Vixen Chronicles

 Y oga can help writers in a number of ways. First, it can help to clear the mind and allow space for ideas to erupt. Some writers have described their yoga practices as writing prompts, finding themselves running to the page after finishing a series of poses. “Physical yoga practice is a good place for Svadhyaya, or self study,” writes yoga practitioner and teacher Izzy Arcoleo, “and as we tune into what's going on in the body and mind, the way becomes clear for ideas to be untangled. It can bring about moments of clarity, and with clarity comes a little sprinkling of inspiration.” Both practices, as well, are often done in isolation. Yoga also teaches us to be still when we're uncomfortable, and to breathe through the twinge of pain we experience in some poses. This can translate into “trusting the process” of writing, so we can more easily manage the inevitable ups and downs of composing longer works. “Often, in yoga, we hold long poses and breathe through discomfort,” write...

 Have you been listening to my new (ish) podcast, Grown Ass women with Nina Foxx ? I've been wanting to do one for some time and the pandemic has given me time, since I don't have to commute two hours a day and don't go anywhere else. I have have been using all of that time spent in the car to do creative things, I was reflecting on this last episode. Blaxit Part 2: Nathan Nash, Just an American-For the First Time. Nathan has made a Blaxit--he's moved to Singapore. One thing that struck me about him and the \lLast Guest, Ms R. Both made what they thought were spontaneous decisions (but that were really years in the making), with a minimum level of planning. Nathan actually went to a south Asian country without so much as a hotel picked out and no idea how to contact his friends there. He relied on the kindness of strangers to drive him hours, in a place where he really didn't speak the language or even fully understand the culture. These days, this is not something ...

There is a lot going on in America now, but I saw a Facebook post that really got me in my feelings. It was from a “friend”; someone I’d worked with some time ago.  We both have moved, but kept in touch, I mean actually kept in touch, by having drinks or dinner whenever I was in her new town a few times over the past few years, and of course, on social media.  We have both changed jobs a few times and follow each other on the "social"socials, and on the professional ones, like LinkedIn. I have followed her triumphs and through her posts, have celebrated her triumphs and her joys at work. We have more in common than a workplace. We do the same job function (not a common one), and our kids are the same age. Our daughters actually spent some time modeling together in middle school. I enjoyed the time I spent working with her, and we were as friendly and respectful as any two people of different races can be when they work together and like each other but aren’t really fri...

I finished a book today that made me cry. Like boo boo and sob out loud. It was a story about people’s personal wars and the scars they leave, as well as growth, healing and forgiveness. It’s a story about wounded children of wars of lands and ideals that no longer exist. In it,   the grandmother posthumously tasks her grandchild with delivering letters of apology to those she feels she wronged in her life.   We woke up today with riots and demonstrations all over the country.   People are hurt and angry, and recent police killings and injustices are   the wind   that helped a fire jump its boundaries, a fire that has been fed by racism, Jim Crow, and economic injustice for over 400 years   and one for which we are still awaiting the apology letter. I’m not sure if I was crying because the book moved   me so much, or because I couldn’t see when we will heal from our scars and instead of healing we keep inflicting new ones.     W...

My baby is 23 today. That is really, like, all grown up.   I remember the day she as born, me in that crazy birthing suite with my sister,   my close friend, and not one, but two doulas. I was trying to have natural child birth but also trying to have her father present. He had already taken a job in Texas, and we lived in Arizona, so the doctor decided to induce me right on my due date.   It was an interesting time. The night before a major tornado had torn through Jasper, Texas, a town not far from where we would eventually be moving to, and a whole neighborhood had disappeared. I had been fired 9 months before when I’d stupidly told my boss that I was pregnant. I sued and won.       Anyway, the doctor starting the induction at noon, and since I have crazy high pain tolerance, it took awhile for me to feel anything. It was close to 4 in the afternoon before the labor got going well. I got right up to the end and I started calling everyone motherfuc...

https://youtu.be/pqi13stor_Y

My daughter is back and school. I’m proud of her, but I miss her. I chuckle as I write this because as much as I miss her and couldn’t wait for her to get home, I couldn’t’ wait for her to go back. Certainly, there is wonder in watching a girl grow into womanhood. Just as I was filled with pride when she took her first steps, I am happy for her and scream (inside) “I did that!” as she conquers the challenges in her life. Alas, there is also pain in watching someone as strong-willed as my daughter ( where’d she get that from!) grow and learn to accept and love herself as she blossoms into womanhood—in my space! We text every day (at the very least). Sometimes, we call each other. She calls for advice, to chat or just to have an ear to listen as she works out her problems. Our texts are like an on-going conversation—until I make her mad and she stops responding. I challenge her and find that I can’t help myself. It’s what I do. The other day, though, I was beyond myself as I review one...

This past week, I challenged myself to not slip into any pair of jeans. Instead, I was going to explore the side of my closet that holds all the dresses and skirts. As it turns out, I have a lot, and I only seem to wear them to church or when I am going out to somewhere other than work. Since I keep telling myself that if I haven’t worn it in a year it has to go, it makes no sense to have a bunch of things that are about to turn into closet-pumpkins. Rather than throw them out, I’d decided to attempt to wear them, and hence reset their termination clock. While contemplating what shoes went with my skirt, for some reason, I remembered my fourth grade teacher. She ‘d worn dresses every day, or at least, a sort of dress. I can’t remember her name at all, or the details of her face, but what I do remember is that she’d worn a saree every day of the school year. Her sarees were beautiful. And flowy. They were flowy and flowery in the winter, when other people were wrapped ...

I’ve never been fond on New Year’s resolutions, and hence don’t make them. If you want to start or change, just do it. Or at least try to; it doesn’t matter what month it is. I do believe that January is a good time for reflection (but I suppose any day will do). This afternoon, I found myself driving down the street in my car that is new enough to be considered a Christmas present even though I started driving it before Christmas, and was keenly aware that tomorrow I have to go back to work. Tired of mumble rap and other music with its misogynist lyrics, I had Bob Marley playing in the background. I’d enjoyed the time off at the end of the year, using it to pause and spend time with family but I didn’t for one minute begrudge that I have to go to work tomorrow. In my daytime life, I have a great job that many would consider sexy and amazing. I thought of my father and how proud he would be of me (of course this is in the movie inside my head; he’s been dead almost 25 years. T...