missrenie: (Default)
So I call mom last night.
She calls me a hussy (as usual) and tells me to calm the fuck down.  Don't  label anything, enjoy it for what ever the hell it is and a take a god damn breath.

mom rocks.

So after some soup and tlc I think I have just about reached normalcy...
or what passes as normal for me. 

And now that  I think about it... you know calm the fuck down and take a deep breath,  I realize that these "symptoms" coincide with something else that has been happening to me lately.  Mayhaps it is a time to pay a visit to bob and see what he has to say about the subject.
missrenie: (Default)

Tea –noun
5.any of various infusions prepared from the leaves, flowers, etc., of other plants, and used as beverages or medicines.
10.one's cup of tea, something suitable, appropriate, or attractive to one: Horror movies and westerns are just not my cup of tea.

We complain about our lives… I complain about my life… sometimes I down right bitch about it. This is not a bad thing. Complaining helps me realize that there is a problem that I need to fix. However excessive complaining is a problem in itself. This is where the tea comes in. Good tea.. .not that lipton shit.
Good Tea is not just tossed together. It is not just an accident. The seed has to be planted, the seed has to grow, the plant must be harvested, the harvest must be separated from the chaff, the leaves must be dried carefully, water must almost boil, then the leaves must regenerated themselves in seemingly opposing elements fire like heat and water, and just when they blossom and unfurl once again releasing like a butterfly emerging from the cocoon their life essence gets taken from them, infused changed into something new. For great tea there must be an even greater patience. I myself and my life itself are no different than the tea.
Which touches on :
Personal Truth 3
There is a Tao to everything. If you open yourself to it (but that is for another day)
The things that happen in my life are not just accidents… well not everything :).
Life is like the tea. Sometimes we brew it for ourselves sometimes other people brew it for us. We brew with actions, and reactions and thoughts. We pick our ingredients (actively or passively) … sometimes some bastards sneak up behind you and toss something in the mix. Other times we see them put it in and just let it stay… too lazy to pick it out ourselves, or too afraid to displease them.

And when the tea is done we drink
It tastes like shit
We bitch
And pour another cup
Toast and bottoms up
If it ain't my cup of tea… why the fuck am I drinking it?! Why complain and then do nothing. Why did I fill myself with the same bitter drink over and over again. Because I was worried that if I spit it out I would look like a stuck up ungrateful bitch, I was worried that it was too late to start a new batch, grow new plants and wait for a new harvest, and no matter how appalling the taste was I knew what too expect… and in that there was comfort despite the discomfort.
My mom is teaching me all about tea.
She is at the age now where she does not want me to admit how old I am because people will figure out how old she is… but she is starting a whole new brew for herself from just the seeds. She has the courage to spit, too not drink, to demand a better quality from herself. She has no idea what it will come out like or even if she will be able to finish it at all. And that is inspiring.
She laughed at me when I told her I was hesitant about starting everything over. She said that she understood my fear but that I was a silly hussy for using that as an excuse. If the shoe is fucking up your foot kick it off and if something in your life, whether it be a person, a thing, a job, a situation a habit is not your cup of tea i.e. ."Something suitable, appropriate, or attractive to one" stop accepting it in your life. Fill your cup with something else and stop being such a silly hussy.
I am mama and I love you.


Oct. 7th, 2006 11:32 am
missrenie: (Default)
My brother called this morning and mom is doing just fine
She should be eating solid food as soon as Monday
I don..t even want to consider how this could have ended up
And maybe that is why I can..t write about it
I want to pretend that it never even happened
That she was never in any type of danger
Because I can..t imagine, fathom, it
The thing of my darkest childhood nightmare.


Oct. 2nd, 2006 12:31 pm
missrenie: (Default)
All I could think was

I’m not ready.
Not ready to lose my mother.
When Joe called me early that morning to tell me that she was in the hospital
in a voice that was meant to keep me calm,
I freaked out.
I hung up the phone and screamed.
Screamed, screamed and cried until I was sick.
When I called her, her voice was so small.
I tried to keep the tears in but I couldn’t help it.
She just keep saying,
“Don’t cry... I love you too.”
I apologized for crying, and hung up.

