Tag: sing unburied sing (page 1 of 1)

Another Fine Day

One fine day—day from now—we’ll stand still watching how things went right.

— Jazzanova

Meditation: Love and Gratitude, seven minutes

We exited the California African-American Museum heading towards the Science Center, and Melle noticed something to our right.

“That’s a big beautiful bush,” she said. I didn’t reply with the twelve-year-old’s retort that entered my brain. The bush was stunning and tall, a shock of beauty that demanded attention.

“Let me take your picture,” she said. Tiffany declined, but I was into it. I remembered previous photos of myself amongst the poppies or in the pool in our villa in Jimbaran Bay with a flower in my hair. Those moments where how I felt inside actually came through the camera lens.

I brought my hands to my chin mimicking many an Instagram selfie. The young ladies next to us who were also taking pics said, “SAAAAME,” and my grin grew.


Shot by Melissa AcederaShot by Melissa Acedera

Shot by Melissa Acedera

I thought they were taking pictures for a wedding but after our viewing of the King Tut exhibit—a thing you should do—we realized it was prom night for many a local high school, two of whom were having their coming-of-age event in Science Center venues around Exposition Park. We stopped and watched a bit as couples arrived at the Wallis Annenberg Building. A red carpet had been rolled down the staircase. Underclassmen lined the carpet to greet arriving guests while teachers stood at the top in their chaperone attire.

In the rose garden, parents took pictures and friends greeted each other with delight and surprise, seeing each other dressed to the nines for perhaps the first time. A young woman walked towards her friends in a dark, full-length gown, the bodice elegantly beaded and stitched. Her hair was perfect. Unlike others, she wasn’t struggling in her shoes. She couldn’t contain her smile as she approached and her braces gleamed in the evening sun.

“Yolanda, what the heck,” her friend shouted looking her up and down. They grinned at each other and hugged and quickly got in formation for another photo.

Tiffany was emotional. “I love these big moments of transition,” she said. I do, too. Those moments when we believe anything is possible. Those few times in life when we feel both accomplished and anxious for what’s next.  Prom night in Los Angeles in 2018 amongst the big beautiful bushes of expo park with a bunch of goofy grinning old heads gawking at them, those kids were the stars.

And I was grateful.


I wrote about my latest read yesterday.

I’m halfway through Wild, Wild Country. I’m a bit familiar with the story because of a 99% Invisible episode from a few years back. Sometimes, though, you’ve got to see it to not believe it. The 80s were, ahem, wild.

Oh, that’s just somebody who’s worried about you taking their place.

White Donald would be James Franco—a guy doing a lot of different shit, none of it interesting.

Dirty Computer.

And you,

Always you.

Remixed by Jazzanova

Sing, Unburied, Sing


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I’m not America’s nightmare. I’m America’s dream.

— Janelle Monáe

In the movie The Neverending Story, Bastian is so engrossed in the book he’s reading that he feels he’s become part of the story (in fact, he has). What the book’s protagonist, Atreyu, feels, Bastian also feels. This is the connection I felt with Jojo in Jesmyn Ward’s Sing, Unburied, Sing. I don’t know the last time I was that engrossed in a novel.

There’s a point where Jojo recalls cutting his foot, the description so vivid it settled into my mind as if it were my memory. When not reading the book that day, I kept coming back to that moment and the sharp pain of the laceration, the blood, the fear, the curiosity of being sliced open. I dreamed about it that night. When I opened the book the next morning, I reached down towards my own foot feeling the phantom of an injury I never personally experienced.

When his stomach hurt, mine twisted in knots. When he was disappointed, I was heartbroken. When he protected his sister, I believed I would do the same. When the terribleness of the world reveals itself to him, and he stands up to meet it, I stood with him as if we were one.

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There’s mysticism at the root of this story, and magic in Ward’s words. The perspective shifts between three characters, all damaged by the terrible traditions of race in America. It’s Jojo, though, who is our hero. Somehow his spirit overcomes all that wants to sink him. He’s not indomitable or indefatigable, but his humanity is undeniable. Unburied despite being born in the dirt. Who he is resonating like a song from the pages.

I sang along.

Nice for What


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That’s a real one in your reflection.

— Drake

Meditation: Healing Love, 12 minutes

I watched the college gymnastics national championship this morning. UCLA won in a thriller that required Christine “Peng Peng” Lee to put up two back-to-back perfect tens in the uneven bars and the balance beam. In the post-match interview, coach Valerie Kondos Field was asked about the quote she used to inspire her team that morning. It’s a remix of a King James Bible verse:

Be anxious for nothing and grateful for all things.

I’m not a religious person but that resonated. I struggle some Sundays to figure out what to write. This ritual is an exercise in gratitude, and the reality is I’m often most grateful for the mundane. I woke up this morning. I live in a place where the sun is shining. I want for very little. My body works. I enjoy the work I do and the people I do it with. I appreciate my friends and family (even if I don’t tell them enough). My life is more comfortable than most.

So what, each week, am I uniquely grateful for? Maybe it’s a song like “Nice for What” which reminds us that this is a short life; to do and be you; and that those you let in should care for you.

Maybe it’s that the book you most wanted to read—Sing, Unburied, Sing—was in the new release section of the library when you arrived after months of being unavailable.

Maybe I’m grateful for the adjustments to my morning routine that kept me clear of mind, on task, thoughtful, and disciplined most days.

Maybe it’s NBA playoff basketball which has been excellent.

Maybe it was feeling particularly good at my job this week.

Maybe it was for the opportunities presented to be kind to strangers and that I took them.

Maybe it was the Friday of self-care: a long lunch at one of my favorite places and an after-work massage that found and removed the tension in my muscles, my shoulders, and feet that I’m rarely aware of until they are gone.

Maybe, though, it’s all things. Even the hard things that require more of me. Especially, perhaps, those things that demand courage and voice with outcomes uncertain.

Be anxious for nothing and grateful for all things.

Okay.