It was so unbearably hot yesterday, hitting 90 degrees, and I heard, the hottest day here on May 24 in 125 years. I do not deal well with humidity. After work I attended a Paint the Pavement meeting, wanting to repaint our not yet one year old intersection 'mural'. It's very badly faded into an inky wash. The PtP coordinator had not seen anything like it.
Later in the evening, around 10:30, I was upstairs at my computer when loud voices continued. At first I thought it was just neighbors on their front porch, but it became more disruptive, apparently yelling out to possible acquaintances driving by. I went out onto the downstairs porch - a quiet presence sometimes changes things. I sat out there for about 10 minutes as five or six young men and women stood on the corner talking, laughing - loud enough that with the hot night and close houses, the sound carries to the far inner reaches of the houses, when it's already too humid to sleep.
Deep breaths, practice voice tone in my head, rephrase introduction. I didn't know what mood or attitude I might receive and wanted to be careful about the attitude I gave. "Hi, I've got some pretzels here if any of you would like any..." The answer I received from a young man who said he was 25, was "Hi, how ya doin'? Are we being too loud?" "A bit, yes,' I explained Kyle works two jobs and three nearby houses have young kids who have to be up early for the school buses. We joked; I promised that yes, I'd share a glass of wine with him sometime, though I would still need to card him...' We joked about that and in a minute or two, they split up and walked toward their homes.
This past week, at the end of the day, and sometimes even mid-afternoon, I have felt shredded inside. We have in influx of so many kids who are unsupervised; music blaring from the apartment and the house across the street (doesn't everyone want to listen to the music I like?), cars with broken or no mufflers, taxis and friends beeping horns instead of using cell phones or their pick-ups watching for their rides, adults and kids yelling from one end of the street to the other, cars booming and rocking through the intersection, the neighbor two doors up who uses a power wash or electric tools from afternoon till late after dark, the woman across the street screaming at the man, the man apparently hitting the child and sometimes pounding his fist on the inside of the window (to scare Mel?). Then the visuals - the 19/20 year old who threw his plastic cup, filled with ice and covered, as high as he could and walked away from his litter; finding plastic bags of dog poop under a bush or hanging on the fence (glad you pick it up, people, but don't regift it to me!); picking up any kind of trash people don't want to carry around in their car;
and the cars that don't or barely even slow as they run the stop signs. I was watering the front flower beds at 6am and saw two go past...I didn't have my hose out far enough or I swear I would have got his car!! At various times I have counted 95 cars through the intersection in 45 minutes...this has been on weekends and any weekday evening.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Screams, hits, who calls?
I spent most of my day on Friday in front of a computer stationed in a windowless cubicle. As I learned what a beautiful day it was, I began planning to be outside after work. I had a perennial that needed to be planted, as well as a few tomato plants given to me by a neighbor.
Several neighbors gathered on the sidewalk as I dug in the 'boulevard' flowerbed. As a few adults and kids tossed a football and dribbled a basketball among the others who chatted about plans for the weekend and some used furniture for sale, I was reminded why I love my Fourth Street neighborhood. There are divas, dramas, and we each at one time or another seem to evoke attitude or censure. We are a close knit neighborhood community.
As I was joining three friends for a glass of wine and a few minutes to check out one's newly rented house, my younger neighbor, about 9 years old - I'll call her Mel - approached me with her friend Alma and Alma's little sister (they were babysitting). Mel said, in her usual adult way, 'Sage, would you introduce us to the others, please?' I called out the other women and made introductions; then the three youngest had to go home.
Later, as I was working on the planting, Mel called me to the corner. She told me the little girl in the upstairs apartment was being 'hit again'. 'It happens all the time', she said; I hear her screaming a lot'. I called the police. I couldn't find the beat officer's number in my cell phone and the neighbors I called for it didn't have it handy; I could not remember the three digits for the non-emergency 1111 number. And by then, the little girl had poked her head outside the downstairs door.
The Ramsey County dispatcher used a voice anything but calm and reassuring. I told her that I had preferred to call my beat officer but had no number, and that the girl was now outside, and that I did not want to have a siren or car in front of the house. I had to say, 'are you listening to me?'. She was one of the worst dispatchers I have ever had...and yes, I believe I am counted as one of their 'habitual callers'. That building has had so many domestic violence and other calls in the last year or two. The owner says he knows and tries to maintain....I would need to talk with him more to find out what he isn't doing or what isn't working.
I see the little girl out on the sidewalk in front of their building. No grass, but she seems to dance more than run from on end of the building around the corner and back again. She waves her arms like a small Isadora Duncan. She never has any toys, but once I saw her with Mel.
Her parents (Mel said the man who hits her is her stepfather. I don't know the facts on that)seem to be invisible. I hear a woman occasionally upstairs, and a little boy, sometimes at the window. I've called child endangerment about the little boy - another neighbor and I have seen him lean out the window several times...and have called code enforcement about a screen that seems to often be torn. The screen has been repaired since the last time I called. The response from child services was less than enthusiastic 'you should call code about the screen. Yes, I have already, but I'm calling you about the child at risk. I don't know what we can do. Well, I suppose we can wait until he falls out the second floor window and hits the sidewalk?. Well I guess we can look into it.'
