The Scale Magazine LLC

The Scale Magazine LLC

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April 2012Volume 16 Number 4ISSN 1521 2688 ©1996

TheScaleMagazineOnLine.comThe Magazine for Upcoming Authors &Artists

Angelee Coleman Grider, Editor

Viewpoints and You“From Dusk To Dusk”

I arise every other morning when God awakes me at 2:00 A.M. We don't start every day with the same ritual. First there is the reading of the word for the day. Then the explanation, of how it should be fulfilled, comes afterward. Usually there is the lecture - that I am not caring for my health as I should and the way that I make sure my family is cared.

So I begin the day by usually drinking enough liquids to sustain me during my morning walk around the garden and the regular picking up paper that someone deposits on the street from their car.

After the liquids, I try to find tasty food from the refrigerator to sustain me until the next meal, usually about 8:00 A.M. when I prepare breakfast for all in the home.

Afterward, the typing must be started in order to fulfill the order of grant-writing deadlines. This sometimes can take all day. Yet I vow to go outside and do the task of caring for the lawn, cutting hedges, seeding the community garden and completing the beautification of the surrounding area.

Finally I realized that I can not do the paperwork properly and try to do the agricultural work effectively in one day. So I decided to hire others who specialized in the dusk to dusk tasks everyday, because that's what they love and for which they have perfected their skills. I have been told that the dusk to dusk tasks are “a man's job”. Yet I had to pray to understand why they don't perfect the craft. So this is how God explained it to me.

When you ask a man to cut the yard, he will do it well. Landscaping is considered as decorating which most men have no clue about doing. So some men may mow the yard, but not trim with the weed eater, nor prune the hedges.2 TheScaleMagazineOnLine.com April, 2012

Angelee C. Grider, Editor

Baffled, I stopped asking men to do the lawn work, and decided to do it myself. I also paid another lady to help me. She did not just dump the plants in the ground, she painstakingly put in potting soil for each plant. I did not ask her to do so. I asked her to help me do lawn service.

When will men understand that it takes more than a lawnmower to make a place a home?The Editor


April 2012Volume 16 Number 4ISSN 1521 2688 ©1996TheScaleMagazineOnLine.com

Angelee Coleman Grider, Editor

The Scale Magazine P.O. Box 141Victoria, MS 38679All submissions become the property of The Scale Magazine. Materials may be returned if accompanied by a self-addressed, stamped envelope. The editorial staff reserves the right to edit unsolicited material. No guarantee is given that submitted materials will be published. Submitters give the right to have materials used for publicity purposes as well as distribution through the printed magazine and also http://www.TheScaleMagazineOnLine.com

“Pray For Me” Art Adds Angelsby Melvin UpChurch

Several years ago, after the death of my mother and grandmother, one year apart, I fell into the deepest stronghold of low, self-worth and drugs. I had become one of the most hideous crack users that a person could know or lay eyes on. I lied, cheated, and stole everything that I could get my hands on, just to support my habit, and use drugs. All this was done to run away and keep me from facing my problems.

I was introduced to my first Angel in the process of this lifestyle. I sat on the back steps of some vacant apartments, one late evening, to get a “hit” off my drugs. After I did, it started to rain. So I headed home walking through the streets of the Orange Mound neighborhood in Memphis, TN.

As I walked through a shortcut, I could see a woman in the middle of the street, running around, screaming “Somebody, please help!”

She then ran up to me, pulled me into her house, pleading “Mr., please help us.”

As I entered the house with her, I saw another young woman and five children saying the same words, “Mr., please help us,” as the young woman placed a 3-month old girl in my hands.

I was so overwhelmed that all I could do was sit there on their sofa, and look into the baby's eyes. I was so baffled that all I could do was drop my head and cry out to my Lord, Jesus Christ, “Please save this baby.” At that moment, the Fire Department knocked on the door! Still looking into the little girl's eyes, I handed her over to the paramedic. Crying, I walked past him to sit on the curb, and thanked God for my own little girl.

Weeks after the incident, I found out that the baby died on her way to the MED.

I was so crushed and devastated by the news that I knew it was time for a change. So I got admitted into a rehab immediately.

That little, 3-month old girl, whom I don't know to this day, was my first little Angel. What's amazing is that everytime I attempt to draw an Angel, I re-create the image of the baby girl's face. She was really the reason for me to understand truly just how much I needed help.

That wasn't the only time I've had an encounter with Angels. One of the 2 other Angels inspired me to draw 2 more Angels of 2 other deceased babies, of 2 other guys here in the system during my incarceration.

The name of all my Angels is “Pray For Me Art”.

April, 2012 TheScaleMagazineOnLine.com 11

“A Mother's Love”I also remember my mother cooking sweet

potatoes in an old, black, iron stove. She would pinch off just a little to taste and share with my little brother. Maybe that's why I don't like sweet potatoes today. Those were the days that I remember.

