First blog post


I can’t believe I’m finally doing this, sharing my life to a world of complete strangers. It didn’t come easy, but after my 2nd niece informed me that I was blogging on Facebook lol, I decided to give this a try.

I’m always asked why did I move back to my home town, my birth town, the city who made me, New Orleans… Why leave the security of Minnesota Nice with its wealth of family resources in addition to being one of the top states to raise a family in the nation. I just had to…

Hopefully as you walk with me on this journey of My Nola Life you will not only understand, but come to love my city as well with all her beautiful loving faults… We have soul ties….

Fyi I refer to New Orleans as She. I truely believe the intense magical intoxicating loving feeling that gets deep down in your soul and heart can only come from woman… plus the fact that the city continues to give life after she is deemed baren…

#NolaLife #NewOrleans #BlackGirlsRock #FromTheBottomUp #ImStillStanding







My Inexperience with Marijuana: Story of a new short term smoker

After receiving an invite to attend an educational session on medical cannabis featuring one of the nations leading experts, a doctor of medical marijuana, it had me thinking of my experience or shall I say inexperience with marijuana. When initially approached  about my knowledge of medical marijuana, I wondered,”how in the hell did this guy find me, I’m not marijuana savvy at all and why would he think I would be interested in it.”

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Image result for marijuana education

I’m saying that, because out of everyone in my family and as well as my friends, I am the last to ask about marijuana. I hated the smell, I don’t like the smoke, actually any smoke, especially after my Daddy suffered and died from lung cancer. I accepted the invite after reflecting on my previous experience with the green flower..

Recently, I learned that Whoopi Goldberg is starting a  marijuana venture designed entirely for women. Marijuana has been an important part of Whoopi Goldberg’s life recently, helping her dull the pain of menstrual cramps and combating glaucoma headaches.

The comedian and actress has never shied away from marijuana use, discussing it publicly on a number of occasions. She now joins a number of fellow celebrities who are endorsing cannabis products, including Bob Marley’s family, Willie Nelson and, unsurprisingly, Snoop Dogg.

Whoopi’s company, Whoopi & Maya (which she co-founded with the medical marijuana industry veteran Maya Elisabeth) will find its niche in the marketplace by targeting their marijuana-infused products to women. These will include a tincture, a balm, a bath soak, and sipping chocolate. So, I thought if it had anything to do with Whoopi I should at least attend the session. Whoopi Goldberg Marijuana





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I turned my nose up to those who smoke “Weed” and thought it was a form of a drug some years ago, but had a change of mind when I developed health problems; migraines, kidney stones, interstitial cystitis, ovarian cancer and breast cancer genes ran in my family. I was so tired of pills, tests and doctors, because nothing seem to help, especially with my pain. After four surgeries to my pelvic region I suffered with pain, with pain came stress, which brought on my migraines and elevated my blood pressure. I was a mess. Sometime in 2015 my Mom, whom smoked since the hippie, Bob Marley days suggested that I take a few puffs of a joint to see if it  would help and it did and from that day forward I would partake of a few puffs of her goodies here and there to help relieve my body’s aliments. I also loved the effect it had on my smiling. I smiled at other people’s BS and that was beneficial to me.Related image

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My family couldn’t believe Miss. Goodie Two Shoes was smoking marijuana. They used to make fun of me, because I wasn’t inhaling nor did I know anything about strains, so basically they blew me off “literally,” because they said I wasn’t getting high. I didn’t want to be high, I wanted to feel better. I never understood how people could smoke “blunts” back to back or wake up smoking.  There are these “weed heads’ that would put $20-$40 of Good in a $2 cigar and just blow and do it again 30 minutes later. Like how high do you really need to be??

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My ex-brother -n- law taught me about strains of marijuana, Indica, Stavia and Hybrid, which can get to complicated for me to understand or explain. I found out that my Mom was a traditional marijuana smoker and all she needed was regular aka “Reggie” which is a Sativa dominant grade C and has a moderate to high THC level. All the levels of THC is unbeknownst to me as well. I was told names and it’s uses, that’s it and that was more than enough for me. My fisrt experience with the good stuff was when my brother n law told me I need some “Kris Kringle” for my pain, I thought he was just using some street marketing on me, so I could buy the expensive weed, but nah this stuff is heavy lol. Later on I would read that if you are inexperienced smoker such as myself, you may not enjoy the raciness that can come along with this Sativa. I not only didn’t like it, I hated it and it would cut my newly found guilty pleasure very short.Thinking about it, I do not think I made it to a full year of smoking marijuana.

cannabis sativa vs indica Cannabis plants have been growing all over the world for centuries and have,like all other species, adapted to their new environments or evolved due to interbreeding.


