JMarieDiva's Den

Response to States' Petitions to Secede from the United States

2012-11-13T11:53:00.000-06:00

Dear friends,



I wanted to let you know about a new petition I created on We the People,  
a new feature on WhiteHouse.gov, and ask for your support. Will you add your  
name to mine?  If this petition gets 25,000 signatures by December 13, 2012,  
the White House will review it and respond!



We the People allows anyone to create and sign petitions asking the Obama  
Administration to take action on a range of issues.  If a petition gets  
enough support, the Obama Administration will issue an official response.



You can view and sign the petition here:



http://wh.gov/9JTJ



Here's some more information about this petition:



Disregard ALL state petitions of secession as we agree to stand as  
ONE COUNTRY in support of our leaders and our troops.


WE THE PEOPLE who represent citizens of the United States of America and  
it's territories stand as ONE NATION, in committed support of our  
government and servicemen who have fought, died and continue to protect our  
rights to Freedom here and abroad.  We are both ashamed and embarrassed by  
the recent petition filings on behalf of many US states to secede from this  
country whose liberties we work hard for and enjoy on a daily basis, and  
submit with resounding voice, our support for our country.

We are comprised of citizens who have despite any disagreement with  
government policies, appreciate this country and all that it stands for.  We  
will NOT allow ourselves to be represented by states that have filed  
secession petitions without having our voices heard.

Braciole Mashup by JMarie

2012-10-28T13:01:00.001-05:00

Braciole Mashup by JMarie

Twitsty Italian

LOT'S OF WORK, BUT WORTH EVERY MINUTE!

While Braciole is typically served with a rich red sauce here's my twist on the classic Italian dish. This dish is GUARANTEED to leave no leftovers.
The Beef can easily be substituted with Chicken Breast, Veal, Lamb just about any meat you can think of.
The sauce can also be substituted with a classic marinara either way your family will LOVE IT.

Source: http://simplyitalianfood.blogspot.com/2010/09/brac...

Cook Time

Prep time: 2 hours 30 min

Cook time: 35 min

Ready in: 3 hours 5 min

Yields: 4 servings

Ingredients

Extra Virgin Olive Oil
1/2 Cup Pancetta, finely diced (bacon may be used as a substitute)
2 large Onions, diced
Kosher Salt
Crushed Red Pepper Flakes
2 Cups Day Old Italian or French Bread, crusts removed, cut into 1 inch chunks
1 Cup Milk
4 Cloves Garlic, smashed & finely chopped
1/2 Lb. Button mushrooms, diced
1/2 Cup Provolone or Smoked Gouda, Grated
1/2 Cup Parmigiano-Reggiano or Swiss, grated
2 lbs. Top Round/Veal Cutlets/Boneless Skinless Chicken Breasts, cut into 1/2 inch thick slices (about 12)
3 Cups Alfredo Sauce
1 Cup White Wine for Alfredo
1 package Frozen Spinach, squeezed & chopped.
Toothpicks, To hold rolls together
JMarie's Seasoning Blend
2 tsp. garlic powder
2 tsp. onion powder
2 tsp. creole seasoning or all purpose seasoning
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. pepper
1/4 tsp. cayenne pepper

For the Stuffing

In a large bowl combine the bread & the milk use your hands to get it all squishy. Set aside to allow the bread to soak up the milk while you prepare the other ingredients.
Coat a large saute' pan with olive oil, add the pancetta and bring the pan to a medium heat. Cook the pancetta until it gets brown and crispy, about 5-7 minutes. Add 1/2 the onions & a pinch of crushed pepper. Toss to incorporate with the pancetta. Cook until the onions are soft about 7-8 minutes.
Add 1/2 the garlic to the pan with the pancetta and onion & saute' for 2-3 minutes. Next add the mushrooms, season w/kosher salt & crushed pepper to taste and cook until mushrooms are soft & moist, about 4-5 minutes.
Remove mixture from heat and stir in the spinach. Add the spinach/onion mixture to the bread & stir to combine. Add 3/4 of your cheeses & reserve the other 1/4 of a cup for your sauce. Taste to make sure the mixture is seasoned to your liking. If it isn't, add 1/4 tsp. of Jmarie's seasoning mix. Set the stuffing in the fridge while you prepare your meat.
For The Meat
Lay the beef/chicken between 2 pieces of plastic wrap, lightly season the sides that will face down with JMarie's seasoning mix, & gently pound with a mallet to flatten and even out the slices.
Put about 1/4 cup of filling on one end of each of the slices and roll up. Secure the rolls with the toothpicks. Repeat this process for all the slices.
Coat a large, wide pot with olive oil and put over medium high heat. brown each roll on both sides. Once reserved, remove rolls from pot & set aside.
For The Sauce
To the same pan you just browned the rolls in, add the other half of the onions and garlic & cook for 5 minutes. Next add 1 cup of white wine and loosen any bits of meat/seasoning that may have stuck to the pan from the rolls.
Next add either jarred or homemade alfredo sauce to the pan. Season with JMaries seasoning mix to taste. Simmer the sauce for about 3 minutes then stir in the remaining cheese. If the sauce is too rich add 1/4 cup of water but make sure the sauce is still seasoned to taste.
Once cheese is incorporated return the rolls to the sauce. Fit them as snuggly into the sauce as possible. Bring the sauce to a boil then reduce to a simmer until beef is flavorful (about 2-2 1/2 hours for beef to be fork tender.) for chicken (about 1 hour.)
To serve DON'T FORGET TO REMOVE THE TOOTHPICKS...cut the rolls in half on a diagnol to expose the stuffing & ladle some sauce over the top. Serve with your choice of pasta coated with the remaining sauce. Garnish with fresh chopped parsley and ENJOY!

Baked Crab & Brie by JMarie

2012-10-27T14:25:00.003-05:00

Baked Crab & Brie

Delectable, Delightful & Oh so easy. You'll wow your guests with this easy to make swanky party dip. For even more appeal, serve nestled inside a hearty bread bowl.

Source: MarylandMeals.com

Cook Time

Prep time: 25 min

Cook time: 20 min

Ready in: 45 min

Yields: Serves 8

Ingredients

2 Tbsp. Vegetable Oil
1 Tbsp. Garlic, minced
1 Cup Milk
4 Green Onions, finely chopped with green top
1 Lb. Crabmeat, picked to remove shells
8 Oz. Brie, cut into 1/2 inch pieces
8 Oz. Cream Cheese, room temp.
1 tsp. Dill Weed
1 tsp. Lemon Juice
10 Oz. Frozen Spinach, squeezed dry & chopped
Salt & Pepper, to taste

Directions

In a large skillet over medium heat saute' 1 tbsp. oil, 1/2 the garlic & onion until onion is limp.
Remove rind from Brie, Cut into 1/2 inch pieces & add to the skillet.
Cut cream cheese into cubes & add to the skillet with milk.
Cook & stir just until cheese melts. Remove from heat & dump into mixing bowl.
Return skillet to medium heat, saute' 1 tbsp. oil, the rest of the garlic & onion until onion is limp. Chop spinach & add to the garlic onion mixture. Cook for 8 minutes. Remove from heat & allow to cool for 10 minutes.
Pick through crabmeat to remove any pieces of shell. Combine spinach, brie mixture, crab, dill, lemon juice, salt & pepper to taste. Stirring gently.
Spoon into a greased or sprayed shallow 2 quart baking or casserole dish. Place in roaster oven and bake at 425 degrees for 15-20 minutes or until lightly browned.
Serve with crackers or toasted slices of French Bread.

JMarie's Praline Tea Cakes

2012-10-25T15:17:00.004-05:00

JMarie's Praline Tea Cakes

Two Southern Treats in One.

Two yummy southern treats combined. Your family is sure to love it.

Cook Time

Prep time: 12 hours 30 min

Cook time: 15 min

Ready in: 12 hours 45 min

Yields: 2 Dozen Cookies

Ingredients

1/2 Cup Butter
1 Cup + 2 tbsp. Light Brown Sugar, firmly packed
1/4 tsp. Salt
1 Large Egg
1 14/ cups All Purpose Flour
1 tsp. Vanilla Extract
3/4 cup Pecans, chopped
Powdered Sugar, optional

Directions

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
Spray 2 mini-muffin pans with no-stick cooking spray. (Do not use paper liners.)
Melt butter in medium saucepan over low heat.
Remove from heat. Stir in brown sugar, salt, egg, flour and vanilla. Stir in pecans
Place dough in the freezer overnight.
Allow dough to thaw until pliable. Break dough into small balls & work into cookie form. (does not need to be a well rounded cookie, just large enough to fit the bottom of the muffin cup.) Fill muffin cups about 2/3 full.
Bake 12-15 minutes or until golden brown.
Cool 10 minutes. Loosen edges with thin, sharp knife.
Place on rack to cool completely. Sift powdered sugar over tea cakes, if desired.

HELP ME OUT YOU GUYS. I'M TRYING TO WIN A SCHOLARSHIP!!

