A Reluctant Environmentalist

Earth Day was celebrated on April 22nd but I had no plans to participate in neighborhood or regional activities, and didn’t. But it seems Mother Nature cajoled me into some outdoor housekeeping nonetheless – a month later.

While out walking my neighborhood, I spotted numerous empty plastic bottles and litter strewn about where I trek for exercise. I’m very observant about trash. Disgusted I shook my head but thought there’s nothing I can do: there’s no nearby trash can. I have nothing to put this garbage in; and my hands would get dirty when suddenly an empty plastic bag blew by my feet putting an end to my objections. It was almost as if Mother Earth commanded my assistance, so I bent down, picked up the bag then gathered the recyclables, e.g., cans, glass and plastic bottles that littered my route. Why do some thoughtless people behave as if the outdoors is their private trash dump? My verdant green neighborhood is beautiful; I would like it to remain this way.
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After my first trip to Africa I returned home more water conscious. There I discovered that water is a precious resource. I learned that clean water is medicine; it heals and wards off minor illnesses. It was the 90s, and I congratulated myself by doing my part simply by turning off the faucet while I brushed my teeth and shortening my showers upon returning home. It took a second African sojourn to give birth to a serious water conservationist. Since then I’ve conserved water use and waste. I recycle water. I flush less, particularly between midnight and dawn. I stopped emptying old prescriptions into the toilet. I learned more about waste that pollute our local and national waterways. I have taken greater interest in oil spills as well as refuse and toxins that make its way into the local sewage systems.
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Dangerous lipid levels tricked me into eating several meatless meals. While Lipitor managed my cholesterol for a time, the triglyceride refused to be minimized unless I ate considerably less meat and more vegetables and legumes. Once vegetables took center stage I paid more attention where my food was grown. I began to frequent farmer’s market and learn about eating veggies in their harvest season.

I am starting my very first vegetable garden. A crash reading course on gardening has left me greatly concerned about the pesticides routinely used to treat our lawn. If I’m going to eat what I grow, I want organic vegetables—and soil matters. Healthy dirt is key to a bountiful harvest. I’ll start with containers and garden boxes this growing season to allow myself a longer learning curve. I am intent on starting a compost pile for future planting. Learning the fundamentals of composting, often referred to as black gold, is crucial to the life of an organic garden.
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After spending time on an orphanage compound that lacked electrical energy, I began dreaming of a home where fifty youngsters would have light to read by and the possibility to learn about and use computer technology. Solar energy is a viable energy option for this facility. After realizing that it makes great sense there, I realized it makes great sense here. The need for safe, renewable, cheap (or cheaper) clean energy is critical since I depend on modern conveniences. Also, I can live with less energy dependency. But I’ve done little to learn about this field. I feel lazy when it comes to learning scientific things. However, I shall explore having solar panels on my next house.
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By Earth Day 2011, I intend to lighten my eco-footprint another 50 percent. A healthy planet is critical to human and animal life. I care about my home planet; reluctantly I realize it’s time to take better care of Mother Earth and not because she’s all I’ve got -- I want future generations to thrive. And it’s a beautiful world after all.

Crossroads to Africa

Spent Thursday with Jackie, a friend, who will leave shortly for Togo on an OCA cross-cultural project. She's leading a team of nine volunteers who will work respectively on a reforestration, microfinance business and an education project. It will be the first trip to Africa for her team members.

Driving home I found my thoughts wandering back to Mother Africa. Africa is my ineffable joy. The next day I searched in vain for my memory book, also known as, a travel journal. I wanted to relive that first visceral connection with the continent--an awakening. Some of it was painful, all of it was cathartic. That journey or homecoming gave birth to my passionate love for its people, the land, new, strange and sometimes, puzzling customs. I fell in love with my African self.

I did locate a few poems which I penned in Ghana.

~My DNA's Journey~

The sea could not bear me again

I travel via air through the portal of time.

