tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30089760520975601372024-03-05T02:58:07.206-08:00Occupy Doorstep.. UptownJenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07777352632649173276noreply@blogger.comBlogger20125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3008976052097560137.post-87841502100834486202012-06-19T00:28:00.000-07:002012-06-19T06:46:32.718-07:00You'll Shoot yer Eye Out, Kid!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f9cb9c;">Early summer has turned the pavement hot and reduced pedestrians to traveling at the speed of a sluggish shuffle. School has wrapped up for the year, sending eager students racing out in anticipation of the immense freedom of July and August. And as my students painfully endured their last music lessons of the school year, they filled me in on upcoming adventures; days of endless sports camps, nights telling ghost stories at sleep away camps, vacations to Florida, California, the Galapagos, Japan, volunteer work in Peru, grand family road trips... with the closing of school doors, the world had opened up! </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f9cb9c;">One student in particular had no such concerns for summer plans. His entire being was focused on one goal to be met before the sounding of the fall school bell ...the goal of convincing his mom to buy him an Airsoft pellet pistol. Ryan sat at his piano explaining to his truly uncool teacher that the particular gun he wanted might possibly be the best thing ever. As his gestures became more animated, I snickered inside, hearing 'Christmas Story' references play out in my mind. Losing patience with his teacher's inability to see the seriousness of the situation, Ryan pulled out his IPad, immediately pulling up pictures of the coveted item. As I looked at an unsettlingly convincing imitation of a gun, I said the one thing that could destroy any last illusion students might have of my own coolness... "I agree with your mom."</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f9cb9c;">Six days before I found myself sitting at Ryan's piano, a thirteen year old boy was out in Uptown on a school night eating pizza at 2:30am. After being spotted by a rival gang member, he was shot in the head and died. He was Ryan's age.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f9cb9c;">As many of you already know, this will be my last update for a few months since tomorrow I will be traveling to France where I will begin my pilgrimage to Saint James in Santiago Spain. I will be spending the next weeks walking 500+ miles on a path walked for a thousand years before me. As I have been preparing for this trip, many people have expressed concerns for my safety. So, to put worries to rest, let me mention that Spain as a country averages between thirty and forty homicides each </span></span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f9cb9c;">year</span></span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f9cb9c;">. Chicago totaled 50...last </span></span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f9cb9c;">month</span></span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f9cb9c;">. Thus far there have been 31 murders for June and 239 for the year. And after the murder of the 13 year old I wrote of above, our police superintendent mentioned in a statement that he plans to work closer with 'Ceasefire,' a group of ex-gang members who step in the middle to diffuse violent situations. He failed to mention that funding for Ceasefire Uptown had already been pulled..</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f9cb9c;">As odd as it sounds after the above stats, I will miss Chicago and Uptown this summer. I will miss volunteering with the food magician Ed at the Cornerstone shelter, I will miss the confused look on the faces of the kids on the corner when I offer them cupcakes and I will miss watching the world change from my balcony. (I will also miss my husband and obese cat..) </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f9cb9c;">I hope you all have a lovely and SAFE summer and if you are interested in my extremely slow journey across Spain during the Eurocup (that I just KNOW Spain is going to win...)</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f9cb9c;">Jen</span></span></span></div>
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<br />Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07777352632649173276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3008976052097560137.post-21691930842385740552012-05-24T13:10:00.000-07:002012-05-24T21:05:59.417-07:00Barabbas Goes to NATO<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">According to the Christian story there were two prisoners; Jesus and Barabbas. They stood before a large crowd as their captor shouted "Who do you all want me to release? ..Jesus or Barabbas?" The crowd responded in one voice over and over again, "Give us Barabbas!" And so he did.. and Jesus remained to be crucified. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Growing up, I had always heard Barabbas referred to as a criminal, a thief, a murderer etc.. and I thoughtlessly accepted that. Though I still wondered at the sanity of any crowd begging for such a creature to be released to them in the place of the gentle Jesus. However, recently I heard a different translation.. rather than 'Barabbas the Criminal,' I heard 'Barabbas the Revolutionary.' In the face of a crumbling Roman empire and vicious oppression of Jews (and soon Christians,) Barabbas fought. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">This past week NATO took over the city. Heat, motorcades, protestors and police filled Chicago to the point of bursting and as resources were funneled to the city center, Uptown felt unprotected. Our leaders gathered here to plan and compromise and to tackle the impossible task of finding their way to peace. Meanwhile, smaller wars were being fought just steps from where the likes of Merkel, Obama and Rasmussen hung their suits. While police fought to control protestors and Occupiers, multiple Uptown calls to 911 went without response. Menacing people gathered in the streets, shouting into the wee hours of the morning, smoking weed, throwing garbage, peeing on the sidewalk ..all with impunity and knowledge of the cities overstretched resources. My husband and I spent the weekend hiding in our apartment, peering out the window while counting the hours between a police car driving past. Eventually, my husband gave up and starting searching the internet for apartments in a safer neighborhood. So it was with great relief that Monday brought about a close to NATO meetings, an end to motorcades, a dispersing of protesters and a return of a police presence to Uptown.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">As a raging liberal, I am still not sure how I feel about the occupy movement. I agree that there is so much wrong with the world but in the practice of my small life, I am finding that its the tiny battles fought and won that can change perspective. Martin Luther King Jr didn't spit at his enemies, he challenged them to dream. Gandhi challenged them to love, and Jesus challenged them to forgive. They changed everything. However, with all the divisiveness, hate and anger in the world today, it's easy to see how the crowd would shout for Barabbas while Jesus stands aside with sadness in his eyes. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">And so I come back again to my own doorstep. There is a woman in the neighborhood. She is a short black woman with a tired hard look in her eye. She is always pushing a child in a stroller and generally has another little girl trailing after. She stares straight ahead ignoring the world around her and since last August, I have been saying hi to her. For nearly nine months she has walked past as though I were invisible. However, a couple weeks ago she responded with her own quiet hi. Yesterday, before I opened my mouth, she lifted her hand from the stroller and waved.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Barabbas lay down your arms</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">For you carry Abraham in your veins,</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">For you are held in Allah's heart,</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">You're the twinkle in dear Brahma's eye,</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">And one already died</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">So you might Live. </span></span></span></div>
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</span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07777352632649173276noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3008976052097560137.post-33626686338076251602012-04-18T12:56:00.000-07:002012-04-18T21:12:48.674-07:00American Girl<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">Last week I gave up...</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">Not for very long...really just for a couple hours. But yes, instead of walking over to the shelter for my usual Wednesday lunch shift of canned corn and conversation, I stayed in bed, pulling the covers up over my head while I quietly hid. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">Perhaps exhaustion had led me to that point as I had spent the previous week immersed in hours of Easter liturgical music and rather than relaxing that Monday, I cantored a funeral, taught lessons and went to a choir rehearsal and Tuesday was more of the same. I was tired. However, my angst went beyond that. I felt as though the weight of the world was in my backyard, piling up into one big stinky pile of.. well.. poo. I was still walking past garbage all over the street, I was still aware of the people sleeping under the bridge, I was still watching drug deals out my bedroom window, I was seeing the same gang kids gather on my corner, I was witnessing cops cussing people out rather than setting an example of integrity, I was still reading hateful jaded comments on different Uptown blogs. And I was overwhelmed by the world of woes, hunger, war, anger, bigotry, fear, stupidity...so much hurting and such hard callouses..</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">I was contemplating things in my own life as well, fading friendships, and lost connections, blurring memories becoming less dependable and changing with the passing time. I was worrying over my own future, confused as to why I felt dissatisfied with the pace of my accomplishments and clueless as to how to change. Despite the fact that my issues were self imposed, I felt so much pressure.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">Last Wednesday I couldn't solve a single problem.. not my own nor anyone else's. I simply gave up. However, after hiding under the blankets for two hours, I felt worse. So I got up and gave up on giving up.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">This morning I felt some of the same woes, only there was one small detail forcing my lazy ass out of bed and off to the shelter. Earlier in the week, a family of one of my students had packed up all of their beautiful American Girl dolls and filled the trunk of my car. Today, little Ashley was getting an American Girl and I would get to witness. I worked in the kitchen, spending the lunch shift cutting pork and chatting with our newest volunteer who was at the start of his 200 hours of court ordered community service in response to his DUI. We had middle school volunteers from Our Lady of Mount Carmel, who cut bread as though they were channeling all of the anger they had acquired in their young lives, and I chatted with one of their moms about the joys of motherhood and teenagers.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">I waited for the cafeteria to clear, before setting down my knife and wiping my hands. I left the kitchen and sat in the chair next to Ashley, pulling a bag from behind my back. I watched her eyes widen as she pulled her new doll in for a gleeful excited hug. I selfishly soaked up all of her happy energy, storing it in my tired heart. In giving to her (thanks to my student!!!) I found renewal. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f9cb9c;">“Listen to the mustn'ts, child. Listen to the don'ts. Listen to the shouldn'ts, the impossibles, the won'ts. Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me... Anything can happen, child. Anything can be.”</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; line-height: 18px;">― <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/435477.Shel_Silverstein" style="color: #666600; text-decoration: none;">Shel Silverstein</a></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Martine.. Ashley thanks you!!!</span></span></div>
<br />Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07777352632649173276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3008976052097560137.post-81023129537243707232012-03-26T14:01:00.000-07:002012-03-26T14:28:45.874-07:00Someone Else's Story<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">I have a younger sister who lives just a short walk from my house. She is a beautiful girl with long brown hair, a bright smile and a trendy sense of style that has never crossed the threshold into my comfort-only, hippy tinged closet. She works for the Chicago branch of my father's company and volunteers at PAWS animal shelter in her spare time. She doesn't know I exist.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">I have an aunt with lovely hard earned lines on her face. She has lived a life spanning the world with 20 years service to the US justice department, experience as the executive director for the USO's Okinawa base, time spent as a Peace Corps volunteer to Cameroon, and recently, she traveled to build houses and focus on the betterment of life for women in southern India. She fascinates me, though we have never met.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">My father is a good man with my eyes. (or rather, I have his..) He is incredibly intelligent, hard working, overly pragmatic and loyal to a fault. However, he is not a brave man. Everything I know of the relationship between him and my mother is from the varying stories of those who were there at the time and old enough to recall; stories of perceived unequaled class, questioned loyalties, spectacularly dramatic arguments, heavy drinking, unbridled jealousy, manipulation and complete utter chaos. All of these factors eventually led to my father happily accepting a job transfer and moving out of state to avoid constant confrontations. He married, had two daughters and built a respectable, slightly more peaceful life.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">My life after his departure followed a wildly different and more painful course. My mother, who used her own physical beauty to systematically destroy herself and those around her, continued to drink bars dry. We moved more than 10 times before I had acquired ten years, crossing multiple school districts in pursuit of her most recent lovers. A prolonged disappearance on her part, resulted in a much too short stay in foster care. (with the most wonderful foster parents EVER!) I spent my childhood in fear, and went to sleep each night with a bag packed (as only a child can pack) under my bed, praying for the courage to simply leave in the night, to find a place where I finally felt safe. I spent my school days pretending the final bell would never ring, trying desperately to be just like everyone else. One day in particular found me in front of a mirror in the school bathroom, pathetically trying to comb my hair down over a bare spot where my mother, in her anger the previous night, had pulled to hard. At the time, I didn't want to be rescued.. I just wanted to fit in.