When I found out there was marijuana that could help relieve my medical issues I was sold. I didn’t mind the smell or the smoke knowing I would feel better. I looked at the smoke as medicinal after that, it not only helped me with my medical issues, but it helped me with my mood, dealing with aggravating people and stressful situations which helped lower my blood pressure. It helped with my sex drive, relaxing and all things that helped with balance. I found that certain strains will have you cleaning up your entire house or some will blow your mind to the point of super creativity. Plus, my Mom found this stuff called “Blunt Power”, along with the specialty candles and incense that would mask the smell.


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In buying the expensive strains of marijuana in bulks and not being a true smoker, I found that I was wasting money aka other smokers sought out my smoking friendship and it included my Mom lol. Let’s say I would buy a half ounce, I would have someone roll me up some joints aka white-boy’s dosing myself at one joint per day if that, which barely put a dent in the bag and the person would know that. Before day 5 came around the bag was gone and not from me, but that didn’t stop me from buying this way. I made them aware and made a smoke box for them to put money in if they wanted to smoke. Thinking on it now, did that make me a dealer?? Like OMG was I operating a resale dispensary lol. They barely contributed to the total amount I spent.

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My move to New Orleans drastically changed my medical marijuana smoking habits, because the stuff was too potent. Two joints lasted me the whole week, plus I did not like feeling high. My family and friends here who smoke do not seem to be affected by the potency here and actually appreciate it. Claiming that it’s better here.. Maybe, because we are closer to the border?? I do not know how the disbursement of marijuana fields go, but whatever the case I have stopped smoking entirely.

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My sister who’s a long time smoker was in town at the time and we made a call to who we call “Red Truck” a Jamaican friend who has helped me since my move and from what I heard is very heavy handed and very nice. Well, I told him it didn’t matter what kind, but as long as it’s “Good,” because my sister was here, so he gives us a strain called “Sour Diesel” which my sister rolled up some in one of those stupid blunts, well leaf. She claimed I wouldn’t mind it, because the leaf cigars do not burn like the others. As she rolled, I waited in the living room with candles burning and the Blunt Power ready. We never smoked in the house, but we were having so fun girl time. Plus, the kids were at summer camp, we were watching the rerun of the Miss. America pageant as we ate a big bowl of buttery popcorn that my sister popped on the stove for us. In between mouthfuls of popcorn and sisterly conversation we inhaled the “Sour Diesel” as we watched the contestants being introduced by Steve Harvey. Sour Diesel, sometimes called Sour D, is an invigorating sativa-dominant strain named after its pungent, diesel-like aroma

By the time I had my 3rd puff of the leaf concoction I felt my head bob and let out a little whoosah laugh, but a second head bob would send me to my bed. “Ooh, sis I feel hot and light-headed I think I need to go lay down,” I said as I crawled in my bed from the foot of it. My sister shouted from the sofa, “OMG you feel that bad you need to go lay down. Girl, you need to cut it out.” But, I was really feeling sick. She made her way over to the bed, because, she noticed that I had not quite laid down, instead I was in the bed on my hands and knees with my head in my pillow. “Are you OK? Why aren’t you laying down. Why are you on your knees?” I didn’t realized I wasn’t laying down. I asked her how she felt, claiming I think I had food poisoning, because my stomach felt tight, but she reminded me that we ate the same thing. “Girl, lay down for a little bit and I’ll be right in the living room.” OK, I attempted to lay down, my body went flat, my head on my pillow and out of nowhere I heard a voice softly telling me, “If you close your eyes, you not gonna get up, my ever.” I called for sister, “I can’t lay down something wrong. I feel hot and dizzy like I’m about to pass out laying down and I’m scared to close my eyes.” It must of went over her head, because she didn’t hear me say the last part. ‘Dang, Dee you blowing my high, what’s wrong with you.” She asked if she could get me something, as she looked with concern in her eyes. I sat up in bed with my legs folded and said I need some water and  turn the air conditioner way down.

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Before she could make it to the kitchen I yelled for her to get me a big cup of icy cold water. While she was in the kitchen I went from various laying and sitting stages as I took off my shirt and bra telling myself not to go to sleep. My sister return to find me sitting in the middle of the bed, holding my shirt against my chest, trying to hold up my breast. She looked at me and immediately, became a triage nurse stating, “Your blood pressure has to be high, I have been observing you and you don’t look so good. Where is that blood pressure cuff I gave you in Minnesota? I know you have it, because I backed it and slid it in one of your bathroom boxes. I need to take your blood pressure. Here’s your water” She put the Mardi Gras Cup of ice cold water in my hand and I poured in over my head as she looked on in total shock. “Oh, lawd Dee what is wrong with you!” Please, give me more “ice” water, I need ice, there’s no ice in the cup. It was an extremely hot and humid New Orleans day and the ice had been used up and the trays had not froze yet. “I gave you what was in the ice trays,” she said with worry as she walked off to get the blood pressure machine.

