Thursday, January 26, 2017

Queen Bees to Pussy Power

When my grandmother died, I received some jewelry from her in a box of all sorts of jumbled jewels and beads. Mamaw loved her "Ear Bobs" and never left home without them. Mind you, these were cumbersome clip-ons for the most part of colorful pearly beaded clusters. I remember her wearing them, along with matching strands of beaded necklaces. Among the collection, were several Bee pins. These were very pretty rhinestones and semi precious stones set in rose gold with delicate wings and bodies. They were beautiful, simple, and elegant. Not knowing of any specific meaning, I gifted two of them to successful women friends who are special in my life. We often joked about being Queen Bees!
At the time I owned and operated a successful restaurant. I had a good customer, Bobbie, that frequently wore beautiful Bee pins and gave me a beautiful topaz bee pin. She told me this amazing history of the Queen Bee.
During the 1900's when women were seeking the right to vote, they had to be cautious in their appeal to other women and the public, even their husbands. She would be ostracized to speak openly. Her husband could be fired and would surely ask her to be quiet. Obviously women did speak and organize among themselves behind closed doors and in women's gatherings at church, clubs, neighborhoods, and such. To show their support for Women's Rights, they wore a Bee pin on their lapels or hats. They would nod at each other with a comforting smile when they saw this pin. They were bonded in a sisterhood of progress. This simple bee pin was worn in The United States, Canada, and the United Kingdom, perhaps other countries.
I realized that although these pins were left to me by my grandmother, they belonged to her mother, Betty.. We called her Biggie, southern and sweet for Big Mama I suppose. I can imagine her wearing it proudly to her synagogue and bridge club. I can see that sideways smile and side cast eyes as she acknowledged this secret sisterhood of the Queen Bees.
Yes, the women did make progress and in 1919 the right for women to vote was passed in the USA. Women began to cast their votes in the USA in 1920.
Women had their voice and the secret society became a viable source, they could vote!
January 2017 women continue to seek more rights, more equality, more autonomy. no longer silenced, the symbol of the bee is unknown. My Biggie would be amazed at the symbol women have chosen today to continue their empowerment thrust by wearing Pussy hats on their heads and marching down the streets with their daughters and husbands. Yep, No pretty Queen Bee on the lapel or hat, but a Pink Vagina-Pussy hat atop their head! This is not so shocking for society now. Hollywood and the music world has made this word mainstream lingo among men, women, and teens. The shock factor has long faded from the interchange of vagina and pussy. Entertainers briefly clad gyrate, hump, grab, and flaunt the pure power of this orifice which most women learn by their teens. These entertainers have empowered women more with the flaunting of Pussy power by acknowledging it as a weapon of control. So women, around the world,  disillusioned with the newly elected President, knitted up pink Pussy hats, popped them on their heads, and marched on major streets proclaiming their power. Many of my friends support this Pussy on the head as a brilliant stance. Many of my friends are appalled at the degradation..
I just wish they were all educated to the Bees..

Monday, January 16, 2017

2017 Resolution

A friend was telling me that this year they have decided to "Try not to be an Ass Hole" hmmm
I do not describe my friends as that, but hey, trying to improve is a good thing. I thought about some things that annoy me about my self and decided it is my tendency to be self righteous at times. I am not sure I do it a lot because I never held back on my opinions, but sometimes I think I get self righteous. I get that icky, closed throat sinking ship in a wave wave come over me when I realize I have done this. I do not like it in anyone so naturally I am ashamed when I do it myself.
I am trying to retrain my brain and my heart to stop thinking that way.
When someone tells me their woes, I need to just hear their woes and not immediately justify that that will never happen to me because I am so righteous. Makes me laugh now when I think of some of the bad decisions I have made.
This protective shield is not protective at all. It is deflective and screams the other person is a failure, a nit wit, a deserving failure.
Hopefully I can retrain that part of me.

Wednesday, October 14, 2015

IRONIES FROM Religion  observed among my family and friends.

My family and friends who evangelize on social medias, never mention God or Jesus name in family gatherings. They certinly do not stand in the middle of the room and and shout:
"If you love Jesus share this and receive a lot of money"  But they make these post incessantly on social media.

