In My Solitude
K.Hill

In that quiet time, when no one's around and no one's watching, I steal away in my mind. It is in those precious moments I find my solitude. You'll find me sitting on my bed, listening to the birds chirp off in some distant tree. The sound is faint but I can hear. Looking out of the window, grateful to see the sun shine another day, in my solitude I sit and have tea with my thoughts, just us two. Planning, contemplating, worrying, laughing – all of the above and I'm enjoying this time we that we share. It gives me an opportunity to evaluate self and ensure that my steps are consistent in the direction I want to go on this life journey of mine. For many of us, the rat race ensues and engulfs, we look up [or wake up] and realize that the life we're living is not really our own. Commitments, obligations and expectations have filled in for choices and we wonder to ourselves, "Is this the life I truly want, or is it the life I think I'm supposed to want?" For me, I am focused on living the life I truly want to live and allowing that simple purpose to express itself in my everyday actions. Maybe today I'll visit that paper store in the next town and discover a new creative wonderland, or perhaps I'll check out a matinee of Horton Hears A Who and reconnect with my inner silly goose, giggling until my sides hurt. Who knows, there are so many possibilities for this new day, so many opportunities for joy, what will I do? How will I decide? That has yet to be determined so for right now, in this moment and in my solitude I will simply…be.


K. Hill, Designer and Couture Invitation Consultant, owns and operates the Cinnamon Kiss Paper Studio from her quaint town of Homewood, IL just outside of the bustling Chicago city limits. Cinnamon Kiss Paper Studio combines traditional graphic design with handmade papers and custom embellishments to create unique, custom invitations and party favors. Services include logo and monogram design, custom invitations, corporate identity systems and art & design research. For more information visit: www.CinnamonKissPaper.com or call 708-798-8644.

Dawn of a Woman
by: Monique (Chameleon) Campbell

I cry over our yesterdays at night while you sleep
Dreaming of your tomorrows
And
In the morning
When sunshine bleeds through indigo skies
I reapply my disguise to look more like
the girl you once knew me to be
When in reality
The person this experience has forced me to become
Is much more womanly
You awake to a girl who’s happy to get
whatever time you can manage to spare
When really
I’m a woman who’s adjusted quite fine to living a life without you here
You see a wounded soul holding tight to anything camouflaged as real love
But if you look closer you’ll see a warrior
who sleeps comfortably in the arms of self love
You think that I’m the bedroom fantasy
that your father told you to always keep on the side
But your mother dared you to bring home
Well your half right
Because I am a sex goddess who is as equally domestic
as I am brilliant enough to cook the bacon
And bring it home
Yes
I smile at my tomorrows while you are awake
Oblivious to my metamorphosis
And tonight
When darkness chases an orange sky
I’ll remove my disguise for the last time
And introduce you to the woman that you forced me to be
But in all honesty
I’m not mad at the heartache that you caused
Because I’m much wiser and stronger; ultimately
You’ll finally meet the woman who’s been able
to give you all of herself
Even though your love was only part time
And
You’ll finally see that everything that you ran the streets looking for
Has been here at your side the whole time
And tonight
You will understand that love is not just a word
that you whisper in my ear in the middle of sex to keep my wet
I am hurt but I’m not afraid to let you go with absolutely no regrets
Tomorrow morning will be bittersweet
A subtle blend of melancholy and a dash of conquest
will fill my overcast skies
I’ll throw away my foolish girl disguise
and smile at the woman love has forced me to be
Because I’m wiser and stronger; ultimately

*Photo by Ev Salomon. Stills from the short film “Morning After” by Tina Divina

Brown Abbey

Dear Ms. Brown Abbey-

I suspect that my boyfriend may be pitching for both teams, if you know what I mean!? What do you think I should do, Oh wise one?

Sincerely,
Sleeping with the enemy!


Dear Sleeping with The Enemy,

Oh my… Hmmm…do you have proof your boy is playing for both teams or are we only speculating? I strongly suggest coming out and asking him. He just might be man enough to tell you the truth. It has often been said by men who have later been exposed by their women counterparts…”Well, uh …she didn’t ask, So I didn’t tell” I would suggest sitting down and having a heart-to-heart, meaning not in an accusatory way, but more like a “have you ever” leading into an “Are you…?” way. I am a strong believer in direct communication, as well as TRUSTING your INTUITION.

I say this because he may convince you in every way that he is not interested in other men, but sweetie if your gut is telling you that he may be a down low brotha than you should RUN in the opposite direction, unless of course you don’t mind this sort of “batter-up” game.