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While she was in the bathroom, I called for her and asked for more water and an ice pack. This time she return like the speed of light. This time I drank the water, instead of giving myself a bed bath. She handed me this aluminum foil wrapped frozen something to use as an ice pack and a few Popsicles. Before I can ask what it was she reminded me of the lack of ice and told me that this was better, because it was frozen rock solid whatever it was. Neither of us could remember at the time. I was down to just my underwear by then and I slipped the frozen aluminum foil block into my underwear, sitting on it. Her mouth flew open and then she said, “Yes, that will help you cool off from the core.” She left out again with a couple more frozen packages, put them on my bed and would tell me to lie on top of them. I’m still unsure why I felt the need to put the frozen thing in my underwear, but it helped me feel better. I gobbled down the Popsicle within a few minutes as if they went ice or concern for brain freeze.

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Within that time, I felt my heart beat coming out the side of my neck. I just knew I was having a stroke. My sister, the new nurse returned in a flash with the blood pressure machine, ordered me to lay down flat with my legs uncrossed as she unsuccessfully wrapped the cuff the wrong way, then ordered me to put it on the correct way, as she pushed the button. I attempted to tell her that she would not get a good reading with me laying down, but in mid sentence I told my poor lil sister, “I’m scared, I don’t want to die, I think you need to call the ambulance, I’m scared.” She looked at me with her small almond shaped eyes that had turned into huge saucers and said “Dee do you feel that bad?” I said, “yes, I’m scared I can hear my heart beat in my neck, something is wrong. I’m burning up from the inside out. I think I need to go to the hospital.” I believe in some form I told my sister I needed to either go to the hospital or call 911 about 3 times, until she finally replied.

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“Yes, Dee you can hear your heart beat, because your blood pressure is 212/179, but I don’t think that it’s that high, it’s wrong, sit up. You want some more water?” I looked at the numbers and said “OMG, that is really high, something is wrong….yes, I want some more water.” She came back with a chair and another cup of water. Before I drank it I said a said a teary, choked up, “I really need to go to the hospital. I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.”  “Dee, how would you get to the hospital? Uber, by yourself? What if you black out before you get there and they don’t know what’s going on? I can’t leave the kids will be home shortly and what you want me to tell poor Niyah? Your Mama on her way to the hospital in an Uber, dying?” “Because, I’m certainly not calling 911 and devastate the children. We have children tot think about here. How do you think they would respond seeing you be carted out here on a stretcher? We in New Orleans the paramedics have gun shot victims they need to tend to.”

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“Nope, that will not be  responsible for me to call 911 for you. I will not traumatize the children.” I’m not sure how I looked, but I know she was serious. She ended her rant of me not going to the hospital with, “If you really feel like you gonna die, let me check your blood pressure again while you sitting in the chair and you can go on ahead and die right there on the floor.” She pointed to the middle of my bedroom floor, the cold sandy cheap tile floor, right in front of the chair she sat there, showing me where to lay and die. “So, you go on ahead when you feel like it, the floor right there, I’ll keep the kids outside until I’m sure your dead, I’ll get that cart, wrap you up and roll you into a canal, because you know I don’t believe in no funerals and we will tell the kids you went on one of your fabulous vacations whenever they ask.” Then just like that she walked out the room, where I overheard her tell my 20yr old niece who was living with me at the time, all that transpired and her refusal of letting me go to the hospital and how I was to die… I wish I was making this up..

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My sister walked right pass me leaving the smell of her freshly lit Newport in the air of my house as she closed off the living room from my room to show me how serious she was about me dying on the floor. My niece came in to the room, laid on my bed with her newborn son, my great nephew, she looked at me with her always not serious cute face and grinned at me. “Auntie Dee have you ever heard of a trip?” I was in some form of prayer at that moment, calling forth my grandmother to pray to God on my behalf, because I wasn’t sure it was right to pray when I smoked earlier. “No, Nene I never heard of a trip.” She just sat their stroking her babyboy, smiling at me, but laughing hard on the inside, as she told me a “Trip” is a side effect of smoking “Good, Dro, Gas and etc” marijuana, basically paranoia and anxiety. “I had it before, but never like you. My Mom said you feel like you gonna die and stuff?” “Well, I would be very sad if you was to die, because you are my best Auntie and you not gonna die, it won’t last too much longer. Has it been an hour yet?” “I’ll go fix you something to eat. How about some steak and potatoes?”

