Bloggers Block and Whitney Houston

Lately I’ve been busy and unable to blog as much as I’d preferred. Actually, that’s not true. I just fibbed. I’ve not been any more busy than I normally am, and in fact some truly amazing, mind-boggling, (frightfully) wonderful, socially relevant, blog-worthy things have been happening in my life, the world and the lives of those around me. I’m certain I’ll be inspired to write about those things soon, but of late, I haven’t been moved to write, or at least write something new.

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I realized today that I’m experiencing a bit of self-inflicted bloggers block. As thoughtful, inspiring and up-with-the-times as I try to be, often letting my personal commentary speak about my life personally and shedding light on public matters, I looked around the world, this country, my state of Alabama, even my own life and decided I didn’t want to talk about any of the things going on. Sometimes I just don’t feel like keeping up with the times in a way possibly expected. As a blogger, I’ve got to convince myself that that’s okay. Sometimes it’s okay to simply share what’s on my heart, whether it’s in line with things going on socially, legally, personally, politically or not. It’s okay not to be deep, inspiring, encouraging, transparent, practical or even sensible. Sometimes it’s good just to write. So I am.

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What does that have to do with Whitney Houston? Glad you asked. I miss the music and inspiration of Whitney Houston. As a soon-to-be 43-year-old I now get how the droves of Elvis Presley fans fondly remember Elvis and all his imperfect glory through life and death. I get now, how my mother took it so extremely hard the day Marvin Gaye died as we were preparing to head off to school, and how the sweet scent of her White Diamond perfume lingered in my nose all day as I remembered her crying up against the chest of drawers at the sound of WATV’s Shelley the Playboy saying Marvin had been murdered. I get how the loyal allegiance of fans of Pac or Biggie remember where they were and what they were doing when they heard of the untimely and tragic passings of their musical icons. I get how some humans (healthily) affix their affections to those they’ve never known, but whose star power helped shine light on their lives, even in the midst of their utter humanity, and how, during the time leading to the anniversary of their passing that rollercoaster of emotions is revived again. I’m not speaking of the wacky, fanatical men and women who take their appreciation for a another’s gifts far too far. I speak of those who simply appreciate the impact a person’s life has had on their own life through a television, a movie screen, a booming system, on a field, from a ball court, a stage or in an upstairs room shared by a younger sister in Birmingham’s West End Manor as the sounds of I Wanna Dance With Somebody blast from a mini-boom box set to WENN-FM and being recorded simultaneously by a blossoming teen with a love for love, lipgloss, Member’s Only and neon. For me, Whitney Houston is that one.

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This year, making the anniversary of Whitney Houston’s February 11th death even more poignant is the tragedy recently occurred in the life of her only daughter Bobbi Kristina. It feels like this year, similar to years I’ve lost personal loved ones, I’ve been made even more aware of the beauty of life, the often overbearing pressures of life and the fact that life makes no promises. I’ve been contemplating things like the importance of family (blood or otherwise), understanding the struggles of others, truly living, getting my business in order, celebrating people while they’re present, knowing when to operate in respect of the lives and privacy of others, and simply not being mean. No, those things don’t have anything to do with what might appear to be more newsworthy and pressing matters in the world around us, but they matter, at least to me. #RIPWhitney

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@AngelaMMoore316

Keep Your “Say So” to Yourself

So much talk goes on about the lives of others. The Bobbi Kristina Brown story is striking a particular nerve with me as I read and hear opinion after opinion after opinion on a situation that, frankly, none of us know of. A true fan of her mother Whitney Houston, and an even bigger fan of human beings, the rash of harsh commentary from people regarding this child who is fighting for her life simply hurts my heart. It hurts my heart to the core.

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Imagine with me, if you will, if the horrible, hurtful, opinionated, assuming talk some of us talk was talked about our loved ones or us. I’ve been on the end of speculation, misunderstanding, fiction reigning over unknown fact and that’s a hurtful place to be. I simply can’t imagine being in a position of the public spotlight where that place is magnified by the booming voice of social media at its worst.

