My two-cents worth and then some. An online journal by LP Brown.

Posts Written By L Parker Brown

Viewing Ukraine from the Dark Side

by on ·Humanity, Opinion, Politics, Race Matters

Co-written with David White

Some of my friends, who, like me, are people of color, seem indifferent to what is happening in Ukraine. I am not indifferent, but I am troubled by the lack of compassion.

Some justify their apathy by referencing our history, the history of Blacks in America. They cite the horrific things that happened to our ancestors and the atrocities still happening today; from pre-civil rights era lynchings and the heinous murder of Emmett Till to the contemporary “modern-day lynchings” – death by cop of George Floyd, Sandra Bland, Breonna Taylor, and countless others.

When MSNBC interviewed some black and brown students stranded in Ukraine, they described how people like them are being prevented from boarding trains and are facing other slights. Like the millions of Ukrainians, the foreigners just want to get out of the country.

My contrarian friends feel they have no skin connection to the Ukrainians and therefore lack empathy, and that’s their prerogative. I, on the other hand, can’t help but feel empathy. Whenever I learn about man’s inhumanity to man; I always recall the words of Martin Niemöller:

First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a socialist.

Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out— because I was not a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

My cousin, David, and I share feelings about what is happening in Ukraine. I’ve summarized below some of what he expressed to me:

Unfortunately, it takes a tyrant like Putin to devise and implement a diabolical plan to take over a small, democratic country before people begin doing a much-needed self-evaluation. He is showing us precisely what happens when self-serving dictators run amok. Things turn out badly for many innocent people who simply want to live their lives.

The warning sirens began sounding shortly before the Orange One was elected when he asked Russia to help him get elected – by any means necessary – and Russia did!

Then, for the next four years, we watched 45 kowtowing and kissing Putin’s ring. We saw him stroke the flames in Ukraine to please Putin and advance his own crooked agenda while his Republican cohorts shrugged and looked the other way.

All we have to do is look back at this country four years ago and how we haven’t entirely extricated ourselves from our own mess. It really can be depressing. But, hopefully inspiring, to make sure we fix it now and ensure it doesn’t happen again.

The most frustrating part is that we know the formula for peace – the ideals of brotherhood and equality. But the price is the denial of selfish aims and goals. A price too high for too many people.

Scruples, morals, principles – things that take so much time and energy to teach, fight an eternal and existential battle against what Freud would call the “Id”; the drive to put self and selfish desires above anything that intrudes upon those pursuits. If Putin would see the Ukrainians as human beings worthy of life, liberty, and a pursuit of happiness equal to his and those he cares about (if any), then what he is doing would be unimaginable.

It’s why I don’t question the decisions that Biden makes on behalf of this country or why I didn’t question Obama’s motives. You don’t put yourself out there to face the disdain and contempt (for you and your family) while fighting for things like basic healthcare, decent wages, and fair treatment in law and justice unless you are grounded in something beyond yourself.

That’s why it is easy for me to know who to vote for in most elections. And the Republicans are making it practically a slam-dunk. Everything they do and say is based on the premise that the world is about the “haves and the have-nots” and their assumption that the “have-nots” should know their place and be satisfied with it! So if they have to contrive, cheat, lie or kill to maintain that social order, it’s okay with them because the ends justify the means.

A world where people they have ordained to be less worthy are treated as equal to them is intolerable and against their self-designed world order. No advantages? Unthinkable. No (enforced, perceived) superiority? Blasphemous. For they have (tried) to convince themselves that a Divine has appointed them over all others- at least that’s the lure demagogues like Hitler and his ilk have employed, perhaps since human existence began.

Zelenskyy is an inspiration reminiscent of so many brave heroes of the recent and not so distant past, like Nelson Mandela, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Malala Yousafzai. and many more.

I feel that Putin has bitten off more than he can chew and has incurred the wrath of an entire world (with a few minor exceptions), and this transgression will be too much for him to overcome. The only thing I feel disconcerted about is how much destruction he is willing to inflict on his way down. Unfortunately, his type doesn’t ever accept the errors of their ways; they merely double down.

The best we can do is pray and stay grounded in what is right. The principle proffered by Rev. Theodore Parker and the quote by Dr. King, who encapsulated it, says, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”

We must keep our faith that it will work out okay. And knowing of your fondness for quotes, let me close with this, another one by Dr. King, “We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.”

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Guess What Day It Is

by on ·Lifestyle and Culture

Guess what day it is? I sound like the hump day camel, don’t I? Well, it’s my birthday, so I can be giggly if I want to.

Yesterday, my neighbor baked me a pineapple cake to die for. (Yes, Word Police, I know that sentence ended in a preposition, but this is my party.)  Aside from being grammatically incorrect, to die for was also probably a poor choice of words considering that I am on the downside of the hill. Nevertheless, I ate a slice, and that cake was delicious. Thank you, Hazel.

