Brian = 29

This weekend Brian and I were talking about the idea of starting a women's center in Franklinton. It is something that the women in the neighborhood think about a lot. While we were brainstorming, he said, "wouldn't it be great if the men in the community took over cleaning the women's center every week? It would be so symbolic!"

Hope you had a fun and relaxing birthday, Bri. I am the luckiest.

Changes

It all depends on what you mean by home

Whenever I think of St. John's, I think of the Robert Frost line, "home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in."

We haven't been to the 10:30am St. John's service in probably six months. Some of the reasons are legit, some aren't. We went this morning after having breakfast at Tommy's with Mom, Jim, and Sharon.

St. John's had a gluten free wafer waiting for Brian when we went up to communion. It was probably pretty stale considering it has been waiting on that special little tray for six months. I lost it. Because of the wafer. Because they were playing "were you there when they crucified my Lord." Because Brian said we were getting a table for six earlier at breakfast. Because my dissertation is almost done. Because my dissertation is almost done. Because our friends had just walked up to communion and I was thinking about how lucky I am to have our community.

Since I have never been able to shed one solitary, meaningful and dramatic tear, I ended up sprinting to the bathroom downstairs before my face turned all red and my nose started running, almost trampling G., our friends' daughter and one of our girl scouts. She waved to me solemnly as I frantically messed with the baby gate guarding the stairs.

I made it back to the service in time for "He's got the whole world in His hands," complete with Peg doing the hand motions and Craig waving the big cross back and forth as he walked down the aisle. Brian asked me if I was okay, and I was. I know we will continue to question our faith, our role in the church, and our role in the community, but for today I just sang along.

Home.

"I should have called it

Something you somehow haven't to deserve."

Halloween

I hope everyone had a happy Halloween! I can't believe that it is already time to think about Thanksgiving and Christmas.

It felt a little like Halloween at the street church meal today! The protesters across the street from the service had a little boy reading descriptions of hell and bible verses. Creepy. We think they are protesting the fact that we serve food without demanding a declaration of faith first. There were a lot of them today.

Long hair preachers come out every night

Try to tell you what is wrong or right

But when asked 'bout something to eat

They will answer in voices so sweet...

You will eat, bye and bye

In that glorious land above the sky

Work and pray, live on hay

You'll get pie in the sky when you die.

-The Preacher and the Slave (a hobo song complaining about churches that demand repentance before handing out meals)

Just Messing Around

Yesterday as I was walking Asher, I ran into R., a man who walks around Franklinton selling flowers. We have talked a couple of time. He kept asking me what I was doing all the way on Hawkes, so I am guessing he thought I lived at 123. R. gave me a flower, and I ran inside to scrounge up some money to buy a few more. I legitimately never carry cash, mostly because it is easier for me to tell people who ask that I don't have money then to try to figure out if I should give it to them. But tonight I found a couple of dollars and we spoke awhile in front of the house as I picked out carnations.

After Brian and I pulled up our garden, we put the remaining tomatoes and peppers that we couldn't use right away on our front porch. Most of the tomatoes were still green and needed to ripen. We've given some away to neighbors, but now they are looking a little grim. R. started eyeing them so I told him to take as many as he wants, although I warned him that they are starting to go bad.

He gave me a slightly accusing look. "They are going bad. You guys are just messing around."

Then he opened up the plastic bag he was carrying to reveal two gorgeous heads of romaine lettuce. Not the crappy iceberg lettuce, but really dark, rich stuff. I commented on how good it looked, and then he tried to give me half of it.

While this was a quick interaction, it left a strong impression on me. Mainly because....

1. At least in part, we are just messing around. Brian and I love the idea of gardening and responsible food production, but we get so busy that we do a terrible job of preserving it. Letting produce rot on our porch is a crime. My goal for next year is to produce more food and make sure that we can or freeze the excess.

2. R. had two amazing heads of lettuce in his pack and was really excited to get more produce. This just reiterates the importance of all of the community garden projects the community is working on, especially Franklinton Gardens. I probably should have taken some of the lettuce he offered as trade, which would have been a more equal interaction.

3. As R. was going, he looked back and said, "you are all so nice." As Brian and I biked home a few days ago, some kids on the street yelled, "hey Ashley and Greg!" I am not sure how our neighbors conceptualize our group, but something tells me we are interchangable.

