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

Posts Written By L Parker Brown

From Family Drama to Smooth Jazz

by on ·Family, Inheritance, The Way I See It

Well, raise my window and call me Pearl (Remember the lady in the window from the sitcom 227). It seems my last blog post stirred up more drama than an episode of The Sopranos. Who knew that a hypothetical could cause anxiety attacks in so many people? I should’ve posted a warning: “Caution: Reading this may cause out-of-control suspicion, guilt, or rage.”

When talking about wills, nothing brings out long-lost relatives faster than the prospect of an inheritance. Shortly after that post was published last week, my brother and I were suddenly the most popular people on the family tree for some strange reason. We were inundated with calls, texts, and emails from folks we hadn’t exchanged a word with since typewriters gave way to computers. It was like a family reunion gone digital. Everyone presumed theirs was the hypothetical family and wanted to know how to get a piece of the family pie—or at least to know if there was a pie to be sliced.

The buzz around the blog post didn’t just stir up family and friends; it also boosted my readership. Thank you very much.

Who knew that sharing a little information about wills and heirs would be like dropping a genealogical grenade? Regarding inheritance, everyone wants to be in the will—and in the know! But life’s a fleeting carnival, and we’re all temporary ticket holders. One day, we’re chasing windmills, and the next, we’re expressing final wishes. To help me keep things in perspective, I often remind myself of a statement credited to Mahatma Gandhi: “The world has enough for everyone’s needs, but not everyone’s greed.” That’s deep, isn’t it? So, while some of you ponder that, I’m flipping the script on this subject and moving on to something more mellow.

I’ve read that music, soothing melodies, and gentle rhythms have a magical effect on our bodies. It whispers to our hearts, “Slow down, take it easy.” And our hearts listen! Scientific studies have revealed that our stress level drops when we listen to calming tunes. The heart rate gently decreases, and blood pressure lowers, too.

I find few things are more relaxing than being in the comfort of my home, lounging in the recliner, keeping the lights low, and listening to smooth jazz (SJ). Don’t get me wrong. I love some rhythm and blues. After all, we Boomers grew up with R&B, but smooth jazz is soothing. That sensual and relaxing music that seems to touch the soul is the next best thing to meditation.

One contemporary SJ melody has become my favorite. It absolutely blows my mind. No matter what I’m doing when that tune comes on, I drop everything, stop and listen. It’s titled Hypnotized. I’m not talking about the 1967 sultry version performed by Linda Jones. That’s cool, too, and it remains one of my favorite oldies. However, this year’s contemporary, smooth jazz version, Hypnotized — The TNR Collective, released April 12, is off the charts! Turn up the volume on your speakers, sit back in your chair, click the arrow below, listen, and enjoy.

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Musing on the Quirks of Inheritance

by on ·Family, Lifestyle and Culture, The Way I See It

A few months ago, I was deeply engrossed in a series of captivating documentaries. One standout was Silver Dollar Road, which chronicles the Reels family’s courageous fight to protect their beloved waterfront property in North Carolina from encroaching developers. This film dives deep into the complex issue of heirs’ property, making it a must-watch for anyone interested in land rights and family legacies.

Watching documentaries can be quite an educational journey. I was so intrigued by what I learned that I was inclined to consult some legal experts.

Picture this hypothetical: a man passes away without leaving a will. That’s a surefire recipe for family drama! His widow inherits a life estate—a type of joint ownership allowing her to live on the property for her lifetime. When she dies intestate (without making a will), the property passes to the heirs; then, it’s game on! It might take days, weeks, or even years, but that’s when things start getting messy.

I learned something long before I heard of the documentaries: Every responsible adult should have a will. This legal document is crucial to estate planning, ensuring your wishes are honored after your death. A will isn’t just for the wealthy or elderly; it’s essential for anyone wanting to protect their assets and loved ones.

It was only when my mother was on her deathbed, suffering from terminal cancer, that I was able to convince her to draw up a will. Since she couldn’t travel, I summoned the lawyer to her bedside. Twelve days after she signed it, she passed away.

Continuing with the hypothetical, suppose descendants jointly own family land. The heirs have the right to use the property, but they lack a clear or marketable title due to unresolved estate issues. Unfortunately, this type of heirs’ property is more prevalent among Black and Indigenous communities.

Now, let’s talk about profits from inherited property. Navigating this tricky situation feels like doing aerobic yoga. It’s challenging and uncertain, yet undeniably intriguing. All heirs have equal rights to use and profit from it. So, any income the property generates—be it rent or something more substantial—needs to be divided based on each heir’s ownership share. In other words, if a property makes money, each heir deserves their slice of the pie.

Just as greed is a bottomless pit, nothing stirs up drama like unequal asset distribution. That’s just how the cookie crumbles in inherited real estate. But hey, I’m no lawyer—just a blogger who has done the research and is sharing my two cents!

I’ve learned that the absence of a will becomes more complicated as generations pass. Each successive generation typically adds more heirs to the land inheritance. See what I mean when I say things get messy? Descendants and heirs add more complexity to an already complicated situation, and the dispensation of heirs’ property often sparks family feuds.