2012-10-24T15:09:00.001-05:00

Refer a Friend - Fastweb

Random: Gabby Douglas, Serena Williams & Mass Shootings

2012-08-07T12:04:00.000-05:00

So today I decided to do Video Blogs, below is the link. I hope this causes you guys to have some intelligent dialogue about these issues. Enjoy! Don't forget to leave comments/feedback & topic suggestions. :-)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8_NEro3Jo1w

Our Responsibility in a Godly Society

2012-07-24T13:07:00.006-05:00

"The World will not be destroyed by those that do evil; but by those who watch them without doing anything." -Albert Einstein

While perusing today's headlines I stumbled upon the story of the 3 "Dark Knight Rising copycat" terrorists". As I always do, I skimmed the story and went straight to the comment section. There I found this comment which I'll paraphrase a bit: " The world has gone insane because people have gotten lazy and believe the way to settle every issue is with a gun or simply with force. The art of conversation, compromise, discourse is lost as we cease to educate ourselves and in fact disdain education and the educated opting for brute force and weaponry to solve the smallest issue from a perceived affront on the highway to the truly psychotic who have been lost because of an underfunded mental health system." Now while this comment does cover an abundance of issues I'll break out a few that concern my thoughts today. I was asked by a friend to do an entry regarding the topic of education being frowned upon and ignorance being lauded. I don't know whether I'd necessarily agree that ignorance is particularly lauded but I get the gist of the topic. Let's try to break this down shall we...

"People have gotten lazy and believe the way to settle every issue is with a gun or simply with force." While this is not a new development, it's a way of life we'd supposedly evolved from. We've been taught that through the ages we've evolved as a species and with technology have the opportunity to evolve even more so. We've been taught that different discoveries both in ourselves and in nature have given us insight on how to act and re-act within our culture and society. We were taught that we were once a savage breed (not a concept I ever agreed with) and through knowledge have become a more peaceful and civilized society while at the same time using said knowledge to create every manner of destruction on earth. So the question is, is what we say as convincing as what we do? The answer is emphatically no. Some of us members of the human race are innately savage beings. There are many theories as to why but the fact remains for some of us it's simply in our nature. Whether we think it's a primitive thing or learned behavior the fact remains history is heavily ladened with an abundance of "evil." In fact much of lauded history is considered important because of the level of evil it has reflected. Think about it, compare the good history lessons you can recall immediately to the evil ones and tell me which out numbers the other. We have always used force to achieve our goals and judging the current state of world affairs, this won't end anytime soon. Syria anyone?

"The art of conversation, compromise, discourse is lost as we cease to educate ourselves and in fact disdain education." I'll address the beginning of this sentence by stating my opinion of the art of conversation and compromise. I've always thought these "civilized" tools were reserved for the educated. Mind you I'm not talking necessarily about formal education as in books and classes. I'm talking about the education and life skills passed on through the generations from father to son and mother to daughter. As I stated above for much of society it is our natural instinct to reach our desired conclusion by force. The difference in the educated/uneducated or civilized/savage is which tool we choose to use to reach our desired conclusion. We are told that the uneducated/savage tends to use brute force. Much the way the "uneducated/savage" use their hands in their work i.e. physical manual labor, so do they use their hands and physical attributes to solve their problems. However society has sunk to such a low that the "uneducated/savage" are now too cowardly to resolve issues without using a gun. Gone of the days of fisticuffs, we now have to one up each other with hand guns. Again, this is what we're TOLD by society and the media. Which offers no explanation why some of the worlds most dangerous weapons are developed by the educated/civilized but we digress. But keep in mind again, this is nothing new. I'm pretty sure the history of evolution is summed up thusly, fire, the wheel, agriculture, weaponry. Weaponry was developed for 2 things, Securing food i.e. hunting and securing the tribe/family i.e. killing anyone or anything who tried to steal the food from our families. The question now becomes, what do the uneducated/savage possess? What do they value enough to secure by taking another mans life? Well I don't have to offer an answer here as the answer many will give you varies. Some value their property or space. Some value their families, much to them like property or space. Some even value their possessions again, property or space....

"a perceived affront on the highway to the truly psychotic who have been lost because of an underfunded mental health system." And then we have the nutzo's right? I'm sure if you've read any of my other blog entries you know I have one constant belief and that is there is nothing new under the sun. So here again I charge, there has been mental illness since the beginning of time. It is my belief that we do perpetuate a level of neglect regarding mental illness until Oops, it's too late, someone has seemingly snapped and committed a massacre, I think our treatment of people with mental illness bears the bigger blame here. We as a society want to medicate everything instead of changing the issues in our community and society that many times lead to mental breakdowns. Mental health is a multi-faceted science and can not be boxed into one category so I'll refer to those events where people snap or breakdown do to the many issues they face in life usually at an accelerated rate. You know the man who loses his job, his home, is faced with the idea of having his family put out on the street who in turn kills his family (including the family dog, hell fluffy ate too), then goes to work & kills as many as he can only to turn the gun on himself. After the man has expired and all these unfortunate details emerge society wants to blame mental illness and cowardice for the mans actions. But never does society take responsibility for those incidents that lead to the tragedy. You see as long as it doesn't affect us personally, we'll hope for the best for the next man's situation but never consider the urgency of it until it becomes our situation. Nobody was concerned when people's homes were being foreclosed & they were forced to become homeless because "it was their fault for taking on such a burden." Nobody puts in a good word at the job for the neighbor with 3 kids who just got laid off because it means possible competition for themselves. But when that neighbor burns down the house because he snapped, while also causing considerable damage to your home then it's "oh let's hang him, screw him and his family." But where were the resources before hand? It's one thing to be able to find a free mental health facility ( a job in and of itself ) and talk to someone about our issues and how to handle them or worse, be medicated into a sense of handling them by not giving a dayum about them (as if our society does not have enough functional addicts). It's another to find resources to help the person to replace the gainful employment he lost in the first place so he doesn't feel so desperate that he wants to kill everyone. In his mind society didn't care about him so he knows they won't give a hill of beans for his defenseless family. While I understand that this argument covers two different areas of science Mental and Social health, there's no reason the two shouldn't be addressed simultaneously.

Why is education devalued: I think education is devalued in alarming rates among our young because quiet frankly, they see no pay off in it. Not all young people are devoid of the ability to invest in their long term future. Not every young person wants it NOW. Most young people actually acts the way they do because they are concerned about their futures. Quite frankly as the youth observes it's older generations, both productive and counterproductive they begin to see the capitalist society in which we reside for what it is. They see that many have gone into debt that may not be cleared within their own lifetimes with the hope of at the least financial security and at best an opportunity to garner financial security while doing something they love. Only to wind up in either a 9 to 5 that they come home to complain endlessly about or complaining about the lack of support for their dreams. This seems to be a sweeping generalization but I dare you, double dare you to give me an example of someone you believe actually loves their job. Go ahead, I'll wait...Bottom line is, our youth don't see much hope or future in an education.

So where does that leave our future? I don't have to tell you the ways society needs to improve. We all have our own theory about what needs to change. It starts at home. It starts with you applying your individual theory for improvement. It starts with us bucking the system. We control government not the other way around and when we finally start demanding our due and supporting each other we'll be that much closer to living as God wants us to. We're capable of separating good from evil. We know it when we see it. Let's start standing up for what's right and living accordingly. That's all we're expected to do.

-JMarie

Spirituality and the End of Days...Have you gotten "right with God"?

2012-07-24T11:26:00.002-05:00

As long as I can remember I've heard casual talk both in the confines of my home and in passing conversation regarding the end of days. Whenever discussions were had about senseless acts of violence, natural disasters, general ailments, even political issues, the words "It's the end of days" were always a part of and usually the conclusion to these conversations. Until recently I assumed it was a localized generalization, a thing we southerners do or more pointedly we New Orleanians do. It was a part of our historically religious culture. An excepted Amen so to speak that seemed like the adult thing to say. Once you were old enough to utter those words it meant not only that you'd gained a certain level of wisdom but that you were of a heightened spiritual plane awaiting those sinners around you to catch up. It was a way to explain the unexplainable, the seemingly irrational when we couldn't fathom the thought process of those who performed these dastardly acts. The most obvious solution for those of us who utter those words was and is always, they lack spiritual guidance. I also figured it was a way for us to provide self explanation for why God could or would allow these things to happen.

I'd been reared with an abundance of faith. It was all around me at all times and a constant stay in my life from one milestone to the next. Before my mother died, as mothers tend to do, she would offer unsolicited advice seemingly out of the total blue. Her most recent constant advice to me before her passing was "Read your bible my child." No explanation, no reason, just out of the blue as if it were the answer to every question I'd ever asked her, her response at the end of her days was always "Read your bible, make sure you get right with God." My mother had always been a spiritual woman, not a bible toting/thumping in the church when the doors opened kind of christian, but an informed christian none the less. In fact my whole immediate family was that way. They were the types of people who in the midst of committing a sin, could not only quote you a scripture and tell you what part of the good book it came from, but could relate an explanation of the message to the very sin they were committing at the time. I won't attempt to explain the rationale behind this because I didn't understand it then and I don't understand it now. There are people who can rationalize and commit sin in the name of the Lord. Always have been, always will be, but it takes a certain kind of spiritual awareness to be able to sin, know you're sinning, admit what kind of sin it is, why your flesh wants to commit that sin, how it's an opposition to what God wants you to do and still commit the sin. I tell you, it's amazing to watch. In any event, my mother's cryptic message was a constant in my life but never more than the months preceding her own death. Because her death was a very sudden one, she had not been gravely ill, I began to ponder whether the old saying was true. Some people were innately aware of their own mortality. While I don't think this was the case for my mother it still makes me wonder, are some people in tune with our demise?