Finding Jerusalem Slim

You call me Christ Jesus with intelligence slim
But I was a rebel called Jerusalem Slim
And my brother: the outcast, the rebel the tramp
And not the religious, the scab or the scamp
-Nineteenth century Hobo poem

I am taking a break from editing chapter three and starting research on my last dissertation chapter. This is the mystery chapter, since nobody on my committee (myself included) liked the proposal. So I think I am going to write about hobo communities in the late nineteenth century, if I can find enough about female hoboes. I will also look at the photos taken of homeless people by Riis, etc.

Hoboes: People who wandered looking for work
Tramps: People who wandered and asked for handouts
Bums: People who stayed in one place but didn't work

Churches were often the last resort for hoboes since they had to do hard labor and listen to long sermons before getting food. The food they received was often meager, like bologna sandwiches and thin soup. However, many of them were spiritual and referred to Jesus as "Jerusalem Slim." They saw him as a hobo who wandered around and shared his story, just like they did.

Long-haired preachers come out tonight.
Try to tell you what's wrong and what's right
But when you ask for something to eat
They will answer you in voices so sweet.

You will eat bye and bye,
In that glorious land in the sky;
Work and pray, live on hay
You'll get pie in the sky when you die.
-Joe Hill ballad, "The Preacher and the Slave"

There is a church protesting our street church. As far as we can tell, it is because St. John's doesn't require any religious commitment before giving out food. They stand across the street holding signs during the service. It is hard to know how to respond.

We are trying to get back into going to street church. It is really the most authentic spiritual experience I have had, but it has been really hard to get into going to any kind of church lately. I feel like Sundays are the only days we have to figure things out at home and relax a little, and we are never sure what form our spirituality should take. Everywhere I go in Franklinton, I see Jerusalem Slim.

Coming Home!

Quick blog post from the airport!

We are getting ready to head back to Columbus from Boston. It has been a busy couple of weeks. Last week we were in Michigan with my college roommates, which was awesome. It was nice to get caught up and spend some time relaxing. I am lucky to still be able to hang out with my college friends.

We have spent this week in Boston! I LOVE it! As per my facebook status, our new plan is to put a lot of pressure on our future children so they feel like they need to go to Harvard to get our approval. Then we can visit a lot. There is something historical everywhere you go. Ashley and Greg were awesome and showed us around. Greg's parents, Jan and Tim, made us feel like part of the family. We went to Concord and saw Walden Pond, Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, and toured Louisa May Alcott's Orchard House. It was incredible to walk where Emerson, Thoreau, Hawthorne, and the Alcotts all hung out. What an amazing group of minds. They spent so much time debating the same issues we are worried about, but I think they spent less time dance partying. I am sure that is the only difference. I will post pictures when I get home!

At Harvard, I read through Abba Alcott's journal fragments and autobiography, and some newspaper clippings about the family. I will probably not post pictures of those since I am pretty paranoid about all of the papers I signed saying I wouldn't distribute the images. I got to hold some pressed flowers from Anna's wedding (Meg in Little Women) and some flowers marking the diary entry after Lizzie's (Beth) death. I was actually tearing up in the library, but don't tell the real Harvard people. Diary entries are tough to read when you know the outcome. Abba kept writing about how Lizzie was rallying and I was like, oh dear, she is not. I can't believe that I got to read the Alcott material for myself! I am going to incorporate the information in my chapter tomorrow and then finish drafting chapter three for my writing group meeting next week.

As much fun as I have had the past couple of weeks, I am glad it is September and I am on my way home. I am looking forward to the fall and getting back to a regular routine. I miss everyone!

Love Song for Jane Addams

And then there was the night

the city barn burnt down,

charred horses screaming

who couldn't be shot without official permission

and no one could get the officials

out of bed.

So they called you. Never mind

the prostitutes, illegitimate babies,

kindergartens and reading clubs.

It was the way you stood there

stone-faced, all chi rho cross and conscience

until the final silence came. Your knowledge

of what it took to end

the suffering.

When you said

we never tire of doing

what we know is right

I know you meant it.

But when you get this next gift

please keep it for yourself.

No Solutions

I haven't posted in awhile, but I somehow always want to blog when I am supposed to be actually writing my dissertation. I wrote a pretty big section today, though, so I think I will take a break!

When we were driving home on Tuesday, we saw a middle-aged man in a nice car who obviously was looking for a prostitute. He pulled over on Martin, right next to Sullivant, and without thinking I pulled over right behind him. He swerved out and kept driving, but by the time we circled around he had a woman in his car. So we followed him back to Bellows until he finally pulled over to let us pass. We looked him in the eye as we drove by. He was laughing. I couldn't see the expression on the woman's face.

