Life Has Made Me The Woman Of My Dreams

I’ll start off with an apology. This is a weird and arguably grossly inappropriate time for me to be thinking about i-Tunes, so I hope you won’t think I’m being insensitive in this posting. Actually, I’m just using a meditative technique suggested by my dear friend Veronica. I’m not trying to block or filter any of my thoughts. I’m just letting them flow.

Here it goes. I’ve been meaning to download or buy the new CD by Me’Shell NdegeOcello since I touched down at Dulles on September 27th. You can’t download from i-Tunes in Uganda; the country hasn’t quite gotten on board with the whole 21st century technology thing yet.

The first time I saw the title of her new release, it reminded me why I became a devoted fan when I first heard her song, “If That’s Your Boyfriend,” from her 1994 “Plantation Lullabies” album. First reason? It was a totally funky, danceable, in your face groove. It expressed the kind of chutzpah I didn’t think I’d have in a zillion years. Basically, it’s a woman telling another woman, “He may be your boyfriend, but I screwed his brains out last night, and I wish you WOULD try and do something about it.”

Not that I’ve ever wanted to earn a black belt in fornication or anything, but I secretly envied the nerviness of those lyrics. And it was especially nervy because by the time Me’Shell hit the top of the charts, everybody in the universe already knew she was a serious lesbian who wasn’t likely to sleep with anybody’s boyfriend.

Next, when I went to her concert, there was this huge logo emblazoned on a screen behind her onstage. It was a red circle containing one of those offensive, stereotypical images of African Americans from the 19th and early 20th centuries. And there was a red line slashed across it, like in a “No Parking Zone” sign. It meant that for Me’Shell, life was a “No Jigaboo Zone.” On the spot, I vowed steal that symbol for myself. To me, it meant Me’Shell was REAL, black, and totally authentic, and wouldn’t change herself to be more palatable to the record industry or to society.

Since then, I’ve always thought of my life as a “No Jigaboo Zone.” And I always hoped that one day, I’d be as authentic as Meshelle.( Not the lesbian part, or the bald-headed fornicator part. Just the “real” part.)

Well, it doesn’t get any realer than where I am right now. I’m lying in bed next to Julie, and we’re watching “The People’s Court” with Judge Marilyn Milian. I ain’t gon’ lie; TV judge shows have been a major form of stress relief for me during the past 4 years of woe and doom in my personal life. I also don’t care what any of you will think about me after I admit this, but I am a HUGE fan of, in the following order: Judge Mathis, Judge Judy, Judge Joe Brown, Judge Marilyn Milian of the People’s Court, Judge Hatchett, and Divorce Court with Judge Lynn Toler (I’ve forgiven them for dropping Judge Mablean). All the other judge shows are just pale imitations, and I only watch them when I’m too zombied-out to switch channels.

This morning, Ron and I got Julie propped up in bed a bit, so she’s able to see the TV a bit better. Now she can join us in cringing and ridiculing the idiots who allow their depravity and stupidity to be displayed nationwide. But these days, Julie’s comments don’t always relate to what’s going on around her. Most times she knows who I am, but sometimes she doesn’t. She always knows who Ron is, and it’s achingly sweet to watch her cherubic face relax and smile when she sees him.

Julie moans and tenses up every now and then when the pain gets bad, but so far the vicodin is giving her some relief. And yesterday, the local Visiting Nurse Association brought in this new-fangled oxygen machine to help her breathe. I was expecting one of those slim green tanks, but it’s this big honkin’ unit that somehow pulls the nitrogen out of the air and turns it into oxygen, which pumps into a thin plastic tube that goes up her nose. Just like the NG tube shoved down her nose and into her belly to drain out the yucky greenish fluid that keeps filling it up.

Julie is so weak now. She hasn’t been able to get out of bed and take a few steps since Saturday. I can’t imagine she’ll be able to anytime soon. Most of the time I just stroke her face and arms, or hold her hand while I talk and laugh and make sure she knows I’m here, and that I love her madly.

So, how does any of this connect with Me’Shell NdegeOcello? Well, the title of her new CD is “The World Has Made Me the Man of My Dreams.” God, that is so freakin’ creative! It’s like she’s come full circle from where she was 13 years ago, singing about sleeping with some other woman’s boyfriend. It’s like now, Me’Shell is totally free to be who she is, and she feels really great about it. She LOVES who she is. She’s REALLY real now.

And that’s how I felt this morning, calling my BFF Faith. Talk about inappropriate…Faith’s mother died last Monday. She was cremated, and her ashes were interred. This morning. Faith had just gotten home from the burial when I called her to get a reality check. This is a service we’ve offered each other for about 28 years now. Whenever we feel like we’re ready to go off and act a plum fool on somebody, we call each other first to determine whether that feeling is warranted, or whether we just need to sit our ass down somewhere and let it pass.

Well, this morning, I was sobbing and sniffling to Faith that Ron and I are over-stressed, and it feels like nobody else cares. Totally irrational, but I had to express that feeling. Faith let me let it all out, and then she told me something profound. Maybe this is the way it’s supposed to be. Maybe Ron and I are supposed to be doing what we’re doing. Maybe it’s supposed to be just us three. And maybe, just maybe, I can do this without falling apart, because I am the woman Julie raised me to be. Strong, caring, patient, and able to put my loved ones needs first.

Faith told me to focus on what I needed to do, and not judge anybody else’s response. She said I would have to keep being strong and be there for my family, no matter what goes down. Actually, that kinda BLOWS when it feels like I’ve already given Joan of Arc a run for her money these past few weeks. But that’s the way Julie would want me to behave. She’s spent the past decade of her life in constant, often unbearable pain, yet she’s never once abdicated the role of Jones Family Anchor. If I can’t put my own frustrations aside and be a real grown-up type woman, Julie would probably be ashamed of me.

Basically, what Faith was saying was that life has made ME the woman of my dreams. The kind of loving, supportive, strong woman my sister Julie is. That’s the kind of gift you can’t beg, borrow or download, for any price.