If I place a single candle on the remaining cake, then make a wish and blow out the candle, my wish would be for world peace.

Where has the time gone? I feel like the years have passed like falling dominoes. Wasn’t it just yesterday when I was only ten wishing I was a teenager, and then 18 wishing I was 21? And along the way from then to now, I kept wishing – to be a wife, a mother, a social activist, a published author. Finally, at some point in time – not dictated by me, but assigned by the Higher Power who controls all – I achieved all of those earlier goals and then some. I have a few other things on my bucket list, and I hope to realize those ambitions before running out of tiles.

I’m not and have never been materialistic. Simple things in life make me happy. Knowing that my loved ones and friends are safe. A comfortable home. A good book. A tasty cup of coffee. I thank God every day that I awake to see another sunrise.

I often think about what I’d tell my younger self when she wished to be grown. I’d tell her . . .

  • You will always encounter naysayers throughout life. But, don’t be discouraged by their negativity. When they tell you that you can’t accomplish something, continue to pursue your dream and prove them wrong.
  • The world is filled with disgruntled people who will lash out at every opportunity about everything and anything instead of counting their blessings. Don’t let their unhappiness disturb your peace.
  • Keep in mind that there is no level playing field, and life is not fair. There are slopes, potholes, and other hindrances along the way waiting to trip you up. When you fall, and sometimes you will, rise up with even more determination. And let your mantra be the words of Nelson Mandela, “Do not judge me by my successes, judge me by how many times I fell down and got back up again.”
  • Don’t yield to racists who will stereotype and try to define you and then claim that you have a victim mentality. Define yourself. Show them that you descend from warriors. You are a survivor.

I have numerous other life lessons that I’ve learned and want to share with you, little girl, but I’ll save those for some other time. Meanwhile, keep in mind the words of Nikki Giovanni, “I really don’t think life is about the I-could-have-beens. Life is only about the I-tried-to-do. I don’t mind the failure, but I can’t imagine that I’d forgive myself if I didn’t try.”

It’s your day — enjoy it!

 

 

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Yoga, High Lunging to a Happy Place

by on ·Exercise, Health, Lifestyle and Culture

This morning was the first time in a long while that I performed the entire 60-minute yoga exercise routine that I once practiced regularly. I was proud of myself.

I’ve enjoyed doing yoga poses since a close friend sparked my interest in 2006 after gifting me with The Complete Guide to Yoga by Judy Smith, Doriel Hall, and Bel Gibbs. That book encouraged me to learn and practice yoga poses. So I did it regularly for several years. And although I eventually slacked off from my routine, I never ultimately gave up the practice.

This morning’s exercise was even more enjoyable because I didn’t miss a beat. Downward dog. Tree pose. Warrior. Oh yeah! It felt like I was back in the period when I was practicing three to four times a week. My memory did not let me down. Instant recall. Nailed it!

I wasn’t impressed in the early 1960s when yoga became a big deal in the U.S. I thought it was just another organization designed to draw naïve participants into a cult. After all, the sixties and seventies produced some of the most infamous cults in history. Jim Jones’ Jonestown, Charles Manson, the Branch Davidians, and Heaven’s Gate come to mind.

Some people consider yoga a non-Christian belief system or see it as a cult-type religion and condemn it without prudence. I beg to differ. If one considers it to be a cult with brainwashing tactics that alienate members from their family and friends, then, as I see it, some standard religious organizations fall into the cult category. The downside of reckless or irresponsible thinking is that it prevents us from expanding our knowledge about something before condemning it with hair-trigger speed.

Over the years, I’ve educated myself about yoga by reading books and studying videos on the subject. One of the books I enjoyed was Deepak Chopra’s The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success. Among the numerous educational videos that I use, at least half a dozen are produced by Peggy Cappy. Still, I’m sure that yoga experts would say that books and videos only skim the surface, and that’s okay—different strokes.

As far as yoga being rooted in spirituality, I guess that is a matter of individual interpretation. Regardless, I omit the chanting, rituals for unblocking chakras, and other practices that I find discomforting. Instead, I practice and enjoy yoga’s gentle flow and restorative poses, and breathing exercises. I find the poses for stretching and strengthening muscles extremely beneficial (especially at my age), and meditation is so relaxing.

On a pop quiz, I couldn’t name or explain all of the various kinds of yoga for a million bucks. And although I never tried to memorize them, two, Hatha and Bikram come immediately to mind.

I enjoy doing yoga. And I so relished this morning’s session that I still feel a natural high this afternoon. My daily mantra is – Start each day with a grateful heart and do what makes you happy. Yoga takes me to a happy place.

Namaste!

