Beyond Black & White » *uncategorized* http://www.beyondblackwhite.com Chronicles, Musings and Debates about Interracial & Intercultural Relationships Wed, 01 Oct 2014 12:15:40 +0000 en-US hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=4.0 SirLoin’s Babe Wednesday: Yoga Party!!!!!!!! http://www.beyondblackwhite.com/sirloins-babe-wednesday-yoga-party/ http://www.beyondblackwhite.com/sirloins-babe-wednesday-yoga-party/#respond Wed, 01 Oct 2014 05:25:05 +0000 http://www.beyondblackwhite.com/?p=33659 “It is not arrogant or egotistical to feel good inside. You had nothing to do with it. It’s simply the honest response to clearly perceived Reality.”  ~ Erich Schiffman -    “Your life is a sacred journey. It is about change, growth, discovery, movement, transformation, continuously expanding your vision of what is possible, stretching your […]

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“It is not arrogant or egotistical to feel good inside. You had nothing to do with it. It’s simply the honest response to clearly perceived Reality.”  ~ Erich Schiffman -
 

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 “Your life is a sacred journey. It is about change, growth, discovery, movement, transformation, continuously expanding your vision of what is possible, stretching your soul, learning to see clearly and deeply, listening to your intuition, taking courageous challenges at every step along the way. You are on the path… exactly where you are meant to be right now… And from here, you can only go forward, shaping your life story into a magnificent tale of triumph, of healing, of courage, of beauty, of wisdom, of power, of dignity, and of love.” ~ by Caroline Adams

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“Your hand opens and closes and opens and closes. If it were always a fist or always stretched open, you would be paralyzed. Your deepest presence is in every small contracting and expanding, the two as beautifully balanced and coordinated as bird wings.” ~ Rumi – 

 

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“I have been a seeker and I still am, but I stopped asking the books and the stars. I started listening to the teaching of my Soul.” ~ by Rumi -

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“All I’m saying is that to liberate the potential of your mind, body and soul, you must first expand your imagination. You see, things are always created twice: first in the workshop of the mind and then, and only then, in reality. I call this process ‘blueprinting’ because anything you create in your outer world began as a simple blueprint in your inner world.” ~ Robin Sharma, The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari -

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“When you find peace within yourself, you become the kind of person who can live at peace with others.” ~Peace Pilgram

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“Remember the emphasis on the heart. The mind lives in doubt and the heart lives in trust. When you trust, suddenly you become centered.” ~ Osho

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“The sun shines down, and its image reflects in a thousand different pots filled with water. The reflections are many, but they are each reflecting the same sun. Similarly, when we come to know who we truly are, we will see ourselves in all people.” ~ Ammachi -

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SirLoin’s Babe Wednesday: Adornments http://www.beyondblackwhite.com/sirloins-babe-wednesday-adornments/ http://www.beyondblackwhite.com/sirloins-babe-wednesday-adornments/#comments Wed, 24 Sep 2014 12:58:04 +0000 http://www.beyondblackwhite.com/?p=33494  

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IRR Romance: Nichelle Gregory’s “Soul Sweet” http://www.beyondblackwhite.com/irr-romance/ http://www.beyondblackwhite.com/irr-romance/#comments Sun, 21 Sep 2014 15:09:24 +0000 http://www.beyondblackwhite.com/?p=33325      I’ve been asked why I write multicultural romance more than once and for a longest time I struggled when giving my answer. I was concerned as a black author, that my interracial stories somehow showed a lack of support of the black family, of the black man. I celebrate and cherish both, but […]

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     I’ve been asked why I write multicultural romance more than once and for a longest time I struggled when giving my answer. I was concerned as a black author, that my interracial stories somehow showed a lack of support of the black family, of the black man. I celebrate and cherish both, but I worried about my books with mixed heroes and heroines being looked upon by members of my own race as ‘sell-out’ stories.

     In truth, I’ve penned tales with the hero and heroine being of the same race, both white and black, but I’ve found myself gravitating to writing stories with mixed couples.

Why?

     Well, because I grew up thinking I should only give my heart to a man who looked like me and I feel that limits the potential of love. I think it is tragic many black women continue believing only one type of guy is capable of giving them what they desire, especially when a large number of our male counterparts have no trouble crossing the color line to find contentment.

     I think it’s hard for a lot of people to imagine a relationship with someone of another race and I strive to write books showcasing such delicious possibilities. I pen tales of true love, great sex and amazing relationships with diverse characters in the hopes that maybe just one reader walks away with a mindset they didn’t have before concerning members of the opposite sex of all shades.

