Even Better Than Miss Black Person USA!

On this beautifully sweltering last day of July I want to give a shout to Lehigh Valley in the great state of Pennsylvania for voting that great woman of good works Mrs. Helen Willis, RN, (Godsister of DivaCardista) NAACP Woman of the Year & for her mayor declaring it Helen Willis Day!

It was for this cause the family & I jumped into the family BMW this past Saturday and made our way to the celebration whose theme was Vote Your Values and Value Your Vote. What a wonderful celebration with such a necessary message.

So glad to be in the number.

Now, it really is a heatwave, good people of the Northeast, so as you go about doing good works these next few days, do stay hydrated and take good care of yourselves!

Blessings,
DivaCardista

New York, St. Louis annnd California Blackouts?!?

What’s up with that? And just what are they gonna blame it on this time?

• The sunshine?
• The moonlight?
• The good times?
• or the boogie?

For the longest my gifted, beautiful and truly prepared sistergirl Catrina has been telling DivaCardista to stock up on aqua and batteries. And I was all yeah, ok, sho u rite until, while I watched the NYC Power Outage News all day yesterday, my other gifted and beautiful friend Ally called to tell about what's happening in the midwest just as the NYC Power Outage Newscrawl became more and more California power outtage this and blackout that.

So last night just before sunset I finally made my way [read: flew] to the local 24hr shoppe and got me some reserve H2O and a teeny TV & eight Duracel D batteries.

So while I hope that this part of the terrestrial ball stays in the light, should there be another red wire blue wire oops on behalf of our less and less beloved local power company, Diva Cardista is now prayed up and ready for prime time.

And I wish you the same.

Blessings,
DivaCardista

Beyond National Pride (Well, Duh.)

Montréal was wonderful, y’all. Even when your DivaCardista found herself dancing between the raindrops, from song to song & from crêperie to crêperie, it was still great. Met all manner of folk from across the provinces as well as folk from the states. Took a three hour city tour. Got some rest, new visions and fresh white chocolate. Just so refreshing, for body & soul.

If you haven’t been to good Old Montréal in a good while, you should go. And if you enjoy jazz even a little bit, you should definitely put the 28th annual Festival International de Jazz de Montréal on your 2007 travel calendar. For the five days I was there the jazz mingled with good will was just a lovely perfume in the air, y’know? All way round DivaCardista had herself a grand time, I tell you! From the jazz festival itself to all the mini cultural festivals that seemed to break out all through the streets of Old Montréal, where I truly enjoyed my stay at Le Saint-Sulpice, which, by now, should have received the honor bar key that I took by mistake and mailed back to them. (Le ooops!)

Ah Le Saint-Sulpice--a grand hotel, my dear. Very plush, indeed, but not carried away with itself, which makes it that much nicer. And the great thing is that after a day or two (if not sooner), just being in such a well-appointed suite helps you to look at your regular life and see where you, too, might put a bit of berber over those places in your life that, thus far, ain’t been no crystal stair.

And who knew DivaCardista would take so well to dark wood? After months of mourning and gnashing of teeth (as ‘twere), my Canadian in-room electric fireplace was as welcome a sight for my tired eyes as the midday clip clop of the horse drawn carriages just under my window was to my tired ears as they as they toted happy tourists to the riverside. Now how pleasant is that? Even more pleasant were the all but hermetically seal-able windows that, once closed, only let in sunshine and moonlight. As I currently thrill to the ambient sounds of American lawns being mowed and hedges being trimmed, it’s a wonder why I ever came back.

Oh yeah: the fourth of July! Yay USA!

That was my plan: to break north for a minute and return refreshed and relaxedly focused…and ready for some barbecue, the official flavor of independence. I had no thought about Canada Day.

Up until about noon on June 30th, Canada Day had no meaning for me except as an mildly interesting placeholder on my 2006 kitties and puppies calendar. As a proud and true-blue American, what did I care about anything north of Albany? (Or north of 125th street, for that matter.) After all, the rest of the world, nay, the very universe revolves around US, does it not? (What—y’all gon leave me hanging?)

