Thursday, July 28, 2005

Yes, It's Real

This is being written to all of you rude people who feel it's okay to come up to me and ask me stupid-ass personal questions.

1. Yes, people. My eyes are green. My mother, father and brother all have green eyes. No, I don't wear contacts. Yes, black folks have all different color eyes. I guess you all missed Roots. Yes, folks they are real.

2. This is for all of the sisters out there. Yes, this is my hair. Yes, my hair has color in it. No, I don't use straightening chemicals, combs or potions. This is my hair-not a weave. Yes folks it's real.

3. Yes folks, these are my nails. No, I don't go to Mama Sings Nail Salon and pay a fortune to have tons of toxic chemicals painted on my nails and then wonder why mine don't grow. DUH!!!!! Rub some oil, any kind of vegetable oil will do, but jojoba oil is the absolute best oil for skin and nails, rub the oil into your nail beds and your cuticles-keep your cuticles pushed back and your nails will grow. Yes folks mine are real.

Nuf said.

Monday, July 25, 2005


Since my last diatribe on work I thought I would try another tack about work and explore some "out of the ordinary" jobs and organizations.

Everyone who knows me well knows that I love to dance. That's what I should have pursued, but that's neither here nor there. There is an organization that's mission is to "advance the art of dance through a system of notation". The website goes into what this means exactly and more. And there's a link for their library.

I don't think we really think about heavy machinery unless we a. see some, b. need some or c. some machinery that we need breaks. The folks who install and repair machinery are millwrights. Here is some information on this occupation.

I have always been drawn to anything to do with cold weather. I love winter, cold-weater mysteries and would love to live way,way the hell up North. I also have had a fascination with this profession. Ever since this program came on the Discovery Channel I have been like a kid with a new toy.

When I was a kid I used to go to square dances. I had big fun and for once I actually didn't feel uncomfortable being the only person of color in the joint. (i often wonder why I didn't feel uncomfortable-I've had a whole lifetime of being the only POC in many, many, many places and I always feel self-conscious, but I never did there. I even feel self-conscious when I'm not the only POC (like here at work), but that's for another time). Anywho the square dance callers used to fascinate me. I thought what a cool job. I actually thought this was all they did. I didn't realize that this was generally a part-time gig. The callers also have an association. The International Association of Square Dance Callers. So swing your partner over and visit the site (couldn't resist).

Finally a job I had never given much thought to, but I still think it's fascinating nonetheless. For you snow skiers out there I bet you never thought much about the edge of your skies, but there is someone whose job it is to paint the edges of your skies. There title; yep, you guessed it-Ski Edge Painter. This site also contains a listing of some more interesting occupations like Green Tire Inspector, Bowling Ball Patcher and Pneumatic Deicer Inspector.

Now I wonder who makes those giant lifeguard chairs. Hmmmm.....

Friday, July 22, 2005


Instead of legislating laws in support of more fuel-efficient vehicles, solar energy technology and the scrapping of all SUVs, the bozos on the hill have decided to extend Daylight Savings Time (DST). I loathe, detest and hate DST. I always have. The thoughts of having it light outside at 9:00 at night at the end of October makes me very, very,very depressed.

While I am on my soapbox there are many things in the world that irritate me, but one thing that has always been a burr under my saddle is all of the little, petty injustices there are in the workplace. I am sick, sick, sick of people without any sort of credentials being in positions where their qualifications are sorely lacking. It sickens me that there are people with high school diplomas walking around with the title and salary that normally would only go to someone with an advanced degree. Yes, these are the same bitties that think that what they do is so very important to the scheme of the universe. Yeah, right. And it amazes me that people don't see anything wrong with them floating through life on a humbug. I would really like to go up to all of these people and tell them what they can do for me, but I know that what goes around comes around-so they too will get theirs.

