Holly Blog 33: Starfish Campers

There’s a story about a guy standing on a beach littered with starfish that had been washed up. This was their promised death. It was up to time as to when their last breath would be. Well, one random guy carefully made his way through the starfish clad beach picking up one starfish after another chucking them back into the ocean. After a while, a kid comes up to him and asks, “Why are you doing this?” The guy responds, “Because starfish will die if they’re out of the ocean.” The kid replies, “But there’s thousands. It makes no difference.” In mid throw, the man replies, “It makes a difference to that one.”

I feel like the guy throwing the starfish back. Here we are with 5 campers. The camper to counselor ratio is 1:3. But I am here for each individual student to show them how to cherish and love being outside and to share my life with them. I learn and they learn. Symbiosis.

Let the week begin!!

July 25, 2011

Toronto Blog 4 / Holly Blog 32: Goodbye Canada, Hello USA.

I don’t really feel like I needed a welcome home party or to buy myself something special after surviving this jaunt across the border. I left and came back. No big deal. I definitely want to tour Europe or South and/or Central America and stay in hostels the entire time. I also decided after going to the Royal Ontario Museum which had 4-hours worth of cool stuff from bugs to ancient artifacts to bats to dinosaur bones that I MUST touch the head of a beluga whale one day. I forgot that I saw one on a Sesame Street episode and knew I had to touch its white marshmallow-shaped head one day.

I also want to acknowledge the incredible loss in the Norwegian community of 80+ people. We as a people must learn how to love and deal with aggression in a positive way. Unloving people hurt people. You don’t have to kill to hurt. Some people have been terrorized emotionally by unloving people. Those crimes don’t make the news but have just as much impact.

Now I’m back sitting on my bunk at camp. Refreshed, I have 24 minutes before I start my job again. Countdown starts later this week. Almost home!!

Peace and blessings.

JLP

Toronto Blog 3 / Holly Blog 31: Fro Day

Every time I go to another country, I have to take a pic of me and my fro. Canada is no exception. I woke up on Toronto Day 2 and got fro’d out. Fro days make me smile on the inside and the outside. Mine is getting big now which makes me even happier.

Most times, I’ll get weird stares even in the states. It totally baffles Asians. Few understand or even want to understand the philosophy of the fro, but I choose to wear mine for several reasons with one being that people should be exposed to the beauty and wonderment of natural black hair.

I wasn’t sure how Canada was going to take it. Mexico = cat calls by the men. Belize = “Eh! My sister and her mane” with much love by the Rastas. Argentina = hushed whispers in corners and kids pointing. Canada = nothing.

Nobody cared. I was amazed at how many people didn’t care. No stares, no fingers pointed, no nothing. Then I figured out why. In Toronto, everybody’s weird. People have tuned out the idiosyncrasies of people’s self-expressions and move along with their lives with little contact with each other. With the guy sitting across the table from me at lunch whose entire body from what I could see was tattooed—including his head and ears, to the girl with the random hair cut, to the stripper with five ¼-inch thick lines that made up her pants that we saw later that night, my fro didn’t matter. And I liked that.

Toronto Blog 2 / Holly Blog 30: Canadian Delectables and Helmetlessness

We had a few options for getting around Toronto. But we were all really poor (camp jobs don’t have millionaire-esque salaries). We decided on the public bikes. Very contemporary, cool, sustainable, and different. We paid $5 dollars for 24 hours to use the bikes. They weighed a million pounds—or maybe 75—and had to be checked into a dock every 30 minutes. The city had just instituted this bike program some months ago and the Torontoans were very skeptic. We the American tourists were stopped quite often by the city dwellers and asked about the details. I was like, “Don’t they have newspapers where they told you about this? You could just Google it like we did.” I was entertained.

The bike docks were separated by about 2 blocks and were all over downtown. So we rode around until we saw something we wanted to see or eat, docked the bike, and walked. Then, the credit card of our navigator was swiped (not to pay extra, but to verify that we had already paid), we unlocked the bike using a machine’s randomly generated number code, and we were off to our next destination. Apparently this type of program is being used in several other cities. It was great to not have to get on an old smelly trolley and to whiz through traffic like we owned Toronto. I would definitely try to find another city that had the same set-up and take to the streets. $5 very well spent.

