A DAY IN "THE LIFE OF RILEY"

I've been on the road since January 3rd. Chicago was my headquarters, but I did get dispatched to Los Angeles and Miami for a few days amidst these frozen, Windy City windows. As I today have landed back in Jersey, after being away for more than three weeks, I'm more fondly reflective of a chunk of time I expected to be unhappy (being away from home). Instead, as I referenced in my previous entry, Chicago was a blast. And amidst it all, I met some great new folks and got energetically reacquainted with some old friends. I'm remembering when my Alicia, Carla, and I enjoyed Spanish tappas as - at the top of my lungs - I entertained the whole restaurant with musical highlights from "Dreamgirls" and the best of '80s r&b. Then, there was the Decero Taqueria (www.decerotaqueria.com) where Alicia and I (pictured below) caught up racily over tacos and enchilladas before joining Chicago's "talented tenth" at the Sheraton for "Takeover Thursdays". There, I ran into my 'listening experience' buddy Nyasha and met a research scientist and a history professor who teaches 'slavery in Latin America'. I too ran into a couple of Morehouse brothers. And it was a nice night that reminded me that if I had to move to Chicago (God forbid), I would be socially fulfilled (enough) as networking and fellowship goes.

 In long order, my Chicago Carl and my new "amazing grace" Itika kept  me entertained. We were out so much that I couldn't even attempt to chronicle it all. One Friday, he, Itika, and I joined Itika's friend Tiffany and Loucian who is a personal fitness trainer for many of my Chicago friends (www.myspace.com/section9fitness) and one of Dwele's biggest fans. I had met him before, but we all bonded on this evening to the sounds of Dwele at a VIBE/Miller Beer event. Again, Chicago's finest were out. And I must have been considered one of them because - in the words of "Mahogany": "... the men love me. The women love me...". Not sure what it was. On this night, I was beginning to feel not-my-cutest as I was growing weary of the pieces I'd packed. Though they were sufficient for the near-month I was on the road, I did have to reinvent and repeat a few things and though I like having that option, it's not as cute when the selects are limited. Moreover, I wouldn't get my hair "poonie"-fied (my new Chicago barber) until the next day. Regardless, there was something in my swagger that read like a magnet. Good thing I've got someone as I might have gotten trouble on that night. It made for lots of laughter amongst my crew, further energizing us into after-set after after-set after after-set. My Morehouse brother Eddie even joined us later on this night and at 5:30 am, Carl was dropping Eddie and me off (after we all had an early-morning breakfast), so he could go straight to his job at Jesse Dean. It was quite a marathon. I too had the chance to meet Carl's brother Andre, who made our day "... easy like Sunday morning". Actually, it was a Sunday when he, Carl, Carl's "Amazing Grace" Bionce, and I met at "The Breakfast Club" for brunch (after they went to church). (www.chicagobreakfastclub.com) Not sure what to expect of Carl's brother and wondering if he was going to shift our energy into a more conservative, less colorful tone, I have to say it was the opposite. Andre showed up loving, open, and just straight up cool and fun. And our day would continue into the night. Carl wanted me to try a black-owned restaurant he loves "Blu 47" (www.blu47restaurant.com). Itika joined us too. Then, we met up with Miss Jesse and Arlene (also from Jesse Dean) for some comedy at "Jokes and Notes" (www.chicago.citysearch.com). There, we got our own live-and-in-living-color brand of BET's COMIC VIEW over cocktails. So uplifted, we decided to continue the night with a classic-Chicago-lounge locale "The Dating Game", where I had the DJ play Diana Ross' "The Boss", so the girls and I could dance the night away under the disco ball. Oh, to dance under the sparkling lights of the disco ball. Nothing like it!!! On and on, I could go with highlights from my time in Chicago - like the other VIBE event we attended with performances from Common, Amel Larrieux, and Doug E. Fresh to one of our post-set munchy meals at Harold's Fried Chicken, a Chicago staple (but next time I will make sure my BBQ sauce is on the side. They smother it all over that fried chicken, which I prefer dry).  Chicago really was a total blast. Last night, we had our "see-you-later" extravaganza at which I got to meet one of Carl's best friends Vince. He was way cool and fun. At the top of our lungs, Carl, Jakki (my Ki-Ki), Loucian, Bionce, and I walked the streets of Chicago (to and fro our meal at Hackney's (www.hackneys.net)) - most of us singing Jennifer Holliday's greatest hits. Starting with "Dreamgirls" and segueing through her modest, but celebrated, catalogue. Her debut tune "I Am Love" got most of our attention and focus as we thawed the freezing temps to liquid, exclaiming lyrically that "You walked inside the wind pushing me to bend, teaching me to live today. Oh! All of my dreams have just come true. Say that you are here to stay!!! I am LOVE!!!!". Well, I am not in Chicago to stay, but I do spend lots of time there which promises more great moments with these great people who ensured that my time away from home and my man didn't get lost in the sad and lonelys. Loucian said it best as we all hugged goodbye. "I'll just say see you later because I know you'll be back soon. And in the meantime, we'll  be texting and I'll be reading your blog.". See? I am LOVE! And so are each and everyone of my Chicago friends. THANKS GUYS AND GALS! See 'ya later...