I am not sure what we were trying to accomplish by following him. I didn't want him to get out of the car and talk to us. I really didn't want to start a fight and I knew he was still going to pick up a sex worker that afternoon whether we followed him or not. I guess we wanted him to know that someone was watching him and maybe make him a little nervous. I don't know why he was laughing, but I can't stop thinking about it.

We just finished a powerful conflict resolution class taught by our friend Kyle. A lot of it took place in the spring when I was too emotionally drained to attend a lot of the classes. I wish I made it to more. The conversations I remember most are the ones we had about sex work in our community. I feel so violent just thinking about the abuses to women in our neighborhood that it is hard to imagine a peaceful solution. Or any solution at all.

On a happier note, the goats seem to be doing well! We are getting them fixed up in the backyard. This weekend we need to fence off our house because they love nibbling on the shingles! When Jane Addams first became socially conscious she got a herd of sheep hoping to become more connected to the land. Unfortunately, she didn't know anything about sheet and they all got hoof rot. I am trying to make sure that that doesn't happen! I still have a lot of reading to do, but I have at least figured out how to trim their hooves. De-worming them has been more of a challenge, but it has been a good experience so far!

America, it's hard to get your attention politely

"Patriotics" is my favorite fourth of July poem, and possibly my favorite poem about America. Dr. Baker was my senior writing project director at Denison and is an inspiring teacher and writer. His class on Whitman and Dickinson is one of the major reasons I decided to study nineteenth century American lit. He taught all of us many meaningful lessons, but unfortunately the only two things I can remember him saying are:

1. Emily Dickinson makes Sylvia Plath look like a Disney character.

2. Gin and tonics are great summer drinks.

He took my writing group out for a drink right before graduation and ordered a gin and tonic, and for the entire first year of my M.A program I ordered gin and tonics when the students went out (which wasn't very often). I thought they were really gross, but they seemed literary to me after Dr. Baker ordered one. I figured it was either that or straight vodka like Esther orders at the beginning of The Bell Jar. Oh 22 year old Heather, so much to learn.

Now I am old and I love gin and tonics, and I still love this poem. I usually teach it at the beginning of my American lit classes to begin a discussion about American culture. Students usually read it as a pretty straightforward critique of America: the war mongering, the class discrepancies, the innocent victims of capitalism and personal violence.

Then we talk about the last line and I ask for the two possible meanings of the word "agape." It can mean "with the mouth wide open as in surprise or wonder" or it can mean the highest form of spiritual love, the love of Christ or the unselfish love of people towards each other. That usually makes the conversation more complicated.

Like my relationship with America. But I will let Dr. Baker explain.

Patriotics by David Baker

Yesterday, a little girl got slapped to death by her daddy,

out of work, alcoholic, and estranged two towns down river.

America, it's hard to get your attention politely.

America, the beautiful night is about to blow up

and the cop who brought the man down with a shot to the chops

is shaking hands, dribbling chaw across his sweaty shirt,

and pointing cars across the courthouse grass to park.

It's the Big One one more time, July the 4th,

our country's perfect holiday, so direct a metaphor for war,

we shoot off bombs, launch rockets from Drano cans,

spray the streets and neighbors' yards with the machine-gun crack

of fireworks, with rebel yells and beer. In short, we celebrate.

It's hard to believe. But so help the soul of Thomas Paine,

the entire county must be here---the acned faces of neglect,

the halter-tops and ties, the bellies, badges, beehives,

jacked-up cowboy boots, yes, the back-up singers of democracy

all gathered to brighten in unambiguous delight

when we attack the calm and pointless sky. With terrifying vigor

the whistle-stop across the river will lob its smaller arsenal

halfway back again. Some may be moved to tears.

We'll clean up fast, drive home slow, and tomorrow

get back to work, those of us with jobs, convicting the others

in the back rooms of our courts and malls--yet what

will be left of that one poor child, veteran of no war

but her family's own? The comfort of a welfare plot,

a stalk of wilting prayers? Our fathers' dreams come true as

nightmare.

So the first bomb blasts and echoes through the streets and shrubs:

red, white, and blue sparks shower down, a plague

of patriotic bugs. Our thousand eyeballs burn aglow like punks.

America, I'd swear I don't believe in you, but here I am,

and here you are, and here we stand again, agape.

