Top Ten: Grady, baby!

"I'm so three thousand and eight

You so two thousand and late."

~ The Black Eyed Peas "Boom Boom Pow."

Lately I've found myself saying at work on multiple occasions, "Damn, I love this place!"

This week, I bring you ten lovable takes from my life at Grady Hospital . . . because this place never fails to bring that boom boom pow.

Ten Takes from one week at the Gradys

#10 -- You must remember this. . . .

. . . a kiss is still a kiss. A sigh is just a sigh. . . the fundamentals all apply as time goes by. . . .

Alright. So I'm walking out of Grady the other day and I see a woman exiting with two plastic bags full of personal belongings. She'd just been discharged from the hospital more than likely and just as she made her way outside, a man--obviously coming for her--began walking quickly toward her.

"I was coming up there to get you, baby!"

"They let me out early, honey!"

So check it--these people were no less than sixty-something years old. Matter of fact, seeing as "black don't crack" they might have even been knocking on the eighties. Either way, it was obvious that they had some serious love for one another and were happy to see each other.

And so. Nosy me keeps watching.

Finally, he reaches her. First he just cups her face in his hands and I catch a glimpse of a warped band on his left ring finger. And her? She is smiling like a fourteen year old girl . . .I tell you the truth. Then he says, "Heeeeey, baby." All soft and throaty. Really in a tone just for her, but since I was being nosy, I heard it, too. And she responds by just smiling more. After that, he plants one on her. . . .pressing his lips against hers in that slow-ish, deliberate-ish way that older folks sometimes do.

It was so sweet.

But then something happened. That dry-lipped "welcome home, baby" kiss morphed into something else. Mr. Happy turned his head to the side and went in for the kill. Y'all! Mrs. Happy dropped her two bags and wrapped her ample arms around his shoulders. I could see her grandmother-ring with multiple birthstones on one hand and a weathered wedding band set on the other.

Aaaaah, yes. This was a husband and wife. . .and probably somebody's Maw-Maw and Paw-Paw.

Sigh.

And do you know what they did next? They made out. No, for real. They said "to hell with y'all" and went for it. Yes. They stood there making out--like for real open mouth kissing and all that--right there in the Grady vestibule. The kind of PDA that makes someone shout out to a couple of twenty-somethings to "get a room!"

But in this instance? It was endearing. And . . . hell. . kind of inspiring.

I hope Harry and I are still kissing like that when we get up in age.

#9 -- Baby, baby, baby

me and my baby boy

In the Grady elevator on Thursday:

"Hey Miss Manning!"

"Hey to you, too!"

"I ain't seen you in a minute. I see you got all that baby weight off you."

Don't know what to say to that.

"I think last time I seent you you had just had your baby or was pregnant. Around Christmas? When did you have the baby, like six, seven months back?"

Don't know what to say to that.

"Is the baby sleeping for you yet? What you have a girl or a boy this time?"

"Uuuuhh, a boy." Which technically is true.

"Okay, then! You almost there Miss Manning. You lookin' good."

Walks off of the elevator, all cheery and happy.

Still don't know what to say to that.

#8 -- That's what's up.

Talking to a patient on rounds the other day:

"Word life, you don't need a ring to be my wife. . " ~ Method Man

My patient was sitting with his common-law wife as we discussed details of his medical history and hospitalization. He was animated and so funny. She was totally chill. Look up "chill" in the dictionary, and she'd be there. Not chill-y. Just chill. I liked them immediately.

"So, do you ever smoke sir?"

"I ain't gon' lie, Doc. I do."

"How long does a pack last you?"

"Uuuuhhhh, two or three days, maybe?"

Eye roll from Lady Chill. I laughed out loud and asked, "More than that?"

A coy smile and an eyebrow raise.

"Alright, alright! I smoke like a pack every day."

"What about your medications? I know you ran out this time, but are you good about taking them otherwise?"

"Oh, yeaaaah. Definitely. I don't never be missin' my medicine. Never."

Cough into her hand. Another sly smile and this time one eyebrow up in his direction.

"Whaaaat, ba'y?" he chuckled while looking at her lovingly. "Ba'y, for real. I do be takin' my pills!"

She folded her arms and giggled in her chest with her lips closed. Not a word, but she was sure telling on him.

"Not such an angel about the medicines?" I query her. She turned over her palms and shrugged while cutting her eyes playfully in his direction.

"See, Doc, you know what they call that? They call that 'dry snitchin'.'" They both laughed in unison.

"Dry snitchin'?"

"Yeah, Doc. Tha's when you be tellin' on somebody with your eyes and yo' facial expressions. Givin' it away without openin' your mouth. Tha's the dry snitchin'. Ba'y, why you dry snitchin' on me?"

She smiled wide this time showing a glistening gold tooth. . . and looked so amused with him. It really was a loving interaction.

"She's dry snitchin' because she obviously cares a lot about you," I responded.

"Oh yeah, now I know tha's true, for real. This lady right here--" He gestured at her with his thumb. "She hold me down, you hear me? Man, like Mary J. and Method Man . . .for real. This chick? She hold me the f--k down. I mean, we ain't legally married, but we married, you feel me?" He looked over at her and softened his eyes. She returned the gesture and didn't seem to mind at all being referred to as "this chick." Which made me not mind either. And yes. I got the "Mary J. and Method Man" reference.

That's what's up.