     Soul Sweet was created with this idea in mind. This book combines my philosophy of having an open mind when it comes to finding true love with my joy of cooking! I adore culinary shows, great food and the atmosphere usually involved when sharing a scrumptious meal with others. I wanted to capture the intensity of a cooking competition while mixing in the spice of undeniable desire between Misha, a contestant, and Cameron, a master chef. I delighted in the opportunity to explore the feelings of two individuals genuinely drawn to one another and willing to work through the questions or hesitations involved with dating someone of a different race.

     Many would say interracial relationships face too many challenges but that’s the reality of all relationships. Why limit your potential for happiness based on race?

     Misha and Cameron’s sizzling romance is exciting, passionate and unforgettable! Their story explores what happens when one has an open mind which equals an open heart ready to savor the infinite, sweet possibilities of a love as unique as the individual daring to take connect with the soul.

– Nichelle Gregory

 

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Soul Sweet: Book One in the Souls Entwined series

Savour the flavours, spicy and sweet…a taste of what’s yet to come.

About the book.

“A passionate cook with the desire to spread her wings, Misha Ryan decides to compete on a popular television cooking competition for the ultimate title of Celeb Chef. The culinary stakes are high, but Misha feels more than capable of handling any challenge thrown her way, until she looks into the eyes of Celeb Chef Judge, Cameron Banner.

After dealing with an emotional divorce, Cameron isn’t looking for any serious entanglements, but everything about Misha makes him want more. She’s adamant about limiting any diversions that take her focus off the show, but the unexpected mutual attraction between them distracts them both as they add spice and turn up the heat in an attempt to satisfy their insatiable appetites for one another.

Misha is devastated when evidence of their involvement has a disastrous effect on the final decision for the winner of Celeb Chef. When Cameron’s motives come under suspicion, she confronts him, putting a strain on their budding relationship. Celeb Chef is over and Misha realises winning isn’t everything, especially if she’s lost the love of a lifetime.”

 

Excerpt:

Soul Sweet

Misha tapped the bottle of wine with her finger when Cameron fixed his gaze back on her. “Well, I should take this Chardonnay back up to my sister, who I’m sure is waiting with her glass in hand.”

Aww.” Cameron gave her the ultimate look of regret. “Well then, I suppose you shouldn’t keep her waiting any longer.” 

Misha laughed. “If I run into you again tonight, I promise I’ll share a drink with you, no questions asked.” “I’m going to hold you to that.” “Fair enough.” Misha took hold of the wine. “Goodnight.”

Cameron lifted his Martini up to her. “Goodnight, Misha.” 

She pivoted, walked away from the bar and Cameron’s deadly charm, conscious of every step in her heeled boots. Was he watching her leave? She refused to turn around and satisfy her curiosity. Misha made her way to the elevator, pushed the button to bring the lift down to the lobby then reached into her back pocket and cursed.

My phone! 

Misha turned around, took a step and yelped when she ran right into Cameron. She instinctively brought her hand to his chest, disorientated less by the unexpected contact and more by the feel of his hard body pressed close to hers.

“Whoa.” Cameron took hold of her arm, steadying her with one hand.

You startled me.” Misha hurriedly moved her hand off him. Her breath hitched in her throat as his fingers pressed into her flesh. Disturbed by her atypical physical reaction to a man touching her, Misha fought back the urge to wrench her arm from his grasp. She deliberately kept her eyes on his face, an outward show that she was nonplussed by his touch.

I’m sorry. I wanted to catch you before you got on the elevator.” He released her and held up her cell. “Looking for this?”  “Yes.” Misha took the device from Cameron, glad that he’d stepped somewhat out of her personal space. “Thank you.”

No problem.” Cameron grinned. “You do realize what this means?”

She did, but frowned as if she had no clue what he was talking about. “I have no idea.”

Cameron lifted an eyebrow as the elevator dinged behind them. “You are a terrible little liar. I know you remember your promise and you literally ran right into me.”

Misha shook her head with an amused smile. “Do you always take things so literally?”

Whenever I can. It’s the best way to cut down on confusion.”

I was half joking when I said I’d have a drink with you if I ran into you again tonight.” Misha briefly averted her eyes from Cameron as the elevator doors closed behind her.

I wasn’t.” Cameron cocked his head to the side. “Are you seriously getting ready to break your promise to me, Misha?”

A curl of heat wound around her body as she stared up into his dreamy eyes, momentarily at a loss for words. 