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">As I got older and less meek, my mother quit drinking and 'found God,' thus discovering yet another way to belittle and tear down those around her. Only this time she had the irrefutable bible to back her up. There were many mornings I would enter the kitchen to find a detailed note with scripture verses telling me all the ways I had recently sinned and how according to God's word, I would burn in hell. To this day I will not set foot in an evangelical church and happily rebelled by becoming catholic. As a child, our house was always immaculate. There was no eating in the kitchen, no messing up made beds by actually sitting on them, certain rooms were completely off limits as walking through them would cause the grain of the carpet to go in different directions. There were never to be empty hangers in the closets and no one EVER took clothing from the ironing pile or got clothes being worn dirty. (I currently have a closet that has daily clothing avalanches.) All of my mothers compulsive obsessions led to my childhood being spent sitting on the floor, losing myself in books while I willed my life to pass into adulthood quicker.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">My most recent visit to the shelter in Uptown was a difficult one. As it is currently spring break around the country, the kitchen had fresh faced volunteers from an Oklahoma youth group lending a hand. I worked the first part of the line filling lunch trays with sausages or hamburgers while two other girls ladled on canned veggies and oranges. People were increasingly short tempered with us, wanting an extra hamburger or oranges despite knowing that we couldn't comply until everyone had been through the line at least once. I got shouted at by a deaf woman who has likely spent her life being misunderstood. And as yet another person complained that their food was burnt, undercooked, overly salty etc.. I felt the overwhelming urge to slam down my tongs while telling everyone to piss off before dramatically stomping out of the kitchen to resume my own peaceful life. I was jerked out of my impending hissy fit by the voice of a crabby older woman shouting at a young volunteer who had apparently failed to place oranges on the woman's tray gently enough. I watched as a red flush crept up the girl's neck and her eyes began to fill. In her innocent young mind, she was only trying to help and people should be thankful, not angry and mean. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">As the line of hungry people slowed to a trickle, we talked about the importance of trying to empathize with where people are coming from. We don't know everyone's stories and the difficult roads that have led them each to our particular lunch line. We can't fathom the tears and disappointments of those we serve and we don't feel how difficult it is for them and their pride to accept a tray, to accept that they can't provide it for themselves. But in order to serve them, we have to try to understand. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">A few minutes later, little Ashley came through the line. She is a tiny 5 year old with light brown skin, gorgeous curly hair and an impish smile. Last week before she left the lunchroom, we had woven a flower into her hair. This week she extended her small hand across the lunch line, gifting me with its contents; a ragged, well loved, hand picked dandelion. I smiled and she skipped happily away.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">I do not lament my childhood. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">My mother has since done her best to make a peace that she can live with and I have grown to be a wife, </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">a friend, a musician and </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">a teacher. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d49343; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 16px;">I don't blame my father for the past. In fact, I think he would be horrified to know what my reality had been. I suspect he thought he was a cause of my mother's issues and that if he left she would finally be happy. Of course, he was wrong. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My father is an occasional presence, though due to fear of a return to former chaos, he and his wife have long declined to tell their two daughters of my existence. They worry that I am as my mother. Their combined decision has caused me to scrutinize everyone I meet. Afterall, e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">veryone has a story, be it dramatic or glamorous, or blissfully mundane.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> One never knows who one passes by in everyday life. One could be passing the next president, the next great humanitarian, or someone much less grandiose, like one's next door neighbor, or even one's own sister.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">I do not wish to have led a different life. My life, my story, has led me to where I am now and has given me the hunger to fight for myself and for those around me. My history has given me a fantastic perspective and I try to use that to see the hurt and insecurity of a broken home in the eyes of the gang kids on the corner. I do my best to understand the sadness in the faces of those on the other side of the lunch line. And I draw on my past to see the beauty in the simple gift of a tattered weed. </span></span></div>
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<br />Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07777352632649173276noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3008976052097560137.post-48076394717837149812012-03-16T12:09:00.000-07:002014-05-30T11:31:23.696-07:00I Try to Speak your Language..<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">"I see you periodically</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">I try to speak your</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">Language."</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">-Sentiments of a shelter patron-</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">Each week at the shelter, I see two kids in their early 20s. The girl is a tiny, delicate, pale thing, with long dark hair, a pretty face, and strong dislike for meat. (which, coupled with her strong dislike for canned vegetables, leaves her with little sustenance on her lunch tray.) Her friend is a young black man with large expressive eyes, an open trusting face and a gentle demeanor. Each week, they go through the line, smiling and chatting, inadvertently bringing a lightness to those around them. Despite their struggles and surroundings, they maintain wide innocent smiles and are completely lacking hardness and cynicism. Since I started my weekly foray to the shelter, this particular young man has chatted with me, asking my opinions and telling me about his interest in poetry slams, spoken work and improv. This past week as I handed a tray across the line to him, he handed back a folded sheet of notebook paper. I slipped it into my pocket, wanting to wait till I was home to see what this young person had working through his mind..</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">"..Being shy?</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">That's what makes us hide</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">Being blind</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">Looking for love far and wide</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">But it's right here.."</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">At the bottom of his page of beautifully written thoughts (figuratively and literally speaking!) he wrote the word 'corny' followed by two exclamation points. I disagree.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">Spring is in the air in Uptown. Forgotten daffodils and tulips are forcing their way through the earth, bringing a contrast to the stark concrete and prolific litter of the neighborhood. Dogs are being walked with considerably more enthusiasm and the sounds of happy children laughing and shrieking are floating in the unusually warm air. However, excited as we are to be waking from the long winter's slumber, we forget that the cold forced people indoors who are now again standing dangerously on the corner. This past Monday as I drove home from teaching, my husband called my cell, giving me an aggravated earful about the ten or so kids standing on the corner. After hanging up, I contemplated my strategy, fulling knowing that I didn't want to spend the remainder of my evening with a husband whose nose was pressed against the window. I decided that upon parking, I would happily fall into the role of the neighborhood crazy chick. After reaching home, I approached the corner kids quickly, frantically asking if they were all ok and who it was who was shot. They looked at me with surprise and I said, without sarcasm, that that must be why they were all standing there at 11 o'clock at night. One boy, surely not older than 15, responded that they all were just simply waiting for a ride. 'So, everyone is Ok then?" I asked. 'Yeah,' the kid responded. "My name is Jen," I said while holding out my hand. Two boys looked at me hesitantly, before one thought up a suitable fake name and insecurely shook my hand. I then mentioned that I worked at the local shelter and we could always use more help. Before we parted ways, I said what was utmost on my mind.. I mentioned that by standing on the corner, they were making themselves huge targets and we didn't need anymore blood on the sidewalk. The boys nodded, eyes down and before I had gotten up the stairs to my home (and to one very pissed off husband,) they had all disappeared. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">The following night (Tuesday) as I drove back into the neighborhood from teaching, I saw a group of guys walking towards the lake and away from the unmistakable blue flashing police lights. The boy who shook my hand the night before, looked at me and immediately fixed his eyes at the ground. Sure enough, five shots had been fired, thankfully missing everyone...no explanations, no one in custody, nothing changed. Spring is in the air in Uptown.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">The words of my shelter friend bear repeating..</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">"I see you periodically</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">I try to speak your </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;">language."</span></span></span></div>
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Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07777352632649173276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3008976052097560137.post-87647471298693435042012-02-22T21:42:00.000-08:002014-05-30T11:39:54.962-07:00Las Palomas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>Standing on the shore of the Mediterranean, a weary traveller can look out over the water to the east towards the lovely island of Majorca. To the North about a three hours drive is the French border and upon looking away from the sparkling dark blue waters, one turns to face all of Barcelona in her stunning beauty, draped like a pagan goddess on her alter. To the south sits the Olympic Mountain, centerpiece of the 1992 Summer Olympics.(Montjuic..which in Catalan means Jewish Mountain, was once home to Barcelona’s Jewish population.) Montjuic is now home to the Joan Miro foundation and the Magic Fountain (Font Magica)which times a water show playfully to classical music. </b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>A short walk from the shores of the Mediterranean to the North is the Gothic district, full to bursting with beautiful ornate buildings and churches hundreds of years old. And directly in front of the water, lies the entrance to La Rambla, a walkway that bisects Barcelona. While walking La Rambla Northwest, deeper into the heart of Barcelona, a traveller passes the Teatro Principal de Barcelona, (where I saw a fantastic version of Donizetti’s Lucia di Lammermoor in which the heroine sang what seemed an earsplitting hour long aria before finally dying.) On La Rambla, one passes stalls filled with fresh fruit and flowers along with the entrance to the Mercat de Sant Josep de la Boqueria which is a brightly colored market dating back to the early 1200s. One also passes convincing, outrageously costumed and magnificently creative human statues...statues who will loudly chase after hapless tourists who snap pictures without dropping coins in return. </b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></b></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>Upon reaching the very heart of Barcelona, a traveller finds the perfect place to rest weary feet in the Placa de Catalunya. Years ago, I sat quietly on the edge of a gray fountain with stone fish spitting water and I quietly observed the large square (approx 50,000 square meters) as vendors sold tiny baggies of birdseed to families out with their young children. As each baggie was torn open, the pigeons(las palomas,)would hungrily descend, causing each child to excitedly emit piercing shrieks of joy. One little boy patiently waited as a crowd of pigeons surrounded the ground near his feet. He purposefully and fearlessly leaned down, placing his tiny hand, full with birdseed, under the pecking beaks of the ravenous pigeons. He watched with a bright happy light in his eyes as the pigeons made short work of his offering. </b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></b></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>There is a man in the Chicago neighborhood of Uptown who occasionally feeds the pigeons. The hard life he has led is made apparent in the shabby lines of his clothing and the gray tangled mess of his hair, His face is deeply creased and his hands look rough. But, despite whatever difficult path has led him to the corner of Wilson and Broadway, his eyes fill with an impish childlike light as his arm sweeps to feed the birds; his movements imitating those of a happy little boy nearly four thousand miles away. </b></span></span></span></span></div>
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Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07777352632649173276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3008976052097560137.post-57842355669141505132012-01-28T17:19:00.000-08:002014-12-27T09:26:21.551-08:00Uptown Pilgrimage<div>
