The Craft of (Dis)Illusion: Reflection, Wonderings and Wanderings in Winter (TBT)

Words of the day:
hindsight (n.): understanding a situation or event only after it has happened or developed. The past year-plus, of course.
schadenfreude (n.): pleasure derived from someone else's misfortune. Well, considering our current socio-political climate, this is relative... and many of them deserved it.
facepalm (n./v.): the gesture of placing the palm of one's hand across the face, as to express embarrassment, frustration, disbelief, etc. (often used as an interjection). If I can own it, so can you.

The shortest day of the year begins at 11:28 am ET(New York City Time) today, and I awoke to a notification on my cell phone only six hours earlier from my dear cousin Anthony with the most apropos of words to savor: facepalm. 

I did the facepalm several times in 2017, felt a healthy dose of schadenfreude while watching the news, and still gained much from hindsight. There: used all of them in one sentence. A day well spent in contemplation. But wait, there's more...

Black turtleneck, 'cause it's winter now.

I made these. See model above.

In the winter, I don't get out as much, because New York City has FIVE MONTHS of it, and I haven't yet acquired my alternate cold-weather residence. Numb fingers and toes notwithstanding, I did, however, manage to ice skate twice this year before December even began! 

I still have my "ice-legs", it would seem. Selfie on skates, smh...

Getting my Nature Documentarian on with Newtown Creek Alliance!

It has been quite a year! 2016 I dubbed the Year of Travel. 2017 was my #busybee, to the point where I got so busy, I forgot to appropriately apply the coined hashtag as liberally as I intended, and back it up with blogged evidence (if it's not on social media, it didn't happen, right?!)!

Ah well, take to heart that I have, indeed, been busy, and the culmination of this year is seeing several fruits come to bear.

Yes, I climbed an active volcano in Guatemala last year, and now it finally has become part of my legend!

I am happy to say that having a reunion after several estranged years from Anthony last December began a unique journey from 9-to-5 monotony and disillusionment to freelance hustling and creative anxiety. Not to be outdone, my newfound "flexible schedule" as I continued to carve out exactly what I wanted to do next (and how) allowed for some truly unorthodox experiences for me.

The "taxi" I didn't take in Guatemala. Stay tuned for video!

I canoed on a formerly contaminated creek on its way towards environmental rehabilitation.
I helped to restore an urban green space dedicated to food justice in my Bronx hometown AND I brought a midwestern city's 25-year jewel of a working urban farm to light for a greater audience through my journalism instincts. And they were both started by Blackfolks!

I attended for the third year in a row the Women In Travel Summit that has been very responsible for my upstart forays into travel, writing, and tapping into my creative goddess warrior spirit.
I managed to consistently imagine, execute and publish articles for a dynamic new online publication- and get paid for it!

I kept my eyes and ears open, and my heart vulnerable, my head cool, and my skin as thick as I could.

A queen up on Queen Street, ON.

NYC in the summer means a fan, and a twist-out!

I learned through much trial and error to speak up for myself within my family and romantic relationships, and to deal with the hilarious, exasperating, and thought-challenging results of that.
I stuck with projects that didn't quite make sense at first, but afforded me better skills at business branding, social media management, and even networking, all the while building up my confidence in defining myself as an entrepreneur, writer, and mental health and human rights advocate.
I got back into the kitchen for pleasure, and also tightened up my preparations skills for routine cooking.

What you see here is three types of carrot and parsley root from the farmer's market. Yum.

I learned that pride and shame should not get in the way of attaining mental and physical therapy, regardless of what traps the current administration sets for the general population.
I have said congratulations and goodbye to many friends and family, in joy and heartache.
I got out more- and showed people how they can also be active and involved, whether locally or from afar- and I re-dedicated myself to not being afraid of meeting the travel challenge wherever I presently am.
I embraced the utility of being organized and applied mise-en-place across professional disciplines as diligently as in my kitchen.
I managed my stress and confidence lags while also coming to terms with the toxicity of the present economic, social and political climate in the United States, as it pertains to women, Black women, and creative, non-binary, non-mainstream people, who are dear to my heart and deserve the platforms and dignity they have fought (and/or died) for.

Melinated Moms Winetasting Event in Newark with Sipper's Delight Inc.! Support Black Female Businesses!

I have found a way to channel my anger, my need for consistent, meaningful and life-affirming creative outlets, and have made significant steps towards multiple streams of income and livelihood that enrich this life I currently lead. Out of sheer boredom and necessity, I have accepted the creativity of my nimble fingers, and allowed myself to lean in to all of my talents. I've tackled my writer's block head-on, and can thank both of my sisters, my besties, their mamas, Sacred Walker, Kim Piper Werker, Ariam Alula and so many others for their individual and collaborative influences!