AUNTIE MARY LEE
BY PATRICK L. RILEY
(SUBMISSION TO BE CONSIDERED FOR: Aunties: Not Just Another Mother
by INGRID STURGISS). didn't get selected for the book, but now i can share it. 

  My mom died from a heart attack on July 20, 1994. Though an arguably long, twelve years ago, I still flinch at the one-two punch that comes from using the word "mom" and any variation of the word "death" in the same sentence.
  Maybe I'm being dramatic because I'm the baby of the family and
feel that 23 years old is too young for a "mama's boy" to lose his
mom. After all, I hadn't begun to live and fulfill those dreams she
had for me - the ones she only seemed to understand, like my
insatiable need to have a career that made me happy. This, versus
the career "US News & World Report" was announcing would make me
stable in the marketplace.
  Plus, I had yet to buy her one of the cliché'd symbols of having
made it, like a house or a luxury car. And though she had a chance to
witness me receiving a nice civic award here and an industry nod there, she didn't see me win the Emmy or Grammy or Oscar or some household symbol of my profession that would go on her mantle in the home that I would have bought for her.
  Maybe I'm just trying to wrap my brain around the dose of reality
that she was only 54 when she left this earth (what a short life).
But the truth is she lived 45 more years than the doctors forecasted
when she was a child. At that time, my mom was given six months to
live as she struggled through a bout of rheumatic fever. Still, that
brings no comfort.
  Maybe my brain is fried over what seems to be a death curse in my
family. In 1974, my mom lost her own mother, who was in her early 60s when she died. My mom was 54.
   Bottom line: My mom died and it hurt like hell. And twelve years
later, it still hurts like hell.
   And unlike the close call from spring 1992 when she suffered
from congestive heart failure two weeks before my college graduation, she wasn't coming back this time.
    During that health crisis, she took ill and still managed to
recover and be in place to cheer me on at my alma mater Morehouse's
outside ceremony. That feat included a four-hour road trip from
Savannah, Georgia to Atlanta, which couldn't have been comfortable
considering her condition.
    Not only that, but the next two years seemed to give her a long lease on life. She lost lots of weight in all the right places. She began to eat more healthily. On some level, she just seemed happier and more vibrant. And never would I have anticipated another dreadful call another two years later from an intensive care unit.
   Right after that close call, Mom seemed that much more beautiful and statuesque than before the health episode. At my graduation, the sun made her hazel eyes shine that much brighter. Her multi-colored blouse-and-skirt ensemble with gold, metallic accents hung that much more flowingly off of her shapely frame. And that sheer, silky head-wrap with splashes of burnt orange - like her top,made her an even more dynamic diva than she already was. Think Maya Angelou at her most regal.
  And by mom's side stood Mary Lee. I call her Auntie Mary Lee,
mother's oldest (by two years) and only sibling.
  She was always the more understated one of the twosome. For every
strand of Mom's fiery auburn hair, there was a more conservative
blend of salt-and-pepper to Mary Lee's tresses.
  For every vocal lead my mother took in the church choir, there was a rich bottom that Mary Lee would provide on the four-part harmony.    For every pair of pants mom wore as a compliment to her heavily skirted wardrobe, there were only dresses - house and otherwise - to pad out my aunt's more mature gear.
  In my lifetime, the two sisters have been jokingly called "The
Weather Girls" or "Two Tons of Fun" when their respective weights
got the best of them. Like the glamorous disco duo - known for the
big hit "It's Raining Men," mom and Mary Lee cleaned up very well.
No matter their sizes, they really were fabulous when they sashayed
out of their homes.
  TV detectives "Cagney and Lacey" are another pair to which my
aunt and mother have been likened as they could sometimes get into
their own kind of trouble trying to locate a missing family member
or rescue a wayward cousin. I'm talking trench coats, ditches, and
flashlights. They truly had each other's back.
   From back in the day, they were "The Preacher's Daughters" or
those "Bellinger Girls" as their father was a pastor of a well-known
church in Savannah. I hear you wouldn't typically see one without the other. And when you did, they were mostly in church.
  Interestingly, they lost twenty years of being attached at the
hip, after my mom married my dad in 1958. As an Air Force man, my
father led my mother on an itinerary that included Berlin, Germany;
San Bernadino, California; and Tokyo, Japan where I was born. During
those twenty-plus years of travel with three kids to boot (my two
older siblings), my Auntie Mary Lee would hold the fort in Savannah,
looking after their parents, raising her own two kids, and managing
a marriage of her own.
   But when Dad retired from the military in the late 1970s, Mary