Electric.

His gaze upon her was electric.

Cameron took a step closer to her. “What is it about having one drink with me that makes you so skittish?” 

Misha tightened her grip on the bottle of wine as a million unconventional reasons to be skittish popped into her mind. “You’re a judge for Celeb Chef. I’m sure having a drink with a contestant breaks some competition bylaw.”

No law that I’m aware of… And besides, who’s going to tell?”

Misha ran her fingertip over the wine label. “Someone from the show might see us.”

“I’ve got a solution to that.”  Misha’s eyes widened as Cameron held up his hand.  “I wasn’t implying you coming up to my room either.” There was a seductive quality to his voice that hadn’t been there before. “That is what you were thinking, wasn’t it?”

Misha cleared her throat, deciding to bypass his question with one of her own. “Are you one hundred percent positive we wouldn’t be breaking a rule?” 

Cameron chuckled. “Do you always follow the rules, Misha?”

 

About the Author:

Nichelle Gregory

Nichelle Gregory has been in love with books and writing since middle school.  An avid reader, Nichelle used to hide all of her romance novels under the bed from her parents, who didn’t approve of her reading material.

Living in Chicago, Nichelle loves being in the Windy City, except from December to February…one word: snow!  A lover of the arts, Nichelle enjoys anything that embraces the creative nature within us all.  Her top three interests would be: music, decadent desserts, and of course writing!  When she’s not engrossed in a book, Nichelle enjoys paranormal, sci-fi and romantic movies with a glass of wine.

Penning her first erotic story in 2008, Nichelle finally gave into the desire to write wickedly sexy tales with romance, heart and lots of heat!  She enjoys creating stories that involve super sexy alpha heroes with divine heroines in magical, exotic, and fantastic scenarios.  Bringing believable characters to life who thrill and excite her readers is a challenge that continues to push Nichelle.

You can always expect a simply sexy story with a fast-paced plot, engaging characters discovering love or lust when you slip into a fantasy with Nichelle Gregory!

http://www.simplysexystories.com/

 

Where to purchase:

https://www.totallybound.com/soul-sweet

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00IPLD1H0/ref=rdr_kindle_ext_tmb

 

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SirLoin’s Babe Wenesday: Ab-solutly. http://www.beyondblackwhite.com/sirloins-babe-wenesday-ab-solutly/ http://www.beyondblackwhite.com/sirloins-babe-wenesday-ab-solutly/#comments Wed, 17 Sep 2014 12:05:57 +0000 http://www.beyondblackwhite.com/?p=33218 OK.  This week I am just going to keep quiet, sit over here in the corner and watch you guys drool.  Sort of like how you do at the gym when you see perfection like these ladies presented here walk by and then trip up your work-out routine. Then you look around to see if […]

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OK.  This week I am just going to keep quiet, sit over here in the corner and watch you guys drool.  Sort of like how you do at the gym when you see perfection like these ladies presented here walk by and then trip up your work-out routine. Then you look around to see if any one saw you do it. Yeah. You’re busted but then we all are cause we were looking at them too.

 

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Book Review: Taking My Hand Out Of My Pocket http://www.beyondblackwhite.com/book-review-taking-hand-pocket/ http://www.beyondblackwhite.com/book-review-taking-hand-pocket/#comments Sat, 06 Sep 2014 06:03:22 +0000 http://www.beyondblackwhite.com/?p=32963   Taking My Hand Out Of My Pocket by Lorie Tensen Synopsis: The book is my autobiography: the story of my personal journey which began in 1979 as a pre-teen. At the age of 12, my right arm was caught in the meat grinder in the meat room of my parents grocery store. The result […]

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Taking My Hand Out Of My Pocket

by

Lorie Tensen

Synopsis:

The book is my autobiography: the story of my personal journey which began in 1979 as a pre-teen. At the age of 12, my right arm was caught in the meat grinder in the meat room of my parents grocery store. The result was the amputation of that limb. From the moment my accident occurred and for years following, I was told by many people to hide my tears and be the strength for my parents who were “going through such a difficult time” because of my accident. I held my grief, anger, resentment and fears inside for nearly three decades and suffered from low self-esteem until I nearly imploded from depression and finally sought the professional help I needed.   The book tells the story about the many difficult choices I made in life that were predicated on the loss of my limb. After years of counseling and life-changing decisions, I have found peace, joy and the power of forgiveness. I am thankful for the many blessings in my life and am humbled that my story has inspired others to face their own fears on their personal journeys.

