Keeba's Korner

What would you do if this happened to you?

2009-08-13T19:44:00.000-07:00

What would you do if this happened to you?

Re: Yvette Craddock - criminal investigation (child's death)

I am posting this on behalf of you, your loved ones and anyone else who has ever been wrongly accused of a criminal act.

I am personally writing this on the behalf of someone I know who has multiple sclerosis and is in dire need of ANY assistance. Her name is Yvette Craddock and her MS symptoms are severe. Again, her name is Yvette Craddock and here is her story:

Yvette is a divorcee and is living on social security. Before diagnosis, she was
married and a fulltime teacher assistant at Denver Public Schools until she
experienced vision problems. Even after her diagnosis, she worked fulltime, but
her symptoms got the best of her and before long, she was no longer able to work
and soon after, her marriage ended.
Because of Yvette's gentle nature, she
decided to help a friend by agreeing to baby sit an infant child. When the
mother of the child dropped the child off at Yvette's apartment, the mother
explained that the child was sick and that she (the mother) had given the child
some cough medicine. Moments after the mother left the child in Yvette's care,
the child began coughing. Yvette went to attend to him when she noticed that he
wasn't breathing. Yvette immediately called 911 and because there was a police
officer already in the area, the officer began to assist. Later, the child was
pronounced dead.

Because of limited finances, Yvette and her family were unable to hire a prominent attorney and investigator, and ultimately, Yvette was charged and arrested due to the child's death.
Yvette Craddock is out on bail, but I believe she has a court date set for this month or next month in November.

Now I know this is hearsay about what one of the judges declared, but I feel it necessary to bring it to your attention what one of the judges said. She said, and I quote, had she known the inaccuracies and trivialness of the case, she said there would have been no way she would have allowed it in her court. In my opinion, it was an indication that there were some problems with the case brought against Yvette Craddock. You see, there is a report that social services had been called to the home before. The report does NOT say to Yvette Craddock's home, but to the child's home.

The Colorado Department of Human Services also is investigating the circumstances of Rashad's death because his home had been visited by social workers before his death.
http://www.denverpost.com/news/ci_8134228
http://www.denverpost.com/breakingnews/ci_8184920
Rashad Maxey Died December 7, 2007 (age 8 ½ months) Arapahoe County No violations found
Rashad Maxey died of injuries "consistent with intentional trauma to the head." The Arapahoe County Department of Human Services report faulted Maxey's babysitter, Yvette Craddock. The CDHS review notes one prior referral involving Maxey's family, prior to his birth. CDHS found no violations in regard to the handling of this case.
http://www.9news.com/rss/article.aspx?storyid=89993
The most troubling is that the Department of Human Services state:
…the violations listed require corrective action by the counties involved, regardless of whether they contest the validity of the cited violation.
Does this mean that just because CDHS has been to the child's home before, but the criminal investigation remains because the child died while at Yvette's Craddock's home???

Nevertheless, Yvette Craddock has been searching for ways to not only pay for her legal fees but also ways to accumulate funds to clear her name. Prior to this, Yvette Craddock did not have any criminal record and the only thing that she has ever done wrong, was agreeing to help someone and that should not be a crime!

Please do all you can to assist Ms. Craddock, as I believe that due to her financial circumstances, she was unable to afford an attorney who would thoroughly investigate the history of the parent's of the child. (It is all over the internet, so it wouldn’t take a lot of time or money to search for some truth.)

Please do all you can to help Ms. Craddock by contacting your local District Attorney's Office and tell them that you want this injustice stopped! Tell them that you are not pleased that your tax dollars are being wasted trying an innocent woman. She is a victim! Is it because she's Black? Or, is it because she's poor and Black?

Please do all you can to assist Ms. Craddock by telling anyone and EVERYONE you know.

What would you do if this happened to you or a loved one?

If this is true, one could certainly appreciate this Mission Statement:
The Office of the District will strive to always:
Do the Right Thing
To the Right People
At the Right Time
For the Right Reasons

Happy Valentine's Day

2007-02-14T12:30:00.000-08:00

Valentines Day

Valentines Day is possibly the best holiday for females. Now wait, I don’t want you to think that the "lover’s holiday" is just for females, because it is not. Both females as well as their male counterparts deserve to be observed on this day. Likewise, I feel a little sympathetic towards the men because they often are expected to buy gifts for their female lovers, but often they do not receive anything at all; it seems like the norm.

While experiencing some reactions from my female friends, it seems as though the rules of Valentine’s Day are not the same for both males and females, hence notice the examples:

Example One

Its Valentines Day and FEMALE A walks into the house with candy, a card, and a sports poster.
Its Valentines Day and FEMALE B walks into the house without treats nor the acknowledgement of "lover’s day."

Most men would not have a problem with either female, although the man with FEMALE A might be overwhelmed that she took the time and was thinking of him.

Example Two

Its Valentines Day and MALE A walks into the house with candy, a card, a stuffed animal and/or flowers.
Its Valentines Day and MALE B walks into the house without material gifts, but just walks in and announces, "I’m going out to play B-Ball."

I know some women who would be extremely agitated with MALE B, and ultimately, he can not expect to receive his own personal "lover’s day" gift.

Now, I do not wish women to assume that I am helping the men with the old adage that women just take and take. Not at all. And for the men, I certainly do not want you to think that I am agreeing with you that all women are gold-diggers. Not true. I am merely saying that both women and men enjoy the bounties of this day. In contrast, The Greeting Card Association reports that 85% of Valentine Day cards are purchased by women and that close to one billion valentines are sent each year worldwide. Now that is a lot of cards!

I say that Valentines Day is possibly the best holiday for females, because it seems more than likely that they will receive a gift of gifts that is more enjoyable on February 14th, then any other celebrated holiday. Often gifts given on other holidays are not always well perceived and are keepers. Of course, the receiver should be thankful for any gift, but on Valentine’s day, the gift is more than likely pleasant and worth keeping. Whether it be Valentines Day or any other holiday, I have received some forgettable things. (It is the thought that counts, right?..Wrong!) Once, I received a blouse. It wasn’t just a blouse blouse, but an ugly blouse. If you think I’m being ungrateful or just totally picky, try this on for size: The colors were atrocious with neon green stripes and forest green and gray prints. The buttons matched the blouse, which were both gray and green. It was ugly! I believe in re-gifting, but I wanted to keep my current friends. Another time, I received some lotion that smelled like vomit. No re-gifting there. Other gifts include rock candy from three holidays ago, confetti, a large piece of wood, a curtain that not only didn't match anything, but also worse, did not cover the entire window. (Side note, I’m not a whittler.)

I am an avid reader, but was surprised to receive a book on paperclips. Mind you, I do have a book titled, "Useless Facts," but I didn't have a clue as to what to do with a book that does not supply the origin of paperclips, but just pictures of different shapes and colors.

Some of the greatest gifts I have received are a box of paper for my printers, a jumbo pack of CD’s from Sam’s Club, a curling iron, candy, and more candy. Additionally, stuffed animals dressed in valentine attire and valentine t-shirts.

Yes, I should be appreciative that someone – anyone - considered me on this or any other day, but while looking around my house, I have concluded that there are too many people who are less fortunate.

While I complain about the hideous blouse, someone is walking around wishing and hoping just to have anything warm to wear. While I complain about the books, I fail to recall how many schools that do not have books at all. Perhaps the children wouldn’t be able to read the paperclip book, but someone could find it enlightening just to enjoy the bright pictures.

In short, I suppose I am being too picky and am wrong about the males and females enjoying lover’s day, but that neither should purchase gifts, but instead do something more memorable. Instead of spending money, try just going to a movie. If you need a babysitter (dog sitter), stay home, put the kids to bed, and have a nice romantic night just for the two of you. But no matter what you do, enjoy one another and be mindful of not what you want, but what you already have. Look around your house, inside your closets, drawers, etc, and ask yourself if you are in need of anything other than a hug and a kiss.

There is only one other holiday that receives as much commercialized attention as Valentines Day, and both are a beautiful reminder of peace and love. It brings people together and that is truly divine and often sweet.

HAPPY VALENTINES DAY!

©Keeba Smith www.keeba.org
Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is an author, and social issues commentator KSmith023@yahoo.com

It Is Winter Time

2007-01-01T20:11:00.000-08:00

It's winter time

In 1966, just two days before Christmas, a pregnant woman was walking to the bus stop to continue her Christmas shopping for her children. While on her journey, she slipped and fell on some ice and immediately was rushed to the hospital to deliver what may or may not be her bundle of joy.

I am one who just enjoys cold weather. Perhaps it is because I was either born during or right after a snow storm; either or, I truly love it.

Growing up in Denver, I have witnessed and enjoyed many light snowfalls and snow storms and have had very few complaints while facing the elements. Its winter and usually during the winter months, it snows.

Some scientists have reported that winter is caused by the Earth being farther from the Sun and thus, there is winter, while others report that in the Northern Hemisphere, winter occurs when the Earth is its closest to the Sun. I am not a scientist but am certain that winter means cold and a chance for snow.

Many of my relatives, friends and Colorado natives are aware that during the winter months, it snows and are also aware that Colorado can be a tad fickle when choosing when and when not to allow the cold fluff to fall from the skies. I almost always expect it to snow by Halloween night and I almost always expect snow from October through February and/or March. It is wintertime and I can not help but to expect snow. However, just because I expect it, does not always means that it will, nonetheless, it is common for winter and snow to go hand in hand. It’s life.

While Googleing the reason or makings of snow, I have found two explanations. The easy definition is explained as snow is frozen water that falls from the sky and all snowflakes have six sides, but no two snowflakes are the same. And a harder explanation is explained as: Snow is precipitation in the form of small white ice crystals and snow is formed from the water vapor in the air at a temperature of less than 32 degrees Fahrenheit. Furthermore, scientists report that winter is a time where the ground is put to sleep and is Mother Nature’s way of healing the ground. Cool huh?

I’m not a scientist, but am keenly aware that snow is not always beautifully enjoyed. As a child it was neat when it snowed like crazy because the roads were closed and hence the schools declared it a snow-day. Whew, those were the good old days for the children - a chance for us to get in some extra playtime. Alternatively, those days may not have been so great for our parents as I’m sure they needed a break from the loud noises those snow-days would bring. So, when our toys became the usual humdrum and we weren’t so gladly received at home, there was nothing else for us to do but dress in the warmest of garments, grab snow shovels and begin our frost-like journey. We would walk for what seemed like hours knocking on doors in search of work. Do kids still do that today?

Back then, it was a fantasized venture, but today, it is something else. As adults, we are expected to show up for work come rain or snow, heavy traffic or colicky children. No matter what, our employers anticipate seeing our faces and if not, are willing to hire someone who is more reliable at any occasion - a new face. Heck, I recall working in a cold warehouse while suffering a terrible cold. Would I dare call in sick? Heck no, well, only if I wanted to be replaced. Remember that I love cold weather and I shouldn’t have a problem with it, but I have.

I remember driving up Colfax Avenue at a mere speed of 20 miles per hour when the light changed from green to a quick yellow and then dead red. I pumped my breaks to stop. But wait, my car wasn’t stopping but instead kept rolling into the intersection where a thousand ton 18-wheeler was approaching. Was I scared? Well, lets just say I’m glad I used the bathroom before leaving the house.

Another time, my employer closed the office early due to a heavy snowstorm and there I was slowly driving down York Street when a red jeep jumped in my path. Again, I pumped my brakes, but nothing but the curb would stop my wheels from rolling. At the time, I believed I uttered an obscenity, but today, I can not recall if I paid a visit to the ladies room prior to leaving work.

Yes, over the years, I’ve had some good and bad times with the snow, but nothing beats the time I was all dolled up for a date. Yes, child, you should have seen me. I had on this little cute outfit and I assumed that I was dress to kill until I stepped outside and wham! I fell on my buttocks so hard I could see stars. (No exaggeration.) I was no longer dressed to kill, but was about to be killed.

Most Coloradoans will never forget the "Blizzard of 82." I was still in high school at the time, but I will never forget the effects on the State. Everything from the schools, the majority of most businesses and all transportation ceased operation. The only businesses that were open, were those who had gotten stranded there and had no choice but to continue serving a handful of customers. Many vehicles and people were stranded and my dad and I spent hours shoveling snow. It was a time that I’ll never forget. And if I can remember, it was reported that many babies were conceived at that time, so I suppose some people were busy doing something other than wrestling with a blizzard.

In 2003, my spouse and I woke up to a winter wonderland. Yes, it was winter! We did not own a snow blower, so we just manually shoveled snow. We shoveled at 5:00 AM and then again at 9:00 AM. And after a few hours, the ground was covered again, so we shoveled some more. Then, my husband had a wise idea to venture out. (Bad, bad idea!) We drove to his place of employment and low and behold, we were stuck. Hmmm, who would have thought? While we disagreed to disagree some more, we got into a fight while attempting to remove the massive amount of snow from underneath my tires. Nothing seemed to work, so one of us had a bright idea to put my beautiful, expensive sweater underneath the tires. Hold on! As I reminisce this un-treasured moment, I can only say that this winter snow and my ruined sweater is what one might deem grounds for divorce. Well, I got so mad, that I buttoned up my coat and braced myself for a long winter-walk home. I was cold as winter-Alps. My nose had snot coming out and yes, I was cold and yes, I was madder than mad. It was a long cold winter walk home.

My husband and I were watching the news and the weatherman said it was going to snow. Yes, it’s December 2006, and usually Coloradoans can expect snow during this winter month. The news reporters stated that an outgoing flight had been cancelled as well as one incoming flight.

"Wow," I said. "It must be serious as the airport is already canceling flights before the snow."

During the night, the snow fell and the white fluff covered the ground so my husband and I went out to shovel. A few hours would pass, and we would shovel some more. In all, I suppose he and I shoveled a little more than 6 to 7 feet of snow, which is not an easy task. My neighbors would watch us out there shoveling, but no one enjoys the backbreaking art of removing snow, but it has to be done and we see no reason to allow it to pile up, but it does.

Snow in the wintertime is nothing new to Colorado.

When my husband and I came in from a bout of shoveling for the fourth time, we could see the Governor and Mayor on television talking about snow removal. Both government officials asked that people stay off the streets until the snow was removed.

People don’t listen. On the other hand, perhaps they don’t know it’s snowing and/or not aware as to how much or how heavy this "Blizzard" is going to be. I’m not sure as I hate to discern the knowledge of others. For whatever reason, I just assume that everyone is a lot smarter than me and if I know, then they do too. (Does everyone watch the news or at least the weather folks?)

During the first "Blizzard of 2006", people complained that the Mayor didn’t do enough to remove the snow. During and after the two "Blizzards", people complained that their flights were cancelled. People have complained that the City should have removed the snow in front of their home. It is not a main route, but these people wanted the snow removed – immediately! Today, I read a comment from someone who is mad at the Rocky Mountain Newspaper for not delivering their newspapers. The best complaint of all, was those who complained that the snowplows finally came, but made too much noise. Lord, help us!

My husband and I are both lazy, so we pay extra to have the newspaper placed at our front door instead of delivered at the end of the driveway. Guess what. The Duran’s were unable to deliver the paper to the front door the morning after the "Blizzard," however they did deliver it the day after. We are lazy, but we did shovel both the sidewalk and driveway and all the way out into the street. We didn’t need anything from the stores, but did venture out to Wal-Mart. We did what we normally would have done and that was making good of a somewhat bad situation. (It’s a good thing he didn’t want to drive to his job.)

Lets say that governor Owens, mayor Hickenlooper, DIA and the like, didn’t do anything to cease operation of the City. Lets just assume that they remained calm about the "Blizzard" and someone was killed. Worse, if a plane filled with passengers and workers were killed. Would the complainers still flap their gums in disgust? Shoot, normally, the people have to wait until something bad happens before the government even considers taking precautions.

I was not stranded at DIA or on the road, but I was stuck at home. The roads were closed, so I was unable to visit family, go to the mall, out to eat or the movies. Due to the road closures, it was reported that the snow would give us no place to go.

Who knew it was going to snow? I didn’t. The meteorologist only learned of it a few days before the rest of us, so he/she did their job.

For the folks visiting Colorado for the first time, now you know. For the Colorado natives, well you knew, but ignored it or thought you were super bad and ventured out anyway and now seeking a scapegoat. For you gum flappers, don’t blame the government folks, or meteorologists. Don’t blame the government for not removing the snow faster as I’m almost certain they did everything in their power to keep you quiet; please, they are seeking reelection or another government seat. Therefore, do you think they need your complaints? Please, they can not necessarily purchase more equipment as there isn’t any bodies to operate them. (You can blame that on the Village Idiot.) Meteorologists aren’t gods, they are just normal human beings reporting what they feel to be true. (At least that’s my thought anyway.)

Its wintertime and often times during the winter, it snows.

The next time you’re stranded on the road during a "Blizzard," be thankful that you’re safe and not stranded underneath the snow, hurt, bleeding and suffering. Yes, you have to use the bathroom, but I’m sure you could find some relief. Yes, you’re hungry, but imagine if you were homeless and do not have a television or radio to be warned of a "Blizzard." I’m sure the vagrants had it worse than any of you. And those of you who are upset that the plows didn’t come down your street. Well, the homeless folks live in the streets and I’m sure they would have loved to have the streets cleared, let alone a nights rest under a warm roof. For those stranded at DIA, well, at least you were inside safe (on the ground) and not fearing for your life thousands of feet in the air during a "Blizzard."

Its wintertime and often times during the winter, it snows.

I remember the winters when we didn’t get much snow at all and then when the summer heat scorched our lawns, we complained that there was a water shortage. Ya see, the time to blame the government folks is not during the wintertime, but during the summer months when they allow the Water Board to increase your bill; all because they can.

Next times choose your battles wisely. Moreover, remember the old adage, "Never miss a good opportunity to shut up." Remember Bill McNichols?

©Keeba Smith Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor K Smith is an author, and social issues commentator KSmith023@yahoo.com
www.keeba.org

***
Winter is one of the four seasons of temperate zones. It is the season with the shortest days and the lowest temperatures. In areas further away from the equator, winter is often marked by snow.
Depending on place and culture, what is considered to be the start and end of winter vary. Contemporary meteorology takes winter to be the months of December, January, and February in the Northern Hemisphere and June, July, and August in the Southern Hemisphere. However, many cultures in Europe and East Asia consider winter to begin in November.

