sunset at chelsea pier, new york, ny, may 14, 2010

some people celebrate their birthdays once a year,
while others celebrate their re-births every day.
some folks think age ages them,
while others prefer to contemplate the essence of time.
some people blow out their candles and make a wish,
while others are content to let their little lights shine.
some people look forward to unwrapping presents in pretty paper,
while others realize that the best gifts will never come in a box.

gifts like these 85 personally selected words.

happy birthday today and always.

mom, arnie, cousin marg back in the day!

eulogy for arnie

it's funny how that old african resolve always get you through the rough spots.

whenever i'm on the continent that's the one thing i'm always drawn to. it comforts me when i see despair. it strengthens me when when i feel as though i can't take another step. it inspires me when i see a half-naked child living in a one-room shanty smile at me as if jesus were standing behind me with a winning lotto ticket.

i'm searching for that resolve today as i prepare to send my cousin to the other side. like some of the africans i've encountered over the years arnie's life was less than idyllic. he served his country at a time when his country did not serve him. he made brave choices that set him apart from the norm at a time when that sort of bravery wasn't openly embraced.

yet, he still smiled.

that old african resolve shielded him from harm. it gave him the strength to ignore the haters and live life on his terms. those of us who knew and loved him may not always have embraced his way of doing things, but we certainly admired his defiance--even at the end.

because of the way arnie died, some of us will inevitably buy into the notion that it wasn't his time. i'm one of those people. i've heard the stories of how he wouldn't accept help, how he lived in a state of perpetual isolation, how he routinely rejected all of the things that would have made his final days on earth so much more pleasant.

and because all of our collective efforts were unsuccessful, we will undoubtedly blame ourselves for not having done more. i'm in that group, standing first in line.

but it's at times like these when we're told we must hold on to the good and move on.

i have so many great memories of arnie. he was inarguably the best cook in the mcdonald clan. i used to ask him to make his famous mustard coleslaw without the onions for me. he'd complain a little bit, but he always came through. i remember going to arnie and hat's house on oak street and eating city chicken, freeze pops, barbecue, baked beans and literally drinking cups of arnie's barbecue sauce because it was so dang good.

and they both taught me how to bake cookies from scratch--a skill, sadly, that has gone the way of the 8-track.

it didn't seem odd to me then that he lived with his mom until she died. it didn't seem weird that when he wasn't cleaning the homes of the rich folks up on the hill that he was finishing off six packs of hudepohl with his buddies in the kitchen. Nor did it seem unusual that he spent his off days watching soaps, cooking and frying hair.

that's just who arnie was and i had no problem accepting him then or now.

other than his cooking, arnie also had a great record collection. he always had all the best grooves. he introduced me to sunny and jr. walker's shotgun--tracks that still make me move to this day. and, you better not scratch his vinyl or there would be hell to pay. worse yet, lose one of his lou rawls albums like i did when i was a kid. i suspect, however, my brother gary had something to do with that. arnie could be a little obsessive, too. he'd order hundreds of vhs videos, cassette tapes and cds from the various clubs he'd join. his video and music library rivaled my own. and he was always buying junk he didn't need.

his things became his companions. they didn't talk back when he was at his most cantankerous.

and i'll remember that his heart, like hat's, was as big as mother africa. arnie was no saint, but he was saintly and sometimes that's an even better attribute to possess. just last christmas he gave me an unexpected and very generous gift, which made me gasp when i opened it. i didn't always call him when i was home and seldom visited, but none of that seemed to matter when i rang and thanked him this time. he was chipper and essentially told me what was his was mine. and that if i needed any financial help to just call him.

he also told me he loved me.

that's the last time i spoke to arnie even though i had meant to ring him again--just to check up on him. but, you know, i got caught up in the hollywood game--trying to squeeze a dollar out of a dime and find ways to deal with other less significant life issues. coulda, woulda, shoulda.

i never want to sing that song again.

all deaths teach us invaluable lessons once we're able to wrap our heads around losing someone we'll never physically encounter again. arnie was blind at the end of his life yet he saw far more than i can see now with my nearly 20/20 vision. he saw that the way to make it through life is to be who you are. it's not so much that he didn't give a hoot--although he really didn't--it's just that at the end of the day sometimes the only thing you have left is your resolve.

arnie wasn't much of a church guy but i'm hoping that the god of infinite chances whose mercy is so omnipotent and everlasting will look upon this fallen soldier, knowing that his heart was always in the right place and say: "well done, son."

