A letter to 2011

Dear 2011,

It's me, Amanda. I don't need to tell you that your friends, 2010, 2009 and 2008 have not been all that nice to me. Sure, we shared some laughs and we made it. But, when the chips were down, they just didn't come through. And I'm not necessarily looking to lay blame, because I didn't hold up my end of the bargain either. But, that was then and those days are behind us. So, 2011, you and I, I think we really got something. And it's worth fighting for.

So, let's fight together for every ounce of joy ahead of us.
Lets suck the marrow from this year and squeeze every drop of sweetness from the vine.
Let's hold nothing back and leave it all out of the field.

So, here's our song, let's sing it loud:

Gloria (Michael Franti & Spearhead)

When many little people in many little places do many little things,
then the whole world changes. But sometimes not fast enough for me.

You see I'm just a little man, trying hard to understand
What kind of living is a life if I can't stand on my own two feet.

You see we are looking for the same thing, and we are trying to survive.
But I know each day in life don't get much easier than the last,
So today I'm just glad to be alive.

And I'm singing:Gloria, Gloria, Gloria, stay by my side.
Gloria, Gloria, Gloria, I'm glad to be alive.
I'm glad to be alive.

I think that life is a blessing, and every step, every lesson,
You offer love and protection to those in need.

To all my mothers and fathers and all the angels who saved me,
I'm so glad to be alive.

Seems like there's never enough time to do the things I wanna do
And it never ends. But at the end of the day I might not have no money to count or spend,
But I know I can count on all my friends. (call on me)

See we are looking for the same thing
And we are trying to survive
And I know each day in life with you gets better than the last
So today I'm just glad to be alive

And I'm singing: Gloria, Gloria, Gloria, stay by my side
Gloria, Gloria, Gloria, I'm glad to be alive
Glad to be alive

I'm just trying to find a way to say
I'm just trying to find a way to say
Don't you ever, ever, ever go away

When many little people in many little places
Do many little things, then the whole world changes
But I just want you next to me

And I'm singing: Gloria, Gloria, Gloria, stay by my side
Gloria, Gloria, Gloria, I'm glad to be alive
Glad to be alive

Singing: Gloria, Gloria, Gloria, stay by my side
Gloria, Gloria, Gloria, I'm glad to be alive
I'm glad to be alive
I'm glad to be alive.

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So, 2011 - - whats say you and me take it to a whole 'nother level?
We got this.
It's gonna be a great year.

Peace and Love. lots of both.
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What I'm listening to:

Michael Franti & Spearhead
The Sound of Sunshine







What I'm Reading:

Meeting the Family
Donovan Webster

Tale of a Chicken...

So, I think it all went well with the chicken. I used this recipe from the Pioneer Woman and her friend, Ryan.

I didn't have any canola oil and I regretted not picking up any at the store, because of the lower smoking point of other oils. I ended up using veggie oil, and it worked with only a few trips to towel-fan the smoke detector. Libby was no fan of the beeping alarm.

So here's a before and after:

















It turned out pretty great. I pulled about 5 small baggies of meat from the carcass. So I'll probably freeze two for soup, and use the other three for meals. Tonight, I'll attempt the making of stock from the leftover bits. Hopefully with equally great results.

So far my December plan has been going along very well, and my body has begun to show its happiness and gratitude. I've shed a few pounds and all-around I'm starting to feel better.

...and Libby is much enjoying the longer morning walks.
So it's good for all of us, really. :)

on bugeting and healthier living...

So I've kept a record of nearly every dime I've earned and spent this year. (I don't keep track of cash - so that's just listed as occasional ATM withdrawals - but I do most of my debits with my debit card anyway). And what have I learned? I spend too much, and most of that comes down to laziness, and most of that has to do with food purchases. I spent easily twice what was necessary on food because it's just easier to swing by someplace and pick up something, whether that be a grocer, a deli, or fast food. But - I actually like to cook. I've just gotten out of the habit.

I have also gained a few unwanted pounds this year, to no surprise.

So, welcome December. December is my new year. I'm starting early. Going to get a jump on the resolution crowd waiting until January. I'm going to attempt to cook or otherwise prepare all the food I consume this month. This means no eating out, unless it's purely social - and even that, I would like to see cut back to next to nothing. It doesn't make sense, for my health and for my finances to keep spending money on food this way. Also, the portion sizes are too large and the overall health of the food I eat out is questionable at best. So - here goes. For this evening, I have purchased a whole chicken. My first whole chicken I've ever prepared. Now, I have done one turkey, so how much different can it be? But, I figure I can get at least 3-4 meals from the meat on the bird, and also make stock from the leftover bits. So, I'm kindof excited about that... because the chicken was only about $5.

I'll post tomorrow about how it goes, and maybe even do a few pictures.

And I'll try to blog about my experience through the month - about how it goes with trying not to eat out or result to quick drive-thru meals... and hopefully about other healthy choices and their happy consequences.