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I was in the room alone and my mind went right back to my Grandmother, she passed away a couple months prior to this incident.  So, I sat in the chair my sister gave me, at times singing my Grandmother’s favorite hymns and praying with my hands extended to the ceiling as if I was praising. I asked for forgiveness and prayed that what I was feeling was this “Trip Out Side Effect” vowing if my life was spared I would never smoke again.

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As I was singing this “Little Light of Mines” my 7yr old Babygirl came through the door, “Hey Mama” and bounced right pass me in her typical fashion, not phased by anything outside of what she wants at that moment. Next in walked my younger niece, 6yrs old and my granddaughter, with my niece leading her. She swung the drapes open from the entry way that divided my room from the living room and stop right in front of me and gave me a kiss and walked to the bathroom. My 7yr old granddaughter, said “Nana are you OK, you don’t look so good?” as she put her hands in mines. I told her I had a fever, but I was feeling better. She followed suit as the others, all trying to quench their thirst and relieve their bladders. My sister made her way in, looked at me, “You looking a little better, I told those poor girls you were feeling sick and they were so worried and so was I, but no ambulance was coming here,” she said a matter a factually as she walked towards the kitchen. I had to snap out of whatever it was I was going through for my girls. I couldn’t have a stroke if it was really happening, I wasn’t gonna traumatized my babies.

As I came back to life sitting in the middle of the floor in the chair which was now dripping water from the package in between my legs. Yes, I still had the frozen aluminum foil package in my underwear against my vagina, were it thawed out with ease. When my sister passed by, she thought I peed on myself, but no lol. She retrieved the mop and handed me some sweats to put on, but I wasn’t completely ready to stand up. She physically swung me and the chair to the side to get the water up, she was still in nurse mode and I was her total care patient. As she swung me across the floor,  the smell of seasonings arose and I asked if she smelled it and she did, but we didn’t have clue as to where,but agreed it was coming from the kitchen, maybe through the vents.. We were certain that Nene was prepping the steaks with bell peppers, onion, garlic, salt, pepper and left it at that. After she finished mopping, she insisted that I get up, reminding me that the dampness can stir up bacteria in my vagina and with that she helped me up. I pulled the foil package from between my legs prior to taking off my panties so it wouldn’t fall to the floor. As I pulled it up and outwards, bringing it to my dresser the smell of seasoning became apparent. Nene had not started the steaks, because I my vagina was busy thawing the steaks out… lol

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She was right, I didn’t need a hospital visit nor was I dying, I was having bout of paranoia from smoking too the  “Sour Diesel” marijuana. I look back on that incident feeling thankful, but also with thoughts of my sister and how scared she was at the thought of  losing me. I sent my sister into denial, shock or something. Can you believe that my sister refused to call 911, regardless of  my blood pressure being high enough for an emergency. I know that she didn’t call nor want to call, because it would have made it a real emergency. The fact of me saying I felt like I was gonna die, was real enough for her, she couldn’t deal with the thought of it and especially me verbalizing it. She couldn’t accept it, so she choose my fate and that was to live or die on the floor… OMG, it’s funny now, but I really scared my sister.

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On the flip side what if she would have called the ambulance?? Marijuana laws have not completely passed here. I read you can have up to an ounce I heard without going to jail, but what would be of me had I went to the hospital for a trip?? The doctor’s would have did testing and found the THC in my system, I would be labeled a “Marijuana Addict” who “overdosed” on “Sour Diesel” marijuana?. The social services people would have been called and the list goes on and what to say?? The truth? “Uhh, I only smoke a little to help me with my pain and stress even though I know it’s still technically still illegal?? I’m not sure I would have been more fortunate in the North where at least medical marijuana laws have passed.

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I do know for a fact that marijuana can be beneficial in treating the conditions such as mines. Also, I think  it should be legal on both sides, medically and recreational. Marijuana works, it certainly helps with stress and you never heard of an insanely high marijuana user being violent.. I think for people such as myself they can be medicated with it, using sparingly and in the correct concentrations.

