No Place Like Home

I've lived in many places, but a piece of me will always reside at the two story, orange-creamsicle colored house at 946 Peck Avenue. Now vacant, that house holds fond memories from the 20 plus years I lived there with my parents and three brothers. Holidays, graduations and many happy occasions rush forth whenever I think of that place. So do hard times, deaths and the last time I locked the front door behind me with tears in my eyes.

My brothers and I shared hearty laughs as we took turns telling stories from our childhood at the Christmas dinner table. But the giggling stopped when I told them no one lived in our old house anymore. We then took turns trying to figure out why before reaching the same conclusions. Built in the early 1900, the small rooms just can't hold the larger furniture pieces people now own. And I'm sure not having closets in two of the four bedrooms doesn't help either.

But there was always plenty of room for our family and all of the guests who visited us. In our memories we still see our mom, dad and brother alive within those walls. Or the lamp in the living room shining through the curtains waiting for the last one up to turn it off before going to bed. That will always be the Eanes family home. Thank you, God, for the memories.

A History Lesson for Tiger

Tiger Woods. Already I hear the collective moans, jeers and sneers when seeing his name. People claim they're weary of the excessive news coverage regarding Wood's mistresses or lost endorsement deals. But one group I have yet to hear from are senior African-American golfers.

As a child, I knew Blacks who played golf. They bursted with pride when Lee Elders and Calvin Peete finally broke the color barrier when they were admitted into the Professional Golfers Association. And whenever Elders, Peete, or Lee Trevino played in any tournament in the 1970's, my family gathered around the tv set to cheer them on.

When I mentioned this to my friend, Amy, she told me how African-American golfers confronted discrimination in Baltimore in the 1940's. Blacks were relegated to playing on tiny, ill-kept public links while white golfers played on larger,well-manicured courses with more amenities. Since everyone's tax dollars supported the upkeep of every club in the city, Black golfers demanded equal access. The mayor's solution? "Negro Day". It was one day every summer when both Blacks and Whites were allowed to legally play on the same courses anywhere in the city.

Yes, I know Tiger considers himself to be 'cablasian'. But many who looked like him fought for decades for the very opportunuties he and others take for granted now. Even if Woods pleads ignorance, I'm sure his Black father knew it every time he watched his son tee off at the very same country clubs which denied admittance to people of color for years. And who can forget the existance of discriminatory practices of some country clubs even today? Sure these practices aren't as overt as they once were, but I've heard stories of weekend golfers who still experience discrimination the same as in generations past.

I have two prayers for Tiger. The first is to make amends to his family. Secondly, I pray he pulls the blinders off when it comes to acknowleging those who cried and died to give him the opportunity to be the best golfer in the world. No one's expecting him to be perfect. But I'm sure these same senior golfers of color would like to hear him finally say a heartfelt 'Thank You' before they die.

Thanksgiving

Last week I gathered with family and friends to celebrate Thanksgiving. It was a great time with plenty of good food, laughs and fun. Phone calls along with email exchanges with those I don't see often completed my holiday. So did shopping at the mall with my friend Diane and her daughter, Sam. The priceless time spent strengthening relationships was well worth the effort.

Quiet time brought back the intense pain of missing loved ones who have died, like my parents and my brother. Or my friend Tim, a close friend from high school. With both Christmas and New Year's fast approaching, I'm sure my longing for them will cause more tears when remembering special holiday times with them.

But the one thing I am thankful for is to have been so richly blessed in this season of thanks. There was a time when grief paralyzed me and left me deeply depressed. Now I'm grateful for being so well loved by those I miss so dearly. My daily prayer is to live my life with no regrets. And to be a blessing to those who enrich my life in countless ways.

Poetry's Gift

I'm a performance poet. What a surprise it was to discover this talent after the death of my brother, Chris. Depressed and grief-striken, my friend Val challenged me to put my feelings on paper a couple months later. It was so cathartic as words mingled with tears poured onto the pages of a notebook. I also wrote about the life my two brothers and me shared with my parents, who both died years before Chris. Weeks passed before I read any of it to Val. When I finally did, I thought I'd put them away for good. But Val had different ideas. Next thing I knew, I was facing an audience with her and my new poet friends. When it was my turn, I stood in front of a microphone hoping no one noticed my cracking voice, shaking hands, and knocking knees. Things snowballed after that first time. Nearly ten years later, I've read at numerous venues around the country and have had experiences I never dreamed of when I sat down to write those first few poems. I've also been blessed to meet and perform with prolific wordsmiths whose words inspire me long after the performances are over. Passionate thankgiving each day keeps me from wasting this special gift which has only enriched my other journalistic talents. Yes I'm still a bit nervous when I step onto a stage and look into an audience. But my poetry history began long before I knew I had it in me.

Book Love

Today I read an article discussing the merits of audiobooks. While I have nothing against using any means necessary to encourage literacy, there is something to be said for the merits of holding a book in one's hands. First, this is the phyical manifestation of an author's hard work. Many hours of sweat and rewrites go into crafting a manuscript designed to evoke emotions beginning with the eyes. Many audiobooks fail to capture finite details only brought out on hardcopy pages. For example, when I listened to an audiobook biography recently, I knew the basic story. However,even more details came to light when some members of my bookclub talked about specific incidents they felt had a much greater impact on their opinion of the person. I, too, felt the same way after reading that version. Finally, nothing compares to the tactile pleasure of choosing a particuar book. Whether it's a library,bookstore, or flea market, the thrill lingers long after the book's finished. Yes carving out time to read is challenging, but the results may pay off in ways never imagined after you've completed it. Happy reading!

Next

Ever try rekindling a relationship you knew in your heart was over? At first it was good seeing each other and sharing funny stories. But the longer we talked, the more my spirit kept reminding me why we weren't together anymore. I tried staying focused as we chatted during our unexpected encounter. We even exchanged phone numbers and email addresses. However, I knew I had no intention of keeping in touch. Nor was I hoping for a phone call any time soon. Guess that old saying was right--some people are meant to be together for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. My only wish is that my old friend finally finds that special person he's searching for because I know it's not me. And may I continue having fun while searching for mine.

Trusty Repairs

I'm a person who has to have a roll of duct tape around the house. May seem strange,but that miracle tape has saved me from many mishaps. Take suitcase repair. When my bag was new,it always seemed to be damaged in some way by the time I reached my destination. Wheels torn off,handle cracked,etc. Yes I went through all the paperwork and got the bags repaired, but the same thing happened when I went on another trip. Not having time to go through the same hassle, I secured the bag with duct tape, Voila! No more mysterious rips. And it's still holding up ten years later. My friends laugh when I pull out that trusty roll, but I don't care. Duct tape to the rescue! Now if more things in life could be repaired with those sticky,silver pieces.....

Breathe

Today I had plans to be Superwoman. I hopped out of bed with my "must do" list ready to seize the day. I paid bills, cleaned, and checked that list for that next item. But on my daily walk, I found myself slowing down to drink in the beauty of the day. The reddish-orange hues of the leaves were a striking reminder that fall is really here. So are the honking flocks of geese I saw in the blue-grey sky. Experiencing each season's unique qualities was something I missed when I lived in California. Nature's beauty reminded me to take a deep breath and give thanks. Not everything's perfect,but the world won't fall apart if it isn't.

Blogging on the One

Procratination. A word I try not to embrace,especially being a freelance journalist/poet. Waiting doesn't pay bills,get exposure or do anything except keep you in the same place today as you were yesterday. So as I learn my way around the blogging world, I hope you'll join me. I've read,heard and talked long enough before finally taking the plunge today....