Excerpt: The Day – August 15, 1979.

AUGUST 15, 1979

August 15, 1979 started out the same as every other day. It was hot that summer, so I dressed in my favorite tank top, shorts and Keds and rode to work with my parents. I spent the day doing the tasks my mother assigned me. I remember wasting time in the cooler where we kept extra milk and eggs for stocking because it was so nice and cool and I wasn’t in the mood to run errands outside in the humid air. The store wasn’t huge, but it was one of two in town and we were always busy. We had several employees – including my sister and brother when they were available. My sister had graduated from high school that year and had already moved to a larger town. My brother hated working in the store and at age 14 was off doing who knows what. My eldest brother, Mike, was married with a family of his own and lived in a town 30 miles away. I had just turned 12 in May, so, I had no other option but to go to work at the grocery store each day with my parents. I actually enjoyed working at the store most days, because, although I was still rather shy, being in the hustle and bustle atmosphere like that of the store gave me the courage to come out of my shell and interact with the variety of customers that came in. I delivered groceries to the little old ladies and men in town who always invited me to stay and chat for a bit, providing delicious treats for me to enjoy; older folks seemed to be fascinated with the “little brown girl” at the corner grocery and I felt like a mini celebrity around them.

The store closed at 6 pm on most days and on this particular evening, several customers had stayed past closing time. It was still hot and humid outside and we were all ready to get home so that we could relax. My mother and father were at the front of the store closing out the cash registers and trying to shoo out the stragglers so they could lock the doors. I was sent to the meat room to start the clean-up process. The meat room was a small room at the back of the store that was filled with saws, grinders and extremely sharp knives. In those days, meat was rarely pre-packaged. My dad and Irene would cut meat to the customer’s specifications and there were several sides of beef, bacon, pork and chicken carcasses hanging in a large metal freezer. Hamburger was freshly ground several times a day in a giant meat grinder and deli meats and cheeses were sliced from 5 lb blocks each day. My dad was meticulous when it came to his meat room and he demanded that everyone who worked in the room follow his rules by washing their hands frequently and keeping the large wooden block table, knives and machines sterilized with bleach and hot water. I never wanted to work in that room by choice because the machines were loud and intimidating, however, I preferred to wile away the hours in the company of Irene over the other employees and there was nothing that could have prevented me from spending time with her – not even the scary meat room. Irene Hofmann was German and spoke with an accent. She always told the best stories and jokes – and – she was David’s mom. She adored me and treated me like the daughter she’d never had. I would spend hours gabbing with her and helping her as best as I could in the meat room.

At 6:10 pm that evening, I was alone in the meat room, as most of the store employees had gone home for the day, trying to figure out where to begin clean up. On this particular night, trying to be helpful, I decided to tackle the biggest more complex machines first: the behemoth grinder being the most difficult and time-consuming machine to clean. It was a heavy, ugly machine that had several pieces that had to be removed so that they could be thoroughly cleaned. There was a broken part within the grinder that had to be manually pushed out and then the grinder restarted to complete the process of dismantling. I had watched the other store employees clean the grinder and felt I could safely clean it, as well. At 6:17 pm, I started to dismantle the heavy grinder and when it came time to give the broken part a push, I did so with my right hand (I was right-handed at the time) and kept my left hand on the start button because I knew I had just seconds to start the grinder to push the part out completely. For whatever reason – inexperience or a misjudgment of the timing, at 6: 18 pm, I turned the grinder on too quickly and the tips of the fingers of my right hand became trapped. I was able to shut the machine off within seconds. The pain was so intense – worse than anything else I had ever felt – that I began screaming hysterically – wanting only for someone to stop the excruciating pain. My mother, my wonderful, beautiful mother – upon hearing her youngest child screaming hysterically, ran from the front of the store to the back of the store into the meat room. My screams were coming non-stop and so loud , she thought the machine was still on. She pushed the switch back to the “on” position thinking she was stopping the machine and in an instant, my life changed forever. My forearm was pulled into the machine almost in the same instant when my mother realized her mistake. She flipped the switch back to “off”. But it was too late. My arm has become hamburger inside the grinder. Both of us are momentarily stunned into silence and then the hell begins anew.