londontown

i am so happy right now. i've just spent an evening at a restaurant called bistro in covent garden where people were dancing, shouting and kissing each other randomly. where am i? i be in london luv and per ususal loving every freaking second of my visit.

but more on that later.

this is a town that i've loved since the first time i came here in the late '90s. i love the vibe, the people, the portobello market, covent garden, notting hill shops, ken high street, the west end, soho, picadilly and all the rest. unfortunately, this trip will be shorter than most, but this time i will leave london with more clarity and purpose than ever before.

london has given me myself back.

i know that sounds a little crazy and that sentence is way cryptic, but those of you who know me well know how tough the past 10 months have been on me. on top of the recession cutting into my income, one of my best friends lost her husband, one of my other best friends died suddenly, as did someone else very special to me. additionally, i lost a mentor and a slew of relatives including my beloved father, the one person who always had my back no matter what. any tinge of happiness i've experienced during this time just pales in comparison. it's been rough navigating the grief.

there's no road map for that.

but friday night, i put all my grief in my back pocket and went for it. i hung out with my bff kolton and some of his friends and by evening's end i had no worries at all. we drank mojitos on the corner of dean and greek in soho literally surrounded by tigers, bears and pussycat girls.

tonight, i went out to dinner with my friend steph, who has graciously put me up in her flat for the past couple of days. bistro--and you should all check it out-- is one of the best dinner bargains in a city where food, clothes and everything else are notoriously overpriced. you can get a starter, entree and dessert for 10 pounds, which is roughly $20.

initially, we sat there and ordered our dinner and chatted. thee food was good but we did send the house wine back--an italian red--because it was weaker than grape juice. we opted for a suitable south african pinotage instead.

and then the mayhem started.

after having carried my heavy camera around for two days and two nights, i decided to leave it at home this time so i could just blend in with the locals. but when a guy got up and started dancing to some '80s oldie with one of the eight women at his table (he was the only guy), it was on. everyone in the tiny dining room started clapping and singing along. the people sitting next to us became our new best friends and by the end of the night we were all facebook friends.

when "play that funky music white boy" came up in the rotation, the same guy got up and was dancing at the head of his table. at that point i'd had enough and just had to join him. i rolled up behind him, rubbing my pelvis into his backside and it was on. everyone cheered us on and his female companions began snapping pictures of us. me, the ugly american in the obama t-shirt and cargo pants; and he, the bawdy brit in his striped button-down and jeans.

a motley pair, indeed.

and then when they played gloria gaynor's "i will survive," everyone in the house rose to their feet singing, dancing and liberating themselves from whatever shackles had held them down all week. i don't think i've ever witnessed a more joyful scene in a public restaurant and felt compelled to shout out: "i love this town!"

much to my delight, someone shouted back: "we love that you love us!"

make no mistake. i've been prone to these types of spontaneous outbursts before, but this was a different kind of release. i actually hadn't been in a very good mood all day. my back hurt and i was still jet-lagged. but right after dancing with mr. guy all the frustration of that day and all the pain that had been heaped upon me throughout the year dissipated.

yep, it all went away. if only for a night.

my dad

The day after my dad passed away a newspaper reporter asked me, “What are some of the most precious memories you have of your father?” I didn’t hesitate in my response.

I said I loved his sense of adventure, how he was always excited to experience something new. I said I loved how loyal he was to his friends and how committed he was to the organizations he belonged to. He was a real go-to guy—always willing to help.

I talked about what a great multi-tasker he was. He would try to fix a leaky pipe, a flat tire and install the TV antenna, even though his skills in each of those areas was lacking. I recalled how he supported my love for athletics, taking me to see the Bill Russell Celtics, Lew Alcindor in his rookie season with the Bucks, the Big O and Wilt. And I mentioned how he always supported my athletic endeavors—even though it really wasn’t the popular thing to do at the time.

Those times, along with packing my 250 Barbie dolls in the back of the Country Squire and traveling around the country are among my fondest memories of Dad.

But, I think the most important thing I revealed was this. As a daddy’s girl, I might have had my father wrapped around my little finger, but in turn, he had me wrapped around his heart.

I owe him so much. It was he who actually jumpstarted my journalism career by ringing me at 6 in the morning to tell me he had read about a summer journalism program at Berkeley. There was a catch, however. The deadline was that day. But we all know what God can do. And lo and behold, in the days before cell phones, fax machines and the internet, I was able to get it all done.

My bylines should actually read Miki Mose Turner.

