Criminal Measures

September 8, 2013

From a Block Club member: “…These people need to go. I will….stir something up if I can get the number. I now feel that if we are going to be sitting in our yard I need to be armed, which I was last night. I am going to also say that the crime wave around this area has been getting worse ever since a larger population of blacks have moved in the area and I am not the only one who feels that way. I don’t worry about being politically correct I am just calling it as I see it.”

I am beginning to understand that a larger commitment needs to take place in our neighborhood.  There are far more neighborhoods, all across the country, dealing with similar issues, and assuredly some have resolved the challenges. New Orleans, Chicago, New York, San Francisco, Milwaukee, Shreveport, Salem, Wichita, Boise, every area that has been touched by poverty, desperation, boredom, latch-key kids, diminishing school lunch programs, downsizing, and addiction. If we leave the area it does not solve the problem. If the perpetrators move, they infiltrate another neighborhood. Who do we turn to for assistance? The former tenants from upstairs were evicted since they were unable to pay their utility bill yet we cannot count on that resolving the underlying theme. Crime is rising, people are afraid, taking more risks to gain access to something they do not have and on the other side, protect themselves and their stuff. The community has to find a way to pull together, create hope, the assurance of a safe place to live, to trust, educate, and feel worthy.  Together we can do it yourself.  

Gifted

September 7, 2013

I must be seven pounds lighter after searing in the heat at the Farmers Market today. “Womaned” the t-shirt table again, did not sell one jar of my famous Wisconsin maple syrup, which is discouraging. The two man band sitting next to me played old eighties tunes while parties came and went, purchasing dripping ice cream cones, unnatural colored slushes and weeping malts from the shop in the parking lot. The Market didn’t attract too many customers today, less people are motivated to get out in the humidity to buy their produce and …um, syrup.

On the way home, now a size zero, I stopped at the brick church on the corner since there were tables laid out with clothing and household items of interest. I piled a few things together and asked the smiley woman situated behind the banquet table how the goods are priced and she assured me they are FREE! I stammered in disbelief, thanking her, and everyone within spitting distance, for hosting the event. I presumed to add to my pile, a variety of little lights for Taelor, cute skirts, a business suit and wool sweater that made me drip just looking at it. Thrilled beyond belief with my armful of free things, I bypassed the fire truck with cute firefighters in tight blue pants giving tours, a blast of entertaining music, complimentary juicy beef burgers, and most likely cans of off-brand cola to head home for some house and yard clean-up. Ty was whining as I approached the door, evidently he knew I was in the vicinity and couldn’t stand not being a tag-a-long. I reassured him that they didn’t have anything in his size at the sale.   

Notice to Vacate

September 6, 2013

     Notice to Vacate, Condemnation Notification, 72 Hour Warning to Shut-Off the Water, a Foreclosure Sign, plastered to windows, doors, and gates around the neighborhood. Everything being equal, I realize just how close I have come to be in the same position to any one of these people, in the last six months. One false move, a few late payments, high interest loans, errors in judgment at a bar let alone a fancy restaurant a night or two in the month. Wham. Warnings appear in the mailbox, stuck at eye-level on the front door to accompany those pangs of gargantuan fear. Curious about the landlords who continue to rent to tenants that cannot pay their bills. It is a vicious circle. My landlord lost tenants in three units because he didn’t prepare the lease in a responsible manner. He also ignored the warning signs and complaints from the surrounding homes, neighbors and police reports. Is he naive or simply unaware of the pitfalls of renting to friends, family and word of mouth referrals that are seemingly stable, responsible and long-term philosophy folks.

     A package was nabbed from a neighbor’s front porch the other day. It was a Federal Express box, obviously too tempting for the robber to leave alone. Happened to be an expensive electronics item and the I-can’t-wait-to-get-my-hands-on-the-thief owner is devastatingly disturbed. If someone comes to my door, peeks in the windows, there is no evidence of anyone remotely interested in high tech appliances or electronics. No television in sight, no stereo, keyboard, desktop or even surge protectors. Ho hum, they can skip over my home. Or so I thought. On Tuesday, I noticed the back door wasn’t deadbolted, the lock on the knob itself was turned, something I never do. Took a look at the other back door and the latch was slid to the left, leaving it unlocked. A basement window was ajar-strange since there are bars along each small window, impossible for anyone to come or go. I tattled on whomever entered the house, to the neighbors on both sides as well as the guys across the street, so they could keep an eye on my house and theirs. Beware, thieves, we all have our eyes peeled.

Canine Cavorting

September 5, 2013

My dashing Physical Therapist is more than a bit conventional. I finally convinced him to provide me with “light” therapy today, which is done with a machine that applies energy to my weakened tissues. He zapped my inner ankle for forty seconds in several areas then smirked loudly, humoring me, I’m sure. Let him know that I know, the more confident I am about its healing properties, the better chance the therapy will help. He wholeheartedly agreed yet I could tell, is convinced it is a exasperating “Woo Woo” method. Of course, I got my way, at least for the last three sessions out of twelve. My PT also assured me that my ankle is in great shape, much better than some recent patients, who have come back after a year from surgery, with complications. It has been three and a half months since my last surgery and I reluctantly admit the progress is enormous.

Spent the rest of the day with eleven German Shorthaired Pointers or various versions of the breed. Skeeter, Wally, Baxter, Heidi, DeeDee, Peter, Bella, and the like are very rambunctious (save the two elders in the bunch) who kept me on my toes. They ran like the Dickens around, behind, ahead and out of sight of the golf cart, through the fields surrounding the house and brought me such joy to watch them canter. Initially, they were naughty school boys and sassy girls, jumping and scratching my legs while I shouted “Down” when I should have said “Off,” and mean it when I suggested they should “Kennel Up,” though they simpered, and teased by ignoring me. I will get things under control, sooner than later, you’ll see. Hosed and picked clean the dusty gravel, sprayed cement runs, concrete floors and smooth stainless crates, sanitized cages, scooped a variety of dry food, scoured slobbery meal dishes and slimy water jugs, vacuumed a small dog’s worth of hair, petted, rough-housed, and scolded all of them, while they whined incessantly in their cages. They are all energetic and stole my heart. I’ll be back again to please them, soon enough.