The first time i distinctly recall my mother told me those words with urgency, "Read your bible my child" was during my freshman year in college. I'd been dabbling in the research of many different sects of religion and was beginning to have very vivid, seemingly prophetic dreams. I called my mother in a panic one night to relay an extremely vivid dream I'd had and while understanding it was a spiritual dream, it was distinctly about the end of our physical lives on earth, I considered it a direct message from God but I could not decipher whether it was a sign or a warning. After asking question after question and getting the same answer from her without any details I cracked open that bible. Not knowing where to start I prayed and asked for guidance, opened the book and began to read randomly the page it opened to. Sure enough, the very dream I'd had was described in every detail right before me on those pages. I still don't remember what scripture, passage or even the context of the writing and until this day despite attempting to comb the bible from cover to cover can not find that scripture although the dream is a vivid as if I'd just had it last night. There was something to be said for this reading the bible thing. Over the years I've had like many others, spiritual bursts if you will. I'll read the bible at one time and become engrossed in the message. Other times try as I might I can't concentrate on the reading itself and have to re-read a sentence over and over just to comprehend the language of it. Sometimes my spirit tells me it's time to read that bible and my flesh finds every excuse to do something else first.

I now have a deeper sense of my purpose on this earth, at this time but I can't say I'm comfortable with my relationship with God. I don't think I've nurtured my faith yet enough. I innately believe that God knows my heart and my intentions. I'm not sure I think it reflects in my actions as much as I think it should and maybe it's all the End of Days talk that has me panicky about it. On the one hand I believe that it's been the "end of days" since...well the beginning of days and that no man can predict the hour. On the other hand I see society and as it relates to God's message as I know it, well, it seems we're about 50 past what should have been the end of days. I have many theories by which to judge this but my main one would be that mankind has a God complex. We're constantly questioning/studying nature and trying to reproduce it. Through technology, education, spiritual awareness, new age beliefs I think we're both consciously and unconsciously going against God's very word. He IS God. While I still inform myself of many different beliefs which are outside of those I've come to believe are within the realms of what God wants us to know, I have developed enough faith to believe that still God knows my heart. I don't get confused anymore and see many things for exactly what they are. But yet I'm still left with these questions: Are we in the End of Days? Will this happen within' my lifetime? and most importantly HAVE I GOTTEN RIGHT WITH GOD? Have you?

-JMarie

My Experience of Hurricane Katrina & How It Changed My Life...pt. 4

2012-07-19T16:13:00.001-05:00

My aunt, her husband and I decided it was time to return home, or as close as we could get to it, while my cousin decided to relocate to North Carolina as he was offered a job and a place to live by one of his college mates. By the time we got to my great aunts' house we'd been displaced a total of 5 weeks. Some other family members (another aunt, her boyfriend and an uncle) decided to stay with my great aunt as well so there was a total of 8 of us including my great aunt and her husband in a 2 bedroom home of which there were no available bedrooms for the guests. That's a total of 6 adults on air mattresses spread out between the living room and dining room. In slang terms...shit just got real. I neglected to mention earlier that my aunt had "snuck" back to New Orleans while we were still in Baton Rouge when the city was still flooded and reported lots of floating dead bodies and disaster everywhere. By this time civilians were allowed but not encouraged to return to the city so both anxiously and apprehensively my aunt Gloria and I decided we could wait no longer. We had to see what kind of damage our homes had. As we drove across the Crescent City Connection-Mississippi River Bridge and approached the city a stench emanated and seemed to seep into our very pores. It was the stench of death and it lingered over the city like a pea soup fog. As we passed the Superdome with it's barely there patchwork quilt of a roof I prayed a silent prayer for the people who had been stranded there and in front of the Convention Center for days on end in the days that followed the flooding from the levee breach. An ordeal I wouldn't come to terms with until years later when I watched Spike Lee's When The Levees Broke. I'd heard first hand stories of the crimes that took place there from people directly involved in intervening in many of them but nothing brought it home for me like watching that documentary. Again you must remember, I shut off mentally so I wasn't absorbing anything as it was happening. It was only after and still that images pop back and I find myself having to deal or not deal with them rationally.

We took her car since I'd decided to leave mine in Baton Rouge when we left for Dallas so naturally we went to her house first. My biggest fear about returning to the desolate city, 2 women alone, was to find either a dead body or swamp creatures/snakes in my house. We got to her house in the Faubourg St. John neighborhood to find minimal damage. A few felled trees, damage to her wrought iron fence where someone removed a panel to gain access to her yard but didn't enter her house and her boyfriends car flooded out. There was no flood damage to her home and I guess since she didn't live very far from me, it gave me a glint of hope. Although I'd seen the damage via google earth, I prayed the water subsided shortly after and that maybe, just maybe there'd be something to salvage. We were greeted at my house by huge red numbers, letters and words spray painted on the front of my house to the left of my front door. A view that would become all too familiar and eventually synonymous with Hurricane Katrina. There were 2 large aluminum pans on my porch one filled with dog food, the other empty. I assumed it'd been filled with water by an animal rescue crew in the days following Katrina for any stray animals that may have been stranded. I opened the door which had been broken down I'm sure to check for survivors or worse, casualties, thus the red spray painted numbers on the house. To my horror it was just much worse than I'd expected. No dead bodies and no swamp animals thank goodness but sludge, mud, mold and stench from floor to ceiling. I quickly toured my once beautiful home astonished at some of the places things ended up. Some things that were in one room were on a completely different side of the house, granted entry by walls that were no longer there. Some things like the coffee table and it's contents still placed as if nothing even happened. Including the remote controls still in place on the table. This tidbit amused me, it was unbelievable, things that were inside were now outside and vice versa and here, sitting on the coffee table as if I'd just left it there that morning was the remote control. It was a sign. Their was an atmosphere of chaos all around the house but much like myself, this remote control was standing strong, holding it's position in it's ever changing surroundings. I decided at that moment, no matter the damage, I was going to rebuild my home, my city and my life and all 3 would be stronger because of the turmoil we'd all survived.

2 weeks after arriving in Marrero, my family decided it was time to buy a generator and move back to the family home. The second floor received no damage, so we'd at least have the two things we'd craved since evacuating. Peace and Space. There were very few people living in the city at this time and no one else back in our neighborhood but there were quite a few "relief" centers set up that issued supplies like non perishable foods, survival kits, tons of bottled water, cleaning supplies and the like. We decided to stock up on survival supplies such as rubber boots, masks, gloves etc to try to begin the process of cleaning up. I'd learned that although the 2nd floor of the family home was untouched the basement, which housed the few remaining keepsakes I'd stored of my mothers was completely flooded and that I now had...nothing. No pictures, no books, no valuables, nothing to remind me of her. Nothing to pass down to my generations. Nothing to back up the stories I'm sure to tell of a phenomenal woman who left a legacy to be unmatched in generations to come. It was all simply gone. In all this loss, while surviving in zombie mode unable to feel or react or respond to what had happened there was a group of people who's faces reflected those of us survivors. They were the faces of the National Guard. The servicemen, most baby faced, barely 25 years old weighted down by artillery, ammunition and disbelief. They were kind, they were caring and they were shell shocked. All of them taking the time while patrolling the area to stop and talk and share. They were half amazed at the resilience we expressed in deciding to come back home in the midst of chaos and half afraid at the safety of our deciding to do so. But they all shared a look of...disbelief. I asked each one I encountered why they had that look on their faces as it was a look that spoke louder than any kind words or smiles they mustered for us and each and everyone told me the following. I've been over seas in action and I've seen the destruction of war. This is so much worse and I never thought I would see a city in my country reduced to this. These were their words, many of them from that very area, most of them not. I wanted to cry for them, just as they may have wanted to cry for me. In this there were no "enemies" (aside from the government who neglected us in every way possible). There was a sense of community. Everyone helped the next person the best way they could whether they new them, trusted them, liked them or not. We were one. The city, the state, the country, the world. Being on the ground in the midst of it all we didn't have access to outlets that broadcasted the worlds outpouring of compassion. The Oprah's, CNN's, Tyler Perry's, Fundraising Marathons didn't reach us. These were all rumors, hear-say, things we'd heard about after the fact and still can neither confirm or deny. Our realities were no lights, cold food, boiled water, planes flying over spraying unknown chemicals that stung the eyes, gnats and flies, stray animals, trying not to break your neck on a late night visit to the bathroom, death, odor, and a country who didn't give a good gott damn about it. Neither President Bush, Brownie, Blanco, Nagin, my neighborhood or even my family gave a second thought to the fact that there was a black woman, who'd lost her best friend, her mother, her home, everything she ever owned, the very accomplishment that she was a woman who'd just began to come into her own. Just began to make a life for herself, just settled in to begin the process of mourning, just settled into the prospect of forging ahead preparing for a better life, only to have it all snatched away overnight. Because we were all suffering, dealing with our losses, being forced to survive in a society with a culture so unlike our own. There was no room for how I felt. How I would recover. If I would survive. I knew that I was the only one who could decide what my future would be and how I would process the whole experience. But as many of us survivors will tell you on this very day, we are not healed. We have not processed, we did not mourn, we are still suffering emotionally, economically, definitely mentally (we can't remember shit), PTSD I'm sure, we're still operating in survival mode and we still aren't sure if we'll ever be able to completely recover. While I can't relate everyone's experience dealing with Hurricane Katrina, I can't even tell you the full extent of mine in these 4 pages, there's always so much more to the story for all of us. I can tell that we're here, crazy as we might be...lol, and we're here to stay. Whether we're in New Orleans, Texas, Georgia, Utah, Canada or France, we'll always be right here. In The Big Easy.

