My Best April - Part 3 (final in a series)

Hustle and flow: Will pose for tips

My gaping over the extreme extravagance of Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills, Calif., was suddenly interrupted:

“Excuse me, would you like to support our high school football program. We are selling these candy bars?”

“How much?”

“$10.”

“For a king size candy bar? Really? No thank you. We’ll just give you a donation.”

And we gave him $4 and walked away.

Even if I thought he was legitimate, I wouldn’t have given him $10 for a candy bar that I could buy from CVS two for $3.

My intuitive nature, however, tells me he was more of a hustler instead of a high school football player.

I was actually quite surprised to be propositioned on the rich and famous Rodeo Drive. It caught me totally off guard. Amid the expensive, fancy cars, and the exquisite buildings donning popular designer names, this hustler stood out like a knock off Michael Kors. (I know because I have one).

This got me to thinking: Hustling is everywhere and the business of it is evolving. Yes, it is a business. Some of these artists make a lot of money.

Last year while visiting downtown Charlotte, a street dancer was performing on a corner. I pulled out my cell phone to take a photo and he pointed at me, then to a sign on a box near his feet that read: A donation for photos.

Now I didn’t want a photo with him. I just wanted a photo of him. I was going to tip him anyway – after I took the photo – because I respect good talent. But his demanding gesture caused me to tip less than I would have.

While in Vegas, several street musicians were a bit aggressive in having spectators pay first before taking a photo or video.

This perturbs me. Even a restaurant only applies your tip  “after” you eat. Here’s the deal: If you’re in a public place, people can photograph or videotape you – without your permission and whether you’re performing or not – and do not have to tip.

Tipping street musicians is a courtesy, and a good one to possess. But these artists need to keep in mind they perform at the mercy of our generosity and that’s a risk they take.

I found myself on this vacation tipping more to those who seemed to simply enjoy sharing their gifts, those who appreciated the fact that we paused our hustle and bustle to acknowledge and value their talent.

Now, people who want to take photos with cartoon or super hero characters are a different story. These people are not performing. They are simply in costume. If you want someone dressed as Batman to stop and pose in a photo with you, the Dark Knight is going to ask for a tip. After all, he has to stop and strike a pose.

But why do we pay to have photos taken with the Transformers or the Avengers or Michael Jackson lookalikes?

When we’re at Disney World, Mickey and Minnie don’t charge us for photos. But on the Vegas strip, it’ll cost you to pose with Elvis.

It’s all hustle and flow, and I don’t knock anyone who is trying to make a living. For some street musicians, it’s a way to expose their talents or to supplement their income.

For the cast of characters, it’s a way to make easy, quick money from enthralled tourists.

I respect the game. All I ask is that you be nice about it.

So when planning your vacation, keep a few loose dollar bills in your pocket not only for the tour guide, the bellhop and the friendly waitress, but also for SpongeBob SquarePants, the break dancer, the street magician, Superman, the bagpipes player, the showgirls … and for a $10 candy bar in case you get hungry.

Yep, I had to tip for this photo.

My Best April - Part 2

Spiritual lessons of the Grand Canyon

“I can’t wait to see this big ditch.”

Day two of my West Coast getaway was spent on a bus tour to the Grand Canyon.

We couldn’t possibly get this close to "the big ditch" and not go see it. (Close is relative.)

While I had an interest in seeing the canyon, it was on my traveling partner’s must-see list in life. For as long as I’ve known him, he has always wanted to visit the Grand Canyon.

When booking the tour, the hotel concierge offered us a helicopter ride over the Grand Canyon.

My eyes widened with eagerness. “Yes,” I said.

“No,” he uttered. The turbulence on the plane ride to Las Vegas was enough off-the-ground excitement for him.

So we opted for the bus tour – one that departed at 6:25 a.m. and wouldn’t return until 10 p.m. that night. I wasn’t quite expecting an all-day excursion. I was thinking more like a half day. We go, we see, we conquer, and return to the hypnotizing neon lights of Vegas.

