Yes...Another 1207!
Wednesday, December 07, 2011
Thursday, October 06, 2011
Got'em, Blue Suede Shoes
Imagine my surprise when I got these suckers!
I am too excited. U can tell from the pic.
Better pic later. Just couldn't wait to get in them.
Life My Love!
I am too excited. U can tell from the pic.
Better pic later. Just couldn't wait to get in them.
Life My Love!
Tuesday, October 04, 2011
Thank you, Ma'am
This short story captures my devilish desire for a pair of killer blue suede pumps. Thanks Mr. Hughes!
Thank You, Ma'am (by Langston Hughes)
She was a large woman with a large purse that had everything in it but hammer and nails. It had a
long strap, and she carried it slung across her shoulder. It was about eleven o’clock at night, and she
was walking alone, when a boy ran up behind her and tried to snatch her purse. The strap broke
with the single tug the boy gave it from behind. But the boy’s weight and the weight of the purse
combined caused him to lose his balance so, intsead of taking off full blast as he had hoped, the
boy fell on his back on the sidewalk, and his legs flew up. the large woman simply turned around
and kicked him right square in his blue-jeaned sitter. Then she reached down, picked the boy up by
his shirt front, and shook him until his teeth rattled.
After that the woman said, “Pick up my pocketbook, boy, and give it here.” She still held him. But
she bent down enough to permit him to stoop and pick up her purse. Then she said, “Now ain’t
you ashamed of yourself?”
Firmly gripped by his shirt front, the boy said, “Yes’m.”
The woman said, “What did you want to do it for?”
The boy said, “I didn’t aim to.”
She said, “You a lie!”
By that time two or three people passed, stopped, turned to look, and some stood watching.
“If I turn you loose, will you run?” asked the woman.
“Yes’m,” said the boy.
“Then I won’t turn you loose,” said the woman. She did not release him.
“I’m very sorry, lady, I’m sorry,” whispered the boy.
“Um-hum! And your face is dirty. I got a great mind to wash your face for you. Ain’t you got
nobody home to tell you to wash your face?”
“No’m,” said the boy.
“Then it will get washed this evening,” said the large woman starting up the street, dragging the
frightened boy behind her.
He looked as if he were fourteen or fifteen, frail and willow-wild, in tennis shoes and blue jeans.
The woman said, “You ought to be my son. I would teach you right from wrong. Least I can do
right now is to wash your face. Are you hungry?”
“No’m,” said the being dragged boy. “I just want you to turn me loose.”
“Was I bothering you when I turned that corner?” asked the woman.
“No’m.”
“But you put yourself in contact with me,” said the woman. “If you think that that contact is not
going to last awhile, you got another thought coming. When I get through with you, sir, you are
going to remember Mrs. Luella Bates Washington Jones.”
Sweat popped out on the boy’s face and he began to struggle. Mrs. Jones stopped, jerked him
around in front of her, put a half-nelson about his neck, and continued to drag him up the street.
When she got to her door, she dragged the boy inside, down a hall, and into a large kitchenettefurnished
room at the rear of the house. She switched on the light and left the door open. The boy
could hear other roomers laughing and talking in the large house. Some of their doors were open,
too, so he knew he and the woman were not alone. The woman still had him by the neck in the
middle of her room.
She said, “What is your name?”
“Roger,” answered the boy.
“Then, Roger, you go to that sink and wash your face,” said the woman, whereupon she turned
him loose—at last. Roger looked at the door—looked at the woman—looked at the door—and went
to the sink.
Let the water run until it gets warm,” she said. “Here’s a clean towel.”
“You gonna take me to jail?” asked the boy, bending over the sink.
“Not with that face, I would not take you nowhere,” said the woman. “Here I am trying to get
home to cook me a bite to eat and you snatch my pocketbook! Maybe, you ain’t been to your
supper either, late as it be. Have you?”
“There’s nobody home at my house,” said the boy.
“Then we’ll eat,” said the woman, “I believe you’re hungry—or been hungry—to try to snatch my
pockekbook.”
“I wanted a pair of blue suede shoes,” said the boy.
“Well, you didn’t have to snatch my pocketbook to get some suede shoes,” said Mrs. Luella Bates
Washington Jones. “You could of asked me.”
“M’am?”
