A Salsa Song for Halle Berry

Every now and then the gods and goddesses will step down from their thrones and grace us with their presence.  They will walk amongst the poor and middle classes perhaps remembering a time when they were mere mortals.  Such was the case yesterday when academy award winning actress and model Halle Berry appeared magically in the crowd at the Los Angeles Contemporary Museum of Art (LACMA) free Latin/Jazz concert.

I was headed toward the ladies room when a male security guard came over to me and asked, "Is that Halle Berry?" I stared hard at the back of a petite woman who walked a few feet ahead of me.
  "It looks like her back, but I can't tell for sure," I said.  "Run up and see!" 

The guard trotted ahead of me.  As the woman veered toward the ladies room, I quickened my pace.  When I reached the entrance, the guard stood there gawking and grinning.  I turned my head and there she was, standing in line with about a half dozen Latina and African American women.  Except for that unforgettable face, she was incognito.  A below the knee black skirt draped her slender hips. A loose gray cashmere sweater grazed the skirt just below the waistline.  Large round sunglasses hid her eyes, but not the beauty of that heart shaped face.

What stood out most about her was not her glamour, but the way she stood in line to a public toilet like everyone else, not demanding to go ahead of others though I am sure they would have let her if she had asked. My fingers itching to take a photograph of her, I asked if I could take a picture, but she shook her head.  "You don't want to do that," she said.  "I'm not wearing make up.  I'm tired.  We just came from Disneyland."

"Okay, I will respect your privacy," I said.  Noticing the small baby bump that protruded from her waist, I changed the subject. "When is your baby due?" I asked.

"October," she replied and flashed that million dollar smile.

"Do you know if it's a boy or girl?" I asked.  She shook her head. "Sometimes it's better to be a surprise," I added. We chatted two women standing in line at the entrance to the restroom -- strangers, yet familiar in the way women are who have shared similar life experiences, regardless of their status in life. A few seconds later a woman emerged from a stall.  Halle waltzed in and closed the door. 

From the outdoor arena, the rhythmic sound of salsa music drifted through the park.  I stood in line reflecting on how in L.A. occasionally you can run into a celebrity, a star and suddenly realize that like you they are vulnerable and human.

Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater in Los Angeles

Last Wednesday's performance of the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre was a tour de force of elegance, beauty and grace.  A huge fan of the dance theater, I've attended many of their shows over the years, but this week's performance at downtown Los Angeles' Music Center was extraordinary.  Maybe it was because this was their first appearance at the Music Center since the torch was passed from Judith Jamison to the new Artistic Director, Robert Battle.  Maybe it was because my friend and I had great seats in the orchestra section, a few feet away from celebrities such as actress Dihanne Carroll and her beau.  Nonetheless, Robert Battle made his mark on the theater's legacy.  The dance troupe thoroughly entertained and wowed the packed house with new choreography, Grace and Minus 16, and the traditional Revelations.

The dancers rocked the house with Grace, a rhythmic, pulsating, soul stirring choreography by award winning choreographer, Ronald K. Brown.  Choreographed by one of the world's preeminent contemporary choreographers, Ohad Naharin, Minus 16 featured dancers trapped in gray business suits twisting and turning to free themselves from corporate bonds.  Towards the end, they free themselves by kicking their shoes off, disrobing and gyrating across the stage in their underwear. 

The show ended with my favorite Alvin Ailey choreography, Revelations. As the dancers performed ballet and modern dance through three movements; Pilgrim of Sorrow, Take me to the Water, and Move Members Move, they evoked memories of the African American struggle from slavery to religious and spiritual awakening.

This week's performance certainly proved that Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater is an American treasure and one of the premier dance companies of the world.

Starting the New Year Right

Most Americans ring in the new year in with some special food, tradition, or celebration.  There's usually plenty of champagne, or some other sparkling beverage.  I've heard folks from New Orleans say they fix gumbo for New Years.  Some of my Southern friends still fix chitlins and hog maws.  Having been born and raised in Georgia, my mother always cooked black-eyed peas, fresh collards, mustard and turnip greens, and corn bread of course.  "Back eyed peas for luck and greens for the money," she would say.  Mama also believed that if a man was the first person to visit on New Years, you would have good luck all year.  So, if a woman was the first person to knock on our door on New Years, Mama wouldn't let her in. Although I pride myself on being a modern, liberated woman, I still follow those traditions.

