walkonmyearth

Playing Santa - one very special Christmas

2011-12-03T08:51:00.001-08:00

Christmas holiday is approaching too quickly. So much is keeping me busy, yet so little has any connection to Christmas. That can be a good thing - I'll be spending the holiday with my Sam, so I'm not putting up a tree or going to great lengths for Christmas decorations...lack of money this year doesn't allow for that any way. The weather forecasts that I've heard so far tell of a brown Christmas...that's ok, too, but not for the kids. I heard on the radio some days ago, perhaps it was Dick Gordon's 'The Story' on NPR, about Santa Claus experiences. It brought to mind on year when I played Santa in the Cherrypoint Mall, Sturgeon Bay Wisconsin.

I was unemployed and the season was looking dreary with a tight job market and no positive responses to my resumes. One of the volunteers from my previous job was the manager of the local mall. Bob called me and asked if I would want the paid job of his mall Santa. I don't remember if it was for one week or two, but it was a job and I was thinking of the fun that could evolve. The current Santa had been showing up under the influence of alcohol or wasn't dependable - I don't really remember. When I appeared for my first stint and donned the flimsy, velour suit, it was evident that I didn't need extra padding. As I pulled the beard and moustache over my face I had second thoughts. All the disinfectant spray in the world never removed the sense of disgusting residue from the netted backing of the beard around my mouth.

I took my place on Santa's 'throne' and waited for the first child who still believed in what Santa represented, or even Santa himself. I had rehearsed in my head how to answer children without really promising what they requested. Having worked with families who often existed day to day, I was not working under the assumption that their Christmas dinner, decorations, or gifts would be plentiful. Also, that people who didn't lack money would be taking their kids to a 'real' Santa at one of the upscaled northern Door County businesses that catered to tourists.

An adult woman approached with three children. The youngest was a typical visit, the oldest talked with me and asked for some help for his younger brother, the middle child. Looking for help from the adult, I found that she was the foster mom to the three. She told me they were here visiting me/Santa to see if I could talk ith the youngster, 6 or 7 years old, and encourage him to positive behavior. The boy came and sat on my lap. I asked what had been happening and his older brother said that the boy on my lap had killed a pet while chasing it with a shovel. He then chased the youngest child with a shovel, trying ti hit him. Quite a request for Santa. I talked quietly with him and later talked with an acquaintance at the area Social Services. They were aware of the circumstances.

'Are you a lady?' asked a little girl. She nodded yes when I confirmed her suspicions and asked if she was ok with that. Perhaps that was some of the Christmas magic. A few children later, a girl, about nine years of age said she and her family had just moved. Having learned never to assume anything and keeping the conversation open, I learned that they were living out of boxes in someone's basement. She was worried that Santa wouldn't find her.

I tried to play a little safe even in the decorations and tree area, having been told by several that they couldn't afford a tree that year. On boy, there with his grandmother, asked Santa to keep his Daddy safe. He was in the Iraq war. His mommy, he said, was in the hospital with cancer. 'Santa, could you pray for them?' I told him we could pray right then, which we did.

At one point during my Santa stint I was feeling particularly low....the number of Santas in tv shows who were degenerates, drunks, lonely old men who looked older than they actually were, taking jobs as department store Santas to be able to buy one more bottle of gin! Wow, except for the gender and alcohol, I felt like something from an old movie! There was humor in the time that the mall janitor left early, locking my purse, car and house keys and street clothes in the closet where I changed. I called a friend who picked me up and drove me home...then waited while Santa climbed through a side window to get into the house. Fortunately, no one saw me; or, if they did, it remained their story to tell!

As to feeling depressed or too much like an out of work failure, my friend Randy Warner, brought me to grateful tears as he encouraged me that I was in a perfect place over the Christmas season - kids, people, of all ages came to share their hurts and secrets with Santa. And adults as well as children did come and talk; there is something so safe and emotionally freeing in talking to Santa - whoever is inside the red and white costume. Randy reminded me that as people let go of their hurts to Santa, I could take all of it and offer prayers, then and there, either with them or quietly, privately, and lift them all, and their very specific needs, in prayer. Who else would be given such gifts over such a precious season!? Hugs to you, Randy Warner!

2011-11-04T08:29:00.000-07:00

PORCH LIFE
a few steps removed

Normally, when a newspaper reports a shooting, I read the article and can only imagine what the victim’s family is experiencing. The closest I had been to a violent death was in the mid-60s, the murder/suicide by an uncle by marriage and his two young children.

My experience on Wednesday, September 26 and on the following days determined that my observations would never again be far removed. Gunshots fired at 6:30 initiated the progression of a very long week at the corner of Fourth and Bates. From the continuous activity at the De’Koda Mar’ta Galtney memorial, to attending De’Koda’s wake and funeral service, I was more emotionally involved than I could ever have imagined. Through those several days I was blessed to briefly talk with, and exchange hugs with De’Koda’s mom, sisters, and others who lost, in De’Koda’s passing, a brother, nephew, friend, son, father. In this point of reference, the only thing that matters is that a loved one passed from this life; only that hearts are breaking and people are hurting.

Over the week and a half, I observed and heard a gamut of emotions. Some neighbors contributed food and kind words to the mourners. What disturbed me was the extreme other end of the gamut - the anger. Not anger focused on losing someone, or toward the murderer, but the anger that lashed out wildly and the more pent up anger that whined as if trying to escape from a tiny hole. - anger that came from a few people keeping vigil at the memorial and from a few people who live in the many blocks in this lower Dayton’s Bluff area. Anger, a normal emotion and feeling we sometimes encounter as we work through grief and other difficult situations. How long and how tightly we carry it , though, can destroy us and others. Words spoken in anger can cause damage long after being spoken. Words meant to intimidate or carry threats can create distrust in friends and acquaintances. What is the source of this anger? Where might it take root?

Inner anger and grief nagged me for days before I could finally identify the reasons behind my own emotions. Yes, I grieved for De’Koda’s family and friends. My heart cried every night for the young men and women across the street from my porch. I grieved for the god-uncle who came early Sunday to find the memorial in ashes. Alone on the porch, late into the night and into early mornings, I prayed silently and I sang praise songs aloud. At other times, friends came silently onto the porch just to be with me. It helped to talk through what I was seeing and feeling. But it didn’t take away the ache or the anger. I felt so useless in what I could do. Even now, tears flow.

Much of this culminated on Sunday evening as Chanelle and her and De’Koda’s precious baby. Charitie, visited on my porch with two friends and me. Seeing Chanelle and then my friend hold little Charitee solidified the concept of ‘community’ and its sometimes delicate balance.

I know a few other people may find offense with my approach or framing of these past days. Some may revert to social judgments, condemnations and stereotypes of fatherless children, lives of crime, and related spiels. This isn’t the place. This is the time and place when we ask, ‘What does a community response to such a tragedy look like?’ and ‘Who is the community?’ I hope that this could be the start of a dialogue that builds stronger relationships within a community - within a city.

(note to self: expand on this)
sage holben/originally written for Dayton's Bluff Forum, 11/2011

The Rhythm From My Porch

2011-09-22T12:00:00.000-07:00

The Rhythm from my porch

Tire low of air, flap, flap, flap…does the driver realize he’s almoston the rim?

A ball game played in my neighbor’s yard…I’m half asleep on the porch,listening to a metal clang…the bat? A metal plate used as a base? The rhythmplays like music in its own way. I recognize Mario’s echoing laughter, and Ismile…laughter with a real, a full joy in it. I hear Jose’s voice…a ratherhumorous lilt in how he makes his pronouncements…

A group of wrens, massed arounda ‘puddle’ of seeds fallen from a tree; they move almost as one, from thedriveway apron to the drive, and then to the lilac bushes, flowers shed so longago. As if prompted by the influx of wrens, a cardinal bursts from the bushesto a neighboring tree...one rhythmic note affecting the other.

“F….him, I said, mother f’er….”, I heard the words, followed by laughter, words Ican’t understand – is it a dialect, is it lazy speech, is it just that I don’twant to hear it…my cold eyes hold no power if the speakers don’t make eye contactwith me. The raw, unwelcomed cursing is oddly rhythmic…its own music…is it?

Slap, slap, slap; rap, rap, rap; basketballs and rap music, bothhitting the sidewalk. Rhythmic, too, are the glances….”Don’t look, Sage’ my 12year old neighbor whispers to me. He’s Blood; don’t look.’ This, too, is awarning oft repeated to me. He’s Crypt, he’s Blood, He’s an 18…don’t do it,Sage.

You’re gay; am not; sure you are; laughter; some tension; the messagenot spoken now reveals who has been ripping on who today. You are, so I’m not.A day’s rhythm is coming to its end on the porch. Kids are gathering, feeling safe to say whatthey wouldn’t on the street. We talk about ‘gay’. “You’ve met my son; he’s gay.You like him. You respect him. What’s different?