The journey is complete

I am on African soil.

Home.

# # #

I am a prayer made flesh

Tears, sweat and blood

Music of your lungs and the power of your loins

I am the fruit of your womb; or is it your wounds?

Spring Fever (series)

Garden dalliances
Regeneration birth daze
Supplanting the past

# # #

Sexual frenzy
Bees and butterflies delight
On arresting buds

# # #

Orgasmic season
Surreal buzz from perfumed air
Floral scents drug me

Company on the Journey

Amidst the thicket of morning traffic, I had to promptly remind myself that it was indeed Sunday, not Monday or a weekday. So taken back by the sheer volume of vehicles cruising around and beside me, I scanned each car's interior noticing the drivers and occupants as I sat at a red light. Like me, most people were dressed for church services. St. Joseph's Catholic, St. Michael's Lutheran, Evangel Cathedral and First Baptist Church of Glenarden were among several nearby places of worship. (My Sunday pilgrimage would take me 20 minutes farther.)

It was a sacred moment to realize that I was surrounded by my sisters and brothers in Christ. Our early mornings comings and goings demonstrated our longing to worship with our respective faith families. This rush hour traffic represented my extended Christian community and I was in blessed company. "Surely the Lord is in this place..." Gen. 28:16

Fertility; and Meditation

Soil lives to give birth
Seeds of change take root blossom
In rich consciousness

# # #


Cooling engine off
Tranquil spaces beckon me
To park my soul here

Happiness Prayer

I am happy you needed me

Thrilled, just to be

Life, I am yours.

Asante sana, Gracias,

Danke, Arigato...et Merci.

Sunbather

Delicious kisses gently brown me
into a sweet dark chocolate goddess.
But I must not linger long or else your love will burn.

© Diane T. Waldo

Haïku Efforts

Last week a friend invited me to write and share Haïku poems with her after she listened to an inspiring interview of scholar, activist, and poet Sonia Sanchez. This request evoked a painful moment in my creative past when after a few weeks in Japan I rendered my joyful and mystical experiences into Haïku. I shared them, but was summarily informed that my poetry was NOT Haïku. And that I disregarded every aspect of this revered poetic tradition. Enough said! I never wrote another.

Fast forward – I like some challenges. I love word play; in fact, I am in love with words and their power. Crafting a real Haïku seems a delicious challenge now, although essays and short stories are my favorite things to pen.

I picked up the gauntlet. My initial efforts were excruciating, much like I’ve imagined childbirth. Wry Creation was the flippant result after hours of struggle but ego could not give up. I am pleased with Aroma Therapy which seems to honor all the Japanese requirements. Eventually I hope to create something lovely, and perhaps truly poignant. I shall call upon my muse but meanwhile here are my humble beginnings. What do you, think?

[Oh yes, I do realize Haïku poems are not titled, please grant this student poetic license.]

[Wry Creation]

Haïku eludes me
Its form defy my capture
Exerting its power

[Aroma Therapy]

Amidst swaying pines
Winds soothe like holy waters
For body and soul

Sweet Treats

A decade ago, a friend and neighbor questioned me, "Why do Americans like their meats, sweet?" Initially this query sounded strange coming from this intelligent, well-traveled Cameroonian and new American citizen. As an immigrant he was grateful for the frequent invitations and opportunities to dine and socialize in typical American households but was dismayed by what we did to our meats.

Puzzled by this strange complaint, I queried further. And he balked at our meat preparations e.g., honey baked ham, barbecue sauces on ribs or chicken, fruity sauce on duck or perhaps it was goose, ketchup on hamburger, sphaghetti meat sauce, etc. I recalled shrugging my shoulders to indicate that I did not know when actually I thought his question was absurd. We didn't like sweetened meats.

