End of the Quarter

"I move on to another day
to a whole new town with a whole new way.
Went to the porch to have a thought,
got to the door and again, I couldn't stop.

You don't know where and you don't know when.
But you've still got your words and you've got your friends.
Walk along to another day.
Work a little harder, work another way."

-Modest Mouse, "World at Large"

(dys)topia

Good News: I submitted my first chapter draft to my advisor on Tuesday! It has gone through some writing group workshops, which were really helpful, but I know it still needs a lot of work. Still, it is nice to have something solid accomplished. It is called "Rethinking the Industrial Utopia: Factory Work, Alternative Homes, and Class Mobility."

On Tuesday, I also asked one of our girl scouts if she is writing a letter to Santa. She looked at me like I was crazy and said, "I tell my caseworker what I want for Christmas." Moments like this are just surreal for me. My parents did an amazing job at Christmas at my house. They used different handwriting and wrapping paper for Santa's presents, left cookie crumbs, pipes, and even ashy footprints. This is probably why I believed in Santa until I was like, fifteen. Of course, Brian's favorite Christmas memories are of his grandfather getting out his shotgun on Christmas Eve and saying that he is going to shoot Santa. So every family has their Christmas traditions, but bringing in a caseworker changes things.

Today, Brian pulled up to the house and a woman came up asking for a ride since it was raining. Bri said sure, and once she was in the car she started saying how cute he is and asking if he wanted a "date." He said that he is married and she started talking about how his wife will never know. He asked where she wanted dropped off and she said she didn't care; she thought they would just park somewhere. Then she spent the rest of the ride apologizing profusely, which I think is the saddest part. My stomach has hurt ever since he told me the story. I can't even formulate how helpless I feel when I think about the system of sex work that goes on daily in our neighborhood.

Well, sometimes I just need to write about these things before I start my schoolwork! Now I am going to read Strange Cults and Utopias of 19th Century America. AWESOME!

More Food Rants

I just got back from a meeting at St. John's for people serving food at the community meals on Wednesday and Sunday. We talked about how volunteers can foster healthy eating habits through the meals they serve. This was a great idea, because the majority of the churches serve complete crap. I know it is very hard to serve nutritious meals for a large crowd, but Ash and I were pretty pissed off at the women wearing fancy jewelry and saying they can't afford to buy the healthier products. Ashley did a great job of explaining that Franklinton Gardens is happy to provide discounts on their produce, which is awesome even though it would definitely raise my blood pressure even more to see the gardens mark down their already incredibly reasonable prices for the types of churches that serve the meals. As long as it gets to our neighbors, though.

I wanted to say, "look, just serve food that you would want to eat yourself." It is not a hard concept. As a community, we are incredibly picky about the food that we buy and the meat that we eat, but we only serve at street church what we would make at one of our potlucks. Sometimes that means asking for discounts, but places, especially Blues Creek, have always helped us out. I was also slightly annoyed at how many people claimed that poor people would not eat quality food. There is certainly a problem in Franklinton with the quality of food available, but I don't think food tastes are naturally a socioeconomic class issue. Most people I know, myself included, would rather eat junk food than vegetables. Access to good food and education is the key concern.

I sometimes think that a fairly constant sense of moral indignation is how I compensate myself for no longer eating at McDonalds and living in fairly close proximity to crack houses. I don't know how healthy that is. I also know that my views on community meals changed when I moved to Franklinton and developed actual relationships with the people I eat with.

This image is called "Christ of the Breadlines" by Fritz Eichenberg.

Phelps

"The reformer's blood and the student's blood have always had an uncomfortable time of it, together in my veins." -Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, Chapters from a Life (1896)

I'm sitting in a coffee shop in Granville thinking of how much I love scones and my life. It is the coffee shop where my writing group met my senior year. Dr. Baker would buy us coffee and we would workshop our poems. All my energy was focused on getting into graduate school and I felt like I was changing the world by going to Amnesty and Women's Emphasis meetings and discussing politics with the other students.

It is five years later, and I still meet with a writing group to workshop our dissertations. In some ways, my life has not changed very much. In other ways, I feel like a completely different person. It is becoming harder and harder to reconcile the work I do in the academy with the material needs of people in my neighborhood. I still believe so strongly in the power of literature to change perspectives and make people more compassionate, and see those social justice oriented meetings I attended as necessary, but am increasingly unsure about how to bridge the gap between Franklinton and the university. So instead, I spend too much time thinking about this instead of writing my dissertation or actually working in the community.

