The Swirl World

Celebrating and Elevating Black Women - mind, body, soul and spirit!


My Therapy

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keep-calm-and-just-unpack (1)

Some people find cleaning house to be therapeutic.

Unpacking had the same effect on me today.

I decided to take a break from everything and just about everybody.

No emails, no TV, no Twitter feeds and no Facebook.

Just church with my Dad, a good visit with he and my Mother, and then heading back to my new place to unpack.

Sometimes you have to get away from the clamour and just decompress.

Everybody seems to want to give their .02.

Today, I let them keep it.

Join in the Fray: What activity is therapeutic for you?

I’m blogging every day in the month of July in Blogher’s NaBloPoMo Challenge. Thanks for reading, and feel free to comment!

Copyright © 2013 Michelle Matthews Calloway, ASwirlGirl™, The Swirl World™, All rights reserved.

 

How We Handle the Tough Road: Gene-Leigh and Seth

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Seth kisses his bride Gene-Leigh

Seth kisses his bride Gene-Leigh

Those of us who are in the Swirling lifestyle know that there always someone ready to rain on your interracial parade. When I interviewed Gene-Leigh, I asked her: Did you two have any issues regarding your relationship, either from you, your families, or outsiders?

Here, Gene-Leigh candidly shares a few of her and Seth’s experiences.

Seth’s Eye-Opening Experience

Seth recently went through an episode at work where during the course of a conversation with another worker, the person made a racially disparaging remark.  When he came home that night, I could tell that something was weighing heavy on him.  He told me the story, and I sat quietly and listened attentively to him.  As a Black person, what he told me didn’t surprise me at all.  But he was shaken completely to his core because the person who made the remarks was someone he KNEW–and he had no idea the person felt that way about Black people.

The one thing he weighed on him the most was that he was too shocked to respond: “In that second, I felt like I wasn’t defending us.  I felt like I was letting us down.  I was shocked into silence.”

Gene-Leigh’s Response 

I comforted him, and assured him that I was just glad he didn’t give the guy a taste of his fist. My Seth is a gentle giant—-he’s built like a linebacker, and can hoist me around the house on a good day. I didn’t want him to get written up at the job.

I didn’t think Seth was letting us down by not responding–how do you respond to something like that when you’ve never had to DEAL with something like that?  Understand this, readers: Swirling can be tough not only on Black women, but also on our mates.  They are possibly exposing themselves to situations they have never experienced before as non-Black men.  Seth was shocked into SILENCE (which is saying a LOT—he’s an ex-punk rocker after all, NOTHING shocks those guys).

Seth looked at me and said: “I didn’t know people were still that way.  I didn’t know people thought like that.”  I told him that there will ALWAYS be people who think and act that way, because there always have been—-I’ve been through it my entire life.  I think after that incident he saw me and my life experiences with new eyes.

Seth’s Facebook Encounter

A few weeks later, Seth got into a small disagreement with someone he was Facebook friends with because the woman and her husband dressed their (white) son up in Blackface and a dread-locked wig to resemble his favorite baseball player at Halloween.  Of all of the comments, Seth was the only person who questioned if the costume wasn’t offensive to some degree.  The guy blew up, and defended his decision, saying “My kid really idolizes this guy and the player had no problem with it,” which we both knew was a lie.

All Seth could do was stare open-mouthed at the screen.  He turned to me and said: “How can he think that’s okay?  Is he nuts?”  I smiled, kissed him and gave him a hug.  What else could I do?  Sure it was wrong (I mean he MIGHT have slid by with dressing the kid in only the wig–but BLACKFACE?). I know people can’t always understand what they don’t live.  Seth has learned that challenging someone’s belief systems surrounding race can be dangerous.

Haterade from Black Men . . . .

One time when we were in the grocery store once I got hit on by this guy in the jelly aisle (seriously???). Seth was further down the aisle picking up bread.  It’s amazing (but not surprising) to me the assumptions people have about others, because the whole time this guy was hitting on me (as I did my best to ignore him) he had no clue my husband was a few feet from me (Seth knew full well what was going on, we’d played this game with people before, and if I was in ANY trouble he would have come to my rescue–but I’m a pretty tough chick).

It wasn’t until I said: “Baby, do you want grape or strawberry?” and Seth answered with “Peach” did the guy get the clue. I gave the guy the sweetest smile, and held up my left hand with my diamond-encrusted wedding ring before saying, “Sorry.”  And what did I get?  A look of the utmost contempt from the guy before he stormed off.