What I'm reading:


Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (audiobook)
J.K. Rowling



One Day
David Nicholls








Animal Dreams
Barbara Kingsolver

Vocalise

You were the notes on the page
The notes and the chords
Curly-Que’d reminders red penned in margins
Begging BREATHE

Slender painted fingers mirrored on the fall of a
nine foot black baby grand,
taught me to trust the noise from my body
Could be music
pulled room-spinning resonance from my
Shy sixteen year old frame.

As nervous Doc Martens perched
on an ornate maroon Persian rug,
threads of worn denim mingled
with those from other worlds.
And unknown words in other languages teased
my tongue when you were near.

You were the light in the corner
The amber-soaked pages
and the sounds of their swift turnings.
You were all the music in the room.
All the music in the world.

You were the notes on the page
The notes and the chords
You are the light in the corner
And all the music in me.



For Deborah Dunn Rumble

Civil Rights Pilgrimage

In the Spring of 2009, I took a class and subsequent trip to discover our Civil Rights heritage and continuing journey. I have finally collected some of my writings from that tour and share them here...

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“If you want to say that I was a drum major, say that I was a drum major for justice; say that I was a drum major for peace; I was a drum major for righteousness. And all of the other shallow things will not matter.”
-Martin Luther King, Jr.

Reflections

I am in a fishbowl
wide bulbous eyes glare
but the glass separates
the glass
ostracizes glass
glass ceiling
glass wall demarking a segregated waiting room

I will never know how it feels
the sensation of
that particular brand of
fear
of fury
passion erupting when he cried out

THEY KILLED OUR DRUM MAJOR

I looked through the glass
camera lens and
snapped a photo

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The Ripple affects

It started with small hands and wide
Eyes looking
Looking for freedom for
Righteousness
A few grains of sand can
Change the tide
A few hands
Clap Clap Clapping out a foreign rhythm
An African beat the
Gospel percussion of a single dreamer
Battle cry of a generation
My sons and daughters cry out
For change change change
For FREEDOM

crying out like children often do
crying out like children with their
small hands balled in fists
small hands and wide eyes staring
small miracles
begin
a revolution

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Bloody Sunday

A man in a dapper black suit and bowler hat marches in front of me. He is seventy or more. I busy myself taking photographs, star-struck by dignitaries and yet here in my sight view, I also snap this frame, the outline of black bowler against so infamous a bridge and I wonder what was his story.

I don’t make a habit of talking to strangers. The very act makes my heart seize, the breath
Short. I’m not certain the source or reason for this fear. The look in his eyes. Haunting.
An opportunity missed for the connection, the immersion, I was so certain I desired.
The segregation is in me.

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US-80 W

Driving, or well, riding, as the case may be, down this road from Selma to Montgomery is something of a trail of tears experience for me. I look at the two lane highway with its grassy median and try to imagine the rich soil beneath. This Black Belt – Lowndes County soil and the share-croppers who once picked cotton here, day in and day out. I stare down the road imagining the thousands of marchers making their way on a wide dirt road.
I see tent cities and determination. Conjure visions of the outstretched masses gaining to some twenty-five thousand by the time they reached Montgomery. They are singing freedom songs. In these individuals bound together is the richness of this Black Belt soil.

The kind of foundation of firmament from which good things can grow.

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Archives at Ole Miss

A table littered with hatred mass-produced
mimeographed pamphlets demanding the right
God-given at times
to segregate and denigrate a people, a race

And we move closer to see their eyes
This darkness of skin pigment, other
subtle ways we separate

We move in to touch these
advertisements, an invitation to join the Klan
Slave records
N’ words
Hate
Hate
The audacity of Hate

How can this be overcome?

Calliope Sounds

What a funhouse mirror is love
Our carnival act closed on a
Two bit train to another town
You the tattooed strong man mustachioed and bald
Vulnerable flesh concealed by
Sleeves of translucent dyes
Patterned scales and tribal offerings.

What was I but your Pagliacci
Sad clown to make you smile
Our tragedy a comic affair
Now that years have swept the last of
Cotton candied sweetness
From our sudden summer spectacle.

I look for you among lion tamers
And stilt-toting tall men
You the organ grinder
With your dance monkey dance
Who will play for me
When the train moves on?

More recent poems

Bibliophile

This one was put in a jacket
Binding cracked, chapter three now removable
As if its words, quite unnecessary
Could be dispensed of entirely
Dependent on the reader’s mood

These time-yellowed pages, a second skin
I admit much smoother than my own
She carries her own set of scars
A coffee stain on page seventy-three I could
Attribute to the dog but I’d be lying

Lines on margin notes
Small doodled stars and open
Circles perhaps she is
More pocked than I
The years I have studied her

Her form now safely shelved
This simple covering
Betrays not her condition
Both well worn
And well loved

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For L., now five years mine

Recumbent Anubis
Ears piqued to grasp the breath of a dying dream
Creases of skin and hair black as the dead of night
Black as the Nile soil from which you came
Jackal Terror Guardian at the Gate

Take this heart to the scales of Ma'at and weigh it
Is there truth enough in me
Love enough in these deeds

Mercy me Anubis
As I follow you through the dark
To the tombs of my Fathers
My Kings and my priests

Scavenge this remnant to the Kingdom of Osiris
Smile on me with feral eye
Something so familiar
My companion in this world
Guide in the next

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