Thoughts: September Mourning #3

7AM Phone Call: One of my Sistafriends mom had just been rushed to St. Joe's with a stroke. She was already at work out of the city and she couldn't get ahold of her actual sisters so she called me: could I please find my way to the hospital with the necessary toiletries for her mother? I said "sure", though it would take some time as I had no vehicle and would be riding my bike. (Remember I'd mentioned that for a couple of years now I don't drive during my mourning week? Well, this is the time the car goes in for it's repairs/check up etc. What better season than this, right?)

Now this is a really good sister that was there for me when my mom was ill and in hospital. She is the kind of friend that will got down on the floor with me to scrape the scum from behind my mothers stove--not that my mom was a slob, but at a certain age, regardless of how clean you may like things to be, you physically can't get to all the places you wished were cleaner. Knowing how my mom loved clean, my friend and I were preparing for her return home by doing the things she couldn't do for herself anymore. (Sadly, the day of my mom's funeral the folks slated to pick her up for the trek to Brampton forgot all about her in their own grief and my friend has never forgiven them for that. She ofttimes mentions how I must be there when her mom passes as she missed my mom's.)

So, I go shopping for my sistafriend's mom's toiletries (packed in a lovely little transparent plastic carrier case). Don't forget this was to be my stay-put kinda day, so I won't say I jumped to the task, but I arrived at the hospital as they were sending her mother back home. I'm not ashamed to say I saw her and I hid. I didn't even want her to suggest my coming over to her home with her. Perhaps I could have my day of mourning back. The nurses saw me and I put my index finger to my lips indicating, that not a word of my presence was to be revealed to my friend's Mom.

Anyhow, the shocker to my friend was hearing that the same hour that her mom was going back home, her father, who had been battling lung cancer for the past 3 or 4 years and seemed to be in remission, had taken a turn for the worse. My friend called me to say she had received the follow-up messages I had left about her mother and to say that she was now heading over to her fathers place. Her father passed peacefully in her arms the next morning about 8:40 am: the same date, day and hour as my mother and at the same age (72). (Guess, they are not getting anymore than a smidgen above the three score and ten the Bible speaks.) I couldn't help feeling that even though my friend's parents have lived the last twenty plus years apart that her mother's stroke was related to her father's fading life and that their spiritual connection remained unsevered despite time and distance.

As I was coming out of my mourning week and back to reality, my friend was more than a little distraught. I recall being on my bike passing by her place at about midnight on the day her father had died. I had very little extra energy and I couldn't stop over to offer my condolences about her father, but I had promised to squeeze my bike horn as I rode by her place. I kept this promise and honked as I passed by. Out over the air came a "Thank you. I love you too.”

On the Friday of that week, I had planned a visit to my mother's gravesite. Since my friend had never seen my mother buried, I decided to ask her to come along. I would get her out of the city and we could do a little retail therapy in Brampton at the same time. It wasn't until we were at my mother's grave that my friend realized that it was my mourning anniversary. She freaked! Why hadn't I reminded her when she called me asking for help? I said because my stuff was old pain and hers was immediate. That's when she thanked me for honking my horn and said how sorry she was to have missed seeing me. She had been crying and by the time she got to her balcony, I was gone. So who had I heard calling out that they loved me?. Strange, eh? All I know is that the words came on time and made me feel loved.

We stood at mom's graveside arm in arm and sang "Till We Meet at Jesus Feet" as is etched on my mother's gravestone. Taking note that the flowers I'd planted there had since died, I will replace them soon, and after that I think, it's time for me to move forward. Mommy would have wanted me to. She was a woman that let nothing stand in her way. She would say God excused ignorance, but once you knew, once you got the lesson, just do better. One day we would all be held to account for what we knew and didn't live up to. So my pledge these days is to do more than say. To live and walk my own talk, and to be friend to those who show me love. It's no sacrifice; it is the reciprocity of real love.

THOUGHTS: September Mourning #2

There are so many things that unconsciously affect me and are affected by mother's passing. I have, in the past years, given up driving completely during her passing over week. I used to find myself driving west on the highway and snapping back to reality wondering, "What am I doing? My mom is dead." Now I take every precaution not to schedule anything too heavy or mentally taxing during that time...

