A Love Letter

When I met my husband-to-be, Andre, over twenty years ago, there were things that I knew:

--That he brought a real glass (not a plastic cup) from home every day, to drink complimentary soda at the movie theatre where we both worked.

--That he drove the original Smart Car, a tiny Chevy Sprint that I dubbed, 'the death trap', partially because our shoulders actually touched in the front seat.

--That his special occasion meal was--wait for it--Hamburger Helper.

But there was so much I didn't know yet. Those subtleties that come from growth and maturity that evolve over time. It's the stuff you don't actively think too much about when you're looking for love, but if you're lucky enough to partner up with someone possessing things like integrity, compassion and depth of character, you'll be forever grateful. And slightly in awe.

Indeed. I am.

Andre's been a mentor, both formally and informally, to a host of young men over the years, including Ty. They were matched through a mentoring program when Ty was in middle school. Four years ago, Andre supported Ty through the acceptance process at The Met in Providence, a charter school, which Ty himself took the initiative to enroll in, that's shaking education on its head.

The Met is brilliant at creating an excitement for learning. The school promotes intellectual curiosity by allowing students to not get bogged down with traditional text books, but to instead develop their own curriculum through internships. The Met also creates an awesome support system, by pairing a single advisor with a core group of students, all of whom remain together for four years.

Andre and Ty were officially paired up through his freshman year at the Met, until Ty's living situation changed. What Ty didn't realize is that Andre Brown is a hard dude to shake. Truth is, if Andre's your mentor, you've got someone you can count on for life. So, when Andre calculated that Ty should be graduating, as a member of the Class of 2012, you best be sure that Andre's going to be there. Dressed, of course, in a blazer--'cause that's just how we do.

Last Thursday, Andre read a newspaper notice that the Met school was hosting their graduation that evening. And so began the cosmic series of events to bring the mentor and mentee together again, on an night of incredible pride, outstanding positive energy, and a performance by Jeffrey Osborne. That's right. R&B superstar Jeffrey Osborne, live, on stage, performing 'On The Wings of Love.'

Did you get that sort of soundtrack at your high school graduation? Didn't think so.

The song was fitting, because truly, this graduation night was all about love. The love the students have for their school, administrators, advisors and each other. The love of learning. The love and pride of the families themselves, many who count a high school graduate in their ranks for the first time. How love can help you succeed in life, overcome obstacles and encourage you to reach for the stars.

So congratulations Ty! Up next--college graduation!!

And Happy 13th Wedding Anniversary Andre! I love you--and am so proud of the man that you've become.

Call Me Ashley

So, there was this one time that I got mistaken for a prostitute.

Every parent's dream, right? More like a sad commentary on our society.

It was February, 2008. Andre and I had tickets to the Freestyle Extravaganza 3 at Mohegan Sun Casino in Connecticut. Basically, it's a rare opportunity for stars of the 1980's dance scene to reemerge in public and perform their hit(s). Kind of pathetic, but Stevie B is still the man.

Andre and I were early, so decided to kill the fifteen minutes or so before the doors of the arena opened, standing beside the iconic blue and white Dale Chihuly glass sculpture. It's two stories tall. You can't miss it, which apparently explains why it works as a good meeting spot.

For everyone.

It's also located, conveniently enough, at the entrance of the casino's hotel.

On a Saturday night, this joint is jumpin'. Space is at a premium--even in the loitering spots. So, Andre winds up standing slightly behind me. We're still plenty close enough to communicate we're indeed together. But apparently the vibe we're throwing off is more along the lines of business associates, as opposed to romantic partners. We're engaged in a bit of people watching--when then this super nervous middle-aged guy comes up to me out of nowhere.

"Ashley?" he stammers.

"What?"

"Ashley?"

"Uh, no," I reply, but he's already long gone--practically sprinting back into the crowd.

Yeah, it could have just been a simple case of mistaken identity. But the sheer panic exhibited by this dude, combined with a complete lack of 'sorry, thought you were someone else' and assorted other context clues, turned our focus in another direction.

That's right. Hookerville.

What was I wearing? Trust. It wasn't anything that even whispered 'pay me for sex'. Truth is, I'm kind of a sucker for classic lines, with a hint of sass. That's sass. Not ass. It was winter, so I was sporting layers. Literally a fitted brown cotton blazer and jeans. No fishnets or red vinyl in sight.

Regardless, it should not matter. For me, or for writer Sarah Kathleen Peck, who blogged about her latest indignation here:  http://sarahkathleenpeck.tumblr.com/post/23583589056/the-one-about-the-elevators. Similar story, but she didn't have the protection of her buff black pimp, ah, husband to wrap up the situation before it really got going.

Seriously dudes--what are you thinking?

My Favorite Things

Welcome to inaugural edition of Dawn's Favorite Things. 'Cause, frankly, why should Oprah have all the fun? Granted if you want any of this stuff, you're going to have to buy it yourself.
 
Do I look like I have Oprah pull? Or cash?

Without further adieu and in no particular order:

Lady Marmalade
Our diva pearlscale goldfish. If you don't get the musical reference, we can't be friends.

L'oreal Double Extend Beauty Tubes
This two step mascara gives you the lashes you weren't born with, minus the hazards of welding your lids shut with false eyelash glue.

P90X2
Yes it's hard. Yes I often curse trainer Tony Horton, like a sailor. But nine weeks in, I'm a total convert.

Kindness Changes Everything
Not just beautifying stickers, but a soulsister collaboration between the Kindness Girl and Silver Tree Art outta Richmond, VA. You can buy them on Etsy--and should--for the envelope alone.

Skinny Cow Chocolate Truffle Ice Cream Bars
100 calories, 2.5 g of fat, 3 g of fiber that actually taste like food. 'Nuf said.