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Sister, Sister

by on ·Brothers and Sisters, Lifestyle and Culture, Nostalgia

“I smile because you’re my sister. I laugh because there’s nothing you can do about it!” Anonymous

 

Ida Staton White & Mildred Staton Parker

It’s funny how, at the oddest time, a long-suppressed memory will creep out of the gray matter in my head and then rewind and replay like an old movie.

This morning, I awoke near dawn and was lying in bed trying to decide whether to get up right away or stay there for a while and catch a few more zzzs when, out of the blue, I remembered a humorous incident that occurred years ago. It involved my Aunt Ida, my mother, and me.

I must have been around seven or eight years old at the time. My family was visiting my maternal grandma’s farm down south, as we did on occasional weekends or frequently during school break.

The memory is as vivid as if it happened yesterday.

I remember that it was a beautiful morning. One of my mother’s sisters, Ida, my mother, and I were in grandma’s vegetable garden, gathering veggies for that day’s dinner. Aunt Ida was wearing a long-sleeved, light blue shirt and faded blue jeans. Mother wore khakis and a lightweight dark-colored jacket over a green short-sleeved blouse. Because the dew was still on the ground, mother and Aunt Ida had put on old galoshes to protect their shoes from the droplets. I didn’t have galoshes and was aware of the dampness seeping into my sneakers. It amazes me how I can remember details of something that occurred years ago, but ask me about something that happened yesterday, and I draw a blank.

The garden was enclosed in what I believe was a chicken wire fence to prevent deer and other animals from eating the crops. Mother was at one end of the plot pulling a few cucumbers. Aunt Ida and I were a few feet away at the opposite end. Auntie was identifying for this naïve city girl some of the other veggies growing there when my eyes scanned the next row and landed on an elongated, curly green thing, about a foot long and half-inch thick. I starred and it for a few seconds, and my childhood imagination kicked in.

“Aunt Ida,” I whispered, drawing her attention, “Look, there’s a snake.” Aunt Ida followed my pointing finger to the object on the ground, briefly observed it, and then cracked a smile. Having been born and raised on the farm, she immediately recognized it for what it was or, in this case, what it wasn’t.

“It’s not a snake,” she laughed as she reached over the crop and picked up the slightly curvy bright green thing. “It’s just a piece of vine,” she said. Then, she glanced at mother, who had her back to us and was leaning forward, perhaps deciding on whether or not to pull up some veggies.

I am smiling now as I recall what happened next. Aunt Ida asked if I wanted to play a trick on my mom, and I nodded yes. Of course, innocent me had no idea what was about to unfold.

She handed me the piece of vine and positioned it in my hand to hold one end of it with the tips of my index finger and thumb. Next, she told me to put my hand behind my back and then walk over to my mother, stand before her and say, “Mom, look what we found,” and then bring my arm around in front of me.

Obedient and unsuspecting, I did as I was instructed. When I was a few feet in front of my mom, she lifted her head to look at me and said, “What’s up, Lo?”

I noticed that Aunt Ida, who had quietly walked up and was standing a few feet behind mom, was smirking like she was about to bust a gasket.

“Muh, (that’s what my siblings and I called our mom) look what Aunt Ida and I found.” I immediately moved my arm around in front of me and extended it toward mom. The curly green vine swayed in the breeze. Mom let out a scream and began hop-scotching away from me while yelling, “PUT THAT DOWN.” Aunt Ida was howling with laughter. Mom was screaming, jumping all over the place, and yelling, “Put that snake down.” I dropped the vine and slowly backed-pedaled. Some years later, I would wonder if grandma had been standing at the kitchen window enjoying the comedic drama as it unfolded.

Unbeknownst to me at the time but well known to Aunt Ida, my mother was scared to death of snakes.

“Bootsie (that was the nickname mother’s siblings called her), it’s not a snake. It’s only a vine,” Auntie said to mother to calm her down. Mother angrily scolded her, “That’s not funny, Ida.”

Aunt Ida could not stop laughing. Mother could not stop fuming. And I just stood there thinking, “Oh- oh. I’m in big trouble.” But I wasn’t because Aunt Ida rightfully took the blame and fessed up that it was all her idea.

Mother and Aunt Ida would laugh about that event over the years. Today the two sisters are with my grandparents and some of their other siblings together in eternity. And until I join them, I will always smile at pleasant memory like this one when they resurface.

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New Year Rising

by on ·Blogging, General, Journaling/Writing, Lifestyle and Culture

Wham! And just like that, we have crossed the threshold of 2022. Bearded Father Time handed to Baby New Year much of the same baggage from ’21:  The pandemic. Gun violence. And the incivility of ill-mannered politicians, athletes, and other malcontents

Author Anne Lamott in her book Dusk, Night, Dawn, suggests, “We summon humor to amend ghastly behavior and dismal ongoing reality.”

