You never know where inspiration comes from—I realized I wanted to be a journalist when I saw NBC New York’s Sue Simmons interviewing New Edition. My sister-in-law Angelou was inspired to become an environmentalist while summering on her family’s 58-acre farm, not far from the Canadian border. My little girl, Mari, really digs marching bands, and was inspired to ask for trumpet lessons for her birthday so she can be in one.

Inspiration, you see, breathes life into dreams, and dreams breathe life into us. And sometimes, life is transformed and transforming because of it.

It was an episode of Mister Rodger’s Neighborhood, featuring the classical cellist Yo-Yo Ma that inspired and transformed my latest obsession, Esperanza Spalding. The critically acclaimed jazz bassist, who is transforming one of America’s greatest art forms, taught herself how to play the violin at the tender age of five because of that episode. And now, at just age 23, Spalding is a bright and shining star in the jazz pantheon, bringing her eclectic, graceful, funk-filled stylings and that angelic voice to stages all across the world—and inspiring my girls to follow their passions.

I stumbled across her music on iTunes (where I tend to look for bright new artists and listen-worthy music because Heaven knows I can’t count on black radio to help a sistah out), and I simply cannot stop playing her latest offering, Esperanza. The girls and I absolutely adore her young, hip, Afro-Brazilian update on the Milton Nascimento classic Ponta de Areia and the jazz standard, “Body and Soul,” and her “I Know You Know,” and “Precious” make us stop what we’re doing and dance. We just dance and dance. And marvel at how someone so young could do something so incredibly original and fresh and incredibly cool—play the bass and sing and compose and lead her own band and teach at Berklee.

Esperanza, in essence, inspires.

On her website, EsperanzaSpalding.com, the artist acknowledges her gift, and gives humble thanks:

“I think there are some outside forces that have blessed me with creative talents, and I don’t want to disrespect whatever plan the cosmos or the heavens or God or whoever might have fore me, she explains. But based on what I know about myself right now, what I really want to do is reach people. I want to make great music, but I also want to use that talent to life people up, and maybe show them some degree of hope where there might not be any in their lives. My name means ‘hope’ in Spanish, and it’s a name I want to live up to.”

She most certainly does. Take a listen, and hear it for yourself. I’ve included two videos here—one of her performing Stevie Wonder’s “Overjoyed” in the East Room of the White House at Michelle Obama’s jazz concert, the other of her performing our favorite, Ponta de Areia, because, doggonit, you just need to hear it.

If you have the time, check out her website; if you have the $10, cop the album—it’s worth every penny, and I promise you, you’ll be inspired to let the babies listen in.

Enjoy!

Photo credit for Esperanza Spalding portrait: Johann Sauty
Photo credit for Mari, a.k.a. Lil’ Louis, on the horn: Proud mama, Denene Millner

I’ve met author asha bandele only once in person, yet we’ve gotten on the phone a million times and talked for hours about everything—our daughters, collard greens cook-offs, bullies, Spades—as if we’d known each other a lifetime. She’s easy like that—infectious. I’ve loved her forever—first as an author, freelance writer and poet who penned the astoundingly haunting, The Prisoner’s Wife, and the richly moving novel, Daughter, and later as a terrific friend. Every conversation with asha is deep, funny, spiritual, crazy, a little nutty, a lot smart, and I always hang up the phone so very glad to be counted as her sister friend. I’ve gotten to know her better through her memoirs, and of late, I’ve been thoroughly engrossed by her lasted work, Something Like Beautiful: A Single Mother’s Story. A follow-up to The Prisoner’s Wife, asha’s memoir about falling in love with and marrying a prisoner she met while working in the system, Something Like Beautiful is a fitting, beautiful testament to the life she’s built and the struggles she’s endured as she raises her daughter Nisa, alone. I asked her if I could share an excerpt of Something Like Beautiful here at MyBrownBaby, and she graciously obliged. Here, asha’s lovely words (yes, this is a long post, but every word is worth it, I promise you):

This is the hour I live for. This is the hour I live. I am here in the hushed dark and I am watching my daughter sleep. I am watching her deep, full breathing, her arms outstretched, her face wearing the look of peace and content. And her face, the one I can stare at and lose myself in. I lose myself in the smooth and round and beauty of her face, buried and breathing now into my breast.

The day has been long, it has felt impossible, it’s felt immeasurable, but it was not and we are here, survivors on an aching planet, but both us and the planet. But both of us are still pulsing with life. And in this hour and in this moment with work and school and plans and lists, and everything, everything that was to be done actually done, we are here, and we are together and we are at peace.

And peace is what I always feel when I am with her, with Nisa, the clown, the freely affectionate, the lover of strawberries, sushi, spaghetti and ginger ale (though not in that order).

Nisa whose sense of joy and mischief could be marketed.

Nisa who is silly and bossy and demanding, although she does work very, very hard at sharing. She really, really tries.

Nisa, my little Aries, my fire sign who spits fire, born as she was in the Year of the Dragon… Nisa, my self-defined abstract artist and singer in the tradition of Beyonce, Nina Simone, Hannah Montana and the Cheetah Girls depending on the day, depending on her mood.