. . . and from Black Women

We’ve also gotten nasty little barbs of insults from Black women who feel that our relationship is less than valid because we happen to be different races.  One girl pointed at us in Sam’s Club and said, “There’s yet ANOTHER one,” before rolling her eyes in disgust (personally I was more disgusted that her ‘man’ couldn’t seem to keep his pants up and I had to catch a glimpse of his Spongebob boxers–but I digress). o_O

Why Gene-Leigh and Seth Shake the Haters

My husband is an awesome man.  I’m not just saying that because he’s my husband, I’m saying that because it is the unmitigated truth.  Why?  Well, primarily because he puts up with me and my various eccentricities without so much as batting an eyelash (“Okay, Gene, okay, I’ll take the laundry down and kill the spider . . . .). He goes out of his way to make me feel completely and totally beautiful, special, and worth it (he once drove out of his way in an ice storm to bring me roses).  He’s brought a measure of joy to my life that I never thought possible, and while we can both annoy the hell out of each other (“Dammit Seth I just cleaned the kitchen and NOW you want to eat!”) I can’t see spending my life with another person.

So why, pray tell if we are so happy and so loving and caring are there people who want to destroy that based on something as superficial as race?  Why should my happiness be tamped down, questioned, and doubted because my husband isn’t the same color that I am?  I wish I knew the answers to my questions, but as Bob Dylan sang, “The answer my friends, is blowin’ in the wind.”  We’ve had our share of doubters—-a few family members, one friend, and other complete strangers we don’t know—-but it hasn’t shaken how much we love each other.  As a matter of fact, it brings us closer together.

Join in the Fray: Has the Swirling road been tough for you? In what ways?

I’m blogging every day in the month of January in Blogher’s NaBloPoMo Challenge. Thanks for reading, and feel free to comment!

Copyright © 2013 Michelle Matthews Calloway, ASwirlGirl, All rights reserved.

The Last Sibling Standing

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My older brother Tony and me when we were three and two, respectively

My older brother Tony and me when we were 3 1/2 and 2, respectively

Last night we received some very unsettling news: My Dad’s sister, Alberta, had passed away.

There are very few times in my life that I can recall seeing my Dad visibly shaken. After all, this is a man who faced the horrors of the Korean and Vietnam Wars. Last night he told me that his Mother died while he was in Vietnam. He was able to come back to Louisiana for her funeral, see his wife and their three small children, his Father, and his other family members. His respite from the war was brief, because shortly thereafter he had to go right back and continue fighting in Vietnam. I marvel at the fact that after his Mother’s death, my Dad was able to go back in such a hell-filled environment and stay focused enough to survive.

Death and carnage were all around him, and when he returned he developed a pact with my Mother and the other adults in the family: Don’t ask, because I won’t tell.

I won’t go into those few times that I have seen my Dad’s composure take a serious hit. I’m pretty sure you can understand that because my Dad is so stoic and such a soldier, those occasions had to be extremely critical times in our family.

And yet, last night, Daddy was shaken. You see, with Aunt Bert’s demise, my Dad is now the Last Sibling Standing.

My paternal Grandmother and Grandfather; Mama Daisy and Papa, as we affectionately called them, were married fo 59 years. They were just a few months shy of their 60th wedding anniversary when Mama Daisy passed away; Papa lived 12 more years and remained a widower.

Mama Daisy gave birth to 14 children. She didn’t give birth to any twins, which means my Grandmother was pregnant and gave birth 14 times.

Fourteen. times.

This, my friends, is the reason why you will always hear me say that if I can be half the woman who my Grandmothers were, I will have truly accomplished something in my life.

My Grandmother was 52 when she had my Dad. He was her “change of life baby.” His nickname was “Nookie,” and he was very much-loved, adored, and spoiled by his eight older sisters and five older brothers, most of whom were married and had children by the time my Daddy rolled around.

 

I remember how, at my Dad’s family gatherings, my Grandmother and my aunts would laugh and tell stories about how cute my Dad was, and how they all thought he was so precious, they wouldn’t allow his feet to touch the ground! My Dad was literally always in one of their laps! My Dad was a “late walker” because of this. He had to learn to walk when Papa finally put his foot down and dared anyone to pick Daddy up. Mama Daisy and my Aunts (and even my uncles) would howl with laughter when they described how my Dad would crawl from person to person, whining and begging for one of them to pick him up. My Aunt Della (the oldest sister) would always deliver the punch line:

“Nookie got so mad when we wouldn’t pick him up, till one day that boy just stood up and walked!”

