Captain America: Civil War I had to go see it. I saw it. It was good. My favorite part was Spider-Man. Like Wonder Woman stole the show for me in Batman vs. Superman, Spider-Man stole the show in this one. Could it have been better? I believe so. The things I did not love: - I cannot put my finger on it. - Nothing. I kinda sorta liked it all. - Felt like something was missing but again, I cannot pin point what. The things I loved: - the conflict was very well done. It had real meaning behind it along with long term implications. It was not easy to jump on either side. I thought it was very well done. - the secondary conflict was again real, deep and not easy to get away from. - Spider-Man. I do not know who the heck this new kids it but I enjoyed how they introduced him. Let's face it, Spider-Man has been rebooted to the point of being on life support and somehow this has managed to shock it right back into life. - Black Panther played by ...

Thrive I speak to the Black experience, but I am always talking about the human condition-about what we can endure, dream, fail at, and still survive. -Maya Angelou Is it enough to survive? Survival of the fittest? Fittest in what exactly? Physical prowess? Mental strength? Resiliency? We have endured much and continue to endure as a result of our ancestral genetic chain that binds our future to our past as we live in the present. Endurance is in our make up. It is in our blood. It is in our human fiber. I no longer wish to simply endure. No! Endurance while necessary is not enough. We dream big dreams. We imagine a life beyond ourselves. We are dreamers. It is not enough to dream. Let us create the landscape on which those visions can manifest. Dreaming while necessary is not enough. Failure is relative. Is it not? Failure is a matter of what we define as success. Take back the definition. Make success ours. Make it meaningful and not material. Failure is a lost battle, a ...

Parents are a wondrous things. I only realize that now of course. After being a parent myself for only 13 years, I wonder daily how my mother did it and still maintained her sanity. If they were to write about us in a fantasy novel without calling us parents, we would be these mythical, loving and fiercely protective creatures, with mothers leading the squad.  I know that I cannot be the only one that wonders how I make it through a week without screaming like a mad woman at the top of my lungs. Wait a minute. I don't make it through a week. At some point, I actually feel like a mad woman and if anyone were to take a peek into my home at the right moment, they would probably agree. And yet, we fight for them. We love them. We watch them. We worry about them. We scold them. We correct them. We engage them. We laugh with them. We indulge them. We protect them. We do this whether they are thankful or not. We do this with or without their knowledge and, let us face it, most...