What Anne is saying is, “Chill!” I like her attitude. But everything doesn’t work for everybody. Some people are born with the gift of gab, other folks have an innate sense of humor. On the other hand, I am usually unfunny and can rarely tell a joke without blowing the punchline.

By the way, since this is a new year, and I hope to welcome new readers, let me tell you newbies a little about myself and Potpourri101. Potpourri is my online journal. Unlike a private journal, there is a limit to how much personal information I disclose in my public journal. I know folks like to read juicy stuff and get a full course meal, but I’m only serving hors d’oeuvres on this site. Because even Simple Simon knows that the writings on a blog are immortal, they will outlive the author and be around for as long as the Internet exists.

I’ve been composing poems and short stories since I was a child. I am 12 years a blogger (not to be confused with 12 years a slave unless you count low-wage earning jobs I held while employed in corporate America). I am also a published author. I would love to be on the New York Times Best Seller list one day, but since I’ve got more years behind me than in front of me, I may not live long enough to write the great American novel. That’s the small stuff that I don’t sweat because the reality is that we are all terminal.

Still, who knows, some of the books that I have in progress may one day be published posthumously. That brings me to an interesting tidbit about authors. It is common knowledge that many famous authors were alcoholics. Truman Capote, Tennessee Williams, Ernest Hemingway, Edgar Allen Poe, Patricia Highsmith (author of The Talented Mr. Ripley), and Carson McCullers (The Heart is a Lonely Hunter), and that’s not even half of them. Since I don’t drink alcohol, perhaps teetotalism stalled my writing career. Nah! Caffeine is my addiction of choice despite the clever quip written by a possibly alcoholic anonymous author, “Step aside coffee. This is a job for alcohol.”

Many of my close friends will tell you that I am ambitious, opinionated, competitive, and transparent. What you see is what you get. Speaking of friends and associates, I believe it’s mostly true – you know, that saying about birds of a feather. But, of course, sometimes odd birds sneak into the flock the way the FBI infiltrated the Black Panther Party during the Sixties. Still, subversion aside, we tend to associate with people whose character and interests mimic our own.

People tend to think that I am an extrovert, to the contrary, I am very much an introvert, and I guard my privacy like the secret service protects the White House. I even prefer being around plants and domesticated animals to people. Strange bird, huh?

Unlike some baby boomers my age, I love computers and enjoy other contemporary devices like tablets, iPods, and iPhones. Speaking of cell phones, I prefer text to talk. Texting seems much more time-efficient than having a discussion comprising more filler phrases than meaningful conversation. I especially like the talk-to-text feature, except when I speak too fast and don’t enunciate clearly. Then, the message can be entirely different from what I intended to say.

Another thing that annoys me about texting is group text messages. That’s when a sender sends a text message simultaneously to multiple parties. Most of us have received one of them at some time or another. I am no fan of group texts because every time someone responds to the original message, the entire group receives the reply instead of just the sender. I find that so annoying, especially when I am busy writing or trying to sleep.

Group text messages remind me of when folks used to send chain letters. Remember those? Someone would send snail mail letters to several people with the instruction that each recipient make copies and send them to others. I never complied.

I am very competitive. I enjoy playing word games online, especially Puzzly Word, Words with Friends, and board games like Scrabble and Trivial Pursuit. I also enjoy stimulating conversations with open-minded people who discuss fact-based topics and don’t base their arguments solely on conjecture and prejudgment. I respect other people’s personal opinions but have no patience for foolishness.

I like to dabble in political and social activism, but I am not the die-hard type to sit at the lunch counter while agitators pour catsup on my heard. I am a peace-lover, and I appreciate the sacrifices made by those protesters during the civil rights era, but non-violence has its limit.

When I was a timid, early adolescent little girl, growing up in the projects, I was taught that you don’t start a fight, but you don’t let another kid chase you into the house either. If someone hits you, you hit them back. I knew that if words came to blows, I had better knock the grit out of whoever I was fighting (draw first blood Rocky would say) because it was likely that if I didn’t come off swinging hard, I’d get my skinny butt beat. Strangely, I can recall being in only four fistfights during my youth and with whom; they were three girls and one boy on different days.

We were all in the same age group and attended the same school, and I remember their names. Teresa, Sandra, Patricia, and Ricky. They all lived in the neighborhood, but they had a reputation for starting trouble, unlike me. At one time or another, I fought with each of them, only once and that ended our rivalry. In those days, kids mainly fought with their hands. Socking. Scratching. Kicking. Biting. Sadly, today the cowards settle the score with guns.

I am an advocate for the underprivileged and downtrodden. I have empathy and tolerance for the needy, not the greedy. Greedy, selfish people are my nemesis.

Well, enough about me. All things considered, 2022 is the most remarkable year ever, considering that as I write this, we are only 16 hours into the new year.

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