Lee got her sister back. Mom and Dad chose their childhood home Savannah as the place where we - as a family - would settle down.
   For the next three years, my mom and Mary Lee tag teamed on
keeping their father fed and fit. At this time, my grandfather was a
retired preacher and widower, who had suffered a stroke and was
living in a nursing home. With my mom again by her side, my aunt
visited Granddaddy and took him hot, home-cooked meals everyday. He
wouldn't eat the food that the health care facility provided.
   This daunting arrangement gave my mom the opportunity to pay her
sister back for the many times Mary Lee was left to care for Grand- daddy on her own, including the time when their mother had fallen ill. Mom was raising us in California.
   Also, Auntie Mary Lee had a heart attack herself in the mid-70s.
She didn't want anyone to tell my mother until she got better. My
mom was thousands of miles away on the West Coast and she didn't
want to worry her so soon after their mom's passing. As a result,
Mom wasn't around to help much during her recovery.
  I guess Auntie Mary Lee is a typical "older sibling". She didn't
want anyone to worry and very often put herself and her needs last.
Perhaps I was drawn to her as a child for those reasons, much like
I'm probably drawn to my own "oldest sibling" Janice. She has a knack for putting other's first, especially those "youngest kids" in her life (not just me).
  My aunt was a wonderful compliment to my mom's more direct, in-your-face brand of parenting, no doubt rooted in her being the bratty, outspoken baby in her own clan.
  Sans the neck roll or lip flap my sassy mom might toss at you
before she would step foot into the kitchen, Auntie Mary Lee was
always more than willing to prepare any range of dishes for us. From
pork 'n beans to the all-out soul food smorgasbord with sweet tea,
and lemon for kicks, she cooked to order.
   With Mom, sometimes we had to constantly badger her to purchase
the things we "wanted" versus what might have been on sale; Mary Lee's cookie jar always had one of my many favorite brands of cookies in it - namely the flower-shaped ones that have BUTTER inscribed simply on the packaging. Incidentally, the cookies that came out of her cookie jar just tasted better.
   And without having to bring home straight A's, my aunt would
always call me "the professor". To her, the fact that I was reading anything made me smart. Granted, I wasn't always reading Langston or
Shakespeare. Sometimes, it was a teen rag magazine, but somehow she
always identified my love of reading with being the smartest kid on the block. Surely, Auntie Mary Lee's simple philosophy worked for me as it came with less an onus than the one I had to adopt in my own household, where pats on the back didn't come as effortlessly. It was always nice to have the option to not have to try as hard to impress when I visited my enabling aunt.
  I just loved having a mother and an aunt, who were so similar,
yet so different. And without mom here, that balance is gone. I not
only feel a huge sadness for myself - a pity I've taken to Jesus and
a therapist.
  But Auntie Mary Lee must be dealing with an even more intense grief. I mean, my mom is someone she's known all her life.
  Though they haven't always been geographically in the same city,
they have always been close. When they were in the same city, they
were road-dogs. And whatever time they didn't spend together
physically was off set with the telephone. Auntie Mary Lee would
call mom everyday at 5 o'clock. And though mom would sometimes
cavalierly receive the call, she'd panic if it didn't come.
  "I haven't heard from my sister today," she'd say. "Patrick! Call
Mary Lee and make sure she's okay."
  I find myself similarly impacted when my own (and only) sister
calls on the dime with nothing to say. But let that call not come,
I'm on the wire trying to reach out to her and find out why I didn't
hear from her. This, my aunt has no more.
   And as the last person living and breathing from her immediate family, she's got to be in a really sad place right now.
  "Mary Lee is your mama now," my aunt's current husband Lloyd once
said. "You won't be without a mama because Mary Lee is here."
  When he spoke this, I respectfully nodded without any words, even though my instinct was stabbing me in my gut that this is not the case, for me at least. The reality is there will never be a replacement for my mother. She provided me a brand of love that no one can duplicate.
  And chances are the sadness I continue to feel will always linger
near, even if time has allowed me a few more moments of laughter and
bliss.
   Still, on those moments when I venture back to Savannah from my
new home New York City, I can go and visit my sweet Auntie Mary Lee.
  No, she's not my mom. But she's a bittersweet reminder of the
good stock, which bred my mother.
  And whenever my Auntie Mary Lee and I come together, I feel a nostalgic glimmer of the comfort I felt as a child -- with each meal, with each cookie, and with each compliment.
  I flinch again at the thought of life without her.

