Hugs Unlimited!

I had just stepped out of the shower, basking in the serenity of the soft music flowing through the air and the relaxing aroma from the candles strategically placed around my bathroom, when my Lil African walked in to say good night.  Without stopping to think, I draped my robe around me and bid my baby a good night, giving her the usual hug and planted a soft kiss squarely on her forehead.  She smiled contentedly, eyes closed. 

I turned to resume my leisurely moment just as she reached for my arm and said, "Mom, hug me again.  Please.  You feel so warm."

For what seemed like an eternity, I stood there and hugged my little girl tightly.  Now, this may seem like a simple mother-daughter hug but last night, it felt different.  I was fully present as I held my baby, letting the warmth between us convey how much I love her and celebrate the gift she is to me. 

We weren’t rushed by the urgency of a clock warning us of an impending deadline or the phone waiting to resume its function of transmitting voices through fiber-optic lines.  No, this was a special moment where a teenager – my teenager - who still needs her mommy's hug was honest enough to ask for and indulge in it.

I am a hugger!  I love to feel the warmth of my loved ones when we share a hug.  Hugs are a powerful way for us to relay messages that could be as personal and simple, as they could be loaded with unspoken, heartfelt messages.

A quick hug can let a stranger or a friend know I am happy to see them for the first time or reconnect after a break.  Sometimes, a firm hug that lingers may say “I really am happy to see you”; “Thank You”; “I appreciate you”; “I really don't want to leave”; “I miss you already.”

A simple "stolen" hug from the back could be a message of "I'll thank you later" or, well, a lot more.  A close, tight hug can say “I love you”; “I've missed you” or “I just want to feel you close to me”.  A light, yet tender hug could say “I've been looking forward to this quiet, tender moment with you, my love”.

The hug I shared with my baby last night transferred the warmth and love directly from a mother's heart to that of her little girl.  I felt like I had my little girl firmly within my grasp.  I felt her rhythmic breath silently saying “I love you, Mommy”.  The tight, lingering embrace carved a message of “Mom, please protect me and continue to hold me close to your heart”.  Her head on my chest and the look of contentment on her face told me that her ears heard my heart beat a message that she was safe with me and that she will always hold that special place.  For that forever moment, no one and nothing else existed in a world normally charged with unlimited activity.

Last night, I stopped for as long as necessary to use a powerful gift I have to send a message in a way that words could not express.  For that moment, time stopped as we reached deep within to convey an important message in a universal language.  That moment was just one in an infinite series waiting to be created over and over, with special people who can fully understand the unspoken language of hugs.

Here's the best part of it all:  there is no translation needed, no knowledge of morse codes, no currency necessary to barter, no prescription to be filled.  It is free of charge, available worldwide and it is not an endangered species.

So, if you've ever held back on dishing out hugs to those deserving, I hope I've reassured you that the supply is endless and the language universal.  You can thank me later...with a hug.

Not to worry, no prescription needed.

~~Vic~~

A Pinch of Salt and a Healthy Dash of Love

A simple text message that includes my baby’s request for dinner always warms my heart.  One of my absolute favorite things to do is cook!   I get such a kick out of being in my kitchen so much so that when I bought each of my homes, the first place I wanted to see was the kitchen.   It gives me so much joy to see my loved ones enjoying a meal I’ve prepared.  While some would look forward to getting home to kick their feet up at the end of a busy day, I bolt home to create magic in my kitchen. 

My special love affair with arranging ingredients together to create culinary masterpieces, started before I was even 10 years old.  Mum would have me by her side, adding different ingredients to the pot as she cooked.   This is one of the best gifts she has given me, bar none.  I paid close attention to the order in which everything was added and as any adventurous child would do, I wondered what would happen if I changed that order.   I longed for the day when I could figure that out.  Mum consistently did it all with such precision and tenderness, and I took special care to emulate that.   This was the highlight for me. 

As the youngest in the family, I had already seen my brother and sisters do their stint in the kitchen.  There were no canned goods or blenders, no measuring cups or scales, no gloves or easy buttons to simplify the process.  No, we did it all in the back yard, with tools that made you work every muscle in your body.  “Matta Odo en Matta Pensil” (mortar and pestle), “peppeh stone” (a large flat granite rock and a smaller one used to grind food to a pulp, by hand), fire stone (a three-stone outdoor fireplace, where you set a fire with freshly cut wood).    

