Sugar Rush: Love's Kitchen

Course 1
Quanda’s Noodles
(Stanton Dwellings in Southeast Washington, D.C.)
By Yolonda D. Coleman

Ingredients:
2 cups of boiling water
1 packet of Top Ramen Noodles (chicken flavor)
1 curious little girl

The details of my childhood culinary memories are pretty accurate. It was an early afternoon in D.C. when boredom hit inside of 3179 Stanton Road. Grandma was watching an afternoon list of ABC soaps, and I needed to run my mouth to any listening ear.
I didn’t have a crew, per se, I could, however, be seen with Renee and Quanda and ‘nem---twirling a baton or playing tag in the courtyard of Stanton Dwellings project housing units.

It wasn’t uncommon for any of us to knock on a door and find someone cooking in the kitchen. Quanda’s house was about three hop scotch grids away from where I lived. Although the storm door was open, and I could see clearly into Quanda’s kitchen, I still tapped the screen door to alert her family of my presence.

“What cha’ll cookin?” I asked as an opener. I would later learn this would be my primary question when entering anyone’s home.

“Oodles of Noodles,” Quanda replied.

Top Ramen noodles was a favorite among Stanton Dwellings youth. It’s no spaghetti, but it sure put out hunger in a hurry between episodes of “He-Man” and “She-Ra” right after school let out. All we needed was three minutes, but we completely ignored instructions as outlined on the plastic wrapper that held the perfectly packed “dry block” noodles in it:


Boil 2 cups of water, add noodles, breaking up if desired. Remove from heat. Stir in seasoning.

Our salt intake for the day could be fulfilled in one packet of Top Ramen. The 760 mg meal had a nutrition tip: To lower sodium, use less seasoning. Ha! That would defeat the purpose.

As Quanda prepared her bowl of chicken flavored Top Ramen, I noticed that she drained the water. This was exciting to me and began my query in Quanda’s kitchen.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Draining the water,” she responded.

“I don’t get it. It’s going to be dry.”

Rather than respond, Quanda simply commenced to spread the seasoning in the pot over the wet, but no longer swimming noodles. Since she opted out of the instructions to break the noodles, Quanda took a fork out of the drawer and began to stir the seasoning over the noodles and then poured them into a bowl. She was kind enough to let me taste. I was in heaven.

Top Ramen was no longer a soupy treat for me. It was now gourmet pasta. Gone were the days Mom would cook Top Ramen and place the soggy noodles in a thermos for me to eat at lunch time. I hated that the noodles puffed up and the soup was cold. Even the bits of “fake-me-out” chives at the bottom of my Muppets thermos made me angry. Gone were the days of me breaking blocks of noodles when I only had to let them part naturally as the scolding water did the work for me. Gone were the days of my broth being watered down because measurements of water were over looked.

My two cups of water were merely suggestions. I just needed to get my pasta cooked until it was translucent rather than opaque, turn the water off, drain the water, add seasoning, mix, and eat.
The youngest in a household of six ( I made the seventh person) and a dog, I had some cooking skills to show my family the next time I stepped up to the stove.

“What are you doing?” Uncle Pebbles asked.

“Making Oodles of Noodles,” I said.

“Why are you draining the water,” he asked.

Like Quanda, I did a little showing instead of telling.

To this day, I’m not sure if my uncle enjoyed my treat. It didn’t matter, I felt accomplished in the kitchen. I let him taste, took my bowl near the black and white 13 inch T.V. that sat on the kitchen table, and watched She-Ra. She was the Princess of Power and I was the Culinary Princess for the hour. It was 3:30 PM, and I enjoyed every bit of my pasta until there was only a tiny noodle left at the bottom of my bowl. Slurp!

Author and Radio Host Uncover the Face of the Storm

By Yolonda D. Coleman
Photo Courtesy of Soaring High Productions


(Left) Sighlent Storm radio host Mandrell Birks gives a sermon on "Women Out of Control" in "A Change is Gonna Come," a play by Vickie Evans.


There is a storm brewing in places beyond coastal lands. The storm floods the homes of many, but the call for help is sometimes in a silent whisper.

The storm is domestic violence, but critics like Mandrell Birks, the host of a domestic violence radio show, “The Sighlent Storm,” on www.WHUR-WORLD.com, and author Vickie Evans are exposing the scars the storm leaves behind.

According to the District of Columbia Court reports, there were 6,743 domestic violence cases reported in D.C. in 2007.


“The only time we highlight domestic violence is when someone dies,” Birks said.

Birks performed in the national debut of Vickie Evans’s play “A Change is Gonna Come” the weekend of June 13, 2008. A well dressed Birks graced the stage of the Lincoln Theatre with charisma and a smile that could convince anyone he was an upstanding citizen. He was, however, Pastor Sills, one who was supposed to lead people to a road of healing and recovery, but “A Change is Gonna Come” revealed his abuse toward his first lady portrayed by Tammy Turner.


To further uncover the face of domestic violence, Evans invited Mildred Mohammad, the ex-wife of John Allen Mohammad, the D.C. area sniper of 2002, to speak to audience members attending “A Change is Gonna Come” about the motive behind her ex-husband’s killing spree.


“He wanted to kill me, but wanted to make it look like a random shooting,” Mildred Mohammad said.


Evans promoted “A Change is Gonna Come” through her company Soaring High Productions. The performance was nearly sold out, however, Evans was not so concerned about numbers as she was about making a difference.