Antioch Baptist Church

2006-07-16T21:33:00.000-07:00

Antioch Baptist Church
"Annual Church Picnic and Community Connection" (July 15, 2006)

The community social event was to begin at 1:00PM and last until 5:00. I was running behind my own set schedule as I planned to arrive at the park at noon to catch the early attendees and a chance to take pictures of the setup from beginning to end. In addition, I thought I might lend a helping hand where needed.

With two lenses in tow, my corpulent feet did not touch the grounds until 1:05PM where I met a scattered group setting up tables and chairs and more tables, chairs, tents and booths. In this assemblage, was an exhibit of different cultures - some I had known since I was just a small child, others I had seen only a few times, but there were many more that I did not know and additionally, did not have an inkling I ever would have the opportunity to meet but would later realize the benefits of this connection.

Antioch Baptist Church held a picnic slash community connection celebration. While this is their 46th annual picnic celebration, it was their first community connection with church members inviting friends of friends and the entire neighborhood with an opportunity to network. They did not have music, yet you could hear a symphony of hearty sounds of children laughing and a jovial circle of people socializing while playing a game of cards. Additionally, a vigorous unbroken sound of a basketball or two, hitting the pavement. Yes, it was an event that I was glad to have attended as it was nice to see men and women both actively and willingly share in the duties of serving delicious meals prepared by some of the best cooks this side of Denver Colorado.

To my left was a five-foot table where two women sat dressed in garments that immediately caught my eye and I was certain I wanted to know why they selected their attire. They were friendly and very open to correct me when I presumed they were palm readers, but explained that they were "Palms readers." I wished I had carried a pen and paper to jot down a few things, but knew I would be visiting their corner [very soon.] It is almost odd that I can remember a year or even years ago, but my short-term memory often escapes me, yet with all of the events taking place, I was certain that the women cloaked in purple and black would remain in the front of my peduncle.

After visiting a small gathering of friends both old and new, I wandered to my right where a small group of men and women had setup an insurance information booth for United America Insurance Company. While snapping a few pictures, I stopped to pick up a pamphlet. I was not in need of additional health insurance, but after talking with one of the representatives, I immediately found that their Company might be able to assist me, my spouse and possibly my mother in law.

Ginger was very informative while explaining their services and their ability to provide a plan to cover not only my illness, but my family members as well. She took time to educate me on the differences in Medicare and Medicaid, as I am one who pretends to have knowledge about such services, but am admittedly clueless. When she informed me of an affordable plan for preexisting conditions, I willingly yielded my telephone number.

After a few snap-shots of several memorable events, I took time to engage in small talk with a dear family friend who I had just talked to days earlier, yet our reunion was most notable. We chatted as though we had not seen each other in years as this gathering brought such an allure of peace and harmony.

While the heat was often unnoticeable, I couldn’t resist from talking to the U.S. Army National Guard recruiter who I thought would surely detonate under her heavy-doubled army fatigues. Ms. Whitehead was not a woman that I thought would be in the Army. I mean, if you see her, you could easily declare she favored a movie star; and before bullying her about recruiting me, I revealed to her whom I felt she resembled. Aside from the sunglasses she so proudly wore with her clunky army garb, she could easily pass for a beautiful Julie Roberts [with braces.]

Ms. Whitehead-Roberts refused to accept my endorsement once she learned I had both a physical and mental illness. Humph, I suppose it makes perfect sense that neither the Village Idiot or gun-totting Cheney were not members of any branch of the United States military.

"I don’t think they will accept you," she said with a smile that didn’t appear to be affected by the sweltering heat.

She was comfortably ignoring the enemy a tactic they must teach in the military. Nope, I won't make it.

"But I have a lot to offer," I said begging to see a recruitment form.
"No, they don’t accept people under such conditions."
"What is the age limit?"
"43."
"Well, I’m just a bit younger than that so I believe you should accept my application and if not, I will take back my gorgeous Julie Roberts compliment."
"Welllll," she said, but still refusing to show concern of the scorching sun.
"Welllll, then I hope you get a sunburn and instead of looking like Julie Roberts, you now favor the demon in the movie ‘Raw Head Rex.’"
"Sorry, but I don’t think that’s gonna fly."

I became a little irritable with the heat baring down on me as the oils in my hair seeped onto the back of my now greasy soiled blouse.

"Look, I have respect and much admiration for all 4 and 5 branches of the U.S. military, but the way I see it, is that my government owes me. They lied to me," I said.

She just smiled and allowed me to continue rambling while comparing the heat to the hot air spilling from my mouth.

"Look," I said while continuing my own self-torment. "They lied to me about the invasion, Abernathy, WMD’s and so much more, why do I have to tell the truth about this?"
"Hmmm," was her reply.

Uh huh, I knew I had her when a pretense of colossal of sweat danced on her covered forehead and then dripped down both sides of her cheeks. I almost felt sorry for her.

I continued, "Okay, I won’t stoop to their level, but I will sink low enough and play their game by not revealing the truth about my health. So you see, you can stop trying to hide, but I’m not going away until you enlist me. ... what I will do, is volunteer my service to the U.S. military, but certainly will not volunteer anything concerning my health."

Finally she offered a T-shirt bearing the symbol of Aurora Mental Health and calmly replied, "This should help you skip the essential demands with immediate help from your local government."

I continued my journey, discovering people who felt victimized when I approached with cameras in tow. One stated they didn’t want to be caught eating and others who didn’t want their picture taken at all. As taught by a very respectable photographer, I did not take their pictures but strolled around for others to taunt. When I had a target in mind, someone interrupted and said I must go over to the fence and take a picture of a man working. I didn’t think it was such a big deal as I noticed many diligent workers - working in such harmony. However, this "worker" was not your usual run-of-the-mill all time volunteer worker.

I walked near the fence where a long large table held an overabundance of cuisine’s and I thought this is enough food to feed a great multitude. My greedy eyes glared at the food as if it were beckoning me. It was hard to resist although I did and instead, just flashed a very admirable and content smile while greeting the amiable women as I passed.

There in the corner stood an oversized barbecue pit with two men feverishly cooking. Yes, he was there, on the end, opening a package of hamburgers. His head was down as he attempted to make an opening; he wasn’t aware that I was preparing to snap his picture. However, his comrade noticed me but I motioned him to be quiet while pointing to the "worker." When my presence was known, the frustrated-package-of-food-opener, let out a repressed laugh and continued his package combat.

While I had every intention in paying a visit to the Mary Kay booth, I ran into a lady by mere accident. Her name is Yvette with a last name that I can hardly pronounce correctly let alone spell. Nonetheless, I found something most striking in her than anyone else in the organized accumulated mass. She was a busy woman seeking change and the words she spoke allowed me to see her impressive refinement both inside and out. Yvette, only a few years my elder is on a quest to help change society and by doing so, was setting her primary target on our youth. We talked about how it was in the day’s back then - when we were both just little girls respecting not only our parents and elders, but our keen awareness of our community as well. She said we are responsible to get back on track and before she departed, I felt eager to leave her my card in hopes that we could combine resources and remain steadfast on a future that we both were sure to change for the betterment of all.

With both a still lens and a digital camera strapped around my over heated-hardly-complaining-about-the-heat body, one of the cameras decided to leave overdrive but kicked into, I’m not working right now mode. But thank God, the stalemate didn’t last and before long, was back in action again.

After a few more shots, I took a recess and rested my weary load on the ground where I found myself seated in front of the "Palms Readers." I was asked my first name and then my favorite Palms. 23 and/or 92 are my favorites, either or, the "Reader" on the right swiftly spun the pages of her Bible and began to read. As she read, she took time to graciously submit her own interpretation of each verse and completed her reading with a prayer.

Now mind you, I’m not against prayer, but have much discernment as to who prays with and for me. Nonetheless, I was eagerly determined to learn what these women were about and why they felt to be masters of interpreting the chapters in the book of Palms - reading while dressed in their gypsy-like garb; I was observant and most entertained by the comments that followed.

Left reader [with the shaky hands:] I sense you love your grandmother.
Testee: I never knew either of the strong women, as they were both deceased before my earthly arrival.
Right reader [with gum on the right of her mouth:] Perhaps you miss them.
Testee: I’ve never had a Lexus or Mercedes or any other expensive vehicle, but is it possible for me to miss having them too?
I thought, perhaps they should start calling me, "Bymanitials," ‘cause they certainly were not listening when I said I didn’t know either of them.
Right reader: Perhaps you would like one.
Testee: Just call my by my initials as it is obvious you are not listening but eager to perform your own mental masturbation.
And then finally, right reader: I sense you are afraid, but I want you to know God does not want you to have fear.
Testee: I fear God, but who doesn’t.

The woman on the right mentioned fear again, and I was certain she hit the jackpot! Immediately, I begin to fear for my life! Yikes, I began to wonder when the earth would finally open and just swallow me whole and/or allow me to escape to… lets say Iraq or North Korea and if that wasn’t about to happen soon, just an easy escape to Arizona with an express route to Mexico.

I was blessed and without fear to finally approach the Mary Kay display where I found relief when I picked up a pamphlet regarding mental depression. (Fear, get behind me, Fear, get behind me!) Before making note of the Mary Kay reception, I took liberty to read a brochure regarding youth activities and was again in awe of the many establishments who were concerned about our youth. I then wondered if Yvette had any connection to these organizations.

I was surprised yet pleased to see my brother-thru-the-law make an appearance to represent the Denver Firefighter Recruitment Division. While I only spent a few minutes in his presence, I was glad he took the opportunity to talk to a few young men.

Although the heat continued, I remained calm and was certainly thankful that this year’s church picnic was not rained out like the year prior. (A time I will never forget.)

From time to time, a few people gathered to master a few fast and short games of dominoes. While watching, I reminisced about me being a master of the game as a youngster, but now with aged-time, I had grown weary and forgetful. (Is this a sign of Alzheimer’s?) The game ended quickly but not before a few players exchanged seats.

As the day grew on, a group of people came and went and all the while, I enjoyed watching the children play accordingly and many groups networking in a peaceful surrounding.

While I normally refuse to expose my impatient body and indurate scalp to 100 degree plus weather, it was well worth a day of fun in the sun. One could not help but to uncover the outcome of each realm; partaking in each eventful moment - allowing a chance not only to gather around friends both old and new, but a chance to learn and be enlighten. And if you didn't take something away from this event, then something is definitly wrong...

Although I encountered minor equipment problems and a mishap with a freeloader, I enjoyed the gathering Antioch Baptist Church put in place. With Pastor Hall, Rhonda Morgan and many other helpful eager and tireless church members hard at work, this Annual Church Picnic/Community Connection was a great-unified success.

Community Attendees:

Antioch Baptist Church
2500 Lafayette Street
Denver CO 80205
303.830.0260
Colorado Army National Guard
Recruiting and Retention NCO
5275 Franklin Street
Denver, CO 80216
720.464.8273
United America Insurance Company
9350 W. Cross Drive, #101
Littleton, CO 80123
303.933.4063
Denver Firefighter Recruitment
Civil Service Commission
1570 Grove Street (Federal & 16th Ave.)
Denver, CO
Youth Link - 720.865.8000
Neighborhood Ministries
Palms Readers
Mary Kay
Avon

©Keeba Smith
Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is an author, columnist and social issues commentator. KSmith023@yahoo.com

Declaration of Independence July 4th

2006-07-02T17:16:00.000-07:00

Happy Fourth of July

As America celebrates its Declaration of Independence, I am only praying that the day ends and begins quickly and quietly. Now, I know many are disappointed that more and more Colorado Counties are restricting fireworks but our State is once again facing a very dry season in more ways then one.

For one, we must keep in mind that many fires are burning across the State and there is little officials can do to keep homeowner’s safe and protect them from having their properties burned. A firecracker can easily ignite a fire and cause millions of dollars in damages. And while the cost is continuously rising, this certainly does not help but to spread the cost to all.

We should also consider that the unemployment is low and many of us have either lost jobs and/or are doing everything we can to maintain the current ones.

Many of us work more then one job, as it certainly is not easy trying to make ends meet in this current economy. Therefore, we need to go to bed early just to get up early to continue our employment status. If the loud bangs and booms of the firecracker celebration continue through all hours of the night and early morning, it is harder for us employees and employers to receive the required rest. We have to make a living and we can only plead with you that you show respect for the respectable working class.

On the other hand, there are many of us have children and because it is summer break, we greatly desire to share in this iconic celebration with our children. The joys on our children’s faces when they view the multi-colors flying freely in the air, is memorable and leaves us all in awe of such beauty. The sparklers and odd noises are fun while sharing with family and friends.

However, imagine that there are ways to view even more attractive fireworks then anyone could ever have in their own backyards. By clicking here, you can find a list of Firework Displays from Arvada to Winter Park. Consider that there will be a plethora of fireworks on display in these areas not to mention the entertainment and safety.

I pray that everyone enjoys their Fourth of July Celebration. In addition, I pray that it is safe and celebrated in the manner in which it was designed to be celebrated.

Links:
Declaration of Independence
Nothing to Declare

The Declaration of Independence is the document in which the thirteen colonies in North America declared themselves independent of the Kingdom of Great Britain and explained their justifications for doing so. The Continental Congress ratified it on July 4, 1776. This anniversary is celebrated as Independence Day all around the United States of America. The handwritten copy signed by the delegates to the Congress is on display in the National Archives in Washington, D.C.

©Keeba Smith - Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is an author, columnist and social issues commentator KSmith023@yahoo.com

MEDICARE...Dave & Sharyn Madison

2006-06-30T06:34:00.000-07:00

I do not know the Madison’s personally, but painfully, their story hits home for many (TOO MANY) Americans:

"Medicare’s Sinkhole"
Senior citizens stuck in drug program's coverage gap
At first, health insurance with the new Medicare prescription drug plan seemed like a good deal to Dave and Sharyn Madison.
Then Dave Madison got cancer.
That was when the Madisons found out about the "hole" in their drug plan.
This month, their co-pay was $1,307 for the oral chemotherapy Dave Madison needs to fight his pancreatic cancer.
That seemed like a lot, until they learned that in July, they'll have to pay the entire cost of that drug: $2,587.
"We've hit that doughnut hole," Sharyn Madison said.
The "doughnut hole" is a designed coverage gap in the new Medicare program, which began in January.
Almost 7 million senior citizens with Medicare drug coverage are expected to fall into the doughnut hole this year, according to a Kaiser Family Foundation study.
The Medicare drug benefit's basic coverage, known as Part D, pays nothing until drug costs reach $250.
The plan then covers 75 percent of costs - until the annual bill reaches $2,250 - with the individual paying the remaining 25 percent.
"From $2,250 to $5,100, the plan pays zero," said Mike Fierberg, a regional spokesman for the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services.
"The beneficiary pays 100 percent," Fierberg said. "That's what's called the doughnut hole."
The expenditures are calculated annually, so anyone who needs a lot of drugs faces the gap year after year.
Some plans also cover fewer drugs or pay less for particular drugs.
Dave Madison, 66, will be one of those people. Doctors have told him he'll have to stay on his grueling chemotherapy regimen - an intravenous treatment once a week for three weeks, then one week off, plus the oral drug Tarceva - for the rest of his life.
Congress intentionally created the coverage gap, said Vicki Gottlich, a senior policy attorney with the Center for Medicare Advocacy.
"Congress wanted to fund catastrophic needs and make sure everybody got something," Gottlich said.
"The only way they could do that for the amount of money they intended to allocate was to create the doughnut hole," she said.
Even with the coverage gap, the 10-year price tag for Medicare drug coverage is currently estimated to be $724 billion, far more than the $395 billion originally projected, according to federal figures.
Congressional reasoning isn't much solace to the Madisons, whose fixed income, including Dave's pension from 40 years as a bricklayer, amounts to about $34,000 a year.
"There's something wrong with the way they wrote Medicare Part D because people who earn as little as we live on and have worked hard all our lives, it drops us out of the picture," Sharyn Madison said.
Before Medicare Part D, many drug companies offered special assistance for people who couldn't afford lifesaving medication.
But there is confusion over whether such assistance is legal under Part D, leading many companies to cut back or cut off that assistance to seniors.
Medicare's Fierberg said drug companies can still legally provide drugs.
But Debra Charlesworth, a spokeswoman for the pharmaceutical company Genentech, said many drug companies are awaiting official clarification on what assistance they can and can't provide.
Genentech makes Tarceva, the drug Dave Madison needs.
Since January, pharmaceutical assistance has dried up, according to Thomas Stephansky, a social worker with Rocky Mountain Cancer Center's Aurora clinic.
"With Medicare Part D, we're told patients can no longer get assistance through the manufacturer directly," he said.
In Colorado, 436,900 seniors, about 83 percent of those eligible, have signed up, Fierberg said.
They've enrolled in one of 43 private-insurance plans offered in the state.
The monthly premiums vary from no charge for some HMOs to about $73.
It is possible to buy coverage that includes a much smaller doughnut hole, Fierberg said.
"A number of plans in Colorado do offer coverage in the doughnut hole, particularly for generic drugs," he said, adding that those plans cost more.
Nationwide, the Center for Medicare Advocacy is starting to hear stories of people with expensive drug regimens - especially cancer patients, and people with HIV/AIDS or multiple chronic conditions - who are struggling, Gottlich said.
Advocates and health-care providers are seeing those people in Colorado as well.
"I've had patients who have gone into debt, who are getting second mortgages, putting expenses on credit cards, even filing for bankruptcy," Stephansky said.
Sharyn Madison fears that sort of financial catastrophe. "We've always had really, really good credit," she said. "Now it's becoming questionable because we're struggling to pay our bills every month. We used to be able go to the movies or out to dinner. Now we just put all the money into medicine and hope it saves his life."
There are already 10 bills in Congress that would reduce or eliminate the doughnut hole, including one co-sponsored by Colorado Sen. Ken Salazar.
Gottlich said there is little hope that any of the measures will become law. "I think Congress is reluctant to open up anything about Part D," she said.
Andrew Nannis, Salazar's spokesman, said making a change in an election year "would be tough."
"However, as more and more people either butt up against the doughnut hole or realize the benefit isn't ... giving them more coverage than they had with private insurers, it's going to be hard for members of Congress to ignore," Nannis said.
Meantime, Sharyn and Dave Madison are scraping together money for his July chemotherapy and have applied for aid through the drug company.
"We have some of it, but we're starting to panic," Sharyn Madison said.
She said they will probably have to sell Dave's truck to get the entire amount.
After July, they will be through the doughnut hole - at least for this year.
"Then on January 1st, we have to start it all over again," Sharyn Madison said.

