Lover

"Carrie Davis Foster was born on June 23, 1918 in Indianola, Mississippi.
She was the eldest of four siblings born to the union of Lafayette and Retha Weathington Davis (both of who preceded her in death). Carrie was educated in the Detroit Public Schools system (Barstow Elementary and Miller High School). She later married Jones E. Foster. They were blessed with three children, Eugenia, Jerome, and Henry.

Carries was affectionately called 'Lover' by her family, for she touched the hearts
of many people in her lifetime.

She became a faithful member of the Hartford Seventh-day Adventist Church, now know as City Temple Seventh-day Adventist Church, serving as Cradle Roll and Kindergarten teacher. She was secretary of the elegant 'Friendship Circle Club,' which was known for their fabulous teas and fashion shows. She was a charter member for more than 30 years. She also enjoyed being a part of the Sunday Rook Club,

Lover worked at Detroit Memorial Hospital as a surgical nurse technician for 33 years. Upon her retirement she began to bake professionally. She made, wedding, bridal shower, and baby shower cakes. Her culinary talents never ceased to amaze anyone who tasted her cooking. Lover was an excellent cook--holidays were extra special. Almost every Sabbath, Jones (affectionately called Greepy) and Lover's home was the gather place.

Our sweet Lover departed this life on Sunday, January 25, 2009. Preceding her in death was her sister Ernestine Humphreys and brother Edward Davis.

She leaves to cherish her memory her husband of 68 1/2 years; daughter Eugenia (Charles); son, Jerome (Gwen), son, Dr. Henry Foster (Patricia); grandchildren, Carolyn Terrel (David), Marcia Walker, Charles C. Kent (Nurhayat), Natis Rambus (Dion), Jerome 'Dee' Foster, Leslie Foster, and Chelsea Foster; nine great-grandchildren, one sister, Thelma Scott; special adopted son Herbert Alford; and a host of nieces, nephews, and other family members and friends who loved her and will miss her greatly."

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Nomadism 101: Scotsdale, AZ

I spent this weekend at a boarding school in Arizona - I joined Lennox and Danny M. on their annual trek across the desert from LA to Thunderbird Adventist Academy at the edge of Phoenix. Lenn always speaks of the time he spent there as a really special part of his year - being able to share his stories and music with the high school students. I jumped at the chance to get out of town - I'd get to hang out with two amazing musicians and meet some new people.





There's something really special about teenagers - all the hurt and hormones vibrating inches from the surface. We smirk and write it off as angst - but there's something pure about it - people floating somewhere between childhood and adulthood, all prickly with those beautiful rough edges society hasn't sanded down yet. I've always preferred diamonds-in-the-rough to the over-processed mass of shiny we seem to value so much, but I suppose I digress.




So--being surrounded by academy kids who are learning far too fast to cram all the uneven edges into neat, little, masks always brings out the melancholy in me. So, to you, the kids of TAA - careful with those masks - they get stuck and slowly steal your souls; but I suspect you already know that. Thanks for sharing your time with us, listening to us, and letting us listen to you. And to one particular person, thank you for sharing your stories with me; sometimes I need to be reminded why what I do matters, I'm glad a few little films I created years ago were able to get you thinking - you know, it has nothing to do with me, I just listened.

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"Praise Song for the Day"

I wanted to post Elizabeth Alexander's inaugural poem. I've heard a lot of mixed opinions about the poem - my sister felt it was incoherent. However, I loved it. I'm reposting here (originally posted at the excellent Jack & Jill Politics).

Each day we go about our business, walking past each other, catching each others’ eyes or not, about to speak or speaking. All about us is noise. All about us is noise and bramble, thorn and din, each one of our ancestors on our tongues. Someone is stitching up a hem, darning a hole in a uniform, patching a tire, repairing the things in need of repair.

Someone is trying to make music somewhere with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus.

A farmer considers the changing sky; A teacher says, “Take out your pencils. Begin.”

We encounter each other in words, Words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed; Words to consider, reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone and then others who said, “I need to see what’s on the other side; I know there’s something better down the road.”

We need to find a place where we are safe; We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle; praise song for the day. Praise song for every hand-lettered sign; The figuring it out at kitchen tables.

Some live by “Love thy neighbor as thy self.”

Others by first do no harm, or take no more than you need.

What if the mightiest word is love, love beyond marital, filial, national. Love that casts a widening pool of light. Love with no need to preempt grievance.

In today’s sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun.

On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp — praise song for walking forward in that light.

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Watch The Inauguration Live, Right Here!

Thanks Hulu!

Update: I didn't realize Hulu would be streaming from The-Channel-Which-Shall-Not-Be-Named. Watch at your own risk y'all.

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The Nomad Returns

These Bandages by Tom Haubrick

Well, it's been a long time since I've been here; I seem to remember vaguely promising to keep this blog going while I worked on The 365° Experiment. Ah well, my apologies lovely readers - The Experiment seems to have stolen my soul, but only temporarily. I'm back; and with the pressure to write a script every day gone *insert Damocles' Sword reference*. I think I'll be able to dust the cobwebs off this place in the coming weeks.

I'm still spending the rest of this month catching my creative breath, but I'm hoping to post at least once a week for the rest of the month. There are some exciting plans happening and as they become more detailed, I'll be sharing them with you.

Its funny how the hope of plans slowly becoming reality and dreams struggling to come true are tempered by the stress of the every day. The balance is tricky - indulging to much in either set of emotions can be dangerous. To each his own, but in my story, I keep finding that prayer helps me stay balanced. I'm still learning how this whole 'walking with God' thing works--this immersion in conversation.

And speaking of being immersed in conversation, music has always made me feel more connected with the spiritual, something about that fluid embrace of words. So, for all you stressed and tired people out there, how about a little music?

I got a chance to hear these artists live last night at Club Spaceland - a venue that gets quite a few points in my book for making Monday night concerts free. I got to see some great musicians, hang with my Purple Church peeps, and end the evening not a penny poorer - a great way to Monday night, I say.

Ida Maria - Queen of the World
Update: LA Times Reviews Ida Maria


Honey Honey - Little Toy Gun


Rocco DeLuca & The Burden - The Gift


More Rocco

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