Karen boys bike by; chattering in a language we don’t understand. Marcomocks the unknown under his breath. Hey, I tell him, how was it when you camehere and didn’t speak English? Did people mock your Spanish? How did you feel?The form of our conversation takes up a familiar rhythm, we’ve had it beforeabout Hmong language and culture. It’s a rhythm that becomes, sadly, almostcomfortable.

Weed wackers, lawn mowers, people calling to each other. Motorsrevving, missing mufflers, roaring motorcycles; planes in a no-fly zone,dismiss any shred of conversation. Wait.

A scooter’s whirrrrrr; a Rainbow shopping cart, rumbles down the hill,child propelling child; in the background a car horn out of control, but inperfect rhythm.

And then, one Saturday morning, the world regains briefly, the rhythmof only birds, the sipping of early morning coffee, and the quiet turning of abook’s pages. I’m alone with my own rhythm.

9/2011

Book review: Neighborhood Law by Cora Jordan and Emily Doskow

2011-08-02T11:35:00.000-07:00

Neighbor Law: Fences, Trees, Boundaries & Noise… by Cora Jordan Attorney

This review was written for LibraryThing Early Reviewers.

My neighborhood is diverse in many, many ways. One is in how people respond to problems or possible problems. Some can watch a person being beaten and not call 911, but call the police because five 10-year- olds are riding bikes on an empty street. A neighbor will call code enforcement to report that a neighbor left her garbage bin out overnight while he himself leaves his on the curb 24/7. My advice is, talk with the neighbor first – by phone or in person – in a civil, friendly tone. Don’t jump to calling city departments right away. And better than anything, I hope you’ve tried to build a friendly relationship long ago before you ever got to know each other’s personalities.

People and situations not being perfect, NEIGHBOR LAW: Fences, Trees, Boundaries & Noise, by Attorneys Cora Jordan and Emily Doskow, offers real solutions to common problems. The substance of the book doesn’t become stifled or diluted because of varying state or city laws. Doskow and Jordan offer common sense, step by step advice in logical sequence with practical, easily applied examples of letters and conversations. The appendixes and Index provide state and legal resources, with a web site for updates. If friendly dialogue and attempted resolution doesn’t work, the reader is taken to the next level with suggestions of what statutes, laws, or legal contacts or actions might help.

I serve on the board of my district community council board, and attend the monthly community meetings where residents bring problems that range from noise, disintegrating retaining walls, and junk cars, to meth labs, guns, and vandalized vacant houses. Very few attempted resolutions seem to have started with a civil conversation. I realize that sometimes fear is an uninvited guest, and all too often, it’s not clear in some neighborhoods who actually lives, owns, or is responsible for a house, especially a rental which a German bank owns.

Given all that, I very highly recommend Neighbor Law as a reference handbook for any community group, neighborhood mediator, or just easy, helpful reading to be a more informed, understanding, and proactive resident.

State statutes, general laws, common sense guidelines and reasonable use guidelines are offered for various situations and disputes , including unclear boundary lines, overhanging trees, animal issues, ‘attractive’ nuisances, fences, and noisy neighbors. When things go too far, there is a section on restoring relations. Whether you live in a bungalow on Primrose Lane, a McMansion in Andover, a farm in Forest Lake, or you are one of 300 apartment units on McKnight, you are someone’s neighbor - buy the book and first read the tips on building community.

Now, please excuse me, I really need to read the section on secondhand smoke.

Thank you, Cora Jordan and Emily Doskow, for helping maintain a higher quality of neighborhood life!
sh 6/11/11 ( )

processing thoughts on this:

2011-06-02T12:37:00.001-07:00

What could my mother have taught me; what would I have wanted her to teach me? Just thinking of that this morning, for some unknown reason.

A few bits and pieces

2011-04-10T12:02:00.000-07:00

I have no idea how anyone could be bored or have 'nothing to do'. I would at first say that it's especially living in St. Paul, or as Sam would know, living in NYC. But even when I lived in Iowa, unemployed at first and knowing absolutely no one, once fixing a schedule to keep me sane, I could always find something to do.

I have an occasional downstairs neighbor who comments 'do you EVER sleep?' Well, yes, but have you ever been in bed, sometimes awaken with a great idea and just have to start putting it into place?

The last few months have been very busy. I was thinking I'd have a few quiet months before summer, but not so. I have learned so much about the St. Paul city CIB program; I'll write the process I've learned in a different blog. It went from something with many attached misconceptions on my part, to quickly writing a proposal, to seeing how the community task force works, to planning a neighborhood workshop so other people have the information I didn't.

Neighborhood kids have visited more this winter than last; I've learned more about bicycles than I ever thought I would; the girls want a mostly girls summer. I don't know - girls are so high maintenance. Boys can be a little bit crude at times, but they are so much easier going.

I have been away from Door County for way too long and need to visit very soon. My brakes need work and I need a little money to do that.

I need to visit with Aunt Cleo. I miss her. I need to at least call soon. I need to write more letters to everyone.

Thursday evening, Murphy, four now? said we need to do some street clean-up. I had been thinking that too, Murph. So Friday I picked up a rake and some garbage bags. From almost 6pm to about 9, Kari, Kate, Murph, Abigail, Alma, Francisco, Jesus, Sam, Jose, KayLynn (sp) Jeff and I raked, swept, scooped and picked up. We filled, what, six big garbage bags and 12 big orange city bags. When the street sweepers come in a week or two, their job will be so much easier and less waste will enter the sewer to the Mississippi. I was achy, but it felt so satisfying.
Then Kate's brother and uncle had grilled ribs and chicken for a nice late supper, and a visit with Kate, Mel, Jill and some wine...a nice evening.

The next day, Saturday, was the City DFL endorsing convention. I couldn't get the kids to go. I thought they might enjoy it. I've always loved the DFL process. This morning I kept my apheresis appointment, but the nurse said she nicked the vein, tried to move it around, but the clotting had already begun; tried another vein, couldn't get any saline in. The bruise is forming, and none of us thought to go to a one-needle apheresis instead of my usual two. I'll make another appointment when the bruise heals. It did open two hours for me this morning. I went to Byerly's for lemon ricotta pancakes...lovely.

OW! to a sore thumb and to customer service

2011-02-09T18:31:00.001-08:00

I am so looking forward to a quiet Saturday - write some letters, research contacts for community events. In the meantime, I'm nursing a sore thumb, waiting for a doctor appointment tomorrow. This past Saturday, I had stopped to pick up coffee at a drive-thru. Two newspaper stands/boxes were set up for customers as they approach the window. My Metro sits low, so I am reaching up a bit - put in my quarters for the Saturday Minneapolis Star Tribune, pulled the handle up and reached in to get my paper. WHAM! Down came the front of the box, the edge hitting my wrist. Someone either had not secured the top latch on filling the box that morning, or someone else had broken into the money box and broken the latch.

My left hand was still in there, trying to get my paper - and WHAM! It came down again. I shoved the front up again (the newspaper door to pull out one paper opens from the bottom, but the larger front, to fill the box, and/or to empty the money box, apparently comes forward, also, hinged at the bottom).

Third time, WHAM! The front came down. This is heavy metal...and this time, I was fighting so hard with two hands to get this heavy metal door of my hand, that I started moving forward. In line to reach the window, I foolishly had not put the car in park - it's always been so easy to deposit my money and get my paper. Now, not only my wrist had been slammed again, but as I inched forward, my thumb got jammed between the door and the box base, and wouldn't pull out as I went forward. Big OW!

Working for the state, I'm accustomed to incident reports, so I went inside and told the shift manager what had happened. She nervously gave me information for their insurance company and the manager's name and store phone number. She said she would contact the Star Tribune and let them know of the problem with the box.

By the end of the day, my thumb was hard, swollen and bruised. It looked very much like a very fat, firm sausage, even with the ice I applied. Amazingly, it didn't hurt...until Monday. Still it was swollen, so I called the 24-hour nurse line for my insurance. I soon started regretting my Open Enrollment switch from Blue Cross/Blue Shield to Health Partners. The nurse line was fine. I wondered it I should wait and let the thumb play itself out. She said I should have it checked because of my health issues. She transferred me and I made an appoint to go to Como Health Partners because my clinic had no openings. An hour or so later I left work for my appointment. My cell rang on the way over, and as is my habit, I didn't answer it while driving. I checked my messages when I arrived - 'We're sorry, the doctor we scheduled you with does not see injuries. You can reschedule or go to urgent care.' I walked into the clinic and found there is no center desk for questions/directions. One can go to the pharmacy, radiology, OB and whatever is on that one area.

I went back to the vestibule with the door opening and closing, and spent several minutes on the phone, calling people inside the building! When I asked about urgent care and the cost, the person said O, yes, your insurance will cover everything. I replied how unusual that would be, so might I take her words as a contract. Then she said she wasn't really able to answer that and transferred me to one more automated call. All day long with Health Partners I was given to automated voices...I finally hung up and went back to work.