Talk about cooking from scratch, this was it.  You went to the market to buy fresh ingredients daily and process them for your daily meals, by hand.  We had everything we needed, even that ‘thing” that made Mum know exactly how much of everything should use.  Her investment secured a place for all of her children among the league of great cooks.  Of course, I’m that confident!  Ask those who we’ve fed on a regular day or those special holidays where there is food beyond what a single table can cradle.

Once the creative fireside sessions were complete, the phase that posed a challenge for my young mind started.  Especially on holidays like Christmas and Easter, Mum would line up her fine dishes and baskets where she would lovingly heap scoop after scoop of food to be delivered to family, neighbors and friends.   My eyes would dejectedly follow each bowl out of the kitchen, on their journey to warm up someone else’s heart and belly.  I would frequently peek into the pot to monitor what was left for me.  Oh, and for the rest of my family too.  “Does she not realize that we have to eat too?  Why does she always do this?”

One day, when I could no longer bear the torment, I ventured to finally satisfy my burning curiosity.   “Mum, why do you always send the best portion of the food out to all of these people when you haven’t dished ours out yet?”   Mum didn’t skip a beat.  She knew my eyes were larger than my little stomach and she was sure her days of forcing me to sit still and finish the limited portion of food on my plate were still not behind me.  In the way only Mum would impart a lesson that carries you through life, she handed me another gem.  “When you give a gift to someone, you don’t save the best for yourself and give them what’s left over.  Always make sure you give from the heart and do it in a way that ensures you have enough left for yourself.”  At that point, all my young mind wanted to entertain was the assurance that there will be enough food left for me to enjoy.  That fireside lesson, however, makes so much more sense now and still guides me each time I serve food.

My love for cooking was such a big part of who I was as I grew up.  Imagine the disappointment I felt when, as a teenager, Mum objected to my desire to pursue a career in foods and nutrition.  But this was what I loved! 

“Why would you want to go to school to learn something you already do well?” 

They say mothers know best so despite my opposition to her logic, I defaulted to other things I enjoyed doing, but never shied away from my love for cooking.  What Mum knew then that I hadn’t even entertained, was that there was a fine line between a hobby and a chore. 

You see, I’ve never looked at cooking as something I “had” to do; as a chore.  I despise chores and could never associate cooking with doing chores.  Cooking was a favorite pastime that I enjoyed.   It compares to that natural high others get from shopping but for me, cooking trumps that any day.  Well, not unless we’re shopping for shoes.  As long as I did it because I wanted to, I would enjoy it.  The moment cooking became a job I had to do or a chore that was required, it would lose its excitement.  Mum knew her youngest child well enough to protect that special connection I had developed with cooking.

What is it about cooking, you ask?  Hmmm, all of it, I would say!  It is the thrill of creating something special each time I enter a kitchen.  It is that innate desire to make a wish come true when I ask my loved ones “what would you like to eat?”  I could very easily go into the kitchen and prepare what I want or think they should have, but there is something special about creating a meal that I know someone desires; their favorite dish; a dish they haven’t had in a while; something they’ve been craving; that special thing they may only be able to get from my kitchen.   It is the joy of effortlessly putting together a series of ingredients to unveil love on a plate, even if one of those ingredients is shellfish that I am both allergic to and have no desire for.  It is honoring a gift God has entrusted to me.

On a typical Saturday afternoon, my curtains would be drawn to let in the beautiful natural light; my front door and the door to the back patio would be open to let in soothing breeze; smooth reggae music would be blaring from the Music Choice channel on my TV, or the collection of my favorite reggae and African tunes; the air would be saturated with the sweet, inviting aroma of food wafting from my kitchen; and if you dare to peek in, you will find a thoroughly engaged me, wrapped in my “lappa” (wrap) and comfortable tank top, singing and swaying contentedly as I systematically add a pinch of salt, a sprinkle of herbs and a healthy dose of love to the dishes under creation.

So often, I get requests for my recipes.  Whether it is for rice sticks, salmon stew, curry shrimp, or jerk turkey, my response is always the same:  I don’t share my recipes but I will be happy to cook for you.  For the few people who I have ever shared a recipe or two with, I have heard the same thing: theirs doesn’t taste like mine.  But of course, all of my dishes include more than the listed ingredients.  How can anyone else add love like mine to a recipe?

