Out Of Place

Yesterday morning,as I sat having my coffee at the kitchen table, I couldn't help but notice my little wooden bracelet on the counter. I chuckled a little, and shook my head, I mean--you find things in the oddest places here. When you open a cutlery drawer, there's a pen, and please don't open that closet(literally and metaphorically) cause I can't protect you from you might find! But in the end, it is all fitting, all in line, all consistent with that running theme I, and many others have experienced and that is of being, or feeling, out of place. When I lived in Brooklyn, I was yankee girl in my house, and the Trinidadian girl amongst my friends, when I lived in Trinidad I was, well, Yankee girl again and in college, the Black/Trinidadian girl and in Copenhagen I'm well--you get the picture. I've never felt uncomfortable in this role, and I guess I've learned to thrive in it especially since one of the things I feel fortunate about is having had the opportunity to be around some very strong human beings--from all over the world.
I love this outsider experience because it gives me an interesting perspective: I'm never too attached to what the majority of those around me insist upon and can always offer an alternative view-point. Anyway, the point is, the bracelet stays in the kitchen & I'm embracing what to the narrow-minded is disorganization, as a literal translation of my inner-workings and openness. Sometimes we have to learn to look at what the general society call weakness as, actually, our strengths.
Yesterday I visited V--I locked myself out of the apartment and luckily I gave her a spare set of keys a while ago. She's right around the corner, but with the sun shining and no mobile telephone (I left that home too!) who knows where V would be? The only way in hell she would be home on such as beautiful day would be if she was in one of her organisation frenzies. "You think she'll be home mommy?" Kai asked. I sure hoped so.
I rang the bell like a mad woman and finally she answered! I was right! She was caught up in a cleaning/organization frenzy and while I collected my keys she berated herself for her disorganization and procrastination and between you and me, she's not any more disorganized or lazy than the other person, in fact, she's one of the most industrious people I know. She's just got character, spunk, and yes, does things outside the box. But that's what I really like about her. It would be so boring if every one was all, well, you know--uptight about rules and protocol! Ugh! I love going to her house and finding her in the midst of moving all her furniture around for the millionth time and her kitchen looking like a tornado just passed through. It shows life, difference and I love my women imperfect, just like me! I love dynamic women who make their mistakes loud and are not only forgiving of each other, but of ourselves, most of all. I've been really striving to be a lot kinder towards myself and in that end, I'll attempt to reach out to those around me with such kindness as well, cause in the end, what is it all about anyway? We still can't figure out why we're here, what we're made up of and how many universes exist: the least we can do is touch each other's hearts and be kind to one another.
Last night Kai and I were watching the Elegant Universe--we were talking about the Law of Gravity, Einstein, Relativity, quantum mechanics. Not that I know much about this stuff, but what I do know, I love: that excitement of just being on the edge of discovery, but never really getting there. Could it be that humankind is destined to be like Tantalus--always within reach of knowledge, but just never getting there? I say we haven't even gotten to the tree of knowledge yet. So in the end, who gives a flying f if my bracelet is on the kitchen counter or not? Especially if it's made up of lots of vibrating string? But I guess if we're trying to bring order to disorder, the first place to start is not only from within, but in one's house. Luckily for me I'm not a physicist.
Last Sunday I attended The Cph Guide book party, a travel guide for those visiting Copenhagen. I've got a couple of pieces in there, so if you're coming through, don't forget to pick your copy up at the airport!!! Here's Nick showing off his skating skills at the book fest:

What else in between my usual bouts of hypochondria? My son Kai, says the best things:
"Mommy, sometimes the other boys in my class say bad things about gays. That makes me very sad! I don't think they should be mean like that."
"Mommy, why do they call Ugly Betty ugly? I don't think she's ugly!"
"Mommy, who is Madonna?" (I just wanted to record that and lay some phat tracks to that, can't you hear it already?)
"Mommy, I don't play to win. Sometimes I even cheer the other team on. I think the most important thing is to have fun!"
"Mommy, why are they so mean to each other in Top Model?" (Ok, ok, I watch Top Model with my son, shhhhhhh: Dont tell anyone!)
And finally, the sentence that every Black mother dreads, "Mommy, when I grow up, I want to be a basketball player."
Friday night I did a reading--haven't done one in AGES but I'm happy to report it went well. I read three pieces: The Organist's Daughter,Snafu & Boob(s).
On that note, I'll leave you with one of my poems:

Snafu*

Burn some sage when you need to be clear.
Throw some pennies in your doorway when you run outta money.
Don’t ever place your purse on the floor if you want to avoid financial difficulties.

(Your son has a hearing a problem, he will have to wear hearing aids.)

I miss Flatbush and the don’t give a fuck stride of a Brooklyn man.
I miss hair extensions, Hip Hop and Harlem.
I miss cheap Gucci bags and acrylic nails.
I miss Makeba, Shawanda, Mecca and Tracy—girls who suck their thumbs, place arms akimbo and tell you don’t you talk about my momma!

I miss giving people love just because you like their vibe.

(We can’t hire you because your Danish isn’t good enough)

Things to do:
Get a job
Learn Danish and oh yeah, bury your father.

(I don’t think I’ve ever loved you)

Read a book when you want to end it all.
Look at your son’s caramel eyes when you want to leave.
Don’t smoke cigarettes if you don’t want to get cancer.

(Hvor lange har du boet her I Danmark?)

Stop drinking coffee.
Give yourself a footbath.
Finish your novel (oh yeah, forgot about that one)
Meet Line for dinner.
Eat even when you’re not hungry.

(Hvorfor kom du her til Danmark?)

Things to do:
Learn Danish so you can get into University.
Speak Danish all the time, it’s the only way you’ll ever learn!
Pick up Kai!

(Mor, hvorfor er du sort?)--Mommy, why are you black?

Don’t talk too much.
Listen more.
Stop apologizing.
Finish what you start.

(Mor hvorfor er du ikke hvid?)--Mommy, why aren't you white?

Don’t be so loud and definitely stop being so emotional!
Take more pride in how you look!
Gain some weight!
Don’t have sex.
have sex.

(God Lesley, can you stop talking so loud please?)

—“Situation normal: all fucked up”. Old WWII term
a mishap or mistake generally caused by incompetence and resulting in delay or confusion (informal)

Anything else? Yeah, one more thing:
Bring back Bus# 19!
I think I'm getting a tattoo!
(ok, that was 2 things) & I'm getting closer to getting those tickets to Trinidad this Summer, so watch out Trinidad, here we come!
Love & Light,
the lab