I called the Minneapolis Star Tribune and could get one person who transferred me and with that call and two others, never spoke with a human. I left two messages, one with Star Tribune Public Relations and one with 'one copy service' and Thank You, Mpls Star Tribune, for never returning my call. Thank you, Health Partners, for not answering my 'contact us' comment on your website. Thank you, poor customer service everywhere!!!

I did get a person today when I called the Wabasha clinic and I do have an appointment for tomorrow. Maybe by tomorrow I'll be able to bend my thumb and it won't be prickly or throbbing.

Second Christmas and minimizing at its best

2011-02-06T21:00:00.000-08:00

Wow, I can't believe how long it's been since I've posted. A couple weeks ago I picked up Sam's celebration of 'Second Christmas'. Normally meant to be held on January 25, I had to do it a couple days early because of a DFL SD67 meeting. The idea is to recycle: as a potluck, food is to be leftovers, truly pot luck! The party-giver offers items s/he wants people to take home as they leave (the secret there, is to sure a lot of the attendees are YOUNG and not of the age where they are already thinning their own possessions!

Over the last few months, I had been collecting items from around the house and stashing them aside. Not one of them spoke to me to 'take me back!' Pottery, china, collectibles, jewelry was all arrayed with colorful bows and packaging...and no leftovers came back in! I have another several bags/boxes to deliver to the local thrift store (where all proceeds support a no-kill animal shelter which also gives free exams to strays.) Tommy - fomerly known as 'Duluth Bob' - had the pleasure of Animal Ark's assistance...otherwise, I don't think he could have stayed here.

It's been wonderfully freeing to pack up so many items that once had given me enjoyment and even served a purpose, but now can go on to a second, third, or fourth life. I just don't have the patience to market items on Craigslist or E-Bay. Animal Ark is a worthwhile endeavor.

I dropped some items off last week at a Goodwill store and stopped in to see what frames they might have. I didn't purchase anything, and left the store laughing. Several of the Second Christmas items were 70s Avon glassware pieces. On the shelves at Goodwill were FIVE of the blue George Washington cobalt goblet I put out; and then I saw an Avon covered butterdish I gave away years ago (well not the same one, of course). A friend of Sam once commented something to the effect that an item that may have cost $200 off the store shelf depreciates to $5 at the local thrift store. SO right!

Saturday Workshop

2010-11-09T14:21:00.000-08:00

It’s Saturday and I’ve attended one more racism workshop - facing racism, dismantling racism,
undoing racism - so many titles, so much frustration in working through feelings, truths, facts,
dialogue, perceptions, and attitudes. Today’s ‘Building Awareness of Race and Culture in
Inclusive Community Work’ was sponsored by our St. Paul District Councils. My frustration is
not with the workshops; it’s a testament to need that such workshops keep going and that they
are well attended. I’m frustrated that the SYSTEM of race is so slow in changing.

Systems - ones that work and don’t work; formal and informal. Computer systems and sewer
systems. Social systems. How often do we even think of the systems in which we live and
work? At work I have much less power than most other colleagues, but I have a little. In my
neighborhood, I have more. Why? Because I’m white; and even though I live paycheck to
paycheck and yes, I rent in a city that wants us to own. Being white with a European white
name gives me an edge. Even with all the vacant houses in my immediate neighborhood, I am
or am becoming a minority in the several blocks around me with Karen, Latino, Somali, Hmong
and African-American, but my visible whiteness gives me an edge.

A couple years ago, a neighbor heard that I had been attacked by the same person who had
attacked her a month earlier. Why, she asked me, was the legal system and news pursuing
my case (5th degree misdemeanor assault) when hers (3rd degree felony with substantial
bodily harm) received almost no attention? Though I’m forever grateful for the assistance
I’ve received, I’ve always felt somewhat guilty. I’ve wondered if it was helpful to be connected
with my community, or if it was because I am white and my neighbor African-American. The
assailant was African-American. The reasons for being attacked are different, but they should
not matter. The seeming inequality of treatment stays with me in a way that the physical attack
has not.

How do we change a system in which too many people are not represented by people who
reflect them - in values, color, culture, ethnicity? I reason that the most solid changes come in
increments, one person, one step at a time, building relationships and going to where people
shop, meet, worship, play, celebrate and mourn. It’s not necessarily comfortable.
I sometimes feel discomfort when I am a minority, attending a meeting where I’m the only
one not familiar with the format; in being invited to a Mexican family celebration and being
unsure of when to leave, having obviously arrived too early; attending a Latino political caucus
and not needing a translator because the anger at the table speaks very clearly; inviting new
Karen neighbors to use our community dumpster, only to find that with our language barrier,
they think that I’ve invited them to straighten it up; offering them a ride to a clinic, only to have
them break out in warm, wondrous smiles of surprise (and likely answered prayer) at the clinic
entrance, that this strange woman wasn’t kidnapping them!

My hope is that some people I’ve met this way will, with several invitations, become regulars at
our first Thursday community meetings, council committees, or our district council board. If they don’t participate at the community table, it is their loss and, to a greater extent, mine. Until
then we still smile and exchange pleasantries (I think) as we meet each other!

An awesome evening in late September

2010-09-29T19:46:00.000-07:00

I kept hearing what a beautiful day it was...while I was tucked inside my cubicle all day. I desperately needed to get some paperwork done, but as I walked up onto the porch, a couple kids followed. It was a beautiful day. I never made it upstairs until after nine o'clock tonight. 'F', 'J', 'F', 'C', 'P' and soon 'S' and 'J' joined us. All evening, the boys came and went. It was a nice and easy evening.

J shared his MP3 video and prime time toons; 'C' and 'P' explained some of the ethnic gangs to me, observations and experiences. We called the police to investigate a broken basement window in a vacant house; called the realtor who sent someone to board it. Conversation went from a couple of the families looking for houses to purchase; 'P' said he was going to help sod on Friday and earn some money; they talked about 'the hood' and what they liked about it. Very direct talk about behavior they see and what carries from the street to school.

Talk went to banned books. We were talking about robots and that led to robots being a theme of ALA Banned Books Week. 'What are banned books?' That led to further discussion. Four of the boys specifically said 'we could have a classroom'....to work on writing and reading after school. They know about the homework zone at the public library, but it seems they want a room where they can talk and study together. I'll double check with the rec center and library study room, but it would be nice to have something that can be available on a continuous basis. I'm also thinking about using my apartment, around the dining room table.

When we were alone, 'C' and I talked about shyness, authenicity, and some fears. His love and admiration for his older brother is so transparent and strong. 'C' said he'd like to do a video documentary about the neighborhood. I think there's someone at Metro I can get to help with that.

We talked about a situation next door when a police officer made an inappropriate comment to a woman. The boys led the conversation about race relations, assumptions people make about others, how some people look down on others who need assistance, and who our friends are.

These boys check in with their parents so often and the parents stop by on their way home from work or to work. 'P' asked about community meetings when I said I could bring something up. Two of the kids may come with me next Thursday to our District 4 meeting. Several will be attending the CD 4 Bruce Vento dinner with me on Sunday. They're planning our next visit to Bike Heaven and 'J', 'F', 'J' and 'F' are due for a Chuckee Cheese visit. I'll have to start setting aside my paycheck for pizza and tokens for an October night out.

For the last half hour, 'C' and I talked and a football 'game' continued in the middle of Bates with about seven other kids...'car coming!', called periodically.

change of seasons, change of moods

2010-09-26T09:16:00.000-07:00

I accept each new day of September as a gift of one more day of neighborhood activity; a promise of neighborhood connectivity. Truthfully, I am not looking forward to winter. It's not the snow, the horrendous heating bills, or the icy sidewalks making the Fourth to Seventh Street walk to work a treacherous one. Because darkness descends so early in the evening/late afternoon, and with no warm gathering place to just hang out, our casual drop-in relationships will become suspended until spring.

Weekend movies on the porch have bec ome a large focus over the last two summers. They've become much more than simply a movie night. Kids often start asking on Monday, 'are we having a movie this week?' I've found that they are the better selectors of movies than I am, so I largely leave it with them to select and negotiate. Bantering mingles with calling dibs on a favorite seat; serious conversation sometimes occurs during 'glitch fixes' of the DVD player or projector, checked out from my workplace. Conversation might drift from violence in school, local theft, social behavior, sex education in school, to medical or homeless issues. These topics come from the kids, eight to 14 years old.

Interestingly, what has evolved is that besides a group of kids actually watching a movie, a growing group of pre-teen to young teens gathers on the edge of the porch or in the yard itself. The movie seems of no apparent interest. They just gather on the steps or on their bikes and talk among themselves. Occasionally, a two or three will leave to race down Bates, then return. I suppose it's no different than my enjoying time at a coffee shop – just being in a comfortable place to chat, with no planned activity, just be.