-JMarie

My Experience of Hurricane Katrina & How It Changed My Life...pt. 3

2012-07-19T15:00:00.002-05:00

After meeting up with my supervisor in Baton Rogue to receive a check for my back pay we were on our way to Dallas to stay with some friends of the family, we stopped in at a Walmart in Breax Bridge. While waiting in line there was lots of conversation around us. If I can say nothing else about the disaster that was hurricane Katrina I can say it bought people a lot closer together. People who wouldn't normally say Hi or Bye were walking up to strangers, asking about their condition, just very open dialogue about everything. Well as we're in line a tall middle aged white guy turned to me and asked how I was doing. My answer, which was the same to everyone who inquired was, "As good as can be expected." He then responded, " Well I tell you one thing, I didn't vote for him the last time but you can bet your last dollar I'm voting for Jindal for governor this time. This Blanco bitch is just a disgrace. We need to start a petition to get her ass impeached." From behind me there were quite a few nods and comments of agreement from a vast majority of shoppers which included people from many different races, sexes and walks of life. These were followed by quiet individual conversations about how they felt Blanco didn't serve the state appropriately and how she allegedly used the disaster to fatter hers and the pockets of her cronies. I didn't comment. I couldn't comment for two reasons. Governor Blanco and her husband Ray were firstly close friends of my mothers. They'd looked out for me closely after an incident I experienced while attending USL (Now UL of L ugh). Ray at the time was dean of students and my mother forged a fast friendship with the couple while trying to repair my situation. Secondly, while in Baton Rouge, we'd caught very scant news about what the governor was doing to accommodate the many who were suffering through this disaster. The only news we saw was Mayor Ray Nagin's speech about the Federal Governments' lackadaisical response to the storm victims needs. All other coverage was about rescuing people from various locations in which they'd been stranded for days. I had to reserve judgement as I wasn't aware of the full extent of what local officials had and hadn't done to date. When I got to the cashier, I was greeted by an old junior high school classmate. It was a young lady named Teri Lieberman whom I'd sat behind in most of my classes as we were usually seated in alphabetical order. We'd formed a nice friendship in school, even referring to each other as twins although she was white and we looked nothing alike...lol. I of course asked her how she was and if she'd made out okay thus far. She explained to me that she wasn't sure of the damage to their home but that she and her husband were relocated by Walmart and luckily placed in the same store (she then pointed him out to me) so that was a blessing. She shared the stories of a few other employees there who were relocated by Walmart from the St. Bernard/New Orleans area and how grateful they were. As I bid my farewells I couldn't help but think, how fortunate it was that Walmart took the initiative to make sure their employers didn't suffer too much of a setback during this time of crisis. I couldn't help thinking how before this disaster the Governor was considered by many the best thing since sliced bread and Walmart was considered by many to be the evil corporate monster. My how things had changed.

Our stay in Dallas was uneventful, however because we weren't actually living in any designated shelters it was pure hell trying to get assistance from any of the disaster agencies. The worst were FEMA and RED CROSS. These people are the masters of giving people the run around. There was no widespread information on finding agencies that were providing disaster assistance. We got most of our information by word of mouth. While trying to locate friends and loved ones (which by the way was nearly impossible as mobile phone connectivity was sketchy at best) they'd tell us about assistance they'd received in their cities and we'd begin the detective work to find out of those resources were available where we were. Always, we were met with stories of resource depletion "after accommodating the shelters" and form completion for waiting lists. The only two places we found help were through a local church which setup a huge warehouse with clothing, toiletries, non-perishable foods and the like, and Texas' one stop shopping service for SNAP benefits assistance & long distance phone call and computer stations. We used the few resources we could get to recompense out hostesses as we would not have had it any other way. I could only imagine being bombarded with a ton of people with their own different lifestyles and personalities, not being prepared to accommodate them and worst of all, not knowing how long they were going to be there. Luckily our hostesses enjoyed our company, loved our cooking and according to them would have loved if we'd stayed a little while longer. We then began the process of re-grouping as a family and deciding what we were going to do next. By this time we'd had Internet access to find a little more information on what exactly what was happening with our city and our homes. Was it safe to return? Did we want to return? Was there any reason to return? One thing was certain, my aunt wanted to return immediately. She'd in fact never wanted to leave and there was absolutely no way of convincing her to consider any other options. I'd just learned about the capabilities of google earth and decided to try to see what my brand new beautiful home might look like now. When I pulled up the image of my home, I was numb. The image was clear, there was nothing to return to. From the sky's satellite image I could see that there was standing water....clear up to the porch's roof line. My mind shut down and I began to run on autopilot. According to reports the water had been sitting at the current water line in the city for about 2 weeks. There was nothing. Everything of mine, everything of my mother's was gone. I recovered a tinge of hope when I considered the fact that there were a few of my mother's things that I'd stored in my aunts basement and it was a known fact that the city incurred different flood water levels in different parts of the city. While my neighborhood of Hollygrove was prone to flooding often, my aunts uptown neighborhood, while sustaining flooding, usually wasn't as bad as mine. There was hope. We packed up our belongings which now included the few we'd started out with, about 3 or 4 new Walmart or Target outfits each, toiletries and nick knacks and headed back to the New Orleans area. We as private citizens still weren't allowed to return to the city but my aunt was a state employee and would be able to return to assess damage. We were en route to my great aunts' house in Marrero, just across the river from New Orleans.

I'm sure many who are reading this are wondering "why didn't you guys stay with family members throughout this ordeal?" Well I'll say this, just as there was a sense of camaraderie among those of us who were strangers, and just as there were mere acquaintances who opened up their hearts and homes to us, there were just as many family, friends and loved ones who shuttered their doors tight to us. The reasons varied, some had no more room after accommodating other friends and family, which was understandable. Some lived very far away and at the time we weren't sure if we wanted to go that far and risk being stranded where we were. Some even wanted to take advantage of the situation and charge astronomical fees, not understandable, evil and just plain wrong. As I stated before, we were unsure of what was to come next so we tried our best to conserve our money as we had no clue when we'd be able to earn any more. Unfortunately for us, we weren't "unfortunate" enough to have to resort to living in shelters so we weren't necessarily eligible for housing accommodations and more than anything, we felt it was important to stay together. I more than anyone because I'd had a whole other side of my family, my fathers side, who weren't so fortunate when evacuating. My sister got separated from her children, they were in Mississippi somewhere while she was in Phoenix. I spent many hours online trying to keep up with that whole ordeal. We were hearing stories of friends who'd expired either by drowning, rampant crime in some of the shelters, people being raped etc. etc. It was a very difficult time for me, as I can't stress enough, I was still mourning the loss of my best friend, my mother. I didn't know how to feel at the time, should I be sad that she's not here so we can support each other through this together? Or was I happy that she was at peace and didn't have to experience this nightmare? I didn't know then, and I still don't know now...

-JMarie

My Experience of Hurricane Katrina & How It Changed My Life...pt. 2

2012-07-16T17:28:00.004-05:00

We arrived in Baton Rouge at my aunt's co-workers home around 9pm. We piled out of our vehicles, having dropped our passengers off, and headed inside to hopefully rest and watch the news to see if we could find out what was going on in the hell bowl we'd just left. Let me go back a just a bit and explain something about this hurricane. The day after the hurricane my uncle and I attempted to drive to my home to access the damages. Needless to say we never made it as there were too many streets flooded to get to it. On the day we evacuated our caravan tried once more to get to Hollygrove to check my house but as we got to S. Claiborne and Nashville Avenues it became clear this was not meant to be. We watched as water came shooting up from the man hole covers in the middle of the street as I desperately pleaded with God to give me the mental capacity to figure out a dry route to my home. Didn't happen. However it later became clear that I was guided on that route for a reason. That reason was to witness how our city was flooding. Yes there were many canal breaches and every neighborhood flooded in a unique way. However there's one thing I'd like to clear up for those of you who didn't have this experience. There was no wall of water rolling down the streets during the flood that followed the hurricane. The water came from right underground via city drains and man holes. This is why, if you've spoken to anyone who was stranded by the flooding the story is always the same. We went outside and saw a little flooding. About an hour later the water was a few feet higher and as we prepared to leave we realized the water was too high to go anywhere. The flood waters snuck up on us so fast because we couldn't see it coming. It came from underground. Many people think "why didn't those people just leave?" Simply put, they tried to but couldn't. This city was not devastated by Hurricane Katrina, it was devastated by the flood that followed a day or two later. This is why so many people got stranded.

After figuring out where the 9 evacuees were going to sleep in the 2 bedroom house, we settled in and turned on CNN. Desperately awaiting some official word on what was happening to our beloved city, I more than anyone else was glued to the screen. Everyone else had had a chance to leave the city with some sense of hope as they'd been able to see just what damage had occurred to their homes. Everyone but me. I was clueless. I'd only purchased my home 2 months and 5 days prior to the hurricane and had not been aware just how badly it flooded in that part of Hollygrove. I was terrified. I had no idea what to expect. Not being able to get to my home before I left only added to the anxiety I felt. Was my home being looted? Were all the precious keepsakes that my mother treasured being tossed around like old dishrags? And the worse thought of all...Was my mother's body still safe in the ground or was her casket floating toward Lake Pontchartrain? (A very real fear in New Orleans.) I had so many questions and none of the news stations were offering any specific answers. As we watched people being plucked from roofs, we waited, hoped that maybe one of them would visit our neighborhoods. We prayed for a glimpse of a neighbor who might be able to expound on what was happening in the areas we were familiar with. All for naught.

