holiday pressure...and not

An overload of 'must do' over the weekend...too many divas and drama queens in my life right now...getting ready for a board holiday party at my place Monday night and leave on a 7am flight on Tuesday. Everything gets done...what doesn't wasn't important...and I sleep well anywhere. I sent my last package today and will be doing Christmas cards, aka happy new year cards, in the airport. At least way back in September, I was thinking about getting them done!

Christmas in NYC

December has been TOO busy. I'll be spending Christmas in NYC, which will be pleasant for many reasons. The main one is that I'll be visiting with Sam. He's awesome. We'll visit with several of his friends, do a lot of walking - some places I've not explored on previous trips. Someone today was asking about where I'd spend Christmas. There is a chance that my older son will come up to the city while I'm there - that would be an extra special gift!

Christmas in New York City is splendid...the snowflakes over the avenues, the snow falling in Fort Tryon Park, the stops in so many coffee shops to stay warm, the art galleries, and visiting Sam's every day places. There is always something new. I've met only friendly, helpful people.

I love the subway rides...they are much more gentle than riding the el in Chicago. My dad and I used to take the el to baseball games and the race tracks. The el seemed to shockingly invade the lives of the people in apartments we'd rattle past. The subway, for the most part, keeps a more polite tone, concentrating on the life inside the car.

Shadows, reflections, buildings within buildings in Midtown...the hills and green space in Inwood...the street noise...the quick, ready switch from peddling tees or purses to umbrellas when the rain starts...the smooth, easy dances with other pedestrians, forever changing unknown partners on Time Square sidewalks...the bold, flashing billboards...probably the only place where billboards hold a secure, grand spot...coming out of the subway late at night and sometimes being the only two people around.

Christmas in NY is where I can feel as if I have walked into Christmas Holiday...serenity, comfort, lots of love and joy all around. Even moving through the airports and waiting, with a slight tension, for my boarding call feels comfortable and at ease. Right up to the day I leave I will be cleaning or working...and then walk into a completely different world.

Bits and pieces

With this blustery snow come the children on their bikes and makeshift sleds, squealing down Fourth Street. I watch, hoping the cars on Bates approach slowly and actually stop.

People seem extra friendly in the challenging cold. I like that.

I came into work on Monday to find a card and a small plastic bag at my desk. A library patron left it for me. He stays at the Gospel Mission. On the Christmas card, with his name, was the message: 'Thanks for being nice to me'. In the bag was a program from a recent Gospel Mission music program and a safety booklet for our library/university, and an assortment of hotel size shampoos, soaps and plastic utensils; all things I can definitely use! This is one of the greatest, heartwarming gifts of the season. Thank you, D_______!

Also, yesterday when I was filling in at the help desk, a woman approached and I smiled at her....the first thing she said was, 'Thank you for smiling'. We can touch people in so many ways...a smile, a greeting...yet some people grip them tightly and selfishly as if smiles and warmth were pieces of gold they were being asked to share.

Safe at Office Depot

Another 'Huh?' moment....and I can fully understand the motivation behind the policy, but.....
So here I am, a stout, grey-haired woman. I purchased a large piece of foam core at Office Depot several days ago. It was larger than I needed, but they had nothing smaller. I took it to my Metro and it filled the space from the very rear to inches of the dash. I took it back inside the store (this was after waiting about 15 minutes, at three different registers/clerks because of returns, etc. only one customer at each register) to get it cut down to fit.

I asked the first available clerk if he had an xacto so that I could get this cut. He looked at me as if I had just pulled a gun. He said no, no xacto, so I suggested a box cutter. A long pause before he said they use keys around there to open boxes, and they don't allow customers to have knives in the store. Then another clerk - these were both males - came up and the first explained, asking the second if he had his box cutter. He hesitated quite a while, and said they couldn't take legal responsibility in cutting the foam core; I told them both that I would do it, placing it on the floor, and if I raised the cutter in any way that appeared terroristic, he could stomp on my hand. Only then, with the second man standing over me, was I able to crease the board to fit my car! I guess we are safe at Office Depot!

HUH?

Target pharmacy has a practice of placing rubber rings around the neck of the plastic prescription bottle. Theoretically, each family member gets his/her own ring in order to avoid prescription mix-ups. A couple months ago, I requested that no ring be placed on my prescriptions as I live alone and the rubber ring is not recyclable.The clerk made a note of it, and I've had no rings to remove and cut in half so that no bird ends up with a non-expanding ring around its neck.

This morning when I picked up a called-in prescription, the clerk told me ‘it is Target’s policy to place a rubber ring on each bottle'. As she started placing the purple ring on the bottle I told her to stop, as I was present and I had much earlier requested no ring since I live alone, hence no fear of mix-up. Again, ‘It’s Target’s policy. Again, I live alone, so there is no fear of a prescription mix-up. Her answer: ‘I can change the color to pink.’ I said the color doesn’t matter, the ring in not recyclable and it's unnecessary. Reply: ‘If it’s a problem to get the ring off the bottle, we can do it here.’ No, removing the ring is not problem; if you're going to remove it for me, why put it on in the first place?

It ended when I held out my hand for the ring, received it, and gave it back, saying you gave it to me and I’m returning it. She said she’d set her note aside and talk with the pharmacist. Arrrrrggggggg Let’s don’t and say we did.

It reminded me of the time, a few years ago when I was making a purchase at the mall-side checkout at Har-Mar’s Barnes and Noble Booksellers.There is a set of posts and cloth ‘rails’ to guide the crowds in a zig zag maze to the register/clerk. On this day, I was the only one in sight, besides the clerk. I went straight to the register instead of through the little maze. The clerk (very seriously) asked me to go through the maze. I said no, that’s ok; that’s for when there are several people. She was insistent on it and I again refused. While she was ringing up my purchase, another customer approached the register. I called it to the clerk’s attention with ‘Ah, now we have a crowd.’ She didn’t seem too happy with me.

Follow up from Nov. 8

I have Morton's Neuroma in my foot. Cortisone shot, a cushion for inside my shoe, staying off ladders (THAT is a difficult part - being short in an apartment with high cupboards, putting up window plastic, etc.), not crouching on my knees...but a follow-up appointment in five weeks.

I just may be able to get the tulip and daffodil bulbs into the ground this weekend...if I quickly drop to my stomach and then roll over and pull myself up by the shovel handle! Silly picture - just use one knee and get the boys to help. Two of them, especially, take great pride in planting.

Leonid meteor shower next week, November 17. We're planning a party in the parking area - midnight snacks, lights out, blankets and star gaze. When I lived in Sturgeon Bay, a friend of mine, Kathy, and I would lie on a picnic table at deserted Sunset Beach in the middle of the night, drinking tea and searching the vastness of the sky for shooting stars.

This one's all about me...

Life lessons sometimes poke me annoyingly. I've been told I need to tell friends more often when I need help; that's true. It's easier said than done. One of our young friends, who came to Saturday's movie on the porch last night, reminded me of that. He had no idea of his 'poke', but it had me thinking today. Cesar said, "Are you ok? You look sick." He was pretty direct. I told him I was just feeling a little down...that truth was that when I had stopped at three different places and spent money, I was annoyed that no one says 'thank you'. When did 'there you are' or 'have a good day' become substitutes for 'thank you' (for choosing to spend your money here, so I have a job!?).

In truth, and I think I should have been honest with Cesar, my leg is in great pain and I want to cry. The ball on my other foot feels like I'm walking on a wadded up, twisted sock. I have doctor appts on Thursday and Friday, so I hope to know something then. The pain in walking is driving the energy from me and I feel sapped. It's more the norm for me to say 'I'm ok'. My birth family seldom went to the doctor...when I was dragged by a Good Humor ice cream truck, when another child threw a brick at my brother's head and cracked it open, when he had polio, when my mother's knee was gashed open and she had glass in her eyes from a car accident - that's when we went to the hospital. Other than that, I went to the doctor three times when I was a kid. I allowed my ex-husband to reinforce that behavior in some ways with his accusations that I complained and wasn't really sick (viral pneumonia)...a friend came and took me to the doctor.

So, I have a high pain tolerance and have to really consider when I visit the doctor. The whole point of this isn't pain, etc., but Cesar's sweetness and directness in asking about my health when he saw that there was something more obvious than I thought. I work in an environment where I feel invisible.

I could go in with a cast on my nose and most co-workers probably wouldn't notice...did you ever realize how people (and I'm guilty of it) can look at another person, but not REALLY look? Cesar looked and cared enough to ask. I hope he never loses that. He's encouraged me to do better in giving an honest reply and in really looking at people....SEEING isn't just for motorcycles, it's for people, too.

