The Food of Life

Another wonderful, disorienting day during the Coronavirus epidemic and I find myself sorting through my cookbooks and old recipes to remind myself of exactly how to make “Cora’s peach cobbler”.

That’s what I named it. A delicious dish, true, but for also symbolic of the person and times that brought this wonderful treat into my life and all that I gained from that seminal exchange.

These last few months, being bottled up indoors has simultaneously released in me an ability to journey through past present and future realms. Today was no exception as I sorted through my recipes in their myriad forms (always one to seize the moment, I have them documented on note pads, typing paper, napkins, paper plates, old work stationery, and even parchment paper). In my sorting, I found much more than ingredients, proportions and words.

 In my sorting, I relived and revived my life through

• Mr. Brown’s Rice Pudding (circa 1981), the only one Eric liked! I am sure I spend the first 20 years of my marriage (when I was a much more “active” chef), trying to replicate a dish even half as good

• Daddy’s rendition of Mommy’s Carrot Cake (circa 2002), which he signed and dated as mom dictated (“Van S. Bird, Easter Even, March 30, 2002”). This one fills me with mystery. First, religious scholars, what is “Easter Even”? And where was I that Daddy acted as secretary?

• Zadisha’s healthy food guide (circa 2010) on all things fish and veggies, arriving after I shared the inevitable challenges of an aging body

• Lavelle’s strawberry truffle (circa 2003), my hair stylist, who lived his life all the way, all the time, with all of himself

• Aunt May’s Shrimp Calypso (circa 1998) - clearly copped on my then employer’s dime as its captured on work letterhead - that is my go-to for the wok and big crowds

• Essence’s All-Purpose carrot cake (circa 1992), to place on my dear sister’s table, cut from a magazine and with a little Lionel Richie “on the side”

• Dwayne’s eggnog and rum (circa 1990), jotted on the back of a paper plate (and after a lot of sips to verify its goodness) 😊

• Chef Joe Randall’s seafood gumbo (circa 2010), circulated during a cooking class in Savannah on a girls’ trip with five wonderful sisters

• Yanna’s quiche (circa 2006), a recipe provided through email in which she warns me to wait until she gets there to actually make it

• Andrea’s pine nut salad (circa 2000), which started me on my love of spinach (and pine nuts)

• The cookbooks, my favorite of which are 1) Home Economics (circa 1974), that taught me how to measure and what a braising meat meant; 2) Junior Leagues’ 80th anniversary edition, a gift from Alicia now threadbare from my experimentation; and 3) the Flying Biscuit, gifted from Phillip Rush, upon which I can claim the flakiest garlic cheese biscuits in town.

It’s over food - hummus & wine, martinis and calamari, turkey and stuffing – that we get to nourish our bodies and share the quintessential narratives of our lives. We realize anew that when we share our stories with one another, they are instantly altered by their receipt.

And like a recipe, when we share, we instantaneously get to edit the next chapter -- by moving forward, rolling back or flipping the ingredients!

With others, our personal recipes are enriched: our feelings can be transformed into ideas and our ideas grown into visions; our parts can become wholes and our questions answered.

And our cobblers come out perfectly.

Happy Sunday, y’all.

Constructing the post virus world: Thoughts for the sector

In these uncertain times of Covid19, as humanity navigates anxiety, distance, sickness and financial insecurity, our work in the social sector is needed more than ever.  Even as I seek ways to be helpful, I am traversing, (in my mind, while maintaining social distance), both the now and the next of the crisis…and considering the conditions that will equip us for what lies ahead.

Connection

Amidst drastically reduced capacity and financing, the post Covid19 reality will demand more vital and creative alliances.

Even before Covid19, many nonprofit leaders, particularly groundbreakers focused on driving social justice and equity, craved genuine connection -- authentic, sustained opportunities to talk, plan and partner together. These leaders too often find themselves in environments of isolation and competition, consumed by the tactical work of running a nonprofit business and its ceaseless mandates of fundraising, operations, talent management and donor cultivation. They know that strategic alliances and collaborative innovation are essential to addressing the complex social problems that are the impetus of their work. Yet the mental, physical and intellectual demands of their obligations leave them scant time for all but superficial and competitive relationships (and unfortunately philanthropy helps to fuel this competition-more on that in my next post).

