Free days

Toot toot! Heeeyyyy beep beep!

Children of the 70’s

Horns honk to clear the street ball game

Children laughing loudly

Crack of the bat leads concrete feet slaps

Children sweating hot

Tat tat tat of synchronized rope jumps

Children being kids

Melodic “Here I come!!” when street lights click on

Children of the good ol’ days.

Daily Prompt:Honk

Copyright 2017. R. Frank. Text and original photo. All rights reserved.

Jump up and over!

My life passed through another arch a few days ago. My walk to the top of the rolling hill broke into a view of a new place. Just as beautiful as what I’d left behind, but deeper and fuller than I could have known the open space could hold. Wider. Richer.

It was the weirdest thing. I think I might have missed it. Crossing over this imaginarily certifiable line was no more than a blip. Who could pin point it by a tingle? Second by second. I was there with all my senses, but I blinked and was forever changed. Fairytale. Reality.

I had not a single apprehension or fear to halt my way. I was swirled up in picture taking, bobby pin sticking, last minute stitching and hot gluing. All the things I wanted to be doing. I found my proper place. It felt good there. It felt right. Pride. Joy.

“Jump up!” I said. Jump up and over. A new day is on the other side. I was the mother of the bride. Every wish I had unfulfilled channeled into the details of her dream day. Took me very breath away as she joined me as a sister in the club. Good. Wives.

Copyright 2017. R. Frank. Text and original photograph.

An Empty Shell

Not being present while you’re present is equivalent to being out of mind while you’re still in sight.

Ever eat dinner with someone that was on social networks the majority of the time? They took an “usie” of y’all while you were waiting to be seated. Smile for the ‘gram! They snapped y’all’s chat about brussel sprouts versus asparagus. “Do baby cabbage and little fiber sticks taste better steamed or roasted?” 🤔 Let’s see if the book of faces can educate our palates. Picture of your dressed plates… uploaded. You are together at the same time, but in a totally different space. There is no continuum of connection between the big and small of things. Out of mind.

Have you ever gone to the park for a play date? Kids are halted on the slide (put your feet out) for a photo-op. “Becky when you pump your feet back look over here and smile!!” Little Becky tries, but the action exposes frustration in a parent trying to capture a moment. On to the see-saw. Up. Snap. Down. Snap. Time to leave the park. The kid is begging to go back. A parent satisfied that a child enjoyed their time. Who was paying attention when fun was nowhere in sight?

The sun goes down and you’re glad it’s snuggle time. Fat full and cozy, semi-propped up in bed. The focus of your affection climbs in. “Hey what’s on TV?” Click on. Flip. Flip. Read the guide. Flip. Watching a late night movie can be nice. Wait. Gotta check emails real quick. Sunrise. The most intimate place is to be far away, but held close. The loneliest person can see and touch a body that’s mind is content in a parallel universe. Here. For you. An empty shell.

Four sets of Grandparents

My new grandboy has four sets of grandparents. Obviously, this means that his parents have two sets of parents a piece. I wonder how blended our blending will blend.

I am proud to be part of the only set that is not estranged from one or both of the new parents. It makes me joyful that I can love on him with no restrictions or misinterpretation. I can examine his beautiful features with no dismissal or distain. I can just be his Sweet (that’s what my grandbabies call me)!

His four sets of grandparents have given him a modge podge of nationalities, ethnicities, and cultures. What a lucky grandboy I have! To be all of us in his own unique way. How lucky for those of us who will watch him grow and see all of our similarities and differences diffused by the fusion.

I feel sadness and compassion for the grandparents who couldn’t see him born. Some of it was the distance of miles; some the distance of hearts. I would build a thousand bridges to get me over a great divide. My love of new life would motivate me to hold my tongue so that I could open my heart. But I’m not every person or grandparent. I’m just one of the ones that he’ll know loves him freely and his parents unconditionally.

My new grandboy has four sets of grandparents. He is the perfect blend 💙

Water your own grass

The grass is always greener on the other side, but if you take care of it, you can have green grass too!

There’s a logical reason behind my repulsion to romance novels and love drunk movies. It’s not that I don’t like a few sweet nothings, but love edited for entertainment creates disillusionments about the wonderful world of love and marriage.

Roses are red. Violets are blue. Blooming flowers get old and die too.

I don’t mind getting flowers on Valentine’s Day. I can’t say that I think they are the perfect token of love; nevertheless, they are easy for my husband to buy and giving them makes him happy. He personally delivers them to my office. When the other ladies see him walk in with bouquets as broad as his shoulders, they just gush (some figuratively; some literally). I squeal, “Oh Honeybun!! You’re so sweet!” He gushes. We give each other a quick kiss, he gets a little blood flow, and his Valentine mission is accomplished. He’s happy. I’m amused.

I know flowers are a one size fits all gift, which is why I don’t mind getting them. I love my Honeybun. I’m not here to make his love life super complicated. He picks what looks pretty to him, just like when he chose his wife 🙋🏽. I keep them alive as long as I can so he gets his monies worth. That makes him happy too. When they get to where I have to throw them out, I tell him, “Oh Hun, I gotta let my flowers go.” 😔 “Well they did good Bae. They lasted [insert number of days].” The longevity of his gesture becomes our aphrodisiac.

“Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re going to get.” ~Forrest Gump’s Momma I am partial to candy. I don’t like the big boxes though. I want the little $1 boxes. He knows this. We’ve discussed it. He can do flowers his way, but I run the candy game. Anyway, he brings me little boxes every few days during the 14 day romance window. I probably end up with about 20 boxes 💁🏽 And I love it!! I lay across our bed, watch TV, and devour a box. I sit in my chair and read while scarfing down another box. I take a few to work, so I can dreamily chew on chocolate surprises throughout the day. I am happy. He’s amused.

It’s not about the candy. It’s about the “no judgement”. He is willing to fuel my fantasy of living the life of leisure that my little candy boxes represent. He see the delight on my face, so he doesn’t comment about how many empty boxes are on my nightstand. I get to not be giving, because I don’t share my sweet treats. Not even with my pretty little grandgirl. Nope and grandad can’t buy her any either. Oh, she’ll rat me out for sure, “But Granddad. Sweet’s not sharing.” He explains, “Those sweets are just for Sweet.” Chocolates from him belong to me. They’re my sweet nothings.

Character is what you display in front of people. Integrity is who you are when you think no one is looking.

He gases me up! Every Sunday! Without fail! 🚗💨 I get in my car on Monday morning feeling prepared for the week. Tank is full. Air pressure and fluids checked. ✔️ Dashboard Armouraled down. Any trash (water bottles, fast food bags) from the weekend has already been disposed of. Now that is enough to make me wanna roll over on him❤️ I’m happy. He’s happy.

I will admit I gassed him up on the idea. We going for a ride one day and I suggested that he should gas up my car every Sunday. I told him other husbands may do it and I want it too. He looked at me and loving said, “Who the fuck we know that does that? Where did you get this idea from??” 🤣 then he laughed hysterically. I pouted and then cried (I’m menopausal; crying happens often). He stopped laughing. I admitted that no other wives I know get that. Maybe my granddaddy use to do it. I don’t know 🤷🏽‍♀️ but I want it. “Honey…You’re better than all the husbands we know. They know it. Even their wives think so. You can show other men the way. It might not be for everybody, but you can let it be for me.” He smiled. He’s done it for me ever since.

The grass is always greener on the other side, but if you take care of it, you can have green grass too!

These aren’t the things I read about or see in movies. They are not rose petals in the bath or riding butt naked on a filly. They are not grand. They are not expensive. They’re basic. That’s what makes them better than anything caught on film. They are the real wonderful world of love and marriage. ❤️❤️


I wanna do it all!


Buy out da mall

Wad like a million is small

Throw it up… And let it fall

It’ll come back when I call

I gotta be the boss!


Add sparkle to my floss

Carry my tribe like a cross

Pick a move…It’s a toss

My team never heard of a loss

Lol..I ran out of rhymes 🤣🤣 I guess my inner rapper better retire… 🤷🏽‍♀️

Disclaimer: If I hear my bars on the radio, I’m taking credit and royalties💁🏽


“Girl, what is wrong wit yo head?”
“Well you need to comb that mess out. Walking around here with a head full of pig tits.”
“They’re not pig tits. They’re dreadlocks and I like em.”
“I agree with one thing. They do look dreadful.”

Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. You’re trying to shove it down my throat that white folks ain’t gone like it, that doors will be closed, that I have chosen to look unkept. It’s you that cracks back with backhand compliments. Telling me what I can’t be.

I refuse to be responsible for someone else’s fear of my freedom. I push back against false teachings that do not belong to me. I will not be turned around by someone who has processed all the natural thoughts out their head by buying into lye. I won’t deny myself my righteousness. I won’t be turned around.

Dreadful is my awe inspiring outward manifestation of inside revelations. They teach me. Tremble against my courage if you must. Shutter at my disregard for life that was never meant for me. Then at the same time, you wanna touch em. No ma’am. Your ways are a circus; I won’t jump through hoops.

Be ashamed? Of what? If I walk in a door and I’m not welcomed, then that is a place I would not want to be. And in my personal experience, they never blocked access to quality opportunities for me. Key word: quality. Not every door leads to a room I want to go in. I’m choosy. Seriously, what can be kept from me? A mock-up of equality? Yeah keep that. It’s beneath what I already know the path to be.

And I ain’t gonna twist my edges away. Trying to tame whats supposed to be free. Miss me. Besides all that pulling, pinning, and yanking make my roots hurt. But mine ain’t pretty cus they don’t fit into your Cosmo game? Y’all want that GQ fame. Yeah I don’t live in that frame. How do you conform nonconformity? Stop it.

A bit of extra truth though. My crown is a straight mat with coils in the back. My modge podge heritage won’t rest in a label. It can’t nestle into fable, cus it’s silk and nappy. It expresses in a way that sincerely baffles me. I learned not to fight it. It can be quite dreadful.

But feel fear? Terror? Never. Well maybe sometimes you should, but that depends more on you and about me less. Are your intentions to inhibit, restrict, or suppress? I ain’t colorblind. I recognize all the shade I see. Well, your inferior ruminations build on standards of degradation will not rule the celebration of my inalienable right to be. Me. Free.

I hope you felt that. Dreadfully lol.

I’ve added a new read for your edification! Learning about dreadlocks as an art of self-expression is just as important as understanding social boundaries necessary to the respect and preservation of it’s sacred space. Please check out “Don’t Touch My Hair” on my Journey page!