A Note about Intention: Why is April suddenly sharing more personal information? Because I’m feeling a profound calling to show up more fully and offer more of the knowledge and insight I have to people who are seeking it. I’m not looking to change anyone’s mind. But I do feel very excited about supporting others who are curious and interested.

I’m leaning toward eventually producing materials that will give a more comprehensive background on the principles and strategies I’m casually incorporating into my writing and storytelling of late.

In the meantime, right now is a time for me, as a Jewish woman of color to practice getting more comfortable telling a fuller version of my story (not just the one I think people are ready to hear) and putting my ideas out into the world as I prepare to roll out exciting creative professional projects in the near future. Ones that will hopefully be meaningful contributions to our movements and the lives of kindred spirits and allies.

I know—my writing could use some polish. I'm working on it *and* I’m practicing not letting perfectionism or worries about what some people may think keep me from stepping out, and taking one step at a time. And, as always, I’m deeply committed to getting better as I go.

So onto the story…

Little Quincy Jones Baskin,** aka Quincy or "Prince Quince," and I have had our fair share of beef over the years. It’s the most complicated relationship I’ve had with a canine, haha.

He's a rescue whose behavior from jump indicated he survived trauma. I know, I should practice compassion, but still... Whenever I visit, he's nice the first night and then he gets snippy and territorial for the rest of my visit. To be fair, he vacillates. I see he is trying. But a rescued bichoodle's cuteness can only go so far when they’re a meanie! >:-(  Lol. And almost all of our dogs have been rescues, some with more trauma than Quincy, but he’s been the most difficult for me.

But, I gotta hand it to the fella, he actually came through when I recently needed him most. I love that about dogs. They're able to perceive when you’re especially in need of love, often in moments when you can’t see that yourself. Can you relate?

BACKGROUND

[I’m still considering the most useful way to share my insights from my ER visit last month. It’s a cool metaphor for thinking about dynamics with anti-racism work. Suffice it to say, it was rough, but ultimately successful.]

Here’s a pic of my puffy, formerly tear-drenched face, post-procedure. I’m thankful I’ve learned excellent mental wellness skills, like effective emotional processing and allowing myself to cry or emote for the purposes of healing and moving on.

Not pictured: 20 minutes after I got home around 2am, I passed out twice, I suspect from delayed anxiety from my body and mind still processing what exceeded my being’s capacity to fully process in the moment. Oy. 

Luckily (relatively speaking…) I had an aura. An aura is a set warning signs people with seizure or fainting disorders get before a seizure or fainting spell is about to happen. 

It was scary (they always are since they bring foreboding news), but it also gave my mother and me about two minutes to prepare. We flew into action. She instructed me to stay in the rolling office chair I was already in and gently roll to an ottoman where I could elevate my legs and try to relax as I braced myself for impending complete loss of bodily control. Meanwhile, she whipped together (in zero time) as much salt as I could consume in 30 seconds: a glass of very salty water and crackers before I lost consciousness. Salt because after I had a seizure on an airplane in 2012, the only abnormality the ER could find was that my sodium levels were very low. I’m one of the rare individuals who actually tends to need more salt. ;) 

These were thankfully just fainting spells. (Or maybe they were seizures without convulsions, I don’t know.)

THE SCENE

All of this to say, at 7am the next morning, I was still pretty depleted and sad. I mustered some hopeful energy and gingerly tried to stand. While I could now put weight on my right leg again (Yeah! Progress!), when I tried to walk, my body’s weary pain receptors exclaimed, “NOPE. NOT YET BOO!” 

[sigh…] Alrightie… Back to the floor I went.

I crawled out of my room on all fours like a crab and paused to rest. To my right, Quincy was pontificating in his “place” / dog bed at the edge of the family room. He normally barks or pays me no mind, but that morning he left his throne and walked over to me, stopped about a foot away, stared at my bandaged leg, then at me, and back to my bandaged leg. “Yeah, I’m sad Quincy, but I’m getting better. Wish me luck!” 

Then, to my great shock, Quincy gingerly inched his way right up so that his nose touched the 4-inch wide, 2-inch thick wad of gauze tegaderm’ed to the back of my leg, sniffed it and looked at me with compassionate doggy eyes a bit like Norma’s eyes from “Orange is the New Black.” 

Compassion? For me? From Prince Quince?! I was stunned and touched.

But that wasn’t even the best part. I then needed to go down the stairs. On all fours: feet, tuschie, hands. Feet, tuschie, hands. I’d been fine doing it up until that point. And it wasn’t the end of the world. But I’d be lying if I said after the ordeal the night before, it did feel a little demoralizing to still have to crawl down the stairs. After 4 steps down, I sighed and turned around. 

And there was Quincy! [Goodness, I’m starting to cry again.] Lovingly right there, seemingly conveying, “I love you and I’m here. I’m sorry this is so painful, Apo. I see your fragility and I’m not leaving you. Keep going. I’m right here, compassionately watching your every move.”* 

I was speechless. It was exactly what I needed. I didn’t even notice how alone I felt until he was right there to shatter the isolation. I hadn’t realized how much I longed for that simple, uncomplicated compassion. And what a miracle in the context of our relationship to date that it was coming from Quincy, of all sentient beings(?!). 

I gotta hand it to you Quincy, you saved the day. Replaying that moment over and over again flooded my body with comforting and loving feelings for days as my wound healed ever so slowly.

So, Q, never mind that when I’m visiting our parents, you bark at me every single time I go to the bathroom after 10pm or that you’ve been rather trifling and brutish at times. We’re good now, little fella. You tapped into that Scorpio loyalty of mine and now I’ll always have your furry, hypoallergenic back, lil’ fuzzball. Cheers to you, Quincy Jones Baskin. 

*Pardon my obvious projection. I do know he’s a dog, but work with me here, haha! For the record, I recognize he also, in dogs terms, could’ve just been thinking, “Shit, the step-human’s in pain. I hope she’s gonna make it down okay…” But I like my version better. Look at that face!!

**Our family has long been avid Quincy Jones fans and dedicated anti-racist activists. We particularly loved the Back on the Block album and the title track that fused both Q’s talents with a variety of socially-conscious messages, including racial justice.

“Cause I remember readin’ of my people bleedin’. Put through slavery and killed for bravery. We should’ve got our freedom much sooner. You never seen a black man on the Honeymooners. […] The powerful spirits of our ancestors. For those who don’t know how God blessed us. Because man messed up, the media dressed up lies perpetrated as truths and it left us confused. Why, I’ve seen it all before, from Babylon to the Third World War.”

If you have time, I highly recommend to listen to the full song below. It may be dated, but it’s a classic as far as I’m concerned, filled with black culture and narrative. A beautiful encapsulation of parts of the Black American experience.

This song, along with Janet Jackson’s Rhythm Nation album (which I was obsessed with!) helped me, even as a first and second grader, begin to understand systemic oppression and intergenerational poverty and trauma, and how it was hurting and killing my people.

Several songs on this album visercerally encapsulates many key beautiful memories from our family’s earlier years, before things got even harder.

So, thank you too, to the original, the one and only Quincy Jones whose art has elevated and punctuated my life. Kol ha’kavod. There really aren’t words that adequately convey my profound appreciation…. And then you went and made a brilliant biracial Jewish daughter the world could love. What has Quincy Jones not given us?!