I didn’t know all of my Dad’s siblings; a few of them died before I was born. I did get to know most of them, and I reminisce on how much joy and laughter was present at their gatherings. My Daddy’s family is loud, boisterous, and demonstrative in their affection for each other. (My Mother’s side is almost the polar opposite; quiet, conservative, and very restrained).  

My Dad was the baby of his family, and yet when Papa died Daddy became the family’s leader. He was the one selected to transact all the family business; the one all his siblings – and even his nieces and nephews – turned to when they had to make major decisions.

He was the one his brothers-and-sisters-in-law called when they had to make funeral arrangements for his siblings.

And now, he’s the last sibling standing.

I can’t begin to imagine what that must be like. My immediate family is small; I only have two brothers. Thankfully, even my Mother and Father are still living. My love for and need for them is as essential to me as the air I’m breathing. I absolutely cannot fathom living in a world one of them is no longer a part of. And yet, my Dad has had to do this 15 times – not only for his parents, but for each of his 13 siblings.

I’ve said it before; I understand the inevitable nature of “the circle of life.” I had two miscarriages during my marriage; the second time with twins during my second trimester. My husband died five years later. So, I’ve dealt with the reality of death; the sense of pain and separation that intrinsically accompanies it. Death is an inescapable reality that stretches forth its cold, grasping hands into our lives one way or the other. It leaves us no choices; we have to deal with it until, at last, its hands touch us.

I don’t know what the future holds; I don’t know which of my two brothers and I will be “the last sibling standing.” I can only borrow from my Dad’s example. I can hold he and my Mother close to me, and enjoy the gift of the present moments that we have together.

I can love out loud; boisterously and demonstratively, the way he and his sisters and brothers did, so whenever it comes time for one of us to be the last sibling standing, why, it really won’t matter.  

 Join in the Fray: In what ways can you “love out loud?”

I’m blogging every day in the month of January in Blogher‘s NaBloPoMo Challenge. Thanks for reading, and feel free to comment!

Copyright © 2013 Michelle Matthews Calloway, ASwirlGirl, All rights reserved.

What I Want You to Do

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I want you to enjoy this thing we call the holidays.

Regardless of your form of celebration, please do get some rest. Spend some quality time with the people you love the most – and spend some quality time with you.

Enjoy your meal(s), and try to not over-indulge.  (I know, right? I did say try.) Since we had such a huge meal for Thanksgiving, the Christmas Dinner Planners (a committee consisting of my cousin Janelle, my aunt Doe, and me) decided to scale back on the offerings for Christmas dinner. This year we’re dining on Creole jambalaya, Southern fried chicken, green bean casserole. various salads, and multiple desserts.

I’m doing something special: I’m making Cajun crackers! 

 

It’s too late for you to try them in time for Christmas (this photo is from Day 1), but here’s the recipe so you can have them with your New Year’s meal:

Recipe:

1 large pickle jar (or other wide-mouth jar. You can also use an extra-large Ziplock bag if you don’t have a jar).

1 box Saltine crackers

1 cup canola oil

1 package ranch dressing mix

2 heaping tablespoons red pepper flakes

Place the 4 packs of Saltines in the jar or Ziplock bag.

Mix the wet/dry ingredients together and stir well.

Pour the mixture over the crackers and seal the jar.

For the next three days, occasionally roll the jar (or carefully flip the Ziplock bag).

Open the jar on the third day and serve. These taste great plain, with cream cheese, or with pepper jelly.

Merry Christmas, people. Have fun today!

Join in the Fray: How are you celebrating today?

 Copyright © 2012 Michelle Matthews Calloway, All rights reserved.

We Live We Love

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Mrs. Gloria Dean Garner Jones

We live, we love, we forgive and never give up
Cuz the days we are given are gifts from above
And today we remember to live and to love

                                     ~From We Live by SuperChick

Approximately six or seven weeks ago I cruised down the freeway to an early morning meeting. For once, traffic flowed smoothly and the ride was stress free. Suddenly, from seemingly nowhere, a scene flashed through my mind, that of the funeral of a classmate’s Father, a popular coach and activist in our community. In that split second, I was transposed back in time. We were standing for the recessional. I could see my friend Judith, affectionately known as Cookie, and her family sobbing on the front row. That day, tears fell freely from my eyes, those of our other classmates, and of the countless adults in attendance.

