THE BROTHERS JOHNSON - RIDE O ROCKET 1978

I am a little sad today. I just found out that Louis Johnson, of the R&B funk group, The Brothers Johnson has passed away.  If you are not familiar with the Brothers Johnson they had the hit song Strawberry 23, among others. My personal favorites songs by this group were Stomp and Ride 'O Rocket.

My late, older brother, Teddy had introduced this group to me back in 1978. I didn't reveal to him, until years later, that when he would leave the house I would go into his room and blast the music on his component set. 

When I heard that Louis Johnson had died it immediately took me back to those times in Teddy's room. I was sad that I couldn't call him and discuss this news. I did, however,  have the memory of staring at his bedroom door hoping he wouldn't come in and yell at me! Then I had to laugh.

Time With Family

I went to visit my sister-in-law over the weekend with my younger brother and my son. She had gathered some things that she thought we would have wanted from my late brother, her husband. I know it has been a hard time for all of us, especially her, as my older brother was the love of her life. I try to stay in touch with her, as she is really more like a little sister, than a sister-in-law. She had informed me that while she was going through these things that once belonged to him, she couldn't stop crying. I felt bad for her and when she asked could I arrange for someone to pick up the roll desk that may brother had that once belonged to my late father I got on the phone and enlisted my younger brother to go with me since he has a SUV. She later texted to asked if we were going to stay a while and go to dinner. Of course we would, my brother loves food, and even more than that, he loves when someone else pays.

My son decided at the last minute that he would accompany us on the forty-five minute trip, since he had never been. On the way to her condo we laughed and joked about things we did with our older brother(and uncle). After a while, I thought about what could we do to make her smile and let her enjoy the time we were there. Then I realized, just being our jovial selves were all she was looking for. 

We finally arrived and she greeted us at the door. We sat down and watched television for a few moments and looked at the sweatshirt she had purchased of the art my son had created. She decided she wanted to go outside and sit in the steps. Before going she offered water or wine, or whatever she had in the refrigerator. I knew we were hungry  and needed a snack so we went to her office a few yards away where we had coffee, chips and party leftovers from the night before. We stayed there a while a talked, played pool, while my son sketched. 

I knew that it was time, an hour later, to go for dinner, as the party leftovers were too greasy and we needed a meal. We agreed t go to Bravo's, an Italian restaurant that she and I had gone to when we spent the week working out the plans for my brother's funeral. It began raining and she got me to run in to save a table. W\hen I got to the door, I saw all of these people who were obviously there for prom dinners. Young ladies in their gowns and young men in their tuxedos. I called her and told her that that place was a no go, but I had to maneuver get back to her SUV, as by now it was pouring down raining. Once I finally got back to her automobile, my brother had suggested that we go to Logan's Roadhouse, which was in another part of the shopping area.

My sister-in-law revealed that she had gone their once with my older brother and told us that the food was alright. We entered and was led to out booth. As soon as we reached the booth my son pointed out the peanut shells all over the floor. I had a feeling that this was the norm for this place, as shells were EVERYWHERE we looked. 

We placed our orders and while the waitress was gone I began eating the peanuts that were in a little bucket in the center of the table. As I ate the peanuts  I would throw the shells on the floor. At first I was trying to be discreet about it since I had never experience anything like this before and my sister-in-law had informed me that it was alright. 

So I ate and threw shells on the floor. This was so fun and liberating. I started thinking about how my mother would have had a field day, shells on the floor, insane. She would have wanted somebody to come and clean the floors. My brother would laugh at me every time I threw the shells on the floor. My sister-in-law thought it was funny and it was good to see her laugh, even if it was because I was doing something silly.

The dinner had come to and end and it was time to go home and my sister-in-law had to babysit one of her grandchildren. We all hug, as it continued to rain, drizzling by this time. The promise that we would do that again soon, to cut up and act silly just to make her smile.


  

Luke and Laura, Etc.

I spent a couple of hours the other night looking at scenes of one of the most interesting "love" stories on daytime television. The story of Luke and Laura. I say interesting as I did finally see the "rape" scene. It was rather tame for the most part, I don't think daytime television in the seventies would have allowed anything too graphic. 

I often wondered how they made the leap of what Luke Spencer did to Laura Webber be equated to 'love'. It was said that they really loved each other and the thought of Luke dying and never having touched her and let her know how he felt about her was too much for him. 

