Attack of the Umbrellas

I'm walking. It's quite cold out, so I bundle up the best that I can - hat, coat, scarf wrapped around about ten times, and decent shoes. The wind is chilly and whispers to my bones that it will break me if it must. Oh, and it's raining. A freezing rain dropping from the heavens. It's not a light mist of rain, which I can handle (with an extra scarf) - it's a downpour of God's piss threatening to drench me regardless of what I'm wearing.

I must carry an umbrella.

Now, I don't have many umbrellas - a couple of "I can get the job done" umbrellas. Nothing spectacular (though I thought about getting one that looks like a samurai sword. Sweeeet.... *nerd out moment*). Just a plain, ol' umbrella.

I open it and walk a few steps. The wind feels me on the move and seems angry. *Swoosh* The pressure of the wind blows directly up into my umbrella (almost like it was coming from the ground somehow..) and I look up just in time to see the metal breaking under its strength. *Swoosh* It flies upward.

Sigh.

Not to be defeated, I grab the umbrella with one hand and force it back into place. I whisper, "Let's get the job done, friend... For the love of all that's holy and pure, DO YOUR FUCKING JOB, PLEASE."

I walk a block and feel another gust of wind. *Swoosh* This time, Umbrella and I were ready. En garde! I lower my umbrella directly against the wind and rain coming at me and it blows against the umbrella - the correct way! Yes!

I walk a few blocks more, feeling confident that I will possibly make it home. I stop at the stoplight and push the walk button and wait. This isn't so bad...

*Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh* The wind must have extra wind friends that we don't know about because it was relentless. Up goes the umbrella for the second time. By now, I'm already soaked, cold as ice cubes in an alley, and my umbrella is screaming, "PLEASE put my ass away!"

Will do. I fold up the umbrella and hold it under my arm. Still walking, I struggle against the rain and wind to strategically tie my scarf over my hat, while shielding my phone/earbuds and purse.

Dear Umbrella,

It is with my deepest regret to inform you that I have to let you go. I need to find some other way to protect myself against the elements and, quite frankly, you suck at your job.

Sincerely,
Sarah

Seeing (the board) is Believing (in yourself)

My father had a beautiful mind. He could work math problems in his head like it was nothing, play cards and usually tell you what you had in your hand (a gift from his dad) and he could play chess, a strategy gift that I recently discovered he passed on to me.

I have secretly had a mental love/hate relationship with the game of chess. When I was younger, maybe eight or nine, a kid that was over at our house beat me (with the help of an adult! Gangin’ up on me!) horribly in chess. I only knew how the pieces moved, and just barely. That game still haunts me. I vowed to never play that game again.

As the years went by though, I noticed that I had a higher level of respect for those that could play the game and play it well, my father, of course, being one of them (my brother also plays). I even dated a guy that liked to play. He played my dad a couple of times and I remember how impressed I was as I sat there and watched them, not fully understanding the thought process that went into the game. They stalemated their first game. (My memory is that of an elephant’s)

Anytime anyone asked if I played, I immediately got nervous and would mumble, “No... no. I wish I could, but I can’t.” (The difference between “Can’t” and “Won’t” coming soon!) Thinking about playing chess made me feel stupid - moronic, even. I assumed I could never and would never understand the game. The strategy was beyond me. *cue dramatic eye roll and dismissive hand gesture*

Several months ago, I learned of a co-worker at the Public Library that plays chess regularly and is, in fact, quite good - notably so. The stories that patrons and co-workers would weave about him were intriguing to me. Is he that good? He seemed nice enough, but many made it sound like he was a beast on the board and the thought of it made me want to duck my head and run for cover.

Eventually, I mentioned to a couple close co-workers/friends that I might want to learn to play. Slowly.... very slowly, I would learn. They would tell me, “Oh, ask N* to teach you! He would be the one!” Yeah. I knew they would say that. I cringed inwardly and secretly wondered if there was a lesser known player that would be willing to teach me. Or a book.

I found a book while working one day, called Portable Chess Coach by Judee Shipman (great find/read, btw, if anyone is interested!). The Chess Genius happened to be walking by when I found it and I blurted out, “Hey look what I found!” (while mentally running and hiding) He looked through it and, lo and behold, it was a good beginner’s guide! I told Chess Genius I might play him one day when I learned a bit more about the game. He seemed encouraging enough.

One day...