<span style="color: #e69138; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Universe knows me so well. It understood that the only way in which I would heed a call would be if I were to find myself surrounded by at least a hundred pianos, varying in age and uniqueness, pianos which had felt the hands of thousands of musicians before myself, pianos through which music had been born.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;"><br />My boyfriend at the time and I had begun our warm summer day wandering through a dusty piano store in the heart of Toulouse France. I had run my hands over at least twenty pianos before settling in at a pretty Zimmerman to play an entire song. As I finished, a lovely, middle aged, fair skinned yet youthfully freckled woman started chatting at me in rapid excited french. Ten minutes later, she cheerily waved us on as we drove off out of Toulouse and pointed our car towards her home where we would meet her husband Michel.<br /><br />Michel, with his endearing smile and eccentric Beethoven-esque grey hair, met us at his beautiful Chateau de Pompignan,a stunning home built in the mid 1700s surrounded by acres of lush historical gardens. (Gardens which Michel is currently fighting bitterly to keep as high speed rail has chosen to build a track directly through the heart of his property..but that is another story..)<br /><br />As beautiful as the château de Pompignan was, it was merely a backdrop for Michel's passion and life's work of collecting and repairing pianos. We walked through room after room crammed with stunning pianos at all levels of disrepair, age, and beauty. Pianos with peeling paint lined with gold leaf, pianos whose tops opened like butterfly wings, pianos with incredibly detailed carvings, pianos in their own suitcases etc.. I played a piano from 1794! Michel, in his excitement, had taken on enough work to keep him busy into the next thousand years.<br /><br />Towards the end of our visit, Michel led us into a dark quiet chapel with light filtering in though colorful stained glass windows. At the front of the chapel, next to a large double keyboard Bechstein, was a door to a tiny circular room. Within the smaller room, the bare stone walls were carved with multiple symbols of the stonemasons and the signs of Saint James. As my hand reached up to touch the tiny scallop shell carving, I realized that my feet were already standing on the pilgrims path.<br /><br />According to legend, the body of St James, a disciple of Jesus, had washed up, covered in scallop shells, on a beach in northwestern Spain in the 9th century. For nearly 1100 years, pilgrims have walked hundreds of miles across Europe from their own doorstep the the feet of Saint James, crossing front lines, enduring hunger and physical aches, danger and fear, simply out of faith and hope. Pilgrims have synched their footsteps to the countless who had walked before and the countless who would follow in order to become closer attuned to the beauty of the surrounding universe.<br /><br />Since fitting my hand over the cool stone carving a few years back outside of Toulouse, I now see scallop shells everywhere. As a result I have recently made the decision to heed the call and walk the way of Saint James this summer. However, my pilgrimage does not merely start in Southern France, but rather here in America, in Chicago, in Uptown, in me. So, in order to help prepare for thirty plus consecutive days of walking through southern France and Northern Spain, I will begin my pilgrimage at home, walking Uptown..seeing beauty not just in the exotic and far away, but here at home.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thailand</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Mexico City</span></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Uptown</span></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Southern France</span></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVNQEzv-WK3BtFNHlIR1bPANsqjZimU0LN681gg9WMwtrUaWf_D86UZC8pU238GKYdqT1A-WKisECiRwq-OUMgibCDGDtCa7WueKFqbjGX18qY6olzD3U-xPkK_RuaFU2PdFTscHqK712p/s1600/IMG_2019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVNQEzv-WK3BtFNHlIR1bPANsqjZimU0LN681gg9WMwtrUaWf_D86UZC8pU238GKYdqT1A-WKisECiRwq-OUMgibCDGDtCa7WueKFqbjGX18qY6olzD3U-xPkK_RuaFU2PdFTscHqK712p/s320/IMG_2019.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></span></span></a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSYiNbs4XeCqS1ObvaJeS5NE9yOvDgpGRcENpN47WFiXTi5jcalzit_xza5zggXk-9dDve1VkIjE1N55PNAFOiKMibTSYCRRKkr9szsA6kmzneWvRjgR1zCvYJcSAiLonjO3a-cfk2kpjT/s1600/DSC_0319.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSYiNbs4XeCqS1ObvaJeS5NE9yOvDgpGRcENpN47WFiXTi5jcalzit_xza5zggXk-9dDve1VkIjE1N55PNAFOiKMibTSYCRRKkr9szsA6kmzneWvRjgR1zCvYJcSAiLonjO3a-cfk2kpjT/s320/DSC_0319.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></span></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Madeline Island WI</span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Uptown</span></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Y-egKVeeFQ7ednONQlNam4wAasHQ3nMsREe4AG1aer_IANWHP7aa9JpJawIWPO_uHdfMFPVIhyphenhyphensNnW3e1A6T1rsUKXdJ_cxdMu8pNFhwgw3swBMkmXf46gu-XDud6ZgHCkKf3HZFiMfd/s1600/IMG_0276.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Y-egKVeeFQ7ednONQlNam4wAasHQ3nMsREe4AG1aer_IANWHP7aa9JpJawIWPO_uHdfMFPVIhyphenhyphensNnW3e1A6T1rsUKXdJ_cxdMu8pNFhwgw3swBMkmXf46gu-XDud6ZgHCkKf3HZFiMfd/s320/IMG_0276.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Mexico City</span></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Lourdes FR</span></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Peru</span></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Toulouse FR</span></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Barcelona</span></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Mexico City</span> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Uptown</span></td></tr>
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Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07777352632649173276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3008976052097560137.post-42614243084619624002012-01-27T00:29:00.000-08:002012-01-27T01:14:25.241-08:00Your next door Neighbor<br />
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<div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Devanagari MT'; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">"I want you to be concerned about your next door neighbor. </span></span></b></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Do you know your next door neighbor?" </span></span></b></span></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Devanagari MT'; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">-Mother Teresa</span></span></b></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal 'Devanagari MT'; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">There is a man who lines up at every meal. He looks to be about forty years old, has a slight build, dark hair and beautiful naturally kohl lined eyes. He is shy, very rarely meeting my eyes, and at each meal he quietly asks in a slightly accented voice, whether the meat is pork. Upon receiving an affirmative answer, he passes on the meat and asks if he can have more of whatever else there may be. I would like to know his story.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">There is a thirty something, skinny, black man with eyes perpetually full of infection who, despite his compromised vision, is always sure to tell you that you look beautiful and that you have made his day. He makes my day.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">There is Ed, with his tattoos and dangling earring, who efficiently rules the kitchen, employing astonishing amounts of flexibility and creativity in the face of varying supplies. There are the two little blond boys with their cowlicks and cherub smiles. Their lovely blue eyed mother who is slightly younger than I am and is always happy to talk about her boys, tells me that they are doing well in kindergarten. There is Jesus, another cook with stories filling out the lines on his face. He tells me that the first three years of marriage are the hardest and assures me with a wry smile that he should know as he has been married for twenty two years now. </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">There are the gruff old men who line up again and again for seconds, thirds, fourths, etc. There is the beautiful tall and thin black woman who is potentially a beautiful black man. There is the laid off teacher from Lawndale who, having nothing else to do until she finds her next job, has worked her way through half the shelters in the city, spending a week volunteering at each. After hearing Jesus' advice on marriage, she said with a laugh, that she wouldn't marry until a man can prove himself faithful. And since a man could never do that, she would simply never marry.. There is another kitchen worker who looks terrifying at a height comfortably topping six feet and a few hundred pounds to match. But his gentle soul will stand with can opener in hand until case after case of canned green beans have been opened. And there are a couple hundred more people yet to be mentioned.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">There is nothing to set us all apart.. only circumstance and whatever other contrived misguided ideas our minds might come up with. Despite color, religion, gender, sexual orientation, socioeconomic status, we are all the same and want the same things.. food, health, home, love and a better life for our children. We simply want to be whole. </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Where I find that my own words fail to be enough, </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">I defer to those who have gone before...</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal 'Devanagari MT'; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">"Thousands of candles can be lighted from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared."</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Buddha</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal 'Devanagari MT'; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">"Let us touch the dying, the poor, the lonely and the unwanted according to the graces we have received and let us not be ashamed or slow to do the humble work." </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Mother Teresa</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">A man once asked the Prophet what was the best thing in Islam, and the latter replied, "It is to feed the hungry and to give the greeting of peace both to those one knows and to those one does not know." Hadith of Bukhari</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">“The more we come out and do good to others, the more our hearts will be purified, and God will be in them.”</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Swami Vivekananda</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">(and to the 99%..don't forget!)</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal 'Devanagari MT'; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">"Even the rich are hungry for love, for being cared for, for being wanted, for having someone to call their own." </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Mother Teresa</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal 'Devanagari MT'; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">“Let the beauty we love be what we do. There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.” </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Rumi</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal 'Devanagari MT'; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Jesus replied: " 'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.' This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' Matthew 22:37-39</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal 'Devanagari MT'; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">"Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that." </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Martin Luther King Jr.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Devanagari MT'; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 29px; text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">"I want both of us to start singing like two </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Travelling minstrels</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">About this extraordinary existence </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">We share,</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">As if </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">You, I and God were all married </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">and living in </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">A tiny </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Room."</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Hafiz</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f9cb9c;"><br /></span></span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f9cb9c;"><br /></span></span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f9cb9c;">The Call..</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Thanks to my awesome students and fellow Tower Chorale singers, This is the second carload of men's clothes to go to Cornerstone Community Outreach!!!! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">You all ROCK!!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">...though I did steal someone's blue shirt for myself... </span></div>
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<br /></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07777352632649173276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3008976052097560137.post-40634591986393842822011-12-28T23:36:00.000-08:002011-12-28T23:39:16.532-08:00Relative Wealth..<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">I am not sure how old I was that horrible afternoon...somewhere between 7 years and 9 years old? My family had spent an eventless day grocery shopping and weighted down with food, we trudged up the stairs to our pretty little apartment on the second floor of an old farm house. While my mom's boyfriend, my older brother and I plopped down in front of the TV, my mom began putting away groceries. Seconds later, the quiet air was pierced by my mom's terrified, astoundingly loud screams. We stared at her as though she had suddenly sprouted horns for precious seconds before her message sunk in.. "FIRE!!" A thick dark smoke had begun billowing out from the cabinets below the kitchen sink and we jumped to our feet, racing back down the steps from which we had just come..only this time with nothing in our hands. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">We lost almost everything, most notably our home, and what wasn't ruined held a bitter smell of smoke as a permanent reminder of that day. As my family has never been one to save for a rainy day, we had no savings or resources to fall back on and relied on the charity of those in the community who had read about our poor unfortunate circumstances in the local newspaper. In the days and weeks following the fire and before raising enough money for a security deposit on a new apartment, we lived in various sketchy motels. My memories of that time are restricted to teaching myself to swim by jumping into the deep end of the Motel 6 pool (my backstroke technique is still severely flawed) and sitting on the bathroom floor at the Dekalb Motel, tracing the path of the ants meandering across the cracked tile. Life had fallen into a strange sort of purgatory like existence.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">However, we were so blessedly rich. We had walked away with our lives and amazingly, even our pet mouse, whose cage had been conveniently located next to an open window, had survived. The same could not be said for the occupants of the downstairs apartment. The young mother, after drinking through the day, had passed out on her bed, leaving her two little boys unattended to play with a lighter. After starting the fire, the fearful little boys hid in a closet where the firemen later found them. They had not survived. The mom, suffering horrible effects of smoke inhalation and burns held on mere hours longer...long enough for doctors to realize that she was pregnant. Her devastated husband had lost his home and his entire family while he was at work that cruel day. As I said before...my family was exceedingly rich.