Hacking Recipes

Reader, This is part 2 of my abbreviated Foodie post from last week in which I shared some thoughts/pics on Foodism ( not a word).

Lest you think I am only a Restaurant-goer, here are some pics and back stories representing my own home cooking abilities ( all the single men gasp and drop their remotes…dang a woman who can rattle those pots and pans…where is she?)

A few years ago, I learned how to batch cook . In fact, I had been doing this for years, but didn’t know there was a term for it. Simply put, it is the idea of preparing several meals at one time, usually done on the weekend to eliminate that running-in-from-work-at-the-last-minute-trying-to-prepare-a-meal syndrome.

I have learned that in some Foodie circles, it has been elevated to a social event complete with wine pairings where folks gather at individual homes and batch cook and socialize at the same time…kinda like an old school red/blue light in the basement party..but not really).

This ratatouille is a recent product of a batch cooking tequila fueled session. Back story: I was alone. I had insomnia. Food Network episodes ended at 3:00am. I had a crisper full of one week old summer veggies. Voila!

This cinnamon peach bread pudding is actually part of a video I taped for an audition tape to the Food Channel. The recipe was courtesy of one of the Food Network guys and I was attempting to demonstrate how to make this yummy dessert by substituting some of the called for ingredients for those I actually had on hand. What the hell is a cinnamon chip? Who has peach preserves..I thought they only did that with strawberries? 6 eggs..guess they never heard about garbanzo bean juice. Remember cholesterol clogs and kills. Half and half? Okay, here’s some coconut milk… This is, after all, the mark of a good cook…

 

And I must say, it was scrumptious…my taster friends practically licked the pan.

That same batch cooking session ( started as a cleaning the refrigerator moment) yielded a huge pot of creamy black bean soup, fiery jerk chicken wings, a heavenly Greek moussaka, and a baked crab/zucchini dish I would give my first borne for… just kidding T, maybe the second born.

Writing about food, always makes me hungry…guess its a Foodie side effect…so I need to put this tablet down and go rummage through the fridge before I become h-a-n-g-r-y…another Foodie term. Hey, maybe there’s a market for a Foodie dictionary…

I digress…often

Bowls of food have become the latest food phenomenon. I think it has its origins in Asian fare…but all the ethnic food folks are starting to make their version of this space saving, visually appealing, can-be-eaten -with -one -hand -while driving/texting meal.

Even fast food giants have gotten into the act with a glop of potatoes, topped by a glop of corn, topped by those poor genetically manipulated bird parts…all smothered in heart stopping gravy…hmm yum.

Here is a healthier , life giving version. This mound of fresh veggies and soba noodles became a steaming bowl of stir fry sans protein and seasoned with a mixture of Hoisin, ginger, garlic and red chili oil.

Bon appetit!

 

 

EATING OUR FEELINGS


Like many others, I am a Foodie.

Not sure what the official Webster or Wikipedia definition is, but I define it as someone who simply enjoys eating. This is NOT food addiction leading to obesity and a starring role on Reality TV kind of thing.

Although, I confess, I sometimes watch those shows when I find myself thinking about Chunky Monkey in the pre dawn hours of an insomnia riddled night. I also sometimes channel surf to Hoarders and Catfish when I feel my depression turning to obsession.
Watching those shows is more of a preventative measure on how to avoid a pleasurable experience becoming an addictive one. (Note: This is probably where the mind doctors pick up their pads, raise their eyebrows and start scribbling furiously).
Most Foodies are not threatened with obesity simply because Nature has provided us with a high metabolism, a treadmill or good genes that keep us from tipping the scales. Girl, I am tired of you skinny b*****s talking about how you can eat Anything and not gain weight.
What the world doesn’t know is that we are… eating our feelings.
My journey as a Foodie began back in the lazy hazy days of Black hippiedom when eating natural was all the rage. Back to Earth was our slogan and Vegan/Vegetarian restaurants, Juice Bars, and Farmers’ Markets abounded in the city of Lost Angels. These were not the trendy places seen on Food Network and Travel Channel today, but often little patchouli scented neighborhood joints with a few Goodwill cast off tables and a well worn counter. And like Cheers, everyone really did know your name.
Fast forward to Real world adulthood-jobs, taxes, Xanax. Being a Foodie became a form of entertainment where an otherwise boring, mundane evening could be transformed by a trip to the local market or, if funds allowed, sampling the offerings at one of the ever increasing ethnic restaurants sprouting up across the City.
For a Southern born grits and gravy girl eating out was sheer heaven. And according to many of my fellow Foodie friends can be something akin to orgasm.( Or at least will cause you to break out in the foot happy dance where your feet literally start tapping the floor).
Girl please food aint never been as good as sex.
Today, Boomerism and Foodie are synonymous for many Golden Girls/Guys. Eating out, always a big part of any family gathering, now takes on an elevated meaning for ladies/lads of leisure. It has become the alternative to a date and often takes the form of meet ups, food/wine/beer tasting, food truck rodeos, etc .