Coach Jones’ funeral is stamped indelibly in my mind because it marks the first time I recall gaining an understanding of death: Its finality and the sense of utter separation it inflicts. My own family was (and for the most part, still is) blessed with longevity on both sides. Sure, we’d experienced the deaths of a couple of loved ones, but up until that point the losses had occurred via unexpected accidents, when we were away living in some foreign country or in another state. In hindsight, I know those deaths touched and hurt my parents, yet I realize they failed to affect my brothers and me in the same way.

We live, we love, we forgive and never give up
Cuz the days we are given are gifts from above
And today we remember to live and to love

 

On this day, the visual of my friend and her grieving family suddenly seared into my consciousness. I was startled, and taken aback. I felt the grief as fresh as I did the day of the funeral, and my eyes clouded with tears. I immediately began to pray for Cookie, her Mother, and her brothers and sisters. Thoughts of my friend and her family came periodically throughout the rest of the day, and I paused to pray for them each time.

Later that evening, my cousin Janelle called to tell me that Mrs. Jones had suffered a massive stroke, and her status was grave. Would I pass the news on to my Mother and other family members to join in prayer?  I managed to finish the call, and this time I could no longer hold back the tears. I thought of my own Mother and Father, still alive and doing well. I remembered the fear and despair I’d experienced just last year when both of them were hospitalized – my Dad on two separate occasions. I tried to put myself in Cookie’s place and imagine my Mother laying in a hospital bed fighting for her life – and I just couldn’t. The thought was much too painful; I couldn’t breathe.

But with life we never know when we’re coming up to the end of the road
So what do we do then
With tragedy around the bend?

I prayed for Mrs. Jones that night; we all did. We prayed, and continued to pray for Mrs. Jones and her six children; our friends and classmates. It seemed for a few hopeful days that Mrs. Jones was going to cheat death, yet eventually her body was unable to resist the onslaught that had come against her.

Mrs. Jones’ home-going celebration was held today at 1:00 p.m.

We live, we love, we forgive and never give up
Cuz the days we are given are gifts from above
And today we remember to live and to love

 The service was beautiful; filled with dignity and quiet joy. Heads nodded in assent at recounting of Mrs. Jones’ religious, professional, and civic service. She was a woman who was filled with grace and marked by a quiet, yet loving demeanor. To know her was to indeed love and respect her.

Laughter ensued as her grandchildren shared some of their memories and lessons learned. We prayed quietly for their strength, and then sat in awe as two of Mrs. Jones’ granddaughters sang “His Eye is on the Sparrow,” her favorite hymn, and as her firstborn son, Rev. C. Terrell Jones, brought a stirring oration and gospel message.

In Psalm 90:10, the patriarch Moses declared, The length of our days is seventy years–or eighty, if we have the strength; yet their span is but trouble and sorrow, for they quickly pass, and we fly away. We celebrated my Dad’s birthday on the 21st; he has achieved the “fore-score” years that Moses spoke of. With each passing day, I reflect on the fact that so many of my friends no longer have their parents with them. I feel like I am cheating, somehow. Yet, I understand more, and more, and more, just how very blessed I am.

In that same Psalm 90, verse 12, Moses prays, Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom. I pray this ancient prayer, and thank God for His divine providence, and His gift of life. I’m doing my best to make the most of it – how about you?

But what would it take for the clouds to break
For us to realize each day
Is a gift somehow, someway
And get our heads up out of this darkness
And spark this new mindset and start on with life cuz it ain’t gone yet

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C_whi9GmAO8

Join in the Fray: What are you doing to “number your days aright?”

Copyright © 2012 Michelle Matthews Calloway, ASwirlGirl™, All rights reserved.

I’m blogging every day in the month of November as a participant in NaBloPoMo. Thanks for reading and feel free to comment!

 

What I Don’t Want You To Tell My Mother

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Please don’t tell . . . .

I don’t want you to tell my Mother when I fail.

Here’s the back story:

A couple of days ago I wrote a blog post commemorating my parent’s wedding anniversary. Later that same day my Mother overheard me asking my Aunt Marie about the exact date she and my Uncle Bully got married. Of course my Mother wanted to know why I was asking about Aunt Marie’s wedding date. I jokingly told her that I had written something about “my parents.”

My Mother (laughing): “Don’t you start that!

Me (laughing):  “Don’t start what?” You know my brother and me write about y’all!”