Not. It took half a day just to get there. We didn’t arrive to “the big ditch” until 2:30 p.m. But mind you, it wasn’t a direct trip. We stopped for photo opportunities at the Hoover Dam and then at a gift shop on Historic Route 66, the first major U.S. Highway.

So far, so good. No, make that so far, so great. The bus driver/tour guide was comical; we sat near a friendly couple from Greensboro, N.C., which is where our flight departed; and the honey baked ham lunches the tour provided were yummy for our tummies.

The only annoying part was a couple sitting directly in front of us who must have been on their honeymoon. They couldn’t keep their hands – or lips for that matter – off of each other. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan of public display of affection, but they needed a room and at one point, I was willing to pay for it to get them off the bus.

Anyway, we finally arrived at the South Rim of the Grand Canyon National Park, which stands 7,700 feet above sea level. According to the guide, the United States only owns 50 miles of the Grand Canyon, which is the park part. The rest of the 277-mile world wonder belongs to Native Americans.

The guide says way back when, the U.S. saw the canyon as a hindrance – as in how could it be crossed rather than seeing its geological grandeur and beauty.

Fast forward hundreds of years and the Grand Canyon gets five million visitors per year. Entranceway into the national park features an airport – dubbed the biggest smallest airport in the world. It was an airport crash there that led to the formation of the Federal Aviation Administration, says the guide.

The national park itself consists of six hotels, a restaurant, grocery store, fire department, medical clinic and a school – all for the employees and their families who live at the park. Yes, you read correctly. Employees live at the Grand Canyon.

If your environment affects your mood, those should be some of the happiest people in the world. To awaken each day to such natural beauty and breathtaking views is life at its grandest.

The Grand Canyon looks like a rock city. The varying heights of the cliffs and the different colors of the rock layers paint a natural masterpiece, one that the mighty Colorado River helped to carve at least five million years ago.

It is spiritual there, to say the least. Our spirits immediately connected with the awesome God that created this. One can only stand in awe and reverence not only the creation, but the creator.

There are many lessons to learn from its formation. Like how a persistent, faithful river didn’t allow a mountain to stand in its way – and neither should we. Instead, it carved its way through it and like so, we should persist in life when confronted with obstacles that appear as mountains.

Like how erosion of the rock layers reveals the beauty of the canyon – so is our strength and character revealed during breakdowns in life. It may take years to see the results of our faithfulness, but at the right time, it will show itself and leave us in awe – as does the Grand Canyon.

“It was amazing. It was breathtaking,” my friend said of seeing it. “I had always heard about the Grand Canyon and wanted to go but I never imagined it. You can never imagine it. You can see pictures but you can’t imagine what it really looks like until you see it in person.”

And after seeing it in person, it’s no longer fair to call it a “big ditch.” It’s much more than that.

My best April - Part 1

West Coast getaway was zoo-manity

Have you ever felt like you must be about to die because so many things in your life are going well?

That was my April 2015.

Somebody pinch me.

I have felt this way before. It happens whenever I’m checking off things on my bucket list. My warped psychology tells me that whenever I complete everything on the list, my time here on Earth will be up – so as I check off, I add on. I said it was warped.

Anyway, in early April, I completed three things on my bucket list during my West Coast getaway for my 45^th birthday. (In addition to starring in a one-woman play at a community theater, but that’s another column).

The trip included Las Vegas, the Grand Canyon, and a drive to California, where we visited Santa Monica, Beverly Hills, Los Angeles and Hollywood.

I’ve wanted to go to Hollywood since I was a child, so much so that my brother-in-law’s nickname for me was Hollywood.

While it was exciting to finally walk on the famous Hollywood Boulevard, what totally took me by surprise was my fascination with Sin City.

The entrancing lights, the high energy, the spectacular shows, the architectural magnificence, the myriad of people, the amusing characters, the tempting casinos – all were the cynosure of my eyes.

I was literally enthralled by it all.

I saw my first Vegas show, Zumanity (zoo plus humanity, meaning human zoo), a Cirque du Soleli perfomance in the New York, New York Hotel & Casino. Let me just say it was erotic, to say the least.

