Time Marches On

I headed for 31st Street after dropping my son off at his job on The Paseo. Nothing unusual about this except I had to drive Phil's car--a stick shift and I haven't driven one in a long time and my timing was a little off--at first. I thought I would take a certain short cut to work but when I saw that humongous hill and thought about the coordination it would take to get out of first gear at that angle, I quickly, mentally mapped out an alternative route to 31st Street. To elevate my frustration level even the more, I couldn't answer my cell phone and shift at the same time. Oh boy, I missed Joe waiting for me at Truman's McDonalds, lost $1.00 in the parking meter in the coveted parking spot that I didn't need because my timing was off, Joe gone, and I was even later getting ready for the meeting True Light was hosting. To add to "bad timing" I forgot the water, mustard, and mayo and the only plastic table covering material was too short for the table and looked absolutely tacky! Did I say that the bread was not cut, the pickles were whole and nothing seemed to be going right? Ever had the problem of having your timing off a little bit? Whew! The good news is that I did not ruin the clutch, run into something, stop in the street unable to get the car into gear--my son said more than once, "Mom, you should have practiced like dad told you to." There are some things you just can't practice for.

Timing was off for the dozen or so people lined up to get into the nutrition class for the free food 45 minutes too early because we can only take the first 20 folks. Timing is off--those food cards that are supposed to last a month but most folks are looking to already severely stretch food pantries to feed themselves and their kids. It's summer and a lot of kids are at home. Do you know what kids do when they are home? They eat all day long. What's going to happen with the rising food cost and "food stamps" yes, I know they aren't called stamps, but by any name they aren't adjusting to meet the inflated food cost! My response to the too early line--let those people inside. They do not need the frustration of standing out on 31st Street suffering further indignity as if begging for a handout. We are all about hands up. Does anybody know what time it is? Looks pretty dire to some. Those folks argue about whether we are in a recession. On 31st Street, we're like feeling depression!

Speaking of timing, I got lost in the writing and burned the cabbage in Phil's good skillet. I can't get the window open to get the stinky cabbage smell out before he gets home and in a nice voice says, "Honey, what's that I smell?" Then, he'll come into the kitchen and with voice elevating a little say, "Alice, you burned up my skillet!" I'm always Alice when...."What were you doing; you know you can't do two things at the same time!"

You want to know something? I'm getting better!

It Ain't That Serious

Little Lady came to the office to ask for her brother's telephone number. So, I checked my numbers and no, no name found. She says, "Check D's name!" I did and found not that name either. I checked under Mike--nothing. Finally, I said, "Little Lady, I'm going to check under your name--Ann...." So I did and came up empty. Finally, I said, "Let me check under "L" for Little Lady and whoa...there it was. Little Lady cracked up! "Oh no you don't; Pastor Alice, you know you a mess!" "You the only one that call me by by real name." "Lady, you something else! Can I use the phone?" As Ann...was leaving, I called for her to stop and she said,"What you want now mama?" I asked, "You're a CNA (certified nursing assistant) right?" "Hup, that's right." Didn't you tell me you want to go back to school for an LPN (licensed practical nurse)?" "Hup, hup! "What's stopping you, alcohol?" "Hup." And the conversation sent on to sobriety and reasons. Well, I told Little Lady that I was going to write about her. Laughing, she asked if I was writing about finding the telephone number. I said, "Nope, I'm writing about the laundry." She roared with laughter. "Oh, no you don't, lady, you something else." I'll tell you about the laundry sometime. It ain't always serious on 31st Street.

Oh Happy Day

Let me tell you about the storm last night! The lightening was horrific--no, not quite, it was strickingly beautiful. The storm caused me some minutes of concern as the rain, hail and wind ripped at my car. The sound upon the roof top was l o u d like some irate thing banging and demanding entrance. As I passed under a viaduct, the silence was deafening like a movie with the sound turned off. I thought about pulling over and sitting there until the storm passed but I could not afford to stop (remember can't means I choose not to) and pressed on. I got home without incident and continued to gawk at the storm from the window. I have always been fascinated by storms, especially lightening--horizontal, vertical, near, distant, radiating. I learned from mama that when the rain fell while the sun shone that the devil was whipping his wife and that if I gazed in, I don't remember which direction, I would perhaps see a rainbow. I still believe in rainbow's promises. One Sunday some years ago, I sat in the Indianapolis airport. My Southwest flight had not arrived because of bad weather. The clouds were thick and dark. As much as I desired to get on board and home to Kansas City, there was something quiet and peaceful about the storm that said this is one of those special moments-- a moment to relax that I might not take otherwise. When the plane arrived and we boarded, I wondered about the safety of taking off in such grayness, such thickness of clouds. Then the plane began to race down the runway and swiftly lifted up, up, up. Suddenly, to my surprise we were above the clouds and it was golden--pure gold--the sun setting and casting richness, unspeakable richness everywhere! I could only think about "streets of gold" somewhere, off I hope in my future.