Last week I gave her a little lap harp I had, and a couple stuffed animals. I was told that the mother had been sleeping many of the times when the girl was outside. She used to be locked out, but now has door access at least. One never knows what happens in another's home. We can imagine the worst and stereotype or reach out, or we can want to believe the best so that we can close our eyes and ears against what our hearts tell us is really happening....and not get involved.
After I talked with the dispatcher, Mel asked me a couple times if I was crying. I told her no, I was just very, very angry with the dispatcher; very frustrated when someone doesn't listen. While we waited for the police the number of kids grew. I got them playing a little ball instead of waiting for 'excitement' and then got some onto my porch and involved in a checkers game. A few sat on the steps as if waiting for a show to start. I tried to turn their attention, telling them that though we need to call and act when something is wrong, it's not always what we think it is, nor is it respectful toward others to watch it as if it's a tv show. They asked me why I would say that, and I could tell them that, as a child, the police were at our door too often, and a couple of the reasons.
Mel has my greatest respect. Her uncle and grandmother tend not to want to get involved. They've lived in the neighborhood for years - Mel's uncle grew up in the house where Mel's grandparents continues to live. Mel's grandmother is very protective of Mel, and I appreciate that she didn't insist that Mel stay inside. Mel has been hearing the hitting and screaming for weeks or months. I don't know if anyone has called about that specifically, but Mel told her grandmother she wasn't going in until she talked with the police. Mel, you're my kind of community person; I pray that you will retain your strength of character and boldness in speaking up.
Several neighbors gathered on the sidewalk as I dug in the 'boulevard' flowerbed. As a few adults and kids tossed a football and dribbled a basketball among the others who chatted about plans for the weekend and some used furniture for sale, I was reminded why I love my Fourth Street neighborhood. There are divas, dramas, and we each at one time or another seem to evoke attitude or censure. We are a close knit neighborhood community.
As I was joining three friends for a glass of wine and a few minutes to check out one's newly rented house, my younger neighbor, about 9 years old - I'll call her Mel - approached me with her friend Alma and Alma's little sister (they were babysitting). Mel said, in her usual adult way, 'Sage, would you introduce us to the others, please?' I called out the other women and made introductions; then the three youngest had to go home.
Later, as I was working on the planting, Mel called me to the corner. She told me the little girl in the upstairs apartment was being 'hit again'. 'It happens all the time', she said; I hear her screaming a lot'. I called the police. I couldn't find the beat officer's number in my cell phone and the neighbors I called for it didn't have it handy; I could not remember the three digits for the non-emergency 1111 number. And by then, the little girl had poked her head outside the downstairs door.
The Ramsey County dispatcher used a voice anything but calm and reassuring. I told her that I had preferred to call my beat officer but had no number, and that the girl was now outside, and that I did not want to have a siren or car in front of the house. I had to say, 'are you listening to me?'. She was one of the worst dispatchers I have ever had...and yes, I believe I am counted as one of their 'habitual callers'. That building has had so many domestic violence and other calls in the last year or two. The owner says he knows and tries to maintain....I would need to talk with him more to find out what he isn't doing or what isn't working.
I see the little girl out on the sidewalk in front of their building. No grass, but she seems to dance more than run from on end of the building around the corner and back again. She waves her arms like a small Isadora Duncan. She never has any toys, but once I saw her with Mel.
Her parents (Mel said the man who hits her is her stepfather. I don't know the facts on that)seem to be invisible. I hear a woman occasionally upstairs, and a little boy, sometimes at the window. I've called child endangerment about the little boy - another neighbor and I have seen him lean out the window several times...and have called code enforcement about a screen that seems to often be torn. The screen has been repaired since the last time I called. The response from child services was less than enthusiastic 'you should call code about the screen. Yes, I have already, but I'm calling you about the child at risk. I don't know what we can do. Well, I suppose we can wait until he falls out the second floor window and hits the sidewalk?. Well I guess we can look into it.'
Last week I gave her a little lap harp I had, and a couple stuffed animals. I was told that the mother had been sleeping many of the times when the girl was outside. She used to be locked out, but now has door access at least. One never knows what happens in another's home. We can imagine the worst and stereotype or reach out, or we can want to believe the best so that we can close our eyes and ears against what our hearts tell us is really happening....and not get involved.
After I talked with the dispatcher, Mel asked me a couple times if I was crying. I told her no, I was just very, very angry with the dispatcher; very frustrated when someone doesn't listen. While we waited for the police the number of kids grew. I got them playing a little ball instead of waiting for 'excitement' and then got some onto my porch and involved in a checkers game. A few sat on the steps as if waiting for a show to start. I tried to turn their attention, telling them that though we need to call and act when something is wrong, it's not always what we think it is, nor is it respectful toward others to watch it as if it's a tv show. They asked me why I would say that, and I could tell them that, as a child, the police were at our door too often, and a couple of the reasons.
Mel has my greatest respect. Her uncle and grandmother tend not to want to get involved. They've lived in the neighborhood for years - Mel's uncle grew up in the house where Mel's grandparents continues to live. Mel's grandmother is very protective of Mel, and I appreciate that she didn't insist that Mel stay inside. Mel has been hearing the hitting and screaming for weeks or months. I don't know if anyone has called about that specifically, but Mel told her grandmother she wasn't going in until she talked with the police. Mel, you're my kind of community person; I pray that you will retain your strength of character and boldness in speaking up.
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