It’s billed as, “The sensual side of Cirque du Soleli.” Imagine very talented acrobats acting out 50 Shades of Grey to music. Get the picture.

My best friend recommended this show to me. The jury is still out as to why.

I played blackjack in Caesar’s Palace – and lost money in Caesar’s Palace; watched the light show at the Bellagio Hotel; watched a volcano erupt in front of the Mirage; drank a cosmopolitan in the Cosmopolitan (It was only fitting, right?); and darted in and out other casinos just to be able to say I’d been there.

On every corner, half-naked women, your favorite movie characters, musicians and yes, even a real pig were offering photos for donations; and hired help littered your pockets and the streets with cards of more half-naked women.

They don’t call it Sin City for nothing.

On Day 2, all the temptation on the Las Vegas strip couldn’t keep me from rising at 5 a.m. to catch a tour bus to Arizona to see what I had only read about in books: the Grand Canyon

On the trip there, we stopped at the Hoover Dam and the famous Route 66 – the first major U.S. highway.

If my eyes were not my own witness, I would never believe something so naturally formed could be this magnificent. There isn’t an adjective to describe the beauty of this world wonder.

God is in the details. And in Part 2 of this column series, I will delve more into that.

Somebody pinch me.

The drive to California was a journey through the Mojave Desert. While some have said the scenery is drab, I found it sightly.

Yes, it’s dry. The region only gets three inches of rain per year. Yes, there’s not much greenery, just small bushes they call Joshua trees. Yes, water is scarce for desert residents as many of them have to haul it in and store it in tanks.

But the mountains that hug the desert and the roads that carve their way through the mountains are captivating, especially at the entranceway into San Bernardino, Calif.

We were warned of horrific L.A. traffic, but it didn’t seem that bad to me. I’m always a half-glass full kind of girl, anyway. We got there in five hours from Vegas.

With only a day and half in the Golden State, we hit the highlights:

• The Santa Monica Pier, where we rode the famous Ferris wheel that you see in a lot of movies;

• Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills, where a dress I inquired about cost $5,000 and it was just a yard of cloth, if that. “It just came off the spring runway during Fashion Week,” the clerk told me. I tried not to choke but my eyes gave it away – such ridiculous extravagance. The only thing I could afford on Rodeo Drive was a selfie.

• We had cocktails with my actress friend and her husband in L.A. near Universal Studios, then we went to Universal City, where  a larger-than-life King Kong towers from a building and the iconic Universal Studios globe begs for pictures.

• Then finally Hollywood Blvd. By the time I got to the one star on the Walk of Fame that I wanted a photo of – Michael Jackson – my cell phone had died. But I did manage a photo in front of where Jimmy Kimmel Live is taped – the last voice I hear before going to bed each night.

It was a grand trip and one that I’ve wanted to take for a long time. I often find myself daydreaming about it and thanking God for the opportunity to travel and see places that my heart yearns to visit.

Not only is April my birthday month, but it is also the month I got laid off from my job two years ago. So creating a happier memory also made this my best April.

For many reading this, a West Coast getaway may seem trivial on your list of things to do or places to go.

But for a little girl from a small town with big dreams of seeing the world, this was a dream come true – one that seems so surreal at times.

I’ve marked it off my bucket list, but I’ve added to it a repeat visit to Vegas to see another show…one that won’t make me feel like, well…

Like I’ve been pinched.

Adjusting to the new normal after surgery, recovery

If I didn’t mind risking sounding too corny, I would title this column, “I’m baaaack.”

Back from where you might ask?

Back from the tight grip of vulnerability. Back from a weakened immune system that questioned my mind-over-matter defense. Back from a spiritual slump.

Thank God, I’m back. I didn’t like being there.

Even though I returned to work two weeks ago, it was in physical nature only. My heart, mind and soul was back at home in bed, wanting to just curl up and sleep. Sleep through this season in my life that had me mentally bound.