First Time Is The Hardest

As we traveled I35 from Kansas City to Saint Paul, I remembered the first time. Phil, Rebecca, and I were on that highway taking Blaise, my son, to Macalester College. We had been up most of the night meticulously checking off recently purchased supplies from the suggested needs list. There had been piles of paper, boxes and stuff underfoot. We were excited with thoughts of what this new road held for Blaise and us and at the same time filled with the dread of separation. That was four year ago--four years since we moved Blaise into a freshman dorm with other scarred boys and girls, four years since we sat in that gym overlooking 400 plus empty chairs--one for each new student, ears bent toward the mournful sound of bagpipes as the players led our children in like piped pipers to a place where they would be forever changed. It was not easy batting away tears that swelled involuntarily into my eyes nor battling the loneliness that settled upon me even as I sat in a nearby hotel. We left a boy in a tiny room; he returned a matured, confident young man-- unfolding, reaching, searching for ...God knows what. Discovery is the journey!

One hour outside of Saint Paul, I realized it was somewhat different this time. Yeah, the excitement was there and a little sadness too at the realization that we had planned his journey thus far but now, four years later, the road taken or not taken is up to him. Will he plan his journey well or simply drift?

Hearts Made Of Stone

What breaks your heart? When I was a little kid, there was this song called,"Hearts Made of Stone," or something like that. I almost always remember some part of the lyrics to songs that I suppose came at some formative period in my life. Anyway, it went like "Hearts made of stone will never break...."

I went with Rachael of CCO to this ministers forum on Ward Parkway--beautiful Ward Parkway. Quite a contrast with 31st Street. There was an interesting question poised, "What breaks your heart?" Most of the meeting was introspective. The Pastor spoke of Jesus in the temple overturning tables and somewhere the question--rhetorical as I remember. When I came back to the Center, Ms. B sat outside in her wheelchair smoking of course with maybe three bags of groceries from the nutrition class beside her. She was waiting for her ride. I had to resist the tug to pick up those bags and wheel chair and wrestle them into my little truck and reverse the procedure after the ten mile drive, but I did! You see, it breaks my heart to see my almost chain smoking sister captive to this habit even though it is slowly robbing her of health a little bit at a time.

Little lady was waiting at the door. "Can I have some gym shoes. Mine are wet and they stink." We went inside for shoes only to be bombarded with accusations that she had called staff unconscionable names. It breaks my heart when trust and respect for another is long g o n e because we have long since lost self-respect.

Before we could settle the shoe issue, I learned that Ms. T. had taken a sack full of knitting yarn with my non-existent consent and had taken off. I took off too and found her sitting on the curb at the "pawn shop" her back to me and before the Mayor of 31st could cue her in I had the bag and was at my car door. It breaks my heart that those I love and would give my last to would feel that it's ok to steal from me--themselves.

It almost Mother's Day. Last Mother's Day I received a call in the pre-dawn. It was my son calling from the emergency room. He had been assaulted and robbed. He's like his mother. There was 1.00 in his billfold. My son was 600 miles from home and there was absolutely nothing to do but pray for our peace and that his injuries were not permanent. God granted me enough peace for the day or two and then I began to unravel. I could hear his screams in my imagination and see his assailants kicking and beating him. I hurt for him. Then, I remembered how, in my Christian tradition, God forsake His son to a beating....It breaks my heart.

Ms. B, Ms. Little lady, Ms. T. the assailants--all hurt people. In the words of the Bee Gees, "How do you mend a broken heart; how can a loser ever win....
I have some ideas and know that inner healing is real and possible. That keeps me on 31st Street.

Test--Pass Or Fail

Last night was a hum-dinger! That' so 60ish--the expression I mean. I got home after dropping my daughter, Rebecca at Target only to find my husband, Philip was stuck at his job because tornados were touching down. Imagine, daughter at the mall, sirens going off, husband stuck in another county and the storm moving my way. First impulse--get in the car and get daughter. After running that idea past Phil and being advised to stay put--the mall would not put people out in the middle of tornado activity, I switched gears and phoned him every few minutes--on his cell phone. I had to ask Rebecca for the number!

Phil got home just as the activity was centered over us--drove into the storm. Rebecca phoned. She had scanned the mall for faces--familiar ones in hopes of getting a ride. Thought about asking three young men.Oh, my God, that's terrifying. Fortunately, a former high school girlfriend came into the mall and she made it home to find that the sirens were starting to sound in her neighborhood. I passed the test! I didn't run out in the midst of the storm. Rebecca will probably have to take it again.

This morning it was as if nothing had happened with the exception of waking up with a half inch of water all around me. Phil insisted I get out of my bed and go downstairs just in case and I was too tired to move. Stayed on that uncomfortable sofa all night. Ever tried sleeping in an "L"?

