I wrote a symphony in three movements. As the grand orchestra played, I listened in awe. The music was absolutely astounding!! In reality, I’ve enjoyed classical music all my life. Yet, I’ve never heard music as lovely and moving as the symphonic music I wrote in my dream. Incredible.

I feel confident that Cindy McCain or Michelle Obama will fulfill the role as First Lady, yet my sense is that (on a personal level) neither of these women are looking forward to making their home on 16th Avenue in the Nation’s capitol. Frankly, there is no doubt in my mind that one of these women will have difficult challenges to overcome because she will be constantly scrutinized as the nation and world observe her every move. After reading Gail Collins interview, and other comments on this post, I think Barbara Bush was more emotionally prepared among the First Ladies of the last few decades. The truth is that it is difficult for any woman who is married to a prominent, powerful, and ambitious ‘alpha’ male, to cope well; whether she is thrown into the public eye, or whether ‘trapped’ in the privacy of her home. I’ve been in support groups for women struggling to keep their lives together; women who lived in the shadow of a high-powered, successful, and (often) an aggressive man. The stories they’ve shared are mind boggling. I know, because I’ve lived that life -I’m the former wife of a ‘mover and shaker’ who was also an arrogant, ambitious (expletive); and it nearly destroyed me. Yet, I’m way, way, down on the bottom of the totem pole, and having survived my experiences, and knowing first hand the experiences of other women I’ve met, I don’t envy the awesome obstacles and challenges Cindy McCain or Michelle Obama will face as First Lady of this country. They both have my prayers.

Opps! I must have been in a nostalgic mood when I posted my earlier commentary. I didn’t realize that I had gone on and on and on. Blah, blah, blah. I’m learning that less seems to work best in this forum. Sorry. What I should have wrote is this: The fifties was the best, and I wish I could experience again.

What a remarkable woman!! Ashley Judd’s Rwanda Diaries have been difficult to read. It is a heart-breaking account of the horrifying conditions, which seem to plague the poorest people on earth. I’ve not commented prior this writing because I felt simply too overwhelmed. Then it occurred to me how important it is to let people like Ashley Judd know that her message is being heard. I applaud her tireless work, and I’m praying that more work will be done to help the address devastating health concerns in places like Rwanda. Far too many people in the poor countries of Africa lack access to clean water, not to mention medical help, which is needed for epidemic conditions such as AIDS. Fortunately, much is being done to raise awareness about the AIDS epidemic in Africa. And, we all can in some small way make a difference. However, I believe that the epidemic of hunger is even worse in places like Rwanda, Niger, The Sudan, and much of Africa. I believe that while we all can not be as hands-on as Ashley Judd in her determination to educate the world of the deplorable health conditions of Rwandans, we can all contribute in some way to help feed the hungry. Since last October, I log on to: www.freerice.com Freerice.com is a vocabulary game site. When you go to the site there will be a vocabulary word with a list of possible answers. All you need to do is click on the answer which best defines the word. For each word you answer correctly, Freerice.com donates twenty grains of rice to the United Nations World Food Program. I suggest, that if you have the time please log on to Freerice.com Also, tell everyone in your address book. It won’t cost you anything except a little time; a few moments to help feed to hungry. Meanwhile, I feel so fortunate that Ashley Judd has made me more aware of the plight of those suffering from disease and ignorance in Rwanda.