A Season for Grieving

I was just upstairs and a library patron talked about the suddenness in the weather change. It dawned on me that I'm grieving for the passing summer. Autumn, with its coolness, brisk wind, and color had always been my favorite season. Since Sunday when the chill seemed to claim a permanence, I've felt a bit low and sad.

With that brief conversation, I realized it's not the weather that is affecting me, but the fact that it means no more frequent porch gatherings or movies. Certainly, I'll enjoy get togethers with friends in coffee shops and spontaneous meetings, but I've found it's not the same. Two years ago I didn't enjoy going home as much as I have the last year. I've so fully embraced the character of my neighborhood and I've come to cherish it.

I'll miss the kids riding their bikes and anything else with wheels. I'll miss their just stopping by, coming up on the porch, sometimes wordlessly and then quietly disappearing; at other times they'll engage in conversations or pull out a board game. Where can we gather when the porch isn't warm enough? Kids are why we must take care of our neighborhoods.

Of course, I want the color of beautiful flowers, the peace of no loud mufflers or the stress of a screech or squeal of a car in the intersection, the sound of a bottle being thrown from a car window to the breaking point of hitting the pavement. I've known pure beauty and I've known evil. But the kids are at a starting point in life...and they ARE our kids.

It's the little lessons....

On Saturday evening when I called the police about the public urination, several of the kids exclaimed, "You called the police?! When are the coming? I'm getting out of here!" The message they were giving is that police are bad news; I'd heard this before from the same kids. I assured them that the police weren't going to question them, they could stay on the porch, and they didn't have to talk or be any where near the police.

When the officer came, I went to the sidewalk...right behind me were three of our boys - enthusiastically giving descriptions of the offender and incident! On the porch again, one commented, "That wasn't bad".

Mostly it was a pleasant weekend

It was a pleasant weekend. I had loads of energy after work on Friday and attacked the messiness in my bedroom....dust on furniture, dragged out 'things' stored under the bed...in the process of cleaning one room, I made a mess of two others as the found and moved items make their way to other storage spots, to Goodwill, etc., or to the trash. K and the boys played video games on the porch, using the projector.

Saturday, three of the kids stopped up to play a board game while it was still warm and light; then Kira stopped with a fundraiser for her school.
Movies with kids and neighbors on Friday and Saturday. The kids were really wound up on Friday night. We all chattered, teased, and talked more than watched any movie. On Saturday we all watched the old version of Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.
Sunday, no kids. Ariel came over to talk and borrowed a library book, we caught up on making connections for her signing lessons. I had been sorting through my 33Lps and 78s, needing to get rid of some (any takers?); Ariel had never seen a turn table/ record player. It was fun to introduce her to one, along with some 60s folk music! Then B and I decided to make popcorn and watch 'The Way We Were'. Besides the draw of Robert Redford and Barbra Streisand, I had forgotten how I liked the story itself. We bundled up in quilts, heavy socks and I ate popcorn for supper.
I still think using 321 Bates as a drop-in center for kids would be a better use of property than the problem property it's been all the years I've lived across from it. That, or tear it down for green space/play area for kids.

Saturday B called the police for a domestic fight across the street and then in the evening with all the kids, we saw a man stop and publicly urinate. Sometimes I can give leeway, depending on...whatever, I don't know. I blew up on this one...ran out to him -there were four other people in his car. He was a big guy, towel around his neck, bling; after I told him no public urination and he told me I was harassing him, I followed him to his car and called him, several times, a pig. Of course, he blew me off. I stood in front of his car to get the plate number. The car is one that frequents our neighborhood, goes through stop signs, and speeds, but a police check (they came very quickly) noted the car is not from our neighborhood. The kids were worried that the driver was going to run into me, as he drove forward when I was getting the plate number, but he wouldn't have done that. That's the third public urination in about three months. WHY such pigs?! The last was broad daylight - two males visiting across the street...and I was on the porch at the time!

Porchtalk

Errands after work, then a fundraiser luau for Vallay Moua, then home shortly after 8 tonight. I brought the projector home, and sure enough, as I walked from the car to the porch, Cesar rode over and asked about movies. He and F came up to the porch and then Bonni and Kyle came out. Though Cesar brought up movies several times, I much enjoyed that the five of us talked until 11:00 about the boys' first week at school. For F, it has included another student pouring alcohol or perfume on his shirt and being called into the principal's office, a friend being shot by a bb gun at school, being offered coke, another student getting into his locker and tearing up earned 'money' that goes toward a field trip, and a number of other events and interactions.

Cesar, with his smile that lights up the darkness, attends a different school and seems to really like it. I worry about F. He said he has a gym teacher who helps with his English, so perhaps he's found a bit of an anchor there. We talked with him about building a relationship with at least one teacher with whom he could talk.

The boys talked, too, about some of the relationships among neighborhood kids. With tonight's conversation and the one I had on the street two days ago with a number of the kids, some of what I've been seeing and hearing comes together.

As Kyle said later, it's great that the kids can come and talk with people of different ages. It's true....hard to say who gets the most from it. From the seriousness of school, to what they're learning in sex education, to the boys pretending to see a rodent (I think they were pretending), to confiding about bike thefts and neighborhood dramas, to Cesar feeling comfortable enough to know that he could dip into the candy machine from the top while I was filling it, and to the laughing about silly stories from three generations. Tonight was a very special gem. And tomorrow, Cesar and I may go to see if we can find the turkeys that roam behind the library...and there's talk about playing dodge ball...the question is, will Bonni give up Barack Obama for an afternoon of dodge ball?

Negative baggage from school to home

School began on Tuesday for most of our neighborhood children. Normally that transition would bring a sense of relief to parents and neighbors. Unfortunately that doesn't ring true in our neighborhood right now. I don't recall any 'play fighting' this past summer, and we seemed to have been free of arguing and fighting in the street overall.

Yet on Tuesday, one boy took swings at another, who vowed he wouldn't hit a younger or smaller boy, but slew words and taunts back. Today the same two were at it in front of L's home. She had planned a party for the group of kids, as a 'thank you' for searching for her lost cat a few weeks ago. She has second thoughts with all this fighting...it wears thin on people. I said I would talk to the kids if possible. I did talk with several, still not the fist swinger.

One of the kids, the no-hitter/taunter, has a lot of personal issues; we talked about what he can control and can't...the fact that he defends his brother and then his brother hangs out with the antangonist; the fact that someone else loses his temper - that B can control only how he acts/reacts...and it goes on. I've asked him to focus on this one situation and write what really troubles him and what he can/cannot control.

Someone fill me in...it appears to me that while these kids got along all summer, when they go to their many schools all over the city, they connect with other small groups with their own summer baggage/history/attitudes and they pick up some of that nasty baggage and carry it back to their home neighborhoods which are usually removed from their school life. Are they acting like some adults who take their negative home life to work or 'kick the dog' syndrome, from work to home?

I'm fortunate.....

A time I could kick myself - On the way to work this morning, a man I know to be homeless and stays at the Bethel Hotel, mentioned how pleasant the weather was. I agreed, going on about how I loved to pull the sheets up and feel the crisp coolness in the morning, wanting to stay in bed a bit longer.

My brain then kicked in, reminding me that at the Gospel Mission, the men don't have a choice about staying in later, that it can be so close and stuffy, they don't necessarily get the freshness I do with all my windows and choice as to leaving them opened or closed. I worry a lot about finances and making ends meet every payday, but I do have one, and I treasure the small things.

http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#/photo.php?pid=512807&id=1176506549

Murphy Shares His Hugs

My friend Murphy and I visited Como Zoo today. He's about two and a half feet shorter than I am, and decades younger, but was the best companion I could want. We rode the carousol, spent most of our time around the orangatans, sea lions and seals; Murph kept returning to them and always was interested in the babies.

Murphy is a joy to be with - so polite, offering to share his ice cream cookie and root beer. We 'toasted' the day several times at our late lunch after watching the 'Sparky' show. He remembered the birds he had seen on a previous trip with his dad, the polar bears, and then, as if he didn't already have my heart (I've known him for several years), as we were walking the path thickly lined with other visitors, Murphy stretched out his arms and spun twice, saying: "I want to hug everyone!" I followed Murphy's example, stretching my arms to catch the spirit of the people around us, spun twice and said, "We're hugging everyone!" On the way back to the car, Murphy went up to the earlier identified Russian Sage and then the brown-eyed Susans, put his face gently into each group of blossoms, outstretched arms held at the edges and said, "I'm hugging you, flowers!" Murphy's parents have taught him well, to respect and help others, to share...they've also taught him to see the world around him and the connection between the environment and people...I love looking at his face and watching his eyes filled with wonder or appreciation. On the way back to the car, Murph said he was tired. I asked if he wanted me to carry him; he opted for a horse back ride on my shoulders. We did it! Near the waterfall we saw two unicylists. He asked what they were doing and then said, "I'm riding a unicycle!"

