Natural Hair Surprise



“Uh oh” is sometimes the first sound I make after I shampoo my hair and massage a cabinet full of products through it.   Why a cabinet full?  Well, some- times after I step out of the shower and lightly pat my hair dry, I can tell it’s going to be an interesting hair day.   Most days, I just shampoo and condition it with Miss Jessie’s shampoo and conditioner and massage Miss Jessie’s Pillow Soft Curls through it.  Then there are other days, when my head resembles a field of wild flowers that a bunch of deer trampled through.  Really. Sometimes I don’t even try to style it, but if I want a certain look, I gel the edges and mousse it up until it looks like I may have had some type of style in mind.

I have been natural for about 8 years now. Natural hair grows faster than weeping willow trees. It used to take me about 3 hours to twist it, so October 2012, Kondor (my hair designer) cut it for me.  Yes, when I want a hair design…I go to Kondor, other than that, I do it myself. He colors it and keeps it healthy.  He is absolutely amazing, and if you are into weaves and wigs and all those other hair accessories, he is the man!  I, personally, can’t get into all that. I can’t wear someone else’s hair on my head. It drives me insane.  Yes, I tried it before.  When I was transitioning from relaxed to natural hair, I got a sewn in weave.  Oh my goodness, I don’t know how women do it!  I was sweating and stressing all night long.  I told my husband, “This hair must have belonged to some voodoo princess! It is tripping me out!”  He laughed, but I was serious. I had my daughter cut it out the next day. It was awful.  The stylist who put it in did a terrible job.  She really should have advertised that she did sewn in knots instead of sewn in weaves.  After that ordeal,  I just had all of my relaxed hair cut off.  I had an inch of hair left on my head, and man was I shocked when I looked in the mirror at the hair salon. There was a boy looking back at me!  Oh, and my head was flat in the back!  Who knew?

I started wearing larger earrings and make-up.  I wore coils until it got long enough for twists, and then I discovered color!  Kondor convinced me to add a few highlights after I told him that I was “conservative.”  I am really not conservative at all, but I figured if I told him that, he wouldn’t get too crazy with it. Mind you, I am a dancer and a poet, so he probably figured I wasn’t too conservative.  When he finished, he said, “Your skin is popping!”  I didn’t know what he meant.  I thought I had broke out in some pimples or something.  He quickly explained when he saw my expression.  Now, I am a  color junkie who looks forward to her skin “popping.” Kondor is great.  I love his energy!  Oh, and I just remembered, he did make a wig for me a few months ago, so I do have a hair accessory.  It is quite an attention “getter” too.  To wear that skittles colored wig, you better be famous or walk like you’re famous, so when I wear it, I just strut.




My friend, Mel Kel

She is always sharp!  I think she sleeps in fly outfits.


My younger sister.  She inspired me to go natural.


Tanya, Ms. Inspiration!

I have since convinced quite a few of my friends to go natural, and they are absolutely gorgeous!  I am not just saying that because they are my friends.  They have discovered that they are beautiful with locks, twists, afros etc…

Please check out my supportive friend’s blog: She discusses her natural hair journey, too.

Always there for me…Crystal



Super Sweet Blogger Award


Super Sweet Blogging Award

I am so so grateful to Debb Stanton, who nominated me for the Super Sweet Blogger Award.  When you get a moment, stop by her blog Sunshine Factor. She is both encouraging and inspirational. She is also a real sweetheart!  Thank you so much!

Here are the rules:

  • Thank the Super Sweet Blogger that nominated you.
  • Answer the five super sweet questions.
  • Include the Super Sweet blogging award image in your blog post.
  • Nominate a Baker’s Dozen (13) bloggers for this award.
  • Notify your nominees on their blog.

The 5 Super Sweet Questions:

  1. Cookies or Cake? Cookies, for sure!  They are easier to carry and easier to hide ; )
  2. Chocolate or Vanilla? Vanilla.
  3. Favorite Sweet Treat?  Oreo Cookies
  4. When do you crave sweet things the most? late evening
  5. Sweet Nick Name?  from my son: Mommy of Mommies, From My daughter:  Slim Dinky, From my husband: Sweetie Pie

Here are my nominees:











11.Trusting Or Tripping



Writing on the Deck


Writing on the Deck at 55 Mountain Fern Drive

 By Shawn R. Jones


The small orange sliding board

has been sitting there

fifteen years.

I still see my daughter

walk up its blue ladder

in her purple coat and

pink, and lavender hat.

She is about four.


I look over at the

rusted snowmobile.

My son lifts its gray cover

and reaches his small hand inside.

A swarm of wasps whiz

from under its shiny red hood.

My son yells and joins them in flight.

Black framed glasses fly.

His sister cries for him.


I stare at the four-wheeler,

wrapped in worn tarp.

Debris from each season

lines its blue wrinkles.

My son walks up the red stoned driveway,

helmet in hand and head down.

He ran the quad into a tree,

showing off for a couple boys his age.

He is ashamed.


My eyes avert to the rock pit.

Yellow and blue flames

move like Hula dancers at dusk

as marshmallows crust over

bent twigs, like singed

pussy willows.

Charred goo sticks to our lips.

Brown faces glow with delight.

Snakes slither

from the pit of warm rocks.


But we do not worry.

We are not afraid.

The night is too perfect.


I stop writing and

walk back in the house.

It is quiet.

Our children are grown.

My husband and I

come up alone now.