This year, I had the pleasure of going to the Rose Parade with my ex-husband (we're still friends).  Although I've lived in the Pasadena for over twenty years, I always shied away from the annual event. I never liked crowds and the idea of getting up at an ungodly hour to stand in a crowd just didn't sit well with me.  But this year, a local real estate developer sent me two free tickets to watch the parade from the lobby of their building which faces Colorado Boulevard. 

I had to get up at 6:30 on New Years Day morning to get downtown by 7:30 for the parade, but it was well worth it.  The parade was more spectacular than ever. The beautiful floats, colorful flowers, prancing horses, marching bands, beautiful Rose Queens.  Some of my favorite floats were Delta Sigma Theta's "Transforming Communities Through Sisterhood and Service" and Kaiser's "Oh, the Healthy Things You Can Do".  Why, you couldn't have asked for a more exciting event.  No wonder people come from all over the world to see it. 

The parade ended before noon, so afterward I headed home to fix my black eyed peas and greens. I knew my New Year was off to a great start when a man (my friend and neighbor) Sonny dropped by to wish me a Happy New Year.  I could just hear Mama laughing.

Letter to my Dad on Father's Day

Dear Dad,
On this Father's Day, I want to thank you for being the first man in my life.  For being there to love and guide me through all my ups and downs.  For telling me the stories of your boyhood -- how you grew up in the Deep South picking cotton and raising hogs.  You were such a young man, only twenty-one, when you married Momma and started a family.  How difficult it must have been for you at such a young age, finding your way North out of the Jim Crow South.

To this day, I remember the lessons you taught.  How even in lean times, you managed to put food on the table and save for a rainy day.  What was it you used to say? "Your outgo should never be more than your income."  To this day I still use that simple economics lesson when trying to stretch my paycheck to the end of the month.

I can still hear you say, "Get a good education; nobody can take that away from you ."  So, with your encouragement, I went to college and earned two degrees.  You always said you were a man of your word; and you lived up to that creed by never making a promise that you couldn't keep. 

Every day you got up at dawn and went to work come rain or shine.  At night, you got down on your knees and prayed before going to bed.  Now, every day I go to work and do my best even when I don't feel like it.  And I pray morning, noon, and night.

If I have made anything of myself, it is largely because of you, Dad.  So today, I honor, praise, and thank you for being such a wise and loving father.

Save Gas Money; Save Our Planet

I have to admit I am so blessed.  Just as I was about to blow a gasket about the astronomical rise in gas prices over the past weeks, I get an e-mail at work.  I am lucky enough to work for a healthcare company that cares about its employees and the communities in which they work.  The subject line on the e-mail was "Let's Build Healthy Communities."  In the e-mail was a link to a website that gave information on how to reduce fuel consumption.  Just what I needed when gasoline prices have gone up to over $4.50 a gallon in my neighborhood. It's a great site.  Some of the tips it gave are for reducing fuel consumption are:

• Avoid vehicle trips when possible, especially for shorter distances; walk or ride a bicycle instead.
• Carpool, vanpool, or use public transportation once or twice a week.
• Improve fuel economy by:
  1) Accelerating and decelerating more slowly
  2) Driving within the speed limit
  3) Removing unnecessary weight in your car to lighten resistance
  4) Turning off the ignition when your car is standing still
  5) Maintaining proper tire pressure.
  6) Following proper maintenance of your vehicle
• Linking trips together

Sure, some of the tips are plain common sense.  But how often do we drive around the corner to the store or post office?  I don't know about you, but I am so tired of paying exorbitant prices at the pump.  I'll try just about anything to save a buck or two.  Maybe I'll even lose a few pounds by walking or bicycling a few times a week.

Farewell to Brother Jamal Ali

His death came as no surprise.  For years, cancer had coursed its awful way from his lungs to the rest of his organs.  All through surgery, chemo, radiation, Jamal fought gallantly like a wounded soldier never complaining about the toll the treatments took on his mind and body.  When he finally passed on November 4, 2011, his last breath was a sigh.  Having spent his last days sitting at his bedside, holding his hands, massaging his shoulders, whispering love songs in his ears, we all sighed, relieved that his Spirit had ascended. 

Since the disease had ravaged not only his body, but his checking account, a proper burial was never an option.  His remains would be cremated.  But where would his ashes be scattered?  We puzzled for days.  Jamal had been an avid hiker who loved to scale the heights of the Sierra Madre mountains that shoulder the San Gabrial Valley.  So in the end it was a no brainer.