The fifties was certainly the happiest decade of my life. As I look back, I think my fond memories had much to do with my feeling secure and safe, and protected from a distant world too fearsome for my young impressionable mind to comprehend. Perhaps the reason I choose the fifties is because I was just a young child, and I believed the teaching of my parents and grandparents. The truth is that I was simply too young to begin to challenge the prescripts of my upbringing. And in fact, I idolized my father. I thought he was brilliant. Most of all, I still feel ‘privileged’ that he protected me from the harsh realities outside of my social environment during those ‘tender’ years of my youth. Similarly, I revered my mother, remembering her as the moral fabric of the family. There was no confusion regarding her teaching as to what was right or wrong; what was appropriate or what was inappropriate. As for my grandfathers, their authority in the family was unmatched by anyone, except God! Both seemed so ‘stately’ to me because in those days, my grandfathers and men their age (and status) usually wore suits and ties whenever going out. Also, they were both gallant. But then, most men were. Although I felt ‘safeguarded’ from the real world, my father and grandfathers insisted that my siblings and I were ‘exposed’ to the happenings of the world; and that we understood ‘our place’ as Negroes in American society. Neither or my grandfathers wanted us to be deluded. The area were we lived in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania was buzzing during the fifties. Our neighborhood was newly integrated. And, there was always invigorating discussions about the ‘New Negro’ in American culture. Although my grandfathers differed ideologically, both grandfathers believed strongly in social justice. I can still hear my maternal grandfather proclaim that, ” … Justice is meant to right that which is wrong, and that justice must seek to better the conditions in society which rob men of their integrity, their dignity, and the right to be men.” My maternal grandfather was the more outspoken. An educator and writer, he was among men like W.E. De Bois, believing that re-education was not enough for the ‘New Negro’; that laws of a democratic society must be challenged and re-enacted to insure the rights of all. Consequently, he believed in activism (social); re-illiterating De Bois’s belief that, “… You can not change the way a man behaves until you change the way he thinks.” My paternal grandfather was far more practical. I didn’t understand him until a decade later. He believed that the Black man needed skills and training to prepare him for his position in society. In later years, my grandfather told me that the Black man’s ‘place’ was not elected, it was a fact of life … and that the Black man should be prepared for his reality. Furthermore, he believed that progress for Blacks would thrive best within the Black community, and that it is imperative for the Black community to galvanize in order to emerge as an economic power. As such, my paternal grandfather (in theory) was a segregationist. He believed that the true test of manhood was determined by a man’s ability to feed his family, and that armed with determination, a skill, and the willingness to work hard, any Black man could achieve that goal. Even so, his beliefs were similar to Booker T. Washington in that he supported the notion that ideological change was a slow evolutionary progress, agreeing that … “There is as much dignity in tilling a field as in writing a poem.” I can recall my father telling us that grandfather frequently said, “A man who’s afraid to get his hands dirty is a charlatan or a fool.” In my young mind, my grandfathers were like icons. They discussed national and international politics, religion, social affairs; and, there were many tall tales of family history. I remember listening with wonder and amazement as topics were discussed while the family was gathered at the dining room table on Sunday afternoon, or in the parlor while my grandfathers drank coffee. Oh my! The memories I recall in those formative years of growing up when my mind was uncluttered and free of rebellion. In many ways, I was also a dreamer. I certainly had an idyllic mindset about everything my young mind absorbed. Looking back, I relish in my ‘child like’ naivety. I like that I believed in Santa Clause, the tooth fairy, the Easter Bunny, and my very own ‘fairy godmother’. I like that those first and formative years in my life was spent being a whimsical ‘child’ whose mind was filled with magical thinking about any and everything! I was in awe of my beautiful world, which was unfolding too quickly around me. Most of all, I enjoyed the social culture of the fifties. The music, the literature, the arts, the personal values, and the emphasis on education, all seem congruent with family life. Nothing seemed unaligned with the values we were taught at home. I enjoyed waking up on Sunday mornings and looking out of my parents bedroom bay window, watching families walk to the neighborhood churches and cathedrals. During the week, I enjoyed my neighborhood school, wondering if my mother would be among the other mothers who waited for us at the school gate to walk us home for lunch. I remember how austere the teachers seemed, and how exhilarating my school day was. I enjoyed coming home from school and smelling the aroma of dinner, which my mother prepared. I enjoyed participating in family chores as much as I enjoyed family celebrations. In summer, I enjoyed getting dressed-up for picnics in the park, or attending concerts held on the lawn of Robin Hood Dell in Fairmont Park to hear the Philadelphia Philharmonic Orchestra. No matter the time of year, I enjoyed the social etiquette of our neighbors. Everyone was so nice and friendly. I enjoyed the neighborhood fairs and events; the festivities which celebrated different ethnic holidays, especially the Christmas holidays when the neighborhood was adorned with elaborate decor. And, prior Christmas, I remember the joy of watching the spectacular floats in the Mummers Day parade. But again, I have countless memories of my father. I enjoyed shopping with him on weekends at the big markets in South Philadelphia neighborhoods, which seemed a million miles from where I lived. Best of all, I loved going with my father to the family owned shops, stores, and restaurants, which were booming in our neighborhood. I enjoyed having milk-diluted coffee with my father at six in the morning before he left for work. And, I enjoyed his bedtime stories of Grimm’s Fairy tales, and oral Negro folklore. And, I remember my father cooking on the weekends, allowing me and my sisters to put our small toy cake pans in the oven along with the cake pans he used for his famous cakes. And I remember the countless hours that my sister and I played in the elaborate detailed play house my father made for us in our basement. Wow! Yes. The fifties is the decade I would like to repeat … Especially, if I could take my grandchildren with me. Odd. As I revisit the fifties, it is my father and my grandfathers who emerge as having to deepest impact on shaping my beliefs. I now consider this fact somewhat profound because in the fifties, despite segregation in the South, and poverty in many Midwest and Eastern cities, all three men were the head-of-household providing for their families; all three were home and property owners, all three were successful, and all three had a keen sense of dignity. I wonder. What the heck happened to the role of the Black man in the African American family in 2008 in our country?

