Standing Strong in the Midst of the Storm

Lately I have been feeling less than happy, dealing with the curves that life always seems to throw at me just when I am on the way to making a breakthrough towards living one of my dreams for myself.  Trying to stand strong in the midst of the storm is tiring, but I have been holding on, praying, and somehow maintaining.  Thinking back on the events of the last week, I have been feeling like my life is on a little upturn, and I am claiming a little success.  I measure that success through the filter of what it means to me to be an adult, a parent, a responsible person. It means biting my lip to mask the pain.  It means putting on my big girl pants and persevering.  It means thinking and planning, and trying really hard, harnessing small opportunities for success.  It means when I fall short, monitor and adjust, and try again.  It also means to keep believing, even when things seem impossible and highly unlikely, always believing that something good is going to happen for me.  And when things do go well, it means celebrating and saying thank you, and being happy if even for a moment, and using that moment of momentum to propel myself forward.  I am writing this blog tonight, the first one since July, and celebrating small successes.  Woot, woot!  Thank you, Lord!

Speaking of putting on my big girl pants…  Saturday (9/20), I had hoped to go to my hometown, Warrenton, NC, for the 1^st Annual African-American Cultural Festival.  I had my camera charged up, and envisioned rolling through town with my boys, Jordan and Jalen, showing and telling them about my childhood life, and listening to the rich, proud history of contributions of black people to the County of Warren, carved from the huge swath of land once owned by the Earl of Bute.  I had even pictured in my mind how I was going to see the exhibits set up in the old Community Center, home of the former library for black Warrentonians during the time of segregation.  Jordan and Jalen would go up the long, wide rows of concrete steps, so fun to sit on back in the day, and video and take pictures of everything on display so that I could feel a part of the exhibit.  I had hoped that I would see some of my old schoolmates, especially Veronica Coleman Alston and her husband, Herman Alston, who spearheaded and organized this annual event.  I have heard and read nothing but positive reviews about the festival.  Awesome job, you guys!  I am hoping that next year will allow me to attend.

Though bummed by not being able to attend, I still feel good about the reason that I didn’t—sacrificing my wants and whims for the real necessity of meeting family obligations.  I try to spend my money in thrift, and try to plan for fun times every now and again, lately only every once in a blue moon, as my mom used to say.  I received an unexpected but greatly appreciated financial blessing earlier in the week, which made my heart smile, and gave ease to the worries I have been mulling, fighting, and wrestling with in my mind lately.  I tried up until the last minute of Saturday morning to convince myself that the boys and I could go to the festival (Duke had to work) and have frugal fun, and finish up homework and other obligations Saturday night and Sunday.  But my reality silently screamed in my head at me and said that I was listening to Jan, child, and was ready to satisfy her wants of the idyllic day I had planned in my mind and heart.  But Jan, mom, tugged on my gut and pulled on my familial heartstrings as my mind refocused on our reality and the blessing of being able to fulfill family obligations, that this is the responsible, loving thing to do, and what I am supposed to do to help the family through tough times.  After coffee and morning news, I made sure that Jalen got up to finish his outside of class reading so that we could go to the library to check out new books.  He also wrote excellent journal entries about his reading for the week, much better than the drivel he tried to pass off the week before, which I made him redo several times before passing the muster of something the teacher would want to read.  Kudos and parent signature on the first go round.  Blessing!

We got showered and dressed, and went to the library.  Jalen got another Walter Dean Myers book, The Autobiography of My Dead Brother, which I secretly smiled about as we met at the self-checkout counter.  I didn’t dare arouse his rebellious nature with my approval and make him not want to read the book, lol.  But it is a book that I have on a list of books I googled with him in mind, books that are pretty good reads, popular among avid teen readers, and often discussed in 8^th grade language arts classes. I have such knowledge, why not shower it on my own child, I figure?  After all, the legacy of sharing the love of books with others has been a passion since birth, and not just because of teaching.  Story hour with Mommee before going to bed at night, fondly remembered, and later reading under the covers with a flashlight, desperate to finish the book I was reading, were the precursors to my love of reading made manifest in my teaching.  He seems to be enjoying the book so far.  Blessing!

While drinking my coffee, I was also surfing the net on my Nook, and ran across a sale at Belk’s that really decided that we were not going to the festival.  We did not buy new uniforms at the beginning of the school year.  Jalen has plenty of the horrendous, mandatory to order to get the right shade of woodsman green polo shirts worn in the middle school, and his shorts from last year still fit.  But with playing football and a markedly increased appetite, they were beginning to get snug.  Belk’s had a fantastic door buster sale on men’s Savane slacks—buy one, get TWO free!  At $65 a pair, this was an excellent deal at about $22 bucks a piece.  Perfect—the choice of how to spend my money was easy, and I didn’t care if he really didn’t want them because he wanted more shorts.  As fall began this week and the temperature has become crispier, I totally ignored him and made him go try on a pair of the 32 x 32s.  Great fit, room to grow, the sales clerk and I scoured the shelves to find the 3 pair of khakis left in his size.  Blessing!  Monday morning I saw him in his old shorts, but when he finally emerged from his room he had on the slacks and looked really nice.  I smiled; another victory.  Blessing!

After a quick pick up of a few items at the grocery store, we headed home to complete chores, work on homework, and veg out on football.  By the time that Duke got home from work, the aroma of a turkey vegetable soup well on its way was filling up the kitchen.  Judging by the little bit that is left today, it was delicious.  My mama taught me how to make a good soup stock, no matter what is on hand to throw in the pot.  We were like Bill Cosby on The Cosby Show when he was determined to make an anniversary dinner from the Islands for Clair—“Cal-la-loooooo!”  The soup was yummy and filling.  Blessing!

It’s just a little more struggle until the end of the month, but I am thankful for family, friends, and life.  I am standing a little stronger, I feel a little happier, and my wings are not so low to the ground.  My dreams may still be simmering on the back burners, but I still believe they will come true.  I am standing strong in the midst of the storm.  I am reasonably happy, and these are the things that really count.  Blessing!