Love n Light

Brown Abbey

Momma Said
by Peppur Chambers, Vicki Rogers & Alberta White (pic 2nd from right)

This past Christmas holiday, I spent some time looking at cherished photos in my mom’s 1970s white, leather bound album with chipped, gilded, script letters that announce, “Family Album”. Like any other album from any other family, it holds irreplaceable moments captured by outdated contraptions. I was flipping through the pics as I often do when I’m at mom’s house in Arizona. I’m a hopeless romantic for Era’s gone-by and a hound dog for family clues…I love to inspect pictures and attempt to unlock the mystery of what was “really” going on in the flash of a moment, i.e. Where were they? What were they doing? Are they having a good time or a bad time? Ultimately, a camera flash is a light that show a story that wasn't necessarily meant to be told because some people see the act of taking a snapshot as an opportunity to reveal only what they want you to see – especially when the photographer is trying to capture something else. My grandma, Alberta White, is a master at this, whether she’s trapped in a photo or ribbing you for missing a play in Hearts.

As I looked through the album at pictures of Gram (my mom’s mom) in the 40s, 50s, 60s, and 70s, I thought about who Gram was then and who she is now. I wondered if she was the same person. Whatever the answer, I felt the urge to share these pictures with my step mom of some twenty-five years. I saw it as an introduction of sorts since, surprisingly, Gram and my step mom were meeting for the first time, as there had never been a reason to be in the same room after my parent’s divorce.

I knew Gram would appreciate this gesture since she knows she was a hot woman; you can tell by the stance she takes in her photos and sometimes by the expressions in the people around her. She often says I remind her of how she was then. (Lineage-wise, she absolutely takes credit for where I come from and in the last photo below its amazing how much I look like her!)

In tribute to her hotness, I had the brilliant idea of interviewing Gram for Momma Said (and give my momma a break from writing). Only, I thought of it once I got back to LA. Duh. I wish I’d thought of this when I was with her. Anyway, I had mom interview Gram with these questions and email them back to me. Gram is stoically vibrant … Rather than answer my random questions clinically presented through her daughter, she’d sooner munch on (required) sugar free crackers from her bedroom haven filled with the distinct sound of film noir programming on Turner Classic Movies while softly yelling hushed, truncated obscenities at Myrna Loy. So this is the snapshot we were able to get during the TCM “intermissions”:

What's one thing you learned from your mother? (Good or Bad)
How to be thrifty.

What's one thing you told all four of your daughters?
How to respect other people.


What's one thing you wish you had told them?
I pretty much covered it all (for instance, how important it is to live a good life.)

What's one thing you wish you hadn't told them?
That there is some good in everyone-I’m not so sure now.

What's one thing you wish your mom had told you?
How to care for yourself.

What do you think is your lasting legacy?
My children

What time in your life has been or is your favorite? Why? In my thirties and forties--way much less stress.

What's the best thing about Alberta White? (What's your middle name?! Who are you named for?)
My personality. Middle name Louise (named by my Uncle Clifford - don’t know if I was named for anyone)

What makes a woman powerful?
Her knowledge that she is powerful and using that knowledge.

What's the best thing about being a woman?
Realizing that she does have strength and power in all of her endeavors.

What's the best thing about being a grandma?
Being able to show favoritism without causing pain.

What's the best thing about being a mom?
Knowing (later in life) HOW DEAR YOUR ARE TO your children (caps are a typo)

If I had a daughter, what would you say to her?
Pick out all the things about your mom that you cherish and practice living them.

Date of birth (not year unless you want to include) and location of birth
March 24, 1932 Wright City .Mo

Parent's names
Hadley and Lillian Hamm

Worked in KU ____ office for how long? _____ years
Kansas University Chemistry Dept (office and lab) 19 ½ years. Lawrence High School Principal Secretary - 20yrs

What'd you do before KU again?
House cleaning before KU and LHS

Describe your best childhood memory. (And don't say there wasn't one! :)
Having new shoes at Easter Time.

*Thank you to my Aunt Pamela Sanchez for the photos online!

Harlem’s Love Story…
For your reading enjoyment, find the fifth installment of “Harlem’s Awakening”…This is the “True Hollywood Story” (as it were) behind the love affair between Joe and Harlem that plays out in the cabaret, “Harlem’s Night”.

Intruder...Chapter 4 - continued

She felt a blood-boiling rage stronger than Niagara Falls leap directly from her gut to throat. It quickly crept from her neck, along her jaw line and up to her cheeks. When it reached her ears in a deafening din, she knew the awful grin on her face used to protect her true feelings just wouldn’t be enough to cover her. She’d forgotten how Joe could make her so angry with something as casual as his greeting of, “How Ya been?”. Then again, she’d started to realize that perhaps their previous horizontal encounters merely were not more than anything but casual. Her head was about to explode while standing there casually in front of Joe and the dimwitted Harold. She had to take action.