For lunch, we had to go find a Canadian favorite. Poutine. Now, I must tell you. I am a dipper, not a pourer when it comes to sauces on my food. I like to have control in at least all areas of my life and with food there is no exception. I feel like when sauce is poured that I can’t choose to not have sauce—ever. This fact stresses me out. And this fact is why poutine (poo-TEA-knee) was not what I ordered for lunch. This dish is French fries, cheese curds, and brown gravy poured over it to resemble cheese fries. You can also have whatever topics between the French fries and gravy. A few options were all sautéed veggies, pulled pork, beef tips, lamb, chicken chunks, etc. I tried two French fries from my coworker and they were tasty, but I went elsewhere to satiate my belly.

My palate for lunch enjoyed a crepe to go. Oh my golly great! I found out about crepes actually in Mexico. There was a bistro there that made them fresh. I was in love. Crepes are super thin pancakes and are actually French. From what I’ve heard, French crepes are about 8-10 inches in diameter and rolled. The ones I’ve had are 10-12 inches in diameter, folded in half, choice condiments spread on the half-circle, then folded in thirds to make a triangle. I had mine with spinach and feta cheese—the only cheese that doesn’t make my belly hurt because it’s made from goat milk. I felt totally cool because I ate my crepe while riding my bike in traffic in Toronto with no helmet. My dad always told me to wear a helmet.

Yes. I’m awesome.

Bucket list check: Ride my bike in a busy area with no helmet.

Toronto Blog 1 / Holly Blog 29: “Oh Canada!”

We woke up, finalized our first day plans, and were off to Toronto. I was awake until the border crossing, then fell into a deep sleep until 30 minutes outside of my vacation spot. I was so glad I didn’t have to drive. Car rides make me so very sleepy and having a long week previous to the trip didn’t help my heavy eyelids stay open.

One thing that made me exceptionally angry happened less than ¼ mile into Canada. I was so eager to see stuff that was truly Canadian—maybe a moose or a maple tree—SOMETHING Canadian. And what greeted me?

McDonalds. My cultural synapse wretched and my mood tanked for about 10 miles. How indemnifying. Yes, I do realize that McDonalds is a corporate, transnational giant, but it was still irritating. I guess they justified their presence by placing a maple leaf emblem at the crux of the double arches. Ugh Americanization of the entire universe.

Traffic picked up and we got lost a bit and then drove around for about 30 minutes. Then we arrived at another one of my bucket list entries. A hostel.

A hostel for years scared me cuz it’s so close in sound to “brothel” and I don’t want to be associated with being a prostitute or exotic associate. But then, I found out what a hostel really is. A hostel is a building with rooms where you stay inexpensively and pay per bed or per private room. I’m not exactly sure how the large the main room is where several guests stay in one room because we rented out a private room. The one we stayed in offered internet, breakfast, and a relatively clean stay. The greatest and coolest thing about hostels is the international presence. Everywhere you turned there was a new language. I wish I could have spent time with some of the others staying there. What you pay for is what you get. And what you see is what you get. No extra amenities. It was higher quality than our cabin, but could be equated to the rejected, illegitimate, no alimony dispensed to love child of a Hilton hotel. But I paid $25 a night. So I’m not complaining.

Our room had two sets of bunk beds. I got top bunk. Our view of Toronto from our first window was of a brick wall and in the second, we had a perfect view into the window of the guests’ room across the mini courtyard.

Classy.

Secret Destination Blog 1 / Holly Blog 28: Weekend Jaunt

Let’s play a guessing game.

We’re gonna call it—“Where is Jenaya.”

I saw the following: Trees, buildings, KFC, Taco Bell, Target, Walmart Supercentre, aaaanddd LOTS of stoplights.

The answer:

TORONTO!!!

On Thursday of last week, I was moping around camp because I NEEDED to leave after the last 10-days of chaos and stress with the students being here. I was so done and didn’t want to see a tree, a bug, or ANY dirt…or anybody under 21. I was completely drained and couldn’t contribute anymore to society. I wanted to go to Chicago, but couldn’t figure it out…then Canada but couldn’t find anybody to go with.

