Sunday, March 30, 2008

The Story that I Wished to Tell

**The other day I wrote a post to lead into this particular entry. You have to read the entry to better understand where I'm coming from in this one.**

After leaving the School for the Blind, I walked away and put the school behind me, never really wanting to look back on those dreadful days. There were only one or two people that I kept in touch with over time. Many people have wondered how could I disconnect myself from so many people that I not only went to school with, but that I ate with and lived with. But the truth is that I was never connected to those people anyway.

For the four years I went to school and lived at the Texas School for the Blind, I felt like a stranger, a hostage, a stow away, a prisoner, a captive. Therefore, none of my emotions were planted there. Unlike many of the blind children that resided at TSBVI, I didn't feel like TSBVI was my haven, my sanctuary, or my retreat from the sighted world. I saw it as a place that I was forced to go to in order to learn how to live life as a blind person. And that was certainly not my idea of fun.

Yes, while I was there, all of my times were not bad. There were actually a few students that I loved and thought of as family. Ladama and Cassie come to mind. I had plenty of good times with both of those girls.

Ladama was my black friend, my roommate, my sister, my homegirl. She's gone to heaven now. I guess we will get a chance to meet again one day.

Cassie was my white friend, my Middle of the night partner, my peek into the mind of a white girl. She schooled me on pop music, how white girls date, and what many white people silently think about black folks. I loved Cassie very much. Still do... We haven't talked in over 10 years. I hear she's in Austin. But I don't know where. But I hope she's okay. I got mad love for the chick.

Well, when I went to Austin last month on business, I thought it may be a good idea for me to push all of my feelings aside and reach out to some of my classmates, who have accused me of distancing myself from them. I specifically wanted to find Cassie and another young woman that I went to high school with, Toni. So, I called CC, who is always glad and grateful to hear from me. I figured she would know how to get in touch with some folks.

CC didn't know how to get in touch with the two women that I was looking for, but she knew the telephone number of someone who did. And guess what... The person she knew how to get in touch with was the person that the school administrators used to push me into being second place in the academic contest that they were holding.

I didn't want to talk to this young lady, but I figured that the conversation was going to be painless. I wanted the telephone number of the other women. So, I was on a mission. Plus, I didn't have any hard feelings for the girl. But I knew that she was a little touched. Remember, this is the same girl that used to slap herself in the face when she got frustrated.

CC called the woman up. The woman acted all excited to hear from me. And what did she bring up? The valedictorian fiasco...

"Are you still mad at me for being valedictorian over you?"

I couldn't believe that this girl, who I haven't talked to in 15 years was asking me this. Surely, she couldn't believe that my 30 something self is sitting up harboring ill will for someone that I feel was only used as a prop in the whole matter. But I guess because she didn't know how I really felt about it, I guess she could somehow use all of the hot air I dispensed to fuss about the matter 15 years ago to inflate her feeble ego.

"Nope, I'm not mad at you."

And the conversation continued. She told me how she's now a "born again" Christian. She also told me how she played the harmonica for money at the rodeo. (Yes, I forgive you, my sighted readers. Blind lady playing the harmonica makes you think of Stevie Wonder. Mee too.) She went on to tell me how she lives in an efficiency apartment in Austin.

Well, she asked me what brought me to Austin. I told her business. I then told her that I would have liked to be in Austin during the primary fever. I told her that I thought it would've been exciting to be in Austin during the debate and so on.

Well, this young lady said, "I voted for Hillary Clinton. Who did you vote for?"

Well, I'm old school in the sense that I believe that it is socially disrespectful to ask someone who they voted for. I think it is private. So, I avoided the question. But it came back at me again.

"I voted for Hillary Clinton. Who did you vote for?"

So, since she insisted on getting an answer out of me, I decided to speak up and tell the woman who I voted for. It's not like it's a secret. Anyone who reads my blog, the Bible Girl blog on the Dallas Observer, or Skeptical Brotha's blog knows who I support in this campaign.

"Barack Obama." I replied.

And guess what this born again, harmonica playing, efficiency apartment living, blind woman said.

"That figures. With you being black and all, i'm not surprised you voted for Obama I would expect you to vote for him, being that both of y'all are black."

"What?!" I screamed in my head.

I couldn't believe that this unemployed, disabled woman would have the nerve to make a racist statement like that. How dare she? How dare she reduce Senator Obama to a sack of black skin?