“The Lincoln Theatre was almost filled to capacity - just a few seats shy of 1,200. But it really wasn't about the seats; it was about the message - eliminating domestic violence,” Evans recounted in a testimony she shared with readers on her site http://www.forgiven2.com/.


“A Change is Gonna Come” not only addressed the deadly consequences of a victim’s silence, but also how generations of abuse can be passed down from parents. Moreover, Birks, who also worked with the Family Crisis Center of Prince George’s County, said that children who witness abuse in their homes ultimately come to believe that inflicting pain on someone is the way to show love.


On the converse side of things, “A Change is Gonna Come” depicted what a healthy relationship can look like with characters like Deacon and Sister Kane.


“I played the wife of a deacon who is very happy in her marriage. She and her husband treated each other with respect. We wanted to show solid relationships in the play,” Ebonee Reed, a truancy officer in Northern Virginia said.


Reed’s character, Sister Kane, noticed signs that First Lady Sills was being abused by Pastor Sills, but she did not blatantly say so in the play. Off stage, Reed believes bystanders of domestic violence don’t say anything because they are afraid to get involved.


“People are afraid of the backlash from the abuser on the abused if they get involved,” Reed said. She recalled a time when a man stepped in to defend a woman who was being verbally abused and the woman turned to him and said, “This is none of your business.”


To provide a source of support for victims, Prince Georges County implemented Project Safe Sunday in 2002. This initiative is for ministers to bring awareness to their congregation about domestic violence. Birks believes support has go beyond, “pray about it,” or as a mere discussion in a sermon.


“Church leaders can be trained by qualified counselors, hold meetings in secret locations, and use confidential email blasts to get people signed up,” Birks said.
Evans supports Birks in that she believes ignoring domestic violence, in the church or otherwise, is not an option.


“I often say that if we--the church--don't deal with this problem internally, it will become a public powder keg that will blow up in our faces,” Evans said.

In an effort to encourage sponsors to finance the production of “A Change is Gonna Come,” throughout the country, Soaring High Productions is extending an invitation to any investors, corporate, companies, or non-profit organizations to attend a 3:00 PM performance on Saturday, July 12, 2008 at Northwestern High School in Hyattsville, MD.


“This show is for potential sponsors only and is not open to the public. Our intent is to solicit investments to further our mission to stop domestic violence by taking this production on the road. We are currently looking at venues in Atlanta, Charlotte, and Baltimore, and of course - if Washington, DC would have us - we would love to do it again in Washington, D.C.,” Evans said.


If you or someone you know is in an abusive relationship, help, as Birks said, “ is only a click away.” Log on to http://www.sighlentstorm.com/ for a list of international resources in different languages. Archived segments of Birks show can also be played on the site. For more information on how your organization can support performances of “A Change is Gonna Come, “ contact Vickie Evans at art_of_forgiving@yahoo.com or visit http://www.forgiven2.com/.

NEXT FROM COFFEEDREAMZ INK!

Sweet Roads and Honey (c) by Yolonda D. Coleman

"Every word of this song is going to be about you..." Raheem DeVaughn sang on my Ipod as I stepped onto the Stair Master. My thunder thighs had long since danced to the score of the lightning as I struck out one too many times prompting me to claim a life of celibacy. Then...he came along and interrupted my womanly strong hold to stand clear of relationships.

He came along singing melodies on stilettos having me high on my heels and tip toeing around love's room. Exercise was my only escape from the Voodoo he puts on me with his "How was your Days" and "Sleep wells" at night when I wanted to just scream my loneliness away. All the while, I'm wrapped in his long distance arms with the force of 10,000 tight ropes above center ring. Was I being clowned or crowned by his endearing words that kissed my ears like lips to a glass of his favorite drink...Water, I think, keeps his soup coolers moist, and I enjoy every vibration that comes from them from his simple, "Hey, lady," and "It's okay, Baby" words of comfort...and I'm thankful that in this world that's so full of sorrow, he takes time in his present and his tomorrow to simply let me know he cares and makes me climb invisible walls without even existing in the same city or state.

Of mind, body, and spirit, each step I take with the Master will be in the direction of perfection so I can run right into his heart.

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Raheem's Song

Chasing Rainbows

My sojourn home includes a road that is connected to a Washington, D.C. and and two different counties in Maryland. The nation's capital, with all its magnificent intentions, was dark and gloomy as the rain poured. I all but cried when I saw the adult faces of despair staring at me, but found joy in looking at a child skip in between the rain drops. Without a care in the world, the little ones understood that true happiness was not in a material possession, but just existing in what was already available to them.

In between the two counties, I sat in traffic blasting my music to distract me from the bumber to bumber routine I've become accustomed to weekly. No soon as I entered my city, the rain stopped. To my left, justs before reaching the Wa Wa, were two bands of colors arching over the sky.

"No way! Could it be?" I asked myself.

Adjusting my contacts, I saw two rainbows.

At the traffic light, I quickly grabbed my camera. Click! Click! Click! I got them, but I wasn't satisfied. I made a left turn to follow them and found myself in a neighborhood I had passed for the past year in a half. At the next traffic light, I snapped again. This time, I was caught in action. The passengers in the car next to me saw what I was capturing and decided to take a picture of the rainbows too.

I pulled over so as not to stop traffic and snapped away. After about 6 shots, I just stared and stared and stared...

There was a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Instead of a leprecan waiting for me, I was the one holding the pot...and tasting the rainbow of my dreams.