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Many years have passed and as the fire has become a vague shadowy memory, so too have the lessons learned. I have had lapses in my perspective on wealth, foolishly thinking that I didn't have enough or needed more, be it a bigger house, a more expensive car etc.. But each time I feel as though I am losing touch, I find myself knocked rudely back into the knowledge of my relative wealth. Rather than comparing myself to the wealthiest and coming up woefully short, I have begun comparing myself to those in need.. thus forcing myself to examine the tenuous thread of circumstance that separates us. People are sleeping under a bridge two blocks from my home, how dare I feel as though I don't have enough..?</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">I have visited the people under the Wilson/ Lakeshore bridge three times now. The first time, I dropped off cookies and bananas and shook the hand of a friendly old woman tucked under approximately 30 layers of old blankets. The second time, there were no people there, but their piles of blankets remained, waiting for them to return from their wanderings for the night. I tucked baggies of cookies into each pile of blankets, got in my car and headed north on Lakeshore to teach. The last time I visited was Christmas Eve. Earlier in the week, I had visited a few resale shops in search of like-new gloves, scarfs and fleeces. After hitting the jackpot at a local thrift shop called "Unique," I raced home with a pile of fleece jackets (and a 'new' pair of awesome black rain boots for myself..) loaded up the washing machine and ended the night with ten brightly wrapped Downy fresh smelling Christmas gifts. While on our way to midnight mass, my husband and I stopped to hide gifts within the blankets under the bridge. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Uptown has been nice, quiet and gunshot free in the past week...as far as I know. However, I have still felt the overwhelming need to roll up my sleeves and get to work. Providing me with an outlet, Cornerstone Community Outreach is an organization that has undertaken the enormous task of feeding and sheltering Uptown's homeless population. Each day, approximately 400 men, woman and Yes, children, eat and sleep under CCO's benevolent roof. Tucked away, just a half a block from Truman College's front door, Cornerstone differs from other shelters in that they have separate floors for separate needs; a floor for single women, another for single men and even 35 private family rooms. While most shelters tend to separate, men from woman and children (men being defined as males over 12 years,) Cornerstone strives to maintain the integrity of the family unit, keeping men together with their partners and their children. Despite being run by the christian organization, "Jesus People," Cornerstone does not force the gospel on those it helps. Rather, each person is fed, clothed, given a bed and assigned a case worker. I volunteered for a few hours yesterday, unloading a truck of donated food alongside high school kids from Green Bay, A Logan Square man with his daughters and granddaughter, Philip, a master organizer, and a group of the usual kitchen staff. While chatting away, I asked a strong black man who was constantly taking cases of canned green beans from my hands, how long he had been working at Cornerstone. He responded with a broad smile while nodding towards the people waiting for their food, "I used to be in that line."</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07777352632649173276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3008976052097560137.post-61010555593812952392011-12-22T13:08:00.000-08:002011-12-23T00:01:23.980-08:00For the love of Brownies..<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">This week, my students have been granted a reprieve from their pianos as I have been trapped at home with a nasty bout of a perfectly timed Christmas flu. After a few days of NyQuil induced sleep, I find myself stuck in a chair, wide awake and plagued by words warring with snot for the precious space inside of my head. (I am truly lovely, I know..) </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Btw, I realize that this particular post may disqualify me from ever attaining public office and may also result in mild disapproval from some readers. However, I implore you to read to the end for evidence of my possible redemption...</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Weed was a constant presence in my undergrad, not necessarily in reference to my own use as I was too afraid to jeopardize my tenuous position in the voice studio to risk a puff. I actually believed that my teacher would hear the weed in my voice during warmups and would immediately proceed to toss me out of the program. However, weed was a part of life for most of the musicians I was lucky enough to be surrounded and influenced by, many of whom have since gone on to become some of the strongest musicians on the Chicago scene (and elsewhere.) I never questioned or knew where it came from...weed was simply there. About six months into my freshman year, I found a wrapped stash tucked away on a bathroom shelf while cleaning my boyfriend's apartment. (yep, I have always been OCD enough to clean the apartments of past boyfriends..) He responded with glee, while sheepishly admitting that he had likely hidden it away shortly after smoking and had promptly forgotten. Soon after that, I decided it was time I try.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">My friends had never exhorted, nor applied even one ounce of pressure on me to partake with them. However, upon my word, they began endearingly planning my 'first time.' We picked the Friday of a three day weekend and one friend, another voice student a couple years my senior who never had less than a kind word for anyone, came up with the perfect solution to my smoking dilemma...Brownies. However, in all of our careful planing, we had overlooked one very important fact... I really love brownies.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">That Friday night, I sank into an overstuffed frayed couch whose past life probably involved someone's grandmother. Surrounded by eager friends shrouded in innocence and excitement that only youth provides, with the smell of incense and baking in the air and Michael Jackson alternating with Jamiroquai in the backgound, I picked up a brownie and took my first bite. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The problem with eating rather than smoking is that one cannot necessarily gage the amount of weed taken in. When one smokes, one can have a puff and then wait for a slight effect before deciding whether there is need to continue. When one eats, one can simply be hungry, possibly taking in more than needed or anticipated. After my second brownie, my fingers and toes began to tingle and my body felt comfortably weighted down, (thus proving that I would never be one of those musicians with the ability to perform enhanced by any sort of drug.) I turned my head, my eyes stubbornly focused on one point, only to have the room swivel to catch up seconds later. Shortly after that I mentioned to my boyfriend that I needed to use the bathroom, but I needed him to remind me. And not long after that, I asked him if I told him that I needed to go to the bathroom or if I had merely thought it. My brain had become utterly useless and it became clear to everyone that I had had too much. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">After that night, weed played a miniscule role in my life, a mere puff every couple of months in the company of friends, or a peaceful presence in the face of a brutal migraine. Weed had proven a much safer alternative to accidently overdosing on Advil or to the suggestions from doctors of increasingly stronger and addictive pain killers. A few years later, a close friend, overtaken by curiosity, sat on my couch, a tiny joint in her hand and her husband within reach. Upon taking a small puff, she turned to me and immediately said, "I don't feel anything." Her husband and I laughed while quickly taking the joint from her hand. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I had never had cause to fear weed. After all, weed had not caused my mother to be pulled over for a DUI with her kids in the backseat... Alcohol had done that. Weed had not caused my mom to disappear for days on end... Alcohol had done that. Weed had not torn apart my family and filled my childhood with fear and dread... Alcohol had done that. However, that being said, my overly liberal view of weed is fast being altered. I live in Uptown and am surrounded by what is rumored to be a gang drug turf war and while I am not naive enough to think that Marijuana is the strongest drug fought over, I also recognize that it is a healthy part of the sadness afflicting this neighborhood. I do not fear weed, but as I hear gunshots and read the news, I am beginning to fear it's social costs and am loathe to contribute. (I find it ironic that I had to use spell check for the word marijuana..) Recently, I have called friends who enjoy their weed. I have asked pointed questions, not necessarily wanting names or specifics, but finding that the trail of bread crumbs, despite the degrees of separation, almost always led back to a dark corner, a gang, a contributor to mine and many other neighborhoods current troubles. The ease and availability of weed in my college days lost its naivety. In the concept of supply and demand, in my younger days, I had been a contributor. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Uptown has made the news these past few weeks which would be fantastic were a hostage situation not needed to reach that end. We have had multiple shootings, a couple in the same exact spot where a broken police camera captured nothing. The hostage situation was amazingly resolved with no shots fired and a few arrests though very few details have been made public. The Uptown Update blog has become home to much bigotry and hatred, many posters marking 'low income' and 'criminal' as interchangeable and posts becoming extremely personal and in some cases, quite unkind. As usual, no one seems to know what to do that could be considered even remotely constructive. However, one citizen has managed to take the chaos as an opportunity to set up volunteer slots at the local soup kitchen, Cornerstone. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">This past Tuesday, I loaded up on DayQuil and nose spray and headed over for a quick lunch shift while praying that in my haste to help, I wasn't infecting Uptown's entire homeless population with my cold. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">In the midst of piling food on trays and teasing men into taking the green beans and not just the fries, I began talking with my fellow volunteer, a well spoken black woman with strong opinions of her home Uptown. As she had lived and worked in this community and knew far more than I, I wanted her opinions and ideas. As she talked, she mentioned the ineffectiveness of activities such as positive loitering as it merely drives a bigger wedge.. after all, what good can a group of white people standing around do. What could they possibly know, when so many of Uptown's problems are rooted in race and poverty? While she had a strong point, I felt as though I was being lumped into that group of clueless white faces, unable to understand poverty and pain. I resented that because while I no longer wear my childhood disfunction as a badge of bitterness for all the world to see, I resented the fact that one might look at me and simply see a little rich white girl who hasn't a clue of the surrounding pain. I resented in much the same way a black man would resent judgement, merely for being black rather than being judged on his own merit. I had, after all, kicked, screamed, cried, begged and fought to beat my past and I refuse to have that struggle disappear under a pale visage.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">As I walked home Tuesday afternoon from helping to feed a few hundred hungry people, I walked past bird poop and graffiti, under rusted el tracks, past sad aimless people and I searched, ...Oh how I searched for a spot of beauty in this neighborhood. Wonderfully, I found it in a returned smile of a little girl, swallowed whole in her puffy coat, mittens dangling, hat askew... </span></span></div>
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</div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07777352632649173276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3008976052097560137.post-17222874901485090982011-12-07T10:00:00.000-08:002011-12-07T10:15:53.337-08:00Part X<div class="mbl notesBlogText clearfix" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 20px; word-wrap: break-word; zoom: 1;"><div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f9cb9c; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; line-height: 14px;"></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f9cb9c; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><div style="color: #efcca0; font: 18.0px Courier New; line-height: 14.0px; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Written on Monday, December 5, 2011 at 1:25pm</span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">At 12,000 feet in the Andes, skin becomes simultaneously burned from the intense sun and chaffed from the cold. A lack of oxygen causes simply walking to seem a huge effort, and a fine reddish-orange dust coats everything in sight...including one’s clothing, hair, nose etc.. By my last day in Puno, my hands had become dry and cracked, I had callouses under each eye from wiping away wind induced tears, and I had dropped about 15 pounds. I clearly had not acclimated well.. I had said goodbye the night before to my adorably snot filled students, hugging each one tightly, and was taking my last moments in Peru to walk around, to feel and to memorize. I walked through the bustling Plaza del Armas to the beautiful Catedral de Puno. Finding relief in the cool interior of the cathedral, I dipped my hand into the holy water, made a sign of the cross and bid a silent farewell to Puno’s Jesus. As I headed out of the dark and into the blinding sunlight, I heard the voice of a tiny leather skinned old man asking for money. I responded with an embarrassed “Lo siento, pero tengo nada.” I am sorry but I have nothing. I had been robbed my very first week in Peru, my accounts cleaned out, and as a result I only had enough soles left in my pocket to pay my airfare tax on the way home. I had nothing to give this man. </span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">A day later, after countless delays, cancelled flights, and a full 24 hours without food, an american couple in a miami airport handed a five dollar bill to me. While hunger warred with pride, I humbly accepted. </span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Had I faith, I would have given my soles to the man outside the church.