The water dripping from his face, the boy looked at her. There was a long pause. A very long
pause. After he had dried his face and not knowing what else to do dried it again, the boy turned
around, wondering what next. The door was open. He could make a dash for it down the hall. He
could run, run, run, run, run!
The woman was sitting on the day-bed. After a while she said, “I were young once and I wanted
things I could not get.”
There was another long pause. The boy’s mouth opened. Then he frowned, but not knowing he
frowned.
The woman said, “Um-hum! You thought I was going to say but, didn’t you? You thought I was
going to say, but I didn’t snatch people’s pocketbooks. Well, I wasn’t going to say that.” Pause.
Silence. “I have done things, too, which I would not tell you, son—neither tell God, if he didn’t
already know. So you set down while I fix us something to eat. You might run that comb through
your hair so you will look presentable.”
In another corner of the room behind a screen was a gas plate and an icebox. Mrs. Jones got up
and went behind the screen. The woman did not watch the boy to see if he was going to run now,
nor did she watch her purse which she left behind her on the day-bed. But the boy took care to sit
on the far side of the room where he thought she could easily see him out of the corner of her eye,
if she wanted to. He did not trust the woman not to trust him. And he did not want to be mistrusted
now.
“Do you need somebody to go to the store,” asked the boy, “maybe to get some milk or
something?”
“Don’t believe I do,” said the woman, “unless you just want sweet milk yourself. I was going to
make cocoa out of this canned milk I got here.”
“That will be fine,” said the boy.
She heated some lima beans and ham she had in the icebox, made the cocoa, and set the table.
The woman did not ask the boy anything about where he lived, or his folks, or anything else that
would embarrass him. Instead, as they ate, she told him about her job in a hotel beauty-shop that
stayed open late, what the work was like, and how all kinds of women came in and out, blondes,
red-heads, and Spanish. Then she cut him a half of her ten-cent cake.
“Eat some more, son,” she said.
When they were finished eating she got up and said, “Now, here, take this ten dollars and buy
yourself some blue suede shoes. And next time, do not make the mistake of latching onto my
pocketbook nor nobody else’s—because shoes come by devilish like that will burn your feet. I got to
get my rest now. But I wish you would behave yourself, son, from here on in.”
She led him down the hall to the front door and opened it. “Good-night! Behave yourself, boy!”
she said, looking out into the street.
The boy wanted to say something else other than “Thank you, m’am” to Mrs. Luella Bates
Washington Jones, but he couldn’t do so as he turned at the barren stoop and looked back at the
large woman in the door. He barely managed to say “Thank you” before she shut the door. And he
never saw her again.
Thank You, Ma'am (by Langston Hughes)
She was a large woman with a large purse that had everything in it but hammer and nails. It had a
long strap, and she carried it slung across her shoulder. It was about eleven o’clock at night, and she
was walking alone, when a boy ran up behind her and tried to snatch her purse. The strap broke
with the single tug the boy gave it from behind. But the boy’s weight and the weight of the purse
combined caused him to lose his balance so, intsead of taking off full blast as he had hoped, the
boy fell on his back on the sidewalk, and his legs flew up. the large woman simply turned around
and kicked him right square in his blue-jeaned sitter. Then she reached down, picked the boy up by
his shirt front, and shook him until his teeth rattled.
After that the woman said, “Pick up my pocketbook, boy, and give it here.” She still held him. But
she bent down enough to permit him to stoop and pick up her purse. Then she said, “Now ain’t
you ashamed of yourself?”
Firmly gripped by his shirt front, the boy said, “Yes’m.”
The woman said, “What did you want to do it for?”
The boy said, “I didn’t aim to.”
She said, “You a lie!”
By that time two or three people passed, stopped, turned to look, and some stood watching.
“If I turn you loose, will you run?” asked the woman.
“Yes’m,” said the boy.
“Then I won’t turn you loose,” said the woman. She did not release him.
“I’m very sorry, lady, I’m sorry,” whispered the boy.
“Um-hum! And your face is dirty. I got a great mind to wash your face for you. Ain’t you got
nobody home to tell you to wash your face?”
“No’m,” said the boy.
“Then it will get washed this evening,” said the large woman starting up the street, dragging the
frightened boy behind her.
He looked as if he were fourteen or fifteen, frail and willow-wild, in tennis shoes and blue jeans.