And like the proverbial kid in a candy store, there are so many eateries to choose from…a plethora of tempting sights, smells and textures all designed to satisfy any craving/fantasy/heartbreak/disappointment/joy life sends your way.
Eat, drink, and be Merry!

Love Hurts…Sometimes

While watching the recent Wedding, I like most watchers was struck by many things , but the Thang that really struck me…as in my mouth dropped open ( and not from the 7:00 am Sangria I was partaking of while watching this event)…was the fact the groom invited his 2 exes…and they lawd have mercy…accepted. What parallel universe do these folk live in?
And yes, I read the justification by the press via social media…these women were Still friends of the groom and he has such a small circle blah blah blah… it was important that they share in this momentous event in his life.
I’m sorry but…I can’t.. won’t try to comprehend this. I did notice that one of them was dressed in black or navy…fashion statement or message to the happy couple?
I guess the millennials have a different “how to deal with your exes playbook”.

As a liberal boomer, this is certainly far left of anything I’ve ever heard of…and I don’t think I’m alone. Hell! I know I’m not alone..100 sisters are simultaneously shaking their head in amazement as I type this. And before you whip out your tablets to respond…don’t forget I am a Libra…in Love with Love.
Like my girl, Jill Scott  rhymes in her  “My Love” lyrics…
Yo, I’m tripping right/ I heard you got married/You got married?/ No, I mean it don’t make any sense/ I didn’t think you were seeing other people/I mean I was seeing other people…(Jill smiling impishly and deductively)
At least he had the good sense not to invite her to the event.
Tally ho!

Love and Light…

As always, thank you for Reading/Commenting/Sharing!

IT ALL STARTED WITH A PHONE CALL Guest Post by Bill Griggs

Ms. Brown, this is Bill Griggs from the Portsmouth Notables Occasion.  That is how our nearly 20 year friendship started in 1987.  You are the only singer on the dais.  Would you like to sing a song for the event?  Baby, Ruth said, I’d be happy to.

Little did I know, that I had called at one of the low, transitional points in her career.  In 1986, she had returned from Paris where she was performing in Black and Blue which would not be a hit on Broadway until January 1988.  She had closed an off Broadway show called Stagger Lee which led to her role as Motor Mouth Mabel in the film Hairspray.  The film at this time was yet to be released.  And her dear compatriot, Howell Begel was helping Ruth fight Atlantic Records for her long overdue payments on recordings not only for Ruth, but for all of Atlantic artists.

At this point, she had four eyes on the stove setting on simmer.  Later Ruth said that receiving the Notable Award from Portsmouth was the fuel that helped to fan the flame on her simmering projects.

After the Notables was over, Ruth and I stayed in touch by phone on a regular basis.  We enjoyed chatting about her latest performances and upcoming events or just talking about family.

She always asked, Baby, what’s going on back home?  We began meeting wherever she was playing: On Broadway at the Blue Note, at Wolf Trap and once at the Cinegrill in Hollywood.  There I arrived without her knowledge.  She spotted me in the second row, stopped the band and introduced me to the audience. With Ruth, I shared many great moments. I want to share with you, a few of them over the years.

The Palms

In January 2002, I asked Ruth to dinner at the Palms Hotel in Vegas.  This would be her first venture into the public after spending over a year and a half learning how to speak again.  Ruth said she would be there and that her son and manager Earl would bring her to the hotel. We agreed to meet at the entrance at 7 pm.  When my good friend Claus Ihlemann and I arrived at the front entrance there she was, draped in a black cape with fur.  She looked stunning.  There was the queen of rhythm and blues sitting at the slot machine in the center of the main entrance.  We had a wonderful dinner at the top of the Palms.  The patrons who came by the table to wish her well was an early birthday present to Ruth.

