Day Light Savings Time

Ok, so the question STILL remains: Why is this necessary again?!

Next Stop On This Train...Reverence!

The Number Four train's version of a Holy Roller...Yikes!!!


It has been said that New Yorkers are some of the most jaded people around. I guess that can be attributed to the fact that as New Yorkers, we've either seen or heard it all. But there was something I woke up to this morning that I didn't at all expect.

I stood amongst the herd of people cramped into the number four train. All of us trying to get to our respective destinations be it work or school. And as I'd previously observed in Is It Just Me?, people are often lost in their own world of thought while riding New York City's subways. These observations are most clear during the morning hours. All we ever really think about, besides traveling in a train car that doesn't have the distinctive bouquet known to all New Yorkers as the Parfum De Homelessness or getting a seat that isn't stained with gum, soda or some bodily fluid, is getting to our destinations. We are rarely transfixed by any of the goings on around us.

But at 9:30 this morning, I sat forced to listen to the screams of one woman and the fervent ramblings of another. “Hallelujah! Praise the Lord Jesus right now – Ha!!” “Let us all give thanks on this train this morning – Ha!!” “Jesus is your only salvation to get into the gates of heaven – Ha!!” *sigh*

Now don't get me wrong. I'm all for appreciating the word of God (or Allah, Jehovah, Elohim, Jah, Krishan or whatever one may be comfortable in calling this Spirit), but do I have to hear about it while still groggy with sleep or whilst still awaiting my first cup of coffee? It was yet another observation I made while living in this ever changing nerve center. Here's to hoping aliens don't pay a visit to the Starbuck's down the street from my office tomorrow. But this is New York, so I guess I should prepare myself for anything.

Child's Play

Walking through my day today I saw children being themselves in every incarnation. In seeing these children, I found myself thinking of them and wondering about their thoughts –- the thoughts that they may have from day to day. I find that the greatest accomplishment of a child is to be happy –- to take joy in the little things. But are the kids of today on the right track?

While heading to court and running an “adult” errand, I saw a little girl who was walking a few steps away from the courthouse with two older women. And I watched her as she briefly broke away from them to let out a great big yell and chase away a small group of pigeons who congregated near the steps. I then saw children playing in City Hall Park –- running around and laughing with every step. I couldn’t help but envy them –- envy the place they were in their lives, where they themselves were as monumental as the next game of Double Dutch or Freeze Tag that they played. But that is not to say that everything seen in a child’s life is brightly colored and happy.

The children of today are being forced into some social and political perils that they don’t deserve. There’s the war that our country is fighting right now. Two thousand eight hundred and sixteen men and women have died in this war thus far. I’m still not sure of why parents continue to bury their children over this war. Why mothers are having to explain to their children why their daddies may not be coming home. I can’t help but ponder the question: whose war is this anyway? There’s the onslaught of media to the masses, also known as media overload. This is an overload, in my opinion, that is pushed in the face of women and more specifically to little girls. Why do so many little girls believe that if they don’t wear the latest fashions or have “model” bodies, that they are not worth getting to know? Even as a grown woman, I find myself questioning things about myself because of images that I’ve seen on television or in magazines. I have a grasp on my thoughts with regards to these things. I am worth more than what the “idiot box” tells me. But these girls may not have the full comprehension to see past what is in front of them.


Children need to know that this is the best time of their lives, despite what the world suggests their worries should be. This time in their lives need to be cherished and walked through slowly (sort of like a fine wine -- these bouquets are to get better as they age). They need to just enjoy being the engaging little people that they are. I often wish that I could go back to being a kid…go back to running around and having a life that is dictated by friendships, games and sweet treats. I wish that all children looked as innocent as Ruby, a cute little girl I encountered on Flickr. The hope is that all children stay as sweet as she for as long as possible. Children are our greatest resource. They are the ones from whom we should learn many lessons.