I guess in her eyes, he nor I, have brains, the ability to choose, the ability to make sound, rational decisions. I guess the fact that Senator Obama is a US Senator means nothing. I guess his law degrees don't mean a hill of beans. I guess my BA and MA degrees are just sheets of blank paper. I guess our intellects have no value. We're just blacks.

I rebuked her by asking her in my intellectually snobby voice, "Do you really think that Senator Obama would have the lead in the primaries if only black people were voting for him?"

Well, she knew she had pissed me off. And she immediately started back peddling.

"I'm not a racist, Angela. I was just playing. I'm really not a racist. You don't think I'm a racist, do you?"

And the answer to that last question is YES.

And she and others wonder why I keep myself far away from them.

It's not because I think I'm better than them. It's not because I think they are stupid. It's not because I hate associating myself with people who are blind.

I stay away from many of them because I am allergic to nonsense, ignorance, and a basic disrespect of humanity.

I was offended mostly because this young woman, who has a disability, had the nerve to look down on another human, only because he is supposedly different than her. I was offended that someone who has limitations, and is still trying to figure out how to get passed them, could not recognize the many accomplishments of Senator Obama, just because he was black. It was this same kind of thinking that made me, a black girl, feel like a foreigner at a school that was supposed to make me, a blind girl feel so comfortable.

**Shaking my head**

I know this post was long. But I didn't want to break it up any further. Thanks for hanging in there with me with this story.

Peace and love,


Back Home

I'm pleased to announce to the world that Angie is back home. Praise God!

As many of you know, the evening of November 7, we were burned out of our brand new home. I was forced to pay for high hotel rooms, to sleep on my cousin's sofa, and to eventually move into a roach infested apartment, until our house was reconstructed. But finally, after nearly four months, we were able to come back home. We moved in March 1st. Thank you, God!

And y'all, we came back home to upgrades. Ceramic tile, wood floors, beautifully painted walls, and so on. It was almost like getting a new house. Almost, but not really... But the new changes in the house kind of help you continue in the healing process.

I'm still trying to settle in. I've been buying things that we need to replace, from appliances (washer and dryer) to bath towels. It's so expensive starting over again. And yes, the insurance money gave us a little money to replace some things. But one thing they couldn't give me is time. I hate having to take the time to rebuild/replace/restart.

But I'm not gon' start complaining.

I'm a blessed woman. I'm home and settled into my home that was only a few moments of going up in total flames. Really, what is there to complain about?

Here's a few reasons why I am thankful regarding this fire.
1. The house was rebuildable.
2. We didn't lose everything.
3. We had insurance.
4. Mama and Jasmine were not at home. (I should have made that no. 1.)
5. I thank God that I live in a house and not an apartment.
6. I thank God that we are far away from that roach infested apartment that we had to call home for 3 months.
7. I thank God that my daddy was around to manage the rebuilding of the house. He's a good daddy, and a great man. I love him so much.

Some things I learned because of the fire...
1. Always have an insurance policy in place on everything you own.
2. Always stash money in a savings. If I had some money in savings, the tragedy of being burned out of our house would not have been so tragic. I would've been able to bounce back better.
3. Always read the fine print in your insurance policies.

In closing, I want to thank all of those who prayed for me and my family in the last few months. Thank you so much!



Monday, March 24, 2008

Raul Midon: Young, Gifted, and Blind

Miko told me about this brotha a couple of years ago. Somehow, I forgot to check him out. I'm sure it had something to do with the disease that I had for so long-self hatred. So glad that I'm learning that being blind is not something that I have to hate, run from, distance myself from, hide from, and pretend is not there. It is what it is.

Well, I was taking a little stroll in the blogosphere and found a blog entry that talked about this brotha. Remembering that Miko had told me about him, I read the story out of curiosity. I'm so glad I did. Y'all, he's bad!

Check him out.

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Quoted in the Dallas Observer

I forgot to inform those that travel to this site that I was actually quoted in an article that was posted on the "Bible Girl" column. Check it out. Let me know what you think.
Obama and the Hand of God

Breaking the Rules

**Okay, okay, okay... I know that the primary purpose of this blog is for me to document my experiences as a blind woman. Well, I know that race and politics have crawled into more than a few of my posts lately. But it is only because the presidential election has set the stage for me to have so many significant conversations in person and on the web. So, at least until the election is over, you will have to put up with my posts on politics. To stay true to Nuvision, I'll try my darnest to throw blindness in there somewhere. **smile**

How can I do that with this post? Hmmm... Oh yeah... The lady that inspired this post is also visually impaired, from what I understand. (Okay, I did it. Blindness related...)