Caesar’s Palace at Terrazzo

In February of 2004, I once again found myself in Vegas on business.  Again, I called Ruth and asked her to join us for dinner at the restaurant of her choice.  She chose Terrazzo’s at Caesar’s Palace.  Ruth told me of a great pianist named Galeebe Galab who played at the lounge there.  I met Galeebe the day prior to the dinner and we arranged for a private table in the restaurant behind Galeebe’s lounge.  After another two hour dinner, Ernie Warinner and I escorted Ruth to the lounge, coming in the back behind the audience.  As we reached the half way point to our table in the back, Galeebe announced: Ladies and Gentlemen, the Queen of Rhythm and Blues, Ms. Ruth Brown.  All of a sudden, a surge of strength came over Ruth and she headed to the stage.  She sat at the edge of Galeebe’s piano bench and began to sing lyrics to the blues riff that he was playing.  For four minutes she glowed and sang.  There was not one hint that she was recovering from a stroke.  When she brought the song to a close she said, I don’t know what I just sang, but they call it The Blues.  The audience rose in applause.

In the fall of 2003, Lightning in a Bottle, a film about the makers of the Blues had just been filmed at Radio City Music Hall.  Director, Martin Scorcese was very pleased with the success of the film and wanted Ruth to front a show of the fellow blues artists for a 40 city bus tour of the US.  She was thrilled.  A few months later, I asked how the tour was.  She said, Oh baby, we didn’t go.  With the ages and the conditions of all of us, Martin found out it would take too long to load and unload the bus!

I called Ruth in mid 2004 to check on her.  She was happy and sounded terrific.  Guess what, she said, Ray called me.  He said Ruth they are making a film of my life and you are in it.  I am!  Well, honey, I want Holly Berry to play me, Ruth replied.  Ray was quick on the uptake, Ruth I’m blind, but I’m not that blind.

In the fall of 2004, I called Ruth with some good news.  WHRO and the Virginia Arts Festival want you to appear at the restored Attucks Theatre in Norfolk.  Oh Baby, that’s where Daddy pulled me off the stage.  I’ll be there.

Ruth is there anything you want?  Baby, there are only two things I don’t have.  You know B.B.’s got a blues festival named after him.  I would love to have the Ruth Brown Rhythm and Blues Festival.  What’s the other, I asked.  One day a club called Ruth’s Place.  Well, I replied, we can do a test run at the Attucks.  That night at the Attucks was magic.  A cameo moment as her fan Cabot Wilson called it.

I don’t have my friend to call anymore.  I do have her number.  She was honesty, sincerity, wisdom and determination.  R not only stands for Ruth, It stands for Resilient. She endured all the hardships of life, yet she rose to the top of it all.  Racism and segregation.  Poverty and constant leg pain.  Rejection and thievery.  There is no wonder she sang the blues as only she could.  The tears in her voice, the wailing of pain were her trademarks.  Trademarks of a life that only the power of Faith, Family and the adulation, applause and never failing acceptance of an audience could heal.

I know that today you are walking all over God’s Heaven, free of pain and as light in flight as the Butterflies that you loved.  When I hear the Robin sing and his voice begins to wail, I know you are singing just for me.  Know that you will always be in my heart.  Ruth, thank you for your song.

 

A TRIBUTE TO RUTH BROWN, MISS RHYTHM (1/12/28-11/17/06)

Readers, Windows 10 has struck again… and this time don’ run off with some of my saved documents!

Fortunately, I had a hard copy of my original post on Ruth Brown, but the guest post by Bill Griggs, local Renaissance man who knew and loved Miss B fiercely, along with comments from her long time Band member/friend the famed New York saxophonist Bill Easley is MIA.

Many of you who follow my posts know of my affinity for Music.  I am a listener/sing alonger/lover of all kinds of music especially Jazz, soulful R&B, Blues, Hip hop, Country… did she say Country… Yes. Country. Especially folk like  Sugarland, Brad Paisley, Zac Brown Band, Rascal Flats, Reba, Bonnie Raitt, Darius Rucker and even some Rap… T.Payne’s It’s a Circus, The Notorious B.I.G (my road song thanks to JoanG), Mos Def (did you know he has left the country?), Common, and on quieter, reflective occasions straight-ahead-jazz (thanks Dad) and classical including my extremely talented cello/guitar/ piano playing grandson Khalif, Regina Carter, and  Vivaldi, to name a very few .