But my strategy when people don’t want to do anything is to just whine louder until somebody wants to do what I want to do. Most times it works. And this is precisely how I got to Toronto. Two of my coworkers and I sat down at 11am and decided we were going to Canada and left the day after.

YAY ADVENTURE!!

I was so grateful to be able to go to Toronto for a couple reasons. Firstly, Jesus made my plans even better than I could have ever made them. Initially I just wanted to cross the border to Canada from Detroit. This has been on my bucket list for a while because the border crossing in Detroit is the only place you must go south in order to get to Canada. I thought that was cool.

I quickly found a couple shirts and a couple pairs of shorts, toothpaste, some soap, my phone, MacKenzie (my laptop), and my tennis shoes; stuffed them in a bag, found my passport, got in the van, and was off. At this point, the only thing keeping me from the USA border was a load of laundry and a bonding moment at Tropical Smoothie with my mouth and a Caribbean Jerk chicken pita bread wrap and a delicious overpriced smoothie, and a night’s sleep.

Holly Blog 27: Thankyoulessness

I feel like a mother most days I’m here. Get the kids up. Take them to activities. Make sure they eat and drink water. Listen to their stories. Sit with them when they cry.

Etc.

One thing that I have really struggled with over the past several days is how challenging it is to do a job day in and day out without any gratitude reciprocated. For example, right now, I’m sitting in the staff lounge waiting for my campers’ laundry to get finished and will haul it back to them. I’m sure they’ll complain that their clothes aren’t dry enough or that it was 2 hours past the time I said that it would be done (noon). Shouldn’t you be grateful that you GOT laundry in the middle of the woods—twice? In 10 days?

I was talking to Jesus about how to serve even when I am treated like a SERVant. I love to serve when my service isn’t being abused or to whom I am service is grateful. But the former is not my reality and the latter is not my current situation.

I just think about all the times in the Bible when Jesus served and people weren’t grateful. Taking what He did on the cross away (which should technically trump everything that He did on the earth), people talked about how He didn’t do things with correct protocol or how brash and callous He was for healing one person and not healing another. Personal agendas were not taken into consideration by Him and He did the will of the Father regardless of the side commentary.

And on that note, I am done waiting for laundry that has been trying to dry for 3 hours now.

Dear Jesus,
Help me to serve Your creation. And help me to be brave when they feel their clothes and they’re not 100% dry and the girls aren’t happy.

Amen.

P.S. Thanks for the humidity :)

Holly Blog 26: Night Hike

There are a few things I learned about walking at night in the woods with boys. One, if they sag, they can’t hike. Watching them waddle and pull up their pants whilst stepping over branches and tall grass was pretty entertaining. Two, don’t be the caboose because it smells bad—they tend to fart and have no shame in their game.

As hard-core as these kids are that I’m working with, they had met their match in the woods at night. The most “gangster” of them all was scared of tree limbs snapping under his shoes and of the cricket mating call. I saw their eyes open to new experiences and true living as they saw a night full of stars and heard the distant bullfrog burping. It was astounding to me how much they enjoyed tramping through the woods and how greatly their temperments changed. They were peaceful and calm for the first time since they arrived which was about 5 days ago.

It is a constant battle for me to see the good and the innocent in these students, but it is there and I’m proud of both myself and them. For them because they are completely out of their comfort zone and are growing emotionally and psychologically whether they see it or not. For me because I have taken the time and energy to search for the good—almost like finding gold in a mine cave or a pearl amongst pigs.

Holly Blog 25: The ABC's Gangster Style

I learned today that you can put syrup on oatmeal and breakfast danishes. I think this sugar intake is getting out of control, but it is nonetheless keeping me very entertained at the moment.

I heard a pretty cool saying. My mom said that back in her day, they used to say “This was an A and B conversation, so I suggest that you C your way out of it” in order to describe how desperately they needed you to mind your own bee’s wax. Today I heard one that is even cooler.

“This was an A and B conversation. So you need to C your way out before D jumps over E and F’s you up like a G.”

My response: BAAAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAAA!!!!!

So creative.

The girls in my cabin decided to wake up at 5:30 to get their showers before breakfast. We went to bed at our normal time of 11ish and were finally quiet and sleepable by midnight. The most unfortunate part of this story is that my best and most prime/optimal sleep time is from 5-7am. Therefore, I was EXHAUSTED when I woke up because I had missed my beauty rest. But I work for the students and thus I sleep not.