No, I don’t eat much at all, to the chagrin of my loved ones.  My satisfaction that comes from serving my loves, my family and my friends from my kitchen feeds my body, fills my heart and nourishes my soul beyond description.  So, when you sink your teeth into the next bite of one of Vic’s creations, close your eyes and let your heart be flooded with the healthy dash of love in each spoonful. 

Indulge!  There’s plenty more where that came from.  Dinner is served!

~~Vic~~

Living with Clear Intention

“What is the quality of your intent?”  ~~ Thurgood Marshall

I remember sitting at the counter of the Information Center at Temple University when I first heard the quote by US Supreme Court Justice, Thurgood Marshall. “What is the quality of your intent?”  WHOA! That was one of the many thought-provoking moments I experienced in that building on Cecil B. Moore Avenue and Broad Street. 

Back then, I was a work-study student who was learning how to use Word Perfect to type my assignments and belt out my poems, short stories and unending letters to the friends I left back home. For those of you who don’t know, Word Perfect was the Microsoft Word of my college years, minus a toolbar that now provides a shortcut to perform the formatting you need.  How things have changed!

“The quality of your intent!” This is still one of my favorites and the one that reminds me to live my life with clear intention.  It sounds a lot like my mom telling me “whenever you say or do something, even if no one is around, act like the whole world is watching you do it with your head held high."  That quote has stuck with me over the years.  It resonates with the message of integrity and my favorite of Don Miguel Ruiz’s Four Agreements, “Be impeccable with your word.”

I don’t make many decisions lightly, especially when they impact my Lil African.  Everything does!   So when I make a decision, I try to think of how it would impact me and the people involved.  Hard as it may be sometimes, I have to face up to the real intent behind my intent.   What’s my motivation? What’s the real reason why?  What’s the reason behind my decision, the quality of the intent?

My life has been pretty busy over the years taking care of my baby and my home; being committed to my family;  handling the responsibilities of a demanding career; active involvement in my sorority and my community; and now, being committed to the man in my life.  

Last November, I was speaking with the person who has been my sounding board.  He was my rock at my weakest moment and had come down to love on me and hold me up when I wasn’t able to stand on my own.  For over a week, he watched everyone who came around and joined him in taking care of my family as we mourned.  So, after all of the services were over and I told him that I was making some changes in who and what I focused my time and energies on, he was already steps ahead of me.

You see, I had always believed that the people and things that you spend the bulk of your time on are the ones that will likely sustain you in your hour of need.  My brother’s death proved me wrong. 

I had run myself ragged - intentionally - helping this person, volunteering for that thing, serving on this or that committee, advising for this or that group, and oh, leaving just enough to feed the needs of my loved ones.   What was the quality of my intent in doing all of these things?  Satisfy my passion to serve; to help others.  I wanted to pay forward the assistance I had been afforded.  I wanted to be a good friend, to invest in relationships that inspire and motivate me. The quality of my intent was to enhance and enrich the life of my baby girl, my family, my love, and my friends; make the heart of my loved ones smile in the manner in which they make my heart sing.  My intent was to be a willing participant who works to secure the legacy of institutions that have aided my growth; to be a servant-leader.  I ran myself ragged to serve others as payment for my rent for living.

I made a decision to reduce some of my commitments recently, when it became apparent that my involvement with the people and things related to those commitments was in contrast with my intent to be faithful to those I love.  The quality of my intent to serve others had inadvertently put my loved ones at a disadvantage for my time.  The reason why T was steps ahead of me in my declaration to make some changes is because he noticed the same things I did.  The people and things that had taken the bulk of my time; the faces that went with the names he had heard the most; the people he had watched me run to in their time of need, were conspicuously absent amidst the family and friends who were present in mine.  He, too, wondered!

Now what?  Well, I have had a mirror-revealing examination of myself and realized that the quality of my intent has been to give genuinely without much expectation for personal gain.  Personal gain included benefits to my loved ones.

Moving forward, I am approaching life with a focus on myself.  The quality of my intent now is to make sure I limit the circle of my personal investments and focus on the people and things that would not only benefit from my passion to give and serve, but that will also fulfill my personal desire to live a full life with the ones I love.  I will no longer leave my baby with alternate activities while I train and serve others whose agenda do not include her.  My family will not have to compete for my presence because someone else needs me.  The man who stands by my side will not have to revive me with a trip to the spa because he was concerned that I spent long nights to fulfill my commitment to serve.  Most importantly, I will not send a subliminal message to my precious Lil African that this is the way things are supposed to be.