So, like, four months later (ha!) I had just barely cracked this book open (I still have it checked out - I need to just dish out the money to buy my own copy) and I get up the courage to 1. download the Chess With Friends application on my phone and 2. Initiate a chess duel with Chess Genius. NO, I was not drinking, thank you very much.

I lost that game. And about a couple dozen more games that very same week. But by game two I realized 1. I’m not that horrible at it and 2. Chess Genius really was genius - his teaching techniques are subtle, similar to my own when I teach dance.

Now, a little over a month after that first game, I have found a new love that is quickly rivaling my love for dance, shockingly enough! I always wanted to learn but wasn’t sure if I would catch on and the thought of actually playing terrified me, but how much can you really learn from a book? Again, similar to dance - you just have to TRY it. Get up and go. Go hard or go the hell home!

Chess is constantly compared to life. I have found that chess, like life, is revealing to yourself. I have made the same mistakes on the board as I have in life. We’ll always make mistakes in life and no one is perfect on the board, not even Chess Genius, who I have dubbed Cheebo, the Chess Deebo, his bully alter ego coming out of him as he schools relentlessly on the board.

It was never that I couldn’t play chess, it’s that I wouldn’t. I didn’t believe enough in myself, in my mental capabilities, to just try it. I don’t want to get out there and compete necessarily, I just want to play. I want to play because I enjoy it. Not to win (though yes, my first checkmate was thrilling!), but to gain more knowledge on myself. My vision is clearer. I see my path. I see the board.



To N (*name withheld), Chess Genius, Cheebo, BlakkDynamite, Chess Coach Extraordinaire (if you’re reading this) - A heartfelt thank you for being an amazing coach and putting up with my own mental frustrations with myself. You’re helping me to carry out and pass along what my father gave me, something that no one can take away from me - the ability to be a freethinker, a mental rebel.

“I play my enemies like a game of chess....” ~ Lauryn Hill




(This blog entry has not been fully edited. My apologies)

BFF

Some people probably wonder why Hip Hop means so much to me.

Well, I love the music, but it was through music (Hip Hop) that I met my best friend, Erica.

About 17 years ago, I tried out for the Sarah Scott Middle School dance team. Erica and I both made the team - so yes, this means I also owe a thanks to dance as well.

(Middle school - carefree days. I'm on the far right in a blue shirt that I don't remember owning..)

Erica said she eventually noted me as the "white girl that could move", so she asked if she could get together with me and work on one of our routines together. For some reason, I knew there was something else about her that I liked, but I couldn't put my finger on it...

We ran the dance several times, joking and laughing, while also trying to find things we had in common. We went to my room and she saw all of my cassette tapes and gasped.

"You have this?! I've been looking for this!"

(Exhibit A. "This")

And then she asked....

"Do you mind if I ... borrow it?"

Hmmm... Good question.

She reached in her pocket and said, "All I have... is this..."

Me: "Oh... my god. I'VE been looking for THAT!!!"

(Exhibit B. "That")

We stared at each other for what seemed like decades and finally she said, "This is my absolute favorite. But because I've been looking for Feel Me Flow for awhile, I'll.... trade you. For now!"

Trust, my friends. That's the rooting of friendship: Trust. We trusted each other with Naughty By Nature and Warren G. We shared a love. And we had what the other wanted. So a trust formed.

It lasted through high school -

...and continues to this day.

Which reminds me - I need to call her.

(Insert of joke only E would "get")

Confused much?

First post on social media site:

UGH! If you're ugly, you need to stop posting shit about finding a man. For real. No one wants your ass.

Second post on social media site:

Man, fuck that bitch! I will fuck her UP the next time I see her!

Third post on social media site:

Jesus is my Lord and Savior! I am blessed to be alive!

......

.......

.......

Me:

( o . O )

If any of this looks even remotely familiar to you, you might want to get your priorities straightened out. Or just curse me out. (I honestly don't care. ROFLMAO)

Your post to me on social media site:

This bitch thinks she knows me! She can take her nasty ass and her blog and go f*(K herself.

Me:

Then:

Haaaaaa! Oh and:

Thank you and... God Bless :)

Fallen Comrade

“Our fallen comrade” - That’s what the men from the Veterans of Foreign Wars had called my father. Those words rang in my head for days. Fallen: He was now gone from our lives, no longer joking with us or fighting battle after battle, whether it be in Vietnam or with lung cancer. Comrade: He was very much a part of a lot of people, not just the VFW. They knew him as a soldier, we knew him as our father; my mother - her husband. Her companion. Her comrade in matrimony.

