Hiatus...

hiatus |hīˈātəs|noun ( pl. -tuses ) [usu. in sing. ]a pause or gap in a sequence, series, or process :

Friends, I am going on a blogging hiatus for three weeks. Really, it is more than that. I'm taking a break from all unnecessary usage of technology—Facebook, TV(except news), telephone, etc—so that I can still myself and reconnect with God. I am also taking this time to buckle down and focus on my schoolwork. My desire is to have a strong finish and right here, right now, I feel myself losing footing. I'm also taking this time to embark on a new endeavor--something I will report in about when I return. So, as the good church folk say, "Pray for me as I continue to pray for you."

Peace, until next time,

Donna Olivia

Rain, Rain Go Away...

Today's post is titled, "Rain, Rain Go Away..."

It could also be titled "Can someone beg, borrow, or steal me some motivation..."

Or, perhaps it could simply, and aptly, be titled, "Blah, blah, blah..."

I am sitting in my fourth office—Panera—forcing myself to get my Church History 2 midterm completed. Let's be clear, the exam is in no way, shape, or form difficult. I just don't have the "stuff" in me to plow through it. I've got a case of the blues. Not really the blues, because I'm not sad about anything in particular. Really, I'm suffering more from a case of the grays.

After spending five days in the beautiful North Kakakala sunshine, I returned to NJ along with a threat of rain. Well, it seems that that threat was real because it has been raining for three days straight. Something's gotta give. Even Jesus got up after three days. Yet it seems there is another day of rain ahead of us, and so it seems I am stuck with another day of feeling downright blechy.

But I cannot afford to be held down by the blahs. I have people to see (Aloma is in NY from Hawaii this weekend), phone calls to return (I'm about two days away from being disowned by my sister and niece), work to do (CH2 midterm, Shack sermon, and tons of reading for Africana Hermeneutics), and I have art to make (Arts of Respect contest and...). So I got up early, showered, got dressed and made my way out the door. I figured being out of the house, and as far away from my bed as possible, would make for a productive day. Only time will tell. Truth is, I was ready to turn around, head back home, slip back into my PJ's and go to sleep after being on the road for 3 minutes. Even now, as I productively procrastinate—what you might call blogging—I am ready to go home and call it a day. But I am here, with the Reformation Reader staring at me, and in a way, that is all that matters...

Despite all that is looming above and ahead, all I can seem to focus on are the clouds looming above and the rain that is steadily pouring down. (Note to self: Don't sit next to a window in Panera when it is raining and you have work to do.) Sadly, this rain has also led me to break my coffee fast. Today I had my first cup of (regular) coffee since the end of last semester. I am hoping, praying, wishing that the caffeine kicks in and the midterm will be miraculously write itself using my fingers as a vessel.

So I will sit here until the work is done or until they kick me out...

whichever comes first...

Think on These Things...

Fatal Attraction

In the Fall of 1990 C. Alma and I joined under the name Fatal Attraction and ripped it at the RCDS Talent Show. We were caramel and mocha ladies, on stage, with high ponytails, cream-colored Gap hoodies, and acid washed jeans. (I wish I could put my hands on a photo from that night.)We danced to Father MC's "I'll Do 4 U" and we were tight!

Well, in honor of our twenty year friendship and just hours before I head to North Kak to visit her, I am posting the video to the song that helped to take our friendship to the next level!

PS. Peep Mary J. Blige singing the hook. How proud are we of her for her transformation? You can't tell me my God ain't real!

Soup du Jour

image taken from: http://www.americansweets.co.uk/ekmps/shops/statesidecandy/images/duncan-hines-coconut-home-style-frosting-1195-p.jpg

Some Women Have a Thing for Shoes pt. 2...

The title of this post is slightly deceiving. For context, click here.

I have been single for almost three years, but I have to admit that I don't always sleep alone. Lest you think Minister Donna Olivia has been sleeping around, rest assured. The only thing getting any play from me these days are my books...

I don't just sleep with my books. I am a tactile person, so naturally, I have a very sensual relationship with my books. I like to touch them, hold them, trace my fingers gently across the pages. When we aren't hearing each other, sometimes I place the open book on my head to see if I can hear it more clearly. When we really aren't getting along, I put it on the desk and give it the silent treatment. I take my books out to eat. I take them for quiet time in the park. I take them to the beach. I cannot say it enough, I love my books...

That said, I'm having a bit of an internal dialogue—okay, fight—about whether this digital girl can handle the latest electronic book readers like Kindle and Nook. As a Mac lover since Mr. Bartels computer class in the summer after seventh grade, I am super excited about Apple's iPad (though I'll be more excited when the second generation, with some kinks worked out, hits stores). I mean, don't get me wrong, I love the information I get from books—the scholarly depths I've plunged into, the creative hills I've climbed—but part of the appeal of the book is also being with it and holding it. Can I trace my fingers across an iPad? Can I sleep with an iPad? Do I even want to?

There is more to it...I love writing in the margins of my books, especially commenting on margin notes when I get used books. I love discovering and rediscovering some wisdom I had the first time I read a book as evidenced in my scribbles and underlines and highlights. I love the weight of books, the success that one feels with each turn of the page, the ability to read the conclusion to make sure you understand the middle, dog earring pages...you get the picture.

But there is the convenience of it all. And there is the issue of money I'll be saving on future visits to the chiropractor from not lugging around a sack of books. But still, I don't know. I mean, I still haven't joined the Blackberry/Palm/Treo craze. Every July I go to Staples and buy a pretty date book where I write down, in pencil, all of my appointments, events, and assignments. A scrolling through a virtual bookshelf doesn't appeal to me as much as walking up to the book cases in my room and fingering across book spines until I've found what I needed.

I don't know. But this I am sure of...if I don't get the iPad, I can always buy some new shoes!

Hip Hop Having Heart Attacks...

Before I begin this post, I want to lift up in prayer Keith Elem, better known as Guru from the rap group GangStarr, who suffered a heart attack and is in a coma. If you are reading this, I ask that you, too, say a prayer on his behalf.

Reading the news of Guru's heart attack saddened me, but also sent me down memory lane...

I remember when hip-hop was young and vibrant—Run DMC and L.L. Cool J. I remember when hip-hop could dance all night—Digital Underground and Kid-n-Play. I remember when hip-hop was baby faces with audacious lyrics—Queen Latifah and Q-Tip. I remember when hip-hop was conscious—Public Enemy and Brand Nubian. I remember when hip-hop got into fights on the playground—KRS-One and MC Shan. I remember when hip-hop played together nicely—Native Tongues and Stop the Violence Movement. I remember when hip-hop was sensuous without being vulgar—Salt-n-Pepa and Big Daddy Kane. I remember when hip-hop just wanted to have fun—Heavy D and Kwame. I remember when hip-hop would get into trouble from time to time—fallen soldiers like Pac and Big. I remember when hip-hop was growing up.

But hip-hop having heart attacks? This is new. Hip-Hop isn't supposed to have heart attacks. Hip-Hop isn't supposed to have diabetes and high cholesterol and kidney stones and cancer. Really, hip-hop isn't supposed to remind me of my own aging, my own predisposition for disease, my own mortality.