Yep, the V.I. has done it again by telling folks to bend over and take it up the tail. Nope, you don’t get a reach-around, grease or even a kiss, just bend over and take it.

Medicare will not be fixed until one thing happens and the solution is simple. Make ALL politicians eligible for Medicare and Social Security. Take away their lifetime benefits and make them vulnerable and poverty-stricken just like the people and then and only then will the problems of Medicare and Social Security go away.

The average annual salary for most politicians is over $150.000.

I don’t know why anyone would stand by those who refuse to show any interest in the people, but easily squander away money. Politicians should only receive raises when the minimum wage is adjusted. Why pay politicians over $150,000 a year when all they do is lie about where the money is spent - all while the people suffer on minimum wage. Most politicians claim they are looking out for the people so one can assume they are risking their lives while doing the work for the people; as if they are performing a job that they love. They are public servants and should behave in such a manner. In short, cut their pay and give some of that surplus back to the people who blindly stand by them.

When our politicians get the same treatment as the people, only then will they realize the sinister acts of government.

Only after working 40 plus years and coming down with illnesses such as cancer and other debilitating -and possibly deadly diseases, will our politicians change their minds about fixing the problem.

Sadly, the people have worked hard all of their lives not seeking a handout but merely expecting to provide for their families, but in the end, get trampled by this polluted government. Consider Mr. Roy E. Johnson who has served in Vietnam only now to be a steady worker on downtown Denver streets as a beggar. How does our government repay him for his tour of duty? Yep, come up with a new article that says panhandling should be outlawed. Furthermore, they want to fine those who give to the panhandlers. Yikes, they are at it again!

It is not surprising, but what is most baffling is the menials who continue to endorse them; contributing to the pain on the people. Is it any wonder that people commit suicide? Okay, that to me is very drastic, but is it any wonder that crime is on the rise? Yes there are more people, but the government should have done something better to control that problem. Humph! You see a huge increase in fraudulent activity while at the same time, more homes in foreclosure. Yes, our money, MY money could be spent more wisely. Luckily our government has made the choice to spend YOUR money on wood investigations all that is costing the people only a small amount of $6 million dollars per year.

No big deal.

I read a study that claims if you were conceived at a young age, then there is a possibility that you’ll live longer. I suppose that study could coincide with the same report that claims people are living longer today then they did 10 years ago. Okay, that’s cool, but my question remains why? Why is it that the Fuzzy Math guy thinks this is so great under this administration? Is it because they have more people to take advantage of? Is it because those so-called lucky folk who live so long that they can now endure more pain? How lucky can one be? Yes Mr. V.I. I can certainly see why that is something to cheer about.

How is that there are so many homeless people are living in a park only yards away from the State Capital?

I pray that the following will do more then just waste the people’s money, but make a stand and do right by and for the people:
Mr. Bill Owens, Ms. Diana DeGette, Mr. Wayne Allard, Mr. Ken Salazar, Mr. Mark Udall, Mr. John Salazar, Ms. Marilyn Musgrave, Mr. Joel Hefley, Mr. Thomas Tancredo, Mr. Bob Beauprez, Mr. John Hickenlooper, Colorado’s Health Care Task Force, the lobbyists, council representatives; ALL elected officials.

And for all the Madisons, I want you to know that you’re not alone, but that there are people out there who care and are praying for you and yours.

©Keeba Smith

Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is an author, columnist and social issues commentator KSmith023@yahoo.com

Ode to the Old Clothes

2006-06-21T13:48:00.000-07:00

Old Clothes

She said her husband’s underwear was so ragged that the crotch would wave in the wind as he walked. She said he refused to let go of the underwear although she had purchased several new pairs just for him. The wife just could not understand as to why he loved those old pants.

Over the years, I have listened to women complain that their spouses refuse to say goodbye to old clothing and each of these women seemed clueless as to why. Some men who love these old raggedy clothes deem them a necessity in their lives seemingly as a comforter. I presume it is similar to a child with a pacifier - a must have to sedate.

As a woman who thought it elegant to wear matching dress, shoes and purse, I thought these classy tattered men just failed to look good for the women in their lives; forgetting mom’s adage, Make sure you have on clean underwear just in case you get into an accident.

Now I know these men knew what mom meant and that they were very obedient to their mothers. Yes, they were men who actually listened to what mom said. She said that the underwear had to be clean NOT store bought. There is a huge difference.

While growing up, my parents had 7 crumb-snatchers to feed and clothe as well as themselves. Now count the number of people on your fingers and you will see that amounts to 9 people to purchase the necessities for. Often time, we would receive hand-me-downs from family friends and/or shop at our nearest Kmart. We could not always afford brand new clothing, but my mother said that as long as the clothes were clean, then we were in good shape.

"If you just have one dress, make sure that one dress is clean; no missing buttons or holes."
Okay mom, we heard ya.

I got my first job when I was 15 and found that I was able to purchase the necessities of an overabundance of clothes. Yes, each pair of shoes matched my purses, which matched my new dresses. I thought I looked good. Every chance I got, I would drive to the mall and pickup a dress or two along with the matching necessary accessories of more shoes, purses, earrings, fingernail polish, bracelets and other items to fill my over crowded bedroom. (M.S. and the other homemaker-decorating-queens would be proud that I was able to store over 200 pairs of shoes in such a small closet space.)

Often I would receive opposition from those who did not understand that just because you have a brown pair of shoes does not necessarily mean that you have taupe, tan, or even auburn. In addition, the color black comes in more than one shade of black and any intelligent person is aware of the different styles and shades of gold, gray, silver, blue, light blue, baby blue, sky blue, green, winter green and hunter green. Please even white has different, noticeable shades; bone, bone-white, off white, pearly white, egg shell white, golden pearl, etc.

While I was purchasing all of these nonsense items, it never occurred to me that I was spending my college money, a down payment for a home, additional life insurance, payment for a car and other important things, but I was looking and feeling good for the moment. It wasn’t until my dad said, "Keeba, give me some of that money to put away for you," did I realize that there was such a thing called saving for a rainy day.

Humph, who did he think he was? It was MY money and I should be able to spend it any way I wanted. Uh huh, at least so I thought. My dad drove me to Colorado National Bank and purchased a few savings bonds. Please! What the heck was I suppose to do with those pieces of paper? They didn’t have any value; for the moment. I wasn’t happy, but I suppose that just how it was going to have to be; at least until I was able to afford to live under my own roof.

While I was able to increase my waistline at McDonalds, and purchase more cheap shoes, I bought food for the house and paid both the electricity and water bill. (I had to do my little part.)

****
I am thankful I was able to learn from my mother after she endured much pain while continuously wearing cheap shoes.

Thanks to my dad saving my little funds, I was able to purchase a reliable vehicle. Of course, I wasn’t too bright when I allowed my car insurance to lapse at the same time as this marijuana-head man smashed into the back of my car. Yes, I suffered in more ways then one when I walked away with severe whiplash and an uninsured vehicle that now looked like a badly smashed-inflexible boot on I-70.

Thanks to my dad in helping me pay some of my creditors who sought me out in the daylight with a flashlight seeking their money when I lost my job.

Thanks to the education system and commonsense that the word, "temporary" is just that, temporary; short-lived and passing. Yes, my job title read, "Temporary Supplemental" and was only gainful and attainable while I was in High School. (I was awfully bright as you can tell.)

Thanks to the excess McDonalds-weight program I learned that additional money would have to be made to cover my body expansion. And that I learned I would no longer eat fast-foods until I gained some type of employment.

Thanks to God, commonsense and experience, that I learned that beauty is temporary and brains are forever, well…

****
There came a time when I did not mind wearing the same alternated clothes in my closet. And the shoes, well they became hard and discolored while sitting in the uncovered shoeboxes. There came a time when I either grew up or didn’t have much concern as to what I wore, but just that the clothes were clean and neatly pressed. Only age, wisdom and experience would allow me to consider owning a dry cleaning business as well as buying stock in "No-Nonsense Pantyhose." But I was young and the future was never a factor in my temporary mind.

I wished I had gained some knowledge regarding healthy and nutritious eating or lack thereof while dinning at all of those fast food restaurants.

Today, I am a few pounds lighter, but certainly much more aware (not necessarily smarter) of my expenditures. So much so, that I remember my mother telling me that I could own one dress just as long as it is clean and pressed. When I go shopping for clothes, I seek the cheap outlets and for shoes, JC Penny, Sears and shoe outlets.

I’m not proud of the experiences, but am thankful I learned from them, as I certainly would not wish them to define me. In addition, I do not wish to be characterized as a cheap person, but know a good bargain when I see one. Howeverrrrrrrr, my mother thought I was tacky when I went to the thrift store and purchased several blouses to wear throughout the summer months.

"Keeba, aren’t you ashamed?" she asked.
"No," I said. "When we were young, we received hand-me-downs and there wasn’t any problem, so I certainly don’t see a problem with wearing used (recycled) clothes now."
"But that was then and this is now. You can afford to buy clothes from the mall and not some cheap place like the thrift store."
"But mom, you wouldn’t have known if I didn’t tell you now, would you?"
"No, but since I do, well lets just say that you’re just so cheap that you won’t even buy descent clothes."
"Mom, you and daddy told me about saving money." (See I actually did listen.) I continued to state my case. "When you see Bill Gates, he doesn’t look as though he stepped off the run-way, but as if he purchased those wrinkled khaki pants from the second hand store."

My mother let out a shameful and pitiful "ummmmmm," and shook her head.

I hoped she was not so ashamed of me, but I did look good or presentable anyway. I mean, the blouse was neatly ironed and it was certainly clean. Besides, I had a few extra bucks saved in the BANK!

Some years ago, I embarked on an endeavor that greatly took me by surprise. While at home, I didn’t see any reason to continue to play dress-up, but instead took on more of Mr. Gates tactics and dressed down. With my flexible weight, I took on elastic pants from Wal-Mart. Ah! I felt good. Well, maybe not so much, but at least my stomach was not eating the waist-line of my pants. I purchased 8 or 9 pairs of those comfortable fat pants and wore them 7 days a week. Wash and wear was great; no more dry cleaning bills! Yes!

Does anyone know that you can not wash those cheap pants repeatedly and expect them to last more than 1,095 days? Well, I didn’t. Well, not until one of the many black pairs began to produce openings in various places in the material. At first, the material receeded and produced a small hole in the leg, and then in the other and then the knee and shortly after, near the ankle area. It was not until later that a small rip in the seam of the crotch that I noticed I might run into problems. I continued to wash and wear the pants until one day I discovered a large, oversized cavity in the knee and crotch and that I would have to do the unthinkable and pull out the old needle and thread. I sewed the pants without considering wasting gas, time or money to purchase new ones. It cost me no more than 15 to 20 minutes for me to repair my oldies but goodies and to top it off, I looked and felt good; at least for the moment.

One day while visiting my mom, I suppose I was not sitting in the fashionable lady-like stance; I really don’t recall. Anyway, my mothered looked at me and made some reply regarding the unsaved pants. She laughed. I laughed. She continued to laugh and point while I sat with a disfigured look.

After a few bouts with self, I decided to put the stretch pants to rest and try a size 10 Rider jeans. I felt good knowing that my butt was not trying to swallow the back of my jeans.

Every now and then, I pull on a pair of the old goodies and I feel fine, although others seem to have a problem with the holes and permanent stains. I am not going to a fancy diner, and gone are my so-called modeling days. Furthermore, every time Mr. Good Wrench a.k.a. Home-Improvement-Tim Allen-wannabe asks if I want to take a drive, and I say I need to change clothes, he just simply responds, "Who are you dressing up for? Its just you and me… you like fine…lets go."

So, if Mr. Bad Wrench doesn’t have a problem with it, then neither do I. Again, I do not wish to be defined as to who I am or am not.

Proudly, I still own a few pairs of old trusties, but my jeans are wearing fine - for now.

With much compunction, I finally have the courage to say goodbye to one pair of thee most trustworthy clothes I have ever had the great opportunity in owning. I have been good to them and them me as I have certainly got my monies worth. And to all those men who enjoy the waving crotch, keep it up, or down, just as long as you’re comfortable. I won’t judge, but will simply say, I understand.

©Keeba Smith
Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is an author, columnist and social issues commentator KSmith023@yahoo.com

Juneteenth

2006-06-20T19:30:00.000-07:00

Juneteenth means something different for my family; it was my mother’s birthday. As a young child, my mother had thought that the big commotion was a celebration of her birthday, and when she learned it was not, she said she felt overlooked on a day that was special to her. When she told us this, we decided to make the day special - just for her. She said that was then and this is now, however we wouldn’t hear anything of it. We would bake a cake or have one specially made, either or, a larger assemblage of friends and family would come together to celebrate the life of a much appreciated woman. We had barbecue ribs, chicken, hamburger, hotdogs - the works.

Now that my mother is at peace, we are in memorial of a special day of a woman who meant so much to us. We do not celebrate the dead but give thanks to the life she gave and shared with so many.

Here in the Mile High City, Juneteenth is not widely celebrated in the community as the former site has been taken over by big businesses that do not have any desire to view a bunch of Urban folk celebrating a day that commemorates their freedom. There are two small (brief) crowds of people who come together to celebrate, but it is not the same. …. I will not elaborate, but have accepted the day as my mother’s birthday.

Happy Juneteenth to all who celebrated and to the rest….

©Keeba Smith
Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is a columnist, an author, and social issues commentator
KSmith023@yahoo.com

Nothing Is What It Seems

2006-06-18T14:27:00.000-07:00

Nothing Is What It Seems

Nothing is what it seems
I can't imagine nothing could cause the beams
To go down on 9/11
I thank God in heaven
It wasn't me or my loved ones there
To face such trauma
To watch a plane fly so freely in the air
Into a building
Causing such damage and turmoil
I can only imagine what was the cause
So many blamed the Muslims
Who believe in Allah
He who does not understand history
Is bound to repeat it self
Was this contempt, greed or wealth
Nothing is what it seems
Oh what a terrible dream
But I am awake watching in fear
Awaking late
Thinking of my dying mother I held dear
This day she went to sleep
Dear Lord, her soul He will keep
From that day forward
It would be remembered
2001, the 11th of September
Sometimes through my own greed
Often times praying to God to heed
And keep my mother here
Sometimes glad she did not awake
To know my heart ached
For this world I did not know
From what will allow me to continue to grow
All of my dreams was just that,
Dreams I would combat
This day forward only God knows I enjoy to remember
The 23rd of December
However I would not enjoy to remember
The 11th of September
2001

Nothing is what it seems
Was it Osama’s dream
(or our very own)
For us to spend millions
And kill over 1,000 American humans
Or our own government at work
Shoving their own dirt
On the American sheep
(can I use drones)
Who believe anything
Oh, America, please God keep
Us safe; watching us from being taken
For thinking as we should
On our own instead of being petrified old wood
I'd believe if I could
We are the god of the world
When it comes to our beliefs
Should I remain a sheep

Nothing is what it seems
I still hold on to my dreams

Osama from Afghanistan?
Will we ever find the man
Who if found, will be held responsible
For an insensible plan
But is it all that impossible
A man who went to congress for money
Now that is plausible
His term had just began
How inconceivable
But perhaps believable
He appears
Like a deer
Scared, caught in the lights
Stop this plight
And allow us to live our dreams
‘Cause nothing is what it seems
He peers like an idiot
Please quit
That's just it!
He peers
Stop and allow our fears
To cease
What about the peace?
Plausible it was our own to cause this terrible thing
Reminder: in America, freedom rings

Possibly it was an act
To know the seat was stolen is a fact
The faithful train need to be trained
The economy is in trouble
Mess around and hit a triple double
(watch out Korea, Iran and Iraq)
Things like this has happened before
How soon we forgot
Here again history is repeating itself
But put those dusty books away you don't need em'
Return them to the shelf
Who can gamble our fate
So boldly and go to Kuwait
We stand to see our own demise
It's no surprise
They call it liberty
The government has decided without evidence
That Iraq is guilty
Comply or take the ride
Have we forgotten the war in Afghanistan
Or have we just scrapped the plan
Aren't we spreading ourselves a bit just too thin
Picking fights
The size of a small country but will we win
The battle or loose the war
Remind me once again
Just what are we fighting for?
Peace and liberty
For you or me

I didn't ask for the fight
Don't I have a right
To say no
Woe!
is me
Asked where is my patriotism
My national loyalism
Nothing is what it seems
This is not my All-American dream
Osama, he just like most had a momma
Has taught him right from wrong
At least he sings his own or new song
And split
Are we even equipped

Looking for him or check ourselves
Sheep or just simple ol’ elves
Call it what you like or the way you see it
I don't want to be
The one to tell the children no food, medicine or a place to stay
Woe is to him that says
Pro anything
Eyes are wet
Writing letters to the president
Asking him not to bet
Or stake our lives on something that isn't a sure thing

Nothing is what it seems!

Medicine is not available to me or yours
But to those who come a shore
Medicine is readily available if you have the money
Isn't that funny
Work hard all your life
Never expecting anything more only to face such strife
But asking do I dare take treat
Or have a roof over my head for another week

Nothing is what it seems
They have shattered all my hopes and dreams

Working harder, voting too
Following all the rules
Told I’m lucky
Born in a system that is the best there is
Who’s to say there could have been a better one in the Africans
Of Africa my forefathers were born
To make a way of life
Until the slave snatchers did swarm/sworn
Ironing boards, light filaments, type writing machine, pens too
The advanced printing press and automatic gear shift to name a few
Invented by AA’s but hated by the KK
For the color of my skin
They don’t know unless they know where we've been
Or where we may have stayed
We could have built a better place
We could have stayed and you'd never see our face
History is repeating itself
Keep your own wealth
For the wealth of the wicked is stored up for the wise
It is not a surprise to see your own demise

Nothing is what it seems
Kill all of our dreams

Nothing is what it seems!