And so I say exactly what I'm thinking. "That's what's up, right there."

Because no matter who you are, love is love.  So yeah, man. I do feel you.

"Back when I was nothin'

You made a brother feel like he was somethin'

That's why I'm with you 'til this day, boo, no frontin' "

~ Method Man featuring Mary J. Blige in "All I Need"

#7 -- How excellent.

Kevin is a medical student on my team this month. It's so obvious that he cares for people in the deepest parts of his soul and I know for certain that he is going to be an exceptional physician some day. Because he is early in his clinical training, the trajectory of his growth is straight to the sky. It's amazing how much I've seen him grow in just ten days.  

Amazing.

On Wednesday, I sat with him and gave him detailed feedback on his patient presentations. We had a great chat and he asked excellent questions. I could tell he was eager to apply the concrete suggestions I'd offered to him.

On Thursday, he did just that. He stood tall and confident and prepared. . .and then gave this kick ass oral presentation of an extraordinarily complicated patient warranting zero interruptions. He peppered in teaching points and it was great. Really great.

The best part was that I could see and feel how proud he was of himself.

I gave him a fist bump and told him exactly what I was thinking. "Excellent. Now that? That was excellent."

#6 -- It's the Real Thing.

As my patient was getting discharged last week:

"Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?"

"You know what? I would give anything for a Co-cola. Just a nice cold Co-Cola in the red can. Ha ha ha. . .naaw, but otherwise I'm okay."

I smiled when I heard that request. It made me think of Harry who says often that there is nothing comparable to a "good strong Coca Cola in the RED can." Not that Diet crap that everyone else is drinking.

I thought for a moment about his reasons for being in the hospital and asked myself what it would hurt for him to have a good ol' Coca Cola Classic before leaving. My answer? Nothing.

I excused myself, walked straight over to the vending machine and bought him one. In the red can.


#5 -- This is it.

I saw a patient the other day that had me perplexed. Nate, the fourth year medical student working with me, however, was not perplexed. It was his patient and he had put a great deal of thought into the diagnosis and management.

"I think this is what it is," he said. Then he explained why he felt that way.

"But what about that?" I countered. "The thing that makes me unsure about this is the amount of pain and the appearance. This doesn't always look like this in my experience. I'm wondering about that."

"From what I read, Dr. M, this can totally have this appearance. I mean, that is a consideration, but this is what we were thinking was the most likely explanation."

We talked some more about this and even involved some consultants. I examined the patient three or four times throughout the day to see how it would evolve. The specialists came to see the patient and using all of their expertise they came up with a final diagnosis.

Assessment: THIS (not THAT)
Recommendations: KEEP DOING WHAT THE MED STUDENT WAS DOING. OH, AND YOU CAN DISCONTINUE YOUR EMPIRIC TREATMENT FOR THAT BECAUSE IT AIN'T THAT, IT'S THIS.

Umm, yeah.

#4 -- Oh, lightin' up.

Outside of Grady in the "Smoking area" man has a cig in between his fingers and is looking around. . . .

"Hey -- 'scuse me, Doc. You got a match?"

Seriously?

"A match? No, sir."

"You got a lighter?"

"A lighter. Uh. . .no."

"Damn!"

Damn.

#3 -- Drive bys.

We were rounding the other day and standing in the hallway outside of a patient room. There were about seven of us on this day and we were all standing in a huddle. As one of the interns is presenting his patient, all of a sudden this man rolls up in a manual wheel chair to the edge of our pack. It's obvious that he needs to pass by.

"'scuse me!"

We part like the Red Sea and let him through. Our focus goes back to hearing about the patient. Less than a minute later, I'm listening to the elements of the physical examination and another interruption comes mid-sentence. I look over and there is Dude once again, this time on the other side of us.

"'Scuse me!"

Our circle fragments again to let him through and then rejoins. On to the lab data. X-ray results, laboratory interpretations, and EKG tracings. My intern prepares to put it all together in the assessment and plan. Then--I am not kidding--Dude rolls up again.

"Beg pardon!"

Yes. He wants to go by. And we let him. Again. Finally, after hearing the assessment and plan, we all start making teaching points and discussing what else needs to be done.

But the thing is, I'm having trouble concentrating because I know that Dude is just bound to roll up on us again. After a few moments, he doesn't so I relax and regroup. Just as I start talking, I feel something against my leg.

Yes. It's Dude. Again. Like some kind of episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm, for real.

"'Scuse me!"

And, y'all know me, I looked skyward and laughed as I stepped aside.

Later on, I heard him say to a nurse who asked where he was going, "Man, I just be rollin'. That's just me!"

Hearing that made me smile for some reason. Because sometimes? All I want to do is roll, too.

#2 -- I got that Boom Boom Pow.

"Tell her it's okay to eat the breast of the chicken. That's the white meat and it's healthy. Tell her, Miss Manning!"

"White meat is leaner. Especially if it's skinless."

"Boom! Told you! Told you I could eat the breast and the wing!"

"Wings are actually a little higher in fat. But you are right, the breast is a good selection."

"Boom! Told you!" This male patient pointed triumphantly at his wife, who clearly had questioned his food choices. She folded her arms hard and curled her lips.

"Uuuuhhh, doctor?" she started in this very sassy and animated tone. "Tell me this--what if that breast of chicken is as big as his head and is fried at Popeye's? Is that a 'good selection?'"