I am very clear on what my AHA experience produced.  This shift will not interfere with me being the caring, giving person I am, because it is in my nature.  The difference, however, is that the gifts of my time and my heart will now flow in a different direction.  It is important for me to be impeccable with my word to myself and others, and I expect the same in return.  For each meeting or event I attend; each commitment I make; for each phone call, text message, inbox message I send or respond to, I have to be sure it will best serve those on the other end in a way that will enrich my life and the lives of those closest to my heart. 

I embrace the charge to live my life with careful thought to the quality of my intent.  Mom’s wise words will continue to guide my steps so that with everything I say or do, even if no one is around, I’ll act as though the whole world is watching me do it with my head held high.

Lesson learned!

~~Vic~~

The Moment My Life Changed (Pre-Blog Piece)

"We need never be ashamed of our tears."  ~~ Charles Dickens

Dr. M. Douglas Carew

At 7:55 PM on Friday, November 9, 2012, my world came to a screeching halt with a single phone call.  My niece announced very calmly, as my nephew listened on, that my only brother fell asleep and never woke up.

Having to tell my parents and hold Mum in my arms as she let out a gut-wrenching scream was more than I was prepared for, and was the hardest things I've ever had to do in my life.  We are still grappling with how a healthy man would fall asleep and not wake up! 
   
To say we were heart-broken or devastated is a severe understatement.  We have experienced multiple losses in the last few years but this one cut so very deeply.  For a while, It was with God's grace that we were able to feel the sun's heat even though we could not fully enjoy the beauty or smell the fragrance of the beautiful roses that were being sent in his honor.

Mo was well accomplished in his personal and professional life, leading his beautiful family as impeccably as he led Africa International University where he served as Vice Chancellor/President.  He was the most modest, soft-spoken, selfless, unassuming, and honorable person I know.  This man is the closest to a perfect being I have ever known!  Those of you closest to me know I always say that my brother is the one person I would fully vouch for with my life.  He epitomized the ideals of the men my sisters and I prayed that God would bless us with.

Mom and Dad are dealing with it all breath by breath, as we all are.  The triple portion of  prayers especially for my mom and my sister-in-law are helping bit by bit.  The many well wishes expressed through many media including our memorial site www.douglascarew.com, have been remarkably helpful.  My only wish, other than being told that the nightmare was a mistake, has been to be able to offer some meaningful consolation to my mom.  I am still working on it.

One evening last December, I was awakened by my ringing cell phone in the midst of a beautiful dream about my brother; the only dream I have had of him since he left us.  This dream was light but it didn't follow any particular storyline.  What was clear, however, is that Mo's spirit was very much alive in that dream.  On the eve of the 40th day following his death, I was heartened by that because it was almost as if he reassuring me that all is well.

Two months after we lost Mo, the dry bones in our valley are being revived.  I still wake up to a beautiful picture of my brother, carefully poised atop the jewelery ammoire in my bedroom.  These days, however.  I greet that image with a smile and a grateful heart that recognizes the gift I never fully grasped.  This image is now part of my new "normal".

On the 40th day after Mo's death, we shed the grey clothing that represented the outward display of our 40-day period of mourning.  The amazing show of love and support from friends and family worldwide continues to sustain us.  When we didn't have the strength to stand on our own, they held us up.  When our tears flowed non-stop, they dried them.  When our bodies quivered with the pain of our loss, they embraced us.  Even when we couldn't eat, they still made sure we had food available. 

Even today, we carry each of these people in our hearts and will always remember that they proved to be a friend in our time of need.  As we move forward to month two, Years 1, 5, 10 and beyond, we are still learning how to navigate between a healthy form of mourning, remembrance and celebration, and pick ourselves up to live a full life, sans one of the integral members of our family.   We may flow clumsily between heartfelt laughter and unstoppable tears, but we will press on.  Our smiles are becoming less fleeting, much warmer.  Our voices are getting less shaky, a little stronger.  The sun appears a bit brighter everyday and we are starting to feel Mo's warmth and see his smile in the beautiful rays.  It is a work in progress so please bear with us.

