in the midst of metamorphosis

You may wonder what that is behind me. Let me introduce you. It's my closet. I take it with me wherever I go. Like Superman, I walk in, then reappear in costume. I have a lot. Too many. So tonight, I'm cleaning out my closet. . There's some old ones shoved way in the back. They haven't been worn in years, but occasionally make their way to the front. They taunt me. I did my best to do them proud. I failed. . There are worn ones. I wear them often. They don't fit me, but they do fit other's ideas of me. Grudgingly, I put them on and become what they want me to be. Each time, I lose a little piece of me. I hate them. . There are fancy ones. The good ones. Reserved for times where I need to impress others with who I am, or who I think that I want to be. I keep these separate. In my mind that somehow makes them better. They're not. . There are tight ones. Constricting. There is no flexibility, no room for growth, and change, and newness, and creativity.

This will be a series of posts in which I honor my grandparents, both my blood ones and my love ones. All of my grandparents have departed this life for the next one. This is my way of remembering, honoring, and loving them. This second one is dedicated to my pappy and mamaw C. We relocated to this area when I was four years old. We moved into a large, older farmhouse that was really two houses in one. They lived on one side and we were on the other, separated by one unlocked door that required only a simple knock and maybe a shout-out in order to step across into the other's home. We lived there until I was sixteen. Those twelve years are full of so many beautiful memories. I grew up there, and though they were not blood related, they did their part as grandparents, helping me on my path to maturity. ************************************************************************************* I remember .....butchering day. We never ventured outside until we knew the killing part w

At the beginning of this year(2010), I heard someone speak about the Golden Buddha encased in plaster (google it if you don't know the story). This post details my struggle to rid myself of my own plaster encasing in order to be the me that I was always intended to be.   Year after year. Layer upon layer. It continues to build up. More, more, more. Outsiders contribute some, with their demands, expectations, thoughtless words, rejection. More, more, more. I can't help but add to it myself, in a hopeless attempt to preserve the vulnerable core. More, more, more. The plaster shell is rock hard. It has to be. How else will I protect myself? Inside, I hide, unsure if the real me even wants to venture out. What is waiting for me? The unknown can be frightening, intimidating. If I stay here, I have a chance at protection, at anonymity. But, locked inside, I am growing weaker, emaciated. I want to kick out, break loose, take off these bindings, tear down the walls that

*In 1967, the year that interracial marriage was legalized everywhere in the United States, 72% of Americans were opposed to it, and 48% felt that it should be prosecuted as a criminal act. *In 1991, the percentage of people opposed to interracial marriage (finally) became the minority. ................................................................................................................................................................... ................................................................................................................................................................... Growing up multiracial in this white part of the world was difficult, to say the least. My parents married only one year after it was legal for them to do so. My dad is white, of German and Swiss descent, and my mom is black, with a heritage that has traced our roots back to Africa, and also includes Native American and white. I was born into an era where the majority of peo

This will be a series of posts in which I honor my grandparents, both my blood ones and my love ones. All of my grandparents have departed from this life for the next one.. This is my way of remembering, honoring, and loving them. This first one is dedicated to my grandma F - my dad's mom. ************************************************************************************ I remember .....the candy tins. They were full of butter mints, jujyfruits, orange slices, licorice, butterscotches, gum drops, jelly beans, circus peanuts, tootsie rolls, good & plenty, candy corn, root beer barrels, caramel creams, and so many more. They sat in the same room, in the same place. There were at least six of them, maybe more, and they always held something different, something delicious. After greeting grandma, it was the next place we headed. I don't recall eating a lot of candy at home, but at grandma's, it was allowed, even encouraged. She had diabetes, so I don't think that