What joy and love 'our' children teach us and share! I am ready for my nap after four wonderful hours. Murph is a sweetheart, a joy, and I thank his parents for entrusting him to me for a visit to the zoo!

I'm so blessed, I could burst!

We had great interest and turnout for the city-owned vacant house tour today and Tuesday. It took me 35 minutes to walk from work to my house tonight....and for reasons I treasure. Neighbors take time to talk and to exchange news. My friend, Linda M. gave me two lovely tomatoes from her garden and shared a continuing story about her once lost cat and some neighborhood activity that surrounds the adventure. At the end of the story is a thank you note that the boys wrote on their own, to Linda. It's a bit involved, but this is a reflection of relationships in our neighborhood, between kids and adults.

Linda had given me, several weeks ago, a lovely, unusual plant. Two of our boys helped us plant it and set stone around it. Then Linda gave their mothers cut flowers and a potted plant. During the following two weeks when our weather was so dry, another neighbor told me that the boys had been carrying water over to water my plant (our plant).

Wednesday when I got home, I found a stack of beautiful postcards of Europe and Egypt. I noticed one had been addressed to Linda and called her to thank her. She told me that they were given to me by Firmen, who had received them from Linda. He knows my love for art , books, etc. and left them for me.

And then when I got home tonight after hosting the open house, I found more tomatoes from another friend. Linda C. and I shared fresh tomato wedges, olive oil, French bread fresh from Toast to Bread, and iced tea.

Many if not most people who work for the city and make daily decisions about our neighborhood and people who make the regulations for houses and streets in Dayton's Bluff don't live here. It is not enough to drive through or even walk through once or twice and think they 'know' the neighborhood. No one will know the flavor, the personality, or the heart of our neighborhood unless they make a few porch visits with us.

Think of the times you've been so happy, or so filled with pleasure that you feel you could burst, or blurt out you happiness so loud in public. That is what I feel for where I live and the people around me. I am so blessed.

Porch Talk

On several occasions I've visited different friends who live on the lakes in Minneapolis. Their condos and homes are raised and enjoy an absolutely beautiful view of the lakes and winding streets. I've found it so pleasant to be on their decks and watch the sky and water. When I visit Door County I usually stay with a friend whose home is right on the Bay. There too, I enjoy the quiet view of the water and vastness of the sky.

I've often wondered, though, at the antsy-ness I feel after five or ten minutes. I've come to realize I miss the connection of people in my view. Perhaps I'm fooling myself and could get very laid back, in the almost absolute quiet, but I'm not too sure. I have a small porch attached to my second floor apartment and I do enjoy it. It offers privacy while eating lunch, and I'm not 'available' to people unless I want to be.

But, where I really enjoy being is on the downstairs front porch. Though a bit raised off the street, it's close enough to be connected...to have a quiet level conversation with people who want to chat a bit...to exchange greetings or news with the kids riding by...to give the evil look to drivers who go through the stop sign or blast their music. It's that connection with life that I enjoy. Yes, it's sometimes stressful, but usually it's heaven.

The beauty lies in evenings like yesterday. After walking home and entering my apartment through the backdoor, I put down my bags and went to answer the front doorbell. Ariel and her sister, Keyra (sp) were there for a porch visit and pretzels...and for Ariel to show off Sophie and my artwork to her sister. As we visited, Doris, a former neighbor came by and then Ariel and Keyra treated us to signing and singing of Michael Jackson and Whitney Houston songs. Jose and Mario came up to join us.

As I was sweeping some of the sidewalk debris, seven of so of the neighborhood boys rode up now and then to give me news of Linda's missing kitten. Then two Mpls new friends stopped over and we talked creativity, neighborhood activism and changes on the porch into the dark.

I couldn't get this on a quiet deck two stories above a bike route and lake.

"The Kindness of Strangers...."

Almost done with a book by Marc Freedman. Insightful, well thought out and researched, this book discusses the history and birth of mentorship, its relationships and value, and real-life mentoring experiences. I highly recommend "The Kindness of Strangers: Adult Mentors, Urban Youth, and the New Volunteerism". From about 1989 to 1993 I was foster parent to teen girls who had been sexually abused and to teen boys who were aging out of the foster system, but were not wanted at home. At a foster parent conference, a co-worker of Marion Edelman-Wright spoke and used an example that remains imbedded in my values:

Picture an island of children, of all varieties and ages. It's an island of only children, no adults or adult influence. Some 50 or 100 yards away is another island - of adults. In nature's way, each child will one day, in his/her own time, feel an innate desire to move to the adult island. However, the islands are separated by roiled waters, great depths, and unknown challenges. Some of the children have made it to the adult island on their own, worn, but safe. Others are afraid to even set out into the water. Others try, but make it only partway, some not surviving, some turning back, perhaps to try again, perhaps not. The children can all use in one way or another, the help of an adult - meeting halfway, perhaps meeting a child right on the water's edge of the child's island. Some children just need an outstretched hand to claim the imposing beach of the adult island. The children need us to meet them where they are...and we are the only ones who can help them.

This book takes me back to that conference. It's a reminder I appreciate and would like to pass on.

A neighborhood convergence

Our Bates/Fourth area Neighborhood Night Out went very well. I had conversations with quite a number of people who have offered no more than a returned 'How are you?' in the past as they've walked by; and an insightful conversation with a young man, Darnell, who had quite a bit to say about how other young Black men should dress and conduct themselves in order to receive the respect they say they want.

I was able to chat with Diane and others who live a block and a half away, who I haven't seen outside in quite a while. A few more kids have started coming to movie night as a result of getting to know them a bit. I love that Ariel is a reader, lover of books, and enjoys art.

Today three young women walked to our 'paint the pavement' mural and I talked with them about it. One had stopped here on NNO and she was explaining how it came to 'appear'. These three young women had just moved in a block and a half down. Now, this moment, I'm thinking of where I might know them. I kept saying how one looked so familiar. I think she's the one I believe is a prostitute who walked by a few days ago and, for several reasons, made an impact on me. I could be wrong. If not, I'll can be a good contact. That's funny.

I was telling them how delightful it is when I see older teens 'dancing' on the mural late at night, or how our kids like to skate on the curves of the mural. Then there is the comparison of the once blank, dirty intersection. The bright colors of the painting fill in the stark grey expanse from corner to corner and proclaim: "people here care", "drive cautiously, children play here", "residents here see what happens and respond".

I love it when a driver pauses on the mural and exclaims a 'wow!' that I can hear from my window. I love seeing the smiles and the questioning looks; or when someone realizes that weird little character on the log is a bear...and some, even, the Hamm's Bear!

Unfortunately, some cars still drive right through the four way stop. It's a step; and people seem to love to step on it, almost in it, as if grass and water....they seem to want to become integrated in the mural...like disappearing into a painting to enjoy the other life....

Our kids

Last night we were visited by a Minneapolis Trib photograper as we held our Friday movie on the porch. We showed Gran Torino (kids got permission). Kyle gave an occasional commentary to relate the action or comments so the kids could relate them to their own lives and experiences. They all stayed for the end and they'll be talking more about it when they're over later today.

When I'm asked for a description of our neighborhood, all too often I fall into the sociological or physical description...I become a parrot of those who don't live here and know it. What our neighborhood is, is the kids. They keep me grounded, they make me smile when I come home and I see them on our porch or at the fence waiting for me. Bonni is home during the day right now and has been engaging them in watercolor. Cesar, especially enjoys art...how would we have ever known? Phermin, oldest at 'almost 14' is the most shy, but opening up. Last night he giggled a lot, but didn't pull his shirt up over his face as a couple weeks before when his photograph is being taken.

Mario, Cesar's brother will follow in his brother's outgoing, confident steps, I think. Pedro is a bit quieter....Last night, Ariel finally joined us. She walks past our house very often and we've invited her up. After talking at Neighborhood Night Out, she's become a bit more open...she's a joy and I'll look forward to getting to know her.

Adrian, Brandon, and Riley all stopped by later and stayed for the end...Chris, starting eighth grade this fall, tries to be so cool...too bad he couldn't have stayed for 'Pretty in Pink' or 'Sixteen Candles' last weekend! All that young male angst...