I sometimes go over to the Dallas Observer's website and read the articles and blog entries that they post there. One of the most interesting blogs that I visit from time to time is Bible Girl. Well, recently the author of that blog, which is the managing editor of the Dallas Observer, posted an essay that provoked me to stop everything I was doing to respond. Here's a link. Is Rev. Jeremiah Wright a Hater?

Please travel to the article from the above link and read the entire article if you have time. But below you will find parts of the article that most impressed me and provoked me to respond. I've included my response in this as well. Of course, I felt so inspired and worked up that I went on and posted it over here at my home, Nuvision.**

Taken from the article:
"Evangelist Diane takes a Christian’s responsibility to love so seriously that she considers it folly for blacks to watch movies that chronicle America’s
hateful past -- even Roots. She believes these films provoke prejudice." Julie

My response:
What? Are you kidding me? Watching/reading historical accounts of the human experience is folly? Roots was based on the true life story of a real, breathing, fully existent man. It's not like Alex Haley made up that stuff about his forefathers. In fact, I'm sure that what we read and saw in the story of "Roots" was light weight compared to the horror that his family lived through. I take offense to Sis. Diane's views that ignorance is the only way that a person can be free of prejudice and hate. Is she suggesting that all humans forget the history/stories of those who lived before us? Or is it just blacks? How dare blacks have a history?

Also taken from the article:
“She has little use for the concept of Black History Month for the same reason;
if you’re going to teach it at all, she says, teach it throughout the year. Weave it into the bigger story; separation implies inferiority." Julie

My response:
I might can get with this. I also believe that so called black history is American history. I don't think of Martin Luther King as a great black man. I think of him as a great American. The civil rights era is not the history of fed up black folks. The civil rights era is the history of America. I know why America would want to divorce itself from that ugly past. But it can't. It is the truth, not a fairy tale. The quicker that all of us, blacks, whites, and all others who live here, stand up and face the truth, the faster we can heal these wounds. But as long as we try to sweep it under the rug, like it didn't happen, like it is the tragedy of one group of people, rather than all Americans, we will never progress towards real healing and reconciliation.

The Transatlantic slave trade, American slavery, and Jim Crow was not only the tragedy of Black Americans, it was the horrific tragedy of all Americans. That awful, deadly, repulsive system victimized both blacks and whites. I realize that even during slavery and Jim Crow that all whites were not prejudice and racist. But the bloody system made it difficult for good white people to speak out and buck the system. Many of them were just as afraid as the blacks that had to exist in that dreadful time.

That is why I say that this awful history that we call black history is the history and experience of all of us. It should not and will not be forgotten. I remember it, if only to give respect and honor to all of those who had to live during that time, which includes my 57-year-old mother, who could not drink out of a "whites only" water fountain when she was a child.


The next day, Julie responded to my comment. Below you will find her comment, and my response to that particular comment. And don't worry. This is the last update on this. I'm going to let it go here. I think that my point was made. Plus, I think that Julie understands where I'm coming from.

"I personally think Black History Month is more important for whites. I intend to educate my son about this country's racist heritage." Julie

Again, Julie, I think there is no such thing as "black history." It is American history. And I believe that it is important for all Americans to learn about
their country's hidious and horrifying past, just as they learn about its beautiful and impressive past. You might find this strange, but there are many
black children that need to be educated about historical figures, such as MLK, Thurgood Marshall, Rosa Parks, and other great African Americans, just like
your white son. Sadly, because many folks, such as Sis. Diane, feel that our history is much too ugly or irrelevant to remember, many individuals have
chosen to not educate their little black children about their both triumphant and tragic past.

"I gave my friends' views without judgment because I saw that the three of us had found our way to the same destination--that the answer for America's heart
problem is the love of Jesus Christ." Julie

I do not judge your friend for believing that the solution to hatred is the love of Jesus Christ. However, I do indeed reject her notion that it is beneficial
for any group of people to ignore/forget/turn their back on their heritage. Again, the history of African Americans in this country is painful. But when
I think about where and how we rose from slavery and Jim Crow, I am humbled, filled with American pride, and grateful to God.

How can we thank God for his deliverence if we refuse to acknowledge the past bondage? How can I be filled with American pride if I ignore a part of its
history (oppression based on race) that actually found itself here before the birth of the nation in 1776?