This tension is why I love Phelps, even though I am having such a hard time writing about her in my diss! She was passionate about both literature and social justice, and saw her work as an attempt to create a better society. One line in her most famous work, The Story of Avis (1877), always sticks with me. The female artist visits a tenement house and realizes that she "had to be a little color blind to misery for beauty's sake." It is a line I am still trying to figure out.

In a couple hours I will talk about my graduate school experiences with the English majors at Denison. I hope I can convey that being given time to study and teach is beautiful, but a privilege that should not blind them to the rest of the world. Then I will keep working to figure out Phelps and Franklinton!

Tired

Monday was the last day of the summer reading program at Gladden. My dad came dressed in his vintage baseball uniform and was a huge hit! As I was walking out, my very energetic five year old neighbor J. asked me if I plan to volunteer at the program next year. I told him that I wanted to keep doing the reading program for as long as I lived in Fton and my schedule allowed. He looked at me skeptically and said, "you are going to be very tired."

Going to Gladden once a week does not make me tired. In fact, since I've been off from teaching this summer, I'm not really tired at all. I don't like it! I get so much more done when my schedule is packed. I like going to bed at the end of a busy day and feeling like I've earned a good night's sleep! After reading all day and messing around the house, I'm hardly ever physically tired. I've read about how intellectual labor is often not viewed as real labor since there is usually no material product to show for your work, and I can understand people who hold that view. I am excited to start teaching again! Not that that makes me physically tired, but I feel like I have accomplished more after a class. Of course, the fact that Brian is literarly working sixteen and seventeen hour days also tends to affect how I view labor right now!

Home

It is summer, so the little girls down the street are playing with sidewalk chalk. It is Franklinton, so what they wrote with that chalk is "hookerz go home."

I am working on my dissertation at home now since I am done teaching for the quarter, but it is summer and there are gardens and friends and potlucks and screaming neighbors and a house that needs work, and when I look outside there are homeless men pushing shopping carts and kids writing about prostitution. Using "z" instead of "s." Sigh.

I am going to read now. Or maybe I will grab some sidewalk chalk.

"creepy/sad men driving Mercedes, go home."

1893

1893 was the year of Chicago's World Fair and when Crane self-published "Maggie: A Girl of the Streets." It is also the year our house was built. I have been mustering up every ounce of my love for the nineteenth century to deal with the repairs! It really hasn't been too bad, but our gas has been off for almost a week because of a leak. Brian cheerfully saying "just like in the nineteenth century!" every time we have to take a cold shower or try to fix something ourselves sometimes doesn't cut it.

I love our house and I am excited about gradually fixing it up. It is already in pretty good shape, but we have enjoyed making small improvements like creating a downstairs washer/dryer hook up. I am always torn about making cosmetic changes that aren't really necessary because that money could be spent to help many more people. We justified the new washer and dryer because the old one was broken and the energy efficient washers wouldn't make it downstairs. Still, we have made other choices regarding new floors and counters that aren't really necessary.

bell hooks writes about the importance of sharing material possessions and living simply in Where We Stand: Class Matters (2000). She tells the story of when she got a brand new car. She was committed to avoiding luxury items, but she always wanted a new car and got one for herself to celebrate some event. Suddenly, she was more cautious about letting people borrow her car. With her old car, it was not as big of a deal if someone dented or wrecked it, but now it would have much more serious consequences. She realized the danger of luxury and how it can distance us from helping those in need.

I've been thinking about hooks in relationship to our new washer and dryer, probably the biggest luxury item we have purchased in regards to the fact that they were much nicer and more expensive than we really needed, although we are committed to buying energy efficient when possible. I would love to have our friends in the neighborhood use the washer and dryer anytime, but suddenly I am even more reluctant to wash Junior (our homeless friend's) clothes. Granted, Brian and I decided awhile ago that it would be best to wash his clothes at a public cleaner because of some unfortunate findings in his laundry. Still, I wonder what the function of owning a washer and dryer is if not to use it in service of the community.

Kangaroos

Sometimes I'm really worried about how children will fit into our value system.

