Posts
All Comments
So, one of my favorite blogs of late is Stuff White People Like. However, upon reading the list of "stuff white people like" and "white people problems", I have come to the horrifying realization that I must be white. I like 89 of the 93 things on the list (even if I only like some of them secretly).
If my black card wasn't revoked when I became a bonified fan of snowboard cross, then this will certainly do it.
So, Hubby & I found ourselves walking through downtown Seattle late after the Ladysmith Black Mambazo concert. It was a totally different scene than the pretentious-I pay a lot of money to achieve this naturally cool look-I'm a product of 12 years of private education fare that we normally bump into in that area. With all the shops and designer department stores closed, doorways and street corners were flooded with strung-out looking youngish white boys & girls, obviously waiting on their next fix to roll through. Add in an occasional cluster of youngish black boys & girls, obviously hanging there because there's simply nowhere else to go. I felt like a big TARGET in my fancy after 7 dress, not to mention all this bling on my ring finger. I started to feel uncomfortable - we were obviously out of place and drawing some curious looks - then I remembered I had my big, strong, menacing husband with his arm protectively around my waist, leading me gently through the disenfranchised youth. I tried to keep a pleasant look on my face, but boy was I happy to get to the parking garage!
I was trying to look busy (and important) yesterday and ended up thumbing through my old calendars on my handheld. I went back to this week in 2005. I went to a Jill Scott concert in Chi on Sunday, tango practice on Monday, saw the Dallas Black Dance Theatre on Tuesday, and Milonga on Saturday...
Ah, an actual social schedule...where did my social life go? Seems like I may have left it behind in my hurry to get out of Indiana!
The first time I went to DisneyWorld, something magical happened (so cliche' - but I'm for real!). I went with my friend C and her family. We were waiting in line to ride "It's A Small World" and C and I decided to pass the time playing hand games. Well, we were only 2 and we quickly ran out of 2-person hand games, so we tried to play "Rockin' Robin" (if you don't know what I'm talking about, then you really missed out in childhood - I'll be happy to teach you next time I see you), but you actually need 4 people to play "Rockin' Robin". So, we just pretended we were 4.
Well, there was a family behind us from some Spanish-speaking country and it just so happened, those 2-girls pantomimed to us that they new "Rockin' Robin". There was a language barrier, we don't speak Spanish and they didn't speak English, but we used hand gestures to figure out who was going to do which part. The four of us played Rockin' Robin twice, with them singing their Spanish version. After we finished, everyone in line clapped and cheered. We were raised in different countries, didn't speak the same language, and probably had a 10-15 year age gap between us, but we found something we had in common and built on that, if only for 10 minutes. It sounds cheesy (especiallly since this happened at DisneyWorld), but that remains one of the most amazing things that has ever happened to me.
Friday, something similar happened to me. I was in the doctor's office waiting room (blah!) and there was a young Dominican boy there with his mother. An older Chilean man sat across from him. The man was trying to engage the little boy in conversation, but naturally, they didn't understand each other - neither spoke English very well. After a few minutes of trying, the man would ask the boy a question in Spanish and the boy would answer in a mix of Spanish and whatever his native language is. I understand a bit of Spanish (now!), so I could tell they were communicating, but it was amazing to see how they adapted and somehow made it work, despite the language barrier. They were still chatting away in one and two word exchanges when I left the waiting room.
My point is, it really is a small world, and we probably have more in common than we don't. All it takes is a desire to reach out and a bit of patience and understanding. I have fallen in love with America all over again, because I have a sneaky suspicion that this kinds of things happen here a million times a day because of our diverse population. I think that's great!
Man, I've become so pale! Without the Texan sun to keep me at a nice bronzy-gold, my skin is reverting to winter Indiana colors. LOL! None of my makeup matches my skin (except my green eyeshadow, which goes GREAT with the greennish tint of the almost visible capillaries in my face). I had one drink the other day and my face was all flushed! What the hell?!
Anytime I touch my face, it lights up like Christmas. And I won't even mention what the parts of my skin that are covered in clothing look like.
After being ridiculed by my husband because my Rudolph nose was alive and well after coming in a chilly Saturday night, I promptly purchased 2 roundtrip tickets to Florida. This gurl needs some sun!
Exactly 13 years ago, I got my first tattoo. It’s my name in the shape of a butterfly. That tattoo was symbolic of many things – a physical declaration of independence, a reward for waiting patiently until I conceived a design that appealed to me spiritually as well as visually and my first metamorphosis. Gone was the cocoon of high school and the protection and security offered by my parents. I consider the summer after high school + the first semester of my freshman year at college my larval stage. Crawling around trying to find my way. That spring, I felt my wings spread and I was College Karla. Well known and liked on campus, doing well in class, dancing, partying (in an age-appropriate manner, which is so rare among college student these days).Settling in with my core group of friends. I was happy with me and my surroundings! No longer stifled by location (Oklahoma is OK! But, not for anyone aged 16-40, in my opinion).
Over the years, I’ve repeated the cycle of metamorphosis – from College Karla to Post-college Karla to Grad School Karla to Post-doc Karla and beyond. In between, several other Karla’s would emerge depending on who I was dating or best friends with at that particular time.
Today, I feel so blessed to have undergone each different stage of my life to this point. They have all shaped me to be who and where I am today. I feel like it all started with the butterfly tattoo.