Nisa who loves cotton candy, cucumbers, Coney Island and being from Brooklyn.

Nisa who wants a dog and who does not understand “lease provisions.” Her, that girl.

She is never my problem, never the struggle, never the one who disturbs my peace. I tell people that when they offer assistance, offer to watch her for an hour or two. She is not my problem. She is my joy.

People say, and I believe them, How can I help? I say nothing. It’s not that there isn’t any help I can use. But who would I or who should I turn to when my stress is born of a sudden 40% increase in the cost of my rent and no concurrent increase in my income level?

Who can hold me down if the bottom line is this: I need to work outside the home just a little bit less so that I can make dinner for my daughter just a little bit more?

Who am I supposed to call about… a healthcare system that was just affordable and accessible? If someone wants to make me an offer, then be warned: these are the things I could really use help with… perhaps a public education system that doesn’t take a one size fits all approach to teaching children; or operate on a fear-based discipline theory even when who they’re scaring are people who are five and six years old, seven and eight and nine years old.

I would like a nation of school houses that actually look like school houses and not detention centers where even now, today, too many first graders are walking into their schools and their initial encounter is with cops and sometimes with metal detectors and so in case those children didn’t know it before, they know by the time they’ve walked through years of detectors, been watched by years of police officers, seen years of bars on windows, that whatever anyone told them, dreamed for them, they know their real destiny in this world is to one day be a prisoner. I could use that change.

I could use a country where no child really ever did get left behind. I could use an end to the war in Iraq, the conscription of children into armies, the genocide in Darfur and the persecution of women in Afghanistan. I could use police who cared about my well-being and the well-being of my children and the well being of children of mothers I know and I don’t know… I could use a grocery store in my neighborhood that sold organic foods. I could certainly have used a different response to Hurricane Katrina.

I could use a media that reflected in relatively real time the world it claims to cover. I could use a little more courtesy when I’m out in public. I could use far less concrete. I could use my daughter’s father home from prison. I could use many fathers and mothers home from prison.

I could use an end to child abuse and rape and sexual harassment and male domination and white supremacy and all the other isms that keep us hobbled and hurting.

They disturb my peace, those things do, but not her. Never my Nisa.

Even on the days when I have sat there just stunned watching her, Nisa, launch into a third straight hour of talking, of jabbering, on and on about absolutely nothing, but the sound of her own voice delights her even if it does make my eyes water up and cross. Even on those days, those endlessly noisy exasperating days, she does not disturb my peace.

If I have any peace at all it is because of those days and these nights. And this is what I’m thinking as I stroke her hair lightly and watch her as she sleeps and then without warning her small body jumps. She jerks in her sleep and I am suddenly afraid, my fears are so constant, so present, even in this hour when I think I’ve banished all the negatives away.

Put to the test, I go right there: Something terrible must be happening inside of Nisa’s head and I am waking her gently but urgently from the nightmare that I’m certain has gripped her sleep because too often they have gripped my sleep and before I can remind myself she is not me, my experiences have not been Nisa’s experiences and they will not be, she may never have nightmares; before I can tell myself any of that I am calling her name, I am whispering it into her, Nisa, Nisa baby, wake up, wake up.

I am asking her this as her eyes open slightly, then shut again tightly. Nisa baby, what are you dreaming, what are you seeing when you close your eyes? Are there monsters, is there something wrong, you jumped in your sleep. And she pauses before she answers, this child who is free and I swear I do not want to put my stuff on her, my hurt, and I curse myself for having just done it again and I make another silent promise that I will stop. I will stop right now. And as I am making this promise with my arms around my child, Nisa says to me quietly but deliberately and just like this:

I’m dreaming of rainbows Mommy. Go back to sleep.

Excerpted from asha bandele’s Something Like Beautiful: A Single Mother’s Story. Please consider supporting asha’s work; click HERE to read reviews of her books and to purchase her work.

You all know how passionate I am about celebrating black love–I’ve written books and magazine articles about it, talked about it on television and radio, and, of late, dedicated many a blog post encouraging each of us to embrace, nurture, and protect African American couples working hard to make their unions work–despite the statistics, no matter the odds.

It’s no wonder, then, that I stan HARD for BlackandMarriedWithKids.com, the incredible, award-winning site that Essence.com lauded for “spreading the message” that “black love is alive and well.. one blog post at a time.” BMWK is the love child of Lamar and Ronnie Tyler, a happily married D.C-area couple with four kids who use their site to espouse their opinions on relationships, parenting, politics, current events and everything in between. Their story line-up is eclectic and ever-changing: You might find a post about how to get over an argument with your significant other, or a piece that asks you to consider what kind of marriage role model you are to your children, and even music and popular viral videos that’ll make you giggle.

More recently, BMWK partnered with two other sites–Celebrity Black Families and Cocoa Familia–to add celebrity content (all positive) and product reviews to their mix. And, as if they’re not busy enough, the two are producing their first movie (!), a documentary aptly titled, Happily Ever After: Stories of Black Marriages and Why They Work. Check out the trailer:

A round of applause for Lamar and Ronnie; I absolutely adore their site, and I know you will too. Stop by BlackandMarriedWithKids.com and say “Hello.” You’ll be glad you did!