We'd been in Baton Rouge about 3 days or so relishing the hospitality our hosts were providing. Although it was an extremely uncomfortable situation for all parties involved, our hosts seldom gave us the slightest feeling of inconvenience. It's important to note that at the time I was the director of an non-profit Aids/Cancer outreach program which was funded by the state. When the hurricane hit, we were awaiting a re-allotment of funds for the new fiscal year and had not received any compensation for 3 months. Needless to say, I'd blown through the savings I'd had left after purchasing my home and was type broke! Part of the reason we stayed in Baton Rouge was to await payment. We were in the process of deciding what we were going to do next and reuniting with family and friends who'd also evacuated to the area. Although I was asked by many of my closest friends to evacuate with them I chose to stay with my family and ride it out. Our little unit consisted of myself, my aunt, her husband, who's white-a fact that will be of importance a little later, and her son. All adults, all sticking it out together. So back to the incident, as I said it was about 3 days after we evacuated and on this particular day my uncle, aunt, myself and our hostess decided to visit a local corner store meat market that was renowned for supplying meat that was hard to find anywhere else.

When we arrive, my uncle parks and the 3 of us pile out, leaving him in the car. As we approach the door we see a non assuming brutha opening the door for everyone from the inside and locking it behind everyone who enters. We also notice he has a gun on his hip. We don't think too much of it but our hostess mentions that this is not typical protocol when she visits that store. I pick up the few little nick knacks I can afford as my aunt and her friend shop for meat. As I'm in line I notice the man in front of me dressed in a suit purchasing a loaf of bread, a package of luncheon meat and a small jar of mayonnaise. Right away I know he's like us, caught off guard by this devastating disaster, trying to conserve what he had as none of us knew how long we'd be disestablished and most of all...in a daze. The cashier greets him warmly and offers a short cold reply. As he pays for his groceries and exits the store she turns to me and says "I can't stand these dayum New Orleans people they're so dayum rude. Ain't no reason to be so rude and bitchy." I look at her, she looks at me. I pay for my things, move to the side as to not hold up the line and say to her "I understand it's a frustrating situation but you have to realize. Some of these people have lost EVERYTHING they've worked hard for. Some of these people are accustomed to a certain lifestyle that they work hard for and value but are now sleeping on a cot in a gymnasium with their children wondering if someone will rape or kill them or their family members as the sleep on that cold gymnasium floor. Some of these people have already had such traumatic experiences back in the Superdome or at the convention center already and are only on the second leg of their journey. And they have no idea where they're going to end up next." "Then you have people like me, a New Orleanian who's just numb, on the outside smiling and being pleasant but on the inside wanting to scream at the top of my lungs...We are human beings, put yourself in our shoes for a moment." I didn't stick around to see her expression or hear what she had to say. I had to remove myself from the situation as I didn't know how close I was to my very own breaking point and didn't feel I'd be satisfied with wasting an ass whippin' on her. The "guard" unlocks the door, lets me out and tells me to be safe and have a nice day. I walk over to my uncle who's sitting in the drivers seat with the window down and tell him about the exchange in the store. He points out the guy at the door with the gun and asks, "Now what the hell is that one gun and door lock on a glass door gonna do to protect him?" Just then a tall burly white guy who looked to be in his mid 30's rounds the corner of the store approaching the door with a shotgun with a dayum scope on it. As he's strutting all the locals who recognize him ( I guess one of the store owners) are cat-calling. He nears my uncle and I with the widest kool aid smile I've ever seen and says "Ha yall doin'?" I reply " We're fine thank you, I see you're prepared." He smiles even wider ( which i didn't think was even possible) and says "Oh yes ma'am, I'm here to keep yall safe from those thugs from New Orleans. They already robbed a few gas stations and stores about 2 miles down that way, they seem to be branching outward from the evacuation center which means they're probably heading this way." As he's talking all I could think was "If you need a scope on your shotgun to shoot someone in an urban area, you're the last person who needs a gun, period because you can't hit shit." So I smile and nod and simply say, "Well thank you for protecting us from ourselves. Lucky you caught me too, because I almost robbed myself of the $10 I just spent in your store before I got here" Needless to say, my uncle was livid. Till this day he abhors Baton Rouge and anything having to do with it because of that one incident. I couldn't help but think that while this white man in his 60's is ready to blow up the city and everyone in it because he feels stereotyped, I can only imagine how that brother who was in line in front of me felt when he entered the store to buy about $5 worth of food and was greeted by an armed brother, a locked door and a cashier with an attitude. It was clearly time to evacuate Baton Rouge!!!

-JMarie

My Experience of Hurricane Katrina & How It Changed My Life...pt. 1

2012-07-16T16:10:00.004-05:00

On August 28th 2005, I was settling into my first home. Proud of what I'd accomplished while still mourning my mother's death. I thought, Killa (my mom's nickname & her nickname for everyone else) would be so proud of me right now. I'd strategically placed all the special belongings that reminded me of her. Her collection of books neatly placed on the book shelf in the office. Her beloved La-Z-Boy positioned just so in front of the t.v. in the den. Her loved music collections stacked next to her favorite Bose radio. This was our home. In spirit at least. I'd lost my mother very suddenly and unexpectedly to an unfortunate hospital error at the tender age of 55 years young. All my life it'd been she and I against the world and now here living her legacy. Her child able to take on the world on my own terms applying the life lessons she gave me and succeeding.

I got a call from my aunt on that evening demanding I pack some clothes and come ride out the hurricane at her 2 story home as my neighborhood had been known to flood frequently and she didn't want to see me stranded for who knows how long. I tossed 3 days worth of clothes in a bag and drove over prepared to hunker down for what we all thought would be a slight weekend inconvenience. At 5am August 30th I was awakened by a loud bang. I awoke to find the electricity out and the house shaking like a bowl of jello. That was it, I couldn't go back to sleep. As everyone else in the house slept soundly I sat up on the sofa thinking, this is no regular hurricane here. I'd become unnerved by the shaking so I decided to peek outside to see if the damage occurring outside could be any more frightening than the damage I felt inside. I was still in mourning and feeling the loneliest I'd ever felt. At 11am that morning everyone in the house was anxiously piddling around, unsure of how long we'd have to endure this inconvenient heat. My aunt and I decided it was safe enough for us to step outside on the porch for a little to catch some fresh air. As the wind whipped by us, we watched the gas tank of a car bob up and down in the middle of the street. Trying to figure out how in the hell does a gas tank that size simply dislodge. Something in me felt again, this is not your typical hurricane but as the hours ticked away, and the wind died down, we allowed ourselves to be lulled into a sense of relief. At 3pm the water had subsided, the gas tank lay just across the street and we decided to walk the neighborhood to see what kind of damage this powerful yet unsettling peaceful hurricane had wrought. We mostly saw wind damage, a few roofs missing shingles, some shutters dislodged, a house fire a few blocks away but the neighborhood seemed spared of any major costly damage. What we did notice was how many strange Caucasian faces were perusing our neighborhood. Our family had been in the same home over 50 years so we were pretty aware of who "belonged" in our neighborhood and who didn't. Yes people I'll put it plainly, we had nothing but white looters in our uptown neighborhood. A fact that stood out dearly when we watched the news coverage a few days later.

On the morning of August 30th or 31st (survivors of hurricane Katrina will completely understand the lack of memory on the date) we were sitting around the kitchen table having just finished a pieced together breakfast that included more gnats than food. The newscaster stated, "There has been a levee breach at the 17th Street Canal and Canal Street will be under water in approximately 45 minutes." That was it, we had to go. Waiting for Entergy to restore power to our area was no longer an option. Everyone else packed what they could, never giving second thought to losing any valuables to flooding as they resided on the 2nd floor. We called our loved ones to see if anyone was in need of a ride, packed up their SUV and my Coupe and hit the road. As we were figuring out the safest route toward Baton Rouge, we drove down S. Claiborne Ave. toward the Crescent City Connection. We got as far as Jackson Ave. Trying patiently not to accidentally run over any of the people we saw "looting" grocery stores for food and supplies, when we encounter a huge fire truck blocking the entire street. There was a huge fire at a pawn shop and people were scattered everywhere. We decided to cut across an empty lot and go under the bridge to come back around to it. As I drove with my passenger (a friend of the family's teen aged daughter), our windows half down I remember seeing young men. Lots of young men, some walking dogs, some just walking in the middle of the street. These young men, not a shirt amongst them, according to appearances, demeanor and the direction from which they were approaching (yep that Calliope) were the types of young men people in our city tend to fear the most. However what I recall as I drove pass these groups of young men was every one of them speaking to me and telling me to keep my head up, everything is going to be okay in a while. Can you believe that? Words of calm encouragement from these gangs of thugs who simply read my expressions and knew what to say to keep me calm. They innately understood that the fear that was so evident in my face was not of them, but of the very surreal environment which I was thrust into without choice. I felt a sense of unity with the people who were experiencing the same thing I was and doing what they had to do to survive. Much as I felt I was.