Holly Blog 24: All good things come in sets of 24.

HA!!! I’m 24 and this is blog 24. This makes me smile. :D

I’ve been noticing that sugar or “Sucrose” or C12H22O11 is not something that is tablespooned into a bowl of REGULAR cheerios. “But wait! There’s more” (said in my TV sell-useless-stuff voice). Sugar can also be served on sautéed potatoes, barbecue chicken, and my favorite. Cherry pie. Really? Sugar on a cherry pie? This has gone too far, but nevertheless, I am highly entertained.

P.S. My blog entries are going to be much more brief in content just because I have less time to devote to developing ideas in my head and typing. But I’ll be doing my best to keep my readers entertained.

Peace and blessings :)

Holly Blog 23: Parenting = Camp Counseloring

As a camp counselor, I feel like a glorified parent. At the moment, there are more counselors than there are kids—why I’m not sure. As long as they don’t send me home early or decrease my check or something, I’m fine. I just got used to all the bugs, dirt, excessive nature, dirt…bugs…dirt…and now I get to experience the newness of it all over again. I think that’s one of the reasons why God makes children. Right when you’ve experienced everything on the world and are about to get bored with life, you have the privilege to procreate (when done with correct timing and reason) and you get to see life from a different perspective.

When the students are freaking out over naturey-stuff, I get to be the big girl and say, “Yeah, the bugs are big, but they can’t kill you. No worries!...”

Holly Blog 22: KIDS ARE HERE!!

July 12

So I’ve been asked the following questions.

“What is that bug?!” x 450

“We’re staying where?! For how long?” x 357

“When’s lunch?” x 49

“When’s dinner?” x 27

“How far is (fill in the blank)?”

“Why does this water taste so (fill in the blank)?” x 578

And my two personal favorites:

1) “Are there piranhas in the lake?”

2) “Are those tire tracks?! Can we get in the car to drive to (fill in the blank)?”

Holly Blog 21: THE Artiste

I met somebody famous today and it was no big deal. Tyree Guyton stepped out onto his porch one morning and had a vision for his neighborhood. He saw art. Outside. In his neighborhood. Everywhere. He then began working to make real what was in his head. Several years later, he’s now uber famous in the art world and I saw him edging his yard. How cool is that!

Clad with a big pair of shades and an old hat driving an older F-150 hauling junk, I stopped him and said, “Do you live here?” He says:

“WHOA WHOA WHOA!!! Let’s start that over. Hi. How are you?” I obliged with an apology and with common salutatory sayings. I asked again if he lives here and he says “You can say that.” I asked what his name was and he said “Tyree.” I asked how long he’s lived here and he said “a while.” I asked what he does and he said “I am an artist and I did this.”

“WHOA WHOA WHOA!!! You’re THE artiste?! I’m honored.”

I talked with him for a good 30 minutes or so and learned a whole lot of things about life and art. He asked me at first if I was an artist. I said yes. I play classical piano. We talked about how I see the world through music and how he sees it. The further I delved into the conversation. I realized that I am an artist, but not because I am a pianist. I am an artist because I am a living being. And life is art. Therefore, I don’t do art. I am art.

I’ve been thinking about this concept for two days now and the ramifications and implications are astounding. I was actually ashamed of my answer to his, “Are you an artist” question because I feel that it was very shallow and non-committal. Ever since my come-to-Jesus-moment in December when I reevaluated everything that I thought was me and realized how far I had swum into the Sea of IAmEverythingAndNobodyAndHaveNoClueWhoJenayaIs, I’ve struggled with the idea of “Who am I” and “What I Do” are completely different and that some things belong in one category, some in others, and others in none. For example: “I am a pianist”—that is what I do. “I am love”—that goes into both for I am loving and I love (what I do). Both are equally valuable and necessary. So when it all came down to it, “Jenaya” is a blank piece of canvas and I have the privilege of drawing who I am.

One of the questions I asked him was “How do you maintain who you are when you have all this fame and prestige?” He said it’s simple. I remember who I am. For I will be Tyree in this circle and I will be Tyree in that crowd. Tyree never changes even though he moves.