If I could move all this indoors for the winter, I readily would do so. I look at empty houses such as 342 Bates, listed at $159,000 (I just called the realtor, who said someone is seriously considering its purchase, as a four-plex). A house like this would be a perfect drop-in center for kids (and possibly a parents' meeting place). I know the Dayton's Bluff branch library has a well-used homework room with tutors; also that we have a great rec center on Conway Street (though a challenge in crossing Third). I dream of a drop-in center where kids can come for help with homework, or even just a place to study or read; a place where they can stop in and talk with any adult who is there (and those adults being neighborhood people)...a place to play board games or work on a 3-D puzzle. I'm not talking about a second recreation center or introducing more vehicle traffic; not even a child care or playground. Just a year-round place where kids can benefit from caring adults who are willing to provide a place of safety and conducive to informal socializing, learning, and confidence in reading or writing...in their own neighborhood. And could it be possible to have a place where struggling neighborhood parents could meet and work through parenting issues?

I am aware of organizations and agencies with facilities for meetings and activities. I am also aware that of fifteen kids of all ages, standing at the morning bus stop, each one can be attending a different school, scattered throughout the city. I'm not saying this is good or bad in itself. My observation is that many neighborhoods such as ours, have no common thread as there once was. A common thread might be a school, a place of worship, or a common value, or a local company where most parents worked and shared the same meal time, payday, employer expectations. One neighbor might discipline another's child, being of the same mind and same value. Even the threat of becoming the subject of a rumor could sanction a person's behavior.
If we do have a current common value – one by which we openly live – it's more difficult to identify. Though we have a number of families who own homes and whose children have lived here most of their lives, we also have children who come and go. They appear in a yard, on the porch, perhaps throw stones to establish their presence...they may relate to two or three adults, establish a beginning relationship and then disappear...perhaps fifteen blocks away, perhaps to an aunt in Illinois or Mississippi, sometimes the family splitting itself between two or three relatives.

So what is my point? My point is that I see two groups of kids: those who find activities such as skateboarding, biking, baseball, etc. and play together. They are called home for meals, at curfews; they check in from time to time, and look after each other's welfare; they are fairly static. The other group is more fluid, often changing with the change of months. They usually aren't here long enough to grasp the values or 'rules' of the neighborhood. It would be too easy to yell at each one who traipses through a garden, picking or pulling out flowers, rather than explain what a garden is; of addressing each F- word spewed, or litter tossed into the street; the difference between climbing a tree versus climbing over a private fence. In our immediate two blocks in any direction, are Karen, Somali, Black, Latino, Hmong, and Euro-white children. Though there are few actual clashes and those are by 'adults', most of these cultures keep to their own ethnic groups, just playing around the fringes of others. Even among kids, friendships seem tentative. Would it be easier if kids all went to the same neighborhood school? I'm not proposing it, I'm just considering that with only a few hours after school or on weekends, it can be difficult to establish healthy roles even among children in a neighborhood.
oo many children running around unsupervised. Most live one to three blocks from our Fourth & Bates neighborhood.

I grew up in a family of seven people (four girls and one boy), moving from place to place, never with more than two bedrooms for the entire family. I learned to study best with a hum of noise in the background, but usually had to stay up until 11 at night before there was any space to open math books and spread out homework papers.

Most people know how the porch movies started, so I won't go into it except to say that in doing it, I meant to build a neighborhood connection between adult residents and children and others who walk and play in our neighborhood. That has happened, and continues. What has caught me in total awe is the strength, sensitivity, insight and creativity of the young people in our area. A local man, who rebuilds bikes, dropped off four or five 'rejects'. Led by one young man, these many bikes became two or three, combined with parts from others and given to those who were without a bike. One extended 'tricycle' lost its large, wide, hard plastic wheels and gained spoked wheels, a cushy video chair seat and eventually a speaker system; quieter bike and easy turning. As bikes are rebuilt and sold or traded, I'm even learning what parts and sizes are most sought...pegs anyone?

A neighbor had found and dropped off a picnic table of sorts. As we considered what color to paint the seats, one of the boys suggested a design of a second color. It's looking great. We've already used it many times, one being a pizza supper (their idea and treat). We all learned by trial and error, the finer points in using painters' tape for design work and again, we learned patience. During one talk time with four or five boys present, one noticed that I had yawned and looked droopy. He is one who sort of looks out for me...my age, I dread to say. He sweetly suggested to the others that we move the conversation to the porch where I could lie on the lounge chair. I have received gifts of cinnamon swirl bread from a local bakery where the parents of one of the girls work; homemade tamales from another. Best of all are the smiles and what their eyes reveal – sometimes silent laughter, sometimes a quizzical look in response to an odd behavior, especially of an adult, sometimes a furrowed brow.

Last weekend, a skateboarder, probably late teens or early twenties, came down his usual Maple to Bates Fourth Street hill. I love watching him, though I am amazed that he and others risk their lives at the four-way stop at which most drivers don't actually look to see what's coming – only look at what is already at the intersection. I've seen him wipe out a few times, even without traffic. This particular day I was stunned to see that he was clutching to his chest, a baby! Not even a toddler. A baby!

No one could tell me where he lives. I said to one of the boys, who was visiting on my porch, that I will smash a watermelon in front of the skateboarder to demonstrate what his baby's head will look like if he falls while holding the baby. My visitor looked shocked. He later related this to a friend, and I couldn't help but embrace the slight smile on his face. And here's the gift: a few days later, something happened and his smile came to mind...these moments give over and over again. I'll break out in a smile or laughter myself and have a difficult time explaining why. I carry the neighborhood in my heart. I've never known such a neighborhood; nor have I ever lived among people where each is so valued.

682/684 Fourth St. East - a Brad Nilles property in Dayton's Bluff

2010-09-09T14:25:00.000-07:00

This is one of three properties on Fourth Street

East in Dayton's Bluff. These are owned by Brad
Nilles, Calabash Properties. He also owns Seven
Hawks Vineyard, just outside of Fountain, Wisconsin.
Bill Walker is the property manager, but had not been overly responsive to neighbors' complaints about tenant behavior or the overflowing garbage that has become a fairly regularly event. This example, to be fair, came out over Labor Day weekend...gave our visitors and friends a new look at Dayton's Bluff!

A few years ago, I invited Brad to meet with a few
Fourth Street neighbors, but he declinedl. We would
still like to meet, to talk about how we could all
improve the Fourth and Bates area. He might get
better tenants (with a better screening process)
and we all could be on the receiving end of a better
quality of life experience - probably not quite like a
lodge room at Seven Hawks, but nice, nonetheless.

Police Calls, guns, and kids on Sesame Street

2010-08-08T10:00:00.000-07:00

SUNDAY FARMERS MARKET:
Cesar went with me to the Farmers' Market this am. Kept saying he wasn't hungry, but I'm glad to say he had a cheddar brat with me for breakfast. Saw Kenchi's uncle when I picked up egg rolls and passed on a greeting from the neighborhood.We purchased several phlox and a couple other plants...I keep saying 'these are the last flowers'. Yesterday morning when I went out to plant bulbs that Jill had left, Mario and Cesar were right there to help. Also, we found a beautiful jar of honey with honeycomb...mmmm. I took a piece of the honeycomb and gave Cesar the jar to take home. He told how, in Mexico, he helped to smoke the bees to remove honeycomb, and how large it was. This young man has so many stories of his life in Mexico and his travels here and back. He and others, like Abigail have seen and experienced so much. Their stories could enrich our lives greatly.

SPNN KIDS VIDEO PROJECT:
Friday night, Mary Pumphreys and her son, Augie, came over to show us a preview of the Kids Neighborhood Video project. We had a small group Friday - not many kids around, for whatever reason. We showed the video twice...the first group had several adults who knew many places, but the second group, too - recognized and enjoyed seeing the bakery and several houses they recognized, with he little histories.

LEARNING EXPERIENCE FOR ME:
Movies and projects such as this on the porch/yard, have been a learning experience in the attention span of various kids, and what movies appeal to them. It's certainly not as easy as taking six white, USA-reared children with same cultural background and similar experience and seeing an almost one-size fits all project through. Here we have varying degrees of comprehension and language skills, extreme differences in attention span and learning. If this is even a small indicator of what our elementary teachers face in their classrooms, they indeed face a tremendous challenge!

BIKES FOR KIDS:
Lara, by chance, met a neighborhood man who rebuilds bicycles that he finds broken and abandoned in the streets. She's been able to provide many of her neighbors with bikes. I called him yesterday and will connect with him again today. Cesar said about ten kids can use bikes. We'll pay for what we can. The man doesn't charge much, and I think the kids will appreciate them more it they can pay something.
I'll stop at Target on the way home to see what locks and cables cost. Too broke right now to do much until Friday.

