The roadways are bombarded with so many signs that give warnings, provide directions and alert the possibility of two or four-legged beings nearby.
There’s a new sign I’ve passed recently that is refreshing and is mood enhancing.
I am not sure if these are only in my county or popping up nationwide.
I don’t know if it’s an attempt to ease road rage. Maybe it’s just a simple reminder to smile. I like that. C’mon Kirk Franklin, bring it home for me -> press play below.
Bushy brows are my thing. I remember in high school I would tug at them, pull them out and leave them on my friend Jason’s desk. That’s how I learned that sometimes they would get split ends. Brooke Shields made bushy brows very Vogue, but mine were just out of control; brows gone rogue! I went through years of being teased about my brows. Now looking back on it, anyone coming of age in the 80s probably has proof of crazy grooming choices that make them cringe. The sight of big hair and the lack of tweezing make flipping through old photo albums rather painful; yet a laugh riot.
The memory of my first eyebrow waxing is still fresh in my mind. Two decades later it’s still one of those necessities on my to-do-list unless I want to be a poster child for the next version of a Chia-Pet. For the past two years I had been getting great results from a salon where a couple of technicians knew exactly how I liked them shaped. My last visit there went a bit awry when a new gal was on duty. Even though I explained what I wanted I left with pencil thin brows and one was arched a bit higher than the other. 
I spent a week looking like I was doing an impersonation of The Rock. I had to wait several weeks to grow them out. So, yesterday I visited a new salon to test out a new architect to take me through the Mr. Miyagi motions of “Wax On, Wax Off.” And just like Daniel-san she found “balance” and I felt like I should have been yelling Banzai!
For us Americans, this is a common question to ask. In the States we don’t call it the toilet, the loo, the Comfort Room (CR) or the Water Closet (WC). The idea that the room where you go to relieve yourself is a place for rest is a bit odd and actually rather gross. I heard that the word “restroom” was born from the idea from when you’re traveling and you stop at a rest stop – it’s where you would stretch your legs, freshen up, as well as answer the call of nature. You would think what we call a bedroom, should be titled a restroom instead. That seems to make more sense. Then again, I am sure some people would argue the name “restroom” is very fitting for the following reasons:
This site has some cool designs, and I am sure I’d be able to find a way to get my rest and relaxation on in a number of them.
Now that I think of it, the fact that now-a-days so many people in single family homes and larger estates don’t really spend time in their living rooms – it’s now the place where furniture is on display and no one really sits in there and does a lot of living – that room should be renamed the showroom. Just a thought.
The beginning stages of the mural at the Meridian International Center seen from 16th Street, NW (between Crescent Place and Belmont Street) in Washington, D.C.
Will you? How do you want to be remembered? What will be your legacy?
I now realize when I started this blog a few months ago that I was projecting what I needed when I decided on its title: A Dose of R&R. Ultimately the “R&R” represents who I am and what makes me tick due to my paternal and maternal roots (Rodman and Reid), but of course R&R is commonly known as rest and relaxation. Like most of us who are overworked and should add Professional Juggler to our resumes, seeking out rest and relaxation is high on our wish list but ends up low on our to-do-list.
After yesterday’s adventure, I am dreaming of things that will rejuvenate me. I need more than Calgon to take me away. I scoured the web for images and will long to insert myself into one of these scenarios in the near future.
Being approached by a stranger who is convinced you are a famous person is an odd experience. Being told you resemble someone in the public eye can be flattering, or not, based on your opinion of that person. In my case I am not always given the name of the same person; the list of individuals run the spectrum. When you lineup all of my Doppelgangers none of them look like each other:
While living in New York there were multiple occasions where I had to prove to a couple of young ladies that I was not the singer Faith Evans. The funniest moment was when one girl was running towards me yelling “Faith! Faith!” I started looking around for Faith Hill or Faith Evans. Instead she comes right to me so excited to meet “me” and I hated disappointing her.
I remember the first time someone told me I looked like Angelina Jolie; I just left the movie theater after seeing Girl, Interrupted. A man who was also in the theater came up to me and said, “You look just like that girl Lisa in the movie.”
When I was in high school I went to North Carolina for a family funeral. I overheard my older cousin who I had not seen since I was a young girl ask my mom, “So when did Kelly start modeling?” She showed my mom a picture of model Gail O’Neill in a magazine and she was so sure it was me.
After a late night of dancing at a club back in the 90s, my friends and I were heading out and this drunken guy told me I looked like Sandra Bernhard. Can’t say I was completely overjoyed but in a twisted way I can see why he may have thought that.
I don’t think I look like her, but because of my bushy eyebrows one of my nicknames was Brooke.
I was traveling on business in Charlotte, NC and a colleague and I went into Subway for lunch. One of the “Sandwich Artists” said, “Excuse me, but has anyone ever told you that you look just like Mariah Carey?” That was a first for me, but my cousin gets that all the time.
My cousin (the Mariah Carey look-alike) once said I had Drew Barrymore mannerisms.
My baby cousin told me recently she thought I looked like Jill Scott.
A former colleague said she thought of me when she saw Jordin Sparks competing on American Idol.
When the Facebook trend of turning your profile picture into your Doppelganger was happening, a former colleague was surprised that I didn’t have Jennifer Garner on my list.
And this is me. I don’t think I look like any of them, but apparently to the outside world I have quite a few twins. How about you?
Upon opening my medicine cabinet the other morning the type from one of the labels on a bottle came clearly into focus for me. This bottle has been in the cabinet for months and not until this moment in time did the words come to my attention: Sanford, Florida. I thought how odd is that. I had never heard of Sanford, Florida until the Trayvon Martin case. All along I had a product in my possession from that very city.
