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Jan. 18th, 2005 08:20 pmMonday was a nice day. Just a simple, kicked-back, happy day. Sat and recalled those things that those who came before me. Those who made it possible for me, Anthony, to just be me. This doesn't mean much to some, but for me...well...Let's just say that there was a time when my Grandmother...my Mother couldn't share the same bathroom, the same school, the same section of the movie theatre as some.
My Grandmother often tells me of when she was a teenager going to the movies. How she had the whole balcony of the theatre in Jackson, Mississippi to herself while she watched "Singing In The Rain" because colored folks weren't allowed to sit down below.
I'm not so far removed that it doesn't mean something to me. We've come a long way. And yet, we still have a long way to go.
So I remember.
Spent much of the day on Monday sticking around with my Grandma, talkin' and just bein' a good kid. Read to her for a while. Some from the Silmarillion. Read the "Ramadan" issue from Neil Gaiman's "The Sandman" to her as well. I appreciate that she has an openess for that. And can be moved by it. It's one of those great moments that I cherish so. Her letting me, be me--and her enjoying what I have to bring.
I did a little bit of writing, but not as much as I wanted to, nor really what I *needed* to. Seems to be a theme here as of late, but what can you do but just sit, and stare at the screen, and let your fingers stroke the keyboard. And then delete. And then try again.
I went to bed last night knowing that I'm okay in a lot of things. And that though I have miles to go, I'm still moving. Even if it's sideways, sometimes.
No, I'm no longer thinking of Seppuku at work, but I'm still running uphill, against a wind, on a muddy, steep slope. Or at least that's how it feels. Not running at my best, but still running. Not so much spinning my wheels, but straining for traction.
It's funny. I have so much to do, and now I have folks to help delegate it to...but I'm having a hell of a time finding *time* to get organized *to* delegate. Gah. Pain. In. The. Ass. I just wanna work, and work well, and do good things. Doing good things. There's a price to pay for that, ain't there?
Home is where the heart is. Or at least where one can get a huge glass of water, some wonderful, yet filling "junk" food, and hugs. Lots and lots of loving, simple, careless hugs. It's chocolate for the soul, hugs are. Good things.
It's funny. Three generations under one roof. Sometimes we get on each other's nerves. A LOT. But knowing that there is that much love, that much *history* under one roof. It's mindboggling. And wonderful.
My Grandmother often tells me of when she was a teenager going to the movies. How she had the whole balcony of the theatre in Jackson, Mississippi to herself while she watched "Singing In The Rain" because colored folks weren't allowed to sit down below.
I'm not so far removed that it doesn't mean something to me. We've come a long way. And yet, we still have a long way to go.
So I remember.
Spent much of the day on Monday sticking around with my Grandma, talkin' and just bein' a good kid. Read to her for a while. Some from the Silmarillion. Read the "Ramadan" issue from Neil Gaiman's "The Sandman" to her as well. I appreciate that she has an openess for that. And can be moved by it. It's one of those great moments that I cherish so. Her letting me, be me--and her enjoying what I have to bring.
I did a little bit of writing, but not as much as I wanted to, nor really what I *needed* to. Seems to be a theme here as of late, but what can you do but just sit, and stare at the screen, and let your fingers stroke the keyboard. And then delete. And then try again.
I went to bed last night knowing that I'm okay in a lot of things. And that though I have miles to go, I'm still moving. Even if it's sideways, sometimes.
No, I'm no longer thinking of Seppuku at work, but I'm still running uphill, against a wind, on a muddy, steep slope. Or at least that's how it feels. Not running at my best, but still running. Not so much spinning my wheels, but straining for traction.
It's funny. I have so much to do, and now I have folks to help delegate it to...but I'm having a hell of a time finding *time* to get organized *to* delegate. Gah. Pain. In. The. Ass. I just wanna work, and work well, and do good things. Doing good things. There's a price to pay for that, ain't there?
Home is where the heart is. Or at least where one can get a huge glass of water, some wonderful, yet filling "junk" food, and hugs. Lots and lots of loving, simple, careless hugs. It's chocolate for the soul, hugs are. Good things.
It's funny. Three generations under one roof. Sometimes we get on each other's nerves. A LOT. But knowing that there is that much love, that much *history* under one roof. It's mindboggling. And wonderful.
