blackgirl on mars: notes on a life in copenhagen (or how my alienation brings me closer to people).

Today is D's 40th birthday. Of all the many things I could give her: books, pens, a vegan dinner it is Brooklyn she wants. We are both daughters of Brooklyn, so I understand her. I awake 5:30 am and despite the fact that I have been in New York for a week, it is only now that I am ready to venture into Brooklyn. It would be the first time in 2 ½ years that I will be seeing the borough of my birth. When you were born, it snowed. It was March but there was so much snow. D's plan is to walk into Brooklyn. We are both staying at Marie's—our agent/mentor in a cozy uptown brownstone jammed with books and other orphaned artists. D is dealing with not only the loss of her mother, but her lover and a family that has ostracized her. In many ways one could say that I am dealing with the same thing. They have torn down the hospital in which you were born. I have never walked over the Brooklyn Bridge before. I remember once, as a child, I attended one of its birthdays. My friend's...

Like a snowflake you fall to earth (no two ever alike) You drift eagerly (a bit too eager) to the earth & kiss-- the most natural response to gravity... & find the warmth conducive to Life. But we called you here you say we called you here. And I answer: Yes we did & know that it had everything to do with Love. And although snow vanishes melts, returns to earth Know that like you it has existed, albeit brief & you will be remembered forever.

So the other day my neighbor complained about all the noise I make. It was rather embarrassing, especially since she chose to let me have it in the backyard where other people could hear. She particularly complained about my "loud African music"...hmmm, did't know I was playing anything that would fall under that heading. It was funny though, cause it was just one of those typical Danish things to say. Drums? Rhythm? Ahhh...yes, it must be, oh dear, AFRICAN! Speaking of which I went to what is one of the few Reggae clubs in this city the other night. It was the last night for a while, and I hadn't been there in YEARS. Let's just say that the last time I was there I was in my early 30s. That says a lot. Anyway, when I was there I realized why I liked it so much. Besides the obvious, reggae music, it manages to pull in a pretty neat group of people. There's the young, college crowd, the Internationals (people who come from all over the world and feel at home the...

There's an old lady that I keep on seeing. She's one of those eccentric ones, you know, with the colourful hats and mischievous glint in her eyes...when she sees me, she smiles as if she recognizes something. I wonder what it is? The creases on her face know no resting place, and map out stories I can not even begin to decipher. The thing about old age is that it transcends race, gender, nationality. I want to drink tea with her, listen to her stories. What would she tell me? About loves not had, lovers had, babies conceived, perhaps not? What is her story? And is she really content moving about, her back bent, lipstick smeared, good looks but a distant memory...but still..there is beauty there. What is her story?

So the Climate Conference is in town...Obama is destined to land here any day now and what I like the most is the influx of non-Danes who now swarm the center. It's not all good though, cause many of them can't figure out the bike lane thing but hey, that's another story... In the midst of the chaos that is my life I must take a moment to acknowledge the small victories. I could tell you about the failures, but hey, that's not fun. All I'll say is, or quote, is Art Blakey, "When you make a mistake, make it loud!" Moving on though--the thing I love most about my job is that fact that I can leave my home in the morning and have had it up to here with my kids, and by the end of the day find myself completely in love with them. Small victories is having someone donate a lot of money to a dream you shared with your 7th graders, "Let's go to Amsterdam and visit Anne Frank's House" without knowing how on earth you will ever collect the money to ...

I have been here before, recognize the sign-posts, the warnings, the no entry signs. But I rush in, exhilarated to just touch what is familiar, what feels like home, knowing too well that soon, I will have to leave. But this time I am not destroyed and walk away intact. Because I am a woman now. No longer a girl.

Got this email from my cousin today: USA: Such tasteful Hors d'heurves, sumptuous finger foods, wow! TnT: Whuddy ass is dis? Whey de blasted food? USA: Here Kitty kitty... get down from that roof munchkins. TnT: Ey yuh ole dutty stinkin cyat, come down from de friggin gyalvanize before ah drop two stone in yuh ass! USA : Aren't those pants a bit short? TnT: Yuh expekin flood or wha? USA : Sir, please don't throw my luggage like that. TnT: Buh wha trouble is dis? Boy,...... stop flingin meh grip so. USA : Lift the hood of the car for me John. TnT: Yute-man, fly open de bonnet deh! USA : I love you TnT: Ah rell check fuh yuh, yuh know. USA : Oh the poor little boy is handicap. TnT: Look at dat lil brooko foot boy dey... USA : It's time for a perm. TnT: Gyul , yuh head need straightenin bad. Yuh doh see all dem gren-gren showin. USA : I have a stomachache TnT: Oh gorm..............meh belly gripein meh. USA: He has no manners. TnT: He doh have no broughtupsee. USA: WOW!......