Swallowed and digested

"Years ago I was much entertained by a story told at the Chicago Woman's Club by one of its ablest members in the discussion following a paper of mine on 'The Outgrowths of Toynbee Hall.' She said that when she was a little girl playing in her mother's garden, she one day discovered a small toad who seemed to her very forlorn and lonely, although she did not in the least know how to comfort him, she reluctantly left him to his fate; later in the day, quite at the other end of the garden, she found a large toad, also apparently without family and friends. With a heart full of tender sympathy, she took a stick and by exercising infinite patience and some skill, she finally pushed the little toad through the entire length of the garden into the company of the big toad, when, to her inexpressible horror and surprise, the big toad opened his mouth and swallowed the little one. The moral of the tale was clear applied to people who lived 'where they did not naturally belong,' although I protested that was exactly what we wanted-to be swallowed and digested, to disappear into the bulk of the people." -Jane Addams, Twenty Years at Hull-House

Sometimes it seems like Franklinton is swallowing us whole this summer. People are shooting each other. Families are screaming in the streets. Chickens are pecking each other to death. It has been a rough couple of weeks.

I am reading about Jane Addams for the chapter I am working on now. It takes me a long time because I can identify so much with her, a privileged women who loved literature and culture but felt drawn to a life in the slums. A lot of scholars suggest that too close of an identification with your subject leads to bad analysis. I'm sure a lot of scholars would also suggest that constantly stopping your work because kids are knocking on your door leads to bad analysis, too, so I try not to think too much about it.

Here is to disappearing into the bulk of the people!

Community Blog

Here is our community blog for anyone who is interested!

http://blessedarethe.wordpress.com/

When they ask you what you're thinking of...

Today Brian and I have been married for six years. To celebrate, we took a trip to Amish country. We talked a lot, ate a lot of wine and cheese, and listened to the Avett Brothers.

For just one chance to find

Love was someone that you loved to find
For just the sense to try
To walk ahead and leave the pain behind
If the days aren’t easy and the nights are rough
When they ask you what you’re thinking of
Say love, say for me love
Say love, say for me love

Your heart says not again
What kind of mess have you got me in
But when the feelings there
It can lift you up and take you anywhere
But the gravel beneath you and the limbs above
If anybody asks you where you're coming from
Say love, say for me love
Say love, say for me love

Say yes we live uncertainty
And disappointments have to be
And everyday we might be facing more
And yes we live in desperate times
With fading words and shaking rhymes
There’s only one thing here worth hoping for
With Lucifer beneath you and God above
If either one of them asks you what you're living of
Say love, say for me love

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q5m0jLpsyfU

Paranoia, Paranoia (nobody is coming to get me)

I am grading papers in my office. Somebody knocks on the door. I am immediately annoyed because it is probably our neighbor asking for money. I know she will not give me a hard time when I say no, but I don't go to the door. I don't want to talk to her. I am more annoyed because I want to go make cookies for our potluck when I am done grading, but now I feel like I need to hide in my office because she will keep knocking. Sometimes she will knock for twenty minutes. I know she won't give me a hard time, but I don't want to go to the door. My phone rings. It is Ryder. He is at the door, dropping something off. We talk for a couple of minutes about our upcoming potluck. I finish grading. I go downstairs to make no-bake cookies. We are out of sugar. I am annoyed again. Like always, I want to have the whole day scheduled and I was going to make cookies after I finished grading. I remember that I gave the same neighbor who asks for money some sugar awhile ago. So basically, it is her fault that I don't have sugar. Giving things away sucks because then you don't have them when YOU need them. I am really annoyed. I remember that I was just at Krogers on Monday. I could have gotten sugar. It would not have made a drop of difference in our financial situation and would not have taken any of my time. I have the car today. I think of driving to Krogers now. NO, I think. It is nice out and UDF has sugar. I live in Franklinton. Most of my neighbors don't have cars. I will walk to UDF. I am immediately on the defense. My shirt is too tight. I put on a baggy sweater. If a man in a nice car slows down next to me, I will flick him off. I will yell "Fuck You. Get out of my neighborhood." I will scream. I start walking. I walk down Dakota. There is a man ahead waving at me and he doesn't have a beard. I am immediately suspicous. It is Nate, Patience's roommate/ Allie's boyfriend/ local rockstar. We talk for a couple of minutes and I keep walking. I make it to UDF. The sugar they have is processed and expensive. I am annoyed again that there are no local grocery stores that carry wholesome products. Because I walked, I feel behind my self-imposed schedule. I walk home. Everyone is outside. Everyone seems like they are in a good mood. I say hi to an older woman reading on her porch. I pass the Kaufman's house, Dave's house, the Bowman's house, the home of two girl scouts, a community garden, and Gladden. A kid at Gladden stops and gives me a hug. The sun is shining. I get home. I am a little sweaty from wearing the unnecessary sweater, but that is all. The flowers are blooming around our house.