As I mentioned over the holidays, I had a complete thyroidectomy on Dec. 29. The surgery went well. Recovery? Not so great.

Four days after my surgery, I started having shortness of breath. It felt as if my lungs would not fully expand to take in all the air I needed. It started out mild then grew to sheer annoyance and discomfort.

I was sure this new symptom was my body’s way of rejecting this new medicine that I must now take for the rest of my life to replace the function of my thyroid: Synthroid, 125 mcg.

I called my surgeon to update her on my condition. Without giving too many personal details, she immediately ordered me to have an ultrasound of my right arm to see if I had a blood clot.

Blood clot? Now I’m really concerned. That test, which was negative, led to me having a CT scan of my chest. Again, looking for a blood clot. That, too, was negative. Thank God.

Still, the shortness of breath continued, leading to sleepless nights and anxiety attacks. One night it got so bad that I went to the emergency room. On the way there, I asked God to please give me a really good doctor who would look for everything.

And that’s exactly what I got. Dr. Tu, a short man dressed in a Burberry jacket, tested me for every possible cause of shortness of breath. He gave me a chest X-ray, a CT scan of my neck and an EKG. All negative. And no flu, no pneumonia. Nothing was there.

So what was causing my labored breathing? My surgeon finally chalked it up to a post-operative symptom and reduced the strength of my Synthroid.

My spiritual advisors, on the other hand, said it was spiritual warfare – believers will get this.

Needless to say, I put on the whole armor to prepare for battle. I started reading the Bible more, even attending Bible study. I found a great church to supplement my Sunday morning worship. I posted scriptures all over my bedroom. I started eating more healthy, took extra Vitamin C, increased my meditation, and even resumed Yoga classes at the gym.

I am happy to report, I am winning. I walk in healing every day. Most days, I’m good. But on others when the shortness of breath tries to creep back up, I knock it down with a Bible verse.

I believe people go through things in order to help deliver others. So if anyone else out there is being attacked in their health – or any other aspect of their lives for that matter – fight it with the word of God. It is the only thing that will defeat the forces against you.

This walk must not be temporary, but a daily lifestyle that includes prayer, meditation, studying of the word and praise.

I can now look back and be grateful for the struggle, for the brokenness, for it is making me more spiritually fit and prepared for the rest of this new year.

I am embracing the new normal – the new me – minus my thyroid.

E-mail Editor Kimberly Harrington at kharrington@pagelandprogressive.com

Pumpkin spice and everything nice

Thank God we are almost through the fall season.

If it were much longer, I would probably have a mouthful of cavities and a fat belly to match.

During this time of year, I scour the grocery aisles looking for new seasonal treats laden with my favorite fall flavors: pumpkin spice and candy corn.

My chiropractor told me that God gave us a sweet tooth for fruits.

While I do enjoy red delicious apples, muscadines, mangos and such, my sweet tooth goes berserk for  pumpkin spice and everything nice.

And this year, I found a real doozy: Pumpkin spice Oreos. The deep and creamy orange center is crammed between two golden cookies.

Add these to my already favorite pumpkin flavored products, and I’m a cookie away from being a pumpkin-spice addict:

Pumpkin spice doughnuts. Pumpkin spice lattes. Pumpkin spice creamer for my pumpkin spice coffee. Pumpkin spice Hersey’s kisses.

There’s even pumpkin cheesecake ice cream and pumpkin-flavored beer, I hear. I’ll pass on the beer, but am eager to try a bowl of the cold stuff.

Apparently, I am not alone in my addiction. According to Neilsen, sales of all pumpkin-flavored foods and beverages increased 14 percent in 2013 compared to 2012.

And in the last five years alone, pumpkin sales have jumped 34 percent, says the U.S. Department of Agriculture.

Just to think, it was only 10 years ago that Starbucks introduced its pumpkin spice latte, which led to this craze.

Because of the popularity, some stores are stocking the aisles with pumpkin flavored products as early as July.

Not so lucky with the Oreos. They only debuted for eight weeks and are hard to find. As I was buying a bag last week at a store out of town, the Nabisco vendor said they were not restocking them this year. So I grabbed another.