I spoke with mama today
She said the pain had gotten so bad that she was passing out and that is when she realized that she had to go to the hospital.
She called friends and asked for a ride.
They were worried.
They wanted her to call an ambulance.

She said “ No, I wanna walk out
cause I’m planning on walking back in!”

When she reached the hospital
They didn’t want to help her
because of how she looked.
Because of the locks in her hair
“But God gave me the pain at just the right time,” she said.
She passed out again.
They admitted her.
They didn’t give her anything for the pain,
because of the locks in her hair and the color of her skin
“They made me drink the liquid for the GI test even though I said I couldn’t”
My mother who graduated summa cum laude.
“But I threw up”
My mother a teacher of 30 plus years.
“And I kept throwing up.”
Because of the locks in her hair and the color of her skin.
“They thought I was a one of those pain pill abusers... or hooked on drugs.”
There was no anger in her voice, no shock or surprise.
Just an occupational hazzard of being a black woman who reused to let society tell her how to look while living in the south.

There is a tube in her stomach and sucking the stuff out of her intestines.
Her insides are twisted.

Family gathered.
She says “ There were so many people here that they might as well have had fried chicken and red beans... It looked like a family reunion.”
She laughed.
“You’re on extreme detox momma,” I say after she tells me about the nutrients having to be pumped in intra venously.
“I’ll be a brand new woman... brand new on the inside,” She replies “I’ve been struggling with those last few pounds... I don’t think I’ll have to worry about that now.”

Family went to her FEMA  trailer in New Orleans. to try to find something to eat... to help “clear” the fridge so she would not have to worry about food going off when she got back.
But they didn’t know what to do with contents of my mother’s refrigerator:
steelcut oats
whole grain rice
alligator pearls (avocados)
kashi whole grain fiber ceral

“Aunt Ella said that it was all the fiber ...she said:
 that’s what I get for eating all funny”
They made fun of her for the healthy foods she ate and all she could do was hold up her hand in protest.

“Look at the bread” They said to her.“ No wheat?! Seeds and grains?! Lawd Joyce if you dropped this so called bread on the ground it would grow trees!!!”
All she could do was groan and roll her eyes as they talked over her scolding her for eating funny  and promising to feed her proper when she got out:
red beans with rice
collards with hammock
pig tails
chicken stews
“Good Lawd!!!!” they said to her “It’s a wonder you aint wasted away on stuff like that... that’s not cereal that’s twigs and branches honey... Joyce when you get out of here we will get you right again”:
creamed potatoes
fried chicken
fried okra
hot water corn cakes.

She’s not mad... not mad at all about the scolding, the wagging fingers, the gentle rebukes and pokes.  She knows like I know like they know... food in the hands of a southern woman is not simply a dish, not simply a recipe but a magick spell passed from mother to daughter, shared from sister to sister, entrusted friend to friend.  Powerful and potent potions stirred mixed from the mind rarely written that whispers the secrets of mothers gone and yet to come again.

Aunt Ella said:
You coming home with me when you get outta here.

Jeanie and Sharah said:
She staying here with us so she can get on her feet
so she can get back to work

Aunt Ella said:
She stays with me you hear!!
That’s my sistah’s baby
She commin home so I can take care of her

Mama said:
Oh Lord
and groans

but there is a smile beneath it.

Don’t let them make you sick..er  mama.
I say
I won’t
she whispers...
voice warm and worn and tried still the most beautiful sound in the universe to me
the sound of my mother’s voice in my ear
I know I have to let her go.
So she can rest.
But it’s hard to do.

I’ll never be ready to let go of her
this woman,
my mother
I’m not ready
and I never will be ready
My soul is wrapped in her soul
I learned the rhythm of the heart’s beat from hers.
I learned to dance and sing and cry.
I learned to fight, and cuss, survive.
There are still things for her to teach me.
but I’m not ready for that lesson.
And I’ll never be ready for the last lesson she has to teach me
the lesson
of letting go.

missrenie: (Default)
Dennis and I pressed our noses against shatter proof glass in the copy room trying to figure out if it was raining or hailing outside... after about two minutes we agreed that it was hail and after about five minutes of laughing from watching the passerbys below us run, dart and freak out about it we decided it was a good thing.