As fates would allow it, during my grieving week, I also had a long desired artist’s professional development session at The Royal Conservatory Of Music (recently renovated by my partner Stephen, who attended the opening concert that I couldn't share with him as I was working, “pout!”). When one is earning ones bread and butter as a freelance artist and instructor, ones personal development is all about doing and learning everything possible to do a job well done. I had my fingers crossed with Learning Through The Arts (LTTA) an organization that assists artists in the marrying of their art to the Ontario educational curriculum. This is a naturally necessary component to the variety of work that I do.

So don’t you know I missed the session! I was a day late, having got my wires crossed in technology as this LTTA group has their own e-mail system, and information came over indicating that our sessions had been moved a day! Finding out it had been my mistake I walked back to my studio dejected, and a little angry at myself for messing up this possible good thing; I had been trying so hard to stay on top of things, taking every precaution possible not to let the grief overrun my week.... Anyway, I wrote an honest letter to the folks at LTTA, while trying not to make excuses for anything, and after offering their condolence over my loss, they let me know that there was another session that I was welcomed to attend. Great, eh!

In mourning the anniversary of my mother's passing, I have come to the realization that even in the midst of grief I am capable of learning something. My mother was a great teacher of life lessons, so it seemed appropriate that I should learn to speak up for myself with the honesty and dignity that she taught me. Things with LTTA could have gone differently. I could have missed the scheduled workshops completely, and I would have been disappointed, but still I would have learned a lesson in taking chances and speaking up for myself. You would think that as an artist this is something I would be able to do with ease, since I perform and instruct for audiences, but like many artists, I have been made vulnerable by the constancy of occupational rejection. My mother knew that lessons could be learned at any time. Maybe her spirit was reminding me...

THOUGHTS: September Mourning #1

Wow, what a month! So many things going on…My mother passed on this time of year and everything I do is coloured by her loss. If you work in an office you can get away with closing your door, burying your nose in your computer, and cry in the bathroom if you have to, right? Well, as an artist, my work demands that I am "on" when I work. I can't cry while I am performing, especially when I do work for the little ones, or for members of the human community that have strayed, by choice or by life, to the margins. Still, I'm no different from anyone else when it comes to family.

In the midst of my grieving week, my brother came into town from The 'Peg, bringing his partner, whom I did not have a good initial meeting as we met on the occasion of my mother passing, and let us just say that she and I had different viewpoints on social etiquette. Well, my brother walks into my studio and the hugs and kisses ensued. Feeling a little captured into this forced affection circle I accepted and even returned the hugs. Not a word was spoken of the past. Some of you can relate to my non-Brady Bunch family, can't you? Oh, yeah, I can see you nodding as you read this.

Anyway, I go out to the breakfast with them and I share some fun, jovial communication with my brother, asking him, "how is yuh fadda?" Any one familiar with our clan wouldn’t find that it strange for me to ask him how his father is doing. To my brother and I this was indeed an inside joke that had nothing to do with the current fact of our recent familial estrangement. No, our privately shared humour had to do with our life as children. Our Daddy was always away, being one of the many merchant marine-ing Dad's all over the Caribbean. When he did come home my brother would hide under my Granny's bed complaining," Why does that man always come here? Every time he does, he sleeps in mommy bed!" I recall having to tell him, "Boy, dat is yuh fadda" Hence, our inside joke.

As my brother's earthstrong (birthday) was days away, I decided to be my authentic self, maintaining the sense of honour and dignity my mother taught me, and welcomed his choice of partner. I chose to share gifts and a card with he and his wife. The note said simply "Thank-you. This is heartfelt, as I still do not know you, but I do know my brother, and as long as you continue to share loving goodness with him you will always have my heart." They returned to Winnipeg the next day. I spoke to my sibling on his birthday morning. He told me of how much my gift of time for them was appreciated but made no mention of the card...

Only the fates know what good possibilities life has to offer. My policy these days is: leave a loving open door. I have no wish to have old stuff with the folks I claim to love cluttering up my horizons. I know I don't walk this path alone. Those of you who nodded in familiarity when you began reading this post also journey with me. And those of you who understand the complexity of family relationships are on that voyage too. I may be an artist and you a stay-at-home mom, business person, or health care specialist etc. Whatever the case may be, darlin' we is all human together:-)

ART of PRAISE...Come Join Us Tuesday Nights

The Art of Praise Choral Collective (AOP) is undergoing a real upsurge in energy this season due mainly to one of our eldest members bringing her craft to the shared table. AOP now has a physical component that makes singing so much easier. Ena’s Dance Away is a FREE (bring your own broom stick) movement to music fun time with concentration on breath control. Ena introduced our bodies to the workout with a smooth warm up into an intense dance (with guided instructions) leading to an easy cool down. We were so pumped with endorphins that our singing just soared!