I’m not a radical,
Fundamentalist or thief;
I just have my own beliefs.
Nothing is what it seems.
I will keep quiet as I wait
To see America's fate.
I hope I’m not here
As I fear
Because of my beliefs;
As I say, "Nothing is what it seems."
I’ve tried so hard to fulfill my own dreams.
Though tired, I’m not lazy or onus,
Just need to figure out a way;
As I build my own safe haven; a place to stay.
This is not a message of hostility or hate,
Just when the horrible day comes; so soon when we face our fate.
I do not hold resentment, disrespect or contempt,
But I, the writer of this,
wishes to remain exempt…
...or
...just nameless
...anonymous

From the author/Writer’s comments:
My time is limited with my dear mother.
My television is always on. Fox News and CNN seem to be my news critic of choice. While I cleaned the kitchen, I watched Colin Powell’s speech regarding a potential war with Iraq and the U.S.’s involvement. While I listened, pain and anguish filled my heart, for my mother, my family and this Nation. Who am I, what can I do?
With little else to do, I wrote, "Nothing is What it Seems." September 12, 2001
©Keeba Smith

~Collection from Keeba Kornered and Kaptured in Kaptivity
From the book of anthology, "Keeba Kornered and Kaptured in Kaptivity" © No. 71
© Keeba Smith

©Keeba Smith-Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is an author, columnist and social issues commentator
KSmith023@yahoo.com

HAPPY DAD'S DAY (To all the REAL Dad's)

2006-06-17T18:09:00.000-07:00

Dad’s Day

I always say that no one needs to state who they are, but their actions should speak as to who they are and or are not.

As often stated, my dad was not a man who walked around proudly and claimed he was a dad as his actions spoke LOUD and clear.

My dad was not a man who just allowed a woman to have his children, but fathered the seeds. My dad had 3 and sometimes 4 jobs to supply our habits of eating, our strong desire to sleep inside a warm home with electricity, as well as the longing hope to have clothes on our backs and medication when needed. Often his brothers would call and asked, "And how is the family?" Now, I do not believe their inquiry was limited to my mother, the dog and the limited-lifetime fish, but my dad’s children as well.

I am very happy as well as pleased when I honestly say that my dad could easily answer the question, 'How is the family.'

Today, I ask, where are the dads? Can you proudly say I AM A DAD? Do you know the definition of "Dad?"

Microsoft Word provides the following definition of "dad" as: 1.) Father 2.) Male parent 3.) Progenitor 4.) Sire 5.) Parent.

The Super Thesaurus describes "Dad" as, 1.) Daddy 2.) Father 3.) Pop 4.) Papa 5.) Old man 6.) Parent 7.) Governor 8.) Protector.

The Holy Bible "heritage edition," states, FATHER, a word which means "protector" and has several meanings. It can mean an ancestor, (I Kings 15:11; II Kings, 14:3) a founder (Genesis 10:21; 17:4,5; 19:37) a benefactor (Job 29:16), a teacher (I Samuel 10:12), or an intimate relationship (Job 17:14). The position of the father as the head of the family finds its root in the patriarchal government (Genesis 3:16; I Corinthians 11:3). God is designated as Father of Jesus Christ (Ephesians 1:17; I Corinthians 8:6), "the Father of light" (James 1:17), "the Father of spirits" (Hebrews 12:9), and the Father of man (Acts 17:26; Luke 3:8).

When referring to the Bible, the 5th commandment clearly states the duty of the children, however, the duties of the parents to the children are also strongly emphasized in the Scriptures. The job of the parent is to train the child to fear and respect the Lord and must refrain from provoking the child to unnecessary anger in order that the child will not be discouraged (Deuteronomy 6:7; Ephesians 6:1-4.)

If children are to be gifts from God, then why don’t we as parents do more to show appreciation and cherish the gifts by being parents to the child?

Let us not boldly proclaim our own self-given titles, but actually live up to the name we proudly wish to be acknowledged by; allowing our actions to show and speak for themselves.

For all of you REAL Dad’s, I can onlyyyyy simply say, THANK YOU!

Thank You for getting up all hours of the day and night to tread to work so that your children can enjoy the necessities of food, electricity, clothes, and a roof over their heads. Thank You for chastising your children when needed and thereby keeping them from harming others, but worse yet, themselves. And though tired, Thank You for staying up late to tell them bed time stories even when they feel they are too old to be read to and tucked in. Thank You for staying up late at night, securing the home, and making them feel safe. In lieu of blaming the lack of concern in our education system, Thank You for taking the extra time to help them study and finding the answers to not only the questions in their study books, but in life as well. Thank You for taking the time in not only saying you love them, but showing it as well. Thank You for being dads and not just a donor of life but donating to an enriched life for your children. Thank You for showing – being a role model for your male children and teaching your female children how to get along in this life. Thank You for being there when the mom’s could or would not. Thank You for teaching them that they must be aware of their own actions/accountability, thereby teaching them respect and responsibility. Thank You for teaching them how to save money as well as to spend wisely. Thank You for being a reflection of what a REAL MAN is and that his/her heritage is something to be held to the highest esteem and hence should be carried on with the same integrity.

I Thank You, MEN [REAL MEN] for putting all of your selfishness aside and sacrificing your own needs by putting your children first. To all of the MEN, who are and are not biological dad’s, Thank You for being a parent for the children.

The children Thank You for teaching them how they too can be prosperous and active dads in years to come. In addition, they Thank You for teaching them right from wrong and how to care for you in your old age.

For that reason, I simply wish to say, Thank you!

I find the following article most interesting and most of all, sad but true:

Taki S. Raton, wrote, "Fathers Day" For The Black Man Has Yet To Be Earned. Quoting from a speech delivered by The Rev. Dr. Patrick T. O'Neill of the First Parish Unitarian Universalistic Church in Framingham, Massachusetts, Dr. Joy Degruy Leary in the opening prologue to her book "Post Traumatic Slave Syndrome" shares a traditional greeting in the Masai culture.
"Among the most accomplished and fabled tribes in Africa," quoting O'Neill, "no tribe was considered to have warriors more fearsome or more intelligent than the mighty Masai.
"It is perhaps surprising, then, to learn that the traditional greeting that passed between Masai warriors was 'Kasserian ingera' as one would always say to another, 'And how are the children?'"
This greeting, notes the excerpt, underscored the high value that the Masai places not only on the well being of the children but also on the security and well being of the family and community. So to the question, "And how are the children," the response being, "The children are well," the unsaid inference is that the families and the community are safe and secure both from within and from without.
If the men of any group are not doing well; if at any time in the historical corridor the men become defeated and consumed by another, then eventually the family and the community will evolve into a self-destruct mode. A group, a culture must always ensure that their men are strong, able bodied, mentally cultivated and culturally spirited. Then and only then will the families and community remain secure.
Presently 141 years after the Emancipation Proclamation, the Black man today is at his weakest point here in 2006 then we have ever been. Our children are not doing well. Our families and our communities are not safe and secure. Our future remains in serious question.
What happened to the role, duty, responsibility, obligation, expectation, and charge of the Black man to ensure that his family and community are secure and protected both from within and from without? All other men protect their families and communities. Why Can't we?
What happened to our role as provider and protector of our African/African American "beingness"? Just where is our Kingdom, Black man. And by the way - how are the children on this Fathers Day? Where one to read the April 4, 2006 edition of the Chicago "Courier" newspaper, you would find that Chicago based Black Star Project founder and executive director Phillip Jackson responds by noting that our children are fighting a war amongst themselves and against their communities:
"Many Black children are out of control. They swear, fight, vandalize, challenge authority and exhibit overly aggressive behaviors. They have a reckless disregard for virtually any social norm, rules, or grace," he says.
Quoting a study by the Advancement Project entitled "Education on Lockdown: The Schoolhouse to Jailhouse Track," the article notes that in the Chicago public school system of 434,419 students, 29,700 students were suspended in the 2002-2003 school year and possibly up to 3,000 students were expelled in the 2003-2004 school year.
According to the Public Education and Black Male Students: A State Report Card study released in 2004, only 41% of Black males in the United States graduated from high school in 2001-2002. That would be only 4 out of every 10 Black men.
This report surfaces the lowest graduation rates for Black males in 20 districts with Black male enrollments of 10,000 or more during the stated period. Cincinnati for example had a Black male enrollment of 15,340 with only 19% graduating; Cleveland records a 25,973 Black male enrollment with only 19% Black males graduating. The Black male enrollment for Milwaukee during this period was 29,893 with only 24% graduating. In Chicago, the numbers are 112,040 with 30% graduating and in Charlotte-Mecklenburg, North Carolina, the Black male enrollment was 23,947 with only 34% graduating.
The Black male homicide rate is seven times the white male rate and a young Black male in America is more likely to die from gunfire," according to these statistical quotes, "than was any soldier in Vietnam." One in every 21 Black men can expect to be murdered, a death rate doubled that of U.S. soldiers in World War II as noted by Black Star.
Leary writes that throughout recorded history, people have been subjected, enslaved, and at times come very close to extermination and that these "crimes against humanity" are perpetrated, even today, in a seemingly "never-ending cycle."
She adds, however, that upon the conclusion of any horrific holocaustic encounter, each group must first "see to their own healing. No other group can mend the scars of another."
Her book, as above stated, is entitled "Post Traumatic Slave Syndrome" which she defines simply as "the residual impact of multi-generational trauma unhealed."
The author says that the slave experience "was one of continued, violent attacks on the slave's body, mind and spirit. Slave men, women and children were traumatized throughout their lives and the violent attacks during slavery persisted long after emancipation. In the face of these injuries, those traumatized adapted their attitudes and behaviors to simply survive, and these adaptations continue to manifest today."
We have not healed from slavery. We have been carrying, perpetuating and even cultivating this psychological trauma now for 141 years. Leary says that there is no way that a group can undergo 246 years of trauma under the North American enslavement era and not be scared as a result. Within this historical corridor, the Black man, his woman and his child became defeated and consumed by another man.
We have not reversed this process. We have not reclaimed a lost African humanity that was taken from us. Therefore, unlike the Masai, we eventually, as men, have nothing to past down to our children. And integration, obviously, was/is not the answer. Given the current status of Black men in America, the plight of the Black family, the fact that today there are 1.2 million more Black women then Black men in the available mating and marriage arena, the continuing and regenerative socially denormed behavior of our children and the apparent ongoing demise of our urban communities across the country.
Taki S. Raton is founder and principal of Blyden Delany Academy, a private African Centered school in Milwaukee, Wisconsin serving children in K4 through 8th grade. The writer can be contacted at (414) 933-1130.

©Keeba Smith
Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is a columnist for Black Denver Speaks, an author, and social issues commentator
KSmith023@yahoo.com

LEGEND ...Dad's Day

2006-06-17T15:11:00.000-07:00

"Legend"

A legend too quick.

A legend too late.

A legend stands now;
A legend stands before the Masters gate.

A legend in my heart.

A legend who had a bumpy start
A legend who could not depart His ways, but...
A legend who was my tart-tiest
My legend from the beginning
My legend for my evening.

Our legend through thick and thin;
A sweet legend.

A legend of old
The only legend I knew
A legend for my life,
So I thought
Until his departure.

His head in his hand,
As he often would
Make plans for life;
Were a Black man stood.

Strict, mean loving and caring,
Vague, bleak, giving and sharing.

My legend is described as human
From the beginning to the end.

Good-bye my sweet love,
I shall see you again soon.

Once again, our sweet love,
When THE feet cross the moon.

(1999) © Keeba Smith From the book of anthology, "Keeba Kornered and Kaptured in
Kaptivity" © No. 18 © Keeba Smith

Author's Comments on "Legend":
"This was written especially for my dad. It describes him to the tee. Although he was a stern, harsh man, he was well loved and is still truly missed. Riding in the car and instead of breaking down with pain of his departure, I elaborated on the goodness of his life and what he stood for. I never bragged about anything in my life, but I will do so now and say that he was my "Legend." I learned so much. I’m thankful I’m able to decipher the good from the bad and decorate on what he tried so hard to instill in me. (Thanks Lisa for your comments.)" ****** ***********

©Keeba Smith
Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is a columnist for Black Denver Speaks, an author, and social issues commentator
KSmith023@yahoo.com

Dad, "That's just how it is"

2006-06-17T14:59:00.000-07:00

That's Just How it is

My dad was either born in 1920 or 1921. Not sure which as it was never so important to me until I had to compile memoirs for his obituary.

When I was faced with the uncertainty of my own illness years prior, I began to reminisce about my childhood while writing my own autobiography. As I looked back, I recalled something my dad always said - either directly to me, or while I was in his presence. Over the years - especially when I was just a young child - I would never understand as to what he meant by, "That's just how it is."

Those few little words are not profound. In fact, just so easily to be said. Easy to utter such words when you are not going to do more to change the circumstances you're dealing with.When I was young and I heard those simple words, I thought he was giving up; that he had accepted things (pangs of life) so easily without the strength and/or desire to do more.

Humph! I say this about a man whom, as long as I've ever known him, had more than two jobs at one time. I say this about a man who owned and operated two very successful businesses. I say this about a man who gave each of his 7 children the opportunity to go to college while he worked day and night-night and day to pay for it. I say this about a man who slept less than 4 hours a day just to keep food in our stomachs, clothes on our backs, a roof over our heads, electricity, medicine, telephone and a television or two. I say this about a man who didn't spare the rod while putting his own selfishness aside while supplying above and beyond the necessities. Yep, he gave in too easily when he said, "That's just how it is."

Blacks weren't voting, "That's just how it is."
Denver Water has increased their fees - no longer the basic $60 every two months, "That's just how it is."
Nixon is impeached, "That's just how it is."
Rising gas prices, "That's just how it is."
The Iran Contra Arms, "That's just how it is."
My mother crying like a baby when my brother left for basic training in the Air Force, "That's just how it is."
Didn't receive the job because you're born in the wrong color of skin, "That's just how it is."
The president has raised taxes, "That's just how it is."
Need additional money for this and/or that, "That's just how it is."
...And the list goes on with, "That's just how it is."

Saying, That's just how it is, seems as if one has just accepted the situation so easily-as if you're not or can not do any more.

As I muse "That's just how it is," I must consider why those insignificant words were spoken and when. I mean, one has to accept and/or encounter the certainties as well as the uncertainties of daily living such as arguments and disagreements, unplanned births, lack of money, war and corrupt government deals, death and taxes, injustices, liars and thieves. Moreover for those who are Black, racism.

My dad, a Black man born in either 1920 or 21, in Alabama… I suppose it wasn't so easy to say, "That's just how it is" and actually be at ease with, "That's just how it is" when there are so many troubling circumstances to contend with.

As the years go by, I grow more certain that somewhere somehow, I am missing the clues to these riddled unsettling questions about what true principles are and their meaning. Every single time I think I actually know, or even have a hint and am getting closer, I get hit upside my head with yet another losing blow; forcing me to face reality. The reality is, I DON’T KNOW! [To my own self I must be true] I concede and have concluded that I never ever will know. Today, I am 39. No, it's not my birthday, but today, I am announcing, coming clean, verifying, stating, and being honest, that I am at ease with all of the unknown answers that plague so many. I am at ease with not knowing the solution to all of this that surrounds me and I am ok that I never will. I am peacefully at ease.

Daily, my surroundings consist of the following:
A silent disease that controls my body even while I'm sleeping. A spouse who worries about things that he will never be able to change or at least come up with the solution at that single solitary moment. Ok, be at ease, as I know that this is or may be trivial and too close. However we can consider tax dollars used for unmarried women living in section 8 housing with men who own two luxury vehicles while too many US citizens strive for the menial things in life, like um food on their tables and "extra" money to pay for medicine to live a common life. We can consider the United States government spending 6 million a year of our tax dollars on wood investigations.

I am surrounded with a plethora of emails regarding the malady of the person who attempts to run this country. In addition, I ache for the founder of Gold Star Families for Peace Cindy Sheehan who's son, just after five days arriving in Iraq, was killed in Sadr City. Ms. Sheehan left the comforts of her California home only to stand outside the president's ranch to receive unanswered questions regarding the Iraqi invasion! I am surrounded with obvious racism within our government, in my local grocery stores and shopping centers etc. More closely, the in-depth test given by the Denver Fire Department. I'm troubled not to mention deeply concerned that the Village Idiot who thinks that "fuzzy math" is acceptable to the American people and worse, the Sheep who blindly welcome it. My concerns draw adversity regarding police brutality, religious ignorance, government officials receiving a life pension, disabled people, 9/11 and the United States, the Iraqi invasion, U.S. soldiers in Afghanistan and other injustices.

Yes, the events vary, but I have had enough! There aren't ANY solutions to the things I face. Yes, some of these are forced upon me, others I suppose I have explored and implored upon myself. Nonetheless, only NOW, do I KNOW why my dad stated those superficial yet very profound words.

As one who has attempted to find the meaning to ALL things, I know what my dad meant by, that’s just how it is, and it is no longer a secret. That’s just how it is, simply means, who cares; I don’t.

As stated by my former favorite poet, "Yall wondered when it's going to get better…. It aint gonna get better."

As my dear dad use to say, "That's just how it is."

©Keeba Smith-Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is an author, columnist and social issues commentator
KSmith023@yahoo.com

A Dream

2006-06-15T11:15:00.000-07:00

A Dream

I Had A Dream
...
I had a dream...
In my dream I could see a man...
A man I had known for sometime...
He made sense to my term and being...

I miss his smile and laughter.
I hate his departure and am now mad.
Why did he leave us alone?
Not knowing of our love;
His departure has made us sad.