Besides movies, we've started group video games on the porch and Jeopardy (they love the adults getting excited) with the projector.

We REALLY need our own multi-use projector to use with the DVD/VHS players and game attachments.

It's a beautiful day in my neighborhood.....

Forever on a search for a pasty that really tastes 'homemade'!

Photos: A Jean Kay pasty; outside views of Dobber's in Escanaba; inside views of Jean Kay's in Marquette.

My mother, Helen Marjorie Roberts Sage, was a fantastic cook, professionally and in the home. As one of five children I grew up with foods such as kreplach and pasties, cooking that she had brought from Ishpeming and Negaunee. Mom used to make pasties in the wee hours of the morning after she had finished one and sometimes two shifts at a local country club. When we awoke, my brother and I would have a pasty for breakfast (we were not a breakfast-orthodox family!) and take a wrapped one for school lunch. Hiding them at school became a challenge, as mine was sometimes stolen from my desk (we didn't always have lockers in my elementary school). The aroma, though, would often give up the culprit.

When I left home, it was first to Houghton, Michigan in the UP. I had no need to make my own pasties there, as pasty makers had certain days during the month for making pasties and people could call in orders. Also, the Kaleva Cafe across the canal, in Hancock, had substantial and extremely tasty 'homemade' pasties.

When I finally started making my own, it took six attempts before I could match the taste of Mom's. She never had a recipe, but I had watched her so often and was always amazed with her skills. My older son asked for a recipe and I had to find the closest I could with proportions and then give him the basic rules: USE RUTABAGA and ground beef! It may be true that I adhere to

the idea that the best pasties use rutabaga only because my mother made them that way. People may show their passion in discussing religion or politics, but never underestimate the passion about pasty ingredients!

Years ago I used to make ethnic food for art fairs (I found it more lucrative than my artwork). My son and I would generally make about three hundred pasties, a couple hundred each kreplach and tamales. A woman once approached me asking her question before even reaching our booth: 'Do you use rutabaga?' When I said 'yes', she began her rant against rutabaga in pasties.

I used to look forward to visiting Grama T's in Negaunee for pasties....great crust and the right mix of ingredients. The last good one I had there was in 2002. While visiting the Hiawatha Music Festival a year or two later, I took my friend with me and I was sadly disappointed. Was it because they had strayed and gone the way of expanding to pasties with cheese, broccoli, etc. or because the shop had been up for sale? When does a pasty stop being a pasty? Their traditional pasty had lost its flavor and my favor.

A couple years ago when in Negaunee/Marquette, I bought four different pasties to take home for a taste test. I rated three very low and one so-so. On this July trip with my aunts and cousins, we tried Dobber's in Escanaba - never again. Lawry's in Marquette - better, but not again...and the potatoes were julienned! Some people would say that one shop's location would have better pasties than their other location, but even if true, I want consistency. The last we tried on this trip was Jean Kay's in Marquette. It was better. It actually had rutabaga, onion and flavor....Cleo and I agreed though...it was still not as good as OUR homemade!

Cleo is a great travel companion, ready to try different things and have fun in the doing. It got to the point where we were almost dissecting each pasty as well as critiquing it. But we never complained about them and always had fun. At one shop I had ordered my pasty, then added a cudighi sandwich to take out also. We got back to the motel, and found the cudighi, but not the pasty! Cudighi is another story...

I'll have to cool down my kitchen, make room in my freezer, and get started! It's so labor intensive, I'll need to psyche myself up for the task. Pasties - so much more to write about them: origin and evolution of recipe and ingredients, sociology of..., short personal stories related to the ubiquitous pasty.

Weekend Movie Night

Seems a perfect weekend, to enjoy a lazy evening or two of movies on the porch. We'll do ANNIE on Friday and GREY GARDENS on Saturday...I'll get some empty tuna or cat food tins to set the mood...all refreshments will come from cans, well, except for the cheese. I think we might get rain on Saturday, which would be a great backdrop for the movie.
FRIDAY, JULY 17: the kids, young and old, are ready for ET tonight....blankets recommended. There'll be hot coffee and cocoa as well as treats. Tomorrow is 'chick flix' night with wine, cheese and desserts. Dress warm!!

Summer time, and the livin' is......

Sophie (cat who rules) entered summer with a collar to tail full shave. She is SO cool now. John, my neighbor put in my air conditioner for me (Now I am cooler than I've been in over a week - no more moving from sofa to floor to bed all night). John is someone who talks hard, but has the biggest heart and acts on it, taking new clothes to the neighbor boys; cuts people's grass, and I'll bet they have no idea who is doing it! He's weeded unkempt gardens of busy neighbors, mended when needed; and housesat for others. I love that I sometimes find brick-a-brack or unique books on my porch - I know they are from John.

That's so much unlike a neighbor who is pleasant to the face, but has done things like taking two of the shepherd staffs and flowers I put out last year, and this year appears to have swiped my beautiful geranium in front of my house. A neighbor saw the swipe and described the man. There are people in this neighborhood who have so little, and share so much - then there are those who have more than enough and are literally thieves in the night - or in the noon of the day! Of course it is irritating, but one has to feel pity on such a person that he already must feel so small and lacking in self respect.

Two neighbor boys stopped by with their little dog this evening. It's a joy to chat and listen to the kids here. Another neighbor dropped off a chess set . I am collecting board games for game nights to go with our movie nights on the porch. One of the house residents downstairs plays chess and I thought perhaps he and the kids could connect for some games. Young Adrian went through and figured out what chess figures I would need to replace/fill.

Last Saturday, while doing my errands, I came across a garage sale where there were three pairs of inline skates in great condition. What a deal! Only one dollar a pair! I gave them to our kids down the street and they will have mastered the fundamentals by the end of the week. It is fantastic to see how well they are doing.

After work today, and a brake job on my car (Roy's Service is a blessing to our neighborhood), I took D. to look at an apartment. I certainly pray that she gets it. She may know by tomorrow. When we got back, I joined the garden walk around Bates and Fifth/Fourth. Every year the flowers seem more abundant. Last year was my first year for a flower garden. I dug up a small two by three foot, thinking 'I don't understand what enjoyment people get from this'. Then, my garden grew to both sides of my walk, and kept expanding. I found myself almost a plant addict. I ached - O, how my thighs ached!! But the pride in flowers blooming! And then, people from down Bates, saying how they enjoy walking past and seeing the flowers...I get a certain amount of satisfaction in the doing, but the greatest is in knowing others enjoy them. And to be able to give a flower to a passerby - so warming to see someone so tough looking, smile!

In the last couple of weeks the Trib and the Press had articles about rehabbing houses in Dayton's Bluff. Interesting, were the comments to the online versions. So many were derogatory about people and appearance. There is a beauty, a joy, a preciousness, a uniqueness about the East Side - about my neighborhood in 'lower' Dayton's Bluff that not everyone sees or experiences. It's as if my most immediate neighborhood has a radiating soul within a rough exterior. Others don't know the love, the caring, the sharing, the great warmth of those around me. My friends and neighbors here run the gamut of education, income, life experiences and backgrounds, social class, ethnicity....I enjoy a richness that I've never experienced in the more than 42 moves I've made in my life.

When I think of my sons, my heart wants to burst with joy. I feel the same way about Dayton's Bluff. I was not born and raised here - I moved to Minnesota over 10 years ago. I've lived for almost eight years on this block and it's more home than anywhere else has ever been. For the one or two miserly people here, the others magnificently outshine them. I can't explain what it is about the Bluff area...it's a challenge, but there is peace; it can be rough, but there is an innate gentleness in the roughest of characters; boarded up houses, yes, but they are among the jewels, small and large. The most precious of all, are the people. They are my people...and I am blessed.

I've invited various elected officials to 'porch sit' at any time. Watching the world from the porch can be both a heartwarming experience and a jaw-dropping one. Last year, the detective who brought a photo line up for me to view, stood on the porch and said he could be there for an afternoon and see 'everybody' go by. 'Everybody' is right. We get name drug dealers, stolen cars abandoned; and the activities: hair pulling, screaming hair fights in the intersection; broad daylight drug deals at parked cars or under streetlights; the one am scene of a car coming up the street with a mattress on top (not fastened) with a man lying on top of it; eight cars in an hour, making u-turns on specific days, times (and I'm laughed at, told that it's nothing); a woman thrown out of a car mid-afternoon; two kids stealing a skateboard from a neighbor's porch; too many drivers to mention, not even stopping for the four way stop, day or night. Then there is the glorious picture of nine young kids riding anything with wheels down Fourth Street. Or four kids learning to inline skate. Or the many dogs being walked, a lone man stopping to literally smell a flower; s small child sharing a treat with a friend; the older sister stopping to tenderly readjust a sib's hat and make sure he keeps his gloves on; a neighbor at my door asking if we can exchange cupboard food; a new renter across the street who spent from mid-morning till dusk, tilling and planting flowers on her front terrace; outside a local bakery, in the early evening with J and K, waiting for the fresh rosemary bread to be done...and then John's mom sending over fresh basil pesto...mmmmmmm!