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I think it’s wrong that the wealthy will be able to profit off a plant that the poor have been incarcerated for. It was the minorities who knew of the benefits of weed. Plus look at where and how it grows, it’s truly a weed and grows wild, where no wealthy American wants to step foot. I’m not sure if the marijuana needs some sort of fancy testing to determine what strain it is and what it can be used for, but I think who profits off it should be fair, such as the Mexicans who have trafficked it for years and received the harshest sentences. The prices should not get all astronomically high as I hear they can get. How would regular marijuana smokers be able to afford to smoke anymore, sctually that’s where the money is at. I wonder how much the profit is in the states that allow you to buy weed from a dispensary?

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Image result for who makes money off marijuana

Image result for who makes money off marijuana

Then there’s those edibles, which are great for people like me who would prefer not to deal with the smoke and smell, but those can get you in trouble too and actually, I had a similar story to eating a brownie, but not half as bad as this story. All marijuana should be dosed in my eyes, but then again you have those as I said that can “Blunt” themselves into a coma, but somehow manage to do their daily routine, slowly and peacefully, but it gets done.

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Regardless, to how you eat it, smoke or rub it on, I can not risk smoking myself into a “Trip” again. That was really bad and although funny, my sister is traumatized by it. I only took 3 puffs, passes or whatever ya call it and I went into full “I’m Gonna Die” psychosis.

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Marijuana may be the cure for all, but I must stay away from it. I can not chance ever feeling like that, if you ever felt like you were facing death with a severely elevate blood pressure, you can relate, its awful. But, if you one of those people who take delight in seeing someone in the chicken coop clucking along with the chicken go on ahead and laugh, your day will come with the increased popularity to brand the best marijuana. Some genius will breed the ultimate seed blend and make a powerful strain that will have you singing to the Gods as well.

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If anyone ask me I tell them I’m allergic to marijuana..until then puff, puff, pass for me, but one never know what will be taught at the educational session this weekend. Now, if I can be dosed just right, between managing my pain, great mental and emotional well being without the effects of feeling high, but feeling good would be perfect for me. I wouldn’t want to go through figuring out my perfect blend, that’s a bit much. Now, I’m back to my first mind and remaining the Bougie Bitch that thinks marijuana is bad for you..nah, I’ll support the cause for others if only educating myself and attending sessions to get the law passed.

Now, that you know my marijuana story, what’s your’s?

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The Great Online School Scam


Noliwe Rooks | Excerpt from Cutting School: Privatization, Segregation, and the End of Public Education | The New Press | September 2017 | 18 minutes (5,064 words)

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DeVos’s ties to—and support for—the profoundly troubled virtual school industry run deep.

In a 2013 interview with Philanthropy Magazine, DeVos said her ultimate goals in education reform encompassed not just charter schools and voucher programs, but also virtual education. She said these forms were important because they would allow “all parents, regardless of their zip code, to have the opportunity to choose the best educational setting for their children.” Also in 2013, one of the organizations that she founded, the American Federation for Children, put out a sharply critical statement after New Jersey’s school chief, Chris Cerf, declined to authorize two virtual charter schools. The group said the decision “depriv[es] students of vital educational options.” Yet another group DeVos…

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New Orleans “Scent” for Me: I’m Home

There’s a scent flowing in the New Orleans air that’s reminiscent of my childhood mixed with a fragrant burst of something wonderful can happen any day now!. Have you ever smelled a feeling in the air?? I have and more so being home now. In New Orleans even the thick humid air can smell of all things good. If you ever saw a cartoon such as Woody the Woodpecker, when there was something cooking the aroma would turn into a hand floating towards the person, motioning with it’s pointer finger to follow the smell, that’s New Orleans, except you will actually get a taste of the delicious goodness that it brought you to, instead of getting hit upside the head.

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Today that smell brought me back to my childhood, maybe 10yrs old or so sitting in the window seat of my Fave Cousin Nisey’s bedroom at their townhouse across the river in Algiers. We would sit, stare out into the mass of trees and beautiful sky as if it was a paradise full of dreams to come true; talking for hours, planning out our dream lives with certainty that our spoken thoughts would come to true.

We both spoke of a life living in big mansions with every amenity possible from pools to our very own rose garden. We did not want the typical pets, no we dreamed of owning chimpanzees and lions as pets with diamond crusted collars. We did live in the era of watching Michael Jackson, so maybe that’s where that idea came from.

Unlike, Nisey whose plan was to be a big time attorney and corporate executive, I wanted to be a Mommy with 10 children and a grade school teacher.. Why why why, I’m thinking now, but I wanted to be like my Momo and in my eyes she was all things great. My Momo was a mother of 9 and dreamed of being a teacher, but motherhood, work as a Nanny and life took center stage. She found pleasure in raising her children, grandchildren, teaching Sunday School and doing missionary work and sharing life’s lessons to those who sought out her wisdom., a life still filled with kids.. She said, she lived though us and felt  proud of our individual accomplishments, as if it was hers.