For Emily in Franklinton

"If I read a book and it makes me so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head is taken off, I know that is poetry. These are the only ways I know it. Is there any other way?" -Emily Dickinson

Emily, you got me through seventh grade gym class

and conflicted college nights.

I have loved you at twelve and twenty-two,

but what would you say

to the man on the street with the cart?

You, who cackled at your Irish servants

and copied your last name until it shone?

What would you think of the wild nights

on Sullivant in this city

where everyone stops for death?

Would you drag your white dress down

our streets, past the strip club and bars?

On hectic nights I hear you in the staccato dashes

of the police helicopter.

To know someone well and love them

is always an accomplishment,

but Emily, I have learned that poetry

isn't the only thing that can take off

the top of your head.

And nobody is asking if there is any other way.

Boundaries

When I hear about incidents like Ashley and Greg breaking up a fight last Sunday, I am devastated by the violence in our neighborhood and feel an overwhelming pain for the children growing up exposed to it. A (more selfish) part of me is also devastated by my fear for my friends. What if someone hit Greg when he stepped into the circle? What if that guy had followed Ashley home? A lot of days I want to encase my friends in bullet proof armors and store them all in the FCW warehouse, emerging only to pick heirloom tomatoes from the community gardens to eat. Because those tomatoes are worth coming out of hiding for.

Sometimes I think I should have become a social worker like my mom instead of an unemployable person who likes to read like my dad (sorry, dad). Once you see what is happening in our neighborhood, how can you spend any time on anything other than trying to make it better? Meeting with the caseworkers at Gladden yesterday, though, made me realize that I could never do the job. They need to have a level of practicality and personal removal from the children's situation that I can never seem to have. I'm not sure they actually have it, either, but they sure have to try.

I met with them to discuss some disturbing behavior happening in homework help. One five year old has been saying really inappropriate things and drew a picture of me taking a shower with one of the male volunteers last week. Her sister has started calling me "mom." The caseworkers are working very hard to contact their family, but say that it is difficult to prove any kind of abuse. They basically told me that I need to stay out of it, draw more boundaries with the kids, and stop walking them home. I don't know how we can have boundaries in our neighborhood. These kids live a block from me. I see them after school and at community garden events. Since I have moved to Franklinton, I feel like all of my boundaries have disappeared or expanded. The boundary defining my family as Brian and my biological relations. The boundary around personal possessions. The boundary of what is normative behavior. I know some boundaries are important, but right now they seem like walls society tells us to build to protect ourselves.

The madness of our age

On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, we gather at 123 to do morning prayers. We are reading through Common Prayers: A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals (2010). It is a book of prayers and songs compiled by Shane Claiborne, Jonathan Wilson-Hartgove, and Enuma Okoro. Shane Claiborne is best known for his earlier work, The Irresistible Revolution (2006), which discusses his journey from the suburbs to the community house he helped form in the inner city of Philadelphia. I started reading it when we moved back to Columbus, but couldn't finish it until we moved to Franklinton.

From today's prayer (sounds better read aloud with Kelly and Ashley):

Desert father Abba Anthony said, "A time is coming when men will go mad, and when they see someone who is not mad, they will attack him saying, 'You are mad, you are not like us.'"

Lord, help us to resist: the madness of our age

"Shroud"

In case it sounded like I was romanticizing our TV fast, I should mention that we JUST started "Lost" before the beginning of lent. Talk about bad ideas.

Today I was feeling a little gross due to a combination of having to grade papers, eating a bunch of girl scout cookies, and not using shampoo for the past week (more on that later). Luckily, things got better when Ani came on Pandora. It seemed like an appropriate fasting song with all of the shrouds we are trying to give up before Easter.