If police officers, council people, any person who is appointed or elected to serve our community wants to sit on my porch and see the real Dayton's Bluff, a chair and refreshments await. Who knows which neighbors will soon be with you to chat, play Trivial Pursuit, or just enjoy the quiet.

Sometimes the street life is very stressful, and we get the point of taking it for granted, though it takes a toll, healthwise. But the pleasures are great.

Family...the good, the bad and the ugly

No surprise, while at my cousin's funeral in Negaunee, Michigan on Thursday, I met three more cousins I had never known of before. We compared some family notes and contact info. It seems we all are seeking information on one particular Roberts family member - Martha LaBombard, Mic'q Mac'q by birth, though one person's record states that she was a redhead of Scot descent. A photo belies this.

My Aunt Cleo and I are driving to the UP in July and Cleo can meet these newly found relatives, too. They are a delight, with the great gift of laughter. Perhaps we can weave together more of the family fabric. I've promised to find the family tree as my Aunt Merle had written for me, and make copies of Roberts and Pelto families, such as I have. Unfortunately, my youngest sister, on her visits, has quite blatantly felt the freedom to take most of my photos that I had taken while growing up and of my own children when they were young, as well as some family documents. Middle sister/friend of youngest, once told me that said youngest felt that her wealth (married into) entitles her to family 'heirlooms'; also that said youngest feels free to create her own family history. Unfortunately, I've found both to be true. (Will I regret writing this when I awake tomorrow?)

Joseph Jerome Roberts

My cousin, Joseph Jerome Roberts, died last week. I drove up to Negaunee in the UP for his funeral this past Thursday. Joe was 89 years old. It was, I think, about four years ago that I first met him. Two of my sisters and I had gone to the Marquette County Clerk of Courts to search for Roberts family records. We requested records of our mother's name and a man came out of an office, saying, "I believe I'm your cousin." This was the first time we had met or known the existence of our cousin, David Roberts, then Marquette County, MI Clerk of Courts. Later that day, he introduced us to his dad, Joe Roberts.

Joe at first thought he was our uncle, but quickly found out he was a cousin. When he told us that, I sensed he was disappointed...anyway, I acknowledged the cousin relationship, but have always written 'Uncle' in my notes and letter to him. I rather liked the idea of an uncle, and I kind of thought he did, also.

Joe had been in a nursing home over the last three years. He had suffered a stroke and slowly deteriorated. At his funeral, as I watched his family - David and his wife, Pat; their children and grandchildren, I thought how loved Joe was. In my few visits I recall references and treatment of Joe of great respect and love. That same love and respect was shown him at his casket as war veterans saluted a fellow vet; co-workers and friends of Dave and Pat understood the love for Dave's father; people who knew Joe from his work in the iron mines paid their respects.

Joe was my grandfather's nephew - now I'm not sure I have that right; have to check the family tree. For the hardship he experienced growing up, both parents having died early in his childhood, Joe seemed to me a wise, gentle man of deep faith and belief in humankind. In truth, of course, I barely knew him as we met so late in life. He probably knows more about me from my letters to him!

I've just met or gotten to know Joe's grandchildren and great grandchildren just a bit while in Negaunee. I believe all the graciousness and goodness of Joe reveals itself in them. He left an awesome legacy.

Selfishly, I will miss Joe. My letters were one-way, of course, as he wasn't able to respond because of his health. But it was as if I received a great gift from him in being able to write and feel he accepted me fully and looked forward to hearing from me. I received such fullness from the short time I knew Joe. He gave me a Roberts family connection that I cherish.

Whether it was because of the domestic violence or other dysfuctions in my birth family, we moved around a great deal and had few ties to my mother's family, except for my Aunt Cleo, whose family lived nearby. though I had written to my Grandmother Roberts (Eugenia Johanna Pelto, also known as Helen), my memories of visiting her in the UP are of perhaps, a five year old. One day, while we lived in Bloomingdale, Illinois, an elderly woman came to the door and asked to see my mother. Thirteen or fourteen at the time, I showed her to the kitchen where Mom was, and I left for my errand. I learned later, from a very angry mother, that the visitor was my grandmother. It was the last time I saw her. My mom felt angry with me for leaving (how could I have known?), but I also felt a loss in not knowing my grandmother.

I think part of my writing to Joe was to be in some way, a part of his life, of the Roberts family. That sounds a bit selfish as I lay it down. At the funeral I thought again, how such services are for the living - to remember the good and the bad, how a death affects our lives and perhaps induces change for the good.

In Joe I also found a living link to my grandparents, to my mother's family. On visits to the cemetery, he talked about aunts and uncles who have been only names to me. He told me about family health issues, personalities, and relationships. As we walked among the graves, people came to life for me. I hadn't thought I would cry as I have been. We cry for the living as well as the dead. We cry for what we've lost and for what we never had. Again, selfishly, I perhaps cry more for myself.

Noir (dark side of Hollywood) and Platelet Donation

While I was donating platelets at the Red Cross Sunday morning, I watched a DVD (I'm a double needle donor, so reading a book is out of the question). I don't thing I made it halfway through 'The Long Night', a 'rediscovered American classic', starring Henry Fonda, Barbara Bel Geddes, Vincent Price, and directed by Anatole Litvak. I'll save it for a leisurely home evening or a movie on the porch night. I had no patience with the police, mayor, sheriff all shooting into a rooming house to remove one quiet man. I had no patience to contemplate the directing, acting, sets in terms of 1947 movie production and the psychology of the characters....yesterday, platelets and the dark side just didn't mix. Should have chosen a chick flick. Maybe I am just crabby and tired this week.

Juggling and Slack Rope Walking in Dayton's Bluff's Swede Hollow Park

Between work and a District Council 4 meeting this evening, I stopped in Swede Hollow Park to eat my Carbone's meatballs and garlic bread..mmm. I watched a couple young men string what I thought would be a volley ball net. Instead, I was treated to the two brothers (Dan, and will need to get his brother's name) juggling and slack rope walking. I would have said tight rope, but learned the difference tonight.

What I learned besides the rope difference: The two are from Willmar (sp?) and live just a few blocks up (won't put their address or e-mail here). Daneil Edwards is 25 and his brother is 27. They learned their skills while working at the Renaissance Faire. I love that they are willing to share it with strangers! It was a very still, windless evening, just perfect. They don't like Minnesota cold, and said they would be moving at the end of summer.

I would love to connect them with kids in my neighborhood. Take a walk tomorrow and perhaps you'll see them. I put the photos on Facebook, will get them on blog soon.

Re-visiting June 30, 2008 ("neighborhood" added: 4/28/09)

Tonight we had our East Side Restorative Justice informational meeting. I am sure we'll get enough people who will commit to the facilitator training. Several of us participated in a circle role play, Commander Casper spoke from an officer's perspective, and I spoke from a victim's perspective.

I feel the need to write a bit about the experience simply because as I spoke tonight, I realize that the incident, or at least some of the emotional impact, is fading. That's a good thing, but what really helps it to fade is that I had arranged to meet with one of the three people who had beaten me. Also, I don't want all the memory to fade. Remembering emotions, feelings, and circumstances is essential to making change - to be able to put ourselves in another's place; to recall the sensation of humiliation or pain so we don't offend or demean others; and to remember the outrage.

PART ONE - The incident itself:
see KSTP video below (older post), "Woman with the garden hose"
The two cars had been at the bottom of Fourth Street at Maria. I heard yelling between the cars...road rage? drug deal gone bad? I didn't know. Then, one after the other, the cars came erratically and fast, backward up the hill. One veered to the curb and I thought it was going to park in front of my neighbor's house, but it veered back out into the road. My thought at the moment was of the five or six kids who were running between the street and the sidewalks. This is something they had not been safely able to enjoy for several years because of now closed drug houses and the heavy vehicle and foot traffic they brought to Fourth Street. The closed, inactive drug houses filled our neighborhood with an uneasy peace, many of us not quite believing the quiet could be lasting. The evenings were quiet - no more excessive drinking or noise until 3am - neighbors would comment that it was almost too good to be real, but we confessed that we could get use to it.