I look at him with a one eyed wince. "Uuuhh, yeah. Not so much."

She held up her tattooed arms and pointed her fingers like two guns blazing. "BOOM! Told you Mr. Popeye's Fried-Chicken-even-though-you-got-heart-problems! Don't try to PLAY me!" Their laughter rang out into the hallway.

He looked at me sheepishly. "No?" A playful smile creeped up the side of his mouth.

I could still hear her playfully chastising him as I left the room . . . . .

For some reason, I couldn't stop playing "Boom Boom Pow" by the Black Eyed Peas on my mental iPod for the rest of the afternoon.




#1 -- Grady, baby!


***OMG. Best moment of the week!***

"Wow. You sure have a lot of ink. How many tattoos do you have?"

"Damn, doc. I 'on't even know. I got so many! They all tell they own story, though."

"Which one is your favorite? Or is it hard to choose?"

"Naw, it ain't hard to choose, Doc. This one right here is my favorite of all."

(shared on this blog with patient's consent)

Aaaaah.

"Grady baby." I said the words displayed proudly on his arm. Awesome.

"Yeah, man. Grady baby. . . for life."

Yeah, man. Me, too.

***
Happy Weekend.

Now playing on my mental iPod. . . Mary J. and Method Man singing about "holding someone down."

Ode to a dreamer: So long.

Ain't no party like a Uganda party. . .

For my friend and former Grady doctor, Kris . . . who will soon be leaving on a jet plane. . .


Ode to a dreamer:  So Long.

For so long
this is what you've wanted to do
this is what has tugged at your heartstrings
and slipped in and out of your daydreams
for so long

For so long
you thought, "There is no way"
no way that anyone else would be on board
and definitely no way that someone could be excited even
to do what you want to do
when you want to do it

Some way, somehow your dreams overlapped at the right time
and now
they are one reality
and now
dreams and realities are overlapping, too

For so long
I listened and heard you speak of it
eyes all dancing
hands all animated
and a little tremulous with excitement
because it's happening
it's really happening

For so long you leaving seemed further away
and where you were going didn't seem so far away
But it is
and the reality is
You won't be around the corner
or laughing out loud across from me at neighborhood restaurants
or clinking wine glasses in kitchens with artwork on the refrigerator
I mean, yes, you will in spirit
but not in person you won't
Nope, you won't
But that's okay

Because today it hit me
you'll be gone for so long
living your dream that you've been having
for so long
which ultimately makes me more happy than sad
and celebratory and glad
that you are bringing new meaning to the words
"Going there"

So long, my friend
so long

image credit

***

Kris Reid is my good friend and (former) fellow Grady doctor. In a few days, along with her husband Mike and their three children, she is moving across the world to Uganda. To some of you reading this, it sounds completely crazy to do that. To others of you, I know for sure that you are reading this from the other side of the world you once knew. . . . . getting it and digging it and feeling it. (NOLA and Charmayne. . .I know y'all are getting it and feeling it!)

I always laugh and tell Kris that--NO, MA'AM--I did not get the "move to the motherland" gene. At all. Matter of fact, I barely even got the "leave my house and my routine for more than a week" gene. But that's okay because I don't need to share her dream to appreciate it and believe in it.  And honestly? I don't waste a lot of time trying to dissect peoples' dreams either. Because look, man--I'm just happy to be trusted with it in the first place, especially trusted with one of your biggest, baddest, best-est dreams. And if you ask me, the very best-est dreams stretch us the farthest and often garner the most hairy eyeballs. Which should make the dreamer dream even bigger.

I went to a going away gathering for Kris and Mike on Saturday and I felt the weirdest mixture of happy and sad. I felt their nervous anticipation and how in sync they were with each other. It was inspiring, man. Mostly because I remember when she told me this dream to move to Uganda which led me to say, "Did you say 'UGANDA?' As in, Uganda-Uganda?" 

To which she just nodded hard and smiled like Mike had just proposed on bended knee.

Now that. . .that was a while back. And this? This is like a few days away.  So I am happy and sad to see my friend go.

But mostly happy.

You go, girl.

***

Alright, y'all. What is your dream?  What are you doing about it?

(That's for you to answer to yourself. . . not me. )

The Sade Pendulum.

Feelin' it.

"In heaven's name

Why do you play these games?"

~ Sade

 In Resident clinic today:

Resident:  "Hey Dr. M, have you been doing anything fun since your kids are in California?"


Me: "As a matter of fact, I went to see Sade on Tuesday! She was awesome!"


Resident:  *crickets*


Me:  "Wait. Please tell me you aren't looking at me like that because you don't know who Sade is!"


Resident:  *crickets*


Me:  "You don't know who SADE is? SADE? SHAAAHH- DAAAAYYY???? Seriously?" (but really wanting to say, "AWWW HELL NAAWWW!!!")


Resident:  *crickets*


Me:  "This will be reflected in your evaluation."

Resident: "SHAH-DAY? Is that what you're saying? Spell that."


Me:  "F-I-R-E-D."

Sade, Atlanta Performance July 2011

On Tuesday, the B.H.E. took me to see the wonderfully talented Sade in concert. Her voice was like a perfect piece of dark chocolate--velvety smooth yet textured, uniformly sweet yet peppered with a little bite. The best part of it all was that she sang all of the songs that I like and know the lyrics to. And even better than that? She and her band Sweetback (who is a-freakin'-mazing, by the way) performed each track in the exact arrangement as their original recordings.