Trust me, Julie, I'm not an advocate of turning my back on the future, so that I can place all of my focus on the past. I believe in moving forward rather
than backwards. But unless I take a look at the past, I won't be sure if I'm headed in the wrong direction.

Just so you know, I am a student of history. I took about 18 hours in history when I studied at UNT. That's why I think that this is so important.

Sunday, March 16, 2008

The Lead into the Story I Really Wish to Tell

When I graduated from the Texas School for the Blind and Visually Impaired fifteen years ago, I made a little vow to my seventeen-year-old self that I would never return to Austin ever-ever again. Well, I'm older, wiser, and employed now. So, I've made a few business trips to Austin in the last four months. And guess what... I survived it, and Austin survived me. The bitterness, resentment, pain, and sorrow that I had in my heart when I graduated from high school is deflated and no longer a major issue.

Why was it an issue in the first place?
Well, mostly because I was hurting. I was sinking into an abyss of sorrow due to the very traumatic event of losing all of my sight. I wished to divorce myself from TSBVI, simply because TSBVI was the home of blindness and all things related to blindness. In my pain and teenage immaturity, I didn’t want anything to do with that. Still don’t… But now that I realize I don’t have a choice, I find ways to deal with it. Back then, dealing with it was not an option. And TSBVI’s staff insisted that we, the students, dealt with the obvious, our visual impairment and the functional limitations caused by the impairment.
Secondly, I was very sad and deeply wounded from being separated from my beautiful parents for years. The strain of growing up in a dorm with people that didn't love me, and sometimes didn't like me, was exhausting.
Thirdly, I hated that TSBVI was not designed for talented and gifted children. I feel like my experience at tSBVI may have introduced me to greater expectations and standards for living independently, despite my blindness. But I felt that it really stifled my growth academically and socially. (I'll explain the social part in a minute.)
And lastly, I was sick and tired of dealing with racist white folks that thought they were better than me, only because they were white. Here's my thing... If you are going to think you are better than me, that's fine. But please have a good reason why you are better. Let it be because you are the freaking bomb for whatever reason. But because you are white... Please!

There were so many people, whether it was staff or students, that did not think that I had any real worth, just because I was a black girl. They celebrated the substandard accomplishments of this other white girl, while acting like my accomplishments were nothing. They provided certain white students with opportunities for mentorship and advisement, and left me to figure out my career path myself. And when they did finally start making recommendations about what I should do after high school, the guidance counselor suggested that I enroll in a community college, and if I achieved there, then I should apply for a four-year-university. Can you believe that it was said by a professional counselor at the school for the blind that it was very unlikely for me to succeed at a large university, like University of Texas?

Now, don’t get me wrong. It was some white staff members and faculty that treated me with love and kindness/equally to the white students. Miles Fain, Susan Osterhaus, and Nancy Voots are a few that come to mind… Each of them was very kind and supportive. But there were some others… I won’t even mention their names. I’ll just say that they made it clear that my white classmates were more worthy of support and guidance than I was. In all fairness, most of the prejudice attitudes that I encountered came from the staff, rather than the faculty. I am left to presume that because the faculty was more educated than many of the staff, the ignorance that causes racist views was less. Or maybe their education helped them be more advanced in covering it up. Who knows...

One situation that really rubbed me the wrong way when I was in high school occurred my senior year, a few months before I was to exit TSBVI as a graduate. All the years that I was at TSBVI, it was two of us that were at the top of our game academically that were in the same grade. That other young lady that I’m speaking of was the main person who was getting more support, guidance, and merit, only because she was white. Well, that’s my opinion…

This young lady was very competitive, and she worked very hard to try to get ahead of me in every area. She beat me in sports, physical fitness, cooking, cane travel, and fraternizing with the staff and faculty. But the one thing that she couldn’t beat me in was academics. And guess what, I didn’t even try to be on top. I just tried to do my best. And my best placed me in front of her. Sadly, she didn’t like me there. And I’m not sure if some of the faculty liked me there either.

Well, our senior year we were thrown a little off in the ladder of scholastic achievement. A young lady that had been a senior a couple times before was reclassified for whatever reason, giving her a chance to be in the 12th grade yet again.