My favorite music, of course, playing as I write, on my ipod (used to be CDs), are the renderings of various bluesy, jazzy, soulful Male and Female crooners, the latter ranging from Bettye Lavette, Phyllis Hyman, Ledisi, Oleta, Rachelle, Farrell, Fantasia, Nina, Billie and of course, Miss Rhythm herself, Ruth Brown.

When I was a pigtail and bang, crinoline slip, black patent leather shoe wearing puff of innocence living in Norfolk, just across the river in Portsmouth, hometown phenom, Ruth Brown aka  Miss Rhythm was making a name for herself in the world of music. That bluesy, “torchy, church and jazz schooled voice” that helped build  Atlantic Records in the 50s to the music giant it would later become had her start singing in church and later won a contest at Harlem’s Apollo Theater that propelled her to become winner of a Tony, Grammy ( 1990, 2016 Lifetime Achievement Award), W.C. Handy, and Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductee during her long career.

Little did I know skipping up and down the streets of Victory Manor that one day some 50 years later our paths would cross and this musical wonder would leave a lasting impact on my life/heart.

Ruth Brown became the voice of Atlantic Records making chart topping hits like So Long, Tear Drops in Her Eyes, and (Mama) He Treats your Daughter Mean.  Her more than two dozen hits, including Blues, R& B and later Rock and Roll, turned AR into a  record giant and  it was dubbed The House that Ruth Built. Her relationship with AR ended in 1961 following contract disputes when like so many black artists, Ruth discovered she was not being fairly compensated for the hits she was making.

Undaunted, Ruth Brown reinvented herself in the 70s and began recording blues and jazz again.  She won a Tony for her role in Broadway’s Black and Blue.  And had a starring role in the film Hairspray where she played the feisty DJ. She also showcased her hosting talents on two NPR shows, all the while continuing to perform at concerts and nightclubs in the U.S and overseas to throngs of adoring fans.

It was during the resurgence of her career in the early 2000s that I met the famed Miss Ruth Brown.  At 77, she was preparing a return to the newly renovated Norfolk Attucks Theater (where she had performed at age 16 without her father’s knowledge).  A friend at local Public Television station, WHRO, told me that a California director was looking for a local person to assist with research for a documentary  on Miss Brown’s life.  I quickly contacted Him and offered my services, and for the next few months was launched into a worldwind of activity researching the life of Ruth Brown from a variety of local sources.

I spent hours searching dusty files tucked away in the rich archives of the Portsmouth Public library (thank you Mae H.) and the microfilm viewers at the Norfolk Public library,  hunting down pictures, newspaper articles, memorabilia, anything I could find on this Portsmouth native. Thanks to archivist at NSU library, I was able to obtain black and white photos from the 60s taken of Ruth Brown and radio personality Jack Holmes at a local event. I even stumbled across a beautiful 8×10 of her, at of all places, the Portsmouth Naval Museum…who knew? One of her most ardent fans (and high school sweetheart) even had a delicate, crumbling autographed B&W photo of her taken at Sunset Lake Park (remember that spot) hanging on his Portsmouth garage wall!

For weeks, I worked the phones talking to people who knew Ruth Brown, folks from her teenage days at Norcom High School who included the likes of Mayor Holley, Councilman  Whitehust, former School Supt. Horace Savage, jazz player Johnny Day, and distinguished, retired  Mr. Sanford (a former RB suitor) and a host of other likeable, gracefully aging seniors who all had fond memories of  Miss Brown. We made arrangements to have a surprise ‘class reunion’ backstage after the performance at the Attucks.

After immersing myself in all things Ruth Brown, I finally met the great lady as she rehearsed with her band a few days prior to the Attucks performance.  Don, the producer, introduced us and she graciously greeted me like I was an old friend.  She was delighted to learn I was a ‘hometown’ girl and invited me  to join her backstage on the night of the performance. It was at that time, I also met Bill Easley, her long time  NY friend, band member and sax player extraordinaire whose resume included recording with the likes of Issac Hayes, George Benson, Jimmy McGriff and other jazz greats including Ruth Brown. Our friendship continues today bonded by the initial connection to Miss B.

Despite needing a cane for support (she had injured her knees in a car crash years ago), Ruth Brown was still a fireball of energy, had an infectious smile, sophisticated style, and a voice that filled the 600 seat auditorium of the Attucks Theater.