That made me super happy because nothing annoys me more than going to a concert to hear one of my favorite artists perform my favorite songs only to find that some wise ass has remixed every slow favorite into some funky, uptempo techno version and reconfigured all the fast tracks into wrist-slashing ballads.

Talk about annoying.

My sister, JoLai, who goes to waaaaay more concerts than me once asked, "Why not just listen to the album if that's all you want anyway?"  To which I snarkily remarked, "Come on--everyone wants to sing along. Just give the people what they came for!"

Sade got the memo.

And yes. This is exactly what Miss Sade got on that stage and did, do you hear me? She gave the people what they came for. That and more.

Like chocolate, I felt myself melting into the seat, lulled by her voice and the horns. I closed my eyes as she sang "Smooth Operator" and remembered when my 9th grade Geometry teacher, Mr. C, had this big poster of her on the wall next to a parallelogram.  I recalled us asking him who she was, and him smiling all big and giddy-like as he pushed the button on a boombox behind his desk.

That was the very first time I'd ever heard Sade.

"Smooth Operator." Ah yes. That song took me back. And track after track, other songs did the same.  We went through my first heartbreak from tenth grade with "Is it a crime" and then the undying love I professed to the same boy at the end of twelfth grade with "Nothing Can Come Between Us."

Of course we'd be together forever and ever--even with me going across the country to college. Because this guy? This guy who was my first love in high school? He was the one. For sure and for definitely. And so I sang Sade all the way from California to Alabama on a forty hour drive--loud--because nothing could come between us. He was the one after all, right?

"It's about faith. . . . it's about trust. . . .yeah, yeah. . "

It's about faith my foot.  That same boy had me singing "Love is Stronger Than Pride" just a few months later in the cafeteria. That sucka.

The good news is that reliving this not-so-good memory was fleeting. I was happy just a few tracks later. Yes. Filled with the warm nostalgia of yet another puppy-love when she sang "I Couldn't Love You More."  

Lawd.

I played this incessantly while cutting out pictures of diamond rings from fashion magazines and annoying the crap out of my roommate every time I hit "rewind." Yes. Because this dude? The one from my freshman year of medical school? Oh baby. This guy? Now he was absolutely the one.  No question.

Uuuhhh, yeah.  Thank goodness she had the track "Bullet Proof Soul" on the same LP, 'cause I needed it.

Time marched on and my crappy luck in love continued. I served as a most excellent professional bridesmaid several times over, smiling pretty and accumulating dresses. Although my girlfriends all had "Kiss of Life" on the brain, I was stuck on "Please Send Me Someone to Love." 

 Good ol' Sade.

I finally finished residency and Sade stayed right with me. After the move to Atlanta, my longing for that "real love" chapter to begin grew stronger than ever. On the days that I felt sorriest for myself, I could count on Sade to have the perfect soundtrack for my doldrums.  "King of Sorrow?"  Seriously? Most depressing song ever. (Yet perfect background music for the blues, I tell you.)

"I want to cook you a soup that warms your soul
but nothing would change, nothing will change at all
It's just a day that brings it all about
Just another day, nothing's any good."

or better yet

"I'm crying everyone's tears
I have already paid for all my future sins. . ."

Damn, Sade. Everyone's tears? Really? (And if that wasn't enough of a downer, I'd just play "Somebody Already Broke My Heart" from the same CD.)

Finally, my heart could rejoice as I relived the first days after I met Harry through her sultry performances of "Lovers Rock" and "By Your Side." She sang it perfectly. No--better than perfectly. She gave the people what they came for. 

It brought me to tears.

The show ended with her locking arms with all of the members of her band, walking to the edge of the stage and taking a bow--together. I immediately liked her twenty times more after that gesture.

See, this is what I love about the Sade pendulum . . . .and the music pendulum in general.  It takes you through the extremes of emotion. . .running through open orchards with you on the best of days and snuggling under down comforters with you as tear-soaked tissue crumbles in your hand.  Music makes you laugh and cry. But best of all, it stirs up memories rich and deep and takes you on a journey through time.

On Tuesday, we took a journey.  And I'm so glad we did.

Encore!!

Oh yeah.

Just as everyone was leaving, she re-emerged for an encore performance wearing a stunning scarlet dress with matching ruby lips. The song?

"Cherish the Day."

Perfect.

***
Now playing on my mental iPod--one of many Sade songs that makes me think of Harry (aka the BHE) because of this line. . . "You're the one. . .the one I swim to in a storm. . . like a lovers rock."



and this one, too. . . because it defines who I want to be to those who I love with this line. . ."I will show you. . you're so much better than you know."



and this one because, yes, it is kind of morose. . . but it held my hand when I felt lonely. And sometimes the right song is the only one who can do that for you.



***
Happy Thursday.


Whose music takes you on a journey?

Where I'm From.

Warning: Extraordinarily random post ahead.

Literally where I'm from.

Okay.

Today I was thinking about my "Top Ten" and had nothing popping into my head worth listing. I put it on ice and decided to wait to be inspired. Well. . . .I didn't get inspired to make my top ten, but I did get inspired.

The inspiration came from a "blog meme" that I learned of while reading one of my favorite blogs this week and again today.