Imagine this morning being hit up for 15.00 for gas by two innocent looking young ladies--white girls. They followed some guys to Kansas City and were staying with his friends. He had disappeared. "Where are you kids staying?" "We slept in an abandoned house." I asked what had happened to him and the older said he had called last night and was in jail. I sent them out of the office to privately check my tote bag for any sign of cash--usually there is none and today was no exception . But, I had a Quick Trip gift card somewhere, so I went into the waiting area and said, "Come in my office." The older girl said, "Oh, oh, we're in trouble." Then I gave the lecture about following some guy off...should be at home... The older girl says,"Yeah, I can't wait to get back to my country town."

I remembered the card was in the car. And when I got outside, these two chicks are sitting in the car with two guys! Hadn't I told them about the number of people I see trying to hustle us?
I leaned over and asked, "Why are you trying to get gas money from me when you got a man--naw (that's really county for no) two sitting in here. You got a man, you ought to have some money!" I asked the young men their names then I looked and to my surprise recognized one of the guys from, you know, 31st Street! He kept saying, "I'm just trying to show where the station is. They don't know...." And I wanted to say I'm boo-boo the fool too! Instead, I offered my mama's advice, "Don't be no sardine and soda cracker hustler." "Do you know what that means?" She looks and says," No-oo." I said, "You'll figure it out!" They failed the test.

Test come in various guises until we pass! Don't be no sardine and soda cracker hustler!

We May Never Pass This Way Again

I can see 31st Street in my mind's eye. From 71 Highway westward, long neglected buildings that introduce streets where neglected houses nestle, small warehouses--some seemingly empty, broken windows, cars and little car lots carved out of little patches of ground between ugly buildings wrapped in wire fences, dirty faced buildings--used tire shops with dirty clothed men sitting in front waiting for the customer. Oh, there are the barber shops, and M&M bakery. It doesn't look so great from the outside but the sandwiches and pastries are fabulous on the inside. I always say white folks will go anywhere if the product is good. There's Grady's Cleaners and another I haven't tried and across the Paseo, a shell of a building, the broken shell that was once Walt Disney's studio, where he most likely created Mickey Mouse. There is Father David's Egyptian Orthodox church and the neat Catholic Church and school where kids in neat brown paid uniforms recess on the fenced playground. Holy Family House is a few streets farther. Men and women, some with undiscovered reason and purpose idle away the hours on its porch, sleeping bags of the "guest" lay and sometimes the guest themselves lay over night. There is Kitty's Cafe--best hamburgers and True Light Family Resource Center and Church and Emancipation Station and of course people and buses coming and going.

Ann and Beverly were amongst those coming and going. One summer morning the doorbell rang at the small store front church called True Light. I hate to say store front but is was created out of a warehouse. My friend Linda Hollies said,"If its a store front make it grand." We tried. Anyway, two women stood and one said, "We heard we could come here and get something to eat. I nodded in consent as they stepped in. Beverly spotted the shower and asked if they could take a shower and then for clean clothes. They were excited! Once cleaned up they came into the "living room" and began to tell their story. They were staying in an abandoned building, huddled together at night for safety. There were others there--smoking crack and doing other things. That night they were awaken by a flashlight shinning in their faces--a big white man they thought might be a cop. They were scarred and decided they wanted to "come in".

We rustled up food and then began to talk about life. Beverly had been clean 6 or 7 years. She said one day she just got a "wild hair" and said "f... it." Ann was the more retiring, listening, always listening. She would sit at my feet and listen to scripture before going to Veronica's Voice--a ministry for prostitutes--that's how Ann and Beverly supported their addiction--no pimps, strong black women.

Ann and Beverly came to church from the shelter. Then Ann disappeared. On Sunday, she came back and showed me her breast area. She had been out there and a man grabbed her between buildings and started to cut her. " I was screaming and screaming and I was cutting him and he was screaming too." He let her go. I dropped her at the City Mission that late afternoon. She had a court appearance on Monday. She would come by the church after court.

Time passed, no Ann. Then, one Thursday she walked in during nutrition class, hungry and tired. Ann lie on the floor in a side room and slept until the late afternoon. I had to leave. There were no more Ann sightings until one mid August evening the news channel flashed a picture of a women whose body had been found at 35th and Prospect. I said, "I hope that's nobody I know." This woman was young and fresh and pretty. The next day, Beverly called to ask if I had seen the story--it was Ann.

Yesterday, Terry Blair, the serial killer was sentenced to life without parole. "The paper said, "Blair said his victims were "scum" and 'a disgrace' because they were prostitutes." Five women, maybe seven, some of whom passed my way.

"Speak up for the people who have no voice, for the rights of all the down-and outers. Speak out for justice! Stand up for the poor and destitute!" Proverbs 1 The Message Eugene H.Peterson