Into Everyone's Life, A Little Cupcake Must Fall

I was just sitting around today and I was hit with the strangest feeling and found myself asking the strangest question: Could a cupcake be the answer to all of my life’s questions? It’s a peculiar thing to consider, right? But first, the back-story:

I work on Wall Street here in New York City. Known as the corporate and financial hub of this great city, where suits are the norm and repressed attitudes are necessary! I work as a paralegal, which for me is the legal equivalent of a marionette/minion/Girl Friday. Theoretically, I am here to do the attorneys’ bidding. When they say, “Jump!” it is my job (in theory) to politely ask “How high?” NOT that I ever do. Although I get a paycheck for providing a service, I am my own woman dammit!! I’ve worked in various law firms and corporations for years and in that time I’ve learned to appreciate the work that attorneys do. Enjoying the challenge of my job was never a problem…until now. I’ve worked here at the law firm of Dewey, Cheetum & Howe for a little over a year and a half and in working here; I’d have to say that I feel a particular sense of sadness. It’s a sadness that says that although I’ve been in the legal wrangling business for almost a decade, I’m being pulled further and further away from any sort of pure joy. It's a feeling that permeates. There’s tightness in the chest and dread at the mere thought of getting up every morning and going to work. I sit at my desk and attempt to command my own attention, but I sometimes fall short. How bad is that y’all?! Sitting at my desk in a stupor! It’s nothing like that commercial for LITE-FM -- where the cartoon characters seem to come to life, becoming illuminated and going on to have a brighter work day by merely hearing a song. I could understand the momentary condition if there was alcohol involved. I'm sure there would be a cool story associated with it. But this is just feels like a life rut. Now y'all know that’s a problem!! And it was during one of these fogs that one of my co-workers placed a little plastic container on my desk. And in the clear plastic there was a cupcake.

The owners of the building where I work are often charitable to the people who work in the building: there have been ice-cream giveaways during the summer and Christmas parties for all during the holidays, but my curiosity was still peaked when I saw tables being set up in the lobby. I asked Augusto, one of the security guards, what they were setting up for “A cupcake drive for a cancer charity.” he said. It was at that point that I took a pamphlet that lay on the table and I read about CancerCares. After reading the pamphlet I thought it would be a great cause to champion but moreover, the cupcakes looked delicious!

I had the choice of yellow, chocolate and pumpkin spice cupcakes to choose from. I was a bit tentative to put down a whole dollar for a cupcake –- I mean, what if the cake was dry or the icing tasted like kindergarten paste? To spare myself from all of that, I bought one…a starter cupcake. It was a curious thing, this cupcake. The hard candy happy face on top seemed to be luring me. With that, I took a bite. It was after the first bite of that one cupcake that something changed for me. My smile became wider and my day became more cheerful. I was turning into a LITE-FM commercial!!

Four Cups of Heaven!

Over the next three days, I found myself going down to the lobby at every opportunity. I bought six cupcakes on the first day to take home, in addition to the cupcake gift from my co-worker. I had two cupcakes with lunch the second day and finally bought four more before the charity drive was over. I wanted more of what these little pastries allowed me. I discovered that with every bite of the CancerCares cupcake, I found more of a complete sense of who I wanted to be. Joyful, generous and happy.

Here in my hand were all the things that life called for:
Joy to be found in the light and buttery pound cake, generosity to be found in the thick and decadent icing which was topped with the ultimate and most obvious light that this life offers us: a smile. All of that from a cupcake. It's like Betty Crocker had become some sort of guru for me...it was a "Cupiphany." Or in layman's terms: a cupcake epiphany.

I find that if I’m forced to work for a living, I should be doing something that brings me joy. That doesn’t mean that I plan on becoming the next Martha Stewart…I want to be the best me that I can be. A friend of mine even suggested becoming an editor as I find myself enraptured in my blog. Me, an editor? Those are huge grammatical shoes to fill. I'm not sure where commas and periods go as a novice. Can you imagine me as some sort of noted "expert"? But it's a possibility I honestly had never thought of before the suggestion.

It's a wonderous thing, these sugary little darlings. The smiles that they bring to people's faces are wide and the happiness it brought to me is priceless. I am now a champion of the cupcake. But if you think that I'm a fan, you can read about All Cupcakes, All The Time here.



Me and The Prophetic Cupcake!

*The post script to this story is that I subsequently traced the source of my happiness to The Buttercup Bake Shop with locations on both the East and the West Side, they're famous for their “Buttercup Golden” yellow cupcakes and their Hummingbird Cake. I guess it's true that good things come in tiny packages. My immediate joy was found in a little plastic container and topped with yellow (and green and pink) icing and a happy face!*

Dear Mother

A picture of me (age 5) and my mom. Taken as a proof at SEARS photo studios back in 1978. I've always loved this picture of us.





Dear Mother,

Mom, your birthday means so much to me;
To have you in my life another year,
The time I spent enfolded in your love,
Each day, each moment with you is so dear.