Kitty: Thank you for the compliment! I agree with your summation … “that the best person to lead our country out of a very difficult combination of financial, diplomatic and constitutional problems is found.” I also want to thank you, because you used two words which I like: discussion and discourse. I am hoping that this site will continue to be a vehicle, which allows readers to share opinions to further stimulate discussion on topics we all can learn from. I think it doesn’t matter if we agree or disagree. What is important in my view is that we get to share our various ideas, experiences, and opinions. After all, how can ‘enlightenment’ occur in absence of poignant points of views shared by others, which are different than those views we hold on to so vehemently. I’ve learn much here. Thank you. And, I thank wowowow.com

Kelly Kelly Your post in response to my earlier commentary was so moving. What an enlightening point of view. Like Frannie Em, I too am an Independent. And, as I’ve watched both sides go at each other, I often feel sad. However, I’m praying that the general electorate will have the wisdom and courage to elect into office the person best suited for real change in this country. Yet, I wonder if too much damage has been done during the Bush years, especially on matters specific to our economy: people are struggling to keep their homes, buy food, and put gas in their cars; and regarding international diplomacy and foreign policy: anti-American sentiment is rampant beyond the volatile Middle East; also, issues regarding climate change/global warming have not been taken seriously. I worry. Is either presumptive nominee capable of actually implementing policy addressing these and other compelling concerns, which affects nearly every household in America? I’m not sure. But, my gut tells me to pay attention to the hope and enthusiasm of the younger set who are banning together behind Obama, believing that positive change can only sprout from the fertile landscape within the democratic political arena. For this reason, I am praying that America’s youth are correct.

I think our honesty regarding innate beliefs systems specific to race, religion, political affiliation, gender, and social class will always be subject to legitimate moral debate. Consequently, those of us who think of ourselves as educated, enlightened, or ‘open minded’, are naturally defensive when expressing our often biased, or at least, our subjective opinions, particularly AND especially, if those opinions affect negative responses within a larger context - that is, within the realm of public scrutiny. The truth is that Barack Obama won a majority of Afro American votes precisely because he is black. Race was surely a factor. Yet, many ‘educated’ Afro Americans swore their vote was cast for merit, meaning, that they insisted that they were voting for who they thought was more qualified to be the democratic nominee. Um. I doubt the genuineness of those who believed themselves to be ‘honest’ regarding their choice. Conversely, Obama lost many white votes unequivocally because he is black. The fact is that, except in these types of forums, or in private polls, not many ‘enlightened’ individuals would openly state that they simply would not vote for an Afro American. Similarly, I believe Hilary Clinton lost many male votes specifically because of gender bias, and many women voted for Hilary precisely because she IS a woman. Again, not many individuals who consider themselves to be of high moral integrity, specific to honesty, would openly or deliberately admit such a notion. Consequently, what we have seen, and will continue to see will be a lot of rhetoric about Obama specific to his race/ethnic identity. And when honesty is sabotaged by rhetoric, all types of accusations of unfairness is spun. Therefore, the following is my response to rocky rocky, who wrote: “I don’t see why some just don’t say they won’t vote black. If you can’t admit it in public, I hope you can at least admit it to yourself.” The reason we cannot admit our biases is because these beliefs are entrenched early on, and … the search for inner truth remains man’s most daunting challenge. And the reason we despise prejudice and bias in others is because … “that which we despise in others is what we despise most in ourselves.” (Frankly, I have biases to boot. But, I’d never admit it in public.)