But as I stood there pointing out the poor soul in shorts and sandals wobbling awkwardly as if the tiny drops of ice were huge marbles I remembered my own first experience with hail.

I was 15 years old... petting my kitten Phantom on the front porch. The sky was bright blue with a few puffy clouds and the heat was blaring and intense. A normal New Orleans day. The cloud must have approached from behind because I never saw the sky darken but this was also normal.
Phantom gave me a lick and slinked off of my lap and closer towards to front door and curled up.. I thought to take a nap. And thats when it happened... rain at first until it changed and instead of hitting the side walk and turning it dark grey it bounced, and bounced and hit me. And I freaked out
but but here are my reasons why
1- never seen hail
2- raised Roman Catholic
3- just saw The 10 commandments with Charleston Heston
4- has a mother who was known to mumble “we are living in our last days” , “the world is coming to an end” “the day of judgment we know neither the day or the hour” at least twice a day
(I would be surprised to wake up every morning to find that it had not happened and horrified that today would be the day, and worried that the rapture would happen: while I was on the toilet, or still a virgin, or during sex, or in an elevator or a combination of the above)

I was however still a virgin so this was a bad thing.
It began to come down harder and harder... in bigger and bigger pieces... and I knew from the 10 commandments that it would start to catch fire soon so I had to get inside
I was frantic
I flew off the porch
got my leg stuck in the hedge
After wrenching myself free I dashed and I mean dashed up the ramp to the side door
cursing at myself for losing time in the hedges
the door was locked
I ran around to the back of the house and began banging like a wild woman
My mother let me in
I slammed the door and pressed against keeping the forces of hell or vengeance of whatever at bay.

“What the hell is your problem?”
“Ice mama ice from the sky.. There is ice coming out of the sky... its raining ice” which was hard to say as breathless as I was
My mother I thought was amazingly calm and said “You mean hail”
“Yes you dingy hail”
silence during which I remembered my lessons in science class about weather and cold air and hot air and blah blah blah.

“So the worlds not coming to an end”
long silence (im sure she was weighing the pros and cons of messing with my head )
“No Irene”

With my heart racing I slumped to the floor, my glasses fogging up, beads of sweat dripping from my temples, relived... that I had not died a virgin.

missrenie: (Default)

Mom lost all the stuff that my bro and I made her while we were growing up... she kept it under her bed. The house took in a foot of water. All of it was lost. So im going to start making my mom construction paper cards.

Kris and I stopped off and Michael's to get craft stuff for the coven and I found the perfect pack of construction paper. I was positively glowing when I got my hands on it. I squealed so much that Kris threatened to slap the black off of me. I was undaunted. Before we got in the car I had got it open and was sniffing it. I smiled the entire way home as I molested it, fingering though the seven color choices. Occasionally squealing with delight as I pressed it against myself despite several threats and rolled eyes.

For a few minutes I was a kid again. A happy kid. I'm not sure what kind of experience I had with construction paper when I was younger that makes me so damn giddy around it... aroused even. But I am glad that happiness comes so cheap :) I made my mom a card with cut out hearts in it and stashed the extra in my drawer at work...
Every once in a while I open it up lean over
and inhale

missrenie: (Default)


I spent the morning in bed with mommy talking about everything I could think of. I love her soo much and I know that she will cry when I leave even though I am going to see her again before I go. She slipped me some cash to make up for the money I lost on the limo and I am going to stay with my brother for a while at his place in Shreveport... so excited about finally being able to sleep... as long as he sleeps with the door closed to block out his snoring.

missrenie: (Default)

Yeah its Christmas... mother woke me up at 7:30 by repeatedly assaulting me with an empty aquafina water bottle because I kept her awake all night by coughing... I was shocked that she could hear it over my brothers snoring that left me sleepless and in tears all night. She pauses her onslaught to tell me that she is leaving for church in an hour. Wacks me once more for good measure gives my brother a kiss on the forehead, does an about face and leaves the room. I start to count the Jesus pictures hanging on the walls and realize that my brother has stopped snoring... I blink in surprise

at 4:30 I halt my one long blink, take a bath, eat some turkey, laugh when my mother whacks my brother for trying to serve me pork as a prank. Have two emotional break downs, take another bath, and settle down in a lumpy hard uncomfortable bed for another blink




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