God has carefully planted so many messages in lots of places for me.  I would like to share with you, two of these messages that were sprinkled all over the place for me, just before our first Christmas without Mo.  First, is a timely word of inspiration shared by Iyanla Vanzant:  "Life continues after death as long as you remember the warmth of another's smile, the gentleness of their touch, the meaning they brought to your life. In your remembrance of another, death cannot overtake life."  This was a powerful message that I absolutely needed at the exact moment I received it.  Mo is so alive in my thoughts; in my mind's eye; in our many pictures of him; in the videos of him; in the warm messages we continue to receive; in my beautiful niece and two amazing nephews who mirror their dad in words and deeds.

I want to share Mo's very favorite piece, the Hallelujah Chorus.  This is the second of the messages I'd like to share.  I saw this video as I sat quietly thinking of Mo one evening.  As I watched it, all I could think of was his soft, appreciative smile and just imagined him watching this video.  This anthem was one of the final pieces played in celebration of his life at one of his memorial services.  Please take a moment to watch it and feel the warmth of Mo's smile.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SXh7JR9oKVE&feature=share

Two months into our new reality, I thank those who stood with us most sincerely, for helping us to make each day a little easier to reach deep within, and breathe.

~~Vic~~

Her Mother's Child

If I didn't know better, I would say my mother cast a spell on me.  You know, one of those, you-will-be-a-mother-one-day-too spells.  I do know better, however.  My 14 year old has finally compelled me to call my mom and apologize for being a child who was always so, let's say, quick to speak.

I vividly remember the day when Mum gave me the mother of all back-handed slaps that stings to this day.  If I could launch a protest, I believe I would win hands down. 

Mum had always taught us to persevere in everything we do.  She consistently told us we were good enough, insisting that when one door closes, we should find another door, window, crack or crevice to access what we wanted.  In Sierra Leone, there wasn't a cold spell to force us indoors but we still rocked to the rhythm of Bob Marley's "Coming in from the Cold", singing "When one door is closed, don't you know, other is open".  We were proud of the lesson to work hard and thankful for a mother who told us to never take no for an answer.  "When someone tells you NO, keep going till someone else says YES!"  There was no footnote to that so my ten year old mind embraced this lesson literally.

You've probably already guessed why my face still stings many years later.  I cannot remember what exact treat I'd wanted so desperately that I was willing to put Mum's lesson to a test.  I'd asked her for permission to get a snack and she'd said no.  Not to worry, I had to persevere.  So, I asked Dad and as usual, whatever we asked Dad for, we got with the usual, "nor tell you mammi natin oh" (don't tell your mother anything).  I was floating through the house defiantly, enjoying my treat, when Mum asked me why I had the snack even though she told me not to get it.  Smart little Vic proudly said, "Dad said I could have it."  You can imagine how the conversation went:

Mum: I already told you no, why did you ask your father? 
Me:  Mum, you told me to never take no for an answer and when someone tells you no, you should keep going till someone else says yes. 

Imagine that!  I was determined to show her that I listened to her lessons.  Mum never told me that there was an exception to this rule.  Let's just say I am thankful that I lived to tell this story.

Fast forward to 2013.  That sassy little girl is now a mother; a mother of a teenager who fails to realize her mother was once a teenager; my Lil African who knows so much.  I taught my daughter at a very tender age that she could say anything that was on her mind, to anyone, as long as she did it in a respectful manner.  Over the years, I have been reminded over and again, that she listened.

I changed her cell phone number recently and she was busy texting her friends to pass on the new number when I reminded her to send the number to her aunts, uncles and cousins.  I was behind the eight-ball.  She had already done that.

"Mom, why do I have to keep these other numbers in my phone?"  I gave her a puzzled look that said I wasn't a mind reader and she went on to tell me she was referring to my friends, "aunts and uncles" who never contacted her.   "Baby, they ask about you whenever I talk to them.  You should reach out to them sometime."  That's when my baby decided to remind me she had been attentive to multiple lessons from me. 

"Mom, I don't mean to be rude but they can call me sometime too.  The phone works both ways." 

"Little girl," I said, "you are the child so you have to be humble and initiate the contact sometime."   

"Mom, you always tell me that just because I am a child doesn't mean adults shouldn't respect me.  If they at least call or text me sometimes, I would call them too." 

At that moment, I had flashbacks of how my mom would have responded, but I quickly composed myself.  She was right and she had shared her opinion in a respectful manner.  

This Lil African routinely asks me about people who have been introduced to her through my network.  In instances where she hadn't heard from or about someone in a while, her question would always begin with "whatever happened to...?"  We would wonder together.  In other cases where she feels connected, she would ask if I have talked to those people recently.  In those cases, I would almost always respond with a "Yes".  These are primarily the people who make it a point of reaching out to her on her birthday, just-because-I'm-thinking-of-you days, I-haven't-heard-from-you days, I-miss-you days, I'm-returning-your-call days, and thank-you-for-your-beautiful-message days. 