I’ve never been good remembering names of people I meet at large social gatherings. I would become too overwhelmed. This was often the case when my ex and I were the guests (of honor). However, if I meet someone who has a very unusual name, or if someone shares a name with a favorite relative, or with someone in classic literature, for example, then I sometimes remember that person’s name. Actually, I’m getting a little better. I now make an effort to try to remember names of people who seem eager to introduce themselves. I shake their hand and repeat their name. More often, I confess, people I’ve met at social affairs will walk up to me while I’m out shopping, and often I don’t recall who they are. Yet, often some remember my name, then they reintroduce themselves, saying, “I’m _________. Remember me?” I politely respond, “Nice seeing you again,___________.” When they walk away, I then repeat their name in my head. This usually works well, and if I see that individual again, I recall their name. Also, these last few years, I’ve begun keeping a small spiral notebook next to my desk and one next to my night stand. I jot down names of people I meet, and also other information, which I sometimes have difficulty recalling, like names of (famous) individuals in politics, science, theater, etc. Or, I jot down titles of songs, books, movies, etc.; anything I want to remember, I jot down in my little notebooks. I also carry a ‘cheat sheet’ listing the names of immediate family and friends, which include their telephone numbers, cell, email address, and date of birth. My reason is because I realize that I’m more forgetful!! Also, my address book is simply too full, and it’s easier for me to update my ‘cheat sheet’ with the the changing personal information that my family and close friends send me. Overall, I do try my best to remember the names of people who seem genuinely interested in meeting me. I think it’s simply polite. After all, I certainly like it when people I’ve met in the past walk up to me, and remember my name. The least I can do is to return the compliment and try to remember who they are.

I think it’s nonsense to lie about your age! Why lie? I also think that asking someone their age is rude, specifically in social situations. I prefer to politely change the question for those who insist on poking into the ‘age’ question. Of course, there are times when I choose to use humor. What’s my age??? I’m young enough to still learn.

Seriously? Faith, hope, love, charity … and family. But, gee wiz! I don’t know what I’d do if couldn’t take a soothing bath!

I grew up in a family where there were many light-skin and mulatto relatives, and family members showed overt favoritism to my siblings and cousins who were light-skin. As a child, it took me a long time to become comfortable with my darker ‘brown’ skin. Thankfully, my father did not tolerate the biases relatives showed to my fairer-skinned relatives. It’s such a tragedy that within many Negro families (which we were called in those days) that skin complexion was such a big issue respective to how one was treated. Isn’t that sad?

Indeed … “Hell has no fury like a woman .. ” It’s time to move on to insure that a democrat wins the White House.

I’ve always loved receiving handwritten note cards and letters. I think most people appreciate the time and thought love ones and friends take out to send them. Therefore, I frequently send family and friends handwritten notes, choosing beautiful note cards or lovely stationary, and I also choose lovely stamps; stamps which I think the sender will appreciate. For example, I send some friends African American Heritage stamps, others, I send nature stamps - birds, flowers, lighthouses, etc.; or I choose other theme stamps. The USPS issues so many lovely stamps. I’m surprised more people don’t take the time to ‘shop’ when buying stamps. Email is certainly convenient. However, no matter how often I stay in touch with family and friends via email, I still send a lovely note card at least twice a year.

Who would not want to be smart, beautiful, and rich? However, if I must choose, I think I’d like to be rich because I have so many ideas about how I might be able to help the less fortunate. There are countless social causes which require money to help bring about change. Also, if I were rich, I could afford to enhance my education. Actually, when I used to think of myself as being ‘smart’, I realized I was somewhat of an intellectual snob. I didn’t care to associate with for those I thought were stupid or vulgar; those lacking well grounded social skills. I now realize that often people behave as idiots because they simply don’t know any better. And regarding beauty, it is true I’ve learned, that indeed, ‘beauty’ is somewhat subjective. I don’t think you can seperate physical beauty from internal beauty. People who are truly ‘beautiful’ are also wonderful individuals. That’s been my observation. Think about it. Haven’t we all known someone who looked absolutely beautiful but because of their ‘nasty’ and haughty dispositions, their ‘beautiful’ physical appearance didn’t matter? Yes. I’ll take the money, rather than superior intellect, or beauty.