Cut to Scene 1:

My breathing is shallow and I feel faint. My entire body is slowly becoming numb from both pain and shock. My sense of hearing has become painfully acute and in my mind, my breathing sounds as loud as a freight train rushing through the room, but each breath seems to come as slow as molasses. Through the lethargy overtaking me, I feel the blood of my body draining out of me. I look at the three fingers poking out of the end of the machine, they are still intact, the nails still pink and I do not see blood which make me wonder where all my blood is going to. My sense of reality is painfully honed in on what seems like the never ending screams and sobs coming out of the mouth of my mother. Somewhere in the fog of my brain, I hear someone hysterically begging rescue to come to Tensen’s Grocery and that there has been a terrible accident. I am crouched in a painfully awkward position by now and my back is starting to cramp. Then there is the pain itself. The terrible, awful, nearly indescribable pain – so enormous and encompassing, that it transports me to another realm of consciousness. My young self cannot comprehend the level of pain that I am in. All I know is that I want it to go away so that I may sleep a painless sleep. My brain is telling me to close my eyes and go to sleep. I feel strangely pulled towards a quiet I have never felt before. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Time stands still. The frantic chaos that an emergency brings is happening all around me, yet I feel totally removed from it. I am rudely jolted by a loud noise and the first thought that enters my semi-conscious self is for my father…. I see him through a cut-out window between the meat room and the deli counter. He is pale, silent, with tears running down his face. I cannot see my mom, but I hear her. She has been crying hysterically the entire time and the child that I am begs her to help me. But, I do not seem to have the strength to open my mouth to say the words out loud. I am so very, very tired. It sounds as though there are several people sobbing, but I cannot see them and quite frankly, the sounds grate on my raw nerves. An endless loop of three sentences begins playing in my head. I am pleading to an audience that cannot hear me: “This hurts. Take it off, it hurts. It’s so heavy it hurts, take it off.” This loop swirls around my brain until it creates a storm of words that threatens to overtake my entire body. No one can hear me. I am alone in my head. I am so tired, I am going to close my eyes now. Good night, mom. Good night dad.

Suddenly, the small room is filled with men dressed from head to toe in their fire and rescue gear. And I am jolted back to the present. These men are the fathers, grandfathers, uncles and brothers of my classmates. Each and every one of them has tears glistening in their eyes and some hastily try to wipe away the tears rolling down their strong, tanned faces. At some point, my best friend’s dad, Ed, sits on the floor behind me, gingerly lifts me on to his lap and carefully cradles me so that I can get relief from my cramped posture. His right arm curves around my thin body, with his right hand holding the weight of my trapped arm and with his left hand, he feeds me m&m’s in an effort to keep me awake. I still cannot see my mom and dad, but hear my mother: still sobbing somewhere outside of the room. A disembodied voice says: “keep mom and dad out of the room”. A different voice speaks directly to me, calling my name and whoever it is, tells me that I must stay awake and I must remain strong. I am told that I must not cry because my mother is upset and I cannot let her see me crying.

 

Dear god in heaven….without warning, it’s as if the mother of all chainsaw’s is ripping through my right arm: someone is trying to twist the bell of the grinder off the machine. I hear myself screaming hysterically again, the pain is so intense that the screams coming out of my mouth are beyond anything comprehensible. It takes what seems like an excruciating lifetime before several members of the rescue squad are finally successful in separating the bell from the rest of the machine. My arm is still one with the grinder, because they cannot remove it without me dying from blood loss and shock. The bell will travel with me to the emergency room.

There is now a new problem: space is tight in this room. I am a little girl attached to a large metal bell and they must find a way to lift me over the meat display counter in order to get me to the ambulance that is waiting by the side door. Two men gently lift me over the counter into the arms of two firemen standing on the other side of the case. As I am being lifted, my eyes are drawn to the front of the store which has two large plate glass windows that face the main street. The scene that meets my eyes is simply amazing. There is a huge crowd of people – hundreds it seems – standing in the streets. People pressed against the glass windows and I can see one person very clearly through the never ending haze of pain. He is a classmate of mine named Michael. He is already one of the most popular male athletes my age and certainly one of the cutest. He is wearing a red shirt with the Coca-Cola emblem emblazoned in white on the front and he is the only bright color I see as I hazily wonder through the fog of my brain why so many people are standing in the streets outside the grocery store.

I am carried in someone’s arms through the side door which is on the south side of the building. There are so many people lining the street that I cannot see the large bank building that sits across the street from our grocery store. There is a crowd of what seems to be hundreds of men, women and children and they are all eerily silent. The only sounds I hear are the sirens blaring from the many rescue vehicles parked every which way around the store. An ambulance is parked directly in front of the side door and police cars in front of it waiting to escort me to the nearest hospital which is 30 miles away in a town called Willmar. My vision clears a little and I see Him. It is David and he is sitting on one of his Harley Davidson motorcycles that he’s parked directly behind the ambulance. He looks directly into my eyes and gives me a sweet, gentle smile and I stick my tongue out at him.