Refusing to reveal my defensiveness or wounded American pride, but equally aware that this carnivore had dined in Kenya, South Africa, Senegal, Australia, Germany and of course, in France where he lived several years; there was nothing I could say. Very much an epicurean, he loved good food everywhere,including home cooking and haut cuisine. But he complained bitterly (to me, not toward his respective hosts) of sugary flavored meats when he expected the hearty taste of grilled or roasted meat.

Now as I begin to count calories, note grams of fat and review sodium amounts in an effort to manage my cholesterol level or to avert diabetes, I have discovered his question was not unfounded but apropos. Recently, I was dumbfounded to discover how sweet the sauces and dishes are that I savor. Commercially prepared sauces all seem laced with sugar or fructose or glucose. Many cherished home-cooked dishes seem excessively sweet to my deprived palate now. Currently I'm suffering from sugar withdrawal -- pining for it -- as I learn to make healthier food choices. Apparently, I didn't recognize its omnipresence but my taste buds feel its absence. It is one day at a time now.

American Red Cross (memories of our house fire)

The Haiti natural disaster and emergency relief efforts remind me of a harrowing experience when my grandparents' house caught fire with me inside. Thankfully, valiant fire fighters came to the rescue, and so did the American Red Cross.

Bedridden with flu, I was home from work when my 3-year old cousin harassed me with tears and cries for me to get out of bed. Dragging my ailing body from the bed to lock him out of my bedroom I discovered smoke billowing up the stairs. Unable to see down the hallway much less down the stairs, but refusing to run from the house in only a nightgown, I donned jeans, a blouse and shoes. Gagging from congested lungs, I raced into the bathroom to wet towels to swathe my cousin and myself for our great escape. Touching the wall for heat, I stumbled, fell and we tumbled down the stairs then crawled out the front door only to realize that my 67-year old blind grandfather was nowhere in sight.

I reentered the smoking building to the objections of passersby to find my granddad attempting to douse the flames in his Capitol Hill home. Unbeknownst to me, Papa found the toddler playing with matches, but he had no idea of the magnitude of the fire. After some trauma, we safely made it outside whereupon the loud sirens informed me that the D.C. Fire Department had been summoned.

The American Red Cross arrived too. Red Cross workers comforted us with blankets, liquid refreshment, information, resource options and vouchers to secure immediate lodgings. For decades I knew the Red Cross provided first aid training, sponsored swimming lessons and lifeguard certification but we had never formally met. Until then I had no idea that they represented legions of professional and volunteer persons who provided humanitarian relief services locally, nationally or internationally. And those generous donors contributed to emergency relief efforts with their money, time, and services.

That day the Red Cross organization rose to the stature of heroic fire fighters and paramedics. While they did not resuce us from the physical wreckage, they were there to offer succor to our bodies and spirits. We were under emotional siege amid a personal disaster. (Fire completely razed two rooms, burned its way through the hardwood floors and left the rest of the townhouse covered in soot.)

Later I learned of the organization's illustrious legacy of service. I discovered other facts too. But what I learned came in a distanct second to what I experienced--and it is what one does, matters most. The American Red Cross shows up!

The Red Cross, an iconic symbol of humanitarian service, has a permanent place in my heart. I invite everyone to support the Red Cross mission with your wealth: time, talent and resources. Here is my belated high five and high praise for the legions of volunteers. I am eternally grateful for their kind service.

Take Off the Limitations

Ensconced indoors, housebound from this record snowfall, I decided to do a special exercise. As I relish companionship I thought I would invited others to workout with me. After you've lounged about or tended yourself, your family, your chores, and have cleared the walkway and dug out your car, how about tending to your inner self by musing over these questions: Is it time to shed your limitations, step free of them? Can you imagine new possibilities? What does this bring to mind?

Just to share examples of what immediately come to mind for me: Fear; Fat; Indebtedness. It's time for them to begone.