There was a TV news report recently about a woman who bought a year’s worth of pumpkin spice lattes so she could enjoy them all year long.

Now that’s an idea. 

But on second thought, I’ll part ways with my newfound guilty pleasure until next fall – before I turn into a pumpkin.

Life is a balancing act

Life is a balancing act

Americans need to vacation more

 This column appeared in the Oct. 7th issue of the Pageland Progressive Journal.

By KIMBERLY HARRINGTON

Editor

My vacation was two weeks ago but I am still reeling from my mini-adventure.

My body is here but my thoughts sometime wander to somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, where turquoise and sapphire waters kiss white sandy beaches, where Bahama Mamas are always on deck and free spirits blow in the wind like tumbleweeds.

Ask any family member or close friend of mine and they will tell you how much I believe in balance. For every dollar earned, a dollar spent. For every hour worked, an hour played. For every “need” met, a “want” accomplished. For every love lost, a new love found. You get the picture.

Being that way keeps me content, satisfied and happy. I’m usually very good at keeping that balance in my life until this year.

I started this new job as editor in February and dived right into it. Three months later, my mother suffered from a slew of health problems that kept me on the road a lot to and from her hospital bed in Concord.

Then I had to direct my focus on getting my nephew/godson into college – a decision he made at the very last minute. This meant coming up with balances due minus financial aid, buying overpriced books and snatching up last minute supplies. Not to mention standing in line all day during the final orientation as my brain went into information overload.

Then my mother suffered another health crisis, losing sight in her right eye.

Now she is living home with limited vision, which necessitated a family meeting – and you know how those can go. Gotta love 'em, though.

After all was said and done, I agreed to move back with my mother temporarily. (That’s another column.)

So when my brother and his girlfriend broke up, and he asked if I wanted to take his already-booked cruise to the Bahamas, I considered it divine intervention to get me back centered. (God works in mysterious ways. The two of them are both ministers and who knows what sparks would have ignited on that ship.)

We processed the transfer and voilá, I was on my first cruise since 1995. I prefer flying to my destinations and getting all-inclusive packages so a cruise was a different twist.

Without giving you play by play, let me just say this vacation with my best friend, Patricia, was not particularly one for R&R. I didn’t sleep much, had two too many Bahama Mamas, ate like I had a high metabolism, danced like no one was watching, played in the water like a toddler, posed in pictures like super models, made new friends, slept at highway rest areas, and laughed til it hurt.

I had the time of my life.

After months of living on the edge, I jumped off – giving me back my balance.

My late night anxiety attacks have calmed. My stress level has evened out. It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Everybody needs balance and more vacations. As a country, we work longer hours and take less vacations than any other industrialized country in the world.

A study released in August by Travel Effect, a project of the U.S. Travel Association, revealed that 40 percent of American workers will leave paid vacation days unused.

Tony Schwartz, chief executive officer of the Energy Project, says, “the best way to get more done may be to spend more time doing less.” Living a life in which we work all the time and never prioritize recharging simply isn't sustainable – not for individuals, and not for companies either.

It’s OK, people, to relax a little and not feel guilty about it.

One of my own favorite columns is about a man I worked for at a hospital. It was his first job as chief executive officer and he was torn between climbing the corporate ladder of success, which meant long days and no weekends, to spending time with his new wife and child. After about six months on the job, he chose the latter.

The following is an excerpt from that column I wrote five years ago:

“Too many times we live unbalanced lives. We work more than we play. We eat at our desk more than we do at our dinner table at home. We wear more dress shoes and pumps than flip flops. We spend more time at work than we do with the ones we love.

It may sound cliché, but at the end of our lives, it’s time with our loved ones that will envelope our thoughts and bring us comfort. It will be the times where we played more that will give us reason to smile.

 Over the years, I’ve been given some great advice from successful professional leaders that I take to heart and try to live by: Don’t take work home with you; sometimes you’ve got to be selfish and put yourself first; work hard, not long; and work to live, not live to work.