</span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">This last week in Uptown has been just horrible. We have had so many shootings that I can’t even keep them straight to list them. On Friday around 5pm, shots were fired near the incredibly busy Sheridan/Wilson intersection..right next to a McDonalds full of kids excited to start their weekend. One boy (potentially gang involved) was hit in the shoulder and another girl, merely working in a local shop, had a stray bullet graze her leg. As a result, Friday’s Positive Loitering was advised to loiter a bit less. There have been multiple gunshots since then, with many bullets thankfully missing people. However, early Sunday morning one bullet found its mark, leaving a 20 year old man lying on the ground as his life quickly poured out of him. </span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">As normal after an incredibly active weekend, Uptown residents flooded internet blogs and facebook pages with anger and helplessness, in some unfortunate cases, more upset over their own lost sleep than another’s lost life. People are blaming the government, the alderman, CeaseFire, the police, the gangs, the parents, section 8.. and anyone else they can think of. Unfortunately though, no one has any solutions and as usual, most people upon posting their angry comments, will simply go about their lives. Some have even blasted CAPS and Positive Loitering as pointless efforts. And while I may agree that Positive Loitering may not magically change the neighborhood as a whole, it has changed the neighborhood for ME. I now know my neighbors and have new friends, I now have a community. I can only hope that this community will expand with more people being pushed to the point of getting involved. </span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Despite my minor role with Positive Loitering and in light of the recent violence, I still felt frantically helpless and desperately in need of some form of action. So I did the only thing I know how to do.. (no, I am not singing on a corner in Uptown...though don’t tempt me..) I turned on the oven and began to bake. </span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Last week after a particularly late rehearsal, a friend had driven me home, taking the Wilson exit from Lake Shore Drive. As he turned on Wilson and drove under Lake Shore, he looked quickly at me in horror, “These people sleep Here?!?” ..Yes.. I had seen the homeless people bundled up in the underpass before but due to driving by often, they had quite nearly become invisible to me. They had become my huddled Peruvian man to whom I gave nothing. So I baked. I filled little sandwich bags with cookies, grabbed a bunch of bananas and am now headed out the door to the underpass. I will smile and feed and hopefully be gifted with a smile in return. </span></span></div><div style="color: #333333; font: 18.0px Lucida Grande; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><br />
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</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" class="photo_img img" src="http://a2.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/s720x720/378686_10150434142823592_565443591_8294119_1887395664_n.jpg" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; max-width: 493px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /><span class="caption"></span></span></div><div style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div></div></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07777352632649173276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3008976052097560137.post-35658520394892140302011-12-07T09:57:00.000-08:002011-12-07T10:17:36.576-08:00Part IX<div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
<div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Written on Wednesday, November 16, 2011 at 5:06pm</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 23.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">“You could cook your breakfast in the morning with that knife and still bring it back tomorrow if you don’t like it,” the sales clerk informed me. I stood in the middle of the aisle, perpetually indecisive, surrounded by pocket knives and their larger samurai-like counterparts. I held a small knife in my hand, becoming familiar with the cool steel bite against my skin while reconciling it’s weight with durability. ‘I’ll have this one,” I said, instantly becoming the proud owner of a tiny lethal 3 inch blade made by Gerber, (no known relation to Gerber baby food..) Up until this point, I had been carrying an extremely sharp serrated steak knife in my purse. I had often amused myself with thoughts of getting mugged. An unfortunate thief would sprite away with a purse full of wonders; broken pencils, approx. 39 cents, Jewel and Dominicks member cards, a crappy 6 year old phone without internet access or ease of texting, tampons, a stolen dessert spoon from Julius Meinl and chapstick. If said thief happened to be overly eager, he, with a girlish shriek, would quickly retrieve his newly bloodied hand from my purse after encountering the unexpected open knife. (much like my husband did...) While in Uptown, I truly doubt that I am in danger. However, arriving home nightly between 10pm and 11pm, and boasting a towering height of nearly 5 feet, I have chosen to refuse to be an easy target. I park my car each night and before opening the door, I retrieve my trusty little knife with my right hand, allowing it’s comforting weight to accompany me safely home. </span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 23.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Throughout my days’ lessons in the north shore, I leave my sharp little sidekick in the car. However, I have often thought it would be truly fitting were I to be accosted someplace seemingly safe, like Wilmette or Winnetka. Ironically enough, just two days after my knife purchase, I showed up at a students lovely Wilmette home, situated directly across the street from a school, only to hear how this pretty house had just fallen victim to burglary. The thieves, in their haste, disarmed the security alarm, yanked pillowcases off the bed of the youngest daughter, and proceeded to fill them with Ipods, jewelry, laptops and other pricy goods, before likely patting the peaceful friendly dog on the head and escaping back to where they came from. The mom, in relaying the story, shook her head at the fact that they had just moved from Chicago to Wilmette just a few short months before. She momentarily lamented the loss of her engagement ring.. However, her true despair was focused on her hard earned stolen marathon medals. (If any of you come across a Boston Marathon Medal, please let me know!!) Luckily, no one was home at the time of the robbery, rendering all loses merely material. </span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 23.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">There have been a few reports of Uptown shootings in the past couple weeks, though things have calmed considerably since the chaotic Halloween days. (which thankfully, only resulted in minor injuries..) Amidst the shootings, people angrily and frantically posted to the neighborhood website ‘UptownUpdate,’ stating that things should be done and people need to get involved. However, a few days later, my husband reported that merely a handful of concerned citizens showed up at the neighborhood CAPS meeting. There are clearly many people in this neighborhood who demand things to magically change, yet see no correlation between their own efforts and the healing of a neighborhood. I find it prudent to mention that their efforts or lack thereof will be reflected in their drooping property value.. However, there have been many positive going ons in Uptown, the greatest of which has to be a planned 135 million dollar rehab/rebuild of the local dilapidated Wilson redline stop. This weekend, Uptown is also playing host to Chicago’s 2011 book expo (I am SO there!!) And recently there have been many endorsements from Chicago’s new mayor, referring to Uptown as Chicago’s musical center. Perhaps things are looking up?</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 23.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"> My husband and I have made fantastic friends through our neighborhood networking. We have taken part in a tequila tasting event with Amy (Clarendon Park coordinator and glee club singer) and her expert event planner boyfriend. This activity would have been much more entertaining had I not been needed to sing for a funeral the next morning. We have made pizzas with Jan and his pretty and brilliant wife Laura, both Ph.d students at University of Chicago. We met Jan at our weekly positive loitering and discovered that his doctorate in sociology involves observing peacemaking efforts in the Uptown and Rogers Park neighborhoods. A couple of weeks ago, a new face showed up at our Friday night positive loitering. JW Hughs, a well spoken attractive black man shared bits of his story as a young gang member, who despite having been shot was left with his life. Years later, he has returned to his neighborhood as the Uptown face of CeaseFire, with a mission to change a horrible ingrained cycle of disfunction, drugs and violence ..or at the very least, change one simple life. CeaseFire is a slightly controversial group, comprised almost exclusively of ex gang members with horrifying stories who have risked their lives to turn themselves around. Once they gain back control of their own lives, they then seek to step in between gang conflicts, allowing time for tempers to cool and guns to be put aside. They are also instrumental in setting up other activities to get kids off the streets, such as sports, arts and tutoring. Uptown’s branch has only recently been implemented this past summer which saw quite a spike in violence. Critics of CeaseFire quickly point out the correlation between the start of Uptown CeaseFire and the flare up of summer violence. However as Jan, our resident sociologist pointed out to me.. There is no way to know how much worse the violence could have been had CeaseFire NOT opened shop. There are also rumors and criticism that CeaseFire is anti police and will withhold important information, but as this is just hearsay, I will reserve judgment and simply add, “Where do I sign up?!” </span></span></div></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07777352632649173276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3008976052097560137.post-42812631078604818572011-12-07T09:54:00.000-08:002011-12-07T10:19:48.508-08:00Part VIII<div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f9cb9c; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f9cb9c; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><div style="color: #efcca0; font: 18.0px Courier New; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Written on Monday, October 31, 2011 at 5:25pm</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 23.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">“Enough is Enough..” a reporter cited Uptown residences as saying a year ago today, after trick-or-treaters were sent screaming and ducking for cover, in a shooting incident that injured three teenagers occurring at 515pm the evening of a 2010 Halloween. Later that night a 35 year old man was shot to death in what was said to be a gang related incident. </span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 23.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">It’s Halloween a year later and while I would like to report that everything in Uptown has been calm and peaceful, I see no point in lying. We may have a new alderman and the police are now driving lovely new SUV’s but beyond that, nothing has changed. I am currently sitting on my balcony watching a corner full of young frightening looking men mingle amongst themselves while tiny children in witch and bee costumes obliviously wander gleefully by on their way to a candy infested evening. </span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 23.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">There have been countless shootings these past few days.. Thankfully though, no one had been injured (besides the guy who was shot in the ass yesterday a block from here) ...till today. At approximately 230pm gunshots rang out two blocks from here, tearing into the beautiful sunny afternoon as well as into flesh. No one seems to know any details or the extent of injuries to the person shot, but there are horrifying rumors that due to the rapid fire succession.. there is a strong chance that an automatic weapon was used. The amount of guys currently on the corner has me nervous as well as the thought that at the time of this afternoon’s shooting, I was out for a walk. Only my need to go to the bank steered me out of the line of fire, though my intent had originally been to walk in that direction to take pictures of the lake in it’s fall colors. </span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 23.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Last night, my husband and I went to see Joan Baez play. As I listened to her, I couldn’t help but be amazed by her ability to put the entire world into her voice. This amazingly strong woman had marched with Martin Luther King Jr, fighting the civil rights war. She stood with migrant farm workers demanding fare wages and a safe job, she helped form the American branch of Amnesty International, and has spent her entire life loudly opposing human rights oppression. I, in contrast, am currently hiding in my apartment peering out the window while the kids whose civil rights she fought so hard for, are gunning each other down in the streets. Life simply has no explanations. </span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 23.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 23.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">My husband and I have done our best to be involved. He has been going to caps meetings while I have merely been talking with whoever I happen to see walking by. I am not sitting outside as much now as the cold temperatures have set in forcing every one indoors. We have taken part in the weekly positive loitering, but to be blunt..our efforts seem naive and pointless. One shooting leads to another, leads to another, leads to another and so on and so forth... I just hope no one dies tonight. Happy Halloween and above all, be safe!!</span></span><br />