I began thinking of these as ill-fitted or well-worn clothing and that it was time to discard them. These 'state of being' don't suit this spiritual being. I intend to shed them NOW. I am envisioning new garments to adorn myself with. I'll craft affirmations and action plans to realize a new state. I can solicit support from family and friends. Carla Nash, a real inspiration, lent me powerful imagery with the use of the word: Fabulous. It's time to drape myself anew in fabulous new robes; after all, the Father is my source and my supply. My spirit and body are weary of this excess baggage. This false persona of "poor me" just doesn't work -- it never did. I am the beloved child of a generous God, and I deserve better. I'm taking off the limitations, I'm making a brand new start. What do these questions bring to mind for you? I'd like to live beyond limiting notions of what I can do and who I am. How might you take off the limitations?

Book of Eli

Bias alert!

I saw Denzel Washington’s latest film: Book of Eli. While I loathe this genre of post-apocalyptic films i.e., life after some great catastrophic event where civilization is reduced to rubble and the remaining humans live savagely with less moral fiber than the animals scavenging for food, save a few valiant characters; I wanted to know more of this book. I love books; I love a good story.

While there is merit in protecting something sacred, I wasn’t impressed with this stylized plot. I was put off by the underlining religious significance of this book or that life is impotent without sacred teachings. (Truthfully I watched only because I adore Denzel’s walk, more accurately his strut, and physique.) However, I was intrigued by this book that ordered his steps.

I heard a personal message through his character’s words. At one point he told a victimized character of how he heard a powerful voice “within,” and that this voice gave him guidance and more importantly, PURPOSE, to travel westward—a journey he had been making for 30 plus years. Eli -- his character, told of how he would “be protected” against all obstacles in carrying out “his life’s work.” I think Eli described this “voice” as a Light. Although I want to hear these messages again, this action drama was too violent for me to sit through it again.

Anyway, the film gave me HOMEWORK. My task was to re-address my life’s work, 1st reassess what it is? 2nd go inward to invite the still small voice to speak—then LISTEN intently. And last, “…to walk by faith not by sight.” Be assured that no one and no obstacles can impede me from reaching my destination, like the character said, “I am protected.” I would be curious to learn what others heard in this movie. Were there messages, metaphysical or secular, for you? Did you distill any life lessons from this piece of art?

Communications Thwarted

After placing a phone call several days ago I received a FB response that read and I quote: “…received your message…hate talking on the phone so I don’t answer calls…what’s up?...”

‘WHAT’S UP?’ you want to know. I wanted to discuss a number of things. I wanted your valued opinion on a subject. I wanted the immediacy of an answer before our communications concluded. I wanted to share an idea. Until now I didn’t realize that I wanted to hear a voice—the human connection. But alas, this is not to be because it seems you restrict some communications to emails or the social networks. Well this gives me new food for thought. Previously I decided not to FB or befriend utter strangers or anyone approximating 3 degrees of separation but perhaps it’s time to rethink this matter and retire some other folks aka FB relationships whom I mistaken for friends. That’s what’s up with me now.

An Everyday Man

I enjoy a beautiful man, one whose lusty presence and smiling eyes warms my mornings no matter the weather outside. His beauty issues forth from his spirit, his zeal for life and not from his face or frame.

Breakfasts and dinners I want to share, although our lives may have different interests and demands. An everyday man to journey with, not regular trysts or vacation flame: his or mine.

Someone to take charge and tend those things that need masterful hands; a male to keep me on my toes, and make them tingle too. Helpmate, housemate, partner, friend--an every day man, I seek.

I desire my bearings, a true north, who shares my values and world view. I want to amplify my love. Love is energy, you know. I relish a fuller life, and this life welcomes you.

Remembering Michael Jackson

Michael graced us with his talents,
He gifted life with his joy,
Spirit imbued him with heightened energies,
The man-child surrounded himself with toys.

No matter what his flaws, foibles or sins,
Simply love him, admire his best.
His temporal challenges are over now,
His Maker will take care of the rest.

~

Thanks Michael, for your extraordinary presence.