So, the administration sacrificed the other young lady’s salutatorian status, just to make sure that my black behind wasn’t valedictorian. (At least, that’s how I interpreted it then. And honestly, I feel the same way now. Perhaps I am wrong.) They placed this 12th grade repeater, who had a ton of classes to count and average in her GPA, at the top of the ladder, and crowned her valedictorian of our class.

I remembered feeling betrayed and bewildered that this young lady, who had been reclassified/not given the opportunity to graduate with her class two years before for social reasons, was honored with an achievement that should have been mine. But since I don’t get off on entitlement attitudes, I learned to brush it off and get on with my life. I had bigger fish to fry than to worry about avenging my honor as the “smartest student.” I had a life of blindness at my feet, and I had to figure out how I was going to live it outside of the safe, protective walls of the Texas School for the Blind and Visually Impaired.

**This retelling of events is going to be much longer than what I initially expected. So, I’m going to break this one down. Really, the information in this post is to set the stage and tone for the post that will come after this one. Stay tuned. This story gets good.**

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

The Houston Obama Rally (Part III)

As we were sitting and waiting for the senator to come out and talk with us, the electricity in the room got so intense. The charge that was in the room was unbelievable. I was so excited that I was getting a chance to witness and absorb the energy that filled the Toyota Center.

I listened to the voices around me. (Black folks, white folks, hispanic folks, young folks, old folks, folks who were obviously educated, folks who appeared to not be formally educated, folks who appeared to be regular, run of the mill folks, folks that appeared to have a lot of green in their bank accounts, men, women, and children)

This was the America that I heard about, read about, and believed I lived in. But this was the first time that I felt like I was a member of a country that housed that much diversity. That night, I was one of the many pebbles in the mountain of diversity that resides here in the US. It was beautiful.

I was especially proud of the brothas that showed up to support Senator Obama. The sistas will always show up and show out. But the brothas... Well, let's just say that I was pleasantly shocked to see so many black men out there, announcing to the world that they were supporting Senator Obama to be the next president of the uS.

It was truly amazing to be apart of such a large group, 20K people, cheering and showing their love for the man who promises to lead the country with integrity, intelligence, and efficiency. I'm so glad that I left work early, and waded through the crowd to get in the place.

**Stay tuned for the last installment. Sorry for how long it is taking me to get this series of posts out.**

How blind you is?

This week, I spent a few days in Austin on business. Trust me, this trip to Austin inspired so many blog entries for Nuvision for a Nuday. So, be on the look out. You will certainly be amused.

But tonight's post is dedicated to the pimp with a limp that assisted me at the airport in Austin. This brotha earned his very own entry on Nuvision for a Nuday.

Whenever I travel alone, I have to solicit assistance from the airport staff to get to and from the taxi to the gate that I will be boarding the plane. Well, upon arriving at the airport in Austin, the Continental Airlines staff called for someone to assist me to the gate. This brotha walked up and grabbed me to take me where I needed to go. Note: He grabbed me. Not my bags... Just me... But that's a-whole-nother story. We can talk about that later.

Getting to the point of this entry. Well, as we were walking, I immediately noticed that the brotha was walking with a limp. I wasn't sure if this was because of some kind of disability or if he was just trying to be super cool. All I know is that the brotha was walking with a serious dip in his step. But I wasn't mad at him though. Remember, I got a disability. So, I am certainly not trying to call the brotha out for having a limp. But if that was his way of announcing to the world that he was cool, then I can't be so gracious. But since I don't know one way or the other, I will let the brotha make it.

Well, as he was walking and dipping, this brotha looks over at your girl and let these words roll out of his mouth. "How blind is you?"

"What?" I thought. And trust me, I didn't have that big fat "what" in my mind because I didn't hear him. I heard him correctly. My "what" was because I didn't believe that this brotha was asking me, "How blind is you?", and meaning it. "How blind is you?" Really?

Well, to be nice, I answered his question. "Totally blind." And that's when he said, "Well, you sho' is beautiful yet."

The pimp with a limp was trying to put his mack down on me. How lucky was I that this brotha was using all that bad grammar on me? I'll tell you how lucky. I was real lucky that I didn't fall out laughing in his face. Or should I say that he was lucky?

The brotha started asking me if I had any kids. "You ain't never wanted no children? A pretty lady like you need children."

Interestingly, he never asked me if I had a man. Well, I guess it's because I didn't have a ring on my finger. And I guess in the world that we live in, it is highly possible for me to have "children" without having a man. But again, that's another blog entry that I will avoid on this blog. I rant and rave about critical issues on other folks blogs. **smile**

Thankfully, the pimp with the limp trusted his better judgement, and did not ask me for my number. He may not have sounded like he had any sense, but he must've had a little. Thank God.