And then I quietly realized two of the most obvious things in the world:

1. everybody loves where they were born. If it’s only the local football team and nothing else, everybody has some kind of pride for where they call home. And (gulp)
2. as wonderfully fantastic & globally inspirational as your home might be, your neighbor might also be doing a few wonderfully fantastic things that you can be inspired by, learn from and work to emulate in your part of this humble planet we share.

Where is this all going? Right to the moment I was watching TV on July 1 (Canada Day) and I saw Her Excellency the Rt. Hon. Michaëlle Jean for the first time and said “Oh snap. That’s a Sister!” I --who heretofore knew everything about, well, everything and everybody everywhere--had never even heard of her. (Yes, I know we have Condoleeza Rice, et al…but this is way different.)

And then I realized how little I knew about our neighbor country. Made me think about where else earlier education might have left a hole or two. Made me want to commit to getting out of the narrowness of my beloved sea to shining sea more often. Who knows what other worlds there are to discover if one doesn’t switch up on the country code every so often?

Points to ponder, eh?

Now...the main folk I came (read: fled the confines of my usually delightful domicile) to see were two of the truest Divas I’ve ever encountered or experienced: Divas Dee Dee Bridgewater and Etta James.

Well.

Let’s start with Dee Dee.

O my goodness: what can’t this sister do?

• Freestyle rap
• scat
• hiphop
• r&b
• acapella in the moment compositions and then
• French to
• [down home soul] English and back to
• French again.

Yes: this was all in one concert!

And even with Piaf thrown in the mix, you ain’t never heard neither French anthem nor torch song sung with such intensity of heart. I mean. You know how jewelers talk about fire in a diamond? Well, here it is: right in the very person and personality of Sister Bridgewater.

When she throws her head back to tell a story of love through song, you automatically realize that all these young girls in tight tiny shiny clothes, who are each thrust before us constantly as the one to watch [this week], need to go and sit somewhere until they grow.

Now DivaCardista don’t speak but a few words of French – thank the good Lord for cognates – but I got the meaning in my soul every time Dame Dee Dee opened her mouth and heart to sing. It reminded me why singing is such a big deal in the first place. And, no, I am not hatin on the Niveas and the whomever elses that Clive Davis & nem keep finding at the schoolyard…but when you are in the presence of greatness, you know it. In fact, I hope these young women who are being quick-groomed to be the next Beyonce or whathaveyou will at some point be so blessed as to find themselves in someone’s living room as I did and happen across this level of life lived and deliciously expressed and let it inform them as they grow.

(See? Told I wasn’t hatin. Just explicatin. You know how I do.)

And as for Diva James, well let’s just say I hope that I still have that much sass and wisdom in my heart and hipbones as was shown in the great city of Montreal this past June.

She must be the original reference for the phrase “work it, baby, work it” because, believe me when I say, “work it” she did. Strong sensual powerful poignant and true. And o so real.

If it was to be brought, indeed, Etta James brought it all: from songs that I just kinda halfway heard of [“Tell Mama”] to the everything-old-is-new-again [“At Last”]. And it’s even better now. As is she. And, during the concert, she was presented with the Prix Ella-Fitzgerald!! You go, Dame Etta.

And don’t you know she was rockin a fly lil pony tail like Oprah?!? And I do mean rockin it!

As for the boys: from Dee Dee’s accordionist to Etta’s lead guitarist, both women had bands that were just tight, on time and on point. As individuals and as their respective collectives, they really knew how to do the daggone thang with power and much style.

Lastly I just want to give [yet another] shout out to truly old school, nu-classic folk blues guitarist Eric Bibb. He opened for Ms. James. How nice it is to hear the real deal and have it not be in sepia tone on PBS. Strong, clear, colorful and lovely. Mph mph mph. Fine, too. Once again I shout,

“you better go, boy!”