How profound and so simple. Yet so seemingly impossible. To me, this approach to maintaining one’s sanity in this convoluted and “self”-stealing world is truly something that must be practiced.

I’ll probably be coming back to this point later. I am a slow thinker. Well, not slow, more like thorough.

On to cleaning the bathrooms. We get students today (WOOHOO!!!). Time to start doing my job.

Peace out!

JLP

Holly Blog 20: Sad moment in the life of my pajamas

I just changed into my pajamas and noticed a tragic happening. There is a hole in my busom and my heart is half-crushed. I’ve had these same pajamas since probably my sophomore year of high school which was AAAAAHHHHH!!!!! Almost 10 years ago. They’re a onesie that’s real floofy and airy and was white at one time. Every other year, I’d lose them in my closet or think I was too cool to wear them. But every time, I’d pull them out, wash out the dust, one leg and then the next, zip up the front, and be in my happy place.

This isn’t the first hole. There are 7 holes in the polyester lacing at the top—three of which will soon be just one big giant one. Also, there are two polyester-laced pockets on the side which are not capable of being called pockets for the entire bottoms are holed. What makes this one different? Because now I have a mini-hole in the terrycloth section. Terrycloth is doesn’t disintegrate without effort.

And to make my pajamas even more of a charity case, they now have a yellow tint because of the rust-flavored water. Mm-mm-delicious!

How I will miss my royal blue encircled sleeveless armed, polyester-laced at the top, terrycloth onesie bought from an Avon catalog so many years ago—perfect for shaving while still being appropriately clothed and sleeping and providing happy slumber.

Let this blog not make you assume that I will be throwing these away anytime soon. I think they will stay with me for the foreseeable future. I’ll prolly even bring them to my honeymoon to introduce my future hubs to my close and personal wardrobe constant. So just in case Jesus is reading my blog, I would like to put in my request that my HONEYMOON be in the FORESEEABLE FUTURE…

Just sayin…

Peace out everybody!

Holly Blog 19: Thin Film of Dirt

One thing the camp director warned me about when I first got here is that 1) Nothing will ever be really dry, and 2) Nothing will ever be really clean. How true those words have attested in the past however long I’ve been in Holly, Michigan.

Today, we had to clean out the cabins in which we will be living when the campers get here which will hopefully be Monday—like 5 days. I have been trying to figure out what I’ll say to campers when they start complaining about their living situations. After cleaning for 2 days, the LAST thing I want to hear is “These are so dirty!” To which I’ll reply, “Y’all shut up! You should have seen them before we cleaned them!” Part of me thinks I should rephrase my response.

I just found out (but don’t tell my mother) that I really enjoy sweeping. It’s so relaxing and I can see immediate gratification. I loathe dusting, but sweeping satisfies my soul somehow. I’ve been triple-sweeping the floors here and even on the 3^rd time over, there’s still more dirt. Eventually, you have to do a mind-over-matter trick which goes something like, “Yes, this is dirt. The rest of the world lives in poverty with dirt everywhere and they’re not dead. Therefore, I probably won’t die from it. I must be content with dirt. Therefore, I am satisfied.” Or something like that. Depending on the circumstance, the mind-over-matter trick can be adjusted.

After sweeping, I would mop. And the water would be absolutely filthy. DID I NOT JUST SWEEP?! Where did all this dirt come from?!

This is similar to my skin at the moment. I do go to the lake to bathe. The water here smells like rust and dirt because it’s well water. Lucky me. I’m fine with drinking it now—it most definitely took 4-5 days of gagging to get used to it. But I don’t enjoy smelling it and I actually feel cleaner when I bathe with my Dr. Bronner’s 18-in-1 Magic Soap flavored Lavender. It’s the best. But even then, there’s a film of dirt that my skin and psyche has become accustomed to. When I get home, I’m going to live in the shower with steaming HOT water for at least 2.5 hours..maybe 2.5 days.

One amazing thing about lake swimming is I don’t get bitten by mosquitoes as much. Maybe because I now smell like nature, they can’t find me. I got two itty-bitty nibbles, but that was it.