We didn’t always get along though. He didn’t appreciate me always getting on him about his arterie-clogging, high-fat diet. And I wasn’t too keen on his criticisms regarding my hair. But I can’t ever remember arguing with my dad. I knew he loved me but I didn’t know how much until other people told me. Sometimes we try and see love even when we know it’s all about feeling it.
And if I have any regrets, one is that unlike Luther, I never got the opportunity to dance with my father. God knows he tried to teach me the jitterbug, the watusi and the lindy hop. I inherited his sense of adventure, but sadly, not his sense of rhythm. We never danced because I couldn’t.

I also regret that I didn’t take up golf when he tried to teach me as a kid. I thought the game was beyond boring, I couldn’t understand the scoring and the clothes weren’t really cool. Now, I am totally addicted to the game as he once was, but I’m still such a scrub.

Today, I am both relieved and saddened that dad has passed on. I am relieved because my Bible tells me that he will suffer no more. There will be no more pain or sorrow where he is now. He will now remember the things his illness made him forget and I trust that he is thankful, regardless of the way he passed, that he was blessed with a long and fruitful life.

I am relieved because that same book tells me that where he is, the streets are paved with gold and the only tears that are shed cascade down the happy faces of the righteous who have been granted eternal life. He is now among them, on the 7th tee with his 7-iron looking to bogey the next hole.

I am also saddened because he’s not physically here to slay the dragons that I will inevitably encounter as I grow even older. That’s what daddy’s do and my dad was the best dragon-slayer on the block.

No doubt, I will weep when I recall the good times in the future. Traveling the country with my dad and putting up with his annoying CB radio when all I wanted to do was listen to my Jackson 5 8-track. And I’m sure to get misty when I recall all the times I let him down.

Thankfully, however, he knew how much I loved and adored him and vice-versa. Our bond, along with the love and support I’ve received from my family and friends, will help sustain all of us as we mourn the loss of a good, honorable, loyal, giving and caring man.

Even though he’s gone, I am still strengthened by his spirit, his courage and his faith. I hope his new and old friends up in heaven realize just how very blessed they are to have him among them.

read by me on aug. 15, 2009 at my dad's homegoing service.

the thriller

icons pass on all the time. those of us who have enjoyed length of years have seen many of them go--some, way too soon.

today, the king of pop joined that exclusive club.

michael jackson was eight months and 26 days younger than me. he belonged to me. like many girls growing up in the late '60s and early '70s, i, too, embraced the jackson 5. they were the definitive entertainers and sex symbols of our generation. and although michael was unbelievably cute and tremendously talented he wasn't my favorite. i saved all my love for marlon and was sure that we would some day marry.


that said, i have every michael jackson album ever printed. as a kid my bedroom walls were covered with pictures of him and his brothers. i saw every j5 and every jacksons tour. and i drove more than 100 miles to see mike's "bad" tour in the late '80s at rfk stadium in d.c.

every event, every experience, every memory--extraordinary.

i was sitting at home watching the cnn coverage on farrah fawcett's death when i got a call from essence.com saying that tmz was reporting that michael jackson had been taken to the hospital, a victim of cardiac arrest. i was running late for an appointment but told the girl on the phone i would make a few calls. no one responded before i had to leave but the news was confirmed on kfi-am en route to my destination.

before i had a chance to digest this news my celly literally began blowing up with friends from around the world calling and texting.

"michael?"
"is it true?"
"it's not good."

and by the time i had gotten to the "lincoln heights" set:

"girl, tmz is reporting that he's dead!!!"

surreal doesn't even begin to describe it.

like many people i found michael to be a bit odd, weird. but given all that he had purportedly gone through as a child, and as a young adult, i can understand why he wanted to hang out with chimps and why he would purposely wear pajamas to court. i realized the first time i met him it ain't easy being green.

you can't, however, take away his impact on pop culture or ignore his enormous talent. he was, as many others will say in the coming days, one of a kind.

so, those of us who were weaned on "i want you back," "abc," "the love you save," "i'll be there," "dancing machine," "maybe tomorrow," "ben," "don't stop till you get enough," "rock with you," "thriller," "billie jean," "man in the mirror" and all the other gems should just remember the young boy who once rocked our world and not the aging superstar from neverland who spent most of his adult life dancing down a rocky road.

be proud that you lived long enough to experience the magic that was michael jackson.

i know i am.

a time to smile--again

it has been a horrendously stressful week. another health scare with dad. extreme back pain. more disappointing news. so, i needed a sunny sunday. thankfully, my wish was His command.