On the night of her performance, I was busy greeting the ‘class reunion’ members and getting them seated, shopping for flowers for her dressing room, ‘rehearsing’ the presentation by her classmate that would follow Portsmouth Mayor Holley and Norfolk Vice Mayor Hester’s presentation of her cake, and overall just trying to be helpful to the staff of the Attucks.

When Miss Brown came backstage, her Assistant asked me if I would sit with her while she was waiting to go on.  I was both floored and honored and quickly pulled up a chair next to the exquisitely gowned Miss B. We held hands tightly and talked quietly as she ‘calmed herself’ for this ‘debut back in front’ of her hometown some 50 years after she had ‘left town’. When the band played her intro, she released my hand and said, “Honey, I got this…I’m walking out there on my own.”  She squeezed my hand and in true Ruth Brown style gracefully glided onto the stage.

The next time I saw Ruth Brown was about a month later when I traveled through the snow to join Director Don and his friends at a New York nightclub, Le Jazz Au Bar, where Miss Brown was performing. When we went backstage to greet her, she noticed me standing off from the group and said, “There’s my hometown girl, what you doing up here in the big city?” We both laughed and warmly embraced and spent some time catching up on Portsmouth goings on.

Sadly, almost a year later, following a stroke and heart attack while living/performing in Nevada, Ruth Brown’s light was extinguished. I along with hundreds of others attended her funeral services at Willet Hall in her beloved Portsmouth where she had returned on many previous occasions to see a street named in her honor, a scholarship established in her name; a star placed on Granby Street; and a parade and banquet recognizing her as a Notable.

Although, I only knew her a short time, this sassy, blues, R&B and Rock and Roll lady will always be in my heart and music collection! She was a survivor who  like my muse writer Zora Neale Hurston overcame challenges of  racism, sexism, and health to realize her dream.

And to my friends Bill Griggs and Bill Easley, if you are reading this, I am sure the Readers would love to hear from you!

Stay tuned and as always….thanks for reading!

 

FOR AULD LANG SYNE

 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot

And never brought to mind

Should auld acquaintance be forgot

And auld lang syne

I guess poet Robert Burns was in a sentimental mood when he penned this ditty in 1788.  Bet he had no idea it would become the anthem heard round the world on the day the ball drops.  This song about preserving old friendships and looking back over the events of the year is certainly apropos.

Writers and Bloggers are busy doing their Year in Review. The media and talking heads will all be serenading us daily with their particular take on the Year That Was.

For many, 2016 was a tough year, full of national tragedies, political upheaval, personal trials, and of course, unexpected deaths. The image of PBS Journalist Gwen Ifill’s smiling but now silent image on the 6 o’clock news still unnerves me.

I like to think the metaphor for my life is….Like a song and as I reflect back on this year …a song is playing somewhere in the background.  Kinda like…Stevie Wonder’s Songs in the Key of Life.

Like most recent New Year’s, I found myself soundly asleep in 2016 when the ball dropped.  Only to be awakened shortly afterwards by a phone call from the One Who Remains Nameless or more recently daughter J or one of the grandsons who revels in the fact that he is now old enough to stay awake until midnight.

Yes, Virginia, there were the years of dressing up in my finest glad rags and hitting the town for the passage of the Old into the New…but like most things life/time  intervened and the need to go cavorting out in the streets with all kinds of drunk, high strangers has ceased to appeal to me.

I do know quite a few people who find themselves on their knees in church at midnight, but I often wonder about the safety of those folk when they leave the church en route to home and come face to face with an errant drunk driver coming back from da club.  Much like those unfortunate souls in Charlestown who met their untimely and tragic end while trying to save a soul…in church.

Despite my Rip Van Winkle entrance to 2016, the year proved to be one of challenges for family, close friends and even Moi!

It began with my 90+ father’s unexpected trip to the ER and an ensuing 12 hour wait and see game played by the hospital staff only to be unceremoniously tossed out of said hospital because my father’s PCP thought “he would be better off at home”. Despite documented lab and test results to the contrary showing a need, in the words of the treating Resident, for if nothing else a few days of observation.

The months that followed became somewhat tortuous for my father who up until that time was spry, sharp of mind, and except for occasional bouts of arthritis in his knees a poster child for AARP.  I mean the man mastered the computer many years ago and regularly emails, searches the internet, and googles with the best of them. His collection of scrapbooks documenting important stages of his life is a hobby with a purpose that keeps his mind sharp and old age at bay.