This isn't about the dreadful thing that was done to Laura, but more about how people misconstrue what love is. I am also perplexed about how she couldn't stay away from him after the deed  was done. The fact that Luke was the only person she wanted to see when she was taken to the hospital and that she would not tell anyone that Luke had, in fact, been the perpetrator. 

I  have met some very interesting people over the years. People who have allowed the worst possible things to happen to them in the name of love. The thing is love is not suppose to hurt literally or figuratively for that matter. I have always been under the impression that love, or shall I say, romantic love, is suppose be about two people understanding each other, not having to say anything and know what the other is thinking. Love is not all the crazy things that some people endure for the sake of saying this is love.

A few years ago, I knew this young lady who had been with this guy since grade school. She followed him around like a puppy and he treated her like she was his little dog. As time went on she had had a few children with him. During all these years he continued to have a chick on the side, not just one, but whoever fell prey to his appeal. I could never understand how she allowed herself to be treated that way, but she continued to tell me that she loved him and that's all she knew. After a while he was forced, or rather encouraged to marry her, as she had started a family for him.

One day she came to me wailing. She had revealed that he was angry at her for confronting him about one of his chicks. Their argument became physical and he kicked her in her in the vagina. I was stunned and insisted that she leave this man. Arrangements were made so that she and the children could escape him. 

She was to leave on the bus in the following morning. I knew she was gone. I knew I had done everything I could for her. I was proud that I had saved a woman from her tormentor. But, I was wrong. She decided to give him another chance, "she loved him and he loved her," she said. A few months later, the entire family moved two states away. Her hope was that the move would get him away from the women here. But she didn't realize that women are everywhere you go? 

Luke and Laura did have one of the biggest weddings on television. The thing is, the powers that be can turn something insidious into a beautiful love story. That is not the case in reality, but some people really think that love is suppose to be this difficult. I beg to differ.

Mom's 80th

My mother just turned 80 yrs young. Now a lot of people can't say that, but I am glad she has lived this long. My mother has had a lot of ups and downs. Her father died when she was 14 yrs old, and she just happened to be in the car with him. She married my father before she turned 19 yrs old and he died 11 years ago. My older brother died last year and she is still suffering the grief of losing her first born.

Mom grew up on a farm in Lunenburg County, VA and by all accounts she had a lot on her plate from a very small child. She was depended on to help raise her younger siblings and got in trouble if anything happened, even at 5 years old. My mother was looked at by her younger sisters and brothers as their mom. 

I recall her telling me that she learned how to cook when she was 11 years old and had to get up early Sunday morning to make rolls. She still makes rolls to this day for us. Mom has made a meal almost everyday since I was a kid. Fried chicken, pork chops, greens, etc. She would start early in the afternoon to prepare the meal for the day. Years ago when my son was in school and he had to stay there until I got off work she made sure that a nice hot meal was prepared when he arrived. I was able to get something to eat, but her concern was her grand baby. 

She was able to attend college, although she was awarded a $500 scholarship to go to school to learn how to play the piano professionally, however that wasn't enough. Being the four of 10 kids (the 11th died at birth), with a widowed mother and living on a farm, didn't allow her to dream of being able to go to school. She did play the piano at churches through the years. Mom made the best of things, as she could. She began "courting" my father, who also lived on a farm, the youngest of nine children, her mother and grandmother thought that he would make a good husband and she agreed to marry him. They were married for 50 years and my brother and I gave them an anniversary party and gave them the wedding they didn't have the first time.

Mom was a cosmetologist, but retired from working in the beauty shop in 1977 after back surgery. She doesn't do too much hair now. As far as the piano, she is, from time to time asked to play the piano at some church. My mother says that if GOD gives you a gift, you have to use it, and that is what she does.

We took Mom out for her 80th birthday, without Dad and without Teddy, but she still enjoyed the meal, just the same, since she didn't have to make it herself.

Happy Birthday Mom

Once, Twice

I am now working on my next book titled, "Once, Twice" about a successful business woman, Sydney, who has come home to see her dying mother. When she arrives, not everyone is outwardly happy to see her as she has been away for a few years. After her mother passes she is given the task of taking care of her father, who hasn't gotten passed the fact that his oldest daughter left home to make a life for herself.