it all started out really well. despite my vicodin hangover i made it to the 8 a.m. service at west angeles and was extremely elated that no one gave me attitude because i wasn't wearing first sunday sequins like 95 percent of the other women.

i was, however, blinded by the bling--particularly the multi-carat ice adorning the hands of pauletta washington (mrs. denzel) and cookie johnson (mrs. magic).

two hours later i headed over to the larchmont farmer's market. if i'm in l.a. there's no place i'd rather be on a sunday morning than larchmont village--mostly because it doesn't feel like l.a.

it gives me peace.

although i'm usually alone when i go to the market i'm never really alone. more often than not i'm on my iphone talking to a friend on the east coast. this morning it was marilyn monroe--yes, that's her real name. marilyn, who lives on long island, is a great listener and an even better storyteller so our conversations are always lively. plus she has this amazing ability to bring you out of the deepest funk, and can be very encouraging, too. this morning she convinced me that buying a small tin of five-cheese, high fat, severely caloric, artery-clogging mac-and-cheese would be a very, very good thing.

she was right. i bought it and served it up with the bbq tofu, baked beans and salad i had for dinner. sure, it raised my blood pressure 16 points but was well worth it.

my initial plan once i returned home was to spend a quiet afternoon reading my new books--"vegan soul kitchen" and "let's get it on"--but i got a little antsy after dinner and hit the road. i was hoping that i could convince my friend janet to play tennis.

that didn't happen.

she wanted to watch the fakers and nothing depresses me more these days than the thought of them winning another NBA title. so, i came home, drew a bath and was all set to settle down with jill nelson's sexual tome but i couldn't keep my eyes open. after taking a little disco nap in the tub i retired to the living room to watch a little tv. nothing in my 300-channel universe piqued my interest so i decided to watch an awards show.

i have never ever watched the tony awards but i was curious after reading several posts on how cool tonight's show was on facebook. and although most of the nominees and shows (save for the revivals) were unfamiliar to me, i found the vibe rather engaging. broadway is like this giant cesspool of acceptance.

bring me your blacks, your whites, your straights, your gays, your young, your old and everyone in between.

wouldn't mind going to that after-party--especially with the folks who were in that room.

like liza minnelli, damn, she's sounding just like her mom. wow, susan sarandon's gown is hella tight. neil patrick harris, the boy done good--especially on that closing number. how nice that the first winner mentioned diana sands. elton john, forever the diva. anne hathaway, stunning. james gandolfini is in a broadway show? who the hell is hallie foote and that chick who is screaming her acceptance speech? why does almost everyone accepting awards have a british accent? is there no work at the old vic? ah, tasha richardson. she was so cool.

man, i just realized that i've interviewed all of those people except the guy whose name i can't remember, the late diana sands, that hallie chick and the screamer.

anyway, i digress.

as sundays go today won't be all that memorable because other than watching the tonys i didn't do anything out of the ordinary. at church bishop blake reminded us how lucky we were to still be alive.that's true. my biggest blessing, however, is that my dad made it through.

here's hoping the sun comes out tomorrow, too.

do you hear what i hear?

as a journalist it's not often that i get an opportunity to really really listen to people. usually i'm on some sort of deadline or in a situation where i have to try and determine what makes the stranger sitting across from me tick in less than 15 minutes.

tonight, as i was sitting in the open-air bar at the laluna resort in grenada. i listened to a lot of people. first, there was the young couple from new hampshire, who were recalling their day exploring the island in their rental car. it took them two hours to get to a place that was right down the road because of one errant turn.

amusing.

then there was the couple from dallas. they were celebrating their 10th wedding anniversary. the husband travels a lot and the wife stays at home with the kids. what a treat this little honeymoon must have been for her.

nice.

then there was the couple from new york city, who claimed they didn't know how long they'd been married, nor when the honeymoon ended. but even though they were on holiday they came to the bar equipped with two iphones and a mac laptop.

alrighty then.

and lastly was a trio of female friends from new jersey, virginia and north carolina. two of them had played college hoops and one was a basketball coach. they ordered margaritas and talked sports with me for 40 minutes.

fun.

but mostly i talked to kellon carter, the bartender and one of my new good friends. at 25, kellon has already lived a full life, but is concerned that he's not as productive and ambitious as he was at 18. he's married but his wife lives in ottawa, canada with their 10-month old son. they communicate daily by web cam. kellon is the kind of guy who has so much to offer but is just a tad bit lost.

i especially loved his insight into politics, culture and religion.

i think he's going to be fine. he's smart, has a good heart and makes a mean rum punch. in grenada that's all you really need.