Before you ask what in the expletive-of-your-choice a "meme" is, I'll tell you. A "meme" is like an idea, a theme or a topic that somehow gets thrown out there that then goes viral. Well, not really viral per se. . .but an idea or thought that gets passed around. In the blog-writing world, a blog meme is something that prompts a topic on a blog. (Thanks for that definition, Ann!)

As it turns out, there's other memes, too. An internet meme might be that same email that everybody and their mama keeps asking you to forward to five thousand people, or some youtube video that no matter where you go, seems to be embedded in somebody's site--and that you just can't stop looking at.

Kind of like this one which I find equal parts horrible and hilarious:



Anyways.

My blog-friend (and author of the aforementioned) happens to be both a real blogger and a "stay-at-home-humorist" and she was the one who humored me with this . . . blog meme. . that she used for her last post. This meme--wait, can't we just say "theme?"--is called "Where I'm from" and its origin lies deep inside of a touchy-feely poem by George Ella Lyon (who I admittedly just heard of today but who does seem kind of cool.)

Okay. The way it works is that you make your own version of "Where I'm From" by including details applicable to you. Ann (the stay-at-home humorist ) shared this link that kind of explains how to do it in detail. (Thanks again, Ann.)

Yeah. So I read the details, reread Ann's post, felt inspired and decided to do it (since when it came to the top ten I had nothin.')

One of the things the description said about this exercise is that "the prompts have a way of drawing out memories of the smells of attics and bottom-drawer keepsakes."

Well. . . I don't know about all that, but I do know that Ann (the stay-at-home-humorist's) super witty version did make me laugh . . . . .and want take a crack at it. . . .




So here we are. Today, I bring you my version of "Where I'm From." And yeah, yeah I know today is supposed to be the Top Ten. . . but a girl has to go with her inspiration!



Drum roll please. . . . . .

***

Where I'm From: A Throwback Love Story

What you know about Chinese jump rope?

What you know about ice cream man?

What you know about Radio Raheem?

Where am I from?


Man. . . I'm from street lights that come on at dusk and butt-whoopin's if you don't get in the house before they do; from Skippy peanut butter and Welch's grape; from fried baloney sandwiches, Ramen noodles, and "breakfast for dinner."

I'm from green stucco houses sandblasted with precision, from one tree per lot, and from shorts on Christmas. I'm from metal swingsets that squeak from the rust that rubs off on your hands and pants but that still work just fine, and from go ask your mama if she can "loan" me a cup of sugar and some buttermilk.

I'm from "hot peas and butter!". . . from double-dutch on the corner from sun up to sun down with the good phone cord, from Chinese jacks, Chinese jumprope, and Chinese chicken salad. I'm from cornrows by my homegirl Bernetta complete with beads and tin foil on the end that let you swing your hair back and forth; I'm from sizzling Blue Magic under pressing combs in the kitchen and "hold yo' head still 'fore I burn you!"

I'm from Tom and Jerry, Schoolhouse Rock, and "Michael Jackson is on Soul Train!" I'm from "Damn! Damn! Damn!" after Florida lost James, from "Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Willis?" and getting socked in the eye real hard by a boy in my second grade class for calling him "Kunta"-- as in "Kunta Kinte" from Roots.

What you know about "Damn, damn, damn?"

What you know about Kunta Kinte and Chicken George?

I'm from concrete everywhere but beaches and mountains close by; from running after ice cream trucks that drive way too fast for kids to be around and sitting on the curb eating Now'n'Laters, Jolly Ranchers, and big fat dill pickles.

I'm from Rapper's Delight, La-di-da-di, backwards rollerskating, mean German shepherds named "King," and neighborhood drill teams. I'm from fights on the last day of school, from pop-locking at recess, beatboxing and breakdancing on cardboard boxes and yawning at sightings of Bloods and Crips.

I'm from family meetings, color coded chore assignments, and "Wake your behind up 'cause this kitchen is a mess"; from a pack of beef jerky for good grades and "Don't tell Daddy we got our progress reports, okay? 'Cause you got good grades and I got just okay grades, but not okay conduct and I really don't want a whoopin'."

I'm from Mudear, Sugar, Bunny, Skeeter, Boot, Chief, Pipes, and Bodena; from first, second, third and play cousins and from cross country road trips to Alabama in the back of a wood-paneled Plymouth station wagon.

I'm from "What did I say?" and from "the look" that made you close your mouth; from little penguins sewn onto homemade shirts in places curiously similar to alligators.

What you know about a double belt?

I'm from the Church of "Do Your Damn Homework and Clean Up That Damn Room"; from the "Every Blue Moon" ministry and the Figure-It-Out-For-Yourself Faith, and from "So what if I learned The Lord's Prayer from Prince's song "Controversy"--at least I know it!"

I'm from "I expected more out of you", "I'm so proud of you," and "I never expected anything less of you." I'm from standing ovations, T-ball coaches, PTA presidents, and "No, I can't skip class with you guys 'cause my daddy on the School Board."

I'm from consistent and predictable, from steadfast and selfless, from airtight hugs and kisses on the lips. I'm from historically black college graduates that seem exactly like the Huxtables and first ones to go to college that seem nothing like the Huxtables. I'm from perfect imperfection and a drive to always shoot for the stars that always was driven home.

Who me?

I'm from love. Yeah, man. That's where I'm from.

********

What you know about tinfoil on the end of your braids?