In the words of Corinne Bailey Rae, whom I missed cuz by that point I was too pooped to pop on down to the Club Soda, put your records on, y'all. And in the words of moi: speak peace today.
& let peace perfume the air where e’er you be.

Blessings,
DivaCardista

Insurance!

As you know, I could go on...

But this is a quickie:

When you go to order your cell phone service, get the insurance. Please.

Yes, I know it seems like a luxury at the time, especially if thrift is your divine gift. But believe me, you will be better off in the long run.

Remember: you will be paying for peace of mind.

OK?

Now...

Have a great day!

Blessings,
DivaCardista

Hair/Beef (Go Oprah! Iss Ya Berf Dae!)

Yesterday was not only a gloomy Sunday, it was downright hair brutal.

Yeah, sure when it’s 79 degrees with a light breeze, The Beauty Shop—and thus the world-- is full of hardcore afrocentric Divas talking Angela Davis this and Erykah Badu that and how follicular chemical warfare is just another way the man is tryin to keep a good woman feelin bad about her divine nappy birthright... and to mention a wig is to invite a fight worthy of John Hope Franklin.

Until the clouds begin to gather, that is.

Honey, please. By the time a late Saturday storm forecast has scrawled halfway across Kim Parker’s classic hot orange open toed patent leather platform shoes, them Divas have jumped into their Lex-i (plural of Lexus) and gone.

“Did I just read something about rain?!? Girl, I got to go. I think I left my oxtails in the oven. Um…you know I don’t cook on Sunday, right?”

Even those Divas (such as yours truly), who are still doin the Bus Stop, begin to get their shampooer’s tip and their bus fare together at the first sight of a green tree turned white. It’s as if even Mother Nature herself is telling us to talk to the hand. Rough times, I tell ya, rough times!

And as much as DivaCardista truly loves her natural hair, there are times like yesterday that would make any Diva distraught: sittin up in the temple, trying to pray without the distraction of knowing my so called light and breezy tresses were damp yet straight on the bottom and infinitely curly at the root. Just too many variations on a theme to even discuss.

I thought I had it licked, y’all. I really did. Especially since I’d been using Organic Root Stimulator as recommended by my hairdresser and Fantasia IC, as recommended by a dermatologist who came and did a hair/skin workshop at church a few months back. And, oh my goodness, you should have seen me when I found a little neighborhood store where they sell the entire Fantasia IC line! You would have thought that little store was selling Jimmy Choos by the pound.

Anyhoo, like many of you, I had the drill down: Fertilizing Temple Balm each night because my temples were showing and not growing, and Fantasia IC hair polisher to make everything shiny and new. (They had me at “aloe”). And yet, as great as those products are, they are still no match for Ma Nature when she wants to show out. Child, all that intermittent mist and rain and steam and drizzle had me lookin like I was eight years old and momma could either get dressed herself or finish my hair and she chose to leave my hair like it was when I came into the world, because, after all, the cab to take us to church was already downstairs and we didn’t want to be late (again).

Speaking of family & flashbacks...

When my sister was in town a few weeks back, she mentioned the following to me, we all laughed then dismissed it as pure ridiculousness. And here it is back again today.

Can somebody please tell me:

1. Why fiddy n nem got beef with Oprah?
2. Why them nouveau riche bling blingin men need Oprah to sit them in her yellow chairs on her stage at this stage in the game to give them the blessing to go on and do what they’ve been doing already & with huge global success?
3. And why is this old info mingled in with today’s news as if it is
   a) fresh and
   b) hard news?

They got beef. Please. Who don’t know that beef don’t scare Oprah? Especially now that she’s rocking that fly little ponytail. You go, Mz. Oprah!

Besides, I would hardly call the soccer mom-looking, 401K-investing, Papagallo/St. John-wearing, bo-curious/melanin-lite, seven sister school alumnae of a certain age which appear to constitute her core audience anywhere near the demographic target fiddy n nem are clearly aimed at. Would you?