Color, texture, location, season, environment are all part of my inspiration in creating culinary, literary and visual art.

I continue to be a daughter, a sister, a best friend, a confidante, an aunt, a cousin, a granddaughter, (a hot date), and myself, and strong in the definition that I determine reflects me in these roles. No one else gets to tell me how to be in these people (and more to come).

I am (also) a journalist, an editor, a listmaker, a researcher, a reader, a lover of languages, a singer, a dancer, a jewelry-maker, a fashion-enthusiast (and thus, designer), an artist, an advocate, a thought warrior, a business strategist, a photographer, a lover, a fighter, a dreamer, an immigrant, a New Yorker, an American, a #Blackamazonian, an environmentalist, a gardener, a chef, a tinkerer, a hustle-hacker, a problem-solver, a mountain-climber, a hula-hooper, a jogger, a weight-lifter, a #seldom_settled traveller, an unbeaten liver of life. I sang, I taught, I wrote and I flew. What did you do??

Soup is my go-to in the cold months. Curry-spiced red lentil with coconut milk, if you please.

An Ode to My Grandfather, Charles S. Daniels, My First Storyteller

Good morning Facebook. Random thoughts popped into my head that must be shared.

1-Me at about 4 years old on Saturday and weekday mornings with my grandfather watching morning children's programming on PBS Channel 13, or Saturday morning cartoons (when they were good). He's in the kitchen frying bacon and eggs, with buttered toast and a large enamel mug of sweetened and creamed coffee that I will get just a few sips of. I was not in school yet, at this point, and distinctly remember everyone else in the house had already got up and left for their respective work and school, so it was just me and him those times.
2- A few years later, still with the Saturday morning cartoons. Around noon or 1pm, though, it was Grandad's turn to watch tv. The choice was either boxing on Spanish Language Channel 41 or 47 (Telemundo?), or whatever old rerun movie they were showing on Channel 7 (ABC) or 11(WPIX), which meant a lot of western movies, or Matlock. I would laugh when I watched Grandad's rapt attention to the small TV screen, feigning boxing himself, as we tried to decipher rapid-fire Spanish commentary.
3- We lived in The Bronx, and I was going to Brooklyn Technical High School. Any of you out there have a clue what kind of commute I endured for four years (in a two-fare zone, no less) will understand. It seemed like every month I found myself being excused from class to lay on a cot in the infirmary that first grueling day of my monthlies. My grandfather used to come from The Bronx and pick me up when I was too sick and delirious to go back to class. He went to the drugstore and bought my lady products.
4- Grandad was old and one year from dying of cancer at this point. But he was well and alert enough in 1999 to be a part of the family crew that escorted me to college way out in Southampton, Long Island. I have a picture of him with everybody else in the public quad area of my dormroom, outside the computer center, looking a little out of place, a shrinking dark-skinned black man whom I rarely saw smile. He was smiling and proud on that day.

2018 Update on his 101st birthday: In the midst of and beyond these specific events, Charles Daniels weaved a great yarn! He was a masterful storyteller, and kept meticulous notes that I find myself poring over as I work on a personal heritage project. It is because of him that I started remembering birthdates of my extended family, and tracing my lineage to four continents. Even when I wasn't certain whether I was hearing entire truth or embellishments of memory, I knew that I had a treasure trove of information from the stories my grandfather's oral and written traditions. My recent journey to Cyprus brought a lot of these thoughts back, and talking with my older cousin "Uncle" Walter D'Aguiar helped to fill in many gaps to the timelines.

The point of citing these distinct memories is that I want to promote and support the Men of Facebook that I know to emulate this kind of dedication and tenderness to their daughters, granddaughters nieces, step-children, any girl that you come across for a time, that you can influence with your authority, your love, your very presence. Aside from the 1st day of college, these were all fairly mundane days in my life, in his life. It rained, it snowed, he went to work, I woke up or went to school. But they will always be treasured memories for me. My grandfather had one daughter. I am her eldest of two. He had her over twenty years later in his life than my mother had me, so the age gap was pretty distinct in terms of parenting styles, but the values still stuck.

Credit where credit is due: this post was made possible by a particularly quiet and pleasant weekend morning, free from immediate pressing obligations and a full spirit. I attribute the manifestation of this from a Facebook status update to an actual blog post to two special ladies, however; my best friend @littlefootlady, and the awesome @Luvvie, for the gentle kicks in the pants!

~@Swaitespot