This is definitely a time when I appreciate being brown. Dirt is brown and this thin film of brown essence nicely complements my epithelial layer thus producing a nice radiant glow.

Or maybe that’s just sweat.

JLP

Holly Blog 18: Sticky Elbows

I’m not exactly sure how I did this, but I did and I have to tell you all about it. For breakfast, we had French toast, random stuff, and juice. I don’t like my food touching unless I do it at the appropriate time…and food that is soggy really stresses me out. So I have to put all my food in containers so that my food stays uncontaminated by other gastronomic delights. Hence today, I put my French toast on my plate, slathered it with softened butter, and put the syrup in a bowl. I’m a dipper and not a pourer.

After breakfast, I went potty and to change clothes in the ladies stall. While seated, I put my elbows on my knees and they stuck. What?!?!!! is going on?! Somehow I had gotten syrup from my tiny little bowl next to my French toast on my elbows and now there is syrup on the inside of my pants. I eventually did get cleaned up, but I still feel a little grimy.

This is my week to experiment with my hair and swimming. I need a relatively quick hairstyle so that my mane of glory doesn’t look like a tumbleweed/fro/confused mess. I’m really nervous because I don’t like experimenting. I looked up on Google “Natural hair and swimming in the lake” and found a few things. Basically, I am going to swim and then lather up my hair with olive oil and aloe vera gel. I’m not sure if this is going to work, but I’ll let you know in subsequent blogs. So far, my scalp doesn’t itch. I’m going to see if my hair can wait until the weekend to get washed. I hope I don’t grow any animals in my mane—that’s not sexy and husband potentials don’t prefer afro-animal-growth.

Until later in my life, peace and blessings.

Holly Blog 17: Prayers of the Righteous

For a long while I’ve been talking to Jesus about how I was going to stay sanctified this summer and I knew that music would help, but I don’t have money just be buying CDs frivolously. I put my music needs in Jesus’ hands and left it alone. I finally got to church—Word of Faith International Christian Center. It was great. The music was fantastic and I found at least 12 husbands of which at least 4 were in the band. And to be in the presence of other believers who love Jesus was refreshing. So yeah.

The sermon was called “There’s an App for That” and the preacher said that you can satiate all your needs and questions with God’s word just like people can find an app for one’s iPhone for whatever needs you have in your life. The Bible is better than the iPhone—just putting that out there.

I was also serenaded too!!! All the first-time guests stood up and for the welcome song, the regular attenders/members turned to each of us and sang the welcome song. I felt so loved! It was great and I got lots of smiles.

At the end of the service, the pastor guy walks up and tells everyone that to give a visual for the new sermon topic, he held up a $25 iTunes gift card and asked which first-time guest would like to have it. Before I knew it, my hand shot up in the air and I mouthed, “Ooh! Me!” And look at the Lord! Out of 8,000 people that Sunday, prolly 2,500-3,000 in that service, over 50 first guests, I was the one who got the card. I’m so grateful and won’t take this favor lightly. Thank You, Jesus for my gift card :)

James 5:16b--

The earnest prayer of a righteous person has great power and produces wonderful results.

The church was absolutely breathtaking. It was about a mile from the house where I stayed and was in the middle of the city. It was I would guess 250 partially wooded acres and a former monastery. So the rich deep bricks and steeples and mini chapels and courtyards and flowers and cornerstones were just so pretty. I’ll prolly put a picture of it up here sometime within the next 5 or so years. Or you can just Google it. Because the church was so big, they did have to build on to the former monastery. What they built maintained the character, integrity, and the design of the former monks’ home. Man oh man.

Well, I’m back at camp now. A fruitful weekend has come to an end and I’m ready to go to sleep. I’m hoping that my eyes will be slumberable in about 30 minutes.

Good night everybody!

Holly Blog 16: Yes. You are correct. I did use an electric blanket in July. And no. I’m not ashamed.

I did the majority of the TV watching from Blog #15 while under an electric blanket. The house was just freezing and I like to smell cool air while being warm and squishy so the combination was just perfect!

Holly Blog 15: The Entertainment Tube and My Watchings.

This weekend, I went to my dad’s sister’s husband’s parents’ house. That would be my great uncle and aunt’s house by marriage. It was interesting on many levels and I greatly appreciated their hospitality. A few highlights.