I yelled at the first car to slow down - it didn't and drove north onto Bates. I yelled at the second to slow down and turned the hose on it, the the car hood. It sees odd to me now - in fact, the whole situation seems a bit surreal in retrospect. After being hosed, the car left. I stood on the grass between the sidewalk and the street, next to the large tree. One of the younger children, who had seen the hosing, came over and looked down Bates where the car had driven. I asked him if the car was returning. He said no. Another neighbor later said the car appeared to have gone around several blocks before it returned, stopping in the middle of Fourth at the Bates intersection. I remember how eerie the air felt right then...such a strange quiet. I thought it so strange that no cars came through that whole time period between the hosing and Shedavia's return. Normally we would see a stream of traffic.

When the three arrived, with Shedavia jumping out first, from the passenger's side, and yelled "I just washed my car!!" The man and other woman, Marcella, jumped out also. They ran toward me, with Shedavia standing just inches in front of my face. She kept screaming into my face. From previous experience on the street, I was expecting her to scream herself out and then leave. I have absolutely no idea what she was saying. What actually went through my head was that if I start screaming back, we'll be two women screaming; if I tried to talk, she'd scream more and wouldn't hear my anyway. So I stood there and said nothing. I did think that her screaming behavior was so incongruous with her beautiful teeth and neat clothing.

When I thought of it later, listening to her voice was like listening to an adult talk on a Charlie Brown cartoon: no distinguishable words, but WHA, WHA, WHA, WHA'. I stood by the mighty tree, holding the garden hose a few inches down from the nozzle as if it were Liberty's torch and a mighty protection. Meanwhile, the other two were standing behind and beside me, pounding on the side of my head, my shoulders and my left arm. At one time I tried to raise my right hand, thinking I could swing the hose, but Marcella had a tight grip on my arm from behind. Nor could I move my right arm...it felt as if it were in a vise. My glasses had already flown off to the ground. I zoned out the beating, hardly feeling the intensity that left bruises and a few abrasions and an extremely sore arm that still affects movement today.

It wasn't until Marcella began pushing me toward the street and Shedavia began pulling on the neck of my shirt that the tight holds were broken. Then I was finally able to free my right arm and grabbed at Shedavia's white top...I wasn't about to fall easily into the street. They got me to the street, between the curb and their car, which was parked in the middle of Fourth at the intersection. I was flat on my face, which, fortunately, never hit the pavement. Just my knee and hand hit and got bruised and skinned.

It was then that X, my neighbor came over waving his cell phone around yelling he was taking their pictures and that they should leave. With X running here and there and yelling, the three eventually scattered. I think he was scared to death. He couldn't have seen me being beaten as I was standing on the east side of the tree. After they left, X walked toward his house, then came back toward me and turned again toward his house. I staggered over to the curb and as I did, another neighbor came out carrying a mobile phone, asked if I was ok. I said yes, and the neighbor walked back to her house, never coming closer than 20 feet to me. (Is it not crazy? It's like going into the doctor with pneumonia, the nurse asks how we are and we say 'fine'.) I don't hold anything against how people acted or didn't react...I certainly didn't respond how I would have thought. I just felt so alone out on the street with people walking away from me.

Finally X came back and told me to go to his porch. His wife brought out an ice pack for my head injury and knee. After some minutes I commented that the police were slow. It turned out that neither neighbor had ever called the police. They were probably in more shock than I was. I think both neighbors, each with a phone in hand, were totally stunned and frozen, even though one of them called the police so often for so many other incidents on our street. This, I think, was just too real and too close to home...literally. When people say 'I would do ____ or _____ " in a situation, I just shake my head. Long ago I learned we don't know how we would react until it actually happens to us. I certainly didn't react any way near what I would have expected or planned. I still don't know what he was thinking - he's barely spoken to me since it happened, though he used to call almost every night with a neighborhood update.

It was one of our beat officers that responded when X did call. Most other officers, he said were in training for the upcoming RNC. He came quickly and was, as usual, very helpful. Though X hadn't actually take any photos, he did accompany the officer and identified the car around the corner. As it turned out, Shedavia lived two blocks from me and had attacked and beaten a woman (who lives at the end of my block) a month before. That was a third degree assault that resulted in a cornea transplant for D.

I refused an ambulance, didn't even want to go to emergency, but glad X and his wife and the officer insisted. X drove me, didn't stay, but walked me in. Every time United Hospital calls for fund raising for their emergency room rebuilding, I tell them "I'm familiar with it and it certainly does need rebuilding." But, some of the poor 'reception' has to do with staffing. A couple officers were called, came in to take photos of my injuries, and that was well done - polite, efficient. Then I was put into a wheel chair and placed in the center of the traffic pattern, under a draft, and by the entrance/exit to the walk-in emergency doors. I couldn't get the desk staffer's attention to move me. I was freezing, whether from the shock of the attack or from the overhead blower, I don't know.

I had the most difficult time 'finding' and using my voice in all this. I felt as if I were a piece of garbage on display. People would stare at my bruised face and wet, dirty clothing (from the hose and being dragged down) and seem to cringe. No staff ever asked me if I was ok, warm, etc....something I would think a common enough question after such an incident. It was obvious that I was unaccompanied. I felt so alone and so helpless to take care of myself. though almost every seat was filled with someone waiting for emergency care, despite the fact that people were coming and going from the waiting area, and despite the fact that staff were at several desks facing our direction, I felt so very emotionally isolated and so very invisible to the emergency staff.

Earlier, when I was first wheeled out and still on a bit of adrenaline, a young woman and someone who seemed to be her father or uncle, had made a bit of welcomed conversation before she was called. Amusingly to me, she seemed to know the differences in all the assault degrees and what might happen to the offender in court. I asked how she knew so much, and she said she used to be the one doing the beating. For whatever her past, she was an angel to me in the emergency waiting room that evening, and I thank her, whoever and where ever she is.

I realized that once we reach a certain age, even with insurance, if we are 'out of shape' (I believe that would be a criteria), we become a disposable commodity and much less regarded as a human being. My knee causes much trouble for me - buckling in what feels almost backward from the way it is supposed to bend. Many days it feels as if someone had kicked me just under my knee caps. I live on the second floor of a house and wonder for how long. Certainly, I have slipped on ice and hit my knees, twisted them, etc. but to not even be asked if you want to bear the cost of having your knees checked after injury is a slap in the face. I later had an MRI on my arm and there was damage, but, again, nothing at emergency, though the attending muttered the word 'cost'. Be it known that a person probably has to have sufficient medical knowledge to know what to request when you are in emergency and to believe that as a human being, you deserve it.

The Saint Paul Police were great in the detectives who checked in with mug shots, keeping in touch by phone, and my beat officers who would stop by when I was on my porch - to see how I was. Though Shedavia and friends had disrupted my neighborhood, their violence had not deadened it.

PART TWO - At work:
A few days after I returned to work at the university, I started hearing rumors of what had happened to me - most infuriating were comments from a safety related person and the bookstore manager, neither of whom had talked with me about the incident. The safety person knew of it directly, as I had come into work shortly afterward with my arm in a sling and my face badly bruised. He didn't ask any questions and I just very briefly, with no detail, related what happened. Our FH offiicer was at the desk with the other. Oddly, it was the FH person who later expressed appreciation and a 'good for you' for sending out an all-Metro e-mail, while for months, the other avoided me when our paths crossed and never said a word, let alone ask about the incident and whether (because, as he knows, I live just five blocks from Metro) there might be any connection that might affect the safety of anyone at the university.

Here is the e-mail I sent to all Metro/colleagues:
July 23, 2008
I want to thank all those who expressed concern about an assault on me on June 30. I've found there are many layers (and rumors) to both the action and to the aftermath of an occurrence of this sort. For several reasons, I need to address these to my 'work community', so please bear with me.

First, to allay any safety/security fears, the assault on me did NOT happen on the grounds of Metro State, nor did it happen during work time. I was watering my 'street garden' in front of my home, after work and in broad daylight. I live on the corner of _____ and _____, just a few blocks from here. One block in this neighborhood can differ tremendously from the next, in income, appearance, [community] involvement, or behavior of residents.