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So many have a “say so” about circumstances and situations we have no idea about. Often we sit and converse with absolute certainty on matters that we have no direct or indirect knowledge. Some post and repost at the speed of flashing light words as damaging as can be, with no thought to even check the source before pressing send. I’ll confess, I’ve been guilty of tossing my “two cents” in the pool of opinion, but I’m making a conscious effort now to keep my mouth to myself, unless it’s used in a way to encourage, or to educate with facts where ignorance of another once prevailed.

Here’s the truth about having a “say so” regarding the lives of others we know, and especially those we don’t know:

  • These people are people with feelings and family.
  • Just because a person has money, influence or position is no excuse for us to unleash public, social abuse.
  • We don’t know them. Let me say that again. We don’t know them. Any star, person, or couple we speak of as of with certainty.
  • We weren’t there when whatever we heard of happened.
  • Of those we do know, like family and friends, we only know what they say, or show us. Please know that people only let you know what they want you to know.
  • And lastly, sometimes, more often than not, and as difficult as it may be, it’s good to just keep your “say so” to yourself.

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Prayers for Bobbi Kristina.

RIP Whitney Houston.

Long live privacy for and respect of others.

@AngelaMMoore316

The Beautiful Joys of a Sweet Sunday

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I type this brief blog post with the backdrop of trickling rain dancing outside my window. It’s a cloudy, chilly Sunday in the south (Alabama, that is), with naked trees and hues of brown, orange, and grey painting the landscape of the land.

Today I debated going to church. I’m so glad the wise one in me won. My church, Church of the Highlands celebrated its 14th Anniversary. It was an amazing, amazing, one hour and 15 minute investment into my life. The music moved me, the message corrected and directed me, the ending with people choosing to give their lives to Christ through on-the-spot baptism encouraged me.

Coming out of that awesome worship experience, I began to get frustrated, really frustrated. Many don’t know, but my house has been on the market for five years following my divorce in 2010. (Gasp, I know!) Having to rearrange my life for the last five years, at the drop of a dime for dozens and dozens and dozens of strangers to enter my home, and deal with the unspoken of hassle this lingering part of the divorce continues to cause me has definitely developed my patience. I received calls yesterday that two (more) prospective buyers wanted to view my home in the middle of the day, which meant I would have to find somewhere to go to accommodate them. That’s also a sign of hope, which meant I had to learn to get over my frustrated feelings.

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Now, I just mentioned that it’s cloudy, chilly and rainy here in my part of Alabama, and after an early morning church service I would like to do nothing more than go home and hop in the bed for a few uninterrupted hours. Not only could I not do that because of the home viewers, I couldn’t immediately find somewhere to go. So I went to Sonic’s and devoured the most fresh, delicious French toast sticks and sausage I’d had all month, with syrup streaming down my steering wheel. (BTW…Today is the first day of the month. Ha! Ha!) Then I headed home for a “teaser” knowing that I would only be able to enjoy my time there for one hour and 30 minutes before the first round of house hunters trekked in. Much to my surprise my one of my favorite, badly acted, beautifully intentioned, cult-classic movies, B.A.P.S. was on, and guess how much viewing time was left. Let’s just say there was enough time for me to catch up at my favorite part, write this post, light my Coconut Milk and Mango candle, tidy up my house again and get under the inviting covers for a hot minute with the rain whispering to me before having to head to my next destination for the day.

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The fact that the Lord would allow me a bit of extra special peace and tranquility on a day that could have remained frustrating is a blessing to me and not taken lightly. Sure, it’s raining. Sure I couldn’t readily find somewhere to go. Sure I had to reroute my plans and use gas I had not planned on exhausting. Sure I didn’t have as much time at home as I would have preferred. Sure B.A.P.S. is definitely not Halli Berry’s or Martin Landau’s finest, award-winning film, but I’ll take the beautiful joys of this sweet Sunday ANYDAY compared to the sourpuss alterative.

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PS…Wouldn’t you know it, as soon as B.A.P.S. went off, Purple Rain, another poorly acted, but undeniable classic, all-time FAVORITES came on. Yes, indeed. I’d say today is sweet. And it’ll be even sweeter when I head to my next stop, throw on my sweats and plop down in front of the big screen. Singing…Purple Rain, Purple Rain…

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@AngelaMMoore316