No. Never. When I was able to drive I always made sure that I had a full tank of gas.
Which are better: black or green olives?
Neither one. Olives are too salty and I cannot eat them. High Blood Pressure. Pass the grapes or blueberries instead.
If you were a great explorer, what would you explore?
Africa. For me it would be like going home since that is where my ancestors are from. Not so much explore as it would be a Pilgrimage. Return to the Motherland. Fortunately I’ve made many friends from Africa via Blogging so I will go to Africa some day.
Quotes List: At least three of your favorite quotes?
Habakkuk 2:2
King James Version (KJV)
2 And the Lord answered me, and said, Write the vision, and make it plain upon tables, that he may run that reads it.
Proverbs 4:7
King James Version (KJV)
7 Wisdom is the principal thing; therefore get wisdom: and with all thy getting get understanding.
And anything my parents used to say. Here are three from my Dad Edward G. Palmer:
I complained because I had no shoes until I met a man who had no feet.
It is better to light one candle than to curse the darkness.
Get something in your head not just on your head.
And from my Mom Mable Palmer:
If you mess up. You clean up.
God don’t like Ugly.
What goes around comes around.
Optional Bonus question: What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
Grateful that today is my Birthday and God has allowed me to see another year of life. Happy to be 58!! Looking forward to my upcoming vacation starting Friday. Planning to spend time with my brother Stephen and relax.
Warning! This Post is Not PC. If you get easily offended stop reading now. Contains Brutal Language.
Judges 4-5 New International Version (NIV)
”
4 Now Deborah, a prophet, the wife of Lappidoth, was leading[a] Israel at that time.5 She held court under the Palm of Deborah between Ramah and Bethel in the hill country of Ephraim, and the Israelites went up to her to have their disputes decided.6 She sent for Barak son of Abinoam from Kedesh in Naphtali and said to him, “The Lord, the God of Israel, commands you: ‘Go, take with you ten thousand men of Naphtali and Zebulun and lead them up to Mount Tabor.7 I will lead Sisera, the commander of Jabin’s army, with his chariots and his troops to the Kishon River and give him into your hands.’”
8 Barak said to her, “If you go with me, I will go; but if you don’t go with me, I won’t go.”
9 “Certainly I will go with you,” said Deborah. “But because of the course you are taking, the honor will not be yours, for the Lord will deliver Sisera into the hands of a woman.” So Deborah went with Barak to Kedesh.10 There Barak summoned Zebulun and Naphtali, and ten thousand men went up under his command. Deborah also went up with him.”
Matthew 11:12 King James Version (KJV)
12 And from the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven suffereth violence, and the violent take it by force.
DeBorah The African Warrior Queen
I come with Words of Peace and Praise of Thanksgiving upon my lips
Along with a Sword in my right hand.
Third Eye Opened in the midst of a Changing Life,
I refuse to play the victim any longer!
Pale riders your rule has come to an end. StepandFetchIt and Mammy are long gone. Ethiopia and Nubia Rule once more.
I will defend my Queendom unto death for there be more with me than against me.
Though I be petite in frame, know this my enemies, Don’t sleep on the size!
Victory is mine.
All bullies shall feel sharp cold steel against their necks.
Negotiation has come to an end! This time all abusers shall be repaid 100 fold for their unholy acts.
Never again shall my precious temple of mind and body suffer desecration!
Arise My SiStars!! Arise My Warrior Queens!!
The Thieves shall be banished from my Holy Temple!
12 Then Jesus went into the temple of God[a] and drove out all those who bought and sold in the temple, and overturned the tables of the money changers and the seats of those who sold doves. 13 And He said to them, “It is written, ‘My house shall be called a house of prayer,’[b] but you have made it a ‘den of thieves.’”
Post Script ~~ Dear Folks of the Caucasian Persuasion. Do Not Touch my Hair. This is not a petting zoo. Do not ask me stupid questions like, “Do you comb your hair?” Do Not compare my braids, locs or cornrows to Medusa and I won’t say anything about your wrinkles, age spots or your open audacity and stupidity to think you can come up to any random Black person that you don’t know and just spew the first idiotic thing that issues forth from that pie hole in the middle of your face. And No you Do Not have the right to become offended if I call you out on your arrogance and foolishness. Keep your ignorant racist sexist dumb words and attitude to yourself! Don’t get it Twisted. Mammy and StepAndFetchIt are long gone. In fact do me a favor. Shut the Fuck Up and stop commenting on my appearance! Don’t Fuck with the African Goddess! I am a Proud Uppity Black Woman with Attitude. Don’t you forget it.
Black in America ~ Kujichagulia — Self–Determination
Obsidian Ebony Sioux Blackfoot Visions
Stephen and I in December 1961.
My family ranges from pale white with blue eyes to Darkest Black. However I really had no idea of my Rainbow family until Aunts passed away and then when my father died in 1995. Then I was confronted with somebody who had white skin and blue eyes saying that they were my cousins. I always knew my Paternal Grandfather had been married twice but it was then that I realized his first wife must have been white. That was probably the real reason he left Petersburg, VA and moved to New York during the early 1900s…
As a child during the 1960s, I remember being called Tar Baby. I remember my mother who was light-skinned but who suffered under Jim Crow in Dayton, Ohio saying, “If You’re white you’re alright. If your Brown stick around. If you’re Black Get Back!” Every day on the playground of a Black school Black kids would taunt me. Tar Baby! African! Monkey! I came home crying every day. My Dad who was Dark-Skinned always told me, “The Blacker the Berry the Sweeter the Juice. If the berry’s too light it has no use.” That would give me comfort.