I know people don't appreciate our Asher/child comparison, but she is all that we are keeping alive right now. Asher has terrible allergies and is basically miserable all summer. The vet put her on a special diet. I explained our eating habits to our vet, and she put her on a fish based diet. Asher refused to eat the fish diet, though. I tried explaining to her that we generally feel less bad for fish than mammals and that there is a higher chance that they are wild caught than that the other meat is fairly treated. I tried mixing it with wet fish food, and she sucked off the wet food and spit the dry food all over the kitchen floor. So I went back to the vet and asked her if there is another option. There is another allergy option, and that is a dog food made entirely up of kangaroo meat. Apparently, dogs in America don't usually eat kangaroos, so it allows them to avoid all possible food allergies they might have developed.

Asher LOVES the kangaroo diet. So basically, Brian and I have turned down about a zillion delicious hot dogs this summer, but our dog is eating characters from Winnie the Pooh.

I'm trying to imagine convincing our future children that they should eat Krema peanut butter because it is local and doesn't have high fructose corn syrup. Or trying to explain why they shouldn't eat at McDonalds. I have a feeling that there are a lot of kangaroos in my future.

School is in session!

I just met with my dissertation committee and they signed off on my prospectus! I am excited to start writing! I still have some minor revisions to make before I submit my prospectus to the graduate chair, but hopefully those will be done this week.

I am also excited about teaching English 290 (US lit, origins to 1865) for the first time this summer! The Puritans are proving to be a tough sell. Today I thought I would hook them by showing a clip from True Blood and talking about what we find entertaining today before talking about how Rowlandson's captivity narrative was one of the most popular texts of the seventeenth century. There is a lot of blood and fascination with social others in both sources! It was an epic popular culture fail. It was nice to see the resident athlete and cynic unite in their distaste over my television reference, though.

In other news, our car keeps getting rifled through yet none of my CDs are ever stolen. It is almost as if people in Fton don't WANT the Twilight soundtrack! Yep, I might be going overboard in terms of my vampire guilty pleasures!

Old Radicals

This morning at church there was a viewing of Old Radicals, a documentary some friends in the neighborhood made about a couple who have been married 47 years and do peacekeeping work in the middle east. In the film, they talk about having the "grandmother effect," the idea that there are some things that even soldiers won't do in front of their grandparents. Just their presence makes people aware that others are watching and often changes violent behavior.

The film is amazing, and made me think more about living peacefully in Franklinton. A lot of other people in the community do witnessing when they see violent behavior, which means that they go outside and watch silently when they see a fight or drug deal, or even a police officer pull someone over. Sometimes the police need to be watched, too. Like the grandmother effect, it shows that others are watching the behavior and can change how people interact.

I like the idea of witnessing, but I don't do it by myself. I don't inspire the grandmother effect. I have the small and vulnerable little girl effect, which means that I am constantly aware and on guard when I am walking the streets. Even today when I was walking Asher I got nervous when a guy pulled over and said he liked my dog. Half the time when someone pulls over while I am walking Asher, it is someone I know in the neighborhood. Sometimes it is a guy in the car who says something innocuous but still makes me nervous. Once in awhile it is someone in a nice car or a student with an OSU hang tag who is clearly lost and probably thinks I am a nonthreatening person to ask for directions. Regardless, I am always on guard.

The man in the documentary stood in front of tanks because the Christian peace teams are trained to do whatever nonviolent actions they can to stop violence. I am clearly not at that point. Don't worry Mom. I think Brian is, which terrifies me. The girls always talk about how our biggest fear about living in the city is someone we love getting hurt trying to live our values. Anyway, that is another post.

The other cool thing about watching the documentary was the conversation afterwords. I got to hear the congregation's reaction, most of whom are a generation or two older than me. The doc ends with the couple talking about how anyone can be a young radical, but it is the old radicals who are really special. It is true that as we get more comfortable and stable in our lives it is harder to live our ideals (one of the things that worries me about having kids, but that is also another post). It was inspiring to look around at the women and men at our church and see how they are working for peace in their own lives. I was overwhelmed with love for the people at our church and the wisdom they bring. It reminded me how much I have to learn and how I need to be in community with those outside of our friends who are our age. That being said, I still ended up talking to Jed and Hannah after church instead of mingling outside the group. More to think about and work on!