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</span></span></div></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" class="photo_img img" height="400" src="http://a3.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc7/s720x720/301530_10150371079763592_565443591_8055938_944294342_n.jpg" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; max-width: 493px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" width="300" /></span></div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07777352632649173276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3008976052097560137.post-81604574683662864792011-12-07T09:50:00.000-08:002011-12-07T10:21:41.279-08:00Part VII<div class="mbl notesBlogText clearfix" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 20px; word-wrap: break-word; zoom: 1;"><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></span></div><span class="" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Written on Tuesday, October 4, 2011 at 1:00pm</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">On any given Tuesday night, my college boyfriend and I would pile into the car, leaving behind our university, homework and other worries in order to brave three hours of rush hour traffic with the outcome of ending up on a soccer field in Elkhart Indiana. Having never had the opportunity to play an organized sport while a child, I was amazed when as a freshman in college, my boyfriend first included me in his Tuesday night ritual. I followed him hesitantly, cleats dangling from his shoulder, as we made our way from the parking lot to the field and I stood in awkward shock as I beheld moms, dads, cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, and grandparents!!! I held back nervously while hungrily observing the easy banter, teasing sideline smack talk, and obvious comfortable love radiating from this family. They allowed my awkwardness to last all of two minutes before wrapping me in their warmth. Cleats were laced, bets were placed and play began.</span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Fourteen years later, with a few years of coaching, a few years working for the local MLS team, and over a decade as a referee under my belt, I laced my cleats, stepped onto a field once again, and blew my whistle, signaling the beginning of play. By the end of the game, I was shaking with rage. After having spent an hour listening to parents cruelly taunt me and make loud snide disrespectful comments ... after having dealt with an out of line British coach who felt the need to shout at me as though I were a hated bastard stepchild, I had had enough. This was what refereeing a game of U9 girls travel soccer in the north shore had become. (that’s right, this game was to be about 8 year old girls..) I searched hopelessly for any feelings of camaraderie or happiness from any of the game’s participants, but only came away with perfect examples from parents and coaches alike of lessons NOT to teach young impressionable female players. Perhaps the time had come to hang up my cleats. I no longer wanted any part of this game.</span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">I walked slowly to my car trying to shake off the nastiness of the game so to enjoy the rest of my day as it was a beautiful sunny afternoon. I tossed my bag in the trunk and proceeded to drive home via Sheridan road, past the massive mansions with their massive cars. I continued to drive south, clearing my head, and said mansions merged into the more humble city abodes. However, upon reaching home, my carefully built equilibrium was shattered by the knowledge that the corner a block away was roped off with police tape. While I was standing on a field in the north shore, shots had been fired steps from my house. (thankfully, no one was hit!) As it turns out, people are ugly..everywhere. </span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">The last few weeks have been very quiet in the neighborhood and it is thought that with the start of the school year, many of the kids are now thankfully occupied at school. Lately though, my husband and I have been fighting bitterly with a considerable amount of irony. He is dead set on moving from this area and is now fighting as ferociously as I had fought moving here a year ago. However, in my mind, moving at this point is tantamount to taking a $50,000 hit and admitting defeat. After all, where would we move..to the North Shore? To Andersonville..where we can put our heads in the sand and ignore that just a mere twenty minute walk will bring us to where life is a mess? </span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">On a lighter note, I have had to reintroduce myself to many of the people I say Hi to as I recently cut off about 12 inches of hair. I have had to transform from ‘that crazy long haired white girl who plays ukulele on her doorstep’ to ‘that crazy short haired white girl who plays ukulele on her doorstep.’ I have also been gaining weight since my doorstep sitting time has directly replaced my workout time. Perhaps I could take a jump rope to the doorstep.. (or perhaps I could be institutionalized) Due to cold rainy weather and streets empty of people, I managed to take most of last week off from sitting. However, as lovely weather has blissfully returned this week, I suspect I will once again sit outside. I have been watching for the young woman who sings beautifully though I haven’t seen her in a while. My hope is that she is back in school, studying diligently. I am still hoping though to work with her and her voice at some point. Our weekly Friday night positive loitering has continued and is resulting in some good friendships and as always..cupcakes and cookies. The weekends are still a little busy though as usually at least one weekend night is spent watching out the window, counting how many corner kids are stopped by the police to be searched. C’est la Vie. Through all of this, I am having vague feelings of homesickness, but oddly enough, I have no idea of where I am homesick for... </span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><br />
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<div style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div></div></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07777352632649173276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3008976052097560137.post-65121063981019087142011-12-07T09:48:00.000-08:002011-12-07T10:24:27.038-08:00Part VI<div class="mbl notesBlogText clearfix" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 20px; word-wrap: break-word; zoom: 1;"><div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f9cb9c; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; line-height: 14px;"></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f9cb9c; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Written on Tuesday, September 20, 2011 at 12:36am</span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">I have been brainstorming recently about ways to potentially get arrested. I am not serious in my desire for a criminal record, rather, I am enjoying a simple day dream as our neighborhood is the beat for a certain aesthetically pleasing police officer. Once while I was attempting to find words to describe this man’s fit form, his shiny dark hair and thick lush lashes, my husband (who, mind you, is NEVER jealous..) exclaimed “I have thick lashes too...SEE!!” He then proceeded to wildly blink in demonstration (my husband..not the cop.) </span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">We have had a busy weekend in the neighborhood. There have been no shootings nearby (that I know of) and the weekend began with the usual Friday night dose of positive loitering (group gossip/therapy session.) Saturday was community filled, beginning bright and early with our humble neighborhood yard sale and morphing throughout the day into a fantastically successful block party complete with face painting, tango demonstrations, dog contests judged by our esteemed alderman, cool skateboarders, and a couple local bands. I spent the earlier part of the day trying to force kids to take my yard sale clothes (as I have the height of the average 11 year old..) and I spent my afternoon attempting to befriend every neighborhood dog and dog owner. Coming from Andersonville where I would run into friendly familiar faces every time I went for a walk, I was thrilled to bits to be a part of the block party where for the first time since grudgingly moving to Uptown, I felt part of a community. </span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Through my daily sittings and neighborhood loitering sessions, i have been so fortunate to meet so many truly kind and unique people..</span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">There is the small frighteningly organized and dedicated speech therapist/ Clarendon Park organizer/face painter with her studious looking glasses.. (I have fabricated that my husband has a crush on this woman in order to justify my recent ‘cop ogling’ problem..)</span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">There is the thin black woman with the mile wide smile who lives in the row houses across the way from my home and who turns on her sprinkler when too many kids are loitering nearby. Due to watering frequency, her small patch of ground is soon to resemble the emerald hills of Ireland. She has one daughter making her way in the world beginning with the Southern Illinois University campus and another daughter of about twelve years (I think) with cute puffy hair, a gorgeous shy smile and a pink bike that nearly ran over my foot.</span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">There is my aforementioned neighbor, the father of four, who upon running into me the day of the block party, immediately asked, “is there a baby coming yet?” SHEESH!</span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">There is my downstairs neighbor from Singapore who upon watching a kid carelessly toss garbage on the street, commented that if only public floggings were allowed in this country..our neighborhood would be much cleaner..</span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">There is a tiny, old, cranky, white woman with a mean looking muzzled dog, but upon closer inspection, one merely finds a dog happy to have a good petting and a woman who really just wants someone to listen to her so that she can ramble and talk about Jesus. (of course this is the same woman who vexes the local police with constant calls about mildly noisy parties and other non-threatening issues..such as my downstairs neighbors..)</span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">There is the messy looking sweet middle aged white man who having lived his whole life in this neighborhood, has turned his courtyard into a beautiful garden with the tastiest tomatoes. (I can attest to their tastiness.)</span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">There is the strong willed black mom with her incredibly shy college age daughter who dreams of becoming a vet as she works her way through one class at a time.</span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">There are the corner boys who, having gotten over their shock of being singled out for a hi, now respond with a sly cheeky “Hey Baby..” I find it prudent to remind them that I am old enough to be their mother. (their very young attractive mother..) When I feel that a scary amount of these kids have gathered on the corner, I occasionally torment them by singing outrageously loud renditions of Shubert’s lieder or Gounod’s Faust from my balcony. I employ this technique to clear the street sparingly, as I suspect my other neighbors viciously hate me.. (I have also been known to get out the ukelele to sadistically butcher top 40s songs..the street clears of kids in seconds..) </span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Today, in the wake of a successful weekend, I was disappointed to find myself feeling nervous and jittery. There seemed to be a tension of sorts building as many slightly intimidating looking kids spent the morning pacing up and down the street in front of my house, shouting into cell phones, all while our resident sketchy white van circled with its ear crushing bass vibrating the sidewalks. (not very subtle.) I immediately worried that something was on the verge of happening..a drug deal? another shooting? So, as any rational being would do, I calmly sat on my front step with a folder of music to look through. Within a couple of minutes, a group of 6 mildly menacing looking guys walked by in their baggy dark clothes and matching dark expressions. I nodded my acknowledgment and smiled before turning my attention back to my music. As the guys continued on, one broke away and headed in my direction. This thin black man of about 20, bedecked in red and black with a black doo rag approached me and said with a smile “You’re not from around here, are you?” I replied that I was originally from a couple hours outside Chicago. He responded with..”I see you all over this neighborhood and every time I see you, you always have this smile. What are you smiling about?” I told him that I smile because people occasionally smile back. He shook his head in amused bewilderment, “Man, people just don’t do that ‘round here.” He gave a friendly goodbye before heading on his way. Unbeknownst to me, my husband had come home unexpectedly and was parking his car when he saw this guy walk my direction. Apparently, his heart had started working double time..</span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">A few minutes later some of the same guys walked by but with the addition of a couple of girls. One of the girls in particular, I had been hoping to run into as I had heard her a couple weeks ago walking past my house singing. What I heard was ridiculously good. I nodded to the group as a whole and upon spotting her, I got over myself and bluntly asked if she was the girl I had heard singing. This pretty girl in her late teens/early twenties with a lovely dimple and Rihanna styled haircut complete with shocking red highlights, shyly responded yes and as her friends wandered off we began chatting. I told her that what little I had heard her sing sounded fantastic and asked if she was singing anywhere with anyone. She said no but admitted that she loved gospel. She asked if I was a singer (as my music was still on my lap) I admitted that I was the annoying neighborhood woman belting out classical music at whim and she laughed saying that she actually liked opera. After a couple minutes, we said a happy goodbye promising to watch out for each other. As she raced to catch up with her friends, (who were most likely Vice Lords..herself included) I watched her with growing hope, fully knowing that she has the potential and the voice to make her way happily in the world. This lucky girl has a way out...if she so chooses...</span></span><br />