IS SESAME STREET SURREAL?
In the last three weeks:
On the 19th, I came home early one day to find a mini-van partially blocking my drive, and parked about three feet from the curb. Long story short, young man was passed out behind the steering wheel, female passenger on cell phone; said car trouble/didn't need my help, said both had just moved here and were tired. I called non-emergency to have squad check on car. They quickly connected me to ambulance squad when I told her about driver. While I was on this call, the passenger finally aroused the driver and they switched positions before police arrived. Driver taken away in ambulance, police (three squads and canine unit) did thorough search of bags, passenger, vehicle (about 2 and a half hours).

The following Thursday when I got home, neighbors and kids told me of two groups who clashed. One group came into our block with bats, took one or two porch spindles from a neighbor's house, three shepherd plant hooks, and a brick from several neighbors. Neighbors said it was a 'ten on ten' and one person was taken in by police. A police report I later received from Ellen B. stated fewer people were actually involved (though all neighbors did say 'ten on ten'), and more people were cited. A windshield and window from one car were smashed. When I arrived home, there was glass on Bates at Fourth, and two of the three planters across the street were neatly sitting where they once had hung by the shepherds hooks I had put out for neighbors last year.

Later that day, one neighbor found the brick, another found the spindle/s and another the shepherd hooks and replaced them. I then replaced the flowers and exchanged them for fresh flowers as they had dried and seemed a bit ragged.

The funny part of all this is that when Kate, who had been away all week, came home, all was in order and no one would have guessed of our little melee.

Then last week, one block down, Lara experienced an episode of a person claiming to have a gun, yelling for all the kids to go behind the house, police appearing and staying only briefly (minute or two), and then a few hours later, Lara was in front, mending a child's scraped knee...police came by...all was peaceful, as if nothing had ever disturbed the relative quiet.

Yesterday Cesar told me that this past Thursday two people, with a gun, were at Fifth and Bates, looking for the daughter of a Fifth St. resident. No other info on it, except the daughter, apparently, has a history of getting into trouble. Larry never said a thing...that's how ordinary these occurences are in the neighborhood. The kids don't seem at all phased by these, though I know they are, from asking Cesar and Jose how they handle them.

Fourth of July Weekend on Fourth and Bates

2010-07-06T11:48:00.000-07:00

Fireworks>
It was the first time in a couple years that I was home for the Big Fourth. The neighborhood fireworks (imported from Wisconsin) didn’t bother me as much as in the past – we had enough rain that those that hit the houses and yards didn’t seem quite as dangerous. Sunday night I heard several hit second floor windows and found pieces in our parking area and yard.

I moved several kids, over the weekend, away from our intersection where younger children were playing. Seeing so many 7-13 year olds with lighters and matches, setting off all kinds of illegal fireworks was not very comforting, with none of their parents around. Thankfully, not of our kids got hurt – amazing!
What is funny is that several of the boys would take their firecrackers and set them off on the sidewalk in front of other houses…parents don’t want them in front of theirs, perhaps? I kept directing them back to their own. Finally, yesterday, they set many off near a vacant, dilapidated house a couple doors down. Frankly, I kept hoping the house would catch fire so we wouldn’t have to keep looking at it too slowly falling in.

Yard Sale and movies>
Bonni and Kyle are moving, so several of us got together for a two-day yard sale: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=66815&id=1176506549&l=81a4af5791
Even the littlest ones brought things to sell and kept the economy going by purchasing ‘stuff’. Samantha set up a lemonade stand on Friday. We had masks to give away and kids loved that.
We had movies on the porch Friday - 'Madagascar II' and 'Meet Dave' on Saturday, after 'Invictus' took a dive.

On Friday also, we kept watch on a neighbor's home and were on extra alert for the children. Several children up the street, who are unsupervised by an adult all day and into the night, had threatened one of our six year olds with a bat and broken knife. We called the police a couple times. Turns out that the same kids had threatened a number of our other neighborhood kids in the past. Seems to be a constant here. The oldest boy went past my porch and as the neighbor and I were talking, pointed his hand like a gun at us. Where are the parents?!

Block Party>
Three years ago, I helped to set up a Fourth of July block party in the cul de sac. Because of one resident, it then became an ‘invited only’ party, not a public neighborhood party. So last year I didn’t help set it up as she didn’t want her neighbors (mostly black and low income) access. She has a reputation for deterring people from using the overlook to watch the Fourth fireworks – turning her sprinklers onto the public grass, etc.
This year, Lara, who lives in the cul de sac got the street blocked and passed out flyers of invitation. I made all the potato salad and one of Lara’s neighbors grilled hot dogs for everyone. To her credit, the anti-social woman did supply watermelon and grapes….thank you very much.
Lara arranged a dance-off for the kids and it was great. http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=1450629&l=6da3650509&id=1176506549
The kids had a great time and I really enjoyed meeting some of our new Karen neighbors and Lara’s renters. The fire department brought a truck for the kids to climb on…until they were called away for a fire.
Sadly, someone had smeared axle grease over the road barrier at the end of the cul de sac, and over the cement wall and chain link fencing that overlooks Mounds Boulevard. For as long as fireworks have been on display from the Capitol grounds and from Harriet Island, this is where area people come to sit on the barrier and stand against the wall with their children to watch the display.
Lara called the police to let them know about the vandalism and I called the fire department on Sunday afternoon to see if the substance was hazardous and could it be removed. While we had thought it was motor oil, they identified it as axle grease, confirmed that someone had purposely smeared it (only in the areas where people normally viewed the fireworks display, and said they had nothing that would remove it. They recommended a degreaser.
We went home and got all the cleaning supplies we could find, and borrowed several hoses – about five, I think, and spent hours scrubbing down the barricade, wall and fencing. Even the little ones were determined. We now have the cleanest cul de sac in the city!
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=66895&id=1176506549&l=930611ff86

All in all, it was a great weekend on Fourth and Bates. The kids learned some powerful lessons.

It was a very nice day

2010-06-30T07:52:00.000-07:00

I finally finished a letter about local traffic - I had been procrastinating for months. It took concentration, coffee, a Caribou environment, and three hours; interrupted once by a neighbor who sounded as if she had a desire to pick a fight. I needed to get back to my work and I wasn't wanting to parry words with her (she kept picking things apart). I'm afraid when I said I didn't want to go into anything right now (work and public place on a cell) she took offense, which I think she wanted to do anyway, and hung up. Not the first time and it won't be the last...she's one of two who seem to always be looking for something to disparage or tsk about.

That was a very small, but annoying piece of the day. I got home and Kenchi came running over with a hug, Samm asked if I was going to visit her at her house, Pedro, Jose, Jesus, John, Mario, Fermin, Cesar, Kenchi, were all out and I love the joking and teasing. John is so good with the boys. The boys know quite a bit about what goes on in the neighborhood. It's an active intersection and John filled me in on Brandon's run-in with his mother and the latest, usual petition for blocking the cul-de-sac. Supposedly it's for a 'block party', but the petitioner invites only a select few, not her neighbors for a private party. Several of us won't go after the first one because it was such a sham, plus she was appeared upset with more than half the people there. Now it's pretty much of a private party with public funds paying for firefighters to block the street with their truck. It's adds to the funkiness and weirdness of the neighborhood.

A plus is that several weeks back I serendipitously met a man who had just finished teaching a drumming workshop here at Metro State Library and he's agreed to hold a drumming workshop for my neighborhood kids. I have to come up with $75 and he can work with 10-15 kids, using the big plastic pails (like the restaurant pickle pails). They'll love it! I can invite some of the newer kids who live down on Maria and seem to have no supervision. It might be a helpful way of bringing some of them together.

Little neighbors

2010-06-29T07:50:00.000-07:00

Neighborhood garden tour was yesterday evening - very pleasant, though I went to the first and then mine, not finishing the tour. I was just too tired. Also, I just didn't want to deal with probable drama of one of the group. Influenced by wine (her own self-disclosure of 'if you want to talk with me, catch me before 3:00'), she tends to get snarky and make some cruelly biting remarks to me in a group; she's very caring and pleasant in private conversation. I just don't need that in my life. So rested instead, and worked on our July 2 yard sale.

Kenchi and Cesar were in attendance and I realize how much they and some of the other kids add to my life. I am so grateful for them. Life is good with children and gardens in it.

Expecting a quiet weekend and bits and pieces

2010-06-04T13:53:00.000-07:00

Tonight will be our second 2010 movie weekend. Last weekend two new kids joined us. A little boy, about 11 commented, as he watched the movie, "I like this better than my house". I think it was our giant screen. Kinji, who is five years old, was allowed over. He is so very tiny - just a wisp...so talkative. He ran through his list of favorite movies and all the action. I think he remembers everything. A-, whose mom works at the nearby bakery, couldn't stay, but she is a fantastic little girl...looks 12 years old, but is only eight...and stories to go with it.