I also never paid any attention to where the signs for the Neighborhood Watch were located near my residence. I walk my neighborhood a lot and these signs never came clearly into focus for me until now. Oddly enough I took this photo which is on the sidewalk directly next to the entrance into my housing community. All along the sign was there and I never noticed it. It also made me wonder who was on my neighborhood watch team and if they know what they are doing. 
It just shows that as soon as a topic or idea is in the forefront of your mind then all of the sudden you see things to support it constantly. For weeks after the Trayvon Martin case went national I became more aware of the throngs of people (of all nationalities) who wore hooded sweatshirts on a daily basis. I knew that fashion staple wasn’t anything new; it just stood out because I was doing my own personal surveillance of it.
Side Note: I never was a big fan of Skittles because the candy is tart and tart things make my eyes twitch. (Sad, but true.) Even though it’s never on my radar when I stroll down a candy aisle, I will never look at a bag of Skittles the same way again.
I took a walk down Alphabet Street and I was struck by what appeared.
A begins the alphabet
L falls in the middle
Z ends the alphabet
ALZ. Alzheimer’s. You’re born, you live and then you die. We all have a beginning, a middle and an end. Alzheimer’s is simply a horrible way to live out the last moments on this earth. My education about ALZ and dementia began in early 2004 when I saw the first signs in my mother’s personality change. Eight years later, she is living with severe dementia and needs assistance to do the basic everyday things we all take for granted: bathing, dressing, eating, grooming, etc…. During these eight years I have met well over a hundred people who have been afflicted with this unforgiving disease. Each and every one of them had a full life prior to their diagnosis. I’ve met a Senator, a Tuskegee Airman, a judge, educators, veterans, doctors, a jazz band drummer, and the list goes on and on. More importantly they all are/were someone’s loved one: mother, father, sister, brother, daughter, son, wife, husband, friend.
The mark you leave on the world, whether big or small is uniquely yours. I understand that living your life to its fullest is easier said than done when the day-to-day responsibilities take precedence. As a caregiver this is a daily struggle for me; it’s a struggle for millions. Writing this blog is an exercise for me to remind myself to revel in the now; to live life with purpose.
If you are reading this, join me in taking a moment to pause.
Stop.
Reflect on your life; your relationships with others. Think about what you’ve accomplished and what’s still on your to-do and wish lists. Think about having the ability to think clearly – to make judgment calls – to plan. Imagine those capabilities being erased because some neurons in your brain have other plans for you. It’s a scary thought, but it’s nice to have thoughts…isn’t it.
I never really understood that nickname for cleavage, but if I had a nickel for every nickname I’ve heard about my girls, Wilma and Betty, I’d have a couple extra Andrew Jackson’s in my wallet. Yes, I coined them Wilma and Betty. This happened at some point in high school, and I don’t remember why but the names have stayed with me ever since. I developed at a very early age. I was always the tallest girl in my class and I feel like I never budded – I just blossomed overnight. 
I don’t recall ever wearing a training bra – there was no training to be had. I do recall that time in the dressing room with my mom trying on bras for the first time and I was not a happy camper. I loved playing sports and I was crushed thinking I was going to have to wear this contraption to keep me from knocking everyone’s eye out, including my own. Undergarments in the late 70s and early 80s were nowhere near as advanced as they are today. There weren’t endless options of sports bras on the market until the 90s. Therefore, gym and game time was always an adventure. Some highlights:
My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer the summer I turned 24. Thankfully they caught it early and she didn’t need radiation or chemotherapy. She did however get a partial mastectomy, and chose not to have reconstructive breast surgery. It just wasn’t a popular procedure to do in the mid-90s, and at her age she didn’t feel it necessary to pursue. During this ordeal I became more reflective about my own breasts and what they meant to me, and unfortunately what they meant to other people. Knowing I had been identified as the girl with the large chest since the 5th grade I knew there had been a value put on my breast. Then here I am confronted with my mom who is now lopsided with one breast, which made me ponder what if I too one day was faced with the need to remove Wilma and/or Betty from their home. What kind of woman would I be without them? I believe that is the question all women with a breast cancer diagnosis ask themselves.
I understand being well endowed and built like Barbie has its advantages. People pay big bucks for enhancements. We are a culture obsessed with size:
I know I should embrace what has been given to me, but having to brace myself in order to move comfortably through my day can be exhausting. It’s funny how you cannot spell ‘embrace’ or ‘brace’ without b-r-a. It’s the bra that takes it to a whole new level. I learned at a recent fitting at the specialty store Intimacy more about bra structure especially for women of a heftier size. I told the bra specialist that I preferred a smooth silhouette and was not a fan of the lacey details showing through your clothing. I didn’t like the seam that goes across the nipple/areola that also shows through. She informed me that there is a purpose behind bra designs with seams. Basically she was telling me: get used to your new silhouette kid! These bras are cut and sewn, which provides a special structure for extra support. The seams of the bra allow for precise shaping of the bra and restrict the amount of the stretching the bra can do. While seamless bras may look better under certain clothing, bras with seams often last longer and sometimes offer better long-term support than seamless ones.
Almost 85% of women are wearing the wrong sized bra. If you are a female reading this post, chances are you are one of those women. If you are a male who read through this entire post, you are more than likely checking out a multitude of women wearing the wrong sized bra. Needless-to-say check out this guidance from bra specialist and Intimacy founder Susan Nethero. Apparently, we all can use the support.