Calibration

Post Covid19 times will demand a recalibration of social impact.  Seeking to present themselves worthy of attention and investment, nonprofits have for some time now attempted to adopt corporate principles and buzz words - “Strategic” “Outcomes” Deliverables” among others. To be clear, I believe that it is essential for our sector to employ data-driven strategy and operations and to be able to articulate results.  Yet for nonprofits, these “borrowed” terms and their implied connotations cannot be the only and most important drivers; and the search for acceptance and value cannot be stripped from an unrelenting stance of equity and fairness. When engaging in community, work will not neatly conform to business metrics: action will just as oft be intuitive as strategic; implementation about the process as much as the outcome; results revealed rather than delivered.  As we move through this pandemic, we must honestly and boldly demand the entire sector, including funders and nonprofit boards, to appreciate this duality.  

Compassion

To do well, we must be well. Moving forward, I believe the first commitment we must make is to require compassion and empathy for ourselves and others. The work of building strong, equitable communities is hard. We can force it, fake it and make it for a while, but the sector must also become skilled at creating nurturing, holistic environments that affirm our role and value. Only in this environment can we establish the basis for the novel world before us…one which requires us to be fully authentic, honest and straightforward.

Nonprofits will be the lamp that lights community's path beyond Covid19 to our nation’s collective metamorphosis. Now is our time to get this right.

Life among the symbols

It is the definition of exhaustion: debilitating and humiliating, to live your life in and among symbols that celebrate the belief that you are inferior, lazy, and immoral, even bestial. Buildings, streets, schools, parks and public spaces that honor men who simultaneously progressed and profited on the backs of the very ingenuity and diligence that you have persistently and resiliently deployed. Over your lifetime – and that of your great grandmother, grandmother, children and grandchildren – you learn to overlook and avoid these hurtful symbols, becoming numb or maybe compartmentalizing them in your mind as "the past," something that your own experience has by now taught you is not always pretty or deserving of remembrance. You assess your progress, your blessings and your own wonderfully diverse friends who you know don't feel that way. You ground and reground yourself by remembering that the need to subjugate you has always been driven by a fear of you and the greed of others.

This is what it feels like to go to Lee Elementary school or (Stonewall) Jackson Park, walk on Stone Mountain or sit in rooms lined with grim, framed visages of pale men who reviled you (I'll never forget when I learned the history of Joel Hurt, who built the building in which I worked for nearly 15 years. As documented in "Slavery By Another Name," by Douglas Blackmon, Hurt cavalierly built his wealth and fame on the backs of black convict labor, harshly disciplined and cruelly deprived of their most basic civil rights. I loved that building and thought (still think) it gorgeous. Yet from that point on, every click of my heel on those marble floors brought to mind the clang of chains on men who looked like my husband and brother).

Then Charlottesville happens and you're reminded that to many these symbols do in fact mean the SAME thing today as they did 200 years ago.

All sheroes and heroes are not created equal. While Lee may have been a brilliant strategist, it matters that he honed his skill by fighting to keep a nation in chains. Appreciating the fruits of men who broke ground on a new Atlanta must be reconciled with their tearing apart of families through an organized system of human chattel. 

So you say "enough." Enough of avoided conversations and living surrounded by these ugly reminders and smiling through it. So you act. You speak up, cry, and march. Sometimes the emotion goes too far and you lash out destructively.

And then you are criticized for not being civil enough and adequately containing your pain. For not successfully monitoring the pent up frustration and being your most noble self. You're accused of equal responsibility, impact and intent as those who advocate the same hateful perspectives of those whose names adorn the walls and corners that shout their disdain.

It feels familiar. Blame the Victim. Deflect. Discourage. Discredit. The table's now turned. The script has flipped.

So much easier to handle.

My Two Selves

“As long as we are not ourselves, we will try to be what other people are.” -Malidoma Patrice Somé (Of Water and the Spirit)

I am an African American woman, hailing from a proud African American family. I honor daily the fortitude of those who paved my way and who sustain me to this day – long before the ships that delivered them to the unholy institution of slavery and its subsequent manifestations. We are a people brimming with life and love and steely persistence despite wounds of aggression and wounds self-afflicted.  We persist. We hope. We work. We heal. We dance. We carry. We stand.

I carry this fortitude throughout my being…in my decisive walk…my frequent smile...my hands-which oft speak more eloquently than my tongue…even my earrings that  alternately frame and dazzle and swing.  

Yet on a given day, you may not see much or all of this surety. Because as an African American woman in America I have found that when I do express myself – or too much of myself – my affect can be received for superficiality, my passion for emotion and my laughter for sport. Or worse, not received at all. A lifetime confirms that all of me doesn't flow in spaces that aren’t ready or accepting of my way of being and leading, both as a woman and as an African American. So I  not uncommonly opt to not give others too much "stress" by cutting off conversations I long to have and actions that need response. 