What’s love got to do with it? When it comes to divvying up grandma’s china or granddad’s pocket watch collection, even the most lovey-dovey families can turn into a pack of squabbling wolves faster than you can say, “There is no last will and testament.” And let’s be real, even if nobody’s throwing punches over Great-Aunt Edna’s church hats, you can bet your bottom dollar there’s some serious side-eye action and venomous phone calls happening behind the scenes.

You know, through my family’s grapevine, I discovered something intriguing about my grandmother’s passing over 35 years ago. Let me whisper it to you: There was some bickering over some of her possessions. (Shhh.) It’s funny how some things never really change, isn’t it?

If I learned nothing else from watching documentaries like Silver Dollar Road and Gaining Ground: The Fight for Black Land, it’s that after the owner or executor passes, communication is critical to reducing the possibility of family conflict, and inheritance sure has a way of bringing out the worst in folks.

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From Bucket List to Broadcast

by on ·Politics

Tonight marks the beginning of an event I’ve eagerly awaited: the four-night Democratic National Convention (DNC). This year’s convention at Chicago’s United Center runs through Thursday, August 22. For years, attending the DNC has been a dream of mine, a personal bucket list item. While some people yearn for adventures to exotic locales like the Caribbean, Sardinia, or Paris, my aspirations have always been closer to home, rooted in the vibrant world of politics. Ever since I watched Representative Shirley Chisholm’s inspiring speech at the 1972 convention, I’ve longed to be part of this dynamic political gathering.

As a self-proclaimed political junkie, I understand the DNC’s primary purpose: nominating the Democratic candidate for the U.S. presidency. Yet, beyond the political machinations, the convention appears to be a grand celebration, a political festival of sorts, when viewed from afar. I want to be there. However, a friend recently reminded me that time is ticking for me to fulfill this dream. Like the Olympics, the DNC occurs only every four years, and I’m not getting any younger.

Reflecting on my political journey, I can’t pinpoint when my passion ignited. My parents weren’t particularly political; my mother didn’t vote, though my father rarely missed an election. Perhaps his dedication influenced me.

Politics has coursed through my veins for as long as I can remember. I’ve been involved in local campaigns, including Mayor Marion Barry’s, and have pinched pennies to contribute financially to various political causes, including the candidacy of current Democratic nominee VP Kamala Harris. My time at the Metro Chronicle newspaper also encouraged my interest in politics, allowing me to interview local political figures whom I admire, like Eleanor Holmes Norton.

Though I won’t be mingling with the political luminaries this week, I’ll be tuning in eagerly. When you’re a little fish in a little pond, you’re basically the CEO of a very exclusive puddle. As the CEO of my own little world, I may not be in the thick of the action, but I’ll be watching, captivated by the spectacle of democracy in action.

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From Doorbells to Deadlines: A Personal Reflection on This Writer’s Life

by on ·Blogging, The Writing Life

The life of a writer! It sounds glamorous, doesn’t it? But I don’t fool myself. I completely understand why I—and many authors—need to escape to a secluded place when we want to write something noteworthy, whether it’s a book or a blog.

Seclusion – it’s the only way to achieve that elusive state of peace. In my home, I’m constantly interrupted by the sirens of emergency vehicles racing down the street, the constant ringing of the phone, the doorbell that seems to have a personal vendetta against my productivity, or the loudmouth neighbors who gather just outside my open windows to chat, like an unwelcome committee. Thank goodness using the air conditioner in the summer means I can keep the windows closed.

It’s nearly impossible to write anything coherent when surrounded by people who think “quiet” is a type of fabric. I once read about Maya Angelou’s writing method, which involved renting a hotel room, stripping it of distractions like telephones and televisions, and hanging a “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door. I admit I was envious. But inspired, I gave it a shot, too. Let’s just say my version was more “budget-friendly.” I stayed home and printed a sign in the 48-point font that read, “I am taking an online class. Please do not disturb.” (I found it necessary to be a bit crafty because I know my neighbors. They are persistent.) Then, I taped it to my door just beneath the doorbell. Either the sign worked wonders, or my neighbors finally found something else to do besides disturb me.

Now, don’t get me wrong; my neighbors mean well. They often ring my doorbell to deliver a package that the Amazon courier left on the porch to prevent the porch pirates from getting it first. But sometimes, they phone me out of sheer boredom, as if my life is a soap opera they can tune into. Most of them are retired, just like me, and we’ve all been living in this complex long enough to know each other’s life stories better than we know our own. Back in the day, we were busy with jobs, raising our children, and the chaos of life. Now, the day’s highlight seems to be finding out who has the juiciest gossip.

I suspect my neighbors think I’m anti-social. After all, I’m not one to hang outside or sit on the porch and engage in idle chit-chat. I prefer the company of my numerous books (reading) and my computer (writing). When working at the computer, I usually have the TV on in the background, tuned to the all-news station. The volume is generally lower than a whisper, or it’s muted.

When the phone rings, I glance at the screen to see if I want to answer. Thanks to my bundled cable service, I have what I call “TV caller ID.” It’s a brilliant way to dodge telemarketers and those friends who think a conversation should last longer than a Netflix binge.