Then I remember walking from that big empty house with my mother, sisters, and brothers, hand in hand. She told us to hold hands like a chain. Her hands and ours linked together as we walked. I did not know what had happened, and still do not know what happened between my parents. I knew it had to be something big, because she would not have gone from the big house otherwise.

As we walked that long and dark night, hand in hand, a car passed by with one headlight. I remember looking at that light. I must have fallen as I was watching it. I can still feel myself falling, slipping from that hand that held mine. I can hear me screaming. I can hear my sisters and brothers telling my mother that I had fallen in the ditch. Oh, how that chain link, hand in hand, pulled me out of that ditch. I didn't know where we were going until we got there. My mother was going to her sister's house. We were tired. I was dirty from the fall, and we were hungry.

Later, I remember my father coming in an old black truck. I heard screaming and crying. My next memory brings me to my grandfather's house. I couldn't remember why I was there or how long I had been there. It was as if one day I had a mother and the next day she was gone. I didn't know what was happening. My father would come by but I really didn't have a big connection with him at the time. I honestly didn't know him.

My sisters and brothers were there and that was good, but I wondered if they felt the way that I did. They didn't talk about it and I didn't either. I just couldn't understand where my mother had gone.

My whole life, as I knew it, had changed. My grandfather had a wife. We called her “Mama”. I guess I loved her because I thought I had to do so. She was good sometimes, and she was the only Mama I had at that time. I never knew my real grandparents, my mother's mother and father's mother. Oh, let me get back to a mother's love.

I remember my mother coming over to my grandfather's house and I wanted to ask her where she had been. I don't remember how much time had passed, for it may not have been long. But in the eyes of a child,

10 TheScaleMagazineOnLine.com April, 2012

it seemed like forever. However, I never asked her. I was just too glad to see her. She never stopped coming to visit from that day forward. She didn't live far away and we could go visit ever so often, but we would always have to rush back to my grandfather's house. I didn't like having to leave after our visits, but I finally had my mother back in my life and I didn't want to lose her.

Yet, one day I overheard my grandfather and father talking. Yes, I was a little “nosy”. They were talking about moving to Memphis. I was young but not dumb. I ran and told my brothers and sisters and they said, “You don't know what you're talking about.” I said, “Okay.” Lo and behold, we were moving to Memphis. My mother and father argued about it. He told her that she couldn't win. I was thinking that my mother was going to be gone again. She wouldn't be able to come as far as Memphis. As she pleaded with him, I could see the tears in her eyes, as I looked through watered eyes myself.

They packed us up like the “Clampets”. We were Memphis bound. “Lost; here I am again,” I said. My mother was gone and I knew that I would never see her again. I still had my sisters and brothers which was good, but the chain was broken. We were missing the strongest link, the head. Once we arrived in Memphis, I unfortunately discovered that one of my sisters was not staying with us. She would be going somewhere else – another link gone. I cried, afraid that I wouldn't see her again either. I don't know how long I had been there yet I would sit often thinking and writing even then, talking to God. I knew He was there, but I didn't know Him personally. I would steal away, sit and talk to Him. I found comfort and peace with Him. I remember feeling low and kind of depressed sitting on the porch. Oh, don't get me wrong, the brick house was nice, but as I said, “A house is not a HOME without your loved ones, or love.” I know it was probably there, but personally, I like to feel it in the air; be able to breathe it.

Anyway, while I was sitting there, a black car pulled up. The man driving had a big hat on his head and there was a small woman sitting beside him. As I looked, I saw the man first, but my eyes were glued to the small woman. That was my mother. There's a long story, but I'm going to stop here. I guess what I would like parents and people in general to understand is that I don't care what you are going through, stop and think about your children. They are hurting too. You are hurting them. Yet the essence of the story is that a mother, a good mother will always find her children. Mine did!

“Pray for You” art appears on the

cover of Legacies.

MelvinUpChurch, artist

Legacies (Excerpts)

by Gertrude R. Anderson

http://www.Kindle.com $5.99 download ISBN 978-0-9830325-3-3TheScaleMagazineOnLine.com $12.95

A Short Story Retold by Gertrude R. Anderson - “Grandma Daisy”

My name is Amy Williams. My family is only one of many African Americans who have lived here in “Sweet Water, Mississippi”, with perhaps one difference. The Williams family lived on their same small farm for going on five generations.

Great Grandpa Williams bought this farm just after the civil war and the Williams family members have always lived here at one time or another.

Grandma Daisy, my Grandma Jennie’s sister, and her daughter Flora lives in the old home house at this time. That old house has seen many repairs and fixing up down through the years, but it is still fairly comfortable. In the summer, the high ceilings keep the house cool, however in the winter the house is hard to heat. Still it was home to most of us.