As we rounded the bridge we encountered 2 Harbor Police officers standing outside their SUV casually chatting. We pulled over to ask them if the CCC was open to traffic and as they assured us it was my passenger winced and turned her head quickly. I looked out her window to see what it was that had frightened her and there it was. The body of an black male lying on the ground half covered with a white sheet with the back of his head completely blown off. We approached the entrance ramp and just ahead of us was the delivery truck of a local newspaper with the back hatch open. There were at least 35 people in the back of that truck holding on for dear life. All the same color as me, no bags, no purses...nothing. It occurred to me that these people had "commandeered" said truck and were escaping to parts unknown. Just after that vehicle was a jeep full of servicemen, armed, prepared and devastated. We continued our journey to highway 1 (talk about the loooonnnggg way to B.R...lol) determined to get there intact, at least physically. As we'd come to understand none of us would ever be intact mentally ever again... We stopped at a gas station, again Katrina won't allow me to recall where the hell we were, and waited 3 hours for my uncle to get to the pump and re-fill the tank. I'd had enough gas to make it so my passenger and I sat in our car in a strip mall parking lot a few feet away. I watched as one after another people with looks of panic and dread on their faces pulled up to those pumps and filled everything they could find with gas. For some reason I was thinking, what do these people think this is, the end of the world? Then it hit me, that's exactly what those "thugs" saw on my face as we drove across that empty lot. And that's exactly how I felt. I felt like this was the end of the world, the beginning of Armageddon, Chaos! Little did I know...it was just the beginning....

-JMarie

The Hunt for the TRUE Welfare Queen

2012-07-15T22:29:00.004-05:00

Suggested Topic: The government and the lies that we are fed about minorities overrunning the welfare system.

Five Major Welfare Myths Myth #1: The typical welfare recipient is a black inner city single mother.
The Census Bureau's most recent annual poverty report found that urban black mothers constitute less than one out of six of all poor households. Rural white families account for more--one out of five. White suburban families account for even more--one out of four.

So there goes that myth.

Myth #2: The poor are lazy.
Forty percent of poor adults work, although many cannot find full time jobs. Indeed, even when they do they may still be in poverty. Some 11 million jobs in 1991 paid less than $11,500, $2,000 under the official poverty level for a family of four. Of those poor adults who don't work, 90 percent fall into the following categories: 22 percent are disabled, 17 percent are in school, 21 percent are elderly retirees, 31 percent have family responsibilities.

Introducing The Working Poor...

Myth #3: Welfare mothers breed welfare daughters.
Two long term studies reported by the House Ways and Means Committee in 1992 found that only about one in five daughters of "highly welfare dependent" mothers themselves become highly dependent on welfare. The rest rely on welfare sporadically or not at all.

Breed though??? That's that Willie Lynch Lingo...

Myth #4: Throwing people off the welfare rolls will eventually improve their lives and save taxpayers money.
The most celebrated experiment in welfare reform has occurred in Michigan. Governor Engler completely eliminated his state's $240 million General Assistance(GA) payments to 83,000 childless, able bodied adults.Only 8 percent of these former GA recipients found employment and they earn
an average of only $120 a week. Many sell blood for $20 a pint. Over one third lost their homes when the program ended. As one study notes, if only 5 percent of these former GA recipients end up in prison or a state psychiatric institution all the taxpayer savings from ending General Assistance will be lost.

Kick 'em off welfare & put em in jail....mo money, mo money, mo money!

Myth #5: Welfare is cheaper than creating well paying public jobs.
In his book "Securing the Right to Employment", Philip Harvey calculates that in 1986 we could have achieved full employment by creating l0.4 million public service jobs. He further assumed that the average annual wage would be $13,000. The cost of such a program would have been a daunting $142 billion. But when we deduct from this sum the taxes that would be paid by these new workers and the savings from drastically reduced unemployment insurance payments, welfare , Medicaid, food stamps and other expenditures directly linked to low income and unemployment overall we would have spent $13 billion less. A full employment program, even excluding the social savings from reduced family violence, more stable communities, and less crime, pays for itself in reduced welfare expenditures.

If we can overcome these five myths about welfare we may well engage in a national dialogue with meaningful results, not only for the one in five Americans who now live in poverty, but for the nation as a whole. But this will occur only when we challenge and overcome the welfare myths that paralyze our thinking.

So why do these myths persist? Simply put, they're a distraction. While it's become common knowledge that Black Women in fact do NOT constitute the majority of Americans on Welfare, we're still buy debating that fact with those who continue to spout this nonsense. Worse than that we spend the rest of our time turning our noses up at those we perceive to be the embodiment of that myth. When we see a young black female with a slew of children we automatically assume they're all hers, they all have different fathers, none of whom she knows and our hard earned tax dollars are providing her a comfortable living. We never assume that maybe the young lady is married and her husband is serving our country in the armed forces, or worse, she's the young widow of a young serviceman. We never assume maybe she's babysitting, has a relatives kids for a short vacation spell. Maybe juuust maybe she's a mentor taking a group of kids on an outing. Don't let her have her hair and nails done, oh my goodness. She gets the ghetto welfare queen label stamped to her forehead. The fact is there are a lot of young women in our community who do have more than one young child. Who do seem to value their appearances far more than their children's welfare. We've always had that AND SO HAVE THEY. Trailer Park anyone? But what do WE do to reach out? What programs are there to provide these young ladies with Employment, Education, Social Skills, hell even Etiquette resources??? I recall being in a class not too long ago and the instructor had previously worked at an Employment Service. She related a story of a young lady coming in dressed extremely inappropriately with her boyfriend in tow, dressed just as appropriately. The instructor explained how the entire office snickered and whispered about the woman's attire and the perception she gave...welfare queen with 7 kids. So the instructor pulled her to the side and asked her what would possess her to dress the way she had to come into an employment service searching for a job. The young lady explained that she'd never been to a job placement center before and she wore the nicest clothes she felt she possessed. Basically in a nutshell, she had never experienced being in a professional setting and she simply didn't know any better. Sometimes we assume certain things should be common sense when in fact many things are simply a reflection of our experiences. Had the instructor not taken the time to isolate the young lady and have a discussion she may have never had the chance to learn what was and wasn't appropriate attire for the occasion.

Reaching out doesn't mean we have to offer to baby-sit any one's 8 be be kids. Sometimes it's as simple as finding out what a persons' hardship is and pointing them in the right direction. Directing them to the appropriate resources that will afford them to improve their particular situations. So it's time to relinquish the crown people. Stop getting caught up in the argument regarding who's on welfare and who isn't. Let's focus on the goal. Improving our community so no one will ever be able to make a blanket judgement of our values and morals. Y'all already know how I feel about that anyway...WHO CARES WHAT THEY THINK, WE GOTTA DO US!!! As usual, leave your feedback. :-)

-JMarie

Black Folks Are Coming...Quick Hide It in A Book!!!

2012-07-15T21:00:00.001-05:00

Suggested Topic: Why are books like Kryptonite to the Impoverished.

We've all heard the saying, "If you wanna hide anything from black people put it in a book." While we all know SOMEONE who's an avid reader, we seem to be missing the boat when it comes to young people and the impoverished. Is it because books are considered a financial luxury in many households? Is it because according to tests our children read at a lower grade levels? Is it because we are too busy grinding to take the time out to sit still and read a book? I believe it's a little bit of these but much more.

I can remember the first time I asked my mom to get me a big people's book with no pictures. Iures. I was 7 years old and the book my mother graced me with was The Lion, The Witch & The Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis. (For you youngsters that would be The Chronicles of Narnia.) Although somewhat disappointed I decided enh I'll give it a try. Needless to say I didn't get past the 3rd chapter. Talk about BOOOOORRRING. I couldn't relate to this fairy-tale land that was soooo far from what I saw either on television or in my day to day experiences. You see I'd played in my mothers wardrobe for many years prior and all I ever found in there was clothes and shoes. No Lions, Witches, Secret Lands, NADA. I decided then, I'd stick with the kiddie books. Sure they weren't giving me any insight to the world that was evolving around me which I wanted so much to learn about. You see growing up in the south there's a certain set of rules that are taught from birth. One being, a child has no place in a grown persons' conversation. There were just certain questions you simply didn't ask.

About a year later I asked my mother about sex, I have HBO and squiggly Playboy channels to thank for that introduction...lol. In any event, she came home the next day with...you guessed it, a book. The book was entitled Where Did I Come From and it was written by Peter Mayle. Ohhh BOY did this book have LOTS of pictures. Imagine little illustrations of sperm with top hats and roses, get the picture. I was hooked. I thought if I could learn this much information from one single book I'm gonna get a library card and be the smartest person in the world. Many other books followed, some allowed my young mind to soar. I could go anywhere, Anywhere, ANYWHERE (Reading Rainbow :-D) my mind and my books would take me. My biggest goal though was to be just like my mom. You see the reason I asked for books in the first place was because my earliest memories were of my mom with her nose pressed inside a book. When I was growing up one of my proudest memories was of my mothers book shelves. She had EVERYTHING. Beautiful black people on beautiful book covers that were neatly arranged and I'm pretty sure alphabetized.