Watching his cognitive skills decline as a result of an unfortunate happenstance was difficult, but more difficult was the way the medical profession responded to his condition.  I don’t want to belabor this issue but several tersely written letters from me to the appropriate folk at higher levels of Medical Authority did not go unnoticed and I think helped to speed up the diagnostic and treatment phase of his condition.

The pen IS mightier than the sword.

Right on the heels of my father’s illness, my body began to flirt with what became a 4 month descent into uncertainty and downright fear as I struggled with an unnamed illness that resisted diagnosis.  Fortunately, in the capable hands of my PCP, Dr. E, I was finally diagnosed by Summer’s end and began the ascent to recovery.

During those dark months of my illness, I watched as my closest friend struggled with her fight against the big C.  She is and remains the definition of a Trooper, and became my hero as I watched her undergo devastating chemo treatments, return to work the next 2 days infusion intact, without missing a beat.  All the while maintaining her part time Vendor business and being the Matriarch of her large and needy clan. Fran is the definition of a Shero and watching her fight became my Will to overcome the demons that had invaded my body.

Troubles don’t last always….

2016 had its bright moments as well.  Much of the goings on at the White House with the first AA President and his Lady Michelle were designed to take our minds off the dreary, nasty battles between the candidates fighting for the title to become King.  Watching First Lady Michelle and the President host galas, state dinners, and musical performances at the White House was a great distraction and mood lifter for many of us.  Even if Congress thwarted the President’s attempts to bring about Real Change…the first couple showed America…when Others go Low…they go High… AND  dang it..they know how to Par tay.

And now we are about to be Trumped…I’m not sure exactly sure what that means, not being a card player, but it has some ominous undertones.

However, Readers, I remain hopeful that the same spirit that brought us Hamilton, Memes, Drones, Bacon flavored ice cream, Kengen Water, Quinoa, Turmeric, Bathroom signs proclaiming P…People Room and Garth Brooks concerts where all tickets start out at $67 only to be resold  online for up to $2,000…is a Country/People that can Survive Anything!

Happy New Year !

Talking About a Revolution 

IMG_0094Don’t you know
They’re talking about a revolution
It sounds like a whisper…
While they’re standing in the Welfare lines/
Crying at the footsteps of those armies of salvation/
Wasting time in unemployment lines/
Sitting around waiting for a promotion/
Poor people gonna rise up/
And get their share.
c1982. SBK/purple rabbit music

Many folks think that we have come a long ways Baby and that the circumstances of America’s poor, disenfranchised, Not the talented 10th (or the Well heeled 10%) has improved since Tracy Chapman penned this song in the 80s.

I wonder.

Having been a card carrying member of the Movement during the 70s, And a poor person (I was a college student in Los Angeles working 3 part-time jobs, an unwed mother (now pc term Single Mom), a culture seeking, I love My People sistah who volunteered many wee hours growing food, cooking stew , sewing dashikis, teaching reading, tutoring and Workin’ for the People of Watts.

Often in the company of members of the Real Black Panther Party who were laser sharp serious about feeding hungry children in the city of the Angels only a stone’s throw from Holly weird, Shoppers- paradise-Rodeo Drive and right up the road from the Happiest place on earth.

Is it possible that things really do change while remaining the same?

Fast forward to 2016 and the country is immersed in holiday cheer, spending $ like water for a day that is supposed to honor a King/healer/leader/ Teacher and not an obese man in a redsuit.

Uh uh, here she go humbugging Christmas.

Readers, Like many of you, I luv the holidays and all the lights and carols and decorations and eggnog and gift giving/receiving and baking and hosting and TV specials and excitement on the faces of little ones opening their gifts on Christmas eve…

Remember I’m a Boomer and grew up in a Black household modeled after Leave it to Beaver, Father knows Best, and My3Sons. We DID Christmas thoroughly and enjoyed it.

But that does not mean we and America get to take a pass just because it’s the Holidays and the cofers of capitalism need replenishing.

And before you think it..I’m not talking about the seasonal well meaning middle class gestures of throwing some loose change (do they take debit cards now) in the armies of salvation kettles, or buying a pair of socks for the angel tree.

Hunger, Virginia is a 24/7 proposition. Being poor for too many children is a lifestyle handed down from previous generations and like crack, it’s hard to break the cycle.

Like Dredlocked wearing, folk song singing, visionary Tracy Chapman says…
Oh you better run/run/run//run/run …talkin’ bout a Revolution.
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good nite!