Upside Down Life

September 4, 2013

Our lives become a room full of dusty plastic plants, perched on the grimy mantle above our heads, clinging to our past. We select them for decor, unaware they will accompany us to the bitter end. These dim green stems with pasty flowers, gummed together, a gentle reminder for our guests, of better days, when we could actually see their faces, now a blur that melts into the dingy curtains that block out all life. Christmas ornaments curled up under the couch, awaiting their dumpster demise when recovered. Ornaments, manufactured since the past five decades are so much more interesting than Styrofoam balls covered with felt, glued eyes, and saggy Santa hat. Photos pasted into thick nylon books are now smeared and the once matte finish, eaten away by decay. It’s of no concern to us since we do not recognize the people in the pictures, hugging us, laughing with us, experiencing the Seven Wonders of the World together. Favorite cassette tapes, CD’s, even books on tape, worthless to the foggy hearing. Decks of cards tossed to the back of the drawers, useless to their owner who adored playing every Thursday evening with friends. Jackets, sequin sweatshirts, sweater sets and jumpers hang at odd angles in the closet, pushed aside for comfy mumus and flimsy robes. No shoes grace the floor since we can’t wear any of our favorites, all are discarded in silent agreement.

Empty boxes of all sizes, Kleenex (used or not,) empty toilet paper and paper towel rolls, rubber bands, stacks of paper napkins from restaurants of all sorts, plastic containers, both pint and quart sizes, coupons from another lifetime, magazine articles and opened mail, all sorted and organized for storage. Everything lies in anticipation of a rainy day.

My world narrows since hers is so minute, and I care for her. Everything is a reminder of what she can no longer do. The television has become the enemy since she cannot follow the baseball, basketball, hockey puck, football, golf ball, tennis ball, and her most recent adoration-the soccer ball. The radio is welcoming as she sits in her daytime/nighttime perch-the recliner, and hugs the sound of the announcer’s hoarse voice, roaring the plays. I clean, wipe, toss, dust, vacuum, reorganize, shuffle food, cook, make lists and do laundry in between all of the games of the year. For the moment, she is content, happy even.

The Great Trash Capor

September 3, 2013

The neighbor lady phoned into the police station to report a woman tossing loose garbage into her private trash can. She wanted to “shout out” to the neighborhood encouraging them to place their cans inside the fences, to prevent the onslaught of people, unwilling or unable to have their personal company cans to fill. She claims to not be able to determine just what kind of perilous rubbish is being housed in her receptacle. Who does that? I predict a future when we will no longer have a place to throw “away” to and then what-hoarding our smelly compost in the back yards, building sheds on top of the piles, to prevent them from taking control? Maybe having to figure out a way to eat our refuse, in order to diminish the mountain.

I have bigger things to worry about in my household. Have to take a sponge bath since I do not have tepid, let alone hot water from the showerhead, bathroom sink nor the kitchen. Do not have the courage to wet my back or stomach with ice cold water. The falls in Hawaii are warmer than this. I get concerned thinking about those frigid winter mornings when my nostril hair will freeze in contempt. Sent a pleading note with my rent this month, to fix the heater, pipes or feed the starving elves in the basement who keep the coal stove lit.

The woman who used to torture me through the ceiling shows up looking for her son today. Apparently he takes the school bus to our corner stop and she will collect him. He is nowhere to be found. Changing the route is probably under swapping the postal address on her To Do List. It sounds as though she has a lot on her mind these days so I simply give her the go ahead to have her nine year old come here and wait, if need be. No sense having him in a panic on the street corner after the bus drops him off. He can hang out with me, the dog and cat, have a cookie and glass of rice milk while we wait.    

Fare Day

September 2, 2013

“We already spent $180 today so I have to go back to the cash machine line,” she belted as I passed, on the way to the Fairgrounds exit. Another woman admitted they were out a mere $80 and has to take the bus home immediately, before she has to file bankruptcy. I am shocked and dragging my left foot more than a bit, while juggling an apple caramel malt from the Dairy Barn, three cow face masks for Taelor and her roomies, and my sack full of snacks from before the parade. Rode in my good friend’s fairy car, didn’t manage the “wave,” very well, however.  I succumbed to the Queen Wave, in the end, whatever that is. Should have gotten “elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist” lessons prior to the event. Drat.

The dude in the yellow corvette claimed to be waiting for the darling tall blonde to ride in the back of his car. My girlfriend and I exchanged a “loser” look and continued to pretend we cared whether she appeared in his life to save the day, prior to the parade send-off. I declined his lame half-hearted offer to sit in the back of his fancy sports car after the beauty queen failed to grace our presence. Too bad for him. I had a grand time in the fairy car, declaring little children can turn into fairies, with the wave of my magic, glittery branch wand.

Don’t do mobs well. The last time I was in a crowd of over 60,000 bodies was in Seattle at the anti-war march. It was a moving and powerful attraction, though didn’t give me much fuel for confidence in the White House members, who fell short in listening to the general public’s wishes.

I shuffled along at the Fair for a few hours, got several flat tires on my bad ankle. I am reluctant to “give way” though I never quite certain I was headed in the right direction. The people watching is always good but seeing the newborn piglets made my day. I am good for another year or five.