True balance is getting up in the morning and putting on your work shoes, but knowing when to take them off and slip on your favorite pair of flip flops.”

Balance for you may not be a trip to the Bahamas. It may simply be a day off in your pajamas watching movies, getting home in time for dinner, or having a date night with your spouse.

To quote a poster on Pinterest: Never get so busy making a living that you forget to make a life.

Rice case brings attention to domestic violence

Note: This column ran in the Pageland Progressive Journal in South Carolina on Sept. 16, 2014.

It’s still not easy to confess, even though I have in front of women audiences only several times before: I was a victim of domestic violence while in college.

And every time, it never failed, a woman would approach me after the program and say how surprised she was that I – the strong, professional woman she saw on the outside – would have put up with that.

She would almost be comforted by the fact that if it could happen to me, someone they saw in the community as a woman who “had it together;” it brought less shame that they were now experiencing it.

And it was that same parallel that gave me the strength to speak out publicly and help others.
I was new in journalism when a local woman returned home to practice law. I was assigned to interview her. She was someone I knew from afar growing up. 

She came from a prominent family. She was beautiful and successful and professional and now a lawyer.

During our interview, she told me that she wanted to focus on domestic violence cases. When I asked why, she said because she, too, had been a victim of it.

To say I was shocked was an understatement. How could this beautiful, confident woman ever be the victim of abuse from the hands of a man? Why couldn’t she or didn’t she just leave after the first hit?

Because it could happen to her – a woman I revered as the epitome of beauty with brains – I somehow felt less embarrassed that it had happened to me.

It was then that I started volunteering with domestic violence organizations, serving on their boards, writing more stories and telling my own.

It’s been a few years since I’ve had to share my story. But the recent news and video of former Baltimore Ravens football player Ray Rice has opened old wounds.

My top concern is not for Rice and his football career. My sympathy is extended to his wife, Janay Palmer. In her statement, released on Instagram, Palmer says she and her husband will continue to show the world what real love is.

I know it sounds ridiculous to us – and it will to her one day. But for now she is living inside the frame and can’t see the entire picture. 

One thing I know for sure and have learned over the years is that real love doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t abuse. And though it may sound cliché, if a man hits you once, he will hit you again.

Trust me, I know it’s hard to leave someone you love, to leave your best friend, to leave your partner. But abuse must be the deal breaker.

Domestic violence is the leading cause of injuries to women ages 15 to 44, more common than auto accidents, mugging and cancer combined, according to the U.S. Surgeon General.
The Violence Policy Center ranks South Carolina as No. 2 in the nation in the rate of women murdered by men. And most of those men are either husbands, ex-husbands, common law husbands or boyfriends to the victims.

There are plenty of times that call for a woman to stand by her man, but domestic violence is not one of them. 

Pop singer Rihanna realized that in 2009 after her then boyfriend, singer Chris Brown, assaulted her. She told Oprah Winfrey in a later interview that she went into protective mode of Brown because the rest of the world was beating him up. 

That’s what some women do. We nurture and protect others sometimes to our own detriment. We must learn to love ourselves and allow ourselves to be selfish when it comes to protecting us. I know it may go against how we were raised, but it is survival mode in the way of the world today.

Yes, abusive men do need help. They should seek counseling. But until they are proven to be healed and reprogrammed of that tendency to hit you upside your head and drag you like a ragdoll, your relationship with them is a casualty perhaps never to be revived again.

Women who find themselves in domestic violence situations and can’t leave immediately should develop a plan, which includes packing a bag with important papers, momentos and even evidence of the abuse such as photos; putting money aside; and leaving when your offender least expects it.
For more tips on how and when to leave, visit www.womenslaw.org.

While it can be heartbreaking to leave, it is even more heartbreaking to stay because your self-esteem also takes a major hit.

You never know when his wrath will surge again, so you walk on eggshells, not being fully capable of expressing yourself or being yourself for fear of being attacked.

Leaving at least allows you to see the whole picture from the outside and chances are you will discover it wasn’t a flattering photo after all.