Mine is a very thoughtful child who always finds ways to wow others.  Her comments made me realize that she was aware of those who expressed concern by trying to stay connected to her and responded to her attempts to reach out.  And she reamembers promises made and not kept.  This child sends out some of the most thoughtful messages on Mothers Day, Fathers Day, and especially at midnight on New Year's Eve.  I learned that some of the recipients of the messages take the time to acknowledge her and others don't.  While all of these thoughts were racing through my mind, my child added, "Remember, Mom, you've taught me that no one has the right to treat me as if I don't matter."  Well look at this!  My child has been listening and she is growing up, sharing my own lessons with me.  I clearly understand her sentiments and respect her right to express them in a respectful manner. 

If you did not get that annual New Year's Eve text message this year, or if you've never gotten one of those awe-inspiring messages from her, this may be an opportunity to reach out to a child in your life who you haven't made the time to connect with.  Remember, the phone works both ways.  Lesson learned and shared...respectfully!

~~Vic~~

Beyond Pomp and Circumstance

There is an inescapable buzz as we inaugurate President Barack Hussein Obama for a second term in office, on the day that America commemorates Martin Luther King, Jr. Day.  Whether we voted for him or not, are happy about his inauguration or not, we have repeatedly viewed the image of a confident President taking his oath of office next to his beaming First Lady.

At first glance, one may view the image as part of the pomp and circumstance of a tradition that has been repeated 56 times in America’s history.   Look closer and you will notice an assortment of glares, stares, frowns and smiles, scattered behind the president.  Most people however, chose to focus on the two primary people in the picture.  This picture says so much.

At a time when so many people are cynical or apathetic about successful and fulfilling relationships, I couldn't help but read through  much of what this image says.  The look on Mrs. Obama's face and the President's relaxed posture speak volumes!  Even as they stand amidst friends and foes alike, nothing else matters.  Here's a woman who is confident in displaying her love, adoration, admiration, respect, commitment, pride, and so much more for her man.  President Obama's stance shows a man who rests comfortably in that space.  I love it!  A man who is secure enough to create that safe space for his lady, thereby himself,  has my vote of confidence to lead his people. 

For me, this image reiterates the importance of connecting with a life-partner who is bold enough to stand proudly in partnership with you to do the work required to build a love that lasts; a love that says you're in it as a team; a love that says no one or nothing can interrupt the dynamics of your partnership; a love that says you are as formidable a team in public as you are in private; a love that honors God's directives to both man and wife alike. 

You see, the President was standing in the midst of friends and foes, some of whom fought tirelessly to avert this moment.  So what?  He was standing in front of hundreds of thousands of people, most of whom worked bravely to secure this moment.  So what?  He was standing in front of countless cameras beaming the image from this particular moment in history, to points all over the world.  So what?   There was no question in his mind that he had nothing to fear.   What with the President's hand resting atop TWO Bibles securely balanced by his bride.   Significant, because one belonged to Dr. King. Yes!  Significant because the other was a gift to Mrs. Obama's mother, from her father.  Yes!  Significant because the Bibles came from two men who built life-partnerships that laid the foundation for this moment in history.  Absolutely!  And, these Bibles still stand as a symbol of the foundation upon which both men built their families.  My God! 

Unlike the President who was operating on a world stage, so many of us have to do our jobs and live our lives in ways that could be easily juxtaposed.  Whether the boss or the employee, we work in situations that run from ideal to downright gruesome.  As in the case of the President, Imagine what the unwavering support of a spouse or significant other could do for someone who has to go to work every day, knowing they could not fail.

Yes, I'm proud of my President for blazing trails in politics and giving us a reason to be jubilant on this MLK Day.  Even more, I am so proud of him and his First Lady for showing us all that we can cast egos aside to embrace and nurture a sacred space where we can create a life that rises beyond pomp and circumstance on any level. 

Today, President Obama said: "You and I, as citizens, have the obligation to shape the debates of our time - not only with the votes we cast, but with the voices we lift in defense of our most ancient values and enduring ideals."  We would be remiss if were to simply limit these words as having political significance and ignore one of the best gifts of his presidency: a clear demonstration that in spite of all of the skepticism about love and family, despite the excuses of unending temptations and aggressive suitors lurking in the wings, we could not fail if we are intentional in choosing our partners and focus on building lasting life-partnerships that are steeped in the ancient values and enduring ideals of marriage and family. 