These kids are great additions. Unfortunately, Jessica, who used to live across the street (it was her screams we heard and reported) has moved. Will the next neighbors dare to 'interfere'? I hope so.

I'm creating quite a stack of items for a yard sale later this month. The Mickey Mouse and Cookie Monster sweaters that belonged to Sam as a two year old...finally ready to part with them! The Star Wars Atat (sp), Darth Vadar, and space ships...not sure yet...looking for prices. These were huge investment in the 70s!

It feels good to be able to finally separate. I don't have much packed away, but every bit of space counts in an apartment. Now if there were a way to motivate my downstairs hoarding neighbor. It's frightening the stacks and stacks and piles of 'stuff' he has there.

My cell phone is not working. I think it was too close to my magnetized name tag in my purse...ROT!!

This past week I planted more perennials, purchased from a fundraiser neighborhood plant sale. I kept declaring myself done, then a neighbor kept dropping off False Solomon Seal native plants. I planted and gave much away, got more and will plant the rest tomorrow. I picked up some REAL Solomon Seal last night and will plant them tomorrow. Someone stole my tomato plant I had in a big pot near my drive. If the person had waited, s/he could simply have picked tomatoes off the vine later this summer. Fortunately, I have two more plants on the other side of the house. They just won't be as productive.

Summer annoyances and deep breaths

2010-05-25T07:46:00.000-07:00

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.

Screams, hits, who calls?

2010-05-15T20:22:00.000-07:00

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.

Be a positive change

2010-04-23T18:54:00.000-07:00

Society and its systems sometimes work backwards. Today, as I was at the computer and looking out the window, I saw six to eight boys. They were probably between the ages of 12 and 15. Most are new to the neighborhood over the last month and some live next door. I've exchanged greetings with several and have asked them to walk around the flower bed instead of through it. They've complied and have always been polite.

On the corner tonight they were talking, sometimes standing out in the street, but always moving out of the way when cars came. Corners, I suppose are still the place to be noticed, to check out cars, be checked out, be cool, see action and sometimes create some action. True, I thought that if I weren't familiar with the neighborhood, I might be a little nervous going up to a stop sign with young men standing close to the car and eyeing it. But that doesn't usually make me nervous; they were ok. Then they started the 'play fighting' and I got my shoes on to talk with them. That's something that I've asked the kids NOT to do in the street.

By the time I was leaving my apartment, I saw a police car slowly pass, and no kids.
I stopped and talked to a neighbor whose father was stuck up at gun point on Saturday in our intersection. The perp was caught, the man is fine and the family (yea!!) still believes we have a great neighborhood. As we were talking, the squad was driving by and I stopped the officers to ask about the kids. One officer said they 'chased them away'. I said I was just on my way down to talk with them. She/officer said 'don't do that; call us'. I couldn't believe it. My first thought was that talking first was better, not being 'chased' off. Which action is likely to escalate idle behavior to dares and anger? My second thought was 'who do you think you're talking to?'

Of course I'm going to talk with them first.

Community, Neighborhood

2010-04-10T10:34:00.000-07:00

Neighborhood. That's become an important concept in my life since I moved to Dayton's Bluff in the spring of 2000. Neighborhood, community - how many meanings, how varied, what boundaries, who is included, how accepting, and how emotionally integrated are those who live within the confines. What is it that creates a neighborhood or a community? Is it a police grid, defined city districts or wards, the end of a comfortable block, or just those with whom we are comfortable? Are the boundaries physical as major streets, perhaps the heaviest traffic areas? Is a neighborhood as small as the closest neighbors, perhaps four houses that connect with my own? Does it extend to the kids I know, whether at the end of the next block or two doors down? Is it a physical boundary or is a neighborhood made up of the people I actually know.

I've found that my own conversational definition of 'neighborhood' changes depending on.... My neighborhood sometimes extends to the Payne/Phalen area where some of my favorite people meet at Polly's Coffee Cove on Saturday morning for round table discussions and solutions to community problems...or up to Suburban, including Byerley's restaurant, where they know exactly how I like my poached eggs on a weekday morning; though I don't personally know any other customers there, I enjoy eavesdropping, and know many details about family, friends, jobs, and love life. At other times my neighborhood narrows to the two or three blocks in any direction of my home.

Local coffee shops become communities and even families, sometimes quite close knit. Recently, I've heard several 'community' references made to places where people gather even on a temporary basis such as a group waiting for an event. At a recent discussion a woman repeatedly identified a local bar as her community, though, she said it was difficult to get to know anyone there. While others in the large group exchanged ideas for their neighborhood communities, she consistently returned to the bar community. Comfort zone? Isolation outside of the bar?

Community to me is probably more intangible than my neighborhood. Community is at least in part, the attitude of a collected people and how they interact with each other. Community - individuals as well as the 'sense' they create.

Part of this thinking came about yesterday evening when three of us were out picking up trash on Conway, between Maria and Bates Street. It's one short block that too often looks, as one person described it, 'a devastated third world country'. My own block looks like a ghost town with a minimum of litter to pick up and, with all the boarded houses, no overflowing garbage bins.

When I drive down this block of Conway, I do get an eerie feeling as if I'm very far removed from my own life. Shari/Sherry (sp) at the Thursday DC4 meeting mentioned this block and three of us at that moment agreed to meet Friday evening to clean it. Amazing things can happen in one short hour! With guerrilla gardening, why not guerrilla clean-up? I can do it when I feel the urge and have a high energy level...without a doubt, my legs hurt for two days afterward!

Though I often contemplate the concept of community, this came more recently to mind with our Conway clean-up. Of three of us, I was first to arrive. A young man double parked and began blaring his horn. I approached him and asked if he wanted someone to come out from the house. He angrily told me that someone was in his driveway...that they were often parked there. I asked him if he had talked with them about it, and informed him that it was actually illegal to sound his horn except in an emergency. When I asked who his landlord was, and suggested he talk to the landlord, he hemmed and hawed. Upon more conversation, it's his girlfriend's apartment, not his. Therefore, it's not even his driveway!!! He did park at the curb, and didn't honk again until about 45 minutes later...when he squealed off, sounding his horn for me. Ahhh, civility!

At the house next door to his girlfriend, there was an empty garbage bin in the street. On the grass at the curb was a pile about three feet high and spreading over about eight feet out of pizza boxes, an old, artificial Christmas tree, miscellaneous 'stuff' clothes, and scattered litter. It had rained all day, so everything was soppy wet and further falling apart. Once the sun dried it all out, the trash would be flying for blocks around. I went to the door and said I was with a neighborhood cleaning crew from Dayton's Bluff. I said that I see that the garbage service didn't pick up everything and if they needed help, I would be glad to help them. 'No', their landlord would be out to do it, the woman said. I asked her if she knew that if the city knew this was here, her landlord would receive a big fine. Oddly enough, within the hour, everything was picked up.

Across the street, as we picked up broken glass bottles, the pieces well embedded into the wet soil - I couldn't help but remember when my youngest sister, Gail, was a toddler, she walked into a puddle and severely cut the sole of her foot. We lived in a rural area at the time, no car, and while I held Gail still, my mother stitched her foot with household thread. How could people in this neighborhood disregard the safety of all the children who darted about? A young woman came to the door. She was cradling a baby. She thanked us and asked why. I understand that a young mother would not possibly have time or facility to be picking up litter in her front yard...but the man who came and stood behind her?

At the corner, a man came out and asked what we were doing. When Sherry told him, he said that was for his landlord to do. He smiled, glad that it was being cleaned. My whole thought to this is the line drawn between a landlord's responsibilities and a tenant's...and the blurry grey area. When I've mentioned it to others, some have said it's because when some people rent, they feel no responsibility for the property, especially outside the walls of the dwelling. There's much, of course, connected to that: resentment of the landlord for lack of maintenance response, high rents a person may feel sucked into. I'm not saying it's right, just that it exists.

Perhaps the renter lives only within the walls of the apartment, duplex, or house. Going from the door to the car, to the bus stop, to the store is simply no different than walking through a parking lot at Target. It's an access. How many times do you see people picking up litter in a parking lot?

I'm a renter. For about ten years before we divorced, my husband and I owned a home. My parents were renters all their lives. I can remember times as a child when my world was only within the walls of the apartment; when we didn't dare go outside except to go elsewhere, not to play or visit near our home. But I also remember, as a family of seven (five kids) living in a one room motel-like unit for about a year, planting watermelon seeds outside, in a 'garden' my sister and I dug up with a soup spoon. Surely, we didn't 'garden' because we cared as 10- and 5-year olds about 'improving' the landscape of this gravel-covered 'yard'. I don't know what we wanted - to see something grow, to see results of planting seeds, to nurture something? We had seldom been really attached to a neighborhood. Perhaps we were seeking that attachment to something outside of the way we hid ourselves from 'normal' people?