Grandma Daisy is the sole survivor of her generation. She is at the stage in her life where she tells everyone, “This may be my last time.” This statement is often made when there is something to be done, and she wants to take a part in it. Or she says it when she wants to have her way, and say.

One day in the fall of 1992, Grandma Daisy, Flora (her daughter), and Grandma Daisy’s granddaughter Wensie and I were sitting in the lounge of the local hospital waiting for Wensie’s daughter Jean to deliver her first child. This was the beginning of the 6th generation of our family that we knew about. Jean’s husband, Floyd, was in the army somewhere overseas. So he could not be there.

Jean said, “There is too much danger and diseases in the country where he is stationed for me to live there. Besides, I want to be with my family when the baby comes.”

“The women in my family have a world of experience in family matters, and I want to have access to them all,” she had told Floyd, in jest.

Public Domain Photo

Amazingly though when Jean’s labor pains started, her mother Wensie had driven her to the hospital in such a hurry, one would have thought she was going to put out a fire. Then when Grandma Daisy heard the news she wanted to go to the hospital to be with Flora. So Grandma Daisy followed in another car but not so fast.

“This may be the last time I’ll see a new family member come into this world” she had said and insisted we bring her along. Of course, we didn’t refuse to let her go. Remember, that just “might be her last time.” Yes, she sure knew how to get her way...

About the Artist - Melvin UpChurch is a part of the prison ministry through the FW Coleman Theatre Club Fine Arts Program. The artwork will be on display at different venues around the world. Replicas are available at http://www.Artistrising.com/galleries/UpchurchHoltandWilkins and http://www.TheScaleMagazineOnLine.com


“UnNatural Hood” (Chapter 1)By Terry Holt, author

From the sky, the area that was once our neighborhood had now resembled what could be compared to a junkyard! Fires were across every other block. Some of them were at the conjunctions of the four-way stop signs, while others stood in shambles of old smothering heaps. They now were unoccupied semi-structures that held the material of our days of old and youth. There wasn't very much food available, so daily....almost 60% of time was spent scheming on how to successfully curve the ever- present sensations of hunger and thirst.

The sun to some of us in them-o-days could kill you if over-exposed. You barely had enough moisture to sweat, let alone travel over intense periods of days. So many years of neglecting the tactics of sustenance had cost humanity gravely millions of hours in front of the television, the thousands of days before the video games and what-not.

The basements here and there provided the best of the shelters. These were kept intensely clean because the sick and dying were present. Sometimes our dear friends would get well enough, while others - they'd fade away to death. They probably weren't too upset about the situation. There was nothing to do at day nor was there anymore whilst night.

There were no guarantees that the angels would come back for us at all. Who could deal with us? We started to think within ourselves. In the present state of mind.....we were all next to non-existence. ..

Terry Holt, The Artist

The art that you may have seen comes from being in constant atmospheres that are either too dangerous to relax properly, or on another note, too joyful to sit over extended periods of time. The pictures start with light lead. Afterward comes an intensely supervised microscopic ink stretch-out.


Since I’ve been with the colors, my pictures have taken on new dimensions, as if you would have to touch them to see where the surface started. These images take lots of time to shape. Some of them completely absorb me – taking my strictest attention. I only pray that the people that may have interest would take the many minutes necessary to examine every centimeter. In doing so, you’ll see me there as well – just my way of waving hello!Terry Holt, author of Twelve Again http://www.CreateSpace.com/3408316 $9.95

Theatre CalendarJanuary 7, 2012 Board Meeting 10:00 A.M. - 12:00 NoonFebruary 4, 2012 “Long As I Got King Jesus” 10:00 A.M.March 3, 2012 Open 10:00 A.M. - 12:00 NoonApril 7, 2012 10:00 A.M. - 12:00 NoonMay 5, 2012 10:00 A.M. - 12:00 NoonJune 2, 2012 10:00 A.M. - 12:00 NoonJuly 7, 2012 10:00 A.M. - 12:00 NoonAugust 4, 2012 10:00 A.M. - 12:00 NoonSeptember 1, 2012 No MeetingOctober 6, 2012 10:00 A.M. - 12:00 NoonNovember 3, 2012 10:00 A.M. - 12:00 NoonDecember 3, 2012 10:00 A.M. - 12:00 Noon

3877 Cayce Road Cayce, MS

Children's Books 12.95 with CD $6.00

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Single Issue Mailed - $4 Newsstand - $3

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Mail advertising or subscription orders toThe Scale MagazineP.O. Box 141Victoria, MS 38679

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Mrs. Florence W. ColemanFWCTC Founder

Black History -Local Author Writes

The stories within should be uplifting to some and whimsical to

others. There was a need to have a treasury told by someone who experienced the life of poetical recitations and folklore; and from someone who was not a slave in Mississippi.