So, looking back at my wish to be the ‘Lady who lived in a shoe with so many children she didn’t know what to do” wasn’t a bad life goal. My life as a mother, adoptive mother, foster mother and Auntie Dee to my nieces and nephews and even kids who weren’t enabled me to touch so many lives. My niece is a teacher, so in many ways our dream  came to fruition, through the means of our family tree..

Some days I wish I would have dreamed a lil bigger, if only for me. It’s been a blessing to care for others, but some times I wonder what life would have been like not being a caretaker.. Maybe, it was just that intoxicating smell that has me feeling like there was supposed to be more to me, but you know what, it’s not over. The smell filled my spirit just at the right time. I served my purpose and I did a wonderful job taking care of others and now I can do me.

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One wouldn’t believe that I was a 16 year mother, if my daughter wasn’t proof  lol, but I did well for myself. I did so well that I was able to adopt a baby-girl I so desperately wanted and you know how strict adoption agencies are. I was a single black woman and my desires were granted. I was once a teen mom on the verge of being forced to give my baby up for adoption to being a single black woman who adopted a 6 week old baby. Amazing isn’t it..?

I’m back in the land where I was forced to escape to only to come back to show her, show New Orleans that I did OK for myself and I sense she is proud of me. Proud that I listened to the advice of my elders and stayed in Minnesota, proud that I survived an abusive marriage and survived life period. There’s no safe place, my life only got better, because of me. Things that gone on in New Orleans happened in Minnesota, murder, sex, drugs and the list goes on, it was there. I married a drug dealer in Minnesota, one of the biggest ones at that, but I turned it around and got out. Years later, I’m home and she greeted me with wide opened arms, allowing me back home, to live in my promise land that my ancestors built for me. They made it here and I have full rights to claim my inheritance and live off their harvest.

The fingers of aroma, I’ll call it, made it’s way to Minnesota, tapped me on the shoulder and filled my nostrils with the loving soul of New Orleans and pulled me back into her bosom, filling my tummy with her milk and honey.

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I have no regrets for the days of yesterday. I know those I sacrificed my career goals for appreciate and love me for it. I know now, most of them understand that it’s time for me to do something for me and will support and encourage me on my new journey.

It’s unbelievable that my life managed to be all that it is.I’m sitting here smiling for the 1st time in my life looking back over it all. I made it, but that smell in the air is proof that the best is yet to come. Yes, it’s my time and I’m so happy that New Orleans called me home.


Hurricanes and African Slave Trade : What’s real?

This recent Hurricane season has captured the world’s attention and have us all questioning what the experts really know, if anything at all and the talk Hurricane’s and Slavery. Which leads me to ask why would one believe such as story as Africans being angry hundreds of years later and showing that anger by releasing the spirit of a horrible hurricane to destroy and take lives over all these years.

The only correlation I have found was that both had the same start. It has been proven that Hurricanes that most are formed around the coast Africa and follow the same path as slave ships .

There are African-American folktales about Hurricanes being the energy source of our ancestors; stolen Africans, beaten and lost at sea. Can Hurricanes be a mythical avenger that comes to right the wrongs of our ancestors? Souls of the sea, who unleash their wrath annually unto their oppressors?


Is there a connection between the Atlantic Slave Trade Routes and the path taken by hurricanes? If so, what about those who did not die while en route, but made it to live out their lives as slaves? What vengeance do they get?wp-image-252553052


Some would like to see it that way, but a Hurricane like all natural disasters do not discriminate. I would hope that if a spell of sort was cast into the ocean in honor of my ancestors that its effects would not affect black people. It would be irresponsible and cruel of them to call upon this mythical storm to be released in the same direction of  their loved ones.

Yes, they traveled the same path as Hurricanes, but wouldn’t that mean they were affected by Hurricanes as well? Maybe, they prayed that the oceans would swallow the entire ship so that they may have rest and peace, not this hoodoo stuff.


I do not like all the hype about an ocean full of angry African souls who have not found peace and are out for revenge. It’s hard being alive seeing all the suffering just from this past Hurricane season, but to have people speak highly about my ancestors in this manner is heartbreaking.


Hurricanes bring death, destruction and suffering to all people no matter race, economical or social status. Katrina proved that the majority of people affected where poor black people. Yet, there’s the talk of an angry oppressed African spirit of the sea?


Katrina also had religious folks saying, New Orleans was struck in such a manner, because of all the sin in our city.. I actually stopped attending church after a pastor used the fate of my city for his sermon. I wonder what they will say now? Texas is a cowboy redneck state, a big one at that and Florida follows suit.