Jamal was a follower of Ifa (a Yoruban religion). So, it would have been sacrilegious to even consider holding his memorial at a Christian church.  Thanks to three beautiful angels who hovered over him during his ordeal (Elaine, S. Pearl, and Hasani) arrangements were made for his Going Home Celebration to be held at KRST Unity Center of Afrakan Spiritual Science in L.A. 

On Saturday, Feb. 4, as I sat in the back pew of the Unity Center, my eyes taking in a golden ankh, Egyptian sculptures -- Afrikan symbols of life and death, I couldn't help but think how pleased Jamal would have been to have his celebration held in such a sacred circle.  Jamal was a great scholar, poet, engineer, culinary artist, jazz aficionado. And his Going Home Celebration was truly a reflection of his higher consciousness.  Gathered in the room that day were doctors, spiritual advisors, authors, engineers, astrologers, teachers, musicians who came to pay their last respects.  Hearing their music, eulogies and wise spoken words was like having a great light of consciousness radiate from a sphere.  After the ceremony in the dining hall, plates of Thai food (his favorite) were dished up and the deep thunder of a recording of his voice reading from his trilogy, "HeartFire Rendezvous", filled the room.

The next morning, Sunday, Feb. 5, (the day before what would have been his 59th birthday) the sun rose a fiery orange ball in a clear blue sky.  It couldn't have been a better day for releasing his ashes.  At about eleven a.m. seven of us (Elaine, Jean, Tchise', Hasani, Angela, John and me) caravaned through Altadena up to Chaney Trail.  We parked at the top of the hill and hiked through the forest searching for a good resting place for his ashes.

Since all the women except Angela and Tchise' are over fifty, I thought we would hike for only a short distance, but leading the pack, Elaine and Tchise' kept moving deeper and deeper into the forest.

Finally, after hiking for over a mile over steep mountain cliffs, we heard Elaine's voice, clear and strong.

"Here it is!" 

We rounded the bend and lo and behold, there it was -- a sturdy metal foot bridge crossing a  steep ravine of emerald green sloping downward to a waterfall on the other side of the hill.  Exhausted, we rested a moment in silence before Tchise' and Elaine began breaking the strings that held his precious Ifa beads.  After scattering his beads over the bridge, they climbed down the slope and sat near the dried creek bed.  We sang, prayed, laughed, cried as they scattered his ashes, which drifted like ghosts through rays of sun. 

"Farewell, Jamal," I said.

"We love you," someone else said.

Now he was truly free.  And in some ways, so were we.

Funny, how Nature has her way of communicating. As Elaine, Jean and I stood in the driveway of my house saying goodbye, Jean pointed at a tree overhanging the driveway and said, "Look at that." 

Searching in the direction in which her finger pointed, our eyes fell on a black monarch butterfly (a symbol of metamorphosis and transformation) sitting on the Y of the tree trunk.  I've seen many monarchs in my yard, but never a black one.

Jamal's trilogy, "Heartfire Rendezvous", is available through:

heartfirerendezvous.wordpress.com
amazon.com

Open Letter to Dr. M. L. King

Dear Dr. King,
I am writing this letter to wish you a Happy Birthday.  I am honored and privileged to be able to be here to celebrate what would have been your 83rd birthday, and to thank God that you were born.  For surely, He sent you here to teach and lead us to our higher selves.

Sometimes I wonder what kind of leader you would have become if you had not been gunned down forty-four years ago at the young age of 39 on the balcony of the Lorraine Hotel in Memphis.  What words of love, hope and encouragement would you offer to the millions of poor and disenfranchised among us -- to the middle class who have become disillusioned with the American Dream?  What counsel and advice would you give to President Barack H. Obama, our first African American President?  What advice would you offer to help our Commander in Chief to steer this giant ship of America back on a course of equal opportunity and justice for all?  To a time when everyone can sit at America's bountiful table.  Would you have reminded us that the fight for human rights is not over -- but in many ways has just begun?

Since you are not here physically to be our moral compass, perhaps the best gift we can offer you on your birthday is a commitment to keep your Dream alive, to continue to be drum majors for a more peaceful world.

Finally, I want to express my deepest gratitude for all that you gave.  Despite your critics, the world is a better place because you lived, and we still have hope for a better future.

RespectfullyYours,

Miss Hazel