I guess I should be use to such things. Those of us who have had a lifetime of this sort of thing know the real deal on all of these "plantations" and we also know there's not too much we can do about it. Just cowboy up, suck it up and keep on keepin' on.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

Cow Doilies

I hadn't thought about cow doilies until I was riding by this beautiful meadow the other day. The meadow was lush with wild flowers sprinkled throughout the grasses. I spied the "cow doilies" and had to chuckle to my self. You see cow doilies are really Queen Anne's Lace.

Queen Anne's Lace is also called cow's parsley so perhaps that is where our name from it started.

We called them cow doilies and I don't think I knew the real name for them until I was in high school. I haven't thought of them as cow doilies in a long time, but when I saw that beautiful meadow the term just popped back into my head. We use to put the doilies in water that had a few drops of food coloring added. The flowers drew upon the water and became tinged with the food coloring.

The plant's name is said to derive from Queen Anne, ruler of England from 1702 to 1714. She is said to have challenged her ladies-in-waiting to see who could make lace as beautiful as that of the wild carrot. Some even claim that, as the queen embroidered, she pricked her finger and a drop of blood fell on the middle of her doily matching that royal purpleish-red spot in the middle of the flower.

If you read Wikipedia's description it states that the Queen Anne in question is not the one that first comes to mind. This Queen Anne was Anne of Denmark, James I of England's wife.

I've heard people describe the smell of this plant as a cross between honey and burning rubber. I've always thought it had a smell of honey and burning paper, but whatever.

I leave you with William Carlos Williams poem Queen Anne's Lace.

Queen Anne's Lace

Her body is not so white as
anemone petals nor so smooth - nor
so remote a thing. It is a field
of the wild carrot taking
the field by force; the grass
does not raise above it.
Here is no question of whiteness,
white as can be, with a purple mole
at the center of each flower.
Each flower is a hand's span
of her whiteness. Wherever
his hand has lain there is
a tiny purple blemish. Each part
is a blossom under his touch
to which the fibres of her being
stem one by one, each to its end,
until the whole field is a
white desire, empty, a single stem,
a cluster, flower by flower,
a pious wish to whiteness gone over--
or nothing.

Monday, July 18, 2005


This will just be a short post, but I had to share this photograph of these very limber animals.

Friday, July 08, 2005


The last time I was home sick I was going through one of the many notebooks that I have been compiling through the years. This notebook is filled with favorite quotations, passages from books that I love and poems. One poem that always reminds me of being sick as a child is The Land of Counterpane by Robert Louis Stevenson. I was sick a lot as a child and this is one of the poems that my mother and grandmother used to read to me. I can't read this poem without thinking of being so sick with my asthma, but still feeling safe and snuggly warm.

The Land of Counterpane

When I was sick and lay a-bed,
I had two pillows at my head,
And all my toys beside me lay
To keep me happy all the day.

And sometimes for an hour or so
I watched my leaden soldiers go,
With different uniforms and drills,
Among the bed-clothes, through the hills;

And sometimes sent my ships in fleets
All up and down among the sheets;
Or brought my trees and houses out,
And planted cities all about.

I was the giant great and still
That sits upon the pillow-hill,
And sees before him, dale and plain,
The pleasant land of counterpane.

Robert Louis Stevenson

I don't think you ever get to old to hear that.

Wednesday, July 06, 2005

One Brief Moment

One day while riding home from work on the subway, a woman boarded. In her hand was a bunch of balloons. I was standing right by the doors so I gave her a glance and went back to reading my book. All of sudden this little voice utters, "Happy Birthday, It’s your birthday". I put down my book and smiled and saw the most amazing thing was happening in the subway train. People also put down their books, their newspapers and turned around smiling, trying to find who this adorable child was that saw the balloons and wished the woman Happy Birthday. For one brief moment we all seemed to be as one,somehow lightened and delighted by the voice of a child. I have had some not so nice experiences on the subway, but I will never forget that one brief moment when the humdrum routine of the commute home was utterly transposed.