Hmmm. . . . that was actually kind of fun. Kind of like attic smells and bottom-drawer keepsakes even.

So tell me. . . . where YOU from? And no, Mom (aka the-typo-and-grammar-po'-po')-- I didn't mean to say "Where're" or "Where are" you from--I mean to say exactly what I said. Which was:

WHERE YOU FROM?

I can already think of several people whose version of this I'd LOVE to hear. . . . what you got?

***

Now playing on my mental iPod. . . . . Digable Planets "Where I'm From"

This is Grady.

  *shared with their permission

Tell me you've seen anything cuter so I can tell you you're lying.

"Lawd I only know
What I know
The passing years will show
You kept my love so young
So new.

And time after time
You'll hear me say that I'm
So lucky
So lucky
to be loving you."

~ Dinah Washington's Time After Time

_______________________________________

Today at Grady, I saw this lovely couple who--just last Saturday--had celebrated their sixty-first wedding anniversary. . . .

Me:  "Sixty-one years! Wow! That's amazing."

Him:  "Shooooot. Who you tellin'? These days folks act like they can't even stand to be together for sixty-one minutes."

Her:  "Sixty-one SECONDS."

Laughter.

Me:  "Alright. I've only been married for seven years and sixty-one seconds. So tell me--what's the secret to staying married for sixty-one years?"

Both smile real sweet and turn their faces toward each other. Kind of like they needed to pow wow on an answer before giving one. Husband keeps looking at wife and smiles. She blushes a little bit.

Him:  "I guess you jest need to love each other."

Her (still looking at Him):  "And forgive each other."

Him:  "Loving each other IS forgiving each other."

Her:  Says nothing, but looks at him so lovingly that it explains exactly why they have been married for sixty-odd years. 

::sigh::

  

Loving each other is forgiving each other? Whew. That's a good word, man.

See? This is what goes down at Grady Hospital, man. This. More than the gunshots and the car wrecks they mention on the news. We do those well, yes. But love and wisdom and heart? Yeah man, just like traumas, we get that here, too.  Every single day.

This is Grady.

Nope,  it's not what we're famous for. . . .but it should be.

***

Happy Friday, y'all. (And happy belated anniversary, Mr. and Mrs. H.!) 

*** 

If you don't know anything about Dinah Washington, know this: 

Her voice is like butta, do you hear me? Butta. Please get to know her.

Ella and Billie? I love y'all. Lord knows I do. But that Dinah? Now that's my girl. She is THE TRUTH.

 Oh yeah. . . and if after this, if you have a minute? Read this post with a link to my favorite Dinah song EVER.

Belated Thursday Top Ten: Beauty Shop Shenanigans

You've heard me say on several occasions that I love getting my hair cut.  25% of that can be explained by my completely illogical belief that haircuts instantly shave five to ten pounds off of my body. I would give another 25% to simply liking how I look after having my hair professionally coiffed underscoring that old adage that says "when you look good you feel good." That leaves a whole 50% right?  Let me tell you--without question--that half of the reason why I love getting haircuts is simply being in the hair salon.

Now.

Since I have been on the topic of hair lately--black hair to be specific--I thought I'd devote this week's top ten to one of my favorite places:  The Beauty Shop.  While I am certain that many of the things that go down in predominantly African-american salons aren't terribly different than the things going on in other salons, the aforementioned is what I know, therefore is on what I can comment.

Oh, before I start.

Since we've been discussing a lot of cultural things lately, for those unfamiliar I will take this moment to explain a little bit  about black hair salon culture, which relates to black hair in general. First of all, I think most people know that such hair does not get washed or wet every single day.  And sure. I will go so far as to admit that I've had a teeny bit of envy at times for those women I knew in residency who used to show up with wet ringlets in the morning that would dry into springy curls by lunch time.  With the exception of naturally fine and curly hair (which some black people certainly do have) most don't have hair that is "wash and go." Which reminds me:  I once went to "SuperCuts" during my internship for a trim and nearly jumped out of the chair and tackled the woman when she started off by SPRAYING my hair with a bottle of water! I literally screamed,"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!"  I nearly scared her to death (but only because she nearly scared me to death first.)

Wait, where was I?

Oh yeah. Sistagirl hair salon culture.  So, here's the thing. A lot of black women go to the hair salon either once per week or once every other week depending upon how their hair is styled.  My stylist is probably the only person who has consistently seen me every one to two weeks for the last ten years without fail other than my husband.

with Sakinah, the best hair stylist evah!

Now, of course there are black women who have mastered their own hair such that these visits aren't necessary.  But I assure you that any sister you see wearing a short pixie is frequenting the salon on a regular basis. Oh yeah, and Beyonce has a weave. (Just thought I'd share that in case you thought that stick straight blond hair was growing from her scalp.)

Anyways.

So here's what happens: The beauty shop becomes a second home where everybody knows everybody. The conversation is rich and unfiltered. The laughter is hearty and genuine. And the gossip? Ridiculous. Everybody has an opinion about everything in there.  And me? Oh man, I just love it. Every second of it. The energy, the audacity, the everything.

And so. . . . without further ado. . . . I bring you the top ten conversations heard recently in the hair salon.

Note:  The people speaking could be some of anybody. Hair salon discussions are a free for all. Like Us Magazine on steroids. Usually these conversations involve at least two stylists, the women in their chairs, and whomever is in earshot, which could be anyone from the hair product delivery man to the shampoo girl.