The woman said, “You ought to be my son. I would teach you right from wrong. Least I can do
right now is to wash your face. Are you hungry?”
“No’m,” said the being dragged boy. “I just want you to turn me loose.”
“Was I bothering you when I turned that corner?” asked the woman.
“No’m.”
“But you put yourself in contact with me,” said the woman. “If you think that that contact is not
going to last awhile, you got another thought coming. When I get through with you, sir, you are
going to remember Mrs. Luella Bates Washington Jones.”
Sweat popped out on the boy’s face and he began to struggle. Mrs. Jones stopped, jerked him
around in front of her, put a half-nelson about his neck, and continued to drag him up the street.
When she got to her door, she dragged the boy inside, down a hall, and into a large kitchenettefurnished
room at the rear of the house. She switched on the light and left the door open. The boy
could hear other roomers laughing and talking in the large house. Some of their doors were open,
too, so he knew he and the woman were not alone. The woman still had him by the neck in the
middle of her room.
She said, “What is your name?”
“Roger,” answered the boy.
“Then, Roger, you go to that sink and wash your face,” said the woman, whereupon she turned
him loose—at last. Roger looked at the door—looked at the woman—looked at the door—and went
to the sink.
Let the water run until it gets warm,” she said. “Here’s a clean towel.”
“You gonna take me to jail?” asked the boy, bending over the sink.
“Not with that face, I would not take you nowhere,” said the woman. “Here I am trying to get
home to cook me a bite to eat and you snatch my pocketbook! Maybe, you ain’t been to your
supper either, late as it be. Have you?”
“There’s nobody home at my house,” said the boy.
“Then we’ll eat,” said the woman, “I believe you’re hungry—or been hungry—to try to snatch my
pockekbook.”
“I wanted a pair of blue suede shoes,” said the boy.
“Well, you didn’t have to snatch my pocketbook to get some suede shoes,” said Mrs. Luella Bates
Washington Jones. “You could of asked me.”
“M’am?”
The water dripping from his face, the boy looked at her. There was a long pause. A very long
pause. After he had dried his face and not knowing what else to do dried it again, the boy turned
around, wondering what next. The door was open. He could make a dash for it down the hall. He
could run, run, run, run, run!
The woman was sitting on the day-bed. After a while she said, “I were young once and I wanted
things I could not get.”
There was another long pause. The boy’s mouth opened. Then he frowned, but not knowing he
frowned.
The woman said, “Um-hum! You thought I was going to say but, didn’t you? You thought I was
going to say, but I didn’t snatch people’s pocketbooks. Well, I wasn’t going to say that.” Pause.
Silence. “I have done things, too, which I would not tell you, son—neither tell God, if he didn’t
already know. So you set down while I fix us something to eat. You might run that comb through
your hair so you will look presentable.”
In another corner of the room behind a screen was a gas plate and an icebox. Mrs. Jones got up
and went behind the screen. The woman did not watch the boy to see if he was going to run now,
nor did she watch her purse which she left behind her on the day-bed. But the boy took care to sit
on the far side of the room where he thought she could easily see him out of the corner of her eye,
if she wanted to. He did not trust the woman not to trust him. And he did not want to be mistrusted
now.
“Do you need somebody to go to the store,” asked the boy, “maybe to get some milk or
something?”
“Don’t believe I do,” said the woman, “unless you just want sweet milk yourself. I was going to
make cocoa out of this canned milk I got here.”
“That will be fine,” said the boy.
She heated some lima beans and ham she had in the icebox, made the cocoa, and set the table.
The woman did not ask the boy anything about where he lived, or his folks, or anything else that
would embarrass him. Instead, as they ate, she told him about her job in a hotel beauty-shop that
stayed open late, what the work was like, and how all kinds of women came in and out, blondes,
red-heads, and Spanish. Then she cut him a half of her ten-cent cake.
“Eat some more, son,” she said.
When they were finished eating she got up and said, “Now, here, take this ten dollars and buy
yourself some blue suede shoes. And next time, do not make the mistake of latching onto my
pocketbook nor nobody else’s—because shoes come by devilish like that will burn your feet. I got to
get my rest now. But I wish you would behave yourself, son, from here on in.”