As opposed to other authors, Mrs. Coleman stated that “I don't want any money,” she kept saying at the reading of the first edition.

“Just enjoy all of the attention,” a cousin echoed.

The petite, “Black” educated grandmother and writer was reared to be modest. Traditional parents, during her upbringing demanded respect for them, the elderly, and respect of “self”. Parents also instilled in the children that education and a good reputation meant more than any amount of “man-made” machine paper money.

Mrs. Coleman however, cherished the wisdom shared by her parents even though she struggled as a black, hardworking woman trying to understand why hard work sometimes did not “pay off” as she was told. Yet she had faith that what she was told to believe in was true.

Even as a wife, mother, then adivorcee, devoted daughter, and sister, she struggled yet kept praying, believing, and overall was very determined to attend and complete college through Saturday and night classes.

Then the fruits of her labor and prayers finally became a concrete reality.

Black Treasure In Mississippi$15 paperback$25 hardcoverhttp://www.LuLu.com (Florence Coleman)

$9.95 http://www.TheScaleMagazineOnLine.com

Greener Pastures features recipes of Southern, home-made delicacies of the Wilkins, Washington, and Smith Family.

Also Greener Pastures is a collection of family and community literary gatherings.

The book includes original works by me, along with historical pieces that I saved and wanted to share to contribute to the historical relevance of life here on earth.

Hopefully an understanding of mankind will be learned from reading the pieces.


Featured Writer“A Mother's Love” - Ann Kizer (Cayce, MS)

The dawn of day is breaking. Now there is peace and quiet. I look out of my window, no squirrels running up and down the trees, no birds flying. I guess it could be too early. Oh, wait, there goes a bird flying by. The brown leaves have fallen to the ground. I look around my home and I begin to stare into the flames from the heater as the wood burns. It helps me clear my head – finally peace and quiet.

It makes me think of days that have passed and gone. It's a New Year and a New Day. Some people say leave the past in the past, but to me my past made me the person I am today. You see, I know where I came from, how I got here, and what it took to get here. My past does not determine my future, but it has made me stronger.


You see, when I was a very young girl, I can remember a big oak tree sitting in our front yard. There was an old car tire tied to the tree, on which we would swing. I can even remember the cotton fields up the road from our house. Memories of my mother and my older brothers and sisters going to work in the fields plague my mind.

I can remember being home with my little baby brother, scared, lonely, wanting someone to play with every now and then. I believe my sister J. was there. I say I believe because she was a year older than me and we probably had a fight or something. I would throw my brother's bottle under the bed and call my mother to say that the baby didn't have any milk. I did this so she would have to come to the house from the field. It was a big house, with big rooms, and lots of space. Yet it was empty in heart.

You know, you can have a house, but if you can't feel love in it, it's not a home. Oh, I know my mother loved me. She showed it in every way. I believe my father loved my mother in his own way too. I can remember some good times there. I remember times such as my mother and father playfully fighting over a broom. They kept pushing and pulling on the broom, laughing the whole time. Then they would disappear for a while and both would come back smiling. Now I know why they were smiling. (Continued on page 10)

$9.95http://www.createspace.com332918


Melvin UpChurch, artist

New Releases

SimmonsSincerePoetryJerome Simmons, author$9.95 books, cards, and framed poetry

Beautiful Black LadyYou are a beautiful young lady as anyone can see -

You are smart, intelligent, and kind when you want to be.Your personality is great; so is your smile.

I just wanted to compliment you on your charm and style.You are an independent person - now that’s a plus

and with an attitude like yours, you are easy to trust.I want you to remain the same for the rest of your days

and please don’t let anyone change your ways.To you my beautiful black lady with all due respect,

keep GOD in your life and you will stay in check.Stay focused on your dreams, and pursue your goals.

Keep an open mind and continue your role.Don’t let anyone cause you to stress

because you are one of God’s tools and this is only a test.Just like the spinners when they sung “Sadie”;This is because you are a beautiful, black lady.


Art by Melvin UpChurchhttp://www.artistrising.com/galleries/HoltUpChurchandWilkins

“Pray For Me” Art

Coloring Contest

Replicate the artist's colored picture.Entry deadline April 30

Grand Prize $50 Consolation prizes for all entrants

Mail colored picture, your name and address:

The Scale MagazineP.O. Box 141Victoria, MS 38679Please use a 9x12 envelope for mailing. Folded pictures will disqualify entry.


The Scale Magazine

7Featured Artist B. C. Wilkins, Holly Springs, MS

“There are two sides to every story. In between the two you will find the truth.”

A. Coleman Grider

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