What's so funny about this is that the entire time I was walking with him, I was trying to force a smile down. I really was falling out laughing in my head. But I, by no means, wanted the pimp with a limp to think that I was moved by his flirting.

Don't get me wrong... I'll take a nice comment from anyone. But come on... "How blind is you?" You know that is funny.

And I'm not even going to address the, "You sho' is pretty yet."
Translation: Even though you're blind, you are still pretty.

I've written about that before. No point in boring y'all again.

The crazy thing is that when I arrived in Houston, they called a young guy to assist me down to baggage claim. Now, let me preface this with a disclaimer. Yes, I know I couldn't see the boy. But the young fellow sounded all of 22-years-old, 25-years-old, at the oldest. Yes, I do realize he could have been older. But nine times out of ten, I'm usually right about guessing someone's age. Most of the time, a person, even if they've been through hell and high water in their young life, can't camoflauge youth.

But getting back to the story... This young brotha walks me all the way down to passenger pick up without really saying a word to me. But when he sits me down on the bench, where I was going to wait for my sister, he decides to start shooting game.

"Thank you very much for walking me down."

"You're welcome, with your fine self. I'll walk you anywhere you want me to, baby."

Boy, wasn't I lucky? I smiled, and said nothing. Then, I pulled my cell phone out and started calling my sister. I think he caught the drift and decided to move on.

I told my friend in ATL that it appears that I had a blue collar magnet in my back pocket today. He scolded me for my joking, by saying, "That's what's wrong with you black women. You complain about not having anyone. But when someone approaches you, that may be less educated, financially secure, or socially exposed as you, you turn your nose up."

Well, forgive me if I'm wrong. But this sistah is not so lonely that I would go for the pimp with the limp, whose grammar had a bigger limp than his stride. And I wasn't checking for the baby in the Houston airport. I don't rob nurseries. Times ain't that hard yet.

Plus, the truth is, I don't mind a blue collar. But here's the catch... That blue collar needs to be attached to a steady, always advancing, skilled technical professional. Shoot me for being honest. I might be many things. But one thing I'm not is a liar.

My beautiful daddy is a retired plumber. No issue with blue collars, even the dirty blue collars. But brotha man, brotha man, I need you to at least earn more than the bare minimum. And trust me, the workers that are guiding folks around and pushing folks in wheelchairs at the airport are at the base of the totem pole. I need one of those aircraft mechanics, air traffic controllers, or one of those TSA workers. You catch my drift?

Am I wrong? Tell a sistah. I can handle it. Rebuke me if I need it. **grin**

Have a good one. And be blessed.

Peace out,

Angie B.

Monday, March 10, 2008

I've shocked myself.

Today is my anniversary! Well, not officially. Actually, yesterday, March 9th, was my bloggerversary. But since I'm still up at 2:51 A.M., this post will have to count for the 9th of March. When I go to sleep an wake up in a couple of hours to get ready for the Monday morning rat race, I will then acknowledge that it is the 10th.

But I seriously digress... Getting back to my point.

I cannot believe that I have been blogging for two years. Can you? Well, if you knew me, you would be totally shocked that I have stuck with this for so long. It's not that I'm a flake. It's just that I have a tendency to get side-tracked when working on projects that are not required of me to stay commited to. Know what I mean?

Well, this time, I have gone against the odds. I've shocked myself. I have stuck to Nuvision for a Nuday for two years. And this particular post is my 162nd post. Yeah... It's amazing!

Well, here's to another year, another 162 posts, and another opportunity to share the world as I, a blind woman, see it.

And let me not forget to blow a big kiss at all of those who faithfully come by and read my thoughts. I don't take it for granted. In fact, I am honored that anyone would even bother to come to my blog and then decide to come back again. How nice!

Let me send a shot out to some of those who have hung with me and made their presence known from time to time. Ensayn, Heber Brown, Renea, Asa, the Angry Independent, TTBM, Pammy, Rikyrah, and Miko
And to all of those who have told me that they roll through, but don't make comments, I have much love for y'all too. And since you don't make comments, I am left to assume that you wish to stay anonymous. So, I will not call you out on this post. Just know, that I got mad love for you.

Love, peace, and soul!!!

Angela Braden