We browse antique shops and

examine zithers, Roseville pottery,

vintage watches, and signed photos

of living and deceased stars.

We dine at Piggy’s

and enjoy foods

our grown children tell us

we should not eat.


We walk by the lake

and take pictures.

Butterflies are shy and

fireflies pose in midair

as black bears

fumble through trashcans

on the side of a wooded road.


In winter, we play cards by the fire

and swap secrets like candy

as snow piles up outside for hours.


But we do not worry.

We do not regret.

The night is still perfect.

My Readers, Thank You!


PIGF cover

To everyone who purchased my devotional, Pictures in Glass Frames, at one of my book signings, I would like to say thank you so much! As you know, the proceeds go to Miracles Global, Inc. Last week, two students at Leap Academy in Camden received the Miracles Global Merit Scholarship. The proceeds from books purchased from my website are also going to Miracles Global, Inc. Thank you for blessing others as God blesses you ♥

Pictures in Glass Frames is also available at  and It is also available on the Nook, kindle, and itunes.

An except from Pictures in Glass Frames:  “I looked over at a group of boys selling drugs on the corner, and at that moment, I understood the
tremendous struggle within every drug addict, alcoholic, and crazy person I had ever seen in my life. I even thought of pulling my car over to the curb where the boys stood and buying something—anything—to make me feel better.”

The Opossum and the Poodle



The Opossum and the Poodle

By Shawn R. Jones

      I had on knee-high rain boots.  That would not have been so strange had it been raining, but there was no rain in sight and the night was humid and full of mosquitos. I asked my son to get my black leather gloves and red sweat jacket with the hood.  I put on a small baseball cap and then pulled the hoodie over it.  Maybe I should get those goggles from the basement, I thought, just in case it comes for my eyes. Standing at my screened door, I looked up at the backdoor light.  Moths and mosquitos were nothing compared to the creature I was about to face.  I glared into the yard. I heard hissing and growling in the bushes on the side of our garage. `My son ran and got a flashlight.  He had on his amour, too. He went out first.  He shined the flashlight in the bushes and said something like, “Man, that thing looks angry.”  At that point I got a broom, wishing it were a gun.  I stood next to him, broom in hand.

“Well, what is it?” I asked him.

“I don’t know.  I think it’s a opossum.”

I pictured its fuzzy white face and long rubbery tail.  My tongue felt strange in my mouth and goose bumps ran across my skin like racecars.

“Mom, come on.  We have to get Angel.”

Angel was my white poodle who was in the bushes with the opossum, barking and growling like she was a Rottweiler. I’m afraid of opossums, so I really had to take a moment to think how much our poodle meant to me.   Had it been my son or daughter, I would have jumped in the bushes thoughtless and unarmed. I looked back at my daughter, the future vegan and animal activist, who was standing on the back step.   I wanted to call out to her, “Look, I’m your mother.  You’ve known me all your life, but we’ve only had this poodle a short while, and it was a stray!   Had our thoughtful neighbor not brought it to us when she found it on her front lawn in the pouring down rain, something would have eventually eaten it anyway…”   But, I didn’t say any of that.

I gave my son the broom.  He was much braver than I.  I never even saw the thing, but I had a clear enough picture in my mind to feel faint.  My son started poking at the opossum with the broom, hoping it would run off, since my poodle was not backing down.  She looked at my son and back at the opossum and barked even louder.  Now, she had an ally.  The opossum grew angrier and started biting viciously at the end of the broom stick.

My daughter was yelling, “Don’t kill it!”  Angel was still barking. The opossum was hissing.  I was sweating in my armor while trying to coax Angel out of the bushes. The commotion seemed to go on for hours.  I don’t remember how we convinced Angel to come out, but she did eventually.  We may have given her a treat.  The opossum, however, spent the night in the bush.  Once I got my crazy poodle settled in the house, my son and I went back outside with the flashlight.  The opossum was curled up, exhausted from the fight.  The next morning it was gone.

Months went by.  No opossum. Then one evening, I was coming home from dance class.  I parked my car in the driveway.  I walked up to my front door and as soon as I pulled my house key out of my pocket, a huge opossum ran from behind the bushes, onto my step and across my white canvas sneakers.  I screamed as I felt the weight of its body on my feet.

By Shawn R. Jones


Author of the devotional book, Pictures in Glass Frames

and the poetry chapbook, Womb Rain,

Flimflam Susie


Flimflam Susie  

By Shawn R. Jones


Flimflam Susie has

red gooey lips,

an effervescent smile,

jambalaya hips,

long brown braids

weaved with gold,

trinkets on her wrist,

a diamond in her nose,

deep dark skin like

blackened catfish,

low mysterious eyes of

a voodoo hypnotist,

a gumbo strut

where she keeps her stash

of baby back ribs

and rhythmic jazz

a real…humdinger

you shouldn’t take home.

She flips over men

with her flapjack tongue.

With a razzle dazzle razzmatazz,

she flipped my church son

on his way to morning mass.

His tongue tripped on teeth,

fell through his grin,

hanging like salmon

from a bear’s wet chin.

The last time I saw him

he didn’t know his name.

Ms. “I Ain’t Choosey”

put my rearing to shame.

That two-cent floozie

taught my son how to creep

in and out of rooms

on Bourbon Street.

It really didn’t matter what

I preached at home.

Flimflam Susie had a

sermon of her own.


Shawn R. Jones

Author of the devotional book, Pictures in Glass Frames

and the poetry chapbook, Womb Rain,