Over the years my mom flooded me with books books and more books. After observing my affinity for certain types of books with specific content she decided to introduce books that reinforced my natural interests. I'd been reciting Langston Hughes poems since Nursery School. *Thank you Redus Kiddie Kampus for giving me the right foundation!* So she started with books of poems. Everything from Langston to Nikki Giovanni, who's writing I fell in love with at a very early age. Her poems were melodic and surreal. I could literally imagine myself being lulled in the Congo dig it? Then she did it. One day she came home with a slim book of poems white cover with a rainbow and a drawing of a sistah with a gorgeous head wrap on the cover. But it was the title that came crashing down on me. This book was For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When The Rainbow Is Enuf. by Ntozake Shange. My first thought as a 11 year old girl was "unh unh, she can't spell enuf?" My second thought was "wait, does that say suicide?". I DOVE in nose first and read it from cover to cover that first day. When I cracked that book open I was a little black girl longing to travel the world through the miracle of books. When I finished that book of poems I was a young black woman aware of an innate sense of who I was, my purpose and place on this earth and in my community and the strength it took to differentiate between being in this world but not of this world. You see what reading gave me was the bravery to be me, little black girl just as I am and the insight to know that that little black girl could grow up and be ANYTHING she desired simply because there were things she knew about herself and the world that only few people seemed to know. Thanks Books!!!

About 4 years ago I had a conversation with my godchild. I asked him, why it was he loved losing himself in movies so much, *this could would literally zone out during a movie & when it was over, become his favorite character for at least 2 weeks*, but he hated to read or do anything that involved reading. His response to me was "because it's boring." 1 year ago I asked my little cousin the same question. His answer " I just don't like to read, It's too slow." I prefaced each question with "Do you ever catch anyone in your house reading any books or magazines?" For both the answer was yes. I was stumped for a while but then I got it. These kids came into these worlds with all kinds of gadgets that removed imagination from their academic diets. They no longer had to fill in the blanks and voids of a good story because everything was explained to them plainly in movies and games. I've also noticed over the years that their schools didn't have those "The person who reads the most books get's a special prize" contests we had when I was growing up.

So I have a conversation with a friends 15 year old nephew. *Thug to the bone but I digress.* I asked him if he read for recreation. He said he didn't. I asked him why? he said it was because he didn't read well. So I asked him to read something to himself first then read it to me out loud. Needless to say, when he read to himself he read about a page and a half of the book in the time I allotted him. But when he read out loud he got through 1 single paragraph. I asked him to explain both passages he'd just read and he fully understood the page and a half but neither remembered or could comprehend what he'd read out loud. He explained to me that the only time reading was ever required of him was when he was in school and it always included reading aloud in front of the class. So it was clear his aversion to reading was directly related to how he was perceived by fellow students due to his seemingly lack of reading skills. Of course I asked him if he'd ever witnessed anyone in his household reading for recreation and his answer was no. I asked his mom later where her books/bookshelf was and she replied "Oh girl I've been meaning to set one up but I just haven't had the time or the money to waste on books when I got kids to feed." I got it, I really did, but I couldn't excuse it. There are too many resources in the naked city to find free and cheap books to buy that excuse. There's a library in EVERY SINGLE NEIGHBORHOOD in this naked city and every school has some sort of library or at least some reading material available for students who were interested.

The one secret people who don't read have not learned is that IF YOU CAN READ, YOU CAN LEARN ANYTHING. There are tutorials and diy's everywhere. Sure you may not want to read Zane because you find no interest in losing yourself and allowing yourself to be someone else for an hour or so. You certainly may buy into the Toni Morrison's novels are far too deep for me to understand. I always considered reading to be relative. Whatever you bring to that story, your life experience relates to SOMETHING in any story. That's what you bring to the book and that's the knowledge you get from the book. It's therapeutic. It allows your mind to escape the daily hustle and bustle, the mortgage, the bills, the tuition and just unplug. And who needs to unplug more than us really? Turn the T.V. OFF and READ TO YOUR CHILDREN, READ WITH YOUR CHILDREN, if you can't read, ALLOW YOUR CHILDREN TO READ TO YOU! Learn TOGETHER. It's NEVER too late to start. We're fighting, begging and pleading to get our children into the schools that we feel will give them the tools they need to succeed in life when the very resource that will allow our children to do that is at our disposal. AND IT'S FREE. As always, share your thoughts, if nothing more, READ this blog entry. Or let your kids read it to you ;-).

-JMarie

African American "Reality Shows" Coonin' In Perpetuity?

2012-07-14T20:40:00.002-05:00

Suggested Topic

African American Reality Shows: Coonin' in Perpetuity?

We've all heard the complaints, yet we're all familiar with the exact situations and story lines that are causing the complaints....hmmm so you say you don't watch 'em hunh? Yeah Right! Somebody's watching Reality Shows and I KNOW it's not just me. I've bantered with quite a few of you about them...lol

Soooo the big questions seem to be: Are we comfortable with the portrayal of members of our community airing out their drama for the world to see? Why do people like them so much anyway? Are these shows a bad influence on the next generation? Are shows like Basketball Wives, Real Housewives and Love & Hip Hop setting us back generations? Who Cares? All good questions. I'm going to attempt to share my opinions about this "blazing issue" & invite you to share yours.

First Question: Are we comfortable with the portrayal of our community?
I for one can assure that there hasn't been a reality show on t.v. yet that has been an accurate reflection of MY community. Nor have I seen one that even attempted to. Television programming has come a long way from the 40's 50's and 60's when Black people were proud to see one of their own on the boob tube (crime reports, civil rights atrocities & assasinations not withstanding). People no longer rush to the phone to call the Greens down the street to utter the once gleeful words "Girllll there's a black person on t.v." *Thanks Cops*. In 2012 I don't expect to turn on the t.v. and find someone who portrays the level of grace, intelligence, and class that offers an accurate reflection of what I see in the mirror. I'm not on t.v...lol. This is not in the best interest f those who control the Media. We should ALL know this by now. It's about ratings, money, & perpetuating an image and let's face it, the media does not have a history of being on our side when it comes to portraying accurate and/or strengthening images of our community. I don't expect that to change in the near future. What's being aired has been proven to garner earnings and as far as the media goes "if it ain't broke, don't fix it." If someone wants to put on a backwards tutu and curse out Jesus in pig-latin and it will garner ratings....It's going in a prime time spot on a prime time network. Therefore if a few women want to get together and air their dirty laundry and there's a demographic for it...IT'S COMING TO A BOOB TUBE NEAR YOU.

Next Question: Why do people like them so much anyway?
BECAUSE THEY'RE ENTERTAINING...duhhh. We are a society of voyeurs. We LOVE to be front row center to watch other people's business. Most times it's because it spices up the monotony that is our own lives and sometimes it's because it gives us a break from the chaos that is our lives. C'mon now, who more than us enjoys propping on the stoop, porch, patio, veranda, neutral ground (Seaux 504), park bench etc. etc. to people watch? It's not because drama ONLY happens in our neighborhoods. It's because we like to watch the excitement. So now instead of sitting out in the heat, risking becoming a casualty when something "pops off" we can sit in the comfort of our air conditioned homes and watch it safely. It also gives us insight into how other people run their homes and lives. Sure these shows are scripted, as were very many soap operas of yore and look how long they lasted!!! Soap operas succeded in breaking the color barrier, gender barrier, age barrier, class barrier & many times common sense barrier. Everyone from all backgrounds and walks of life enjoyed losing themselves in the chaotic, dramatic, scripted lives of Erica Kane & the like. How many boycotts did they have to overcome? Don't worry I'll wait...

Question #3: Are these shows a bad influence on the next generation?
I'm really trying to continue to censor myself here, but be honest...with the exception of a handful of examples portrayed by the media how many of them are good influences? And how the HELL are you raising your children that you would even entertain the thought of ALLOWING a t.v. show to be a major influence in the lives of the next generation??? IT STARTS AT HOME PEOPLE. YOU control what your children watch and if you can't, it's YOUR responsibility to discuss, explain, lie about, sugar coat, kiddy pitch what your child HAS seen. Let's face it, it's not reality shows that are the biggest influence in the lives of the next generation...it's how YOU, YOUR DYSFUNTIONAL FAMILY, NEIGHBORS, FRIENDS & EXTENDED FAMILIES are behaving, or NOT behaving that is influencing the next generation. Young people, contrary to popular belief, CAN distinguish reality from make believe. It's what they're seeing in their homes, schools, & neighborhoods that are the real influences in their lives. Gone are the days of telling your child "Do as I SAY not as I DO." I mean be honest, that didn't even work when your mother/father told it to you did it? Didn't think so. We have to be EXAMPLES for our kids. We have to teach them values and morals and self-worth. It is neither society's, or the medias responsibility.