Boo City
Providence local band, that really shouldn't be, boasting a unique sound with touches of reggae, soul, country and folk. Outstanding talent. Good peeps. And HORNS!! They've got HORNS!

Orchids
Slightly obsessed, since Andre gave me one to mark our ten year wedding anniversary--that I spent a whole summer slowly trying to kill. Clearly, I've learned from my mistakes. A bit.

Lands' End Canvas Classifieds
Every Saturday, brings a batch of goodies that, for as long as they last, get marked down for the rest of the week: 25% on Monday, 50% on Wednesday, 75% on Friday. Hello $98 boots for $17.

MWF Seeking BFF by Rachel Betsche
Finally. Some honesty about female friendships. Rachel boldly takes on fifty-two friend dates over a year, in her new city of Chicago, to find new besties. All names were changed. I asked.

Underwood No. 5 Typewriter
I cannot imagine writing on this beast from the 1920's (although I could if I wanted to because it still works) but the fact that someone actually did, brings me a whole lot of inspiration.

Running With The Elephants

Last Thursday, Andre and I went on safari. In Rhode Island. On foot.

The mission? To capture the elusive Ringling Brothers elephants on film, in a more natural setting. You know, lumbering down the asphalt streets of Providence, instead of doing degrading tricks in three rings.

Anybody can do that.

One thing straight. Neither of us dig the circus.

Our last visit to greatest show on earth, nearly twenty years ago, left us traumatized and feeling sort of icky from getting our entertainment from animals, who clearly should just be roaming free, on an African plain.

So, we decided to free some.

Okay, not really. But it was almost Andre's birthday. And he LOVES elephants (no judgements), so we opted to just overlook where they were walking to, and what they were going to be doing once they got there. Instead, we chose to revel with them on a fresh air romp through the capital city.

That's how we ended up by the tracks, on industrial Harris Avenue, with a bunch of parents and stroller-bound toddlers, waiting for the pachyderms to deboard their train. I hadn't given much thought to the game plan beyond taking a couple of shots (that's photographic, not rifle), in the railyard, then heading home, out of the drizzle.

Ha-HA.

You wouldn't know this unless you were actually passed, at close range, by a herd of elephants, but apparently their flapping ears have a bit of a Pied Piper effect. There's really no other way to explain how two otherwise rational people, decided it was a good idea to march alongside the ten-foot tall creatures, linked trunks to tails--for over a mile.

The whole scene was just so mesmerizingly bizarre, clearly we didn't have a choice.

We escorted the elephants, along with their contingent of handlers, Providence police on motorcycles, some other random natives smartly wearing work-out clothing, and riders on horseback, from Harris to Kinsley Avenue, then onto Dean Street, where vehicular traffic was allowed to proceed in the opposite direction.

And, then, in an only in Rhode Island moment, Andre's sister drove by, shouting greetings from her Maxima.

The elephants rounded the corner to West Exchange Street, then strolled down the hill to their final destination of the big top inside the Dunkin' Donuts Center, where the whole adventure ended as quickly as it started.

And our proof that it actually really happened? A whole lot of pictures of elephant tail.

Photo by moi. Andre in foreground. RI State Capitol in background. Elephants in between.

Worst Case Scenario

My greatest fear?

For the longest time it was, drum roll please, being stuck in traffic without a bathroom in sight.

A bit unusual? Probably, since I'm not 92 years old or pregnant. Luckily, there is a logical explanation. Once upon a time, my delicate psyche was traumatized by seeing a horrible car accident that required a highway closing and a Med Flight helicopter landing.

My bladder was ill prepared for this delay.

Just relax, right? Like that scenario's ever going to repeat itself. Until it did. Only this time, Andre and I were the disabled vehicle, a mile away from a planned pit stop. High speed blow out. Route 95. Driver's side. In the rain.

We called AAA, then sat and waited. And waited. And waited. Until an hour passed and Andre decided he couldn't wait anymore. So over the guardrail he went, down the hill into nature's toilet. A place so clean and serene, he decided that I should pay it a visit as well.

I. AM. NOT. AN. OUTDOORS. GIRL.

But sadly, as this was the only viable option, I followed my husband, back down the grassy knoll, where he was kind enough to shield my bare ass from passing cars with an umbrella, as I desperately tried not to pee on myself.

Too much.

Crisis averted, right? Oh, not quite yet.

Because just, as we, one black man and one white woman, emerged from the thistles, while adjusting our clothing, the Connecticut State police K-9 unit arrived on the scene, along with some deeply ingrained racial stereotypes. That dog in the back seat? He wasn't barking the loudest.

"What were you doing down there?!" the trooper asked Andre.

"Ah, um."

"What were you doing down there?!!!" he asked again.

"Um--"

Oh, that Andre. I knew he was in protection mode, trying to prevent either of us from being arrested for public urination. But truth was unless I took one for the team, Officer Friendly probably wouldn't have stopped his general line of questioning. In fact, I wasn't even quite sure if he knew I was there--that darn 'black man coming out of the woods tunnel vision' and all.

"I had to pee," I blurted, effectively putting an end to his theory that he had thwarted a rape in progress.

Like I hadn't been humiliated enough today.

AAA finally showed up, and we were back on our way, for what will live in infamy as our fifteen hour epic journey to Maryland. Lessons learned? Oh so many.

Always have a rough idea of your location, you know, in case you need to call for help. Be aware of the directional incline of hills while squatting. And the reality of that worse case scenario? It might just play out a bit differently than what you imagined.

But the truth is, no matter how bad things get, you can and will survive.

And once you do, there's not a whole lot to be afraid of anymore.