Shroud by Ani Difranco

I had to leave the house of fashion
And go forth naked from its doors
'cause women should be allies
And not competitors
I had to leave the house of god
Because the cross replaced the wheel
And the goddesses were all out in the garden
With the plants that nurture and heal

I had to leave the house of privilege
Spend Christmas homeless and feeling bad
To learn privilege is a headache
That you don't know that you don't have
I had to leave the house of television
To start noticing the clouds
It's amazing the stuff you see when
You finally shed that shroud

I had leave the house of conformity
In order to make art
I had to be more and less true
To learn to tell the two apart
I had to leave the house of fear
Just about as soon as I could crawl
Ignore my face on a wanted poster
Stuck to the post office wall

I had leave the house of self-importance
To doodle my first tattoo
To realize a tattoo is no more permanent
Than I am, and who
Ever said that life is suffering
I think they had their finger on the pulse of joy
Ain't the power of transcendence
the greatest one we can employ

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TrUQqSAvr30

Lent

I haven't given up anything for lent for years, but I have been feeling lately that I should quiet things down a little and the days before Easter seem like a good time to do that. So I gave up facebook, which I check constantly. It is more of a compulsion for me than anything: I check my e-mail and I check facebook. I am usually only on it for a couple of minutes to read status updates, but whenever I am working on my computer and I get stuck, I immediately go to the site. It has been easier than I thought to give it up. It is fun to see what everyone is doing, but I usually know what is going on in the lives of people I am closest to without status updates, and reading a few lines on a profile doesn't really give me enough information to say I am in touch with the rest of my "friends." It is fun, though, and it keeps me connected to a lot of people who are far away geographically, at least to an extent. I am sure I will get back on as soon as lent is over, but it is giving me one less reason to procrastinate on my school work. I have cheated to answer messages!

Brian gave up alcohol for lent. He really should start a whole blog just about that. He has not cheated at all. He never does once he has decided something.

Together, we gave up watching tv except for documentaries. We really get into routines with television. It is how we unwind after a long day of work. We usually watch an episode or two of MASH in bed, too (nothing stresses me out more than war, illness, and doctors, but I am secretly in love with Mike Farrell. We saw him give a talk on social justice at Wright State and he is still awesome). Like alcohol, tv shuts off our minds and helps us relax. I don't think there is anything wrong with doing that every once in awhile, but we are not always good at doing things in moderation. It is one thing to watch an episode before bed, but another to get home from work, turn on the tv, and zone out all night.

Friday night was rough, because we usually watch a movie and have a bottle (uh, or bota box) of wine together. We weren't sure what to do, but we ended up having some good conversations and getting a lot done around the house. In fact, we are getting A TON of stuff done around the house. We always said that we were too tired when we got home from work to do projects, but apparently that is not always the case. We are also hanging out with people more.

Of course, we can't be constantly working on projects instead of watching tv. We need to figure out ways to relax together without tuning out. I am looking forward to figuring all of this out together!

Free Bitch: Wonder Woman

Most Sundays for the past few months, our friend Kyle has had some of the women in the neighborhood over to view films directed by women. Free Bitch cinema. Clearly, the final movie of the series was the 2009 animated film Wonder Woman.

There have been some memorable moments: the horror of the woods scene in Wendy and Lucy, the decadence of Marie Antoinette. But there is nothing quite like watching Amazon warrior women saving the world in an FTON basement with some of the most powerful women you know, and a guy who planned free bitch in the first place. Moments like this, and the vagina monologues reading, and our Thursday potlucks, and, and, and, remind me of the best parts of the university life, the parts that are suppose to lead to more compassionate and thoughtful individuals. Just like in college, forming bonds, sharing ideas, and being idealistic together is something we do nearly every day. It is more powerful, though, because we are older and it is not four years, but a life we are building together.

Sometimes I think Franklinton is the only college I have ever attended.

Vaginas and An Old-Fashioned Girl

"It's so much jollier to eat in sisterhood. Let's club together, and have a revel" -An Old-Fashioned Girl (266)

"You'll be shocked at our performances, Miss Shaw, but you can call it a picnic, and never tell what dreadful things you saw us do" -An Old-Fashioned Girl (266)

In Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale (1986), the narrator's husband says that he loves making dinner and that cooking is his hobby. His mother in law responds that countless women have had to die in order for him to be able to say that.

Reflecting on the amazing and spiritual conversations we had at our reading of the Vagina Monologues last week, I wonder how many times women had to meet before we could all talk about our vaginas, or how many times vaginas were discussed and not recorded.