I am ashamed

© Keeba Smith

From the book of anthology "Keeba Kornered and Kaptured in Kaptivity" © No. 15 © Keeba Smith - other works by this author - - view author's biography -
Author's Comments on "A Dream...":
"One morning after dreaming about my dad." (12/04/01)

©Keeba Smith
Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is a columnist for Black Denver Speaks, an author, and social issues commentator
KSmith023@yahoo.com

Superstitions, Dreams = GENIUS

2006-06-15T10:14:00.000-07:00

Superstitious, dreams and a genius
I never considered myself superstitious as nothing really draws my attention ‘cept for plum stupidity and inside influences-at which time, I am entertained. While growing up, I was told never to walk under a ladder as it would bring me bad luck, but my question was when? When will it bring me bad luck? Is this bad luck immediately, like within seconds of the under the ladder walk, within an hour or tomorrow morning? Does it even mean I would not wakeup tomorrow? Would my legal yet criminal-like act cause bad luck to my immediate family, or better yet, my nemesis? I go for the later because if that is the case I will make it habitual; seeking ladders in the daylight with a flashlight 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Yes, I like that idea!

When I was younger, my sister said that I should be leery of crossing a black cat. Humph! Now that doesn’t make any sense. How could one ever "cross a black cat" when most cats are pretentious and will not allow humans to come close enough to cross it. Back then, she said it would bring bad luck to cross a cat, but again, I must ask, when and to whom? Will this bad luck occur the next time I’m crossing the street after crossing a black cat? And, who has to be the victim while crossing the street, me or the black cat who I just crossed? Just seems odd... I suppose the cat could cross many humans and be fine, but it should watch for one of its 9 lives while crossing the street, so yes, I bet it is safer for the black cat to cross humans more so then crossing the street.

As a youngster, we were very fortunate to have great neighbors who took a liking to the fresh vegetables in our over-sized garden. (They had a cat, but luckily, Judy wasn’t black.) This elderly couple loved our family as we did them and visited one another often. We mowed their lawn and enjoyed the rotten apples yielded from their over-sized tree. Thinking about that tree, I wonder why we never climbed it. Was it because it wasn’t ours?

Mrs. Monroe was a pretty woman with lovely long hair that she kept tucked in a nicely designed bun, and as she got older, she took it upon herself to share and hand over some of her treasured possessions. One thing she bestowed me, was a light green matching, mirror and brush set. I hardly used the brush, but because I believed I was some thing or someone to view, I admired and amused myself in that small mirror quite often. While the soft bristly-brush hardly received much use, the set laid neatly on my seasoned dresser and from time to time when I needed a good laugh I’d pickup that treasured mirror and find free entertainment. One day, while making note of the cluttered dresser top, the mirror walked over to the edge of the dresser and jumped off, cracking the glass! I was saddened that a once cherished piece had been damaged. When my dad noticed the mirror, he mentioned the bad luck thing, and again, I have to ask when and where and to whom this misfortunate would befall?

I was warned to never go on the wrong side of a pole as it would bring on the bad luck thing, but walking in the street, or playing with fire would not necessarily bring on the bad luck, but could certainly cause death. Which is worse, being alive suffering the insanity of this world, or being dead? Of course, I have never met anyone who has returned from the dead and then reported the pros and cons of the other side. All of this and my elders had to warn me of all the superstitious "bad luck" as if it were the monster-boogie man. Nevertheless today, I have made a continuos decision. Yes, I have decided to file a suit against all of those who warned me of the bad luck monster. But for them, I would not have an ulcer and if I can medically attribute my worries due to the ulcer to my other health problems, I will solicit the commercial attorney’s to file and seek restitution for all of the years I was a victim. Let’s see, that should amount to millions of gazillions of dollars.

I have never found a four-leaf clover, but a butterfly or two has landed in my bed. However, after having a certain dream, my parents would place a bet on a certain number and win. Yes, they warned me of that also, along with an itchy hand. Now, I am not superstitious, but I must say that those very, very, few slim times my hands would itch, money would grace my pockets from time to time. The money that magically appeared was never in large amounts, but just enough to say I was content for a limited amount of time. Today, I could use a few bucks, so I have decided to either stop washing my hands for a few days or continuously wash them with bleach in hopes that they dry out in a matter of days.

Last night I had two memorable dreams that I was so sure was real. In the first dream, I dreamt that I had decided to do something to my hair…re-perm it or something. While washing it, instead of using the shampoo provided in the box, I used my usual Jhirmack. All of a sudden, I was horrified to see my long hair coming out and laying loosely in my hands. When my hair stopped subsiding, I was left with a short curly Afro, and later worried if I would be able to wear enough hair-gel to slick my hair back and daunt a fancy fake ponytail. I was livid!

My second dream was more pleasant as I dreamt that I was at work. Well, working isn’t what most would deem as most pleasant, but it was what occurred while I was at work that I find necessary.

There I was talking to my human resource manager while she had an 8½ x 11’ paper in front of her that seem to report some well thought out figures. As she talked, she informed me that the monthly income I was receiving from the Company was incorrect and that I would receive more money. Now, don’t get me wrong, I am as about as honest as any politician, but with more common sense. See, I told her the exact amount I was already receiving only because I didn’t want them to retract their generously gifted funds and honesty after they realized months or years later that they made a mistake. Trust me, I have had this happen to me before when I was overpaid, and I must say, it wasn’t easy while robbing Peter to pay Paul to repay for their mistake. However, this time was different. She said, "Even with the money you’re already getting, we still owe you the money, so instead of the $150 we give you per month, you will now receive this (pointing with her pen) and this amount."

When I looked at the numbers, - the $200 and $483 - I calculated a sum of $833. Wow! I was ecstatic, as I would be able to move from the ghetto to the slums. No longer would I have to pit the bills against one another when placing them in a hat and drawing out the lucky creditors. No longer would I have the necessary worries of paying the mortgage, electricity or food, but living the good life because I now was able to afford medication too! Yes, I tell ya, that was one of the best dreams I’ve had in a long time; at least one that I can remember anyway.

The other day, about a week or a month ago, my hand was itching, and so now I wonder if that was what the last dream was all about. Hmmm, I suppose I have received all of the additional funds I superstitiously deemed necessary.

Last night, I noticed that my head was hurting due to the tight stocking cap I had on my head. I thought if I had a touchup perm-kit, I would be able to smooth out my rough edges and cease strangling my poor brain under the cap. But I suppose after dreaming of the great hair loss, I will just keep my nappy hair in tact under the cap.

Now you can view me as your specious psychic and/or one who can detect dreams. Feel free to give me a call as I do all the reading under this tight brain-strangling, stocking cap – all without air to my brain. Also when you call, don’t mind the person who answers the phone, and be patient while answering to all 15 of psychiatrists, but just be sure to ask the operator to speak to "The Genius." The nonsuperstitious dreamer.

Signed,

The Credulous Intellect

©Keeba Smith
Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is an author, columnist and social issues commentator KSmith023@yahoo.com

Cherryl Aldave | The Last Nerve

2006-03-27T14:50:00.000-08:00

I do not have children....BUT, I USED TO BE ONE!

2006-03-27T12:55:00.000-08:00

I do not have any children

If you are childless and are planning a move, move to a place without children. Mind you, I do not have kids, but I use to be one, and I certainly know what it took to be Mr. Smith’s child and I tell you, it certainly was not easy. At least at times.

My parents were just that: PARENTS. REAL parents who took the time to raise their children. They took the time to raise their children while facing many sacrifices. I certainly applauded them for their dedication as well as discipline.

While growing up, my parents seem to raise us with little effort. Well, it appeared effortless until they had to discipline us and remind us who was boss. Nevertheless, they did a GREAT job!

I live in a supposedly controlled community. The association is suppose to regulate or manage mine and some other 5000 plus properties. However, what they are unable to do, is watch other people’s kids. I call them Bay-Bay’s kids who run amuck 24 hours a day 7 days a week, destroying people’s property. And what makes matters worse, the parents do not even care. One may argue and say that the parents do not know, then I would ask, "Why? Why don’t they know?

Here’s my gripe

I went outside this morning to retrieve the morning paper and you know what one of those bad rascals has done? Yep, they broke one of my security lights! Not the wireless cheap ones, but one of the electric lights that will take some time to be replaced.
Lawd!

Those Bay-Bay kids are destructive and this is not the first time they have taken it upon themselves to alter my property. Last year, one of those scoundrels purposely kicked one of my fake squirrels off the wooden frame around my tree. At first, I thought my spouse had removed it thinking that it was too girlish or something. As I prepared to give my spouse the third degree and compose him to receive 5 hours of questioning under the hot lava lamps, I discovered he was innocent. I suppose it was obvious that it was not the Tim Allen-wannabe who walked around the house as well as slept in an empty tool belt.

It was a short investigation when I looked at the wooden frame that once housed my friend the squirrel, as his little, insy-winsy tinny tiny squirrelly foot was intact. So no, it was not the home improvement person.

Last year in June, Home Improvement guy and me spent many laborious hours replacing and redecorating our white stones on the West Side of our home. What did the little scoundrels do? Yep, they found pleasure in removing a few rocks at a time and placing them in a location that was suitable for them! My only question is where were those little snots when I needed them last June.

I do not have kids, but I use to be one. My parents would have slapped me to sleep if I even THOUGHT about touching someone’s property. And if I ever THOUGHT about removing someone’s property, they would have called the police on me only AFTER I endured 6 weeks of Mr. Smith's torture.

One day, I was only a mile from my home, when I noticed these scoundrels standing in this man’s yard, holding one of the man’s rocks. I rolled down my window and told the Bay-Bay kid to put it down. You know what he did? Yep, he ignored me.

Yesterday, when I was leaving my home, I noticed a very large bolder-like red rock sitting displaced. It was just sitting there away from the other rocks. Who did that? I am certain that the owner did not decorate his landscape that way. Who did it? Do you suppose that particular rock decided to step away from the rest, a Black-rock of the other rocks? Hmmm, perhaps this rock was a rebel of rocks. I’m not sure.

I have politely asked the scoundrels behind me, time and time again - lawd - I am so tired of asking them to stay off the fence as I paid more then $200 to repair it. Do they listen? Please, I would have a better chance being adopted by Donald Trump.

I do not have kids, but I use to be one. When we climbed up on the fence, my dad would beat us down as if we stole something. Now, I do not condone beatings, but I DO condone discipline.

I recall a friend of mine, Teresa. Some years ago, I was at her home and her child performed an act that was not to Teresa’s liking. Teresa informed the child that she would be spanked. The child was unlike me when I was a child – quietly shaking in my boots. No, not this child. She yelled, screamed and hollered BEFORE Teresa even laid a finger on her. I thought the child was just considering the thought of getting the beat down. Lawd! Anyway, the child’s roar was heard a million miles away and before you could say, "I was only kidding," the police was at the door.

Teresa stood her ground when the cop told her he would have to place her under arrest for child-abuse.

"You can put me in handcuffs now, or you can put me in handcuffs later, said Teresa. "But she will be spanked."

"Ma’am," said a posed cop in a cop-like stance and voice. "I can not stand here and allow you to spank this child."

"Well, then you can leave and then I’ll spank her, but she will be punished."

"Ma’am, I can not allow you to do that."

"Well, then you take her."

The police officer vacated the property without having to labor over paperwork.

Now mind you, I’m not saying that every parent should go around beating the stuffing out of their children. No. At least not to the point that the white meat shows, but I do believe strict discipline is always in order. Moreover, I honestly feel that parents are not able to be their child’s friends, as it just does not work.

When I was a youngster, we had chores from sun up till sun down, or when Mr. Smith went to work – which was often. Nonetheless, the second warden, Mrs. Smith was ALWAYS on duty. She was strict, but allowed us to have our freedom (from time to time).

While the history books state that the emancipation proclamation was signed in 1863, we were in dispute as my parents did not recognize it as law. We were not free! We had chores on top of chores = chores-galore! Lawd, it seemed to never end; just endless.

We were rich! Yep, richer than most as we had 4 dishwashers, 7 remote controls and in-home housekeepers 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. You see, my parents thought if we were busy working around the house, then there was less time for us to get involved in any mischief.

One of the most memorable moments, was when my Mr. Smith did a roll call: "Lynn, Cymmne, Greg, Sean…" Once all of the seven crumb snatchers answered, Mr. Smith was able to account for all of his little progenies and knew who he would be calling to do this and/or that.

Another one of Mr. Smith’s stunts: He would call out, "Lynn, go and tell Cymmne to come here." If memory serves me correctly, Lynn was outside with Cymmne!

Last Smitty stunt: Mr. Smith would be standing near the sink, which was only a foot or less from the refrigerator. "Ranell, give me a glass of ice water."

When Mr. Smith was on late night duty, he would make sure that the kitchen sink was empty. If not, then someone would be wakened from a deep sleep.

The tile floor in the kitchen was always mopped. Throughout the house, the bare wooden floors were always mopped AND waxed. The furniture was always dusted and the windows were so clean that they appeared as if the glass was not even there. All of the beds were made daily and the bathroom spotless. The worse part of it all, was waking up at dawn to pickup paper on the front and back lawns.

The worst and BEST part of it all, my parents did it out of love - teaching us respect and responsibility.

I do not have kids, but I use to be one. Some years ago, my brother was arrested for hitting his child. At the time, my brother worked for a juvenile detention center. My brother was also a detainee in the same detention center as a youth and was doing his best to keep his child from becoming a number-bearer.

I applaud my brother for doing whatever it took to be heard. He is a parent who has a job to do. If not, then the State can have him.

I do not have kids, but I use to be one. I have witnessed kids talking back to not only their elders, but to their parents! Please, if I even THOUGHT about attempting such an act, my parents would have skinned me alive.

I do not condone beatings however I do condone strict discipline. I have seen kids run up and down the aisles in grocery stores, while the parents do nothing but wish they were childless. I watch in sadness as the parents try to act as though they are calm, but I know differently. Instead, of watching excessive gray hairs extend from the parents’ head, I perform an act that is unlawful but permissible by the tired parent. Yep, you guessed it! I trip those kids for their parents as I feel it’s the least I can do. The parents will thank me later.

Once while in Wal-Mart, I noticed this young mother with an over-sized child in her shopping cart. The woman seemed to be in a rush as she darted out from one of the aisles in such speed, that I could have sworn I seen smoke burning on the wheels.

"Just wait till we get to the car," I heard her calmly say. "Just wait till we get to the car."

Moments later, I was in the checkout line and I noticed a very similar woman. This woman had on the same attire as the one with the child in the cart, but her equipoise was totally different. Here, I seen a very calm mother pushing her child in the store. I do not recall the expression of the child, but mommy seemed very pleased.

I do not condone Charles Martin’s actions, but I think I understand. I honestly believe there is more to the story then just some kid "walking on this man’s lawn." I believe Mr. Martin was just fed up with the scoundrels who rendered stress to a hobby that he once enjoyed. I believe that he enjoyed working on his lawn and was probably a favorite pastime. However, I believe he was just so annoyed by the destructive acts of the rascals in his neighborhood, that one day he just loaded his gun. The story reports that Mr. Martin called the police and waited for them to arrive and he admitted his crime. He sounds peaceful to me; a caring and observant property owner’s dream neighbor. I wish that he had not taken this kid's life, as well as taken the law into his own hands. In contrast, I can only imagine that he was at wits end and that the law had not worked for him in the past. At least that is my experience, anyway.

(My heart goes out to the family as well as to Mr. Martin.)
I do not condone people killing others.

I do not have kids, but I use to be one and I am certainly thankfully that my PARENTS taught me respect and responsibility.

Colorado's Cool Mom

©Keeba Smith
Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is a columnist for Black Denver Speaks, an author, and social issues commentator
Keeba018@yahoo.com

"It's News To Me" Online Journal

2006-03-15T08:09:00.000-08:00

As I talk to some folk who have only seen pictures of Colorado and long to visit, I always wonder exactly what images they have seen that makes them yearn for the Mile High City. I am a native and have traveled the State however, never found it to be any different from any other State I have visited. I acquiesce after visiting Colorado West Wind. I feel very fortunate.

I am fortunate to have become acquainted with a very profound individual who at this very moment forces me to recall the aphorism, by Carl Jung, "Your vision will only become clear only when you look into your heart." (An inner peace that so many have spent years searching for but has yet to find.)

Like me, Mr. Linville is a Coloradian. He is a dedicated writer - should be published - who courtly invites his readers into his world. And as an avid reader of his on-line journal, he allows me to travel with him and his dog, Dakota, to a peaceful place that I long to embrace. In short, I envy Mr. Linville for his ability to capture such magnificence images of an area that seems almost foreign to me - close, yet so far away.

Mr. Linville exhibits his passion for music, though it is apparent that Country is his first love while seeking employment at Willie 92.5 Country Radio. As a lover of music, I am eclectic when it comes to music and art, and have secretly vowed to give Willie a listen once he is hired, but until then, my own personal collection of music will remain.

Fashionably, I have accepted Colorado Desert Wind as my regular dose of reality. Here, Mr. Linville shares his daily eventful life and I have since found it personal, as I am incapable of not checking in to see what he has discovered. He posts pictures of his serene surroundings and after viewing them, you wish that you were there, however, with his descriptive art, drawing you in as if you are, sharing in such peace. While I watch Dakota appeased to do what some people run away from, I myself, long to trade place with him in a matter of seconds.

Here, where I reside, in my cluttered City, with cars and other noisy pollutants, I sit only hours away from Dakota who I can only guess is freely-playfully running in a peaceful region.

Recently, I have learned that Mr. Linville is a website creator and has appreciation for his friends.

I suppose Mr. Linville is currently taking a break and has stepped away; out from his computer, but most likely behind his camera enjoying the beautiful outdoors of a place in Colorado.

"Who looks outside, dreams; Who looks inside, awakens."

~Carl Jung ~

Hugs to Dakota in Colorado’s Desert Wind.

Mr. Linville Colorado

2006-03-14T15:56:00.000-08:00

***THIS IS KEEBA SMITH***

©Keeba Smith

Hello, this is Keeba Smith...