No human wants to see others suffering, especially when it can happen to them. In saying that my ancestors would want to inflict the suffering that people are enduring after these Hurricanes is a dishonor to their spirits. To say that, they would be calling them inhuman, uncaring, unloving and the list goes on. Why would we agree in saying they would want someone to suffer, because they did? I have felt my share of heartache, feeling wronged and victimized, but I would never want another person to go through what I went through not even my oppressor.


I do not think any of us can just simply go through our day without even a thought of what our fellow citizens are going through. None of us are immune to disaster, there’s no sum of money that will save Mr.Billionaire’s life or his property in comparison to ours. This is not Black/White Lives Matters, this is All Lives Matters and we must at least show compassion to those going through right now.

I can’t imagine what my ancestors went through while enduring whatever storm was in their path, but today I can close my eyes and picture the elderly people in Texas. They do not share my culture or skin color, but they represented exactly what it means to endure suffering. They were living in a disaster, in fear, uncertain if they were sitting in their actual  water grave. They were calm, possibly praying that their families were safe and sound while they sat waist deep in flood waters. I’m pretty sure had they lost their lives their souls would not have been tagged with the next disaster or the tangled up in headlines, because they wanted to avenge their suffering by suing the nursing home. I believe their reactions and emotions were inline with what my ancestors felt at the time as well.


It’s not fair to pin a natural disaster on someone’s soul, no one has that type of vengeance on their heart. Suffering is terrible. I know we all wish we could control the amount and type of it that we had to endure, but we can’t. I wish that instead of blaming a group of people for what was done that we could enjoy the benefits of all that was accomplished from it. We can learn from our ancestors past and do them a favor of not repeating it and honor them by doing better.


Is it that important making sure the slave masters of yesteryear are held responsible or should we keep the hype up about our ancestors needing vindication via Hurricanes? Or do we learn more about emergency preparedness, push the government  to have a true emergency plan & monies for the poor, sick, elderly and animals to get out in time.  It’s proven that most people stay at home, because they do not have the resources to leave. Just like with the hospitals and nursing homes, there’s no true evacuation plan and now has proven that there should be.

A Hurricane or any other natural disaster is not a spirit, it’s Mother Nature and we have very limited knowledge as to why it happens, but from our ancestor, some may call it science, but whatever it is, we have no power or control over it. We have some knowledge on how to live and hopefully survive when it happens, but in the meantime we must assist those who are suffering from the effects of the disasters.

A disaster comes in many forms, some of us may go through life without a severe devastation, but regardless they can be soul changing, heartbreaking and will leave scars that can not be seen with eye.


A hurricane is formed and it travels, it does not make any sense that people are unable to receive assistance with evacuating.

My heart is so heavy for my country, for the world actually, we have to find a way to enjoy our lives and those in it. It didn’t take a nuclear bomb to destroy popular tourist destination, it wasn’t Avenge of Slaves, it was a Hurricane. I’m not sure if the Leaders of the world see that, but I do.


Light Skin, Dark Skin and the things in between 

Today I read a post on Facebook which is below this paragraph about a daycare worker being too dark to work with white children and that if anything a light-skinned black person would be a better option… Just writing about it upsets me, brings up old healed wounds of my own, well I thought they were healed

It reminds me of a post of my own I wrote in 2013 after a discussion with my foster daughters regarding teasing incidents at school. They were teased and bullied for their outward appearance, not one of them had a relationship with the person who made them feel less than perfect. How is that? A stranger can call you out on how you look? Ok, I’m dark skinned…ok… and? I never understood teasing..


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It’s sad that people can be so cruel to another person over something like the color of their skin. The outside appearance of an individual has nothing to do with their personality, the heart and soul of a person is what matters, especially in cases like this.

When did it matter, other than a teacher, daycare worker, nanny, baby sitter or anyone who is left in charge of someone as precious as a child, being a loving, caring, nurturing, qualified, free of mental health issues that would cause harm and passes a criminal background check that is free of physical harm charges? When did the color of someone’s skin matter???
Are we now basing qualifications on the color of skin?  How does that look on an application or BCA checks? I wonder if this woman would feel better with a pretty, charming, intelligent, pretty, out-going white or light-skinned black child care worker with a beautiful resume, but monster hiding behind a mask.
 The so-called “too dark” child care worker, may go over and beyond her job description for the children she has under her care. This racist woman’s child may smile and run to the “too dark” worker when they arrive to school, but all she can notice is this woman’s skin color? I’m confused.