Defiant precocious DeBorah
However it took decades before I was comfortable in my Black skin. But the pigeon holing by the Black Community, My Community was very evident in the 60s and 70s when I was coming of age. I don’t have what many Black people define as African features. Whatever that means. From a child even until now Black people, white people and other Peoples of Color will ask me if I’m part Native American. The answer to that question is Yes but if they looked closely at the African continent they’d find Black people with all manner of varied facial features. But nobody does. They just assume.
My Speech. My Dad taught me to speak what he called “The King’s English.” Slang was not allowed in our home. As a result Black people say I sound like I’m white or that I speak proper. Excuse me but aren’t we all supposed to speak English instead of Ebonics?! White people say I’m very articulate (unsaid ~ “for a Black person) It’s a No Win situation.
First Dance with My Father
The kinky nappy hair did not help. I was called Brillo pad. There was the evil straightening comb with Dixie Peach and Ultra Sheen (hair grease). My Mom telling me to bend my head so she could get to my “Kitchen.” My hair was so thick, teeth broke out of combs my mother attempted on my Kinapps. Then came 1972 when my Dad decided that I was going to get an Afro. Watu Wasuri Use Afro Sheen. Then I was Beautiful. Angela Davis Black Panther Party Soul Train Beautiful. In the 80s I surrendered to Jheri Curl Juice. Since then I’ve been pig-tailed, relaxed, braided, loc’ed and now with my not so thick Menopausal hair I’ve returned home to my Afro. Not as Fierce. Somewhat wiry and thanks to L’Oreal always colored various shades of red.
The new stigma for me now, Ageism. Being a Black Woman over 50 who thanks to that once hated Dark Skin now is grateful because Black Don’t Crack!
1961- A Very Good YearLittle MeMMC 2002 GraduationVictory Salute at Seven Bell Fitness Gym
Listen to my voice. Listen to the sound of my voice intoned the old Victrola.
Ecstasy, Passion — A Holy Orgasmic Release.
Leda began her hair color ritual in the usual way. She carefully laid out the tools of her trade on the bathroom sink and the top of the commode. Being a small bathroom there was not much space but Leda made do within her sanctuary. Hair color, towels, mirror, comb, gloves, check. Now Leda was ready. Using a wide tooth comb she divided her thick unruly curls into sections applying even amounts of color first to her roots then all the way through to the ends.
Pulling the comb through her mane Leda envisioned LeRoi’s rough hewn yet well groomed hands entangling themselves within the kinks and knaps of mother Africa all the while gently massaging her scalp and kissing the nape of her neck. Leda massaged the remaining color through her tangled tresses then set the timer for 20 minutes walking the short distance to her bedroom to meditate while the process worked its magic.
During the 20 minutes of meditation Leda visualized her lover LeRoi sitting next to her on the bed speaking softly and gently in his deep Country Kitchen flavored with hints of Brooklyn accent all the while kissing her brows, the bridge of her nose and finally her lips. He sometimes stopped to look deeply into her eyes mentally willing the both of them to become one flesh.
She could feel the bristle of fresh grown five o’clock shadow against her face all the while falling into a deep blend of mahogany skin intermingled with African, Native American and French blood lines. From his lips issued the voices of ancient Kings worshipping the Queens of Africa, Sheba and Candace. Raspy rivulets of Pleasure streamed down her thick thighs. His hands, His lips, His body emoted sucker cup tendrils adhering to every sensitive site on her body. Sighs and moans escaped softly parted lips.
Suddenly the buzz of the timer interrupted her reverie and off she went to turn on the shower preparing to rinse out the excess color treatment. As Leda stepped under the powerful flow of the water LeRoi’s spirit stepped in with her and they were transported to the thunder of Caribbean waterfalls, enveloped in thunder of the cascading streams. LeRoi’s hands were like the streams of water entering into every sensitive place of her temple. She could feel his lips and hands as they worked their way down from her neck, breasts to that soft mound of flesh above her pubic area where he loved to rest his head after a night of lovemaking.
He cupped her full derriere with his hands enjoying the firmness of a well developed ass pulling her in and closer to him.
Water and Burgundy ran down over the nooks and crannies of her curves. Fountains of scented oils sprayed anointing from the Seven Continents co-mingling with her own pheromone essence.
Water and Burgundy ran down over the nooks and crannies of her curves. Volcanic orgasmic waves shoot forth.
Ring, ring, ring, the sound of the phone brought Leda out of her fantasy and quickly toweled off and managed to answer before the machine kicked in.
“Greetings Empress of the Seven Lands. I just arrived at JFK. Taking a taxi to your place. See you in a few minutes.”
Leda rejoiced. Her fantasy was about to become real. Her Lover was almost home. Her thoughts wandered to a romantic tryst in the hot tub at their friends chalet.
Ever ran out of gas in your vehicle?
Espiritu en Fuego/A Fiery Spirit 