Since retiring, I’ve embraced a reclusive lifestyle. It’s my time now—me time. For years, my time was consumed by work, children, and the daily grind. I have always loved my kids, but I can’t count how many times while they were little that I silently wished they would grow up and get a place of their own. And then, just like that song, “Turn Around,” says, they did—faster than I could say “empty nest.”

So now, liberated from a job and dependent children, I finally have time to write a blog and work on penning the great American novel. Unfortunately, I can only do my best writing without interruptions after midnight or during that predawn period in the morning when the world is blissfully quiet, and my quasi-spouse is sleeping like the dead.

It’s incredible how creativity flourishes when you’re free from distractions. Just this morning, I woke up at 5:30 AM, and in shortly less than a miraculous hour, I managed to finish this post without a single disturbance. The post-midnight hours are my secret weapon, my sanctuary. Unfortunately, I can’t afford to rent a cabin in the woods or reserve an extended stay at a hotel every time I want to write, and I have at least two “in-progress” books trapped in my head, begging for completion. They’re prisoners of my own making, waiting for the day I can escape to a quiet place to complete them.

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Making it Rain: Ageism, Racism and Sexism

by on ·Politics, Race Matters

Last Sunday afternoon, I was at my computer writing in my online journal about ageism and expressing my frustration with how President Biden’s desire for a second term suddenly became controversial due to his age (after his poor performance during the debate in June). I understand that the role of the U.S. President is more mentally demanding than physical, but the point I had planned to make was that people need to stop discounting older individuals.

I also would have cited examples of older people like my cousin on my father’s side, Akintunde Kenyatta. He was in his late 60s or early 70s when he decided to take a literal leap of faith. Like former President George H.W. Bush, Wesley Snipes, and other brave hearts over 50, Akintunde fulfilled his dream of skydiving before passing away a few years later. Similarly, famed marathon swimmer Diane Nyad swam across the Florida Strait—the treacherous waters between Cuba and Key West—at the age of 64, a feat that was nothing short of extraordinary. Closer to home, my she-ro, Baltimore native Ernestine Shepherd, stands as a testament to the power of perseverance and dedication. Since she turned 56, she has won two bodybuilding titles and completed nine marathons. Now 87 years old, Shepherd is the world’s oldest competitive female bodybuilder.

However, before I could finish writing about the virtues of age, a TV newscast reported that the president would not seek a second term and would instead support Vice President Kamala Harris as the Democratic nominee; it was and is a bittersweet historic event.

Since Sunday’s shocking announcement, the political drama has unfolded faster than a California wildfire. Harris’s challenger – the Orange Menace – and his childish sidekick have had the rug pulled out from under them. (The sidekick is the author of Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis. The movie is available on Netflix. I saw it a few years ago before I ever heard of the sidekick.) The two of them, and other MAGA cult members, are doing what children with limited communication skills often do: name-calling and spewing lies, including saying the VP is a DEI hire (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion).

The term “DEI hire” is often used snipingly to imply that someone was hired solely to fulfill diversity quotas, disregarding their qualifications. This term is frequently weaponized to undermine the achievements of individuals from marginalized groups. The notion that DEI initiatives lead to hiring less qualified individuals is contradicted by the fact that many so-called “DEI hires” are equally or more qualified than their counterparts. Such criticisms are seen as attempts to demoralize and disrespect leaders from marginalized groups.

VP Harris’s career achievements and qualifications demonstrate that she is far from being a DEI hire. Her extensive experience in various high-profile legal and political roles underscores her merit and capability to hold leadership positions, including the Vice Presidency and her candidacy for the Presidency. She is not a DEI hire for several reasons, including the fact that she has exemplary qualifications and career achievements:

  • She served as the District Attorney of San Francisco for about seven years.
  • She was the Attorney General of California for six years.
  • She was elected U.S. Senator from California and served for four years.
  • She has been serving as the Vice President of the United States for the past three and a half years. Her selection followed President Joe Biden’s commitment to choosing a woman for the role without initially specifying race.

I remember all the hellishness the Obamas had to tolerate during President Obama’s campaign and even while he was in the White House. It’s feeling like déjà vu all over again, but this time with a double dose of racism and sexism. The Orange Menace and his sidekick are revving up their engines of hate and spewing their usual garbage like a broken sewage pipe. They are both clownish. Seeing them perform at rallies or anywhere is like watching a bad reality TV show.

I’ve been a Harris fan since she first stepped into the spotlight as Biden’s running mate. As a black woman, I feel unsettled knowing the storm she’s about to face. On the other hand, I recognize her strength. I believe she is the storm and will give her opponents as good as she gets. What’s more, she has an army behind her.

On Sunday night and the evening following President Biden’s announcement, black women and men – yes, the whole melanin-blessed crew – showed up. They burned up phone lines and slapped down cold, hard cash. Talk about putting your money where your mouth is. Black folk didn’t just talk the talk; they walked the walk and then some. On Thursday, Shannon Watts, the founder of Moms Demand Action, organized White Women for Kamala on a Zoom call, and they also raised millions for Harris’s campaign. Talk about making it rain!

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