Louisa May Alcott's An Old-Fashioned Girl (1869) discusses a gathering of women that made me think of my friends, mostly because it is a potluck. They are all independent women working together to become "strong-minded, strong-hearted, strong-souled, and strong-bodied" (264). It is a feminist scene in a fairly traditional novel. I always remember that LMA wrote what I consider one of the most horrifyingly true feminist lines of the nineteenth century (in Little Women [1868]when the always-loving Marmee admits to Jo that she has been angry nearly every day of her life).

"We'll show you the sunny side of poverty and work, and that is a useful lesson for anyone...," answered Polly, hoping that Fan would learn how much the poor can teach the rich, and what helpful friends girls may be to one another" (271)

Valentine's Day

Valentine's Day is a ridiculous corporate holiday. Believe me, I use to work for Hallmark. That being said, it can also be a reminder to tell people that you love them. Since most of my posts are agonizing over FTON stuff, I thought it would be a good time to talk about one of the most important reasons why we are here: our amazing friends. So because I am usually better at writing than talking...

Ashley- I love that you cycle with the chickens and throw your whole heart into everything you do. I love how passionately you care for your friends/family and how you still think of your patients when you get off of work. I love how you love women.

Brian-I love how excited you are about your job and how you are always planning for the worker's revolt. I love how well you understand me and that our future kid's first words are probably going to be "fucking republicans." And a lot more. You know.

Dave- I love how much you think about things and how generous you are with your house and time. I don't love it when you leave without saying goodbye, but I do love how smoothly you appear and reappear at 123. You might be a superhero.

Greg- I love how modestly good you are at so many things, especially music. I love that you always seem so calm (not that you have to be!) and how great you are interacting with kids.

Hannah- I love how much you do for other people. I love your tattoos and how you don't take shit from anyone but love everyone so much. I love how you can say no when you need to. I love how you love women.

J. Meier-I love how you give everything you have away. I love that you always seem to know the right prayer or protest song or your mom joke. I love how you are going to be the only one who survives the zombie apocalypse because you are so handy.

Jed- I love how you always include people in conversations and remember little details about everyone. I love how much you care about the kids in FTON and how you keep Bri in line.

JY- This is dorky, but I love how organized you are about FCW, especially your super detailed e-mails. I love how honest and analytical you are, and how many times you have watched the Harry Potter movies.

Karen- I love how kind you are and how much time you spend cooking delicious and healthy potluck meals for everyone! I love that you guys have decided to make the drive to FTON and be a part of the community.

Kelly- I love how deeply you care about everything and everyone. I love how strongly you feel things and how you always get the job done. I love how you understand. I love how you love women.

Nathan-Ditto on the drive thing-it may seem like a short drive to FTON but it is a long culture shift, if that makes sense. I also love your awesome dance moves!

Patience- I love how you send people postcards and how you love Walt and Emma G. I love how you are better at reading poetry out loud than any of my English teachers and how passionate you are. I love how you love women.

Rachel- I love how your house is an extension of you and that you bring color and happiness to FTON and your friends. I also love your awesome dance moves! I love how you love women.

Ryder-I love how you built a house for Thoreau. I love how well you get along with everyone and still hang out with your friends outside of FTON. I love how much you love candy and Kelly, not in that order.

So mushy but true! Even though I don't say it enough, I love you all and am so lucky to call you my friends/family. Framily.

White

Apparently having a dissertation draft due makes me want to blog more.

The first grader I tutor is possibly the smartest kid in FTON. Her family is from Tanzania. Both her older siblings are in college and her mother checks in on her at school all of the time. Even though they are Muslim and don't celebrate Christmas, they get me a vanilla scented holiday candle every year. I wonder how they feel about the neighborhood.

Today, we were picking flashcard words and trying to make sentences out of them. Since it has been snowing all day, I put down, "Today is full of white ---." "How do you think I am going to finish the sentence?" I asked. She looked around her inquisitively and said, "Today is full of white children?"

Warm

It is winter and cold. We try to keep the heat pretty low, to save resources and in solidarity with our neighbors who can't afford their gas bills or are on the street. Honestly, we feel guilty heating an entire house for two people.

Sometimes I get really cold and annoyed and turn up the heat.

Sometimes I get really cold and annoyed and think about Thoreau, who said that the rich aren't just warm, they're unnaturally hot. And I keep the heat down.

Today, I came into my office and found Asher shivering in front of the turned-off space heater I use when I am working at home.

We aren't planning to have kids any time very soon, but it is probably our next big step and we spend a lot of time thinking about and researching things before they actually happen. When I saw Asher staring up at me reproachfully with her big, crazy dog eyes I felt horrible. I realized that when we have kids, we are going to have to make our house warmer.