If we all aspire to building these partnerships with like-minded people, there is nothing our teams could not conquer.   Their team is formidable not because they are the First Couple.  It is formidable because they both honored their decision  to work together towards a common goal of building a solid relationship that withstands the winds of change.  In the President’s words, “Our journey is not complete”!   To some, that may mean a journey to build America, dollar by dollar.  I encourage you to join me in expanding that journey to one that builds America and our world, one committed partnership at a time.  After all, who would not want to laud the integrity of a man, or woman, who shows such unwavering commitment?  

Our journey is not complete! There are life-partnerships to build and nurture. Get to work!

~~Vic~~

Phoenix Rising!

"Ashes to Ashes; Dust to Dust."  These words are etched in my memory, always close to the surface when I attend a funeral.  You see, I grew up hearing them uttered at one funeral after another.   Now, no funeral seems complete if I don't hear them.

Today, however, I made a conscious choice to look at ashes differently.  I awoke to news that the hallowed ground of my family, a place that signified so much for us, burned to the ground overnight.  My initial reaction was one of shock and devastation!  14 Jenkins Street was the place where my grandfather and his siblings built the Carew Family legacy.  This was the compound that housed the two homes where their children, including my dad, were raised.  "Jenkins Street" was the nook where all of us, the grandchildren, converged with our parents after church each Sunday.  We knew Jenkins Street was home to Grandma Georgie and Uncle Bazzey, and then to Aunty Hannah, Uncle Willie and Aunty Mala, but for the entire Carew Family, this was our home.  Our friends, too, called this place "home".  It was there that I learned to play "First for see dem bod poll lite en first".   I held my own as a little girl, trying to be the first person to see the street lights come on as birds flew by.

Family reunions for us were ongoing.  Every wedding in the family, including my brother and sisters' weddings were planned at 14 Jenkins Street.  Every funeral in the family, including my brother's memorial service last November, was planned at 14 Jenkins Street.  While adults handled the business of these events, children did what we did best: we played.  During the bachelor's eves, wedding parties, wakes and funerals, children did what we did best, we made a game out of everything.  Everything, including collecting the "stoppers" (bottle caps) from the bottles of Guinness and Star beer so that Uncle Bengie - Bishop Benjamin Carew - the first Archbishop of the United Methodist Church in Sierra Leone, wouldn't see them.  This place is one of the primary reasons why our parents grew up as brothers and sisters, even though they were the children of multiple siblings.  Neighbors from Jenkin Lane to Bombay Street and friends from school and church were part of the 14 Jenkins Street legacy.

As I reminisced about the many memories my family built at Jenkins Street, it dawned on me that all of them withstood the raging fire.  I could still see, in my mind's eye, our grandparents and parents taking care of the business at hand.  I can still feel the pounding of my cousins' feet as we chased each other.  I could almost feel myself running out of breath from hours of fun.  I could still hear the melody of voices singing hymns at wake after wake.  The rhythmic moves of everyone dancing to goombay and milo jazz are still fresh in my mind.  And the food, oh the sweet aroma of endless supply of food, still fill my nostrils.  The laughter and tears of generations of Carews are soaked in that compound despite the intensity of the flames.   

Since Christmas Day, 2009 when we lost Aunty Hannah at Jenkins Street, to last Saturday when we lost Aunty Dolly, we have bid farewell to about 11 members of our family.  While this is a lot of people in one family, it is the downside of having a family as large as ours.  All of them are part of memories deeply embedded at 14 Jenkins Street.

At this point, I have embraced the reality of the ashes that now lie where there were two homes that nurtured our family.  I am convinced that God is taking us through a purging that will make room for unbelievable blessings for my family.  I am open to receiving these blessings and excited about the many possibilities the future hold for our generation of Carews, and for our children and their children.  In the shadows of the ashes, I can clearly see the image of a phoenix rising.  14 Jenkins Street, a place that has been a hub of activity for my family, still remains a hallowed ground despite the ravages of the fire.  The onus of responsibility to preserve a family legacy lies in the hands of my generation. 

Ashes to Ashes...here's to the dawning of a new era for my family.  Rise, Phoenix!

~~Vic~~