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</div></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" class="photo_img img" src="http://a5.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/s720x720/320749_10150316422223592_565443591_7762042_1037746396_n.jpg" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; max-width: 493px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /><span class="caption"></span></span></div><div style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div></div></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07777352632649173276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3008976052097560137.post-80796404291181212062011-12-07T09:46:00.000-08:002011-12-07T10:25:45.181-08:00Part V<div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f9cb9c; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f9cb9c; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Written Tuesday, September 13, 2011 at 3:31pm</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 23.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Citysitting part V</span></b></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 23.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 23.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">There has been another shooting..</span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 23.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">The Black P Stones started up around the same time as the Vice Lords back in the early 60s headed by Jeff Fort (Chief Malik) and Eugene Hairston (King Bull.) While the Vice Lords were getting their start running around the city’s west side Lawndale neighborhood, the Black P Stones kids (also occasional guests of the St Charles Reformatory for Boys and the Cook County Temporary Juvenile Detention center) spent their days and nights terrorizing the city’s south side neighborhood of Woodlawn. Up until the early 50s, Woodlawn had been a predominantly middle class white neighborhood (many of whom were employed by the University of Chicago,) but with a Supreme court ruling which outlawed racially restrictive covenants, absentee landlords divided large apartments into multiple smaller units, and poorly maintained buildings became overfilled with african american families. (Such events were the inspiration for the play Raisin in the Sun) </span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 23.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">By the mid 60s, Woodlawn had become predominantly african american as ‘white flight’ made way. The P stones had begun working with Reverend John Fry who was instrumental in helping the group receive government funding towards job training programs. In 1966 they provided security for Dr Martin Luther King and the Congress on Racial Equality as they marched through hostile white Chicago neighborhoods. In that same year, Fort and Hairston met with a group of rival gang leaders, to offer them a truce, thus officially forming the Black P Stone Nation. However, by 1972 Jeff Fort and a few others were brought up on charges of mismanaging government money (approx a million dollars in grants) and sent to jail. Upon his release in 1976 Fort attempted to convert to Islam and due to not being accepted into the Moorish Science Temple, he promptly formed his own temple. He then led a section Black P Stones still loyal to him into adopting his islamic beliefs and taking on the name EL RUKN. In 1983 Fort was sentenced to 13 years in jail for his connection to a massive drug shipment in Mississippi. However, he continued to run El Rukn, whose top members had gone so far as to make contact in Libya with Col. Moammar Kaddafi. In 1986 El Rukn travelled to Panama City to meet with Libyan delegates, arranging a deal to trade 2.5 million dollars and asylum in Tripoli for weapons to use in an assault against city police and governmental institutions. However, Fort and 50 other high ranking El Rukns were tried on terrorist charges and Fort was sentenced to 80 years in jail (in addition to the time he was already serving..) The name El Rukn died out and Black P Stones remained. There are pockets of Black P Stones on the north side of the city left from Fort’s “friend,” Hairston, who surviving three bullets in 1975, fled to the relative safety of the north side. </span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 23.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">While my corner of Hazel and Windsor is listed as Vice Lord territory, Wilson and Magnolia (near Truman college where I took French from the best language teacher ever!!) fall under Black P Stone territory. It is strongly suspected that the shootings plaguing the Uptown neighborhood are a result of a drug and turf war between these two gangs. It is also rumored that a certain higher ranking Vice Lord had recently been released from prison and has been busy organizing and coercing the local younger Vice Lords into following his orders thus exacerbating the tensions. One only has to watch the street for a few days to see him at work. However, in his particular case, the police are closely watching and it is suspected that he will slip up and be off the streets shortly. The most recent shooting occurred yesterday afternoon around 4:30 pm on the incredibly busy corner of Wilson and Broadway. (4 blocks from my home..the corner I cross to get to Truman) A 20 year old man was shot in the ankle, and police were said to be chasing a black man with dreadlocks running westbound on Wilson. While one bullet found it’s mark, seven or eight additional bullets fired off into the Chicago air. One bullet went cleanly through the window of parked car where a little girl had been sitting. Her horrified father pulled her out of the car only to discover glass from the broken window tangled in her hair. </span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 23.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">As these events occurred, I was safely seated at a piano in Downers Grove. I had done my day’s round of Hi’s earlier before leaving to teach. My husband and I had just commented the night before on how wonderfully quiet the neighborhood had been this past week. However, in the aftermath of yet another shooting, the neighborhood is on watch again, everyone looking for a way to be safer. The website “Uptownupdate.com” has been a constant online venue for news and comments and many people are waiting to see what the newly kinged alderman will do. There has been a lot of advice flying around to call 911 when ever anything suspicious is seen and there have been just as many frustrated comments on the sheer audacity of the 911 operators to react with disrespect and lack of will to send responders. (I concur..) Unfortunately, all of our reactions are merely that...reactions to events which have already been allowed occur. No one seems to know how to combat Uptown’s issues from the other side of things. No one knows how to be proactive, how to prevent..myself included. </span></span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 23.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">In my daily sitting (and nightly observing,) I am becoming familiar with my neighborhood. People who at first grudgingly said hi, are now stopping for a short chat or to let me pet their dogs. Though I have kept an eye out, I have yet to see the north african auntie again. I have noticed the shirtless man in the apartment across the way who spends an unusual amount of time in his bathroom..with his window unfortunately open, and I have felt each time a large rusty white van drives by with it’s stereo bass set loud enough to be heard and felt on the moon. Today, I quietly observed as my neighbor father of four pulled his youngest, a lovely sleeping little girl, out of his car and held her close as he carried her into his home. </span></span></div><div style="color: #333333; font: 18.0px Lucida Grande; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 21.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div></span></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07777352632649173276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3008976052097560137.post-45280037301673116352011-12-07T09:39:00.001-08:002011-12-07T10:27:27.871-08:00Part IV<div class="uiHeader uiHeaderBottomBorder mbm" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(170, 170, 170); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; margin-bottom: 10px; padding-bottom: 0.5em;"><div class="clearfix" style="zoom: 1;"><div class="mbs uiHeaderSubTitle lfloat fsm fwn fcg" style="color: grey; float: left; font-size: 11px; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 5px;"><br />
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<div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Written on Thursday, September 8, 2011 at 1:36pm</span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Sitting Update..</span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">The Vice Lords were formed in the mid to late 1950s by a group of boys from the Lawndale area who had gotten into trouble and were enjoying a lovely involuntary stay at the St Charles Reformatory for Boys. (surrounded by barbed wire, located alongside Route 38, my mother used to threaten to send me here when I was a young misbehaving child..) Upon their release, the boys unified North and South Lawndale into the Vice Lords and claimed the corner of 16th Street and Lawndale as their own. Armed with the desperation of surviving in Lawndale’s extremely poor conditions (which have not improved much as recent statistics place the median income at approx $18,000 a year..) the Vice Lords became notorious for their violence. By 1964, 8 of the VL’s 26 groups decided to break away from the violence and attached “Conservative” to their names. (Ironic because one current gang saying is “If U ain’t Conservative, U don’t deserve to live..)</span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">With the rise of Bobby Gore and David Dawley in the 60s, the Conservative Vice Lords turned their attention away from violence and towards promoting education and the betterment of the Lawndale area, even going as far as to secure federal grants for GED programs and safe havens. However, in 1969, Bobby Gore was convicted of murder, federal funding dried up and CVL began its decent back into organized crime and violence. (Bobby Gore is still trying to clear his name and has continuously preached against gang violence..)</span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Today, the Vice Lords have turned up throughout Chicago, it’s suburbs and has spread like a virus to many other states. The Up-Town Lords claim the territory between east and west Montrose and Wilson, north and south Clarendon and Broadway, and have the corner of Hazel and Windsor specifically listed as their own (Guess where I live..) As the Lords have been going strong for over 60 years, membership has become multigenerational with children blindly following in their parents footsteps. Children of any age are recruited and used to carry drugs, weapons etc.. Kids join for any number of reasons; a sense of belonging, money, drugs, protection..(Though, due to the high number of kids hobbling around with bullets in their legs, I am not overly convinced of that last reason) As a result, education has become secondary, thus closing a door on a means of escape. </span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Uptown and it’s new alderman James Cappleman have responded to the recent spike in shootings with a healthy round of CAPS meetings, one even, with the focus of educating the community on gangs. However, as these meeting directly coincide with my teaching schedule, I unfortunately cannot attend. In order to feel as though I am involved, despite the lack of meetings in my life, I am continuing my project of saying hello EVERY day. Each day, as I sit on my front step, I become familiar with the characters involved in daily Uptown life. I see the same pretty young girls, and comfortably say hi. I continue to be amused by the reaction of the black boys who always seem to be surprised that I would deem them worthy of a hi. I see daily a middle aged white woman walking her dog, which looks to be a cross between a boxer and a pitbull. I watch her and her dog as she takes a long drag of her cigarette only to emit a round of chest shattering lung splitting coughs. I look on as a couple men glance nervously around themselves before pulling something out of their pockets. Upon spotting me, they nod to each other and quickly take their deal to the other end of the street. I have seen my neighbor across the way with his two youngest kids playing outside and after witnessing the sheer energy of the kids, I am forced to agree with his previous statement encouraging me to have just one or two kids..rather than the four he has.. After happily watching him, I see an older black woman walk by with a stroller and a little girl of about four years and cute little braids ending in cheerful hair ties. I see this woman every day and despite saying Hi to her every day, she continues to ignore me, turning instead to berating the little girl. “what the f*ck you doin’,” she’ll say, “Get your *ss over here before I beat it!” As I look at this little girl and her fearful tears, I realize that I am looking into the face of the next generation gang member. </span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Yesterday on my walk home from Jewel, I was shocked to hear someone say Hi to me. Standing just below my home, chatting with a younger man, was a lovely north african auntie holding tightly to her head scarf due to the day’s wind. She effortlessly pulled me into a conversation, asking where I live and whether I have children yet. (What is with everyone wanting to know why I don’t have kids!!) She told me in halting english that she lives one block over on Sunnyside and that her kids were not yet in the country, with the exception of her son who was currently standing next to us. She took my hand into both of hers and warmly said “It’s nice to meet you,” before going on her way. Perhaps I am not the only one with the idea of saying hi! </span></span></div><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f9cb9c;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"></span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f9cb9c;"><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">written on Friday, September 2, 2011 at 2:44am</span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Day Two</span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">I never took to drugs. Sure, I smoked weed in college, but that is what music majors do. However, my control freak personality never allowed drugs to take hold as I found that I could never relinquish control to a substance. I had watched my mother lose 20 years of her life to alcohol and a certain suicidal stepfather who kept guns in the house cured me of the desire to ever try anything harder than marijuana. I spent my childhood in and out of foster care and slept countless nights on the couch in the welcoming living room of my best friend’s family. I worked endless hours as a waitress through high school while attaining mediocre to poor grades and at the end of it all, I lucked my way into college with an ability to sing on pitch. I knew nothing else ..only that I could get away. </span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Fifteen years later, I have stepped back into chaos all over again. MY life is well and settled; I have a successful studio of hilarious young musicians, I am newly married to a good man (although he does spend a few too many hours playing video games..) and I am addicted to taking classes even though I am well past my college days. However, I look out my window and I feel paralyzing helplessness. I am torn between my bleeding heart liberal tendencies, which want someone to give these kids everything that kids should have, and my desire to shake each kid until they realize all of the potential that they are pissing away. in some cases, I feel rage. I want to use a belt to beat the mother who walks around after 2 am with her sleepy children in tow and I want to punch the older men who use easily manipulated teenagers to do dirty work for them. As a child, I was lucky. I was in a small town, surrounded by normalcy, with the exception of my own home. I was shown examples of what love should look like. These kids are surrounded by chaos in such a way that chaos is the norm. I empathize even though I cannot excuse.</span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Day two of sitting started on a slightly darker note than day one. I chose to forgo sitting on the balcony and moved immediately to the doorstep. Soon after settling in, I watched as a short mid 30s black man walked out of the building across from me, reached into his pants, pulled out a bottle of vodka and took a long swig. Upon noticing my (what must have been an amused) smile, He made a sad attempt to hide the bottle behind his back before walking a few more steps and taking another healthy gulp. I said hi and he shuffled away. I watched as a boy around 13 (I would guess) road his bike by multiple times and I said hi to the middle aged white man who walks his corgis on average of 29 times a day. I talked to an older man with a strong accent who lives in the same building as ‘vodka man.’ I learned that the older man works every day from 6am till 2pm and that he shares his home with his four kids..the oldest 13 years, the youngest 3 years. He asked how old I am, if I am married and why I don’t have kids. (If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he was Indian..) He then told me that my husband and I should have kids soon, but we should have only one or two...definitely not four! Shortly after he headed home, A group of women, including the girls I had talked to the day before walked with a little one in a stroller, down the opposite side of the street and stopped to sit across from me, on the other side of a large SUV. They were shortly joined by another lady (and I use the term loosely..) </span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">I hold no affection for this woman in particular as I have seen and heard her many times before and her voice tends to precede conflict. She is a white, poorly kept, loud creature somewhere around 30 years, though I suspect that due to some heavy substance use, she is probably much younger than she looks. I first noticed her around midnight two summers ago when my husband and I had just begun dating. I was at his house (my current home) sitting on the couch along with two other friends when this woman could be heard shouting obscenities...based on her volume, one can only assume that she was shouting at someone in Canada. We all rushed to the window only to watch in shock as the man she was with punched another man, knocking him out cold in the middle of the street. We continued to watch while dialing 911 as she turned tail and ran as if Satan himself was about to give chase. ( I feel it prudent to mention that the 911 operator seemed disinclined to send anyone as she was sure the man was just drunk.. as if that was relevant to the fact that a man was lying bleeding in the middle of the street about to get run over..) </span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">I quietly observed as the women chatted away on the other side of the street, until another woman with the roots under her black hair dyed red, ran down the street chased by a man. She shouted at him to get away, screamed that he was drunk and crazy, and shouted for someone to call 911. I called, she ran the way she had come and the drunk man stumbled on in the opposite direction. The police never came..</span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">A few minutes later, a group of about 10 men/boys (including the kid I had seen earlier on his bike) approached the girls heading east. The girls stopped chatting.. in fact, not a single word was said as the boys passed, at which point, the girls immediately headed west. I have my suspicions of what might have happened that the SUV blocked from my view, but as they are only suspicions with no base in fact, I can only wonder at what may have been sharing the baby stroller with the baby..</span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">After this incident, the street remained quiet for a few minutes until a woman was trying to get into her car while a man shouted at her to give him money for a drink. I went inside.. I had seen enough.</span></span></div><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br />
</span></div></span></span></div></div></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07777352632649173276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3008976052097560137.post-48382994488753295242011-12-07T00:48:00.000-08:002011-12-07T10:30:06.546-08:00Part II<div class="mbl notesBlogText clearfix" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 20px; word-wrap: break-word; zoom: 1;"><div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f9cb9c; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f9cb9c; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Day One</span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">I am not brave and I hate to admit that. A few summers back, I traveled to Peru as a teacher. I went to test myself. I thought that if I could get through one simple summer, then I wouldn’t be afraid to enroll in the Peace Corps, I wouldn’t be afraid to commit myself to 27 months of service. However, I came home from Peru at the end of the summer after working through a teachers strike, after becoming overwhelmed by such massive need, after succumbing to a horrific fever, and after losing 10 + pounds...and I did not enroll in Peace Corps. I was so disappointed in myself. </span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">I still fight with my bravery, or lack thereof. After the awful shootings that have plagued my neighborhood of Uptown these last few days, I had resolved to try something extremely simple. I decided to devote time each day to sit on my balcony and to say “Hi” to every one who passed. But saying hi, I’ve found, requires bravery. I sat down on the balcony at about 1130 am on August 31st. The first person wandered by..I told myself that I hadn’t started yet. Another passed, I left the balcony to get water. Four more passed and as each walked by, I took a deep breath to speak, opened my mouth and quickly closed it as nervousness took over. I saw a young white mother walking toward me with a child in a stroller. I inhaled, my heart rate racing, my knees shaking. “Hi,” I said. She looked up at me in surprise..”Hi?” I quickly explained to her that I was just saying hi to every one who passed by. “That’s weird,” she said and went on her way. Next I said hi to a young asian guy who ignored me outright. “Just perfect,” I thought. This corner may be Vice Lord territory, but I am now on my way to becoming the “Corner Crazy.” My experiment was not working and I was starting to feel as if I were a sad cross between Rapunzel and Juliette on my balcony. I needed an excuse to leave the apartment. Realizing that I had no cereal, I headed out the front door for a three block walk to the grocery store to pick up some Fruity Pepples and on my way I smiled and said hi to everyone I passed. I said hi to a neighbor who I had seen the previous week at ‘Positive Loitering.’ I smiled and chatted with a couple guys painting woodwork on a local church and I said hi to a surprised boy circling the corner of my street on his bike. Upon reaching my doorstep, I sat down, fully knowing that if I went inside, my experiment would be over. I set my groceries on the ground, leaned back against the door and pulled a trashy romance novel out of my purse. (really..it’s not as though one could be reading ‘A Confederacy of Dunces,’ with any sort of conviction when one is actually focused on chatting up the neighbors..)</span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">I ‘read,’ stopping frequently to say hi to startled passerbys. I talked with a young dog walker as he had passed me three times with three different dogs. I smiled at the usual corner kids, mentally making note of which homes they emerged from, who they talking with and what colors they were wearing. I counted the minutes between each time a cop drove by and occasionally, I did actually read. At one point, three pretty young black girls walked by. When they responded to my hello, I hesitantly asked if the kid who had bled all over our corner a few days earlier was ok. They assured me that he was and asked me if I had heard about the other shootings. They filled me in on the other two boys who had both been shot in their legs just a block from here. However, I did note that the incredibly polite teenagers failed to mention the guy who had been fatally shot in the head. (They did call me ‘Ma’am’ though..causing me to feel about 300 years old..)</span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">After a couple hours of sitting and a well earned numb bottom, I picked up my things and headed inside for the day, happy that I had said Hi..</span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;"></span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f9cb9c;"><div style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class=""><img alt="" class="photo_img img" src="http://a5.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/s720x720/312287_10150293147273592_565443591_7601432_5310342_n.jpg" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; max-width: 493px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /><span class="caption">a little guardian.. ;)</span></span></div></span></span></span></div></div></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07777352632649173276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3008976052097560137.post-24839435535785058132011-12-07T00:39:00.000-08:002011-12-07T10:31:52.852-08:00Sitting Down.. Part I<div class="uiHeader uiHeaderBottomBorder mbm" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(170, 170, 170); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; margin-bottom: 10px; padding-bottom: 0.5em;"><div class="clearfix uiHeaderTop" style="zoom: 1;"><div><h2 class="uiHeaderTitle" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 18px; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Written on Wednesday, August 31, 2011 at 3:14am</span></span></h2><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Last Sunday, August 28th 2011 at about 4:30 pm I heard the gunshots while standing on my front balcony. The force of the sound caused me to instinctively drop down, rendering my watering pot useless. As gunshots have become shamefully common in the Uptown neighborhood of Chicago’s north side, only a couple of seconds had passed before I deemed it safe enough to stand to finish watering my optimistic flowers. To my horror, I stared in disbelief as a young man attempting to run, stumbled past my front door bleeding heavily from a wound in his leg. I frantically raced into the condo, searching clumsily for my cell. I dialed 911 with shaky fingers while watching the injured kid lie down on the corner, his own blood pooling beneath him. I suspect that my conversation with the 911 operator was less than kind as I couldn’t understand the sheer lack of urgency in her voice, my vocabulary degenerating to a simple “F*cking get someone here NOW!!” I looked on as people began streaming towards the kid from all sides until the area resembled an oversized rugby scrum, but no one had covered his gunshot wound. “Someone HAD to apply pressure,”I kept thinking. I shouted down to the familiar crowd of neighborhood kids that someone needed to put pressure on the wound or he would bleed too much. They looked my way and one man shouted back “Don’t worry baby, we got this.” However, a boy immediately took off his shirt and leaned down to press it against the injured kid’s leg. As we waited, the sound of the sirens grew louder and people shouted and wailed. Kids with obvious gang colors and tattoos passed below my balcony loudly promising revenge. As the police arrived, people began dispersing. Retaliation was inevitable..</span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Tonight the streets are more quiet than I have ever seen them. As I type, I have watched more police cars and SUVs drive by than when the president came for his birthday.(Ironically, there was a shooting that very night..the car parked in front of my husband’s had six bullet holes.) Tonight, few people are leaving their homes, and certainly not the kids who wear their gang colors like giant targets on their bodies. No one is headed out for a lovely summer evening stroll as it has been a busy week. About four hours after Sunday’s afternoon shooting, two more men were shot four blocks over. One man, a certain Brian, A.K.A Big Baby, was shot fatally in the head. This afternoon around 1pm, the police asked a group to disperse one block away from here, only to have shots brazenly fired in their very presence, leaving two more with gunshot wounds to the leg. Tonight the streets are deserted. </span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">As these shootings have increased, I find myself becoming obsessed. I spend hours searching the internet for gang information. If someone coughs to loudly, I race to the balcony to observe. I took pictures of the sidewalk blood to make it impossible to forget, my camera and phone now always in reach. I watch the neighborhood cops intently with a distaste for their obvious antipathy mixed with anger at their helplessness to change things. I look directly at the kids on the corner and I nod to them, hoping they realize that I do not wish to see any more of them bleeding all over the sidewalk, yet I also do not wish to see them dealing drugs beneath my balcony. I’ve ordered books on gang culture and structure and I do endless facebook searches to find local kids.. (one would be amazed at how many profiles are listed under ‘Vice Lord.’) I’ve image searched gang signs, tattoos, territory tags, colors etc.. I have no idea what this new knowledge will do for me but still, I am simply obsessed with a culture that I have no way of understanding. </span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">As I am sure many nearby people feel..I feel incredibly helpless. I have not lived in Uptown long as I recently married my husband and his condo. I have gone to positive loitering, and I have put in a few volunteer hours with the locally based ‘Inspired Youth,’ but it all seems incredibly small in comparison to the problems of this area. (However, teaching a young pianist to play Bruno Mar was pretty rewarding.. despite not being my finest moment of musical taste,) Unlike some others in the area, I do not wish for these kids to ‘move on’ or simply disappear as they will only reappear elsewhere and their lives will continue down the same terrifying path. I look at them and I see strength, youth and potential, but they are putting me and everyone else around them in danger, They are risking their own lives and the lives of their little sisters and little brothers. They are risking the lives of their own children. There is no excuse for that. </span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">As I am incapable of doing nothing, I will challenge myself to step up...to sit down. As I have been watching my corner obsessively already, I will challenge myself to set time aside each afternoon before I leave to teach, to sit on my balcony and to simply say hi and smile at everyone who comes within hearing. What do I hope to accomplish? Honestly..I have no idea. Perhaps I want it to be known that someone, however inconsequential, is watching, Or maybe, I just want to chip away at my own fears and biases...</span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Lucida Grande'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Courier New'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">I had thought that to find diversity, I had to fly to France or Spain. I used to think that to see true conflict, I had to travel as a teacher to Peru or some other such place, but in all actuality, diversity and horrifying conflict are already at my very doorstep..bleeding on it ... </span></span></div></div><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br />
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</div></div></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07777352632649173276noreply@blogger.com0