June 20, 2016

When Easy Is Anything But Easy

I’m not taking the easy way out today.

Easy would be ranting about how my post from last year at this time was about a mass murder and this year, this week is only a week after another mass murder, and today is the day that legislation controlling firearms was voted down even as funerals are being held for people killed in the latest mass murder.

At this point, Easy would force me into a corner, curled up in the fetal position while sucking my thumb.

Instead, I’ll tackle more palatable topics because there's just too much insanity right now and I'm just unable to can with Easy.
Thank you, Awesomely Luvvie for creating the mug we all need at one time or another.

What's Easier than Easy? Things like...

Where Did My Eyebrows Go and When Did They Leave?
No really. I used to have eyebrows. Like, on each side of my face.
Sometimes they’d convene in the middle, conversating and strategizing ways for them to be the best, most efficient unibrow they could be. On occasion, they’d crawl down the bridge of my nose, bid my eyes hello and then scurry back to their respective sides.

Then one day, I looked at a picture taken when I was feeling pretty darn good about myself, but there was something wrong. I grabbed a flashlight on shone it on the image. Surely dim lighting was to blame. I enlisted my daughter to hold the picture an additional foot away from my vision because sometimes it’s just the angle at which you see things…right?

It wasn’t the lighting and it wasn’t the angle. My eyebrows had taken leave. They had given up on the Unibrow Dream, packed their bags and left my face without so much as a Having-A-Good-Time-Wishing-You-Were-Here postcard.

The Eyebrows Quite Most Possibly Most Likely Relocated to Dormant Hair Follicles Elsewhere On Your Person
Like the ones you find in…um, let’s just say: A FACE. In particular those dormant follicles found on the cheeks and/or immediately above the lip and/or under the chin.

All I’m saying is if your eyebrows have taken leave and you want to find them, assume an I’m bored posture. Put an elbow on your computer desk. Go ahead. Do it. Now, nestle your chin in your open palm. No one will suspect a thing. They’ll just think you’re exhausted which is nothing out of the ordinary anyway.

Now...did you just hear yourself say OW or What in the what was THAT or WHY IS A HAIR GROWING OUT OF THE SIDE OF MY FACE? Congratulations on finding your prodigal eyebrows! They live there now. Get used to swapping out your bikini depilatory budget for the facial depilatory budget.

The Eyebrows Most Definitely were in Collusion with Leg Hair
Truthfully, Leg Hair and I have never gotten along, but we forged a delicate detente in my teen years: I’d shave Leg Hair at 7:00am and Leg Hair would return WITH A THICKNESS approximately three and a half hours later. Then we’d repeat the cycle the next day. Shave. Thickness. Shave. Thickness.

But apparently, Leg Hair and the Eyebrows conspired unbeknownst to me. Per our detente, It was the normal shave cycle when I discovered the Eyebrows were missing. Even as I lamented, mourned and pleaded for Eyebrows’ return – or at least a We-miss-you communication, Leg Hair was all Whatever. We’re in reverse mortgage, Lady. We are done with the thickness and the shaving.

And that was it. Leg Hair only drops in once or twice a month now. I don’t miss Leg Hair; but please, let’s keep that our secret, otherwise Leg Hair may break the d├ętente and collude with dormant face/lip/chin follicles; and things could get uglier. And HAIRIER.

Funny how this hairy stuff is more palatable than the reality that matters right now. And sad.

And sad when I stop and think that buying stock of Nair and eyebrow wax to fund our retirement and my daughter’s college fund is easier than thinking about where we are as a country right now, and where we could possibly be in the future.

I guess sometimes Easy is anything but.

June 12, 2016

Born on Third Base

Some people are born on third base and go through life thinking they hit a triple.
- Barry Switzer

Whether that quote evokes thoughts of privileged heirs claiming they worked for every penny they've earned, or if it calls to mind superior attitudes of a people or nation that have forgotten rough-edged forebears who laid their foundation, it smacks of an embarrassing truth.

No one is immune to adopting this selective remembrance or air of superiority.

Including me.

Fifteen years ago, God saw I needed a life partner and in His time, He gave me one -- a guy who happens to be white. Together we made the most beautiful, talented, kind-hearted baby who is now a teen. While color wasn't an issue between us, or in my or my husband's family, the world outside our familial bubble did have issues here and there, but we handled it.

We'd talk about our collective history and reconcile the past against the present. We'd talk about how even though our daughter's African side of the family was riddled with slavery, rape, lynching and discrimination of the day, that these facts could co-exist alongside with her European side of the family.

As a family, we understood history was history in all its glory and crappiness; and we overcame it. Our open communication and our beautiful, talented, kind-hearted teenager was proof of said overcoming. We were evolved. We were the model interracial family.

Weren't we fancy.

Then, sometime -- today, maybe it was yesterday - whenever it was, I heard myself bellow for my husband. He responded Whaaaat! It was the kind of Whaaaat that people scream through their nasal passages with a throaty grind to let you know you're getting on their last good nerve.

For a minute, my bellow, his Whaaaat cracked me up: I mean, look at us with our open communication with our beautiful offspring, and we were still being all normal and married and secure while getting on each other's nerves and stuff.

But someplace in the back of my mind, I knew June 12 was coming up. That date meant something; but I couldn't remember exactly what. Was our daughter supposed to be somewhere? Was my husband working late and I was supposed to be home early from work? Was there a submission deadline? WAS IT FATHER'S DAY?

In a bona fide panic, I desperately Googled June 12.

June 12, 2016: National Loving Day. The day to commemorate the 1967 ruling of Loving v The State of Virginia that said mixed marriages - like ours - were no longer illegal because Richard and Mildred Loving, an interracial couple who had to leave their state or FACE JAIL TIME BECAUSE THEY WANTED TO BE MARRIED TO EACH OTHER, said enough is enough and took their case to the Supreme Court.

Mildred and Richard Loving

It was the day that put our present day lives into motion -- from my bellowing, to my husband's irritated nasal response, to the person my husband and I created, to our fancy intellectual, open-communication, model interracial family -- and secured it not only for us, but for our descendants too.

Us, being all fancy.
I don't know how the date slipped my mind.

But I do know that we were born on Third Base. We didn't hit a triple. Richard and Mildred  Loving did.