Most of the people at our church are pretty liberal, but living peacefully is not a political issue. Certainly Christians are often represented as being conservative, but really trying to live like Jesus is radical in a way that goes beyond politics. Loving your neighbors is radical. Following the Bible's teachings on money and living simply is often terrifyingly radical and difficult. We have a lot to learn from each other.

Here is the link to Old Radicals. Check it out! http://www.noondayfilms.com/oldradicals/

Reunion

I went to my five year college reunion this weekend. I really only went to hear one of my favorite Women's Studies professors lecture, then Brian and I walked around town for awhile. None of my good friends went, but I still see my college roommates a couple of times a year, which is nice but not often enough! It is so hard to fit everything in now that we have jobs and families (or school and dogs).

It was weird coming from FTON to Granville and seeing all of the fancy looking alumnus. It is a bit of a culture shock, but I have spent the last almost ten years of my life on college campuses, not in lower income neighborhoods. While most college campuses do tend to cater to a privileged audience, I can't pretend that I'm not more comfortable in the classroom than walking Asher alone down our street. I don't know if that will ever change.

Well, Brian is writing a new song on his guitar and he needs me to sing backup. Better go!

Security/Systems

Well, I am selling out and getting a security system since Brian is traveling so much. I am not very happy about the idea of it, but understand that it is probably not a bad idea in terms of personal safety. I think a preoccupation with personal safety is a bad idea, but not one that I have been able to avoid.

Mostly I am unhappy about supporting a business that sells a product based on protecting material possessions. Unfortunately, we live in an economic system where spending money is often an effective way to show personal values. In capitalism, sometimes it feels like the most you can do is support the businesses you want to prosper and try to avoid those you feel are harmful. It makes money powerful, which is problematic at the least. It is why we spend $3 for half a gallon of local milk (which of course a lot of people can't do). It is also why we left our old church en masse when they said that raising enough money for a building extension would show it is God's will. When money shows power (or a vote), the poor are powerless (or voiceless). So I am uncomfortable spending money in the same way as someone living in a gated community trying to keep poor people from stealing their tv.

However, I also want to communicate freely with my neighbors but don't open the door when people come over and I am alone. I understand that these contradictions are a part of me living in this neighborhood and I am trying to come to terms with them. I also respect that my family has been incredibly understanding about our lifestyle choices and that getting a security system would give them some peace of mind. And honestly, it will give me some peace of mind, too, (until it accidentally goes off in the middle of the night when our street cats jump on our windows).

Anger

In her study on the subversive function of women's anger in the nineteenth century, The Artistry of Anger, Linda Grasso writes that "contemporary feminists must make sure women’s anger holds in our scholarship as well as in our politics” (193). Grasso makes a convincing case that nineteenth century women were a lot angrier than their (often Christian and domestic) rhetoric explicitly suggests.

I've never really thought too much about anger as a political force. I think it takes a lot to make me really angry (uh, right Brian?) The idea of harboring anger also seems antithetical to trying to be like Jesus, although one of my favorite Bible stories is when He overturns the money changer's table at the temple.

So I was surprised when I was suddenly filled with rage driving down Grandview Avenue. I was even more surprised that what triggered my anger was a family biking down the street together, since I am generally pro-bikes and family. I was on my way to Wednesday night's His Place at St. John's. His Place is a community meal that is an odd combination of homeless guys and elementary school kids, with a few church members and FTON residents mixed in. Kelly and I go to hang out with the girls in our neighborhood and make sure they make it home in one piece.

The bikers reminded me that the girls at His Place don't get to go biking with their families down perfectly manicured streets. Their parents work long hours and generally let the kids play outside all day by themselves and get walked home sometimes by people that they don't even know (not that Kelly and I are very threatening). I don't think the kids feel that they are missing anything, and I clearly don't think the suburbs are a preferable place to live. But of course when the sun starts to go down there is a pretty big difference between the dangers of materialism and drug dealers. So I was angry that some kids get cool bicycles, clean streets, and family time and our girls don't.

I think anger can be a motivating political force, but enough people have to be angry for things to change. I'm just figuring out what to do with my own anger, but the nice thing about living in community is that I know it is shared.

