A few years ago, I wrote about the Taharka Brothers raising money for an ice cream truck in Baltimore, Maryland. Later, NPR.org voted Taharka Brothers as one of Maryland’s best Ice Cream shops to visit. Since then they’ve received numerous local awards. A few years ago, I wrote about the Taharka Brothers raising money for an ice cream truck in Baltimore, Maryland. I continue to follow them online to stay up-to-date with their creative events. Their initial press release and story stood apart from everyone because of the name of their ice cream flavors. The names are inspired by Cornel West, Langston Hughes and August Wilson. And, my design eye love their brand image: an ice cream sundae on top of a fist pump as the arm uses political books as a foundation.
August is our birthday month. It started off great. Jacinto remembered to wake up early the first Sunday of the month for us to attend church services, so we can stand together when the announcer ask for everyone born in August to stand up.
We dined at our favorite restaurant, The Cecil in Harlem. Danced to Lauren Hill and Lenny Kravtiz at AfroPunk Festival in the VIP section. Our birthdays are about two weeks apart, and when my birthday week occurred, it wasn’t a great start.
Make a pot of tea or coffee, light a candle, grab a comfortable seat, and plate a few cacao benne (pronounced benny) cookies. How was your year? Since the time I’ve learned 14 isn’t my favorite number, I’ve cautiously waited for the year of 2014. It’s a painfully honest number. And, when the clock turned 2014 in the midnight hour on January first, I said a silent prayer. God help us. And, as I’ve imaged, this year is a roller coaster of emotions. Russia. Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Ebola in West Africa. Mike Brown and other victims of the police. Family members passing. By the time summer arrived, my stomach was jumping to the tune of “War” sung by The Temptations. Since the beginning of human relationships, I’m sure there’s a country or region involved in war somewhere around the globe. Perhaps, due to my sensitivity to 14, this year’s wars and conflicts deeply troubled me. It’s 2014 communicating, “War… What is it good for?… absolutely nothing…”
This summer was beautiful. We went to plays in parks, on broadway, off-broadway and in our community. It wasn’t too hot, and the air conditioner took care of uncomfortable temperatures that didn’t soar high for too long. We hung out with friends, fine-dined and wined our way around New York City.
There are few memories of my first trip to Birmingham, Alabama: Joking uncles, watching Spike Lee movies until sunrise with our cousins and eating sugary cantaloupe. The morning we left Birmingham, it was sweltering hot. My uncle joked about the sweat on my nose being a sign of evil. Being too young and believing every comment, I wiped the sweat off. As the final suitcase was packed into the back of Dad’s truck, our Great Aunt handed us a large container of sliced cantaloupe to enjoy on the long drive back to Virginia. My sister and I were overjoyed about eating more cantaloupe. A few hours later, Mom unsealed the container of cantaloupe slices. The first bite was a salty surprise. We’ve never had cantaloupe with salt, and we didn’t like it. Well, Mom and Dad thought the better of the situation, because it was more for them. My sister and I watched our parents gorge on our sweet cantaloupe ruined with salt.