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

When the Family Tree Rings

by on ·Family, Genealogy

I’m sitting here, fingers flying across the keyboard, deep into writing about ancestral detective work, when my phone rings.

“What’s up?” chirps the voice on the other end, “You busy?”

“I’m writing a blog post,” I said.

“What’s it about?” He asked.

“Genealogy,” I reply.

“Another one?” comes the response, dripping with enough judgment to fill a family Bible.

I’ll admit, I immediately considered channeling my inner drama queen and belting out a “BYE FELIPE!” (That’s the male version of saying, “Bye Felicia.”) and dramatically slamming down the receiver. But my professionalism, good manners, and fear of breaking my phone prevailed. So I sat listening, rolling my eyes, and tapping one foot until our conversation ended, and I got back to writing this.

My daughter, Nikki (named after the incomparable Nikki Giovanni), has caught the genealogy bug. Trust me, once bitten, it’s harder to cure than the urge to pop bubble wrap.

I remember reading Giovanni’s poem Scrapbooks in the ’70s when bell-bottoms were all the rage and disco was king. One line from that poem remains etched in my memory, “Sometimes it seems my life is a scrapbook.” I find that so relevant.

Delving into genealogy is like playing detective in your family tree; you dig with a symbolic shovel and examine findings with a magnifying glass. If you’re lucky, you will discover a treasure chest of memories, and every time you uncover a new tidbit about your ancestors, it will add another entry to your scrapbook.

Now, Nikki’s interest has been peaked, and I’m thrilled. She’s planning to take the AncestryDNA test to learn more about her deceased father’s family history, potentially connecting with unknown relatives and strengthening existing relationships. Since her father and I separated when she was an infant and eventually divorced, she and her brother had very little interaction with his side of the family. Her curiosity is heightened by the fact that foster parents raised her father, and although he knew his sister who was with another family, neither of them knew their birth parents; she’ll undoubtedly be looking for a needle in a haystack.

Thankfully, her quest to learn about her grandparents and great-grands on the maternal side of her family won’t be as challenging since I’ve played detective with our family history for years and even wrote a book about it.

As luck would have it, my cousin Velda, bless her heart, created a small but remarkable photo album a few years back showcasing our paternal lineage. This treasure trove is brimming with family snapshots – featuring my father, her father, their siblings, some spouses, and our grandparents. A brief description of the subjects thoughtfully accompanies each image. Coincidentally, some cousins on my mother’s side compiled a similar photo collection after our 2018 family reunion. These two volumes form an impressive set destined to be cherished heirlooms for generations.

Because a family tree is a wild world of roots and branches, there’s always another story to uncover, another mystery to solve (and another blog post to write).

Discovering our forebearers’ hardships and challenges can make us more empathetic and appreciative of our culture and life experiences. Look at Alex Haley. His discovery of his ancestries and the subsequent writing and publication of Roots profoundly impacted his life. In addition to bringing him tremendous success and recognition, Roots became a #1 bestseller, a widely-watched TV miniseries, and won Haley a Pulitzer Prize. His success also sparked widespread interest in genealogy and African American family history, inspiring many others, including myself, to explore our roots. Tracing lines of descent through generations using oral interviews, historical records, genetic analysis, and other sources serves as a valuable family heirloom and historical record. Alex Haley’s Roots inspired esteemed author Henry Louis Gates Jr. to learn his own ancestry. He later developed a PBS series, “Finding Your Roots.”

Nikki may never write a best seller like Haley, but I will encourage her pursuit. And one more thing about genealogy. I must tell you that my cousin, Tanya, has more enthusiasm for family history than a squirrel has for nuts. In 2014, she went on a wild ride through our family tree, mapping out every twig and leaf like she was trying to win the genealogy lottery. She didn’t just scribble our family tree on the back of a napkin. No, sirree, she went full-on digital diva and left a jaw-dropping Genealogy Report on the MyHeritage website, created by another cousin, Dwayne. Dwayne, bless his tech-savvy heart, had long ago set up the online family hub that facilitated Tanya’s project. Not only is the genealogy bug highly contagious, but in our case, it’s a family affair.

As I see it, life’s just one big scrapbook, and most of us try to make our pages uplifting and worth reading!

As Marcus Garvey said, “A people without the knowledge of their past history, origin, and culture is like a tree without roots.”

 

 

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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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