Question #4: Are shows like Basketball Wives, Real Housewives and Love & Hip Hop setting us back generations?
If I hear this one more time I'm going to scream WAAAAKKKEEE UPPPP in my best Dap from School Daze voice. Who gave "them" whomever them is the RIGHT to judge, record, portray or take responsibility for OUR legacy??? Who were the people who elected "them" a hop scotch time keeper for the Black Experience??? Hey we got a black president, take 2 steps forward...uh oh we got a bully named Tammy (even though yall went overboard with the Tammy's a bully crap. Keisha played the victim & yall bought it hook line n sinker....but I digress) take 4 steps back. WTF??? Unh Unh, if they can get a Jerry Lee Lewis & make him a beloved musical genius then we shouldn't have to take a Flavor Flav & chalk 1 up for the team. (sidenote, remember Flav's roots, Public Enemy, just ponder that for a second). This has been an argument in the black community for decades. Remember the NAACP's stance on Amos N Andy? Are you familiar with the collective communities thoughts on actresses like Hattie McDaniel perpetually portraying maids? Remember her answer? Paraphrasing: I'd rather play one than be one. It behooves me that a society that values MONEY, HUSTLIN', GRINDIN' over FAMILY, LOVE, SUPPORT & RESPECT has the audacity, nay the unmitigated gall *I just love that term-neck roll n all...lol* to say Reality Shows are setting us back generations. What's happened in the past is just that, in the past. Our legacy can NEVER be erased. Whether it's recorded or not (remember we come from an ancestry of griots, our history was passed on verbally) our contribution on this earth is evident and can never be removed. And I as a black woman, will not allow you to let "them" negate it. That's an excuse "they" came up with to make you feel you don't have the right to use the same resources they do to make ends meet. Don't fall for that "that's why they think all black people are a certain way" okey doke. That's an EXCUSE. No one knows better than "they" the power, ingenuity & intelligence that is prevalent among the black community. Sadly they are aware of it before we are...think about that one.

With the ever so pressing issues we face in our communities on a daily basis, the fact that we allow ourselves to get caught up in the idea of boycotting television shows because they in your opinion present an inaccurate portrayal of our community as a whole is assinine. If your daddy was a pimp it doesn't make you one. Should you grow up & flip to pimpin' that's your choice. Should your brother grow up to be a doctor that's his choice. Neither of those choices reflect the other so why are you concerned with an ACTRESS who happens to be the same shade as you being a reflection of you? And who the hell elected her the sistah girl spokeswomen anyway???

-JMarie

An Open Letter to Daddy

2012-07-14T18:55:00.003-05:00

I think I was maybe 9 years old the first time I realized the importance of feeling secure. I was on my way home from school (yes I was a latch key kid) and there was a man sitting in a car directly across the street from my house. As I approached the car to cross the street I noticed he was naked from the waist down. I panicked, ran to the house and locked myself in. I immediately called my mom, who instructed me to make sure the door was locked and call the police. By that time it was too late, the guy was gone. I can't describe how afraid and alone I felt in the home that had before then had been my comfortable safe haven. It was where everything and everyone I loved was. Upon my aunt arriving home from work, I went upstairs to her house to tell her about the terrifying ordeal I'd experienced that day. I just knew there would be some sort of comfort, a hug, a pat on the shoulder, something that would reassure me that security had not vacated my world. Her response: "yeah, and so?" You see some people just don't think outside of their own box. I had to listen to 30 minutes of "When I was a kid and this happened to me, my daddy did......". It became clear to me what was missing...a daddy. A male figure who would have either chased the big bad man away or beaten him within an inch of his life. But there was no one there to do that. Not a neighbor, not an uncle, not grandpa, everyone was out living their lives while I was at home alone peeping through the blinds to make sure the big bad man wasn't coming back. That day my first thought was, How DARE this man come to my nice safe neighborhood & violate it so. My second thought was, but I'm just a little girl, who am I to tell him to go away? He was an adult and in the south you don't just speak to adults any kind of way. Although this situation presented an exception to that rule, at 9 years old I did as I was told and feared the consequences of breaking one of the golden rules. This is what a man was supposed to address. That day my aunts 30 minute speech instilled in me a feeling I'd never be able to shake. Is it possible to ever feel completely safe and secure again without a man who cared enough to face danger on my behalf? Unfortunately it's a thought I still wrestle with until this day.

When I was about 15 years old, I went to a high school that was not very far from my fathers' home. You see I'd known OF my dad all my life. Even spent a few nights at his home as a child and got to know his wife and my siblings. The problem was, whenever I was there, he wasn't. He was always out at a bar or club but being a kid, the other kids in the house were a new found source of entertainment for this only child. I knew I didn't like being left with all these "strangers" when I was supposed to be getting to know my dad, but it was okay as long as there were toys around...lol. The first heartbreak I ever experienced was a promised trip to the beach with my father and his family that never happened. My second was my father's brother asking me to come & spend time with his family, even enjoying me so much that when the time came for me to go home, they wouldn't hear of it. Instead they went out & bought enough clothes for me to extend my stay. And in all this, I NEVER saw my father's face ONCE. See a pattern here. So at 15 I decided to take it upon myself an make myself available to develop a relationship with my father. I didn't leave it all up to him. I dropped by the house 3 times a week and hung around until it was time for him to come home Needless to say this became quite a burden for his wife but even though she made snide comments, she never turned me away. I was a determined young woman but as in times past, he always had some previous engagement i.e. bar or club taking precedence over a visit with me. I decided then that I had done my part and would not bother myself with trying any more.

At 22 years old I was a victim of date rape. I never told my family about it and most of them still don't know (well I guess they do now) but the feeling of security I'd developed in the years approaching woman hood was slowly crumbling once again and I decided once more to reach out to the one man who I felt was RESPONSIBLE for my healing. The man who was supposed to say "Who was it babygirl? I'm going to get him!" I decided to start visiting my father again. On one particular evening I dropped by the house, which by now was about the only way I could catch him. We exchanged pleasantries and I decided to test the waters. I started with "hey dad, can I have $5?" He responded with "I don't have any money, I gave your sister the rest of my cash." So I'm thinking okay, he didn't stammer, he seemed sincere besides, I didn't need it & was just gonna give it to my baby sister. It was only a test. Later that night I decided I'd hang out at the club with a few friends. Who did I see sauntering through the door with some woman (EMBARRASSSSSSSING) but my good ole dad. He had a seat and started buying round after round. I watched and waited, hoping he'd at least notice me over in the corner with my friends. When he finally did, he spoke from across the room, said goodbye to his buddies and bee lined it out the door. I quickly followed and caught up with him at his truck. I walked over to the car window and asked "Daddy why'd you lie?" To which he responded, "look, I never promised you anything." Those words shattered my world. I thought if my own father, the man who gave me life, the man who had nothing but kind words of praise to offer about my mother, the man who carried my graduation picture in his wallet and showed it to any and everyone who would listen (according to my siblings), the man who I looked EXACTLY LIKE. How could this man deny me? It wasn't about the 5 dollars. It wasn't about the insincerity. It was about this man who'd raised and doted on 2 other daughters and a son, dismissing me as if I were a $2 whore asking for a tip.

The final straw was just following Hurricane Katrina. I evacuated a few days after the hurricane struck but stayed close enough to home to get in early and check out the damage. My father and his family were scattered everywhere so I took it upon myself to go over and check on his house to try to soften the blow for them. When I called my father and gave the report his words were: "I'm so glad you're okay, and my children are okay too. We're truly blessed." Now while I understood his intentions, and even understood the slip up *AND MY CHILDREN ARE OKAY TOO* I mean let's face it, I didn't grow up with him, he never held any financial or emotional responsibility for my well being and after Katrina we were ALL QUITE LOOPY to say the least. Those words still echo in my head. I began to question, why didn't my mother do SOMETHING to force this man to acknowledge his responsibility? Why didn't she marry him like he begged her to do when she told him she was pregnant? Why didn't she at LEAST put him on child support? Why didn't she allow him to sign the birth certificate? At 38 years old I now understand why my mother decided to handle her relationship with my father the way she did. She was wise enough to know that 1. you CAN'T force a man to take responsibility for his actions. 2. The man who had fathered her only child was a Wimp. These weren't things she shared with me, but after forming my own "relationship" with my father, I get it.

What daddies, fathers, parental paternals if you will don't seem to realize is the IMPORTANCE of instilling in their daughters a sense of security. The first man you love is your father. The first man who loves you is your father. This love and treatment sets the bar for how your children will ALLOW themselves to be treated. It instills values and morals in your children that yes, they will LEARN from their mothers but they'll never feel or even understand when it's time to form relationships with the opposite sex. Even deeper, it forms a sense of self-worth that can't be taught verbally. It has to be felt. One has to FEEL security to know it. One has to know what it's like to be loved by someone so much that they'd KILL to protect them. If those things aren't established, there will always be an empty whole. There will always be that voice in the back of your head saying "Am I deserving of this persons' love? Am I deserving of my own love? Am I special enough to be loved unconditionally? Will my flaws and quirks allow this man to love me no matter what? " After all. My own Father doesn't even love me. Am I worthy to be loved?

In time, I've learned my worth on my own terms. There are still bumps in the road in terms of relationships with the opposite sex. And basically at 38 I'm still, learning to love and be loved by a man. I don't mind it too much as I love to learn but I feel my growth in that area has been stunted and I'm 25 miles behind everyone else in the love department. It's a slow process and there's always a part of me that will feel some emptiness and insecurity. I am also conscious of the "daddy issues" pitfalls that accompany many relationships and try my HARDEST not to take my issues out on the ones I love. Let me tell you, it's a process. There are certain characteristic traits that still sting me to the bone such as, Not following through on promises, but I'm getting there slowly but surely. Despite my fathers current seemingly self-punishment for NOT taking those precious opportunities to build a relationship with his oldest child. While my siblings don't understand why I feel so abandoned by my father, they still try to "patch" up a relationship that's far too gone to repair but I love them for it because they love me. Fathers, Daddies, Parental Paternals, please take the time out to tell your children that you love them. That they are Special. That they are Smart. And especially your daughters...That You'd do everything humanly possible to protect them. Most of all from their own dead-beat daddies.

-JMarie