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

Murphy Shares His Hugs

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

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

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

Porch Talk

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

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

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

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

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

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