Because there seems to be a brief outline of a story going around with people filling in the 'meat' of it, here is what happened:

Backstory, and this is important:
I've lived on my block for almost eight years and rent the second floor of a Victorian. I started the [current] block group for Maria/Bates and beyond and am very active in my community from my block to city issues. Last year 'our' last big drug house closed on our block. I met with one of the biggest 'problem' absentee property owner/landlords and he cleaned up his act with his three properties on my block. This is the first summer in years that residents on this block have been able to enjoy quiet. It's the first time in a very long time that children are able to play tag and run foot races down the street, and just be kids. I 'planted' shepherd hooks and hanging pots up and down the block in an effort to give the block some visible unity of life and color amid the vacant/boarded up houses.

I was told the hooks would be taken out [of the ground] and used as weapons; that no one would appreciate the flowers and they'd be stolen. What has happened is they are still there. Know what else? A woman who is a self-disclosed drug addict gave me a big hug when I gave her flowers. Now we talk and listen to each other. She [may] still be an addict; we live different lives; be we have become 'real people' to each other.

She asked for a second hanging planter and she takes care of them. Other neighbors and visitors have said that seeing the flowers in front of their homes give them hope. Our neighbors sit and visit on each others' porches. Yes, flowers are a small thing; they are 'only' flowers...but they bridge a gap, set attitudes, and begin conversations. The hanging plants started with two flats of flowers from the District Council [4] to be planted in public places.

'The event':
After work on June 30 I was watering my street garden. Five or six children, ages about 10-14, were playing outside, running from street to sidewalk (we don't have yards to accommodate all the energy of that age). I heard some voices of people yelling at each other at the bottom of my block, then a car driving erratically and fast, backward, up the street. As it reached my intersection I yelled 'Slow down!' It took off. A second car sped up and I yelled 'Slow down!" With the kids outside, and the disregard these drivers had, yes, I turned my garden hose and gave them a quick spray to their car. This is a garden hose, from 20 feet away!

That car took off. After apparently going around two or three blocks, the second car returned, two women and a man jumped out (in their twenties). A neighbor told me later that one person yelled, "I just washed my car!" This neighbor, who heard the car was comment has debilitating arthritis and cannot move easily and was without a phone, so he could not help. One woman stood face to face with me, screaming. This had been the norm for the neighborhood and I really thought she would scream and they would leave. No, I never expected that two adult women and a man would start beating me on the head and arm. It wasn't until I was face down in the street that a neighbor came running out and chased away my attackers.

Common questions from those who have asked [or made comments I've heard second hand]:
- Yes, I reported it to the police; the assault on me was a 5th degree.
-No, I did not know the people who did this to me. The primary woman already has a 3rd degree assault charge against her from about a month earlier. The woman who did this lives down the street from Metro. [update: she moved within a month, thanks to city ordinance about rentals and violence]
- Was it racial? No, her first victim is Black

- Would I react the same way [again]? We never know how we would really respond to something until it happens. There is no 'standard response' to the unexpected. I have been told that even self defense doesn't prepare one for everything. What I know is that I hope I would always do anything to ensure the safety of kids around me...they don't have to be related to me for me to be responsible for their safety and well-being.

- Did I stand in the street waiting to be beaten? No. To even have that question posed tells me that the program and policies on domestic abuse and violence awareness at Metro State need to be strengthened or brought back to life...that something isn't getting across to people. NO ONE DESERVES TO BE ASSAULTED OR ATTACKED, either emotionally, physically or verbally. The people who attacked me made a conscious decision.

The aftermath:
Yes, my black eyes and bruised forehead are faded. The huge lump on my forehead is almost gone. My head is still tender in spots; I don't have full use of my left arm yet. It causes great pain at times and I've not been sleeping well because of the discomfort. 'Looking normal' is what many people want. The visible scars jar people and I understand that. It is much better than to have had people cover their mouths or scream or point at me as if seeing a monster (though that's probably what I looked like). I have had trouble concentrating and of course, I think constantly of some part of this life event...either directly or how various people have reacted or not and the effects on people.

The police, Kathy Lantry, all those connected with the city have been helpful, supportive, and on top of everything. The kids who were out when this happened have been coming over (only one actually lives on my block) and helping me garden. They come, sit on my porch and talk. Neighbors still visit with each other on porches. Our neighborhood, which extends for several blocks any direction, has been slightly emotionally damaged because violence came so close to home - not as a drug dealer or an intruder, but as a 'good neighbor'. Most important, the community of our neighborhood has survived and grows stronger...and we know how to show we care and how to laugh.

If you have any questions, please ask; it's ok.

In response to this e-mail I received so many heart-felt and caring notes. Some sharing similar, very personal experiences. I treasure those who so responded.

PART THREE - The neighborhood:
My feelings and thoughts about Shedavia and her two friends, who attacked me, are so different from those concerning my neighbors and their reactions. I believe I understand why my neighbors reacted as they did..whether from fear of the external, or fear that reality of what could happen when we so directly confront violators; or was it shame or embarrassment because they didn't come out earlier (maybe they didn't notice the screaming? didn't see the three beating me?) or didn't call the police until I asked X to do so. (he seemed in shock). What causes me difficulty in sorting out feelings or fully coming to terms with HOW I feel, is the fact that none of them will talk about it. The only neighbors who really talk about it are L and Doris. L used to live on our block, but remains fully engaged in it, though she wasn't anywhere in the neighborhood when the beating happened. I've talked with Stephanie, from the Reconciliation Center, of the possibility of holding a Peace Circle for the neighborhood. Meeting with Shedavia gave me answers I needed. It gave me an understanding and answers I needed so that I could get past the unknown. I believe I need the same step from these neighbors.

April 28, 2009
I had written the first draft of this neighborhood section a few months ago. I am surprised to see in the draft that I had written: "...but I don't think I've really reached a forgiveness. In part because they [neighbors] seem so reluctant to talk about it." Perhaps that's still true. The individual neighbor and I carry on the same relationship as always. But for me, it's as if I am carrying a little pod in my pocket and want to talk about it, yet never feeling as if I can bring it up...maybe if I carry that pod around long enough, the time will present itself and I can open it. The forgiveness part: I don't feel any ill will that I can identify, but the relationships need a healing that I can't begin without conversation.

I can't say for sure that X and his wife have closed themselves off from me because of that - maybe I did something else to annoy them. Two or three days after the attack, after not hearing from them (X used to call virtually every night about something in the neighborhood...then it stopped when I was beaten), I went over and asked if they were angry with me for being beaten. The Wife said, "No, no one deserves ever to be beaten". That didn't really answer the question.

Several times later I went to their house to 'get back the groove' and each time, X came to the door and hurried me away from the house. Contact ceased except a few very terse, almost biting e-mails.
More later...this is more difficult to write than I had thought, even after almost a year. sh 4/28/2009

Senator Mee Moua, fiercely determined!

With two friends tonight, I attended the Asian American dinner at Metropolitan State University. It was poorly attended, possibly because this evening was so warm; how could someone avoid being lured for a walk around the lake or preparing a garden? But, though the room lacked full seating, my senator, Mee Moua filled it with warmth, electricity, fire, and emotion. I never tire of hearing Senator Moua speak.

Tonight, though, her words were filled with a passion and a message that were delivered with an edge that I had not heard before. The theme of the evening was 'Change and Transformation'. Giving her speech a context, she told of the animosity she and her family faced when they first moved to the U.S. - beer bottles and ash tray contents thrown at them, teaching her mother that the middle finger, presented in one's face, is not a friendly greeting. Mee shared her determination to work hard and succeed in life rather than let anger rule her or allow others misuse their power [in ignorance or stupidity].

Too often being identified as 'the Hmong senator' instead of the Senator of Senate District 67, Senator Mee daily, in personal life and in her professional life, is too often the object of another's prejudice or scorn because she is Hmong, Asian, or simply 'differentthan'. "Change alone is not enough." Anyone could philosophize about change and transformation or does change lead to transformation. Mee's message got down to PICK A SIDE! Saying you're 'independent' is not action enough...choose a party, any party. Work for it; work for what you believe in; stand on what you believe in.

Tying into the prejudices she has experienced and continues to experience, Senator Moua indicated she'd rather an openly prejudiced person open his/her baggage in front of her than be the behind the back bigot. Senator Moua urged the rapt audience to accept that people be honest with themselves in that we all possess biases and prejudices. It's part of true human nature; part of what a human being is.

This speech in itself was so refreshing - after all the 'anti-racism' workshops that are offered where people later say they were afraid to share how they feel or what they feel. As one faciliator said about such poorly done workshops, either people leave feeling they have wrenched the power from the other group and feel they have the upper hand, or they feel they have been raked over burning coals and demeaned. And no, it's not always 'black and white' in who identifies with what group. Ultimately, no one leaves with dignity intact. Anti-racism workshops can be so much better....and, I would like to see more workshops on classism, also.