When I hear words that malign my womanhood and my clan, actions that insult my intelligence and assumptions that belie my worth I pause, considering when, how and if to respond. Asking myself if it is really up to me to respond. Guilting myself that I am indeed obligated to respond. Even sometimes resenting that I am much to often the only one in the room who can respond.

And for those times that I don’t temper myself, I do so recognizing that some will feel I’m “too much”, gone “too far”, pushed “too hard”. 

I roil at the necessity my dual reality. I am not alone.  There are millions of me. 

As African Americans we deploy our duality for many reasons. We deploy our duality for those who don’t have as many opportunities -- defining our stability as their victory. We deploy our duality for our children and families -- defining our stamina as their security. We deploy our duality for stature and acceptance -- defining our legitimacy by others standards. We deploy our duality for one less hurdle on one less day – our quality of life defined by America’s rigged scales.

I recognize and applaud a growing generation of African American men and women who are rejecting the duality that divides their worlds, diminishes their strength and decreases their impact. They are my daughters, my nephews and nieces, my friends. They seek and find lives and places that don’t require the “two-ness”that separates and belies wholeness and they refuse to comply with those that would.

On November 9, I felt in America’s choice a diminished regard for all that makes me real and important in this world.  And, given the new regime convening in Washington, I know that in days to come I will be forced to play my duality over and over and over again.

Unless...I don’t. Unless I concede that now more than ever it is time to be all of who I am all of the time. Wholly, authentically -- prayerfully lovingly – me.  Allowing once and for all my two to become one. 

And believe that not only is my one okay, but is in fact just what the world needs. 

“Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” Howard Thurman

Life as Football

A few weeks ago I came home to a pale look on my hubby’s face (beautiful ebony skin not withstanding) The Philadelphia Eagles had surreptitiously traded their #1 quarterback!  I was totally surprised, and instantly more juiced about the season than I had been to date. Plus, I had to try to console my guy. We talked and came up with possible scenarios. He concurred with most of my thinking, and a curious look crossed his face, one that I’ve seen before: “You’re not bad at this. You get it.”

Honestly, I’m not particularly knowledgeable about any team other than the Eagles and still mostly green on the sport itself, despite being a Philly girl since the age of 10 and Eric’s wife since the age of 20. But I’ve lived through it all, “Silver Linings” style (for those who’ve seen the movie). About 7 years ago, I decided to take the plunge – and go all the way in. I love it. It’s good for my balance-no work during football. It’s good for my marriage. Beautiful artistry, crazy, serious strategy and heart pumping fun. Good stuff.

But I’m sure the reason I “get” it is because the rules that govern football are a lot like the rules that (should) govern life. And, I believe if we remembered and applied them more, we would be better off.  Hey I know: the obscene salaries, choreographed, chattel system dictated by big business, and a chauvinistic attitude towards women and too many other people and issues suck. This is where the business of football has been able to move in our capitalistic society. But it’s not the game.

In football

·         There are plans A, B, C, D and E (and a Hail Mary in the back pocket). You expect that on any given Sunday, Monday or Thursday, you may need any or all of them. So you prepare and then work your plan(s).

·         You have to dress up and show up. If you want a victory, you have to suit up and report in. And it’s not about just showing up; you have to get on the field and get banged up.

·         You have to show value to keep your space. Unlike life, football does not deal in long probations or drawn out scenarios. It’s not a matter of what you think you are worth or can add given time. Space is precious; you may be loved, but it doesn’t mean you keep yours. Also, if you don’t win, you don’t stay. And everyone knows the deal.

·         The big picture is the bigger picture. Even teams that are hurting physically and emotionally roll in and try to operate as a single organism for 3 hours. The bigger picture of accomplishment is the one that draws them. The few that can’t see the bigger picture usually weed themselves – or get weeded - out quickly. 

·         You have to use the mind and the heart. The play designs are scientific and intense. Learning them requires skills – of many players who I would totally bet have trouble with other technical learning.  But because of their passion, they learn the plays with the rest of the team. After they use their minds to learn them, it’s their hearts that pump hope and possibility into the play.

·         The folks in charge come from the ranks of those they lead. Football is not a field to be seduced by “shiny” new stars and wishful and academic thinking. Experience is required. Relevance is expected. Credibility is achieved.

·         It’s a long game. The move of the Eagles signaled that for this year at least, we weren’t going for titles and other glory. This blunt, focused call said that we’ll take at least until 2017 to reshuffle the deck and figure things out. Yes, live in the moment, but don’t forget the time.