Aunt Marie: “I know! That’s what I keep hearing! They keep telling me that y’all are writing about us!” (I’m not sure who “they”  are)

My Mother (still laughing): “All right now! You and your brother better stop it!”

I laughed my Mother off, but knowing my Mother the way I do, I knew I hadn’t heard the end of the matter. Sure enough, the next day I found this note taped to my bathroom mirror:

Technically, I’m off the hook because this blog is not Facebook or texting (I find the part about texting hilarious). Nevertheless, the word “etc.” is part of the note,  so  I guess I’m going to have to try to respect my Mother’s wishes and not write about her any more. 

I said I’m going to try.

Please don’t tell her when I fail.

Join in the Fray: What secret(s) do you want to keep from your Mother?

Copyright © 2012 Michelle Matthews Calloway, ASwirlGirl™, All rights reserved.

 I’m blogging every day in the month of November as a participant in NaBloPoMo. Thanks for reading and feel free to comment!

 

 

This = Love

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It’s in the eyes of the children

As they leave for the very first time

And it’s in the heart of a soldier

As he takes a bullet on the frontline . . .

Last week I had the privilege of driving my Dad to an appointment at the VA Medical Center in Alexandria, LA. The hospital is located a little less than 110 miles from my parents’ house, so this trek to the VA qualified as a mini road trip.

Traveling with my Dad is fun; he’s a sporadic talker so we enjoyed periods of comfortable silence and engaging conversations. This time our conversation on the way to Alexandria was spotty at best; I drove to the hospital in what amounted to a deluge yet made it there safely (all courtesy of my Dad’s back-seat driving ability, of course).

I knew we were headed to the VA hospital, yet I have to admit I was still taken aback by the sights and sounds that greeted me on our arrival: Military personnel, the vast majority of them male, in various states of mental and physical health. So many of the men were in wheelchairs or on crutches; I even spotted a blind soldier making his way down the hallway with his white cane, his wife’s hand resting gently on his arm.

Glancing at my Dad, I fought an overwhelming urge to break down and weep as he and I walked that narrow hallway. I’d already noticed last year that his steps were slower, and the stoop that seemed slight to me before we arrived at the facility was now glaringly obvious. I took some deep breaths to keep myself from tearing up, and instead elected to deliberately make eye-contact with each serviceman who glanced our way. I gave them a small nod of appreciation that silently said, “Thank you. I appreciate you.”

This is why we do it

This is worth the pain

This is why we fall down

And get back up again

This is where the heart lies

This is from above

Love is this, this is love . . . 

My Dad fought in two wars during the course of his Army career; the Korean Conflict and Vietnam. I’m ashamed to admit that it wasn’t until a couple of years ago that I genuinely recognized the magnitude of this, even though I knew that he had sustained service-related disabilities. The enormity of my Dad’s service finally hit me when a friend, whose father had also fought in Vietnam, described to me how his gregarious, jokester of a father went off to fight, only to return as another man; this one paranoid, drug-addicted, abusive, and suicidal. His father eventually took his life.

It’s in the soul of a city

What it does after it crumbles and burns

And it’s in the blood of a hero

To know where he goes he may never return 

The words to Love = This by The Script played constantly in my mind the entire day. I looked at those men and women; so many of them now in their senior years, broken and bruised, and all in the name of serving their country. I thought about the photos I’ve seen of the young version of my Dad, proud and stalwart in his crisp Army uniform, and tried to picture the same younger versions of the persons who shared the hallway and waiting room with him.    

My Dad, Columbus Matthews

Love is why we do it

Love is worth the pain

Love is why we fall down

And get back up again . . . 

I sat there, and when my Dad went in to see the doctor I silently thanked God for bringing him home those many years ago, alive and whole. I asked God to forgive me for my self-centeredness and ingratitude, my failure to recognize what a precious gift my Mother, brothers, and I were given in getting my Dad back. Just the thought of that gift moved me to ask Him to bless and strengthen the families of those who were not as fortunate as my family was. I prayed for my friend who had lost his father, and for other fatherless and motherless sons and daughters whose names I would never know. I prayed for the thousands of servicemen and women all around the globe, separated from their families yet willing to serve the country they love.  

Love is where the heart lies

Love is from above

Love is this, this is love . . .

 

Join in the fray:

What says “love” to you? What sacrifices have you made for love?

Copyright © 2012 Michelle Matthews Calloway, All rights reserved.