I cherish the very special bond we have.
You lift my spirit in so many ways.
I celebrate your life; I honor you,
And send to you my love and care and praise.

Happy Birthday Mom. I love you now and always
Love,
L.

The Eventful Journey

Everyone has memories of their first car. Some good…Some bad…All memorable. If you’re keeping up with the mundane soap opera known as my life, you know that I obtained my driver’s license this past summer after almost a year of practicing. Well, I’ve had my license in my wallet for a little more than two months now (the only joy I’ve gotten from this little piece of plastic thus far is pulling it out and seeing the impressed look on people’s faces when they ask if I have identification –- a non-driver’s I.D., what’s that?!), and I decided that it was time to get out of practice mode and take my skills out on the open road.

I had been researching car rental places for about a week or two –- Avis, Hertz, Enterprise, Thrifty, Budget –- all the big name rental companies. I was excited that a long weekend was coming up and really wanted to be able to experience the art of driving. In my research, I discovered that all the major car rental companies have the same belief -- make the life of a first time driver MISERABLE!!! First, I would either have to go to the airport (I wasn’t quite ready to navigate the Belt Parkway or the North Conduit just yet) or go uptown in the city (the thought of having to drive in Manhattan traffic scared me) to rent a car. I was also told time and time again that as a new driver these car rental companies would be hard pressed to rent to me. If the State of New York trusts me behind the wheel, why can’t these people?! (Maybe because the state wasn’t gonna hand me a car!)

It was Thursday night and I was becoming a bit discouraged. These rental companies are so expensive and I felt like I would have to sell my soul just to get a couple of days in a car. Finally my former driving instructor Turner told me about a car rental place in Brooklyn that was inexpensive and willing to rent. Enter Car Go Rentals…a cheap car rental company on Utica Avenue. Eureka!! The rest of the week flew by and I couldn’t contain my excitement...and finally, Saturday. It was like waking up on Christmas…I was so excited knowing that I would be driving. I called Deo to come with me. Car Go Rentals –- it looked like all other car rental/dealership scattered through out the area. Nothing about it stood out. The only indicator that we were in the right place was an old rusting sign with fading letters.

We walked through the gates and into a tiny office at the end of the lot and were greeted by a young black woman at the desk who looked completely disinterested in her surroundings. I guess sitting at a desk flipping through “Black Hair” and “Essence” magazines were finally hitting its peak for her. She gave us a weak smile and asked how she could help. I told her of my interest in renting a car. She then called in an authoritative little Asian man who took over the transaction. After filling out all the necessary paperwork (“Car Go Rentals is NOT responsible for the injury and/or death of the persons in the car, just the car itself and if in fact there is damage to the car the family of the deceased will be liable!!” *snickering* Ok, there really was no such clause in their contract, but I guess selling a little of one’s soul is necessary for these kinds of things.), there came the part that I anticipated and enjoyed: actually picking out a car. I picked car number 12: a blue 2002 Nissan Sentra. This was the car that I would be driving for the weekend. I immediately thought that it would make an ideal first car. I watched as the car was inspected for any previous damage and it was at that point that Deo suggested I video tape the inspection (for my own piece of mind and in case anything happened with the car). After the inspection, I was given the keys and the green light to drive it off the lot. This was it! My first opportunity to drive a car without the benefit of an instructor or a teaching brake!! Woohoo!! Deo and I got in and I automatically applied all the previous year’s lessons learned. We clicked our seat belts. There was seat and mirror adjustment. And finally I started the ignition. I waved off the driving candidate that I used to be and drove off the lot and into the sun…I was officially a driver!! It was liberating being out there amongst all the craziness of New York and not having to experience it only on the subway or in the back or passenger seat. I was able to look out the window in front of me and the rear view mirror and see it all!!

I’d always been a passenger and being able to drive and get myself from place to place felt so empowering. Deo asked me to drive him to his downtown Brooklyn apartment so that he could check on something that he had been waiting for in the mail. From the car rental place we took side streets to get to Deo’s house. I guess that I became so caught up in the conversation that he and I were having that I made a right turn on what I thought was a two way street and came upon a car coming in my direction and having the driver scream that I had gone “THE WRONG WAY!!” (What?! Don't act like y'all haven't ever made that mistake before!! Ok, ok. That's just me! I know I've gotta be more careful!) It was a Laurel and Hardy moment in that although the moment was a bit intense…no one was hurt. After hitting a few patches of gridlock along Atlantic Avenue, we finally made it to Deo’s place where he made a quick pit stop to his mailbox…and the restroom.