Top Ten Things Heard in the Beauty Shop

***

#10 :  The Lo Down

Looking at People Magazine:

"J-Lo has some beautiful skin to be forty."

"Is she forty?"

"At least."

"Oh. Well, what you think about her being on the leg commercial?"

"She has knocked knees!"

"And her ankles are too skinny."

"I think her legs look good."

"I think she too damn old to be wearing them booty shorts."

"She's only forty!"

"Is she forty?"

"That's what it says here in People."

"Well, it needs to say that when you turn forty you need to stop wearing booty shorts."

***

#9 :  Keepin' it real.

"Hey everybody!"

"What are you having today?"

"Just a shampoo.  Whose chips are these? Can I have some?"

"Mine. You can have some--damn, girl!  Did you get a boob job?"

"Naw, girl!" (smacking on chips) "This is just a fancy bra with these water balloon push-ups."

***

#8  : A Royal Mess

"Who watched the Royal Wedding?"

"I saw it."

"Yeah, me too."

"Damn, y'all got up that early?"

"Naaah. TiVo."

"Kate looked real cute. She's a cute girl."

"She looked real cute."

"Yeah, but that Carmelo or Camilla or whoever the hell that chick is that married William's daddy looked a hot mess."

"Oh. She always looks a hot ass mess. She needs a makeover."

"Yeah. If I was Diana, I wouldn't've been worried 'bout her ass either."

***

#7 :  Is there a doctor in the house?

"Girl, somebody asked Bill Cosby what he thinks about Donald Trump and how he's been busting on Obama!"

"Awww damn! What did he say?"

"He said, 'I don't think nothing.'"

"Daaaaaamn!"

"Hey Kim. . . . what's up with Bill Cosby's eye?"

***

#6  :  Diet is "Die" with a "T."

"Hey y'all!"

"Hey girl!"

Sits down with a bag of food.

"Popeye's Chicken?  Girl, I thought you was on a diet!"

"I know. . . ." (laughing) ". . but Popeye was calling my name!"

"Well, I hope he calling you when you can't fit your clothes."

***

#5 : A Swift Kick

Looking at Us Magazine:

"What's all the hype over this Taylor Swift girl?  I don't get it."

"I like her music."

"But she does look kind of homely."

"You know she used to date that hot boy from the Vampire movies."

"Which one?"

"The one that everyone likes."

"Rob Pattinson?"

"Naawww. Not the one with the white powder on his face. The other one."

***

#4 :  Damn Yankees

"Is Derek Jeter black or white?"

"I think he's biracial."

"I thought he was Latino?"

"Naww. You thinking of Alex Rodriquez."

"Is that the same dude as A. Rod?"

"Yeah."

"You know he got that Kate Hudson girl pregnant."

"No, that ain't his baby. She's with another dude now."

"Another dude? Damn."

"Yep. Some other dude. But nobody real famous or nothin'."

"How you know?"

(Holds up Life and Style magazine.)

***

#3 : Star Power

"Did y'all see NeNe cuss Star Jones out on The Celebrity Apprentice the other day?"

"NeNe is always cursing somebody out."

"Is Star Jones a celebrity?"

"Well, LaToya Jackson was on there, too."

"Oh. Then I guess she is a celebrity."

***

#2:  Unbe-weave-able

"Gayle needs an intervention."

"Gayle who? Talkin' about Oprah's Gayle?"

"Ugggh. Yes."

"I like Gayle. What's wrong with Gayle?"

"I like her, too. But what the hell is going on with her hair? If my best friend was a billionaire, dammit, I'd have a better weave than that."

"I think that's a wig she wears."

"Okay. Then I'd have a better wig."

***

#1 : A Gay Old Time

Looking at People Magazine

"Ricky Martin is GAY?!"

"Where the hell have you been? That's old news."

"He's on the cover of this new People. I just read it here."

"Where in the hell did you find that magazine?"

"That ain't news. The minute he La Vida Loco'd across that stage on the Grammy's that year I knew he wasn't straight."

"What?"

"Those weren't a straight man's moves."

"Wow. Ricky Martin is GAY?"

"Hey,  what about Tyler Perry?"

"Huh?"

"Did he come out yet?"

"Ricky Martin is GAY? I just can't believe Ricky Martin is GAY."

"Dammit! Would you stop pulling magazines out of the recycle bin?"

"Doogie Howser came out, too."

"Doogie Howser?!"

"Yeah, like a thousand years ago. And why does he have to be Doogie Howser? He's a grown ass man on a hit show!"

"What show is that?"

"Somethin' 'bout your mama. Uuuhhh, something like that."

"You mean 'How I Met Your Mother.'"

"That's what I said."

"Hey, what about Ryan Seacrest?"

"Ricky Martin is GAY?"

 ***

Happy Belated Thursday.

Back in the day: I'm sure there was trashtalking even then.

Come to think of it. . .at times, this is sort of like my experience. A lot like this. Ha ha ha . . .



***
 Hey. . . .What goes down in your hair salon or barber shop?

Anniversary reflection: A shameless plug for marriage.