Let me calm down before I let this foolishness upset my follicular flow.

Blessings,
DivaCardista

Beans on Branches (& I’m Loving It!)

Now y’all know I’m tryin to live right. So two double coupon days ago DivaCardista bought her some double coupon bran cereal. But child, that bowl of so called bran flakes was baptized in & preserved with so much honey, [barley malt and corn] syrup, brown sugar and glycerin (of all things) that I could save it, bag it and give it out to the trick or treaters for Halloween. Got dog! I’m like, where’s the bran? And where’s the demented Battle Creek dentist who designed this here cereal? (Probably at the bank.)

Thank goodness for fresh fruit to serve with it.

Why, you didn’t think I threw my cereal away, did you? Oh, no my dear. Having been raised and influenced by survivors of the Great Depression, I just hook it up with a bunch of good old New Jersey blueberries, half a banana and some plain walnuts. Then I sprinkle this faux bran cereal on top. May as well use it as a condiment, since it pretty much is.

Furthermore, if my dearly departed Daddy knew I was throwing away "good [non-refundable] food", I declare he would come back from The Other Side and burst out crying. And we can't have that, now can we?

If neither the heat nor the calendar hasn't confirmed summers arrival for you, the abundance of wonderfully fresh & delightfully cheap fresh fruit sure should. In the winter or even late spring, you’d go to your green grocer and ask kind sir, do you have any blueberries? And he’d say, yeah. a couple. how many you want? And then he’d get a pair of tweezers and give you three tiny scared lifeless blueberries for four dollars. Now? For three dollars you can just about get as many robust & delightful blueberries as you can cart away. Gotta love summer!

And then there’s watermelon. Lord help me, if I didn’t have as much self control as I do, I would eat this cool red sweet divine lycopene-rich temptation three times a day, three seasons out of the year. Holla if ya feel me!

I’m also loving this arms race between our beloved fast food corporations. Back in the day when water was free and cable was cheesy, who would have dreamed there would one day be something called edamame (aka "beans on branches" or soybeans) sitting up in somebody’s salad at the local Fry and Go? But it sure is nice to see something green just as easy as seeing something greasy at the drive through window.

And a word for the strangers who nuke, fry or serve us food, fast: Let us take a tiny moment to whisper a word of prayer for every mother’s child who has to serve anything today where gravy has to touch and mingle with cheese as a predetermined part of the entre!

May your summer day be full of actual flavor and true delight.

Blessings,
DivaCardista

La La La La Chanze!

At first I was mad. Too mad to even think about it, much less blog. I mean, eleven nominations and only one win? And then I calmed down, got my union newsletter and realized what a coup that one win really was.

The Color Purple, as you know, was nominated for eleven Tony Awards and the one winner was the brilliant and lovely La Chanze, who plays Celie, the role that, in her words, “she was born to play”. Well, evidently the Good Lord agreed because now she’s got a big beautiful Tony to go with her big beautiful voice. And--drumroll please--she beat out none other than long time Divas Patti LuPone and Chita Rivera (not to mention Miss Sutton Foster & Miss Kelli O’Hara) for Best Performance by a Leading Actress in a Musical. You go, La Chanze. So talented, so skilled and so deserving.

I remember first seeing her in Once on this Island, a play DivaCardista knows she is supposed to just love so much she could sop it with a biscuit because of its provenance, pedigree, etc, but [shrug shoulders while making New Yorker lukewarm reception face & sound here] it just didn't move me all that much. Howsumever I do remember La Chanze being just wonderful. And now she is even more wonderful. Brava, Diva! Brava!

Well over here where I sit and dream while listening to Sarah Vaughan caress "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" into the most sultry, satiny, gorgeous thing you could ever dare to imagine, only to possibly be outdone by the last sunset of spring, going down all warm salmon mango golden, it has occurred to me that one needs not bake small corn muffins as one would a pork roast.

As I repair to my stove to rescue my dinner, here's hoping for the best summer we've ever had.

Blessings,
DivaCardista