“Harold, get me a drink, will you?”, she said softly.

“Now Harrrlm, you know I can’t afford no drink…”

“Just order me the freakin’ drink, Harold. I’ll pay for it my damn self!”

Somehow Joe finally found his voice and said, “I’ll get that drink for you, Harlem.”

Her sarcasm dripped. “Gee, Joe. That’s real nice of you. Since we seem to casually know each other, I couldn’t ask you to do such a chivalrous thing. I’ll get it myself.” Before she could add on, “You stupid son of a bitch!”, the woman Harlem had just met in the powder room (whom Harlem had nicknamed “Honey” given her smooth talk, walk and aura) appeared. She carried two glasses of champagne and handed one of them to Joe.

“Here you go, sugar. You’ve been over here so long with your little friends that our bubbles were starting to go flat.” She ended that remark with a nice kiss on Joe’s lips. Joe’s lips.

She then turned to Harlem, “Hello again, sweetie. I see you were able to pull yourself together…” While Harlem had been a bit out of sorts in the powder room due to a surprise TKO from Harold’s bad breath and the surprise of him and Joe knowing each other, Harlem would have hardly considered her state one that needed “pulling together”! This honey-fied woman then rubbed Harlem’s back like a parent does a child being attacked by whooping cough. Harlem was absolutely, positively on f-i-r-e. She was surprised this woman’s hand hadn’t singed into ashes.

“You all, this is Sarah.” Harlem heard Joe say. “Sarah, this is Harold and Harlem.”
“Don’t you two make a fine couple!” grinned Sarah.

O-k. That was it. “Actually,” Harlem oozed, “Harold is my friend Cora’s boyfriend. I’m at the Cornett Lounge tonight quite alone on invitation from Joe, here.” Harlem had intended for her words to come out sheathed in ice; unfortunately they’d melted into a sultry mess…which may have worked to her home court advantage, because both Sarah and Harold said:

“How long have you two known each other?”, only it obviously didn’t come out of their mouths the same way.

“Gosh, Joe and I…” and she stared hard at Joe at this point, “How long’s it been, Joe?” She leaned against the bar; more so for support than for movie-star effect.

Joe simply said, “Not long.”

“Joe, you sure are funny.” Harlem said as she turned her backside to him, leaned over the bar and called for Scotty, the bartender. She placed her hand on her ass, as if to remind Joe that he wouldn’t be touching it EVER again. To think she’d thought they’d really had somethin’. Based on their last encounter, Joe seemed like he really liked her, and had said some stuff and done some stuff to make her feel like she was bein’ really liked. But now, in front of witnesses, he had changed his tune. Luckily she knew how to remain a lady in the faces of adversity and cocked her head back to say, “He’s right, it hasn’t been long at all.”

Sarah must have taken a sip of champagne (perhaps a frog jumped into her throat?), because Harold asked, “You’s got any more ‘a that champagne left? I sure could use a taste!” Leave it to Harold. He sure knew how to inject himself into a situation just like a flu shot. In that moment, while Harlem was perched in a hunch over the bar, sucking in the air that had been punched out of her when Sarah kissed Joe, she felt all of her animosity for Harold begin to dissipate. Also in that moment, surprisingly, she caught herself in the gargantuan oval mirror behind the bar. She was always amazed at her beauty because it seemed like it belonged to someone else…leaving her to feel like she was looking at a stranger especially when she felt like shit and surely must look it. As she called on that beauty to please make her feel even an ounce better until her scotch and soda arrived, she caught Joe looking at her reflection. Damn it. Intruder. How much of her had he just seen? She wasn’t sure, but it seemed like he was looking for sympathy, forgiveness or some other sort of healing salve from her. Screw him. (Which, thinking back on another meaning of that very phrase, she thought, “Geez, why’d I do it? Why?”)Her eyes immediately darkened and blazed into glass hardened by a one-million-degree fireball torch of shame, hurt, wanting and disgust. She aimed and fired. She knew she hit him because he flinched…and turned away. She watched him walk off with Sarah and Harold to their champagne table. Harold called back to her, “Harrrlm, you comin’?”

She didn’t answer because she wasn’t sure what her answer should or would be. All she could surely say was:

“Hey Scotty, how about that drink?”

(c)2007 Pen and Peppur LLC