She led him down the hall to the front door and opened it. “Good-night! Behave yourself, boy!”
she said, looking out into the street.
The boy wanted to say something else other than “Thank you, m’am” to Mrs. Luella Bates
Washington Jones, but he couldn’t do so as he turned at the barren stoop and looked back at the
large woman in the door. He barely managed to say “Thank you” before she shut the door. And he
never saw her again.
Monday, October 03, 2011
Where
are you?
You are the only one that understand my jumbled design.
You know when to give me space; without giving too much distance.
You know how to make me laugh, even when I need to cry.
You know when I am tired, you find a way to relax me.
So,where are you? I need that in my jumbled Life.
You are the only one that understand my jumbled design.
You know when to give me space; without giving too much distance.
You know how to make me laugh, even when I need to cry.
You know when I am tired, you find a way to relax me.
So,where are you? I need that in my jumbled Life.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Monday, January 17, 2011
And Mr. President said it best....
America is a land of big dreamers and big hopes. It is this hope that has sustained us through revolution and civil war, depression and world war, a struggle for civil and social rights and the brink of nuclear crisis. And it is because our dreamers dreamed that we have emerged from each challenge more united, more prosperous, and more admired than before.
BARACK OBAMA, speech, Jun. 4, 2005
I will never forget that the only reason I'm standing here today is because somebody, somewhere stood up for me when it was risky. Stood up when it was hard. Stood up when it wasn't popular. And because that somebody stood up, a few more stood up. And then a few thousand stood up. And then a few million stood up. And standing up, with courage and clear purpose, they somehow managed to change the world.
BARACK OBAMA, speech, Jan. 8, 2008
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Unleashing the Leash
“Experience is a hard teacher, because she gives the test first, the lesson afterwards.”
I am especially thinking about this quote and a few others today for a number of reasons. For starters, I can attest that this past year has given me a fair share of tests, but what I’ve come to realize is more important…which is what I’ve done or better assumed…what I must do with the countless lessons that I have take from the experiences.
Realizing lessons are only of value when you use them to better yourself; I am convinced that it’s time to put them into action, not in the form of an annual resolution, but as my lifestyle constitution.
In the words of other noteworthy wise folk like Woody Hayes who said-there's nothing that cleanses your soul like getting the hell kicked out of you, and Robert Kennedy reminds me that –only those that dare to fail greatly can ever achieve greatly, and one of my all-time favorites-it is never too late to be what you might have been, George Eliot. I have garnered the advice from that of both old and equally wise counselors in my quest to find solace. Now, it’s up to me to follow through.
I am the first to admit that I am not one who hastily accepts change when it comes to my personal resolve. I am not sure whether that should be attributed to my own success/failures, instilled childhood beliefs or simply my stubbornness to accept change…whatever it is, it has kept me from walking on the wild-side of life. I have tamed this longing by trying “safe” new and different things to quench my desires. Now hoping not to have cheated myself…..I need to let my hair down (literally, I ‘ve been rockin’ this bun far too long).
Let’s really see what happens in Life.
I am especially thinking about this quote and a few others today for a number of reasons. For starters, I can attest that this past year has given me a fair share of tests, but what I’ve come to realize is more important…which is what I’ve done or better assumed…what I must do with the countless lessons that I have take from the experiences.
Realizing lessons are only of value when you use them to better yourself; I am convinced that it’s time to put them into action, not in the form of an annual resolution, but as my lifestyle constitution.
In the words of other noteworthy wise folk like Woody Hayes who said-there's nothing that cleanses your soul like getting the hell kicked out of you, and Robert Kennedy reminds me that –only those that dare to fail greatly can ever achieve greatly, and one of my all-time favorites-it is never too late to be what you might have been, George Eliot. I have garnered the advice from that of both old and equally wise counselors in my quest to find solace. Now, it’s up to me to follow through.
I am the first to admit that I am not one who hastily accepts change when it comes to my personal resolve. I am not sure whether that should be attributed to my own success/failures, instilled childhood beliefs or simply my stubbornness to accept change…whatever it is, it has kept me from walking on the wild-side of life. I have tamed this longing by trying “safe” new and different things to quench my desires. Now hoping not to have cheated myself…..I need to let my hair down (literally, I ‘ve been rockin’ this bun far too long).
Let’s really see what happens in Life.
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