Update

So, I haven't written in a long time. What is going on:

*Protest at Vazirani's court appearance Wednesday morning.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rKlWYr7ofvM

*GirlSprout revolution. No more palm oily cookies/ being hunted down by rabid cookie consumers as I walk Asher.

*Monthly meetings with my adviser trying to finish this school thing by June.

*"The peace of God, it is no peace, but strife closed in the sod/ yet let us pray for but one thing/the marvelous peace of God" -hymn at church this morning

*Goats bleating nonstop. About half of the time they are actually bleating, the other half it is in my head.

*Trying to get more organized around the house.

*Sunday morning coffee dates with Brian.

*Teaching Beloved, which is one of those novels you pray that you will one day be worthy to teach.

*Nail polish.

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.