Why does Asher deserve to be warmer than the street cats, that I also name and worry about? She doesn't, and I don't deserve to be warmer than Ed or Bill or anyone on the street. But she is MY dog and I love her and I want her to be safe and sheltered.

What else will have to change?

19th Century Community Fail: Fruitlands

"We are all a little wild here with numerous projects of social reform. Not a reading man but has a draft of a new community in his waistcoat pocket." -Emerson, (1840)

Brian is fond of saying that no community ever really fails, because any amount of time living your ideals is a success no matter how long it lasts. That being said, if a community could fail, it would be Fruitlands, the current topic of my dissertation.

Fruitlands was started by Charles Lane and Bronson Alcott, who is now better known as the father of Louisa May. Like most Utopian communities of this time, they strove to blend manual and intellectual labor in order to become increasingly spiritual individuals. The cards were stacked against Fruitlands from the beginning. They planted too late and were overwhelmed with entertaining visitors eager to see the experiment but not work for it. The somewhat eccentric thirteen members of the community included a nudist and formerly institutionalized philosopher, who were more interested in talking than weeding. To top it off, Lane and Alcott decided to go on a lecture tour right before harvest, leaving Abba Alcott (his wife) and the future stars of Little Women (all under thirteen at the time) to do all the work.

The main reason the experiment failed, though, is the struggle over the definition of family. Lane argued for a consociate family of all people. Abba constantly maintained her preference for her biological family, recognizing the importance of a larger connection between people but fighting for the well being of her children above all else. Lane maintained that spiritual perfection couldn't be reached until the Alcott family dissolved their personal ties and committed to the larger community. When they ultimately refused, he left for the Shakers, an enormously successful community that rejected marriage and raised adopted children communally. (I would argue their success came more from their work ethic and ability to charge a lot for their furniture rather than their celibate lifestyle, but anyway...Apparently no marriages and few kids=money)

The struggle to balance the needs of your nuclear family with your commitment to the larger community is something I am sure we will struggle with, especially when we have children. Right now, the only way I could ever see us leaving Franklinton is if we felt it was seriously injuring our children in some way, although I'm not sure what that would look like. Abba left Fruitlands when the children were faced with starvation, but I am sure our experiences won't be as cut and dry. At the same time, there are many children we care about in the community who don't have the option to leave and why should our kids be any different? Shouldn't we continuing working to improve the community for all of the children?

Of course, a lot of our friends are successfully raising amazing kids in the neighborhood and this is not something we really have to worry about yet. So now I am going to enjoy the sunshine, avoid grading for awhile, and spend more time with the Alcotts. They are fun to hang out with. Tonight, "The Waste-Land" at the Wex and an Old Hundred show. My real friends are fun to hang out with, too.

"They said they'll be snow at Christmas/ They said they'll be peace on earth..."

Since it is almost Valentine's day, I guess I can write about Christmas.

I haven't written a lot lately since things are busy with school. Also, it really hampers my Christmas spirit if I analyze the holidays too much.

I was so lucky to get to spend some amazing times with family and friends this holiday season. It did seem like a series of binaries, though, if that is the word I want. We decorated our house on the day of Junior's memorial service. I wanted to do a whole post on that, but I couldn't.

A couple of days before Christmas, a man was murdered on West Park, where a lot of our best friends live. Christmas eve, we went over to 123 to get eggs. An older woman was walking home and asked about the community garden. When we explained, she seemed so relieved. She said that everyone in her family had warned her about Franklinton, and as soon as she moved in there was the murder. She was excited to hear about the garden and the good things going on here, too. It doesn't sound like much of an interaction, but it was for me.

As usual, it was all good things for me this Christmas, and I am so lucky. But I still kept thinking about our girl scouts telling their caseworkers what they want for Christmas and Lee Anne reminding us at Junior's service that we can't feel like we failed him. And still feeling like we've failed.

So that is my melancholy reflection on the holidays, but I am excited about 2011! Great things are happening with the bike shop and the community gardens and we are looking forward to getting involved however we can. My dissertation is moving (slowly) along and I have another fun group of students this quarter. This Friday, some of the girls are going to read For Colored Girls who have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow is Enuf. I can't wait!

To summarize my post and look forward to the reading:

"i usedta live in the world

then i moved to HARLEM

& my universe is now six blocks"

-Ntozake Shange