A great TV. I sat down on their couch and gazed upon this monstrous television and soaked in all kinds of shows. I couldn’t stop watching it. I saw everything from Beyoncé Live to Jerry Springer to the BET Soul Awards to Looney Tunes. It was all wonderful. I didn’t grow up with much television and I’m really grateful I didn’t because if this weekend is indicative of my how my whole life would have been if I had a TV, I think I would be a true couch carrot (I’m cuter than a potato).

P. S. I didn’t have a choice watching Jerry Springer. That was a corporate decision, but it was pretty entertaining. I liked how removable the weave was when the girls got in fights. That was pretty funny, but it was really disheartening to know that there are people out there who are so misguided and unpurposed that they can’t function as decent humans. It wasn’t even a black or a white thing. It was a people thing. I kept wondering where and how these problems arose. 16 is too late to start being a parent to your child—as is 10 and 6 and 4 and 2. It’s the parents’ business and priority to dote on their children and to guide them through life until they are WISE (not old) enough to make good choices. Generational curses and strongholds are nothing to mess with. I’m so grateful my mom prayed diligently over me to break some of the ones in my family. I’m not perfect by any stretch and I’ve definitely not been a saint all 24 years of my life, but I know Jesus and I am a product of His grace and favor—eh glory. I’m about to go in :)

I am also in love with Beyonce’s band. I would always roll my eyes when people talked about her being so talented. She is VERY much so—very fluid, passionate, and consistent, and lots of other adjectives, but her band and back-up singers are UNREAL! I am actually on the hunt for a live CD of hers so I can partake of the greatness. Also, there were no males on stage—a full female band. Women of all heights, muscle development, curvatures, and hair—otherwise, weave, and au naturale all joined for a common love of music. It was a beautiful sight.

And the BET Soul Awards? I was just husband-searching in the audience. Blessed be. That’s all on that note. The music was fantastic, too. I also was trying to put faces to the voices on the radio. There are some very talented people and some just aren’t.

Holly Blog 14: Flag Football Fail

I woke up this morning and was ready for another day of adventures. I go to put on my bra and felt a jab in my armpit.

“Dear Lord, please say this isn’t so.” But it was so. My white-tipped underwire had peeped out of its home and was causing discomfort. My bra is now broken. I’m not really sure how to describe the immediacy, catastrophic, and tragic situation this has put in my in to my reading audience. My blessedness was unleashed and I had to use my sports bra—the one that block air trying to get through my trachea. Choosing between breathing and not scaring the entire United States of America with my “gift from the Holy Spirit” as my Mom calls them is such a life-altering decision. I choose to not breathe.

This may be my last blog entry.

We had a two-hour afternoon sports and games segment within staff training today. It was…um…a two-hour segment. Not really sure if I’d call it fun. They explained the rules of the game, but I was still lost. Like, what is a “down”? And a “hike”? I thought “down” was the opposite of up and a “hike” was a nature walk. Clearly not in flag football lingo.

I did at the end of the game catch somebody or did some sort of defensive mechanism thingy and our team was able to score a point, but I didn’t even know we scored until 10 minutes after leaving the field. There is no word in the entire English language to describe my state of complete loss and confusion whilst playing.

I remember one time, apparently I had checked out too early during our “huddle” time (not a synonym, although it rhymes, to cuddle which is only an appropriate activity for married couples). I miss the phrase “pass the ball to Jenaya.” So when we did the play, everybody on my team was blocking and the ball was passed to me. I froze and yelled, “AAAAAHHHHH!!!! WHAT DO I DO WITH THIS?!?!?!?!” Needless to say, we didn’t make any yardage on that play.

My only schema in relation to football was watching incredibly attractive young brown men with lots of muscles run back and forth on a field at my school where my status is now “alumnus.” I really didn’t care about anything and our team was not very talented in the least so all I had to do really was cheer when everybody else cheered and weep when one of my fake husbands got sacked on the field.

I guess I should pay more attention. But I kinda like being clueless. Learning the rules of football is not something I would like to sacrifice brain neurons for. I’d much rather watch and make permanent memories of the masculine, athletic blessedness. Football = muscles = happy Jenaya.

The End.