I can see this - the lack of attachment - in some of my neighbors. Next door there are those who visit on the porch and have somewhat of a connection to people who walk by. Then there are those who simply walk from their door, to the waiting car, and they casually toss their garbage over the fence and into our yard. I ask myself, how welcoming are people who own homes in my neighborhood...the block group that existed some years ago was made up only of a few homeowners...by invitation...that was also their 'national night out'. I often would hear renters as a group, disparaged at neighborhood meetings. I would hope it's 'only' because the persons speaking had in their minds a specific behavior they were attaching to a group and they were so focused in their anger, they couldn't see beyond. I had said at one meeting that if they substituted 'Black' or 'Asian', they could be accused of racism.

Perhaps if our district or neighbors offered to help disenfranchised renters to set up a raised garden or encouraged the landlord/property owner to do some landscaping (this instead of always calling Code Enforcement or not contacting the landlord. Perhaps if neighbors could look at their neighbors who could use a hand in planting, in connecting with the outside we could establish better relationships and build a community. Community = caring about your neighbor, not just your friends. Community = extending yourself. Community = building from within, one to one relationships and spreading to include others.

sh 4/10/2000

Who are we?

2010-03-26T07:21:00.000-07:00

This sickens me:
In a wooded area of Mounds Boulevard, off Seventh Street, and near where I work, a homeless camp must have been spotted and called in to the City. Within a short day's time (much less time than Child Protection or Code Enforcement was out to get a window screen repaired or stop the young child from leaning out the two story window), the camp was razed - bulldozed.

A 'blight' it is called, on our lovely lower Dayton's Bluff. DAMN! The blight is on the people of this neighborhood and city who refuse to look at the growing number of homeless INDIVIDUALS as human beings. I know some of the men who camp out - Dorothy Day and the Mission become too crowded, too many personalities under stress, and sometimes just no room. I've pointed out a couple places they could sleep outside. Damn!

Carl, one who had camped out for at least two years, finally got housing through the housing for homeless individuals program. He referred to his big back pack as his 'home', his house. He told the police that they could not search his home without a warrant. WOW! To the bulldozer and city, these homes were nothing more than garbage.

God, I feel so angry.

A couple years ago a person from our community council told me with no uncertainty, "we work with buildings, not people!" There are times that I don't think I belong here.

I have become wary of being specific to certain issues - instead of enhancing and finding solutions for those who are making do, our city, on many layers, further makes life hell for those who have little or nothing. 'No, we're not trying to regentrify'. ROT!! How inhumane can the good people of Dayton's Bluff be?

Last year at a meeting with someone from the Mayor's office and Youth Services, a friend and I mentioned how great it was that a group of people in one neighborhood put up a portable basketball hoop - because the city refused to place a basketball hoop or court in the huge rec center play area across the street (too much noise). Within the week the city had it removed. (illegal to have it in the street - it took up less space than a car, and it was in front of a park, not a residence).

What if these men (I know there are women, also who camp, and teens) became faces? Not photos, but snapshots of who they are, and how they came to be in such a situation? For the brief time I had to stay in the hostel and knew no one here, I can speak to being 'invisible' among humanity, and living basically out of a backpack. But at least I was sure of having a bed at night among 8 other women.

Steve, the homeless man I worked with on Tuesday, now will be getting an apartment (we worked it through with his doctor and housing admin who had been screaming at him. Also, I connected him with a friend in District 5 who can pay him for helping to clean Payne Ave. this weekend.

EVERY HUMAN BEING HAS A FACE, A PERSONALITY, A HISTORY, A STORY. ARE PEOPLE AFRAID OF THE UNKNOWN? WHERE IS THE HUMANITY!!!!

Don't give me the crap about camps being festering places of crime, disease, etc. We are our own festering diseases of the heart and soul!

It was a good weekend

2010-03-24T17:24:00.000-07:00

Sam and Stephen came for a visit last Thursday and left on Saturday. What an awesome man Sam is! I love his humor and his spontaniety; I appreciate his insight and his knowledge. After I picked him up at the airport we drove over to the MIA to see the 2010 Foot in the Door exhibit. I have a piece in the show and it was fun to see it.

Steve drove in later that day and then we went to the talk that August Hoffman gave for our Dayton's Bluff District Council. That was very interesting and we had a nice group with lively interaction. Several people from the Payne area/Polly's Cove people came...they are very involved with the combination of people and gardens. Too many people in my district seem more focused on buildings than on people.

Sam 'allowed' me to hold a party for him and Stephen. I talk so much about my neighborhood to Sam and to my neighborhood about Sam, that I wanted them to meet each other. About thirty friends and several came over the next day. I was tired and Sam was tired afterward, but I thank Sam and Stephen that they went along with it. Besides I love cooking, especially appetizers! I always thought it would be great to have a catering business doing appetizers and desserts. I'm still exhausted, but very happy.

Friday we visited the Museum of Russian Art - always an excellent exhibit there. Went to Manana's for a Salvadorean lunch, Mickey's Diner for a greasy breakfast, and Bahmani's for a late Kurdish supper. It was a very good weekend.

OOps!

2010-02-08T16:38:00.000-08:00

Today I took part in a dialog of what our community means to us. In preliminary conversations I heard 'what would you change', 'what don't you like', as well as what are the reasons you like living here. Unfortunately, I didn't just say nice, smiley things about the area. My social justice side came out when I talked about regentrification and the negative aspects renters are cloaked with. WHY CAN'T I JUST SKIM THE SURFACE and say everything nice with a smile?!! It's not lying, it's just presenting one part of a truth. I have a trunk full of racial/social justice, equality in housing, political signs...I left the physical signs there, but couldn't leave the message. I would never make a tactful politician. I couldn't play with the words fast enough. At least they can cut that part of my comments. Sorry, Ed.

Then I got to thinking...about tone and wording when talking about something like housing or economics in a community meeting. I hear, 'too often' the tone of: we're inclusive and we love/appreciate/cherish the diversity (race, ethnicity, education, income, life style). Unfortunately, too often this translates to we 'tolerate'; we want it as long as 'it' is in the same class (economically, educationally, income) as we are - upper middle to upper. Note, I said 'too often'. I also wonder how many times someone uses phrases without realizing how they sound. I have been SO guilty.

I'm off on a tangent, with little sense to it. I get frustrated with what is said versus the actions that evolve. Time to rest.

From St. Paul Pioneer Press, Sunday 1/24/2010 READERS RECALL THE PLAY THAT CHANGED THEIR LIVES, By Dominic P. Papatola

2010-01-26T13:06:00.000-08:00

I enjoy being onstage but have performed only minor parts in school plays and some poetry and speech recitations. Twelve years ago, while in college, I performed in a black-box evening. I did a condensed version of Lily Tomlin's "The Search for Signs of Intelligent Life in the Universe." The audience was in complete darkness and quiet. Then, at one point, the entire audience erupted in laughter. It seemed as if I stopped and took it all in. ... I remember how their full, united laughter filled me with such great joy and surprise, as if I had been handed a tremendous gift!

for full article: http://www.twincities.com/ci_14240372

holiday pressure...and not

2009-12-18T11:43:00.000-08:00

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

2009-12-15T15:27:00.000-08:00

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

2009-12-09T14:59:00.001-08:00

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

2009-12-09T14:45:00.000-08:00

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?

2009-11-23T09:03:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-11T11:08:00.000-08:00

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...

2009-11-08T16:36:00.000-08:00

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

2009-09-29T13:04:00.000-07:00

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....

2009-09-28T13:24:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-28T10:30:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-11T21:13:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-09T16:57:00.000-07:00

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?

2009-09-04T12:35:00.000-07:00

I'm fortunate.....

2009-09-02T14:04:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-29T16:44:00.000-07:00

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!

2009-08-27T20:01:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-25T06:40:00.000-07:00

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...."

2009-08-18T13:41:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-12T23:24:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-08T06:40:00.000-07:00

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'!

2009-07-13T07:53:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-25T15:32:00.000-07:00

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......

2009-06-22T19:24:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-07T12:36:00.001-07:00

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

2009-06-07T11:31:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-11T07:03:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-07T20:50:00.000-07:00

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)

2009-04-23T18:48:00.000-07:00

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!

2009-04-17T21:22:00.000-07:00

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)

2009-04-13T14:35:00.000-07:00

Rock the Metro!!

2009-04-13T07:46:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-10T20:46:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-09T19:35:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-07T08:06:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-06T17:58:00.000-07:00

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?

