The Rhythm From My Porch

The Rhythm from my porch

Tire low of air, flap, flap, flap…does the driver realize he’s almost on 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 rhythm plays like music in its own way. I recognize Mario’s echoing laughter, and I smile…laughter with a real, a full joy in it. I hear Jose’s voice…a rather humorous lilt in how he makes his pronouncements…

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

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

Slap, slap, slap; rap, rap, rap; basketballs and rap music, both hitting the sidewalk. Rhythmic, too, are the glances….”Don’t look, Sage’ my 12 year old neighbor whispers to me. He’s Blood; don’t look.’ This, too, is a warning 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 message not 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 what they 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. Marco mocks the unknown under his breath. Hey, I tell him, how was it when you came here 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 before about Hmong language and culture. It’s a rhythm that becomes, sadly, almost comfortable.

Weed wackers, lawn mowers, people calling to each other. Motors revving, 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 in perfect rhythm.

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

9/2011

Book review: Neighborhood Law by Cora Jordan and Emily Doskow

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:

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

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

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

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

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!