Join us at 706 College every Tuesday evening from 6:00 pm to 9:00 pm for a dancing-into-singing session. All music sung by AOP this season is original sistahnuvizhan material. There is a one time join-up donation of $5 and weekly dues of a “Loonie & A Twoonie”. AOP is very affordable and each Tuesday probably will be the best 3 hours of your week. Drop by or send me an email if you have any questions. 

Need more Ena? If you need that “feel-good” kinda event mid-week and can’t wait for the weekend dance beats, Ena’s Dance Away is available for a small fee of $10 weekly. It is so worth it! Where else can such value be found?

Event: Junction Sing-Along

Well, yesterday morning had me, clearing mental space for the gathering of many faithful musical souls willing to share in the Junction Arts Festival Gospel Sing-Along. First to arrive was our gifted accompanist, Fred Crossley, who immediately sat down and started to play. Fred has been spending a lot of time in Caribbean of late, so it was great to renew our musical liaison. Secret revealed, Fred is an original Art of Praise-r. He and I began the journey together in 2001, as a direct response to the "art of war" coverage we were being bombarded with on every media back then. The obvious twist on the words came out of reasoning over what we needed to hear more about. Substitute the word “war” with “praise”, and we had a title for our concept of a community choral collective: The Art of Praise Choral Collective. AOP, for short.

The next person to arrive at the Junction Arts Festival site was sweet little sixteen-year-old lyric Soprano from down the junction alley. Following on her heels was a sixty years (plus) Alto from Scarborough. Two tenors, another Soprano, three more Altos, and when all was said and done, we ranged in age from four to seventy four: ten adults, two youth, and three kids...now that's a community of voices! Performing as Moyo Family Peace Chorus, we caused quite a stir as we walked west from Indian Grove to the Pacific street main-stage. We moved at a relaxed pace, as we are Mom's with wagons to move our children, elders with bicycles, and everything in between.

We arrived at the main stage to find out that the first act had canceled, leaving nothing prepared for us, but we soon made quick work of getting the sound personnel on-side. We thanked them for their speedy service, as in no time at all, Fred's instruments were amplified. Soloist Amai Kuda's libation solemnly blessed the stage and invited our ancestors to join us in song, and then one by one we joined her at the microphones moving smoothly from Yoruba land to the southern US. We then traveled to the Caribbean, and on to original gospel songs penned right here in the Junction.

As mentioned the group before us were a no-show so we figured we would have to work hard to get folks off the streets and into the sequestered stage area. No worries…as the first few notes filled the air the people flowed right in. Not a full house, mind, but a greatly vivacious gathering of folks who revel in making a joyful noise. And a joyful noise is exactly what we accomplished in the Junction as we lifted many others to free their voices, hands, legs and "tushies" in happiness for having awoken up that Saturday morning.

We closed our shared experience with an old favourite, "This Little Light Of Mine" as our eight-year-old soloist, Haven, sang "even in my schoo-ool", his pledge to let his creative light shine. That pledge is mine. It’s also the pledge of everyone else that refused to keep silent that Saturday morning.

Event: Join Me at the Junction Arts Festival on Sept. 12 & 13th

Family Singing for the Good Feeling! This Saturday morning at 11:30 am there will be free gospel sing-a-long at the main Stage of the Junction Arts Festival.  If you or your child are spontaneous in performance, please feel free to join us this coming Sat. 11 am for the Junction Arts Festival. We will meet at the main stage for a huge sing-a-long. I love every voice, so bring as many friends as you like.


My friendly bunch of singers, the Art of Praise Choral Collective (AOP), and I will be be accompanied by professional musician Fred Crossley.  AOP is a non-audition choir, so join us on Saturday, and maybe you will love it so much you'll want to keep singing with us once a week. No stress, no judgment, just the joy of making sounds together and feeling good.

Where to Find Sistah at the Junction: Click Here and scroll to the bottom of the page or check out the Readers and Writers section for my bio.

Festival Info: www.junctionartsfest.com