Team Manning est. 2004

 _______________________________________________

This time seven years ago, I was shaking a tailfeather at my wedding reception. The bar was open and so was my heart. I'd already said, "I sho' nuff do" to Harry and felt super beautiful in this sleek ivory wedding gown that I couldn't wait to put on. Fortunately, I'd said "yes to the dress" six months earlier after seeing my mama promptly burst into tears the second I emerged from the dressing room. Which reminds me. . .  am I the only one who feels kind of sorry for those girls on that TLC show whose mamas and sisters and homegirls just sit there staring at them when they are really looking for somebody's emotional response to serve as a "oh yeaaaah, girl! that's the one!" co-signature?  Hmmm.

Anyways. It's been nine years since we first met and seven years since Team Manning became legal and official, and you know what? It's been really good. No, more than really good. It's been great.

Okay.

Now I know that Beyonce told all the single ladies to put their hands up, but seriously? What about the married ladies? We can "Whoa-oh-oh" with the best of 'em.  What I'm saying is. .  . .man, marriage gets a bad rap. Everywhere you go, somebody is badmouthing it. Things like, "You won't ever be a part of one because you're thirty-whatever or divorced or in a socially sucky city or you're too picky or you're too successful or you're too tall or you're too short or you're overweight or . . . ."

Uggh, enough already!

If it isn't that, instead it's "if you do get married it won't last" or "I knew this one couple who seemed so happy but the spouse was a TOTAL scumbag" or "after all that, she left him for a younger guy" or "she never lost that baby weight and you know, it just was never the same." Oh yeah, and my favorite line people use to scare the crap out of the unmarried: "Marriage is so, so, so, so hard."


So, so, so, so? Four so's? Really? Damn.

Okay. Can I please give a plug for marriage?

First of all, like any worthwhile endeavor, it certainly takes some give and take. But so, so, so, so hard?  Call me naive, but I wouldn't describe it that way.  A person having a stroke and learning to walk and talk again is so, so, so, so hard.  Losing a parent and trying to move on with your life is so, so, so, so hard.  But marriage? Come on, man.  Let's call this thing exactly what it is.

Here's my take on marriage after being in the game for seven (I know, I know. . .short) years. (Of note, most of these things, I've learned from talking to the Grady elders--'cause let me tell you--the Grady elders? Oh they know about some marriage.)

What I know for sure about marriage. . . .

Marriage is for grown people. If you aren't mature enough to deny yourself and think of another person more than you and what you want/like/need, then for you, marriage might be kind of hard. So, so, so, so hard even.  Oh, and don't bother with kids if that's where you are. (I'm serious.)

Marriage is not a sport.  In other words, don't keep a scorecard.  I used to count how many times I woke up early on Saturdays with the boys versus Harry. After doing the math I'd promptly roll over and announce that it was "his turn" to get up with the kids since the score was unequally yoked.  But. Turns out that I am totally a morning person. So much so that I'd nudge Harry in the back to wake him up, and then come into the sunroom fifteen minutes later because I can't sleep past 8 a.m. no matter how hard I try. At this point, Harry would growl at me with bloodshot eyes as he cut up Eggo waffles for the kids and say:

"Why are we BOTH awake at 7 a.m.? Somebody needs to go to bed!"  

And I'd say, "But it's just the principle!"  And he'd just glare at me in that way people who love sleep glare at other people after they've been jolted from their slumber.  I had an ah hah moment when one of the Grady elders told me this one day:

"Jest know who you are and accept who he is. If he the cookin' type, let him cook. If you the wakin' up type, go on and get up.  Don't keep score. Tha's when folks get all bent out of shape. The only race y'all need to be havin' is seein' who can show the most concern for the other through yo' actions."

Real talk, man.

Now I get up with our kids on Saturdays because I would have been up anyway. And when I want to leave to go have lunch on a patio somewhere with my girlfriends later that day or piddle through Target and Loehmann's, Harry obliges since he is a "have the kids out in parks all day" kind of person.  See? It works.

So there. Regardless of what you hear, marriage can be pretty damn easy. I'm serious. (Yes. I know that for some, it isn't.) But for a lot of folks, it is. It really is. See? This is why I am giving marriage a plug.  There's too many folks out there hating on marriage, man. Marriage needs to be cut some slack. Oh, and that business about only twenty-six year-old people getting married? Ba-lo-ney.

So . . .all I'm sayin' is, if you are grown enough to be (mostly) unselfish, and you find another person who is too. . .why not give marriage a shot?  I'd highly recommend it.

Oh and all my married ladies?  Please. Put yo' hands up.  I need somebody to cosign with me on this. (And that means you, too, Mrs. Beyonce Z.)

***
Happy Anniversary, Mr. Manning. I hope we stay this way forever. 

(Now feel free to gag as I shamelessly share what is now playing on my mental iPod. . . .)

"Living with you in my life. . . .

. . .is like feeling the whole world's on my side. . . .

 . . .putting a smile in the place. . .

. . . .where a tear used to run down my face. . . .

 . . .feeling the sun on my head. . . .

 . . .where a cloud used to follow instead. . .

. . .singing a song in my heart. . . 

 in  a place where all my troubles depart.

If our dreams fall back on the ground

then we make 'em fly. . . 

 Let the rain keep falling on down

'cause baby I'm high. . .

Our dreams will fly 

now that we're together

Love is so high

Stay this way forever . . . . ."

~ The Brand New Heavies "Stay This Way"

***

What I've been hearing in my head all day. . . sigh. 
Absolutely love this song by the Brand New Heavies. It's like it was written for me to sing in the shower.

***

Hey, people. . . what's on your mental iPod these days?