Finally, with Mee's charge, to 'choose a side and not just 'let it happen', she's lifted and encouraged me when I needed it. I went into the dinner event feeling somewhat wiped out and used up. I take to heart the observation that there is always someone who [in position of greater authority or power] wants to wipe out someone else. I find that sometimes it's not wiping me out, but treating me as if I'm invisible or 'less than'. At times I feel as if I want to be one of the people who hides inside and denies or pretends that the drug deals, vandalism and disrespect isn't out on the streets. Though over and over I find that I can't give up, Senator Moua gave me the boost I needed.

Senate District 67 is very fortunate to claim her as our Senator. I am very fortunate to call her a friend. I am deeply grateful that Senator Moua continues with fortitude, dignity, integrity and as the dynamite legislator she is.
sh 4/17/2009

'That woman with the garden hose' (Video)

Rock the Metro!!

If anyone who reads this has a Metro LSI, here's a question - does your ignition sometimes lock up so that you can't turn the key to start the car? Does rocking the car to and fro help? This has happened to me a number of times. A friend had said, with great assurance, that if I 'shake' the car I can trick its sensor, which will then allow the key to turn. It works! I don't think it really matters whether it is back and forth or up and down.

After no problem for several months, I've had to rock the car three times in four days. One day late last fall, I was in the Blair Arcade (Common Good Books) parking lot rocking my Metro. Two well dressed young men came near the car and one said he wondered what the car rocking was. I quickly explained the sensor and then asked if they wouldn't mind rocking the car from the front as my efforts weren't making any difference.
They gave it a couple hefty rocks and voila! it started right up. I have found that it's easier to rock the car facing down hill rather than up hill ( I position myself with my left foot on the street to give leverage, and my right hand on the key to keep turning it while rocking).

Women's Friendships and Art Collaborative

I left work and couldn't decide what I needed. Ten minutes sitting in the car and I took off for a glass of tea and to read a book. I knew I didn't want to go home yet, as there is so much abnormal activity in a nearby property; I just didn't want to have to see it and it's wearing on me. Halfway to my destination a friend, K, called and said she needed to get out, could we meet? I was so glad that our timing worked to get together. We spent the next three hours on my porch, in conversation of different depths. I treasure this friendship and the direction K's conversation and thinking takes me. And, the beginning of 'porch sitting season' is off to a good start. One of my housemates, J, passed through on her way from work and out to a party, but taking time to join our conversation and plans for a women's art collaborative.

K and I have our work in a local exhibit right now, and it does uplift me to exhibit my work. Now, putting such a collaborative in motion, means I need to start warping one of my looms and/or working on some drawings. It'll be much easier to get some photos matted and wrapped for the short term. This incentive is what I need for the larger scale work and for inspiration in even getting started.

Smells and Images: life's references

I was receiving and processing journals at work today and found a couple of surprises when I opened the latest issue of 'Minnesota History'. First, the magazine, (my cat is ALL over my keyboard and hand right now - driving me crazy!) perhaps the binding glue, smelled like newly done drywall or paint. It was a flat white smell.

Then, while flipping through it, there was an article about returning WW vets. One photo showed a 'village' of quonset huts. For about a year when I was five or six years old, my family lived in a quonset hut on a farm near Union Grove, Wisconsin. Seeing that photo brought back memories: my father was working in Chicago and came home occasionally. He was a bartender and musician (played the trumpet and had his Bill Sage's Dixieland Jazz Band). My mother and we children, I think three at the time. The quonset was one large space with rather open door space between rooms. I don't remember actual doors, except doors to the outside, one at each end.

Some memories that come immediately to mind: my brother, a year older, was in second grade and I was in first, in a one room school - two in his class, and only me in mine. Parent/Teacher meetings were like parties - the neighbor would take us in his Buick, I think, one of those bulky cars, so round and curvey in its shape. Adults would ride in the seats and we kids would be piled in the trunk with the trunk lid propped open with a large pole or stick! People would take pies or cakes and so a cakewalk to raise money for the school.

We were totally dependent on neighbors for rides to town, so we did a lot of scrounging. My mother was one of the most creative people I've ever known. For my birthday, she peeled silver paper from cigarette and gum wrappers. Then she glued the thin, small sheets onto a cigar box and then 'engraved' my initials onto the lid. I still remember how I treasured it; it may well have been sterling for the joy I felt.

We had a dog named Duke at the time. He was a tiger-striped boxer that would chase chickens every chance he could. My mother used to complain that 'Duke was at it again and got loose from his chain' and we had to eat a chicken he chased and killed. Turns out that my mother would actually let the dog loose at night so he would bring a chicken home! Dad wasn't the best about sending money home, and though my mother did what jobs she could get in the rural area, they were mostly jobs like forking corn from the wagons to the corn crib. The vision of her doing that is as clear as watching her clean the feathers from the chicken in a big tub of water over an outdoor fire...or using a washboard in that same manner, to do our laundry. She was an amazing woman in many ways.

During our time there was the only time I every remember seeing my mother and father embrace and kiss. Obviously, with two more children, it had to have happened at least one more time! My father had come up for a visit and he had brought a band member with him. I remember two things about the visit - seeing the drummer passed out at the table with his face in his plate of partially finished food, and seeing my parents embrace.

After a better sleep

I'm finding little material on violence, excessive noise, etc. as a health issue, but it is increasing. Of course, to label such activities as affecting our health, means that the enforcement (city codes, laws, regulations) need to change their framework of what have, until now, been viewed as infractions of law. It also means we get serious about the holistic approach in connecting and involving ALL the family, the immediate neighborhood, health and code enforcement agencies, schools...it means tearing aside the layers of bureaucracy that separates the individual from the power-to-do/$$ at the top.
It means that the people take charge of their neighborhoods and build relationships and awareness of their neighbors and how what we do and how we live affects everyone. It means letting people know that when they act disrespectfully, we care and expect any negative behavior to change. It means that we expect those who who have been elected or appointed to oversee a higher quality of life for us, do their jobs.
It means that, since most of our elected or appointed public servants don't live with these affronts of excessive noise, of guns fired, of heavy vehicle traffic through a residential neighborhood, that we need to keep reminding them that we deserve better than this. There can be no hiding behind the curtains or the other extreme of running out and yelling at and threatening the kids because their very presence, number and color intimidate a resident. Responsibility, conversation, assessment of self, action of civility, critical thinking, compassion, the list is endless, but anger and thinking only of self is not the answer. (4/7/09)

Violence as a health issue

I stayed up last night until 2:30am. An acquaintance makes videos about neighbors and (wow! sorry for the digression, but I just looked up to the sky; an awesome full moon is positioned against the still light blue sky) how disturbances affect their lives. He looks at the violence as psychological, emotional, mental and physical health issues instead of law-related. Disturbances include excessive noise such as car stereos, over-populated and/or noisy houses, littering, public urination, vandalism, etc.
The reason I couldn't get to sleep - agitation about something that appears going on in my neighborhood. I've called the authorities, but even while I know they are checking it out and that it takes time, it's unsettling and annoying to see the continued activity. We've had drug houses here in the past (not saying this is a drug house, but I'm realizing over the last years how, when we live with this stuff, how absurd and inane it is that we become desensitized and treat it as an everyday occurence.
For instance: On Saturday I called the police and said I wanted to talk with an officer and be assured that something was being done or I would make a tremendous nuisance of myself with people connected with this activity. I don't want to do that, because what it essentially does, is simply move a 'problem' from one block to another. I don't believe that's an suitable answer.
After seeing a black and white pass my house three times without stopping, and I had not received a call-back, I went outside to pick up litter as I wrote down car makes and license plates. I glanced up the block and saw two or three squads blocking the next intersection. A friend was outside and we chatted, while another three squads blocked the intersection to the south of us, half a block. Later, I thought, all these squads blocking someone and here we are chatting as if it's nothing.
I also realized how hyper-vigilant I've become to sounds of different cars and which ones park where - and do the blink headlight on and then off, wait a few seconds and repeat. I even have photos of what appears to be a drug exchange (taken from my livingroom window). We recognize cars used by several drug dealing scum and know the street names of several. I even know the given names of some and am sorely tempted to greet them with these names (which they don't like).
There is something to changing the frame of how we look at these occurences. Perhaps it offers nothing more than a fresh look. And that's all right. I hope, though, that it changes how we take action against these activities and perhaps WHO takes action. If it's a health issue, wouldn't that superbly broaden the circle of people who could make change and have been effective in other areas?