With my new found freedom, Deo and I sat in the car and contemplated our next move. Where should we go? What should we do? Maybe dinner or a movie? I have to say that all my experiences with driving had always taken place on the streets of Brooklyn. But it’s always been a dream of mine to go across the Bridge that I love so much and head into the city while in the driver’s seat of a cool driving machine. But for now, I’ll settle for driving across in a beat up used car. Although it was something that I had always been a bit fearful of (what if I crash into another car on the bridge or worse yet -- what if I crash into a median and go over and into the water?! Omigod!! I can't swim! These are extreme thoughts I know, but that’s how this mind of mine works at times!), it was yet another apprehension to be done away with! Fear be damned! So we drove down past Tillary Street and came upon the bridge. We looked at each other and took a deep breath. At the urging of the green light at the base of the bridge, we made our way onto it. We did it! We were driving across the Brooklyn Bridge! Once we got across we had to navigate through New York City traffic. I can see now why New Yorkers who drive in Manhattan are so angry: “Hey lady, get the hell outta the street!!” “The light’s green and you’re applying make-up!!!” “GRRRRRRR!!”

This picture is sooo much better than my driver's license photo -- is a big cheesy smile that says "Look Ma -- I FINALLY DID IT!!" a good look?


We went downtown to Bleecker Street and ended up in a bar. Now I know what you may be thinking; “You’re driving now, you’re not really thinking of drinking are you?” And the answer to that is no!! But I love the environment in this bar, which is right down the street from Deo’s job at Ugo, an entertainment website where he works at a web developer/web master. The people were friendly (and it didn’t take all sorts of alcohol to get them that way) and the bathrooms were clean (well clean enough for a bar!) We had a few drinks (Jack Daniels straight up and ginger ales), chatted up the patrons and the bartender and then headed for dinner –- Mexican at Burritoville! A cheap and good time was had by all. After dinner we decided to head home. It was the best feeling in the world for me, an empowering rock star moment. I could get anywhere I wanted, all with the turn of the ignition!

The next night after coming back from some distant place (it was only distant when a car wasn’t involved!) I called my mother. I wanted to tell her that I had achieved the impossible –- I was a driver! But she didn’t answer, so I left a message on her machine telling her that I would be willing to drive her home from the station and that I was awaiting her call. Around midnight she called to tell me that she had hopped on the bus and that she was on her way home. I have to admit that in hearing that, I was a bit sad. I wanted her to share in the experience with me but I told her that it was okay and that I would call her tomorrow. Fifteen minutes later she told me that she would be getting off the bus and asked me where I should meet her. I was happy and excited. I knew that my mom got off the bus because she knew that I wanted her to see me in action. I put my sneakers and coat on and headed out. There she was, the little lady in the red coat waiting for me to pull up and take her home. “My daughter the driver – what I have lived to see!!” She said that she was proud of me. That made me happy. We talked and caught up with each other while I headed down Remsen Avenue to my mom’s house in Canarsie. After pulling into her drive-way and letting her out, I told her that I would park the car so that we could visit with each other for a bit. I then told her that I had a lot of laundry to do and that I dreaded the idea of going to the laundromat. She offered to do my laundry if I brought my clothes over the next day. Great! This saved me from the headache of a crowded laundromat. I was there for about an hour before I decided to drive home. I can see that one of the annoyances of owning a car is finding a parking spot. I’ve heard often from my brother that it can be a pain in the neck. But after driving around the block for about a half an hour, I discovered a little treasure –- a parking spot right in front of my apartment…nice!

"Look out world -- here I come!!!"

I drove over to my mom's the next day and spent the day with her and my dirty laundry. It was nice to hang out and talk with my mom. She works such crazy hours as a home health aide that actually being at home was a wonderful thing for her. Fast forward to Monday night. I parked the car on the next block over and thought how great it was having the opportunity to drive. The car would go back to the rental company tomorrow. But the eventful journey that was my first driving experience is something that I will always think fondly of. I can see myself becoming more and more comfortable behind the wheel telling the world to get the hell outta my way!!

"Home To Everyone From Everywhere!"

“I’m in a Brooklyn, New York State of Mind...” – Me at any given moment!