·         The winners get love for the right reasons. Everyone witnesses the winners emerge through grit, hard work, and pain and commitment. You’re not being asked to endorse or accept based on others’ determination. The winners gain our respect and regard -- the best two pillars for lasting love that I have ever seen.

·         They have coordinated colors. Everyone, from the players, the field, and the fans dress up in comradery. You dress up and you declare who you are for and how you choose to be received. This is called a “brand” and I’m only recently realizing its power and import.

·         It’s inclusive. The game brings together one of the most eclectic and diverse crowds this nation ever sees.

·         It’s something to look forward to. You know the days and times that you get the opportunity to participate. You know what to expect – with an expectancy to be open for the unexpected. You plan for this time and are explicit about the pleasure you expect to derive.

      Works for me, but gotta go. Life’s about to kick off.

      

From Here to There

Working through challenges with my back this summer has required me to make thoughtful 

adjustments in my thinking and behavior. I've had to be disciplined to limit the content,

duration and frequency of my transitions. When I have evening responsibilities, I moderate

my day. If I've got to do some standing, I sit in advance. I've been strategically plotting 

my path and, whenever possible eliminating unnecessary action. It's my reality 

and I'm owning it.

I'm someone who's always been comfortable with transitions--those spaces "in between" 

and "during" one destination to another. I know some folks who, like surgeons, slice through 

one experience/space/consciousness to another without pause and I've honestly never 

understood how that works. I guess I've always believed that much of what's most 

important in life happens in the transitions, interactions replete with smiles...interludes

where emotions - love and care or pain and concern - trump words...silences 

that bestow space and place to explore within and expand outward. 

So this more precise behavior is new for me and sometimes feels abrupt. And over this 

period I'm coming to appreciate what it means to limit the transitions in life. Appreciating 

using more of my "science" than my "art" in my approach, thoughtfully navigating 

my path without rest stops and budgeting my time without padding for the miscellaneous. 

I'm finding power in my increased precision and clarity in movement as well as a 

unique satisfaction in being able to check off my accomplishments sooner.

It's also got me focused on the things in life that transcend the mundane. 

Like if I want to ascend, I have to reach. 

For all the things I want to start, just get moving.

And really, when it's over, it’s time to leave.

Now.

A Philanthropy for the Times

The past year of intolerance and evil in our country has me vacillating from distaste to horror to pain.

We’re fast becoming a nation of haters. We’re hating our neighbors. We’re hating our government. We’re hating change and even more we’re hating change makers. We’re hating the rich. We’re hating the poor. We’re hating ourselves.

As a result we’re maiming each other in thought word and deed. One at a time on our streets…50 at a time in nightclubs…1000 at a time in our prisons.

Many are speaking out – in houses of faith, in community. This is so fundamental and essential! Our collective voices have the greatest potential to create collective care. 

Yet changing hearts and minds and behavior is slow, accomplished person by person and place by place. Though powerful and important, it will not catalyze the transformation so urgently needed NOW. This is where philanthropy can and must enter.

Philanthropy - defined here as the dedicated nonprofit organizations on the front line of providing services and the donors (foundations and individuals) who provide critical resources -  is being challenged to think and act differently to create the conditions for change.  

The times are calling for a “new” nonprofit with a significantly enhanced ability to open new vehicles to engage and mobilize diverse players with fresh and unexpected thinking.  A “new” nonprofit unafraid to name and combat inequity and racism and that sees assets in communities where others see deficits. Nonprofits that leap over boundaries between the for-profit, nonprofit and public worlds to create shared vision and innovation… and can turn on a dime with smart, entrepreneurial responsiveness to dynamic cultural, economic and political winds.

Times like this also demand a “new” donor much more expansive and courageous in who and what gets funded for the “new” nonprofits described above aren’t philanthropy’s traditional beneficiaries. They will look and function fundamentally differently and will come with leaders who don’t have – or desire -- all the socially sanctioned endorsements and pedigree that makes donors comfortable. Leaders who hail from the ranks of those they represent -- meaning the voice they speak is their own – and who prioritize their constituents over their beneficiaries.

Even more important than funding the new nonprofits, donors must be willing to extend their unique access and privilege that affirms the value of this "new" approach and secures them the opportunity for success.  

Philanthropy is the sector most capable and responsible for ushering in wholeness and connectedness that can mitigate the hate. It’s what we’re here for.

Where do we start?

“Community cannot feed for long on itself; it can only flourish where always the boundaries are giving way to the coming of others from beyond them — unknown and undiscovered brothers.” Howard Thurman, The Search For Common Ground