To her who has no means nor power, a burnt turnip is a roasted fowl.

I can't get enough of this young lady's beauty. She's one of Teeny Harris' friends who posed for him and his new camera, documenting any normalcy their gang could muster throughout the 30s and 40s Pittsburgh. He went on to capture some of the most famous persons of color of the day, and his achieve is housed at The Carnegie. If one knows one's history, this Story from The Gulistan of Sa'di comes to my mind, because we'll so easily complain about the smallest thing, and yet look at all the joy in this young woman's face; you can't imagine the daily horrors she must navigate, and yet here she is, shining for us still. << I never lamented about the vicissitudes of time or complained of the turns of fortune except on the occasion when I was barefooted and unable to procure slippers. When I entered the great mosque of Kufah with bare feet and a sore heart, I beheld a man without feet. I offered thanks to the bounty of God, consoled myself for my want of shoes and recited: 'A roast fowl is to the sight of a satiated person less valuable than a blade of fresh grass on the table; and to her who has no means nor power, a burnt turnip is a roasted fowl.' >> Let's be happy for little things today, shall we? If we stub a toe, let's be thanksful for the toe and even for the piece of furniture we own that we stubbed it on and even for the room we have to put the piece of furniture in and even the roof that covers the piece of furniture and on and on and on ... people say it's hard to meditate, difficult to pray, and all it is is noticing everything about us and reciting it out loud ... kinda makes ya feel silly to complain about anything at all after a while, hmm? Golly I loves ya. Happy FIR-HI-dee WHEE ! ! xoxo kisses and hugs to you from me at werk. WERK werk werk werk werk