Health Care

Brian just got a new health care plan with his new job. I was pretty excited to hear that most of our prescriptions now cost one dollar. When the pharmacist told me the final cost I thought I was in Canada, or England, or France, or basically any other country that claims to be a major world power (okay, maybe Canada doesn't do that. That is how cool they are.) Anyway, my happiness was soon mitigated by the elderly woman next to me at the CVS on Broad whose prescriptions cost $157 (after she put one back).

To quote my favorite Fton graffiti: WAKE UP AMERICA!

Ben Reitman

Helping Brian read through court cases this week has really made me appreciate how much fun my own research is. While he is writing spreadsheets about septicemia, I get to read about Ben Reitman, a physician and self proclaimed "King of the Hobos." As if it wasn't enough to be Emma Goldman's lover, Reitman started Hobo colleges in Chicago and was active in the labor movement. He also taught a lot of Sunday School. I thought that his quote about religion was very interesting.

"My religious life may be a mystery to others but to me it is perfectly clear. They are mystified because to them religion is piety, morality, and inhibition. To me religion is love and service." (quoted in The Damndest Radical by Roger A. Bruns)

I am sure Ben will show up later! I think I am in love!

oh, kids!

Before this year, I hadn't spent a lot of time with elementary school aged kids. They are wild and crazy and hilarious! They make me wonder at what age walking stopped being fun. I don't see how elementary school teachers (like my moms) do it! Here are some of the funny things I've heard around the neighborhood lately...

M: My little sister's room is so girly. It is full of Disney princesses. It makes me want to die.
Me: How is your room decorated?
M: Hannah Montana

A: I am never having any children. Well, maybe just two or three girls so they can be flower girls in my wedding. (Okay, maybe given the neighborhood dynamics this isn't so funny!)

P: (to me) You sound just like a little mouse!

Me: (reading an animal book to F) Have you ever seen a gorilla?
F: (looking at me like I am a total idiot) There is one right on the page!

The Eternal Triangle

The "eternal triangle" of gender, race, and socioeconomic class has informed literary studies for a long time now, but it is generally accepted that gender and race get more critical attention. John Guillory gives the following explanation: "for while it is easy enough to conceive of a self-affirmative racial or sexual identity, it makes very little sense to posit an affirmative lower-class identity, as such an identity would have to be grounded in the experience of deprivation per se."

I'm trying to consider what it means to reject the idea that a working class identity is grounded in deprivation without romanticizing poverty. For now, though, I will affirm the happy events in Franklinton this week and leave the rest for my dissertation...

*celebrating Junior's birthday with our amazingly supportive family at St. John's
*kids on spring break riding their bikes and enjoying the sun
*breaking ground at the 123 community garden this Saturday

And so much more to look forward to this summer!

Intro

I am really fascinated by blogs, especially how men and women seem to post very different content. I just started reading the blogs of some people in my neighborhood, and frankly, I feel like an Internet stalker. It is completely bizarre to me that I exchange small talk with people after reading their personal thoughts. I often have to stop myself from asking them about something I read on their blog, especially since I ask a lot of questions in awkward social situations so I have to talk less. Public self disclosure is not really my thing, but I thought it would be less weird to read other people's blogs if I had one myself.

For the record, though, written diaries and journals are much cooler. I don't know what is going to happen to archival research. Hopefully contemporary writers are saving their e-mails and occasionally printing them out and sewing them into facsimiles.

My husband, Brian, travels a lot now. Everyone always asks me if I get nervous staying in the neighborhood alone, but I honestly don't. Our street is fairly quiet and our next door neighbors are amazing. Of course, it helps that there are tons of friends just blocks away that I know I can call if something happened. I always wondered what it would take to make me not want to spend the night alone, and last night I found out. Apparently, it is the swat team. Around five, a couple of swat team vans sped down our street. I checked out the news and a guy (off his meds) was shooting from his house a street down from us. The cops advised everyone to stay inside, preferably in the basement. About two seconds after I read that, I called my mom and escaped to the burbs. As I was driving away, I felt an enormous amount of relief escaping the city. I never felt personally threatened, but I just didn't feel like hearing the police helicopters anymore. Watching the news later with my family, though, I just wanted to be home. I really felt like my place was in the neighborhood and I was disappointed with myself for leaving. Mostly, it surfaced the nagging truth behind all my actions in the community- the fact that I chose to live here and can chose to leave any time that I want. I am enormously privileged and the options I have will always separate me from my neighbors.