EYMBU Expand Your Mind Be You

12/24/2025

20 Hilarious, Yet Brutally Honest Tweets That We Found This Week 👇

12/24/2025

If you haven't wrapped your gifts yet, you need to watch this. If you have, KUDDOS to you.😊

11/28/2025

I still remember those long drives from Maryland down to Georgia, riding in the back seat while my Daddy gripped the steering wheel with quiet determination. Before every trip, he made a special stop at the bank to get one-dollar bills. He knew better than to carry large ones — too many gas station owners would suddenly “run out of change” when a Black man tried to pay. That was their way of reminding us who they thought we were.

We planned every mile carefully, tracing our route on a folded travel map, but the most important guide was The Green Book. That little book was our shield and our safety. It told us where we could stop, where we could rest, and more importantly, where we must not be after sundown. There were towns where it was a crime just for Black folks to be seen when the sun went down — and we believed it, because our lives depended on it.

My mother packed food with loving care — fried chicken, sandwiches, and fruit — and filled a couple of thermoses with something warm to drink, knowing we would not be welcomed inside any restaurant along the way. Instead, we ate at roadside picnic areas, sitting close together, making the best of what little space the world allowed us.

My father, like so many Black men of that time, made a point of buying only Esso gasoline — what folks now call ExxonMobil — because they hired African Americans in professional roles. It was his quiet protest, his way of choosing dignity whenever he could.

I still have my Green Book. Holding it now, I’m reminded that it wasn’t just a guide — it was a lifeline, a testimony to our resilience, and a map through a world that did everything it could to deny our humanity. And yet, here we are. Still standing. Still remembering. Still telling the story.😞

11/28/2025

This beautiful picture of three ladies in Harlem, circa 1930, reminded me of how I was blessed, not only with a with a wonderful mother, but also two wonderful neighbors, Aunt Vivian and Ms. Josephine. These three women didn’t need a spotlight to shine and didn’t believe in whispering when the truth needed to be heard. They wore their hats like crowns and their purses like armor, and Lord help you if you saw them without their lipstick or stockings; and though you weren't privileged to see it, a full slip and maybe a girdle 😊. To them, stepping outside half-dressed was a moral offense right up there with lying or talking back.

These women raised children, grandchildren, half the neighborhood, and still had time to tell a joke that could make your sides ache. They could stretch a pot of greens, a cup of cornmeal, and a prayer into a feast that fed everybody and still had “just a little something left over” — which meant you were eating it again tomorrow whether you liked it or not. And most of the time, I didn't like it. 😞

They called it “sense,” what we now call wisdom. “Baby, don’t let that boy fool you; he ain’t tired, he just lazy.” And we learned early that church wasn’t optional, manners were mandatory, and respect was not a suggestion.

But oh, how they laughed. On the front porch after a long day's work, in the backyard while working in their gardens, on transit buses going to work in someone else's, kitchen; always leaning on each other, learning from the memories of trouble they had somehow survived with their dignity intact and their shoes still polished.

They carried the weight of the world in their handbags — peppermints, safety pins, handkerchiefs, powder puffs, and a small change purse. It was rumored that one of them carried a switch “just in case.” But they all felt a sense of protection because of The pocket-sized Bible, "New Testament and Psalms", they carried.

They had powers that rivaled Superman himself. With just one look, you could be sent straight back to last week, apologizing for things you hadn’t even done yet. With just one hug or kiss, they could fix any problem. And, they didn’t care who you were or how tall you stood; if you crossed one of us, you were answering to them. They loved us fiercely, and everybody in the neighborhood knew it. Their touch was gentle, their love fierce, and their humor sharp enough to slice through sorrow.

I stand taller because they stood firm. I smile easier because they laughed loud. When I fix my collar or tuck my blouse, I hear their voices saying, “Now look at you — don’t you know you’re somebody?”

Its been many years since those dear warriors have transitioned; and though I have lived in many cities, seventy-five years later, I find myself in the same neighborhood of my youth.. Now the children call me "Ms. Bettye" and look to me for guidance and love. I'm find myself in the same sensible shoes of those beautiful ladies, trying to walk with their same grace, their same grit, and and the same sort of faith that saw them through the good and the bad. ❤️❤️❤️

10/19/2024

Lantern fly full wing span. Does anyone know what that yellow sac is.

08/16/2023

This vulnerable adult is missing. Please share.

06/21/2023

Children often lose the educational progress they have made during the school year. This summer, I am offering reading assistance to children in grades 1 through 5 to help children hold on to their progress as well as increase their reading skills. I have developed tutoring programs for AARP's Experience Corps and am currently a Master Trainer for the program. Assistance is available online as well as in person locally; and my prices are reasonable and negotiable. Contact us @ 443 826 9162.

05/07/2023

05/06/2023

Program from August 25, 1961. 'Belefonte in Person" introducing Miriam Makeba to American audiences. Tap to see entire photo.

05/04/2023