overloading,...