I am carefully bundled into the back of the ambulance as though I am made of the most fragile glass and placed tenderly into the waiting arms of a doctor and an ambulance attendant. My mother sits up front, sandwiched between the driver and another ambulance attendant. I can hear her from the back, she is still crying softly. The doors close and we are off in a blare of sirens and whirling lights with our police escort. I hear the driver talking into his mic – something about our estimated time of arrival. There will be a police escort from the Willmar police department who will meet the ambulance at the halfway point and escort it, lights and sirens, to the hospital. Although I am exhausted and just want to go to sleep, I begin to feel strangely at peace, as though once again, I am far removed from the activity around me. The doctor gently interrupts my slumber repeatedly: “Wake up, Lorie – you can’t go to sleep, Honey. Wake up”. But, I no longer feel anything. I am weightless. There is no more pain. I vaguely hear the doctor say something but his voice is coming from a tunnel. Suddenly, the ambulance attendant who is in the back with me begins speaking frantically into his mic: “We are losing her, HURRY… We’re gonna lose her! DO NOT tell the mother! DO NOT tell the mother!! HURRY, we’re losing her!!” Through the numbness taking over my body, I briefly wonder, yet again, who this person is talking about and then, thankfully, there are no more sounds at all.

 

 About the Author:
I’m a 48 year old biracial woman who was adopted trans-racially as an infant into a Caucasian family and raised in a community where there were no other people of color within a 300-mile radius. I am finally able to proudly say that I am a Survivor and a very strong woman! I am also the mother of two wonderful children: Noah, 28 and Remington 15. Currently, I live (and swirl) in Grand Rapids, Michigan with my daughter, an elderly dog and a very naughty cat.

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To purchase, click here.

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SirLoinsBabe Wenesday: For Mature Audences only. http://www.beyondblackwhite.com/sirloinsbabe-wenesday-silver-goddesses/ http://www.beyondblackwhite.com/sirloinsbabe-wenesday-silver-goddesses/#comments Wed, 03 Sep 2014 06:33:48 +0000 http://www.beyondblackwhite.com/?p=32773 This week we offer the babes in the fifty and over category.  Why? 1.) Because Black women stay beautiful! 2.) Us older guys want to Swirl too. First up: Nichelle Nichols  age 81.  She is most famous for portraying communications officer Uhura in Star Trek: The Original Series,Star Trek: The Animated Series, and the first six Star […]

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This week we offer the babes in the fifty and over category.  Why?

1.) Because Black women stay beautiful!

2.) Us older guys want to Swirl too.

First up: Nichelle Nichols  age 81.  She is most famous for portraying communications officer Uhura in Star Trek: The Original Series,Star Trek: The Animated Series, and the first six Star Trek movies.

 

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Annette Larkins is 72 and look fabulous. The Miami resident is a well know Raw Vegan.  Mrs Larkins has been eating a meatless diet for over 40 years and  credits that for her her  radiant youthful appearance and physical vitality. She does not heat any of her food, preferring to eat all of it raw by making any number of meals out of nuts, beets, greens, or anything else she grows at home in her garden.

 

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No presentation of Mature beauty would be complete with out  Ernestine “Ernie” Shepherd, at age 79,  she is an award winning bodybuilder, personal trainer, professional model. She holds the title of  World’s Oldest Performing Female BodyBuilder (by Guinness World Records).

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At 71 there is no denying that former body builder Linda Wood Hoyte has every brick in place.

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Renee Davis, 62, a mother, model Breast Cancer survivor, Owner/CEO of Renee & Company.  Laid off from her telecommunications job in the midst of her battle with cancer she has built a successful career in modeling and acts as a spokeswomen to get the word out, especially to black women about breast cancer.

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Tina Turner. Enough said.

 

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Wendy Ida. Has 62 ever looked this good?

From her website:

Wendy Ida (ee’da) is a 62 year old top Los Angeles, Nationally Certified Master Trainer, Coach, Nutrition Specialist Speaker, and author of the best-selling book, Take Back Your Life! My No Nonsense Approach to Health Fitness and Looking Good Naked! Wendy also won the Indie literary book award for her best seller.

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All fit. All fabulous.  Us old guys had better come correct and step up our game to be worthy.

 

 

 

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