She decides to take her father back to the West Coast, where she lives, for a few months. He wants to return home after a few months and visit with family and friends and check on his house. In the mean time, Sydney's fifteenth class reunion is set to take place. She runs into a few friends leading up to the reunion who insists that she attend. 

Against her better judgement, she goes to see her old classmates. While there Sydney encounters Tony, her first true love. He is now divorced and childless. Sydney is happy to see Tony and after the reunion they spend a lot of time together over the course of a few days. They carry on as if nothing had happened, as if they were never apart. Then David shows up, Sydney's long-time and faithful boyfriend. He misses her and realizes that absence does make the heart grow fonder. She however, realizes that although she does love David, she never got over Tony. Things get a little stickier when David decides its time they got married and start a family, however, Tony wants the same thing for the two of them. Yikes!!

My Book Signing

I had my book signing last week and it was very successful, for a first signing anyway.
There were family and a few young ladies who were there to support me and wanting to know what "Another Chance" was all about. I was a tad nervous, but not that much.
   I decided to give a synopsis of the story and then read the first 12 pages of the novel and leave it at a cliff hanger. Since I was given an hour and a half, the first half hour was given to give people time to arrive, I had to pace myself. The cliff hanger approach seems to work, as people want to know what happens next. 
   This is a suspense romance novel, so I am able to read a little just to whet the appetite. There was one unknown in the crowd who just asked what happened to the character, and everyone in unison told him that he needed to buy a copy and find out. This gentleman decided that he wanted to give me pointers on how to "look' the part on my next book signing, all the way down to using lip gloss to stand out as it is shiny. I've heard of creative criticism, but lip  gloss, from a man?
   After I read I was able to sell a few copies. There was even an attendee that purchased four copies to give as gifts. 
   I have another signing in a few days with unknowns and this will be the test to show how I handle being out of my comfort zone and really starting to "work" an audience.

When I decided to become a writer

When I was younger my mother always told my brothers and me stories. Whether they were made up or found in the one of our books she always told us a story. I don't think at that time I gave much thought to becoming a writer, but mom knew how to keep your interest with her made up stories  and we got to hear them every night before we went to bed.
   I remember in middle school the students were given an assignment to keep a journal. Not really knowing what that was, I only knew that we were suppose to write thoughts everyday. I felt that this was a unbearable challenge at first, then I realized that I had a lot to say about different things in life.
   Writing became cathartic as I entered high school and I continued to write in my journal, now by this time five binders filled. I could not stop keeping up with things. I still didn't give too much thought to becoming a writer during this time. When I was in English class I knew that I was good at writing, but it still didn't make me give writing a second look. My feeling was, I doing something that I am use to. By my senior year in high school my teacher told me that she was impressed with my work. Still nothing.  I was determined to look elsewhere.
   By the time I entered college, I had to take the placement tests. The guidance counselor gave me my results and he had informed me that my English testing allowed me to take any English class I wanted. I chose creative. Now the interesting thing about this class, we were always give the task of describing something and doing an entire page on this one object. I wrote my paper and turned it in. The next day in class the professor decided that he wanted to read his favorite paper. As he began to read, much to my horror, I realized he was reading MY paper. I slowly started sliding down into my chair, hoping no one would see me. "I love this paper. This writer really knows what I am looking for," he said aloud. I on the other hand wanted to crawl under a rock. The good thing was nobody knew it was me. That wasn't the last time this would happened in that class.
   I had another class that really had nothing to do with creative writing so much, however the professor was very strict about how we wrote our papers. Once she decided that we would do a five page paper on fashion, as this was a fashion class. There was an a free dinner or lunch with the professor for the best paper. This project was supposed to have all the trimmings including fashion clippings from magazines that coincided with your paper. I put my paper together and turned it in when completed. After a few days my professor announced to the class that only one person had made an A on their paper. Surely it wasn't me, as there were others who I assumed had done a nice paper. She slowly walked through the class room and it appeared that she was taking too long to get to me. Finally the last paper handed was mine, with a big fat A-( the minus was because of grammar). I was shocked to say the least. the class clapped, although some I assume begrudgingly. My professor when on to tell me after class that I really should consider becoming a writer. I started thinking my I should become a writer as it was told to me several times. I mean what could it hurt I thought.
   This was put on the back burner for many years, and finally after thinking that I had wasted enough time, I decided to publish my first book. It has been re-edited and re- published and I have not looked back. I have more books to come.