I was told that I appeared sad
Perhaps even mad
But oh no, my dear loved one
Sitting there
Close but not in the nearest chair
I’m not sad.
Perhaps cynical to a fault
But don’t hesitate to include
me
Me sitting here in this old vault.
Not unfriendly
But just the opposite
Sitting here thinking of all my composites...
I’ve made in this here life
Not wanting to cause any strife
But learning;
Hopefully teaching
Not sure as of yet
I put in some
so I guess the same I will get

Perhaps contumacious
Oh ok, a little stubborn.
Just taking in this life I was born in
Sitting here with painted fingernails
My tan skin hoping to prevail.
Not lazy or onus
Not even looking for a bonus
That I didn’t deserve
But just working harder and trying to preserve
Something good;
Left for the new
Not those who wish to remain old petrified wood

Oh, you seeI have lost a lot of sleep
Worrying about all of you.
Not just my friends and family,
But yes, you too
All of you!
I am piqued the rulers didn’t care enough
They don’t care if you face such unwrought

Please don’t get me wrong
This is not just another song
Or dance to pass the blame
Just be aware that some of us know their game.
I once was baffled
But now I just have to laugh

Yes, I’m humorous
Always looking for a good laugh
Almost sarcastic
Even facetious
There is humor in everything
You must laugh at what this life brings
And not be sad or mad.
But get over it.
And find something to lighten your day.
Trust in the Master of the universe
The smile will appear again across your face

I’m gonna go now.
Seclude myself in my safe haven.
Again, it’s another fault
To hide away in my safe vault.
Here, just like many others, there is a television set.
But I can certainly bet, there’s not a lot of this going on:
Jerry Springer,
CNN,
Fox News,

Al Bundy, All in the Family

or Sanford and son.

Yes, I’m eclectic in my choice

But with this select, I find a (my) voice

I have company!Heee heee!

Gonna go listen to my music

With that I’m just as preclusive

So, with nothing more to do but hope and pray

These thoughts came to me one day

While trying to describe whom I was,

or am not.

If you decide to spread this around

I hope I am found

Alive!

Remember

If they come for me

These are my thoughts to keep

As I refused to participate with the rest of the sheep.

©Keeba Smith (2001)

From the book of anthology "Keeba Kornered and Kaptured in Captivity" © No. 34

Author's Comments on, THIS IS KEEBA SMITH:
Once, perhaps twice, but no more, I was asked who was the real me, Keeba Smith. Well, this describes me to a tee. So, like it or not, I can not deviate from any other plan nor put on a façade. This is me from beginning to end. The end. ………………………………………………………………
~

©Keeba Smith
Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is a columnist for Black Denver Speaks, an author, and social issues commentator
KSmith018@hotmail.com

"Delusional" Response

2006-03-11T14:10:00.000-08:00

Realities which are delusional

Odd, but I had no idea that I would receive so many responses to my article, Delusions. Consequently, I assumed (and yes, I did make a butt of myself), that I would get away with voicing my surmise with little conviction and be rendered without malice. Yes, I wrote it in hopes that someone (anyone) would read and commen, but not with such fervor about my taste in music. I wrote it thinking that it was just another release that I could pass on sharing a little passion, a brief information about my beliefs on economic issues and the downfall. I wrote it because it was on my mind. Now, I did not write it because I needed an article to submit, but to share my feelings about the demise of a much needed radio station. (Needed, is my opinion as well as other listeners who tuned in.)

The feedback I received was most noted. They were both informative as well as humorous and interesting. Some of the comments were biased and scathing. Mind you, I was not distressed by these comments, but rather surprised in which they derived. You see some of these comments were from non-Blacks as well as from people of color and/or Black folk and/or African Americans. Please note that I am not sure as to what we are calling or identifying ourselves as - people of color, Black folk or African Americans. (I have an article for Mr. Morgan Freeman’s comments as listed in the Denver Weekly News, which will be certainly shared at a later date.)

Again, not all of the comments received were bad, but luckily, someone was kind enough to provide a website for former listeners to post their comments. I have not had a chance to view all of them, but if interested, the link is posted here.

Nevertheless, I will address those who voiced their disgust to my statements in my article. First, let me say with all sincerity, I apologize for any discomfort Delusions that are forced to appear real may have caused. If it caused you to quit your job, go out and find another job, tear up the entire newspaper, (which by the way, wasn’t your newspaper, but borrowed/stolen from your neighbor’s driveway.) I promise not to inform the authorities of your act (illegal or otherwise.)

Secondly, my brain took a leave of absence and because it is against the law for my employers to inform you of my welfare, that was not passed on to my faithful, loveable readers.

Thirdly, my employers stood over me with whips and chains forcing me to write something -anything - about the latest effect on Black, red, green and some white folk. Oh, and just in case you did not already know, I am not into the whips-n-chains thingy, when it’s outside the bedroom. And especially when it’s performed by not only men, but women of color who have non-Black sponsors.

Fourthly, my brain took a leave for absent-mindedness. I could have sworn I had the linguistic rules in the write order in order to right well. And lastly, I do not make the rules of the news, I just attempt to report them, or at least something while the checks continue to roll in.

I write what I feel and/or what’s on my mind or thought for the day. Yes, I have several (2) articles to be released and various issues could be a factor as to what may or may not appear here. Consider, I am struck by a vehicle, my computer explodes, my brain takes another unnoted leave, my husband or lover keeps me handcuffed to the bed posts for too long, and/or Osama Bin Forgotten takes me hostage, etc. However, I don’t think the latter would ever occur as many Black folk feel that the leaders of Al Qaeda does not want any of us. If that is true, I certainly thank God as I know no one would put up a ransom or negotiate for my release from the Talibam; especially my spouse and/or secret lover.

Okay, now honestly, why did the radio station change to Willie 92.5? Rumor has it that the 92.5 Jammin crew did not have a clue that they would be fired. In addition, rumor has it that there was a buzz flying about that the radio station would be changed to a new format. And if that is true, it might make sense as to why there weren’t many commercials but just straight music; forgetting about their paid sponsors. Heck, I don’t know. But, I will tell you this: I have found two new radio stations to tune in to: Meet Jack at 105.5 as well as 107.5.

I mention both of these not to prove how eclectic I am when it comes to music, but to let you know that there are still a few good radio stations out there. I was an avid listener of "Jammin 92.5" because it was the oldies but the goodies of an era that I grew up on. It was mostly what the offspring of the 60’s considered Soul Music. We had Al Green, Teddy P, EWF along with the AWB and KC and the Sunshine Band. Let us face it, they played it for us youngsters who could still remember when and what. And as as Edith and Archie once sang, “Those were the days!”

Back then, my sisters played plenty of Barry White and Aretha Franklin while my brother’s small radios and LP’s kicked out the occasional Hall N Oates. By the way, my brother’s favorite was and still is, "Sarah." My God, the boy loved the song so much, that he named his daughter after that song. Sheesh! But I suppose that it is no worse than wanting Van Halen to be my boyfriend or pretending that I was the Black Pat Benatar with a strong sweet sultry voice of Roberta Flack’s melodies.

Back then, I thought Rap Musical Lyrics was just a bunch of noise, and NWA were just troubled youth. However, when my mind was closed, I would have never learned that Tupac was the best poetry writer that ever walked this earth and delivering powerful messages. Least I forget the messages from Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg who delivered "Lil Ghetto Boy." In addition, Public Enemy’s "Fight The Power."

As the years would come and go, my youngest brother and I were turned on to some soft rock and back then, there was a different definition of pop music. I can only guess as to why we were converted and our listening style became diverted to the likes of Queen, Bon Jovi and Genesis. The schools we attended caused us to listen to folk music as well as perform folk dances. I can still do the Irish Stutter (Step) and Square Dance with the best of them. I know how to do-si-do and swing to the left while my partner swings to the right and then my partner behind me.

Meet her by the right in the middle of the hall;

corner by the left;

back to your partner with a do-si-do, back to your corner with a do-si-do;

now swing that partner one little whirl and send her away for the corner girl.

Tell me I didn’t know my stuff! We consulted and gravitated to Ludwig Wittgenstein and other philosophical geniuses along with World Atlas studies, Encyclopedias, National Geographic, and other cultural literature. I suppose it had something to do with our peers, change in atmosphere, OUR society and surroundings. Heck, I don’t know. Just that our approach was different and we easily and gracefully embraced it. (With an o p e n mind.)

Perhaps I was not clear, and what some may have not made note of was because of 92.5’s format change, I blame the change in the economy and the lack thereof. I believe the former managers had no control over the lack of funds to keep the radio going and thus Willie 92.5 was born.

Back in the day, we were forced to endure the scratchy sounds coming from KDKO AM with Dr. Daddy-O's voice barely being heard. Those days are outdated-a thing of the past of AM to FM radio. No longer do we have a Black owned radio station and in my opinion, there is a reason for it. No, not racism and no, because a Black man/woman cannot get a loan to develop one. I just believe there is a reason for it and that only Blacks can understand. Again, it is not racial, just a Black thing.

Nonetheless, I believe those disgruntled comments could have been saved for something more effective. Lets say something like um, writing a letter to your Congress man/woman regarding the current effects on the economy; increased electricity bills, groceries, gasoline, etc. You could have used some of that energy by spending time with your kids. And yes, I can tell some of you have kids because they were just screaming in the background of your letters. You could have spent your time and energy cleaning your house as your comments just reeked of filth. Shame on you, writing letters of discontent when you could have written a novel and gotten paid for it. Perhaps if you were more alert as to how the government has changed your credit card expenses and how you are planning to pay for all of those Christmas gifts that were purchased on the plastic, you would have spent your time on YOUR future. That alone would have or should have made you more cautious of your time and energy. Not only would you have more money, but also more time that could have been spent wisely. Moreover, have you even considered the economic proposal for this nation, the retirement of Alan Greenspan, his replacement and the effects on this nation as well as abroad?

Just to note, the unemployment rate was unchanged in November at 5.0 percent. The jobless rate has ranged between 4.9 and 5.1 percent since May. The number of unemployed persons, 7.6 million, was essentially unchanged in November. The unemployment rates for adult men (4.3 percent), adult women (4.6 percent), teenagers (17.2 percent), whites (4.3 percent), and Hispanics or Latinos (6.0 percent) showed little or no change in November. The jobless rates for blacks (10.6 percent) and, specifically, for adult black women (9.1 percent), rose over the month. In November, the unemployment rate for Asians was 3.6 percent - not seasonally adjusted.

Please do not get me wrong as I value your comments, which held some validity and perhaps will allow me to grow as a reader and writer. However, it will not make me more conscious of my surroundings and as my disclaimer clearly states, I am not responsible what wizardry-sorcely act my magical PC distributes. Furthermore, I will not stop writing what I deem important to me. Heck, I could die today and no one would know (or perhaps even care) that I was so strong or adamant about this thing or that. So I will not, I can not apologize. In the future, I can only suggest that you spend your time more wisely and try doing something for your community; pay attention to yours and your family’s future. In the mean time and in the between time, I can only hope and pray that both you and my brain are transformed and enlightened the next go around.

In short, here is my flimsy yet sincere apology to those that were offended and sing, Something so strong could (Should) carry us away…. I’m still in love with you. With that note, I leave you with my favorite Country tune from Lil' Troy’s album, "Sittin Fat Down South," track # 7.

To say the least, I want to thank you as I am glad someone, ANYONE reads my articles.
so long 92.5
©Keeba Smith

Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is a columnist for Black Denver Speaks, an author, and social issues commentator
KSmith018@hotmail.com

Manual High School

2006-02-27T14:21:00.000-08:00

Manual High School

It is cold outside
I love the snow
I love cold weather
Takes me back
Back to the days of old - over 20 years ago…

***
1982
"I want you to learn all you can while you’re here, because once you leave, it will be different."
Ms. Mitchell spoke honestly to her ninth grade class. She looked good for her age although her age was unknown. I remember it was she who made me believe I could run; achieve and take heed. I assumed I could achieve anything, but the question is, did I listen? "Once you enter High School, you’ll get lost in the crowd. You won’t matter to those teachers, and they’ll just pass you right on to the next grade. Take the time to learn all you can and appreciate what you have here."
Could I hear her?
The years passed…

***
Freshman year, I entered the doors to Manual High School. I was not popular – unlike my old school where I received straight A’s. At my former school, I still can recall Ms. Gombeski sneaking in a grade that I probably did not deserve. Prior to her knowledge of all of the A’s I had received, she had always given me D’s (I think). I do not recall if she gave me an F, but once she found out how well I was doing in my other classes, I believe that she felt sorry for me, and slithered in a C-. I suppose I deserved it. Did I even know anything about Science? Did Mrs. Gombeski even teach Science? – Or was it her husband, Mr. Gombeski? I can not recall everything that happened 24 years ago - Cole Middle School. However, I do recall Ms. Mitchell. Knobby-Knee-Mitchell is what some of the kids mimicked. Simply, she was a woman who was rather tall; fair completed skin, short curly-modeled hair. A woman who gave me a choice: She never wrote me up when I did not dress for gym, but instead, she talked to me. Then one day, my mother came to back-to-school night, and from that moment on, I had respect for her. Why you might asked. She did not tell my mother how many days that I had missed dressing in gym class attire. In fact, I lied to her.
"Ms. Mitchell, did my mom tell you that I had to dress for gym everyday?
"Yes," she corresponded with my lie.

Was it a lie? What was it? My mother never mentioned it and me knowing Ms. Mitchell, neither did she. All I know is from that day forward; I always dressed for gym and participated in each and every activity. I enjoyed myself. It was my escape. Escape from something that I have no idea, but it was a time I enjoyed. Besides, who fails gym? I do know that I was not necessarily popular. I was not cute or pretty, but was satisfactorily outgoing. I was well known by the other students-the in crowd, the so-called nerds, and those that were bullied - I did not hesitate to exclude anyone. In fact, I did everything I could to be a peacekeeper although I ended up a victim after my stomach ran into a girl’s fist while I was trying to breakup a fight. This school was well known for its problems and mayhem, still I just knew I would not be a part of it. In contrast, each day, I was decked in my hand-me-downs; presuming to be not only a modeled student, but a well behave child to my parents. My parents didn’t play!

Twenty-four years ago, I was the fastest runner in my gym class. I even outran Willie Bozeman. Thinking back now, I wonder what ever happened to him. He was smart, so I just know he was not suckered in with those who did not finish school, on drugs, in prison or dead. I am so sure he made it.

----------
1983
The school was large. It seemed it was much larger than my last school. It seemed rushed – you know, the kids seemed rushed. It was crowded! The halls buzzed – each kid staring at the other; stagnant freshmen. I was overwhelmed. At this time, in this space, Ms. Mitchell’s voice was probably not heard - reminisced. At this stage, there was a new elitism making us all leery.

Just like every new dot, everyone found a place to fit and comprehend. 23 years ago, I have no idea what type of grades I received. I can not imagine that they were great, yet satisfying as I would not have been able to complete all of my credits in English, Math, Social Studies and Science.

***
My memories wonder back to the days when Junior High Schools gave the mandatory P.A.R. testing. I remember my siblings informing me how important it was that I passed those tests before entering High School. I did; I passed two of the four-part testing the first semester and two the next. I was informed that one would not be able to graduate High School if not all four of the test were complete.

----------
1983 – 1984
Ms. Davis was a great music teacher. I assumed I could sing, so I enrolled into two music classes. Humph, I probably could not sing, but I did make BV – Bolt Vibration – two years in a row. Thinking back now, I do recall that my junior year in BV was slightly intimidating, as I was the only junior in the entire class. However, I made my way through with a little encouragement from the Caucasian students. One thing I can say is, peer pressure is a perplexing.

There I was singing, "The Mumbo" with two other alto singers. But when both of them were out sick, and the group was scheduled to perform, I sung – solo - "Do the Mumba-lo" at the top of my lungs! Later, Ms. Davis and the rest of the singing duel told me that they did not realize I was alone, but surprised I was able to carry on as if I were not.

----------
1983 – 1985
I was standing outside with a few of my gal-pals from the neighborhood. As we prepared our short walk home, one of them informed me of the job information that she had received from her student counselor. My friend passed on the info to me, I called the employer, setup an interview, contacted my second to the oldest sister and she drove me, dressed in my Sunday suit to IBM.

Note: A former High School chum informed me that her student counselor told her that she would not be able to do this and or that. That is unfair. Remind me to research the tasks of a student counselor. At this moment, all I can assumed is that they are there to encourage and inform and mentor. Ms. Christensen did neither for me. A.W. informed me about the job, and God along with the encouragement and aid of my family helped me to obtain and retain it.

----------
1983 - 1985
For some odd reason (Not to get too personal), I took the liking to a kid, G.J.; he knew it. There I was, in Mr. McCracken’s class. I can recall now, that at that time, I was thinking the class design was unique to me as we sat alphabetically in rows similar to my collage courses.

Mr. McCracken was a very likeable person, very personable, easily liked by his students as well as the staff and a great teacher. Well, he actually was a good teacher as I am sure many of his students learned from his direction. However, I myself did not. One day, he gave us a fun test. We were in groups and whichever group answered the most questions, won. At the time, I felt so pointless and dutifully ignorant, I wished that I could disappear. I did not answer ONE question correctly. Most of the time, I just sat there and stared; I probably would have cried. I had NO business in that class and Mr. McCracken KNEW it. When it was time for me to answer ANY question, I just sat there, trying so eagerly to recall what I had studied. I tried everything to jog my memory, but nothing came to mind and NOTHING spewed from my mouth. Instead, I sat there blankly and shrugged my shoulders, often simply responding, "I don’t know."
And you know, what? I DID NOT. I did NOT know the answer to ANY of the questions. G.J. stared at me. In my mind, I thought he might have a little empathy for me and give me a mercy-date if I just answer just ONE question, but, well, I did not. Instead, my mind was just sedentary.

Once, I was taking a test in Mr. McCracken’s class, and I got very ill. I recall a student sitting in front of me who looked back at me from time to time. I wondered if he knew I was struggling. I was. I became ill, left the class and when I returned to school, Mr. McCracken gave me a make-up test. Guess what. I KNOW I DID NOT ANSWER NOT ONE QUESTION CORRECTLY. Moreover, you know to make matters worse, he gave me a B! Yep, he gave me a B on that test as well as my report card.

----------
1984 or 1985
Ms. Marsh never asked if I wanted to be a writer, but she seemed to imply that she would encourage me had she known. However, she sat there and allowed me to make so many–too many mistakes on my essay. She corrected them – red marks and scrawl all of my pages. And what did she do? She returned the pages with a big fat B+!
Did she see potential, or was she just faking it?