It has to be a terrible way to live; judging another human being over something none of us have control over. There are some beautiful people in the world and their insides are rotten. Their hearts are in search of a beat, void of any feeling that resembles love. They go through their day looking to inflict pain on anyone who crosses their paths that goes against what they like.

I love seafood, don’t like red meat much, but you don’t see me protesting cows or the meat lovers. My children are in a school that is 75% white in Little Canada, after attending a predominately black school in Nola. I’m not sending letters to hire more minorities and while they are at that enroll more kids that reflect the new hires..

We live on earth with human demons whose joy comes in the form of hurting others, breaking spirits and killing the soul for nothing azz reasons. You can’t be human and have hate in your heart for someone over the color of their skin. You do not have to agree with biracial dating, by not dating outside your race. There’s no reason to attack an innocent people who choose to date other races.

You can be married to someone, only to find out that he/she has been living another life. There are church leaders raping children, sleeping with people in their congregation and those very people come every service praising God with you. The President of the United States is married to a woman who is from Russia, shouldn’t we question that? But, no look at how they handled Bill for getting a blow job in the Oval Office? It was damn near a crime to have an affair then, but when the republicans were coming out bathrooms and hotel it was quickly swept under the rug.

Just recently a 62 yr old average white man shot up an outdoor concert and yet this woman and many more like her have time to type a letter about a child care worker being too dark to care for children??? Does not world not see color does not matter? She must have not be aware of the innocent looking white daycare worker who pushed a 4 yr old down the stairs and the many more incidents like it and much worse…



How can we as the human race have evolved so much over the years to still be so ignorant? We call mentally challenged people retarded and we allow people like this to be called what?? How can someone be sane and say the most absolutely ridiculous things. These judgemental people are actually sitting around praying, plotting and writing these words of hatred down and publicly sharing. It’s a good thing, because it makes us fully aware. As with everything going on in this world we needed a reminder of the evils that innocently sit by, acting, hiding behind a Jesus Cross and fake smiles. These people go home, put on their white sheets, awaiting for Trump to reinstate the Good Ole Days of hanging “Darkie” on the nearest biggest tree.


At some point in most of our lives we are teased, judged or put down by someone. We often get over it, but in some instances the word, taunting and uncaring actions from another can lead to deferential circumstances. We need to realize how we dump on people. We need to be responsible for what comes out our mouths. Just this past week we heard some not so choice words from people holding government positions, but maybe they are following suit of the President.


We talk to people wreck-less then demand judgement when they finally respond and react out of mental and emotional anguish. I had my share of word bullets, I may not have reacted aggressively, but my body has in the form of illnesses, surgeries, high blood pressure, stress, acne, weight gain, anxiety and the  list goes on. Maybe, if I would have said your thoughts of me don’t matter back my body would feel better now.

Judgement, teasing, bullying and even gossip hurts at any age. I hope this daycare worker hasn’t quit a career she may love, hopefully this woman’s words did not open up old wounds as it did mines. I hope she is doing awesome in the skin shes in.

New Orleans Artist: Kishonda Webb

Born and raised in the 7th Ward of New Orleans, Kishonda Webb  turned tragedy into a creative mastery. After the sudden loss of her young husband, Kishonda tried several forms of therapy, be it attending therapy, support groups or enjoying the full benefits of living 24/7 in party central capital of the world, New Orleans .



One day while out shopping, she found herself in Michael’s Craft Store purchasing paint brushes, paint and blank canvases that were needed for the art class there  that she enrolled in out of the blue. On the 1st day of class she gave birth to a creative artist, who was on her way to healing, peace and the desire to love and live again.FB_IMG_1503523929368

Kishonda creates out of love, money has no factor at all. She frequently gifts her authentic art, dazzling jewelry and creative crafts and paintings via monthly giveaways on Facebook. You may find her works of art displayed in random areas of the 7th Ward of New Orleans, adorned on her fans and on the walls of her home and locals. She also participates in local art events and fairs throughout the city when she has time to spare from work and being a new mother. FB_IMG_1503511531355FB_IMG_1503511424721FB_IMG_1503511327556

Kishonda’s works of art embodies what it truly means to be and love New Orleans. Her creative process allows her to share her story on love, loss, healing and starting over again through a nontraditional form of therapy. FB_IMG_1503523782823FB_IMG_1503510610846FB_IMG_1503523838823

Like New Orleans, Kishonda is a life full of color, bright, deep, beautiful, creative, fun and unique. Both screaming that out from the ashes we will rise again and be better.

If you are interested in any of Kishonda Webb creations or would like to support her by a simple like on social media you may contact her @504-234-1797