The ones who are adamant that God is the core of their life, also want to obliterate, Muslims, Homosexuals,  and anyone with an opposing opnion.

Not one of the zealots are aware of the correlation between the Jews, Christians, and Muslims, all having Abraham as their hero.

When I compare Isis to Charlamagne, they look at me with a quizzical stare.

Beleive that our country and constitution allow for Christianity only.  Therefore, to allow prayer and worship in school would mean only Chrstianity would abound. They are dumbfounded when I ask, what if the prayers were to, many God's, or witches, or rocks?  To them, prayer is only to their God.

Thursday, October 21, 2010

What cha' doing with my cotton?

I was on my way home from a long road trip and a northern wool festival. While driving through the cotton fields of the southeast Virginia I decided I needed to get out and touch this splendid burst of fiber spewing from the plants. I found a field that was not surrounding someone's home. It had a nice sandy drive where I could pull in and turn around. I thought I might user this time to pee too, but cotton fields are flat and offer little cover. I best not push my luck.
I was waking through the plants, inspecting their cloved buds and how the cotton started in wedges before rupturing out into the air. I bent over and grasped a plant and gently pulled it by the base stalk. Hmmmm It was loose. So I tugged harder and pulled it out. I had a perfect cotton plant with stems, stalks, buds, and cotton spews. It was easy, so I bent over and pulled another.. As i held them in my grasped fist admiring them, I heard behind me, "What cha doing with my cotton?" I jumped a bit, froze a bit and turned to face the blackest man I had ever seen. I grew up in Alabama and was used to very black people, but as decades proceeded, most American blacks had become softer tans, lighter shades of black. Not this awesome man who now narrowed his brows, hands on hips in well worked -in coveralls, an even more faded t-shirt, a sweat bandana on his neck as he firmly asked, " What cha doing with my cotton?"
I found no words to answer. The thoughts in my head sounded lame and silly. He stepped closer relaxing his hands from his hips but eyebrows still pinched in the bridge of his nose which bore a tuft of cotton, , "You stealing my cotton?"
Oh, this is serious yet I remained speechless inspite of the rapid train of excuses gushing through my mind.
I was caught cotton-ball handed. Busted!
Finally I gave a sigh and replied, "I guess I am."
"Why you stealing my cotton?" he asked.
Oh my mind stayed flooded but my throat was like sand paper.
"I love it!" blurted out of my dry mouth.
"You see, I just came from a big sheep and wool festival in New York. So many goats, and sheep, and alpacas and llamas...So much fiber, so much wool... " I stopped and looked at him. He stood silent so I continued, " Now as I am driving home through these incredible fibers of the south, I realize I love cotton! I am originally from Alabama and have been in cotton fields before. I even had a little job of picking cotton once as a child. But I never looked at it from the fiber stand point. I never looked how miraculously it foams out of a rippened bud.. I never saw how beautiful it is in its natural state. The unfamiliar awareness of a very familiar plant was overwhelming. I am sorry I pulled your plants. Can I pay you for them? Pay for any damage I did to your field?"

He spoke no word, but bent and reached toward my ankle. I froze feeling that wave of fear spread through my body. Should I be running? But he did not grab my ankle. Instead
he reached to healthy plant just beside my foot, grasped it by the stalk and pulled it out of the ground. With the gentleness of a lover's bouquet he handed me the cotton plant in all it's glory. The green leaves thick against the stalk, the brown ripened buds spraying cotton, the immature buds hanging tightly to the plant and the roots streaming across his wrist.
"Here, have this nice one".
"Can I replant it?" I asked.
"Oh I doubt it will do much more, but give it a try. I loves cotton too. Done this all my life. Peanuts too and a few rows of corn and such. Nice to see someone like you come by. Most folks is nice, but you might be careful pulling into fields."
I agreed, thanked him. We chatted a bit then I walked over to my car. I dug a Mac Donalds coffee cup out of the cup holder, rinsed it with some bottled water and shoved my plants into the vessel. As I pulled away, I waved my arm. He was no where in sight. He miraculously vanished as quickly as he appeared. But hanging in his place was a black scarecrow wearing overalls, a
T- shirt, a bandana around his neck and a fluff of cotton stuck to his nose.