----------
1982 through 1985? Mrs. Gombeski, Mr. McCracken and Ms. Marsh were all alike in giving me something I did not deserve. As my memory seems to be waning, I can not say what I deserved from Mrs. Gombeski or Ms. Marsh, but I do know for sure that I did not deserve to receive a passing grade from Mr. McCracken. They failed me. Sadly, I failed myself.

Today, Thursday, February 16th, DPS announced that the school board has decided to close Manual High School for one year. As I look back on those days, I wonder how many students have the "teachers" failed. It saddens me now. Humph! My Alma-Mata. Just how many kids have been failed by this learning institution?

The news reports that 475 students entered Manual High School, but only 95 graduated. What has gone wrong? Ms. Mitchell: "I want you to learn all you can while you’re here, because once you leave, it will be different… "Once you enter High School, you’ll get lost in the crowd... You won’t matter to those teachers, and they’ll just pass you right on to the next grade... Take the time to learn all you can and appreciate what you have here."

----------
I was blessed or fortunate to have two parents while growing up, and if my parents were not keeping an eye on me, then my siblings were. None of my six siblings nor me has ever seen a day behind bars. We have never used recreational drugs or hustled people. We were not perfect in our home, but assumed to be modeled citizens in our low-class neighborhood. My parents wanted us to make it… make it anywhere where they could be proud and we would be pleased with our achievements.

----------
I recall our current councilman, Michael Hancock as well as his brother, Daryl. …
Some of us moved from the neighborhood, while some of us remained. Nonetheless, Manual High School was a place I remember. I was not a cheerleader. I was not on the debate team. Nevertheless, I studied speech, as well as many courses of English comprehension and Grammar, music, and drama. I regret not running track although I was a great poised runner in Junior High.

While I know it is not the job of my student counselor or instructors to hold my hand and provide solace within the walls of Manual High School, I can only imagine that a little guidance would have been beneficial. While I have no regrets in the courses I took or my actions afterwards, I can only imagine how beneficial it would have been for me to have been in classes where I was able to comprehend as to what I was being taught. I can not solely blame the teachers, but I wonder what were they teaching ME!

Manual High School, my Alma Matta, is closing "for at least one year." What happens to those displaced students? Superintendent Michael Bennet said that they should transfer to other, more prominent schools! What?!?!?! So, Manual High School was not such a school? How long does it take someone to notice that 475 students enrolled, but only 380 of them were lost between here and nihility? Is Mr. Bennett revealing that Manual High School as well as the entire School district is running a shortage on worthy teachers? I suppose it does prove that the Gombeski’s, McCracken's, and the like are no longer allowed to hold the title of teacher – no matter what their certificate reads. However, it makes me wonder, just how many other Gombeski’s-McCracken's are out there? How many more are just pushed on – allowed to entire life without the proper tools?

This leaves much to examine

Is Mr. Bennett correct in recognizing a problem now? OR has the problem been going on way too long to be corrected? Should DPS put out an A.P.B. in quest for viable teachers?

Today, while many homes do not have both parents present, it makes me wonder if that is just a portion of the problem. Again, DPS is not a babysitter, but it certainly does owe these kids an education – an opportunity to succeed.

I will certainly stay tuned.

Memorable time in 1982:
The blizzard of ’82 - The blizzard that closed the City
I love snow
I love the cold weather
Is Manual High School cold, or did the failing grades turn on the heat?
Is Manual High School cold, or did the superintendent and school officials show them a better place to receive a warmth of education?
Is Manual High School cold, and if so, did the teachers turn a cold shoulder during class?
Is Manual High School cold, or will the greed help keep the extravagant warmer?
Its cold outside….burrrrrrrr!

It is so cold both outside as well as in

I took a stroll through my old neighborhood and the thought came to me. I thought about Home Sales listed in the Saturday Denver Post, and the cost to purchase a home in that area is outrageous. When my parents first purchased their home, in the 70’s, they did not pay more than $7,000 for their home, while today, their home is worth over $300,000. Yes, the neighbor has changed quite a bit. Older neighbors can recall when Blacks were not allowed to live past Downing street and later in the years, York street. As the years went on, and my generation came along, more and more Blacks moved up to Colorado Boulevard, Monaco and further Eastward towards Stapleton Airport.

Now that’s a story. The old Stapleton was a pretty decent airport. Easy access and centrally located. However, today, the old Stapleton area is a safe haven – an entire different world. So much so, that while driving through the newly constructed area, I had gotten so caught-up and mesmerized by my surroundings, that I had almost forgotten where I was. I was reminded of the old Sci-fi movies my brother and I use to watch. It was almost a different world – space and time. It seemed to me as if a new breed of folk had built a place just for "them." I tell ya, I had seen nothing like it in real-time. The area is nice, clean, almost surreally serene. Just makes me think of the show with Rod Sterling, sci-fi music, "doo-doo-doo."

I am one who hates change, but, this was spooky – expansion of nicely built shops that sold things just for "them." I can not fathom the thought that any Black nor White folk I knew would be found in these surroundings. The homes were different from the old Victorian homes were I was raised. And even more so, they were built better than any of the homes in Green Valley Ranch as well as Highlands Ranch. The space in the New Stapleton area was secluded. Specially made for a new breed of folk.

Yes, change was/is among us. What was, is no more. The area surrounding and a few miles where I was born and raised has changed. No longer are the homes occupied by primarily Black folk, but white folks are moving back to the area. Manual High School will close now, only to reopen with a new color skin of folk. Why should the people who are willing to pay a half of million for a home in that area, be bothered with kids who are running down the area? Black schools seem not to produce children who will graduate to be productive students. So what do they do about the majority Black failing school in such a prosperous area? Close it down. Close it down now and let the Blacks go to East, George Washington, Thomas Jefferson and South High Schools. Now, lets forget that those schools are already overloaded with students and possibly teachers who do not put much effort into teaching. Hence, more failing schools. But, why should they care? A vast number of White students are not enrolled there.

The plan is a simple one: Move all the Black students out of the inner City so that they can flood the suburbs. Look around you. What do you see? Thirty years ago, a great number of Whites flooded the suburbs while Blacks remained in the inner City. However, today, it is just the opposite. Whites are moving away from the suburbs and back to the City and Blacks are selling the Victorian homes previous owned by their parents and moving to the suburbs. You say you do not see this happening? Well, check the home sales in Saturday paper. Just look! You will see the price of those carefully made homes, selling for $400,000 or ½ a million dollars. My parents paid a little under $10,000 for their home, but today, it is worth over $300,000. Blacks are moving out, Whites are moving in.

Manual High School will have to close so that it can be restructured for the new White students in the neighborhood. Farewell old Manual High School.

Where do I live? In ghetto Green Valley Ranch. Yes, there is an Association - for now, but when the Association is not proactive, it becomes inactive and in the end, is diminished to nothing. And when I first moved here, over 6 years ago, the area was predominately White; there were only 3 other Black families living along the strip. Today, I believe there are only one or two White families out of 100 homes. They did not move to another section of the community, but to a new community where they can get more use of their money, hence the inner City formerly known as the Urban area.

Makes sense to me.

However, I just wish that Mr. Bruce Hoyt, Michael Bennet, Ms. Happy Haynes along with the other supportive DPS Board members, would stop the fabrication that this decision is all in the best interest of the students who attend Manual High School TODAY. It is not! When Thomas Jefferson and the others take in these students, those schools will be far behind too. Mr. Bennett, please, give me a break. Lie to your friends, but not to me. Please tell me (us) when will Denver Public Schools actually look out for the STUDENTS of DPS and not just the selected students or your big business cronies who donate the fat dollars to make the district as they see fit?

It was Denver Public Schools that failed to work for its for 75% of it’s students, and NOT Manual High School. DPS failed these students in so many ways, that it is just sickening and is totally unfair. Denver Public Schools – not Manual High School – owes each and EVERY student an education. Do you mean to tell me that after all those years, that it was unnoted that there was a vast decrease in enrollment and graduating students? You mean to tell me that no one inquired about the knowledge of the students as well as the teachers? No investigation? Nothing? As noted by John Stossel, "GIVE ME A BREAK!"

©Keeba Smith
Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is a columnist, an author and social issues commentator
KSmith023@yahoo.com

Kenya's Corner

2006-02-14T16:44:00.000-08:00

New Years Resolutions - 2006

2006-02-11T15:31:00.000-08:00

New Years Resolutions

I tried making New Years Resolutions, Renewals for the New Year, Promises for the New Year, or whatever you desire to refer to them as. It does not matter what you call them, because I know one thing for sure and that is, they do not work for me. About some odd 22 years ago, I had an epiphany – a revelation came upon me and I discovered that they were false promises I was making to myself and that they just didn’t work. So with this newly learned thing, that if it doesn’t work, then try something else, and hence, I did. Now, this is not a secret as I have decided that I would share it with most of you. Ok, all of you.

Before I reveal the secret remedy, just remember that an insane man finally came to his senses and said that if one continues to do the same thing over and over again, the reveal their own insanity. I say the man/woman who made that statement that had to be insane because they found out through experience. Well, as you know, I have been released from the white jackets and hence, have learned that encouraging New Years Resolutions is a huge waste and I would like to think that I listen to myself and at least attempt to try to learn from my mistakes.

I stopped proclaiming to others what I promise to do and not to do, as I just know that I am not willing to make such a sacrifice and life change. And when I think of making a life change, I think how far reaching that would be for a person like me. "Life change" seems silly and useless. The words alone are not profound; they do not carry much weight.

In the past 22 years, I have learned that I will never change and as my dear dad use to say, "That’s just how it is." Moreover, as some unknown smart person once asked, "Why change a good thing?" No, I’m not perfect in all that I do, but hey, I’m as happy as an effeminate man in Canon City prison.

Over the years, one of my New Years Resolutions were that I would lose weight. Well, as you know, that was not true as I am certainly a few pounds overweight and contest that I have gained and lost more than 100lbs in my lifetime. Some of my New Years Resolutions were that would eat healthier. I have eaten healthier from time to time, but if I am hungry, I eat, and if I’m not, then I won’t eat. It is as simple as that. Since I have an order to eating, I adhere to an illness that calls for medication that increases as well as decreases my appetite. Either I eat, eat, eat, or I do not eat at all, and hence, I have developed an eating disorder. Now, have no fear, I’m not worried, as it’s just how it is.

The epiphany I received, just came upon me one morning while I was in the shower, or brushing my teeth one or the other, I forget. Either or, but I seem destined to repeat what I already had done and was not willing or able to discontinue my old habits. It was just that, a habit. The secret: just continue to do what you’ve always done! You can expound on it, just as long as you continue it with decency, dignity and consistency and with complete joy and satisfaction. I needed to be true to me and remind myself that someone once said that honesty was the best policy. Who was the weak exposed person that said, "To thy own self be true?" It works for me.

When the clock struck 12:01AM, I vowed the following:

I promise to eat whenever and whatever I want.
I promise to not care what anyone thinks as I have learned over 25 years ago, that no one cares as much as I do, and that’s a lot about nothing.
I promise not to telephone people (that I know) who do not wish to be called after 9:00PM.
I promise to continue picking up trash from both sides of my home as well as well as the debris from both of my trashy neighbors.
I promise to wipe the kitchen counter 3 or 4 times daily even when I don’t make a mess.
I promise to yell obscenities at anyone who calls my home after 10:00PM if they are not in need of my immediate services, sick, dying or dead. (Dead people can’t call, and if they did, I hardly think I’d yell any profanities.)
I promise to love and obey my dog for as long as she demands and commands it and as long as we both shall live.
I promise I will not forget those that have forsaken me.
I promise not to promise anything, but keep an honest conscious thought about what I promised.
I promise that I will not promise not to get upset with stupid people including the Village Idiot, my government, my husband, my family members, friends and foes.
I promise not to promise that I will never procrastinate ever again.
I promise that I will not promise to say what I mean and to mean what I say.
I promise not to promise to stop abusing my health.
I promise to limit my shower time to 30 minutes.
I promise not to promise to tell white, black, green, or any other color, lie.
I promise not to promise that I will not eat after 8:00PM as well as in the bed.
I promise to read more.
I promise to try to listen and adhere to God more.

Seems easy enough for me and I wouldn't mind if you made a copy for yourself.

Most people seem to be more practical when making the vows and promises for New Years Resolutions. I have heard that they will lose weight, be a better driver, clean their homes more, cease cheating on their spouses, pray, read their Bible, be more content, slow to anger, be more trustful, etc.

For those of you who have made those promises, I only have a few responses to you fat, licensed-yanked, dirty, cheating, sinful, dyslexic, irate naïve folk.

I will always be fat
When I was just a little baby, the doctor told my mother that I was overweight. My mom argued that I was just so cute that I resembled a fat little dolly. The doctor however retorted that I was so fat, that it was dangerous to be so fat. And that although I was just a baby, I could have a heart attack.
The doctor gave my mother some goat milk to help me slim down those extra pounds, but my mother said I cried and cried. Now, I can only imagine that no new mother likes her baby crying without supplying aid, so my mother did what any mom would. She gave me portions of the regular milk that I enjoyed so much.
With that said, I could, although I would never, blame my mother for promoting my obesity. I still wonder where my beauty derived from. "Milk does a body and complexion good."

I will never be a better driver in less than or within the next 365 days
For the last two years, I have vowed to be a better driver, but today, I am the same nasty impatient driver. I still spout obscenities at other stupid drivers even when I later realized that I was at fault. Consequently, I do not think that was a wise resolution to make as my doctor had told me several times not to drive in the first place.

I will not keep my office cleaner
When I was younger, my parents always made us clean the house from top to bottom, from bottom to top. It was such a chore-dusting, mopping, washing clothes, and making beds. Sheesh, it was an all day job. I felt as though I was a live in maid. Now that I am older, I dread the thought that there should ever be such organization. Once, I cleaned my office so well, that I called my brother to inform him of my good deed. And as the youngest of seven, yet older than 21, I suppose I expected a rooha or a trinket. However, my brother was not amused, but simply asked, "What do you want me to do?"
"It looks really good," I chimed.
"And?"
"Well, I just wanted you to know that it’s much cleaner than what I usually keep it."
"Humpf, you act as though this is something that is unusual or that you’re not suppose to keep it clean."
I was disappointed by his remarks, so I just say the heck with it. If no one else cares, then why should I?

I will not dust every item in my home on a regular basis
As a child, we had to dust every single Saturday, so I need to rebel at some point. With my parent’s heavy slaved labor, it kept me from doing what I enjoyed most; playing with my Barbie dolls from sunup till sundown. If we decided to skip dusting a piece of furniture, my mom or dad would come along and write their name on it; an indication that Barbie would be playing by herself.
Every now and then, I will play those same smarts as my parents, but when I write my name across the coffee table or TV on Saturday, I end up writing the date on it two Saturdays after that. I suppose I should have had children, or better yet, hired a maid.

I will always try to be a faithful wife
I am as faithful as my opportunities. I have never cheated on my husband, but my characters have and that calls for some heavy mind alerting fantasies. What am I suppose to do, allow all of my characters to have a perfect life, with no personality defects? What is a story without conflict?

I will always pray
I never claimed that I would cease praying, but did pledge to pray more often. I use to pray six or seven times a day. Now, I only pray constantly.

I will always read my Bible
When I was just a young child, my preacher said, "Don’t believe me, but read it for yourself." After that heavy concession, I went out, purchased a Bible, and read it all the time. As the years would follow, I would purchase a New Translation Bible and read chapters at a time.
I have read the entire New Testament and am currently working on the Old. With my great organizational skills, I am sure to finish it before my worn out days when I am confined to my bed.

I will always ask God for forgiveness
I am not proud, but must be honest when I say that I am a hypocrite. Enough said.

I will always be content with Peace
Some years ago, I prayed for patience. I received Peace, and I am as about as happy and content as my dog rolling in the dirt after a shower.

I will always consider that the Village Idiot was wrong to go to war in Iraq. (Even if WMD’s were found)
So what if Saddam Hussein had WMD’s in his possession? Was it not we who gave them to him? Duh! So what if Saddam killed his own citizens. People in the U.S. certainly are not living longer because of their government. And for those who are, wish they weren’t… (well, I’ll leave that for next year IF I’m found alive after publishing anything about Iraq, the president or the likes.)
Seems to make sense or is no big wup to our government that they allow people to go without medical insurance, food, water, housing, and other necessities while they sit so comfortable in their warm HOUSES.

I will never trust anyone
I put my faith and trust in no man. Case closed.

Through the years, I have learned two things about the past. 1.) One who never learns anything about the past and their mistakes, is bound to repeat them. 2.) Memories reflect realities, and the reality is, I am not going to change, or at least, I promise not to promise.

After that, pray for me. (You too)

©Keeba Smith
Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is a columnist, an author, and social issues commentator
KSmith023@yahoo.com

Keeba's Korner: Chez_Cartier

2006-02-10T07:42:00.000-08:00

Keeba's Korner: Chez_Cartier

Chez_Cartier

2006-02-10T07:22:00.000-08:00

Currying Favor

2006-01-31T20:00:00.000-08:00

African American Book Review

2006-01-31T13:55:00.000-08:00

A Day in The Life...My time is limited

2006-01-27T21:19:00.000-08:00

My time is limited...
Should I die before I wake, I hope that my husband knows how much he was loved. How much I appreciated his energy, love, fun and laughter…he has the perfect smile. He always has my best interest at heart and because of his trust and courage, I have strength. I thank him daily for believing in me.