POST SCRIPT: Uncle Lloyd died earlier this year. Auntie Mary Lee is still hanging in there. She was so gracious to prepare my favorite dishes, including cornbread dressing, for the Christmas meal, even though she wasn't feeling her best with osteoarthritis, diabetes, high blood pressure, and other pars for the course of aging. She's still funny, bright, sharp, and on top of all that goes on in our family.

"BOWLING" (in one of the T-shirts my boo bought me). Lots of fun, like in this picture as Nichole, her niece Day, and Day's dad David enjoy the Harlem Lanes.

Picking up a spare... while D.C. and Tori cuddle.

THANKSGIVING DAY was delicious!

Here, Tony prepares the mashed potatoes while Nichole looks on.

Patrick and Daylan wait for all the victuals to be done. So, we can eat. Meanwhile, posing with our name cards shaped of leaf... designed by Daylan.

After the meal, I opted out of the latest James Bond flick with Tony and D.C. to instead "sleep with the angels". (Just an impromptu nap -- chronicled by Nichole and Tori -- before my return to Jersey).  

Though PART MOROSE/PART ROSY, THANKSGIVING reads a lot more fun in pictures, which I just picked up today.

1. On the eve of THANKSGIVING, I mentioned my hang at the New Rochelle home of my Nichole and Tony Shellman. We had a great time - sitting up in the kitchen, drinking wine, eating meatballs, pizza, and salad. This, while they began to prep our next day's meal. Our friend CJ dropped by from her suburban Connecticut digs and Nichole's sister Tori and her family (in part) had driven up from the DC-area. She, her husband David and youngest child Daylan made it with their luggage and ingredients towards Thursday's meal in tow. Mostly, we were just silly... in the kitchen (and - at points - their game room).

Tony and Nichole... in the kitchen.

Tony, David, Nichole, Daylan, and Tori.

C.J. and Patrick with the bottle of Reisling she brought me for my birthday (last week).

D.C., Tony, and I appraise the pizza. We're a little lunchie...

Day and I frost cupcakes for Thanksgiving dessert. <wink, wink>

Nichole's sister Tori and me.

Nichole's neighbors Monica and Brian popped by.