Transitions

2008-08-07T14:35:00.000-07:00

I've been moving to a new blog, not related to the library project from which my first had originated. I'm afraid I haven't been feeling very original lately, and am amazed that my last entry was in April. Several things have happened since then. All have made at least a slight difference in my life.
- Following a survey I had taken through the AFL-CIO, I was interviewed by the NYT regarding working, insured people affected by the cost of insurance/healthcare. Now, with what had recently happened to me, I may see some real effects.
- On June 30, while watering my streetside garden, I was attacked by two women and a man(twenty-somethings). I'll write more about it later, but not now...one of the things that exhausts me. I went to emergency when it happened, back for a follow-up a week later; a visit yesterday to my doctor as my knee keeps buckling out from under me and the pain in my arm brings me to tears and keeps me awake. Tomorrow I visit the MSC. Costs for more exams, X-rays, etc are not in my budget!
- In May I was one of eight awarded the 'woman of distinction' by the DFL Women's Summit. That was very meaningful for me as I appreciate being appreciated.
- An acquaintance (Anne Kok) died in February. We hadn't stayed in touch, but her work ethic and her personality made a tremendous impact in my life...very few days go by that I don't think of her, before or after her passing.
- A friend married...and my nephew married. My nephew's wedding was difficult because of an estrangement from a sister, his mother.

Needless to say, I've had opportunity for self-reflection!

Home tour and clean-up time

2008-08-07T14:32:00.001-07:00

Monday, April 28, 2008
I haven't been here for a while - life has been hectic. I plan to redo/move/change my blog in the near future; I've found that I do enjoy it...maybe it's vanity, maybe just easy access when I don't have time to take pen to paper, which is my preference for 'journaling'. There's one....the 'verbing' of a noun and then putting quotes around it to demonstrate I know I'm doing it, slightly disapprove, yet rather like it.
My apartment was on the weekend's Mpls/St. Paul/Dayton's Bluff house tour. I'm exhausted and aching with having power-cleaned and crammed 'stuff' into hidden nooks and crannies; there's only so much storage in any apartment, though mine is rather large by urban standards. Over 100 people came through on each day to see the architectural details of the 1888 Victorian. At least, thanks to LibraryThing.com, my books are always in order! There would be six people standing in my bathroom and I would suddenly notice a spot on the tile I had missed...details!
I tend to be a bit of a slob when home alone. My son is visiting with his partner at the end of May and somehow I have to maintain the neatness - for a whole MONTH until they arrive!
Sam manages a restaurant in NYC and is vegetarian (does now eat fish). I had taken him to Vincent's (excellent in every way) and Ethiopian in the past and need some new suggestions on other restaurants in either Saint Paul or Mpls. Yes to University Avenue's great ethnic selections.
Let me know of any favorites, please.

Deer and unions

2008-08-07T14:31:00.001-07:00

Posted by sage at 8:24 AM 4 comments
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
This post has nothing to do with libraries or technology...just stopped in to say I'm out for a while, organizing Anoka County for AFSCME. It's exhausting, but inspiring; I'll be back at work next Tuesday. That's all I'll say about it right now, except I am driving through areas of Ramsey and Anoka Counties that I never would have had occasion to see. I have been through Forest Lake, Andover, Wyoming, Ham Lake, Lake Elmo, South Saint Paul, Vadnais Heights, Champlin, many more and some towns that I've never heard of...saw a multitude of horses today....I've been in towns with the usual street name categories: trees, presidents, flowers; today an area had streets named for and about horses: Thoroughbred, Appaloosa, Palomino etc.

On Sunday at dusk my union partner and I witnessed a wondrous sight: two massive deer crashed powerfully through the wooded and swampy area just twenty feet in front of us. We were out making house visits and had come to a home in a dead end. Two deer were rutting (is that the right spelling? I know nothing about deer) Three smaller deer were with them, and they suddnly disappeared in the field right in front of us - time to bed down...

Neighborhoods..the real connections (Slide Show: Polly's Coffee Cove

2008-08-07T14:17:00.000-07:00

Posted by sage at 3:01 PM 0 comments
Monday, March 24, 2008
Neighborhoods....the real connections (new photos at end of this post)
Three hook and ladders, two ambulances and two or three smaller fire trucks (I lost count, but was impressed) wailed up to the front of Polly’s Coffee Cove (on Payne Ave.). This seemed an apt welcoming as I made my first visit to grid 34 to listen to another neighborhood group and learn what they are doing to improve their area.

I stood outside and watched the firefighters enter the frame ‘for sale’ house next door, evacuate the young resident, and disperse the smoke. On the sidewalk Polly’s Saturday regulars gathered; some took charge of two dogs from the house and calmed them inside Polly’s. A young woman from the apartment above Polly’s then took charge of the woeful animals and took them upstairs to her apartment.

A man within the sidewalk group acknowledged me as if he knew me. I flipped though my mental facebook and contact list and was pretty sure I hadn’t met him before, but find that with involvement with a number of diverse groups around the cities I can’t always instantly place people. …instead I start what a friend calls my friendly interrogation, asking what kinds of groups is the person in, and reel off some of mine; where does the person live or work; and disclose mine. Usually we find the common ground and more memory.

He thought I was a person who lived a few blocks away. I explained I had been in this neighborhood quite often, but had never stopped at Polly’s. He gave me his name and I exclaimed, ‘You’re the reason I’m here!’ A colleague from the Wilder Neighborhood Leadership Program I’m in thought Larry would be a helpful connection for me with my neighborhood efforts. I spent the rest of the morning listening to their initiatives, grid planning, neighborhood boundaries, and resident activism. Side conversations took on quiet, unobtrusive lives outside of the primary dialogue.

On the periphery a chess tournament with prizes was being pulled together for youth at the Arlington branch library; two persons brought in prizes and chess sets. The subject of serving on a board briefly surfaced; then a swapping of gardening books. An exchange of nformation reached out to several within the group, and was then enhanced when two new arrivals were identified to me as master gardeners. Larry shared their ideas on fundraisers and the influence they’ve found in applying ideas from Jay Walljasper’s The Great Neighborhood Book: a do-it-yourself guide to placemaking. One of Walljasper's points was that a great neighborhood has boundaries and a coffee shop. I've got the book and am moving it to the front to read.

Finished with their call, firefighters came in for coffees and lattes. Several of us expressed our thanks for their quick response and the work they do. One told me he used to live in Dayton’s Bluff; for various reasons, we tend to see more than our share of fire department responses in my area.

I considered my Saturday morning both fruitful and enjoyable. Joining the Saturday Polly’s group was like visiting with my parents and three sisters at the table years ago. My then husband couldn’t understand how we could all talk at once and still hear each other, let alone carry on several conversations and not be enveloped in any sense of chaos. Polly’s group felt like family…and all are welcomed!

ManiacWorld (Video)

2008-08-07T14:15:00.000-07:00

Posted by sage at 8:41 AM 1 comments
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Wish I had been there.....
My son sent this video to me, saying he knew that if I had been in NYC when this was initiated, I would have been there participating....he knows me like I know which Girl Scout cookies to send!
I'm having trouble putting this video on my blog. It's a Maniac World video and I can't find a code. So, it's not how I wanted to do it, but here's the link:

http://www.maniacworld.com/frozen-in-grand-central-station.html

From the original

2008-08-07T14:10:00.000-07:00

This is another from the original blog....had a photo of my son that I'll 're-affix' to this post.

Posted by sage at 6:39 AM 0 comments
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
My creation - Trading Card

My creation
Originally uploaded by finnflix This is my trading card...writing a meaningful blurb is always the most difficult part. I was trying to edit the card but was thrown off course.

I feel privileged, blessed, that Sam is so much a part of my life. I count him as my most trusted friend. I admire him for his ethic, his ability to reach out to people, his wit; I respect him for how he leads his life, finding that balance of head and heart. He is wise and he is compassionate. At this point he would laugh in his resonant voice and say this sounds like an obituary!!

From the original

2008-08-07T14:06:00.000-07:00

This is from my very first blog. I am creating another and have decided to 'tear' out a few pages to include in my new 'book'.
Posted by sage at 3:47 PM 0 comments
Contemplation on letterwriting
This morning another staff and I talked about blogging and I again recognized its connection for me - letterwriting and journaling (excuse the 'verbing'). I found that we shared an enjoyment of physically putting ink to paper. Besides realizing afterward that I must have droned on about my pure enjoyment of paper textures and weights, I also was reminded again of the satisfaction of both writing and receiving a posted piece of friendly mail!

Part of our conversation was on where to find writing paper. Wrapping paper from places like Wet Paint or the Paper Patisserie can be cut or torn down into writing paper size when one can't find 'real' writing paper. The decorative beauty on one side complements the personal message on the other!

I've always liked onion skin paper (also known in the past as 'airmail' paper). It's been difficult for me to find, even at the Hmong and Vietnamese shops on University. My son had found some in NYC's Chinatown, but hasn't come up with more.

I know there are shops online, but half the fun is in the touching. The other is shopping for it when I'm in the mood.