A Day in the life

Oh how I love to see your beautiful face
I think nothing can replace
The joys you have given me
You make me laugh
Laugh so hard
Sometimes I cry
I think I might die
Die without your love
I thank God in heaven above
For someone like you
You see
You are my friend
Not necessarily my lover
And above all
You help me to recover
From the pain of these days
Consisting of whatever what may
Come to my life
Is human
Thanks for being there holding me close
Laughing at my stupid jokes
Sharing in the sorrow
Not knowing what tomorrow
May bring, but
You make me wanna sing
With joy of these feelings
So warm
There was a time when I use to pretend
But then,
You came along
You make me wanna sing
Sing a new song
Now, I sing a new song
A song of happiness
A song of forgiveness
Nothing
No one can take this smile from my face
Its here to stay
Nothing
Can take this joy away
From my heart
In this life I will always stay
With you
Loving you
Enjoying you
No mater what comes or what may be
You’ve always got me
Me and my love

©Keeba Smith©Keeba Smith
Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is a columnist for Black Denver Speaks, an author, and social issues commentator
Keeba23@netscape.net

Na-No-Blog-Mo

2006-01-26T14:58:00.000-08:00

The Price for Beauty

2005-12-30T20:46:00.000-08:00

Beauty Has its Price Getting Implemented

Yesterday, I had my hair beutified. Now what does that mean? Well, as an African American woman, I define it as making an appointment at my favorite beautician, then waiting an extra 40 minutes even though I made the appointment last week. I sit and I wait to have my hair washed and then dried with an extra-hot flaming-heat blowtorch-dryer. I then sit and wait an extra 15 to 20 minutes and then am directed to another chair-as if the first one was not suitable for styling, but yet a warning. Nonetheless, I sit and watch the beautician apply gunk to my hair, grab additional combs and styling brushes, teasing devices, along with more styling-gunk and more flame to detonate the hairstyle. And then 1 hour and 45 minutes later, ta-da, I am beutified! Simple? Yes. It was worth my time and $125 as I walk out of the salon and watch old men gawk and stare. Although my scalp is still burning, my ego is pumped as the old men whistle at me as well as their dogs in the nearby park. But the dogs are anxious; jumping around and then chasing the fire engine. Too bad they missed the fire on top of my head. I thought, whoever said it is better to be pissed off than pissed on, was not walking around with a fire on their head and dogs running loosely to urine on fire hydrants in lieu of my hair.

I ignore the compounded-tingly-sensation yet open sores in my hot, painful scalp. Men need to understand that we women go through complete burning hell to look good.

After the blowtorch torture, I bypass the rinky-dink stores and drive to a retail franchise to purchase non-chip fingernail polish. Could you tell I was a glutton for punishment? While there, I purchase facial cleanser and other items that would only be used once and then saved until dehydrated in the bottom of the bottle. Next year, when I’m invited to the party of the year, I hope to consider going to the cheaper outlets to buy unnecessary products. If not, I would be sure to apply water in an attempt to revive what was meant to be preserved or placed in a time capsule.

With my fiery head and tortured wallet, I am at the end of the line in my grocery store buying pain reliever.

That night, I slept in a fashion that only sistas or women with class would understand: I recline on my left side with my left palm adjusting my swollen scalp. Throughout the night, I may have given my failing wrist a break, thereby switching to my right side. If my head should slip out of my palm, I would gently pat my head to make sure the style stayed in place. Of course, my eyes would remain closed, as I would do anything to alleviate swollen-eye-bags to match a swollen head. (Good thing I went to bed at 7:00PM.)

The next morning, I tried to focus on my chores before getting ready for the party of the year. With the pain ever present, but reduced swelling, I was able to clean part of the house but adhere to every need of my owner a.ka. my dog, D. Queen.

Hours passed when I had finished complying with my dog’s demands. It was now time for a need of my own. One must take into account that all I wanted to do was to make myself feel and smell better. There I was in my bathroom partially dressed, as I certainly was not expecting company. I was preparing myself for my shower routine. Now, I’m so sure that most people just get into the shower, bathe two or three times and hop out. But, no, not me. I have a routine to adhere to, it is extremely important, and a must-have that I do it or everything in my life will fail. Ok, now, that is extreme, just my day, or is it my psyche that goes haywire.

There I am shaping myself for what others can complete in a matter of minutes. One would think that with the increased prices of water and other public utilities that I would try to get this done in less than 5 minutes. No one would know ‘cept for me. Well, not only me, but also everyone else who stands within 5 feet of my person. Most people do not know this, and I would certainly hope that this isn’t shared with anyone. But, you see, over the years, I had developed a minor, sometimes severe chronic illness, which causes me to sweat like a rhino in 100-degree heat. Well, although I often looked in the mirror at my naked body, it would come into view that I had the frame of a large beast. Nonetheless, the grotesqueries had been with me for over 30-plus years, I had not intentions on attempting to change now.

I looked in the mirror and wondered how well my makeup would stick to my face because only inches above it was very irritated. I tossed the shower mat into the bottom of the tub and reached for my beauty bar. Who moved it? While searching, I accidentally broke a nail, thus chipping my non-chip very expensive fingernail polish. If only my husband would not move things that should not be of interest to him. Besides, wasn’t it he who thought it was a great idea for us to share the same bathroom? Hmmm, perhaps I should teach him a lesson by using his tools.

I went to his special tool drawer, removed his crazy glue, and thought about not putting it back where I found it. I unearthed the mucilage in a package that had been opened. I took the glue out and squeezed the tube just lightly. Hmmm, nothing came out. Drats. I opened the main opening and saw that the seal had not been broken. I reached for a pin and slightly pierced through the foil. Ah. I replaced the lid and unscrewed the tip of the tube, slightly applied pressure to the tube and waited for about one and ½ seconds, or less. The glue gushed out unto my fingers and the countertop. Immediately, I reached for a towel and wiped the porcelain along with some of my fingers.

When I thought the danger was over, I picked up the tube, applied the glue to the nail of my thumb, and attempted to replace the cap. With the glue still on my thumb and forefinger, I kept my coolness when holding on to the open glue machine thingy. Through all of the craziness of the crazy glue, I had glued two of my fingers together. I couldn’t get them apart! I began to panic, which brought back the pain to my skinless-scalp. Lawd! I thought about calling the man who promised to honor, obey, and do everything I say, but he was out picking up my dress from the cleaners. The next thought, was to call 911, but because I was partially dressed and peering as though my fingers were throwing gang signs, I feared that it was not the best thing; at least not at the moment.

I hurried into the bedroom, retrieved some fingernail polish remover, and poured it on my fingers. I tried to yank-stretch my fingers apart, but as the advertisement on the glue tube says, "Instantly bonds," that was not about to happen. With my burning scalp, I had no idea that I would even think or consider reading the package. However, it states, "this product should be kept out of the reach of children, avoid eye or mucous, contact" – along with some other useless small print. There were multiple warnings on this small wachamacallit. (There were other explicates I could assume to utter.) I peered at the crazy glue warnings. The words were small yet firm (no pun here). In such a panic-emergency, my eyes glanced over some of the words, but what I can gather, the tinny tiny warning of words, calmly stated the following:

If you are over the age of 21, please do not consider yourself an adult.
Consult a man who can read as well as follows instructions. (No, not just any instructions, but THESE instructions.)
Consult a man who actually follows directions and actually knows what the consequences are for using this product - Even if he made the mistake of gluing his hands to his face or other body parts in the past.
Once a man has made the mistake of misusing this product, it is considered trial and error, however, he is certainly certified, authorized and bonded (no pun intended), to make use of this product. However, MUST be done with supervision of the maker of this product, three doctors, and two lawyers.
Before making use of this product, make sure you have your wife’s permission to use her fingernail polish remover. Or, better yet, purchase your own fingernail polish remover or some other strong smelling glue-removing device.
Before making use of this product, make sure all pets that you wish to own after today, are removed from the immediate area. If not avoid the humane society legalities by making sure that any pet identification is removed from the deceased.
Prior to using this product, make sure 911 is in speed dial.
If you are just stupid enough to glue your body parts together, then have enough sense to pray to the good Lord. Asking Him to shine His ever-loving light on the idiot who just had to use this product improperly and without the certified supervision, and/or the help of a smart minor.
Continue with prayer while soaking a q-tip in some fingernail polish remover and GENTLY pry the source apart.
If you decide to skip some of these instructions, but read the very last one, yell to the top of your lungs in hopes that the EMT’s will hear you.

**** ****
Oh lawddddd, the paramedics just left my home. Oh my, for those of you who witnessed this near "fatal for my dog" who was staring at me event, I wonder how will I ever show my face in public again. Oh, and for those that missed it, I thank God that you did not miss much. The neighbors came out and were staring and pointing at my partially dressed body. Just a horrible time to kickoff the holiday season among other things.

Now, I am literally stuck with the embarrassment of my neighbors and glue residue. And to top it off, my scalp hurts!

©Keeba Smith
Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is a columnist for Black Denver Speaks, an author, and social issues commentator KSmith023@yahoo.com

Delusions

2005-12-25T20:09:00.000-08:00

From Keeba’s Korner: Keeba Kornered & Kaptured in Kaptivity

Delusions that are forced to appear real
It is unfortunate that so many, too many fail or refuse to watch news reports. Whether it is religious reasons, lack of time or loss of interest, one might find of interest what the new laws the government has forced upon the people.

While I am so sure that many are troubled with, unemployment being an all-time high since 1953 and increased oil prices since the days of slick Willie; some people may feel a need to find and adhere to other distractions. Many worried folks not knowing if they’ll have a place to lay their head or where their next meal is coming from, may have tried to do something with their time and make use of current resources. (Whatever they might be). Notwithstanding, some still deciding if food and other necessities are more important than having medication or a roof over their heads. As for desires, well, they are outdated and have hence become a thing of the past; forget about it here in one of the richest Countries on this planet. (At least for now.)

While I attempt to spread joyous news and be amiable, it is often difficult. I was so sure that this would be one of those times, however I am wrong.

When I first became eliminated from the workforce, I spent many hours watching FoxNews Network, CNN, MSNBC, and many other worldwide news stations. I read the newspaper from front to back as well as the small local free newspapers left outside the door of retailers. While I am so sure I was being informed about the world around me, I was becoming inundated with politics, crime, and the like. I had ceased paying attention to the things that I enjoyed most. Almost demented with the plethora of information flooding my surroundings, I had considered admitting myself to the nearest mental health institution. I tell ya, I was just so sick and affixed with it, that it became apparent to my family that I had become neglectful a.k.a. partially or totally insane. I began to imagine what the tight white jackets would feel like. Heck, you have to admit (both women and men), no matter what color of clothing you wear, white goes with everything.

Well, suddenly I assumed that I had good news. Wait, let me say that before hurricane Katrina, I finally realized my obsession to current events and slowly ceased my manic craze, but with Web Pointer MD saved in my favorites and Dr. Kevorkian’s number in speed dial. Yes, I continued to watch the local news two to three times a day and kept informed by daily news articles, however within reason and with www.biologicalunhappiness.com at my fingertips. Notwithstanding and with all earnestness, I could not tear myself away from the television while I watched with sadness, fear, and disbelief while the catastrophic event destroyed and took so (too) many lives.

At one moment, I began to watch sitcoms. Whew! That was more than I could take. I enjoyed re-runs of All in the Family, Sanford and Son and many others. While Everybody Hates Chris is still a must see, I had to put an end to all of the others-new and old.
One afternoon, I received a call from a friend of a relative, and wham! I became inspired again.

Here’s my story:
One evening, I was pecking at the keys on my keyboard and I felt it was time to hear the jams from my favorite musician’s strum. I finally unwrapped a box that I had received some time ago. I knew what was inside - my new office-stereo. I performed my ritual when I received new things that came with an Owners Manual; I tossed aside the wrapping and Owner Manuals and plugged it in. What about the Owners Manual, you ask. Well, it must remain in the factory shipped wrapper until removal is necessary. See the way I see it is that when I finally do read it, - a year or more from now – I will discover new things. And walla, it’s just as new as the first day I opened the box a year prior! With the reference book close to the wastebasket, I plugged in my new stereo. I played with the CD thingy (no wonder I needed a new one), touched all the unread buttons and then started turning the knobs. Finally, I tuned into one of my favorite radio stations and noticed something that has not occurred in such a long, long time. (Wow, just the little things amaze me.) THEY WERE NOT TALKING! Nope, no talking nor commercials but continuous jams. I was groovin and a movin. I was on to something. They called themselves, Jammin 92.5, whereas I think they should have considered something more fitting like, Continuos Jams or something ‘nother. (I’m so sure if I gave it more thought, I would have come up with a catchier moniker.) Now, I know, you might say, she is some over-weight broad who has nothing else to do but waste time watching television or listening to music 24/7. But, you’re wrong. When able and not stuffing my face, I hit the treadmill or ski machine and when I do, I would listen to the continuos jams from my Walkman. Now, listen, I’m not an advertiser for any musician or radio station, but just desired to spread good news; something I think would help ease some folks from the day to day drab.

Well, this release has changed.

As I said, I just wanted to spread some good news or share something that I had embarked upon and was delighted to pass on. For all I know, the good news I wanted to pass on may not have been new to many. However, like a used car or any used item passed on to me, it may be used, but I was not the previous owner, so hence, it would be new to me. Nevertheless, I will say that I have listened to this radio station for years – at work, in the car. However, I was always limited with time; I had a job with clients who did not share my taste in music and my manager wasn’t too kind when I walked the office with headphones attached to my head. Thinking back on those dark days, I suppose it may have had something to do with the time someone accidentally pulled the fire alarm and I failed to notice the panic of 100plus employees. And, as far as the car. Well, tell me this, how much time can one spend in a car? I can eat and drink (non-alcoholic beverages, of course) and even get a little freaky inside my car, but then again, I cannot sleep in it. I mean at least I’m not forced to do so as of yet.

While I wanted to relay good news, I have awful news. The radio station once known as Jammin 92.5 is gone; it is no more. This disappointment came at a surprise, as I had no idea that the change was coming.

This is how I become aware of the transition: Yesterday morning I was performing my morning ritual. You know, feed the dog, take the dog out. Feed the fish and see if any fish need to be taken out. Wash my hands, wipe the kitchen counter, go to the bathroom and check my look in the mirror. (Yep, its me.) Turn on the shower and the shower radio, grab my shower-mat, looffa bar, and wait… Uh huh, something is new here. Should I have saved that Owners Manual or, should I have not listened to my 17 therapists? The radio was doing some sort of count down. What the heck! I did as I was told when the announcer told me "not to stare at my radio." By the time I finished cleaning, the count down thingy had come to an end and the announcer proclaimed that 92.5 was the new radio station for Country "Willie 92.5." What?!?!? I quickly dried my not so corpulent not so J-Lo body, applied lotion, dressed in my drab, and went into my bedroom. I turned on the amp and searched and searched for my radio station but to my displeasure, it could not be found. Later that day, I made a call or two and sent emails to family and friends inquiring about my station but no one seemed to know. I believe they were spending time with their co-workers or not inside a vehicle.

Today, December 16th, I opened an email with the title, What Happened to 92.5FM? I read, and I read. (frown) The radio station is gone. After reading the article, hmmm, I didn’t perceive any obvious reasons, so I’m not so sure as to why I am being forced to tune into FoxNews, yet again. While considering a call to the good Dr., I thought about the changes the station had made when Gloria Neal was added to "The Morning Show." It was a comforting that an African American was attached to Old School music played by mostly African Americans. Now, don’t get me wrong, as certainly I enjoyed the former, popular DJ Neal replaced, but just that it made sense or was easy to grasp. (No irony there) It was a different twist to the range of listeners.

I suppose, this release has made a round trip. As stated in the beginning, people are stressed and stretched about the economy and their lack of means to know the definition of economy. While money certainly isn’t everything, it certainly helps. And at times like these, it seems so prevalent that there is a lack of it. Well now, the good news is this: Those who love country music well, they have a new station for b-boopin and line dancin. Don’t get me wrong as I’m considerably eclectic when it comes to music, however I have a preference of time as well as when and where. The good news for me, well, as for me, wellllll, look on the bright side: white goes with everything and reasonably poises well against my pale skin. In addition, due to my own struggling surplus, I may be forced to live in my car WITHOUT a radio but with "Fuzzy Math."

©Keeba Smith
Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is a columnist for Black Denver Speaks, an author, and social issues commentator
Keeba23@netscape.net

Keeba Kornered & Kaptured in Kaptivity

2005-12-25T20:00:00.000-08:00

Biography

Keeba Smith is the seventh hatched in Colorado. Her early interests included political science, science fiction movies and toying with her brother’s chemistry lab. At a young age, she won a prize for writing an essay about child safety, hence realized her passion for writing.

Keeba began writing in Junior High School that included her first novelette and compositions, Kool and Kalm. As a youngster, she would write plays and essays for her church, in addition, was asked to write compositions for family and friends. During and after High School, she worked continually in the administrative field while taking several college courses in business and creative writing.

While working, she never withdrew from her love of writing and later surrounded herself with writers’ elite and enrolled in writing classes, which included English, comprehension and grammar. Later, she would wed a longtime family friend and succeed while studying commercial insurance and political science. Her writing and other interests continued until May 1996; she became ill while working late one evening when she experienced severe head pains that were unlike any stressful headache or migraine. Later, she was informed of a growth on her brain.

Although anxious and confused, she woke one morning and informed her spouse she had total peace and was ready to face what may be the end of her life. Later that day, she stopped working on her then recent novel, Yellow Rose and immediately began writing her autobiography, A Spirit in the Dark.

Today, Keeba faces some intricacies, but her dreams are not dismantled. Currently, she is working on her compositions of poems, novels and screenplays, while undertaking the task of writing a friend’s biography as well as writing essays for others who enjoy her method of scrawl.

When not writing, she enjoys photography and building web sites as well as being involved in "Black Denver Speaks." She remains infatuated with the entire process of writing and aims for success on the big screen.

Most recently, during open-mic, Keeba soliloquized, Nothing Is What It Seems and was subsequently labeled an "unsettled writer" and was asked who she was in description, hence, she recited, This is Keeba. (From Keeba’s collection of poems, Keeba Kornered Kaptured in Kaptivity.)

Keeba has been published in 'Time After Time' and 'Poets Elite' (International Poetry Society). With a selective audience, she has shared her novels, Shades of Bright Pale, The Worker, Big Girl, Across the Lines and several others.

The author writes: "Before my illness takes the best of me, I aspire to have all of my compositions/patterned-thoughts published for select readers who have an open mind. After reciting at open mic, I remain reserved, yet overwhelmed to have received the extended standing ovation; it was most appreciated. Furthermore, I graciously accept being labeled a restless cynic and dark poet."

©Keeba Smith - Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
Keeba Smith is an author, and social issues commentator. Penning her latest novel, she resides in North East, Colorado. When not writing, she can be found behind the camera and attending to her garden.
KSmith023@yahoo.com