I felt numb during the Mass; it had been years since my siblings and I had attended and now it was at our dad’s funeral. We sat there, uncomfortable, not sure what to do but just follow the motions and the chants as we would when we were children. We were numb until those words were spoken.

The Veterans went outside. We heard authoritative shouts and then

*BOOM*

the first shot of the 3-volley salute sounded and my heart jumped. Seven men shooting off rifles were honoring my father.

My nostrils burned from the lingering smell of incense. I sniffed. My pulse was quickening, anticipating the other loud assaults on my eardrums. Seven rifles going off at once echoed through the giant Catholic Church.

*BOOM*

I felt tears starting to sting my eyes. I glanced over and saw my brothers hugging their wives, my sister, the oldest, was already distraught from giving the eulogy. My brother served in the Navy along with his wife. They were both tearing up and I knew at that moment that we all understood what this meant - for us, as well as my father. The intensity of the past week was pulled out of us by the shots being fired. Everything had happened so quickly that, only now, were we forced to feel the affects.

*BOOM*

And it was over. The 3-volley salute, the Mass, and my father’s funeral. His urn looked at us from the front, surrounded by the red, white, and blue flowers, with the rainbow floral arrangement that my sister and I fell in love with hugging him.

But there was something else; something rather significant that the ceremony needed that we knew was coming.

The men marched back inside the church and walked up to the front, turning to my mother, and explained that “This flag is presented on behalf of a grateful nation and the United States Army as a token of appreciation for your loved one's honorable and faithful service.” He handed her a folded flag, as well as a small red bag. He leaned close to her and told her that inside the bag she’ll find the shell casings from the 3-volley salute. I could see the wheels in my Mom’s head spinning. She wasn’t listening. She was probably trying to figure out where she could safely keep and show off the folded token of appreciation in her home.

These men, taking time out of their day to honor my father, someone they didn’t know but had a connection to through a brotherhood of sorts - the United States Army - reminded me that having strong bonds with people in your life is important. So very, very important. My dad had that bond with people, sometimes strangers. He’d joke and laugh with anyone. The times when I miss him the most is when I hear a joke that I think he’d find funny. His sense of humor was always his strong point.

I have changed drastically with my “Mentality on Friendship” since his death. My heart is wide open. If you want to be a part of my life, wonderful. Friendship is a beautiful thing. Life really is too short to take anything for granted. When I see someone mourning a loss, my main thought is that I hope they had the chance to tell that person how much they meant to them. My father and I became a lot closer in his last few years. I sometimes doubt my direction in life but I secretly know that, at the end of the day, Dad was proud of me.

If you are reading this, know that I love and respect you. You are obviously a part of my life somehow and, even if we’ve never met, you are reading a piece of me and I appreciate it. More than you know.

Life is beautiful, comrades.

Out to get me.

There is a stool at a coffee shop downtown that hates me. I always miscalculate just how much room there is to sit down. I'll usually sit there when I'm waiting for an order.

The first time startled the hell out of me so much that I swore everyone was staring at me.

There are two stools at a table - rectangular seats. A slight dip in them for your tush. (Remind me to never type that word again, let alone say it.) They look easy to sit in. Almost comfortable. Those are stools I would like in my house, I thought.

I go to sit down and --

*Note to readers: In my defense, the table was wobbly as hell. So much that I even looked down to make sure a leg wasn't missing.

-- I do the sit and slide, where you sit down on the edge and push yourself back. Yeah. What *looks* like a good amount of room to do the "sit and slide", is only about 8 inches of wood (..........smh...) and before I know it, I'm halfway off the stool, and about to slide backwards off of the damn thing.

Are you serious??

I try to look as casual as possible. Maybe I meant to slide back that far. I do a quick stretch and look around -- no one is staring that I know of. Thank goodness. How embarrassing.

I hate that stool.

But it's so inviting.

I sat in it again today.

Almost fell.

Again.

I promise I will master the skill of sitting on these stools before Summer --NO, Autumn. Before Autumn.

Congratulations...

...I'm a follower. Lame. -__-

Actually, I'm not ashamed. This is my first post in awhile. F that noise! I follow people.

...not creepy-follow. But I follow cool people. Yup. :)

....

....


..No. Still lame.