Monday, September 17, 2012

Senior Executive Editor's Ink: Mother Nature's Son

Mother Nature’s Son
By: Isis Harris

 In the crisp Am, in the afternoon sun, we feel you, with the brisk of nightfall, you speak to us. Cautionary advisor to old man winter, yet an annoying litter brother to summer and a twin to spring; you enter in! Changing the world around us from green, orange to brown we see you.  Calling a great majority to attention! Allergenic armors tease our nostrils reminding us of are vulnerable, as we become comforted by a box of Scott tissue. Lubricated softness transitions us from fun to responsibility, once vacationers now full- time parents, youthful play set- aside for academic study, and single folks fill their days and night with the harvest reward as they function in the identity of community.

Thursday, September 6, 2012

Master Journalist Spotlight: September 2012

          In The Warmth of Other Suns, Isabel Wilkerson chronicles the decades-long migration of African Americans from the South to the North and West through the stories of three individuals and their families. Over a decade in the writing and research, and drawing on archival materials and more than 1,200 interviews, Wilkerson traces the lives of Ida Mae Gladney, George Starling, and Robert Foster, from their difficult beginnings in the South, to their critical decisions to leave and look for a better life in Chicago, New York, and Los Angeles.
           Isabel Wilkerson won a Pulitzer Prize in 1994 for her feature writing in The New York Times, making her the first African American woman to receive a journalism Pulitzer. She has also won a George S. Polk Award, a Guggenheim Fellowhip, and a Journalist of the Year award from the National Association of Black Journalists. She is Professor of Journalism and Director of Narrative Nonfiction at Boston University.

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Senior Executive Editor's Ink: She is Me and Me is She

She is Me and Me is She
Beta Alpha Omega-Summer 2012
By: Isis Harris

Summer sun opens the door to family togetherness, the kinship of sisterhood, of motherhood, of girlhood, of womanhood. We gather like ivy vines, extending around the branches of an old tree’s base. Hugging the rain drops left by the previous season’s conversations with mother earth; as simple as the visual beauty of landscaping decor, unassuming as the yearly expectation of summer and as revealing as fall's promises of a fruitful harvest to those who have been faithful. All shapes, colors, smart, wise, old, young, silly and happy to have found each other. SHE IS ME and ME IS SHE.  Pearls like the colors pink and green will always shift the energy in a room announcing that a Woman has entered. Giggles loud and free flowing in the air passing from girl to woman as diary secrets passed from pen to paper. In the ears of similar souls whose heart beats sounds like mine!! Whose face bares the lines of my opportunity, whose eyes lighten with compassion for the potential of my promises. SHE IS ME AND ME IS SHE.
Socially weird, socially rebellious, ambitious within reason, free from competition because in the mirror of life competition with self-offers strife and there is no room for weeds in this garden. Drinking soda pop, eating meat, eye balling the many salads that possess no lettuce between automobiles she tells me her prayer request, in the distance of time she tells me a story with similar chapters as my own biography, behind disorder she tells of her professional goals. With confidence she has personally crossover, away from Madam C.J. Walker's creation; others are vicariously living through each of her hair creations. Girlhood made room for five and dime jelly shoes that hopped and skipped along the many playgrounds of childhood but soon Womanhood would automatically upgrade shoes to sophisticated jelly pocketbooks that walk up and down the run ways of life. Nevertheless, mommies, grandmas and aunties are still there, rather than tightening partially melted buckles on those Woolworth shoes they are cleaning up youthful lotion spills. It’s a family affair as big sisters offer home remedies for drying out car alarm key gadgets affected by the same spills, many a matriarchal cousin marvel with delight as she too remembrance the family barbeque when it was her turn to survive being the focus of intergenerational display.
The coal is cold, and the sun is moving to the left so the moon can come to the center of the sky. Wine like tea for others when the grass is high mellows the body from the labor of the day. Time and space seem obedient to our commandments which is foreign because a woman's work is never done thus she must savior the simple pleasures. Humbling host is honored, committee is applauded, a sister on the outside looking in is restored we rejoiced with her return and those who bear her origin of initiation stand up for a family flashes and leftovers are packed, chairs are lifted, tables are lowered and the sweet armor of perfume lingers in the air. Left to right where there once was cars now there just a path purposely left for future girl children who will shoulder the legacy of this Sorority because SHE IS ME and ME IS SHE !!!