Some people who hear or read that may think that such a statement speaks to the unabashed nature of the Brooklynite. But it speaks more to the fact that we know how to live. We live through our own struggles, but take the time and pride to see the good in people. If you can live in Brooklyn, you can live anywhere. We are so much more than the borough known for Coney Island and Junior’s Cheesecake.

Brooklyn is the educator for the human condition. The people here have their own visions of the world and their place in it. I can remember asking a neighbor how long she had lived in Brooklyn and what it was that she liked about it and she said, “Brooklyn is home. I can't say what it is about the place, but it's always been home to me. I’ve been in the United States for over 30 years. I'll go to my old country as a vacation—but Brooklyn is my country now.”


There are so many aspects of living here that I love. For me, Brooklyn is handball in the park. Brooklyn is having my friends come over to hang out on the stoop. Brooklyn is running into my house as a kid (or even as a light hearted adult) to get money because I heard the ice cream man coming! Brooklyn is walking down the avenue and seeing at least a handful of people I knew growing up. Brooklyn is playing and splashing in the hydrant in the summertime (when there wasn’t time for the beach…the hydrant is always a good alternative!)

Brooklyn is getting out of school (Mt. Reima Catholic School from kindergarten to the first grade and P.S. 244 from second to sixth grade) and having the school bus drop me off in front of my paternal grandmother’s house at 155 St. Mark’s Avenue (Inga Marchand a.k.a. Foxy Brown was a childhood friend and lived three houses down) while having the smell of her home cooking be a warm respite to welcome me in after a long hard day. (Today would have been her 85th birthday -- Happy Birthday in heaven Maw-- I love you and I miss you) Brooklyn’s beauty isn’t only in the people who live here; it’s also in its rich architectural history. My grandmother lived in Brooklyn’s Park Slope neighborhood, known for its cultural insights and brownstone row houses. Park Slope is one of New York's largest land marked neighborhoods, with most of these architectural relics lying within twenty four blocks around Prospect Park.

Brooklyn is celebrating the unofficial end of summer by attending the West Indian Day Parade. This parade was actually started in the 1920’s by Jessie Waddle –- a native Trinidadian –- with the help of some her friends. What began as a costume party that took place indoors at places like the Savoy, Renaissance, and Audubon Ballrooms in Harlem evolved into one of New York City's largest and most vibrant parades with over 2 million spectators a year. It’s me hanging out with my older brother and cousin at the parade and selling Heinekens, sodas and bottled water for two dollars a pop (before permits were necessary -- Thanks to Rudy Giuliani!!! Blahhhh!!) on the corner of Eastern Parkway and Franklin Avenue, affectionately known as Panama Pequeñito or “Little Panama” for its vast population of Central Americans within five square blocks and staying out long after all the floats had driven down the avenue and the costumed revelers had gone home and having a joyous celebration of our very own.

Brooklyn is literary and cultural substance. Walt Whitman wrote about the Brooklyn waterfront in his poem “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry” and of course there is Betty Smith’s “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn” (a book that I read in the seventh grade and immediately related to the book's main character) –- everyone who’s anyone knows of the classic coming of age story that takes place in the “City of Homes & Churches”. Who ever heard of A Bush Branches Out in Bayside or Shrubbery Sprouts in Soundview? Spike Lee, from "She's Gotta Have It", "Jungle Fever" and "Malcolm X" fame is a product of Brooklyn and so is who I believe to be the greatest contribution to hip-hop music, Christopher Wallace a.k.a. The Notorious B.I.G. (R.I.P.) put his heart and soul into his music and into Brooklyn.



Me and My Bridge -- The Brooklyn Bridge

Brooklyn’s character is like no other place in the world. I’ve traveled to many places and the sense of who am I and where I'm from is apparent to everyone and I love that the world knows it. I've had people from all walks of life ask, "You're from Brooklyn aren't you?" And I will proudly proclaim, "Yes...yes I am!" Ultimately, this is where I live and laugh. It's part of my identity. In Brooklyn you don't have to dress up, put on a false face or be someone you're not. In Manhattan or Los Angeles or Miami, you always have to wear a costume. In Brooklyn, you can just be.

Autumn in New York/October

October's the month
When the smallest breeze
Gives us a shower
Of autumn leaves.

Bonfires and pumpkins,

Leaves sailing down -

October is red
And golden and brown.

LHB-2006