The Roar of the Midwest

The first time I went to Detroit, Michigan, it was to attend the Allied Media Conference. That fateful June of 2007, I met some of the most amazing thinkers, writers, and activists I’d ever been witnessed.

One of the things that caught my attention (and envy) was the absolutely loyalty people had to Detroit.

At the time, I’d lived in several big cities in my life – Boston, New York, LA. I’d had my share of smaller cities like Aberdeen, Washington and Cincinnati, Ohio. I’d even lived in Managua, Nicaragua and Quezon City, Philippines as well. I’m rattling off my nomadic record to say that I’d never met activists who were born and bred in a city and determined to see it resurrect from the grave like I met the ones in Detroit.

Sure I’d met some crazy loyal Bostonians, New Yorkers who would die for the burrough of Brooklyn and those infamous born and die in the ‘Nati folks…but there’s a difference between loyalty or pride and urban blood love that translates into action.

I’ve spent much of my adult life lamenting the locus of my geographical soul. Like a pathetically, navel gazing fool, I’d spent so much time on what the sky scrapers said about me and my spirit, I never connected with the spirit of a city, cultivated a connection with its streets beyond what it FELT like to me. In short, I never gave anything or worked to make a city better than how I found it.

Now I live in Cleveland. I’d listened to movies that poked fun at Cleveland, that snickered at the darkening and hollowing problems that plague the city. When I moved here, I expected to cut out my own existence and stick to that. But now I’m opening myself to this place. I’m open to absorbing this lakeside city that is slowly emptying itself.

A city of problems, a city of frustrated citizens determined to see it grow, Cleveland is a place of strength in the face of delapidating buildings, abandoned warehouses, and rotting corners. But it is also the face of medical intervention, fresh and organic neighborhoods, unusually compassionate locals…the spirit here is raw, deep, and convincing.

So it bothers me when videos like this come out…essentially using old habit humor (read: negative) to list the city’s wrongs and embarrassing points. While it’s just another YouTube video, it gets under my skin that so many Ohioans are passing it freely calling it nothing but hilarious and a belly work-out. Ha Ha – Lebron James. Ha Ha – Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Ha Ha – “we’re not Detroit.”

For those who fight for dying cities – where the media is struggling, where the unemployment rate is worsening, where the ailing health of our youth is translating into more adult obesity and diabetes, where the gun violence lingers while the jobs flee – videos that commonly satirize poor, urban areas are angering.

It angers me. Greatly.

What makes a city great?

The culture, the diversity? The restaurants, the community amenities, the number of independent entrepreneurs it draws each year? The weather? Its living cost? Whether its a coastal location? Accessability to nature and the great outdoors? Its sports teams?

Maybe its its residents. The activists and educators and artists and bakers and leaders who are aflame with energy to see the city rebuild itself.

I don’t know if Cleveland is the place where I will die and be buried, but I know that the spirit of this city is a alive. Even if its turbulent, it’s alive. And those fighting for Cleveland know it is more than just a political talking point or a punchline for comics. It is our Home.

My How They Grow

Some people may remember that three days before Nick and I got married, my side of the family had our first baby born. My first nephew, Zach, was born June 1, 2005 and every year of his life is another year of life for Nick and I, for our marriage.

It’s been so funny watching him grow through the years and now Zach has two younger brothers – Jesse and Joey – and an older sister, Morgan, to keep him busy.

I took this photo of him on Easter, as he chowed down his ice cream. Sometimes watching kids eat ice cream just gives you a hearty reminder to relax a bit and enjoy life.

Patch These All Over Your Car

Sometimes feminist thoughts put me in an all too serious mood. I’m needing to go back to my roots…my side that is creative, humorous, and loves variety. My writing didn’t always used to be so long-winded.

I’m going to start making bumper stickers for my blog about whatever is on my mind.

Have a saying you want to see into a bumper sticker? Send it my way.

Written in My Plain Gendered Language

Since my induction to the feminist blogosphere, I’ve put much time into narrowing my focus. Widespread blogging seems too general, unfocused, and leaves me with little direction. Mostly, I don’t feel I learn as much as I want when I blog across the spectrum.

About a year ago, I decided to move forward in specific issues relating to feminism – defining “radical,” exploring sexual violence, faith, media, and womyn of color.

Every once in a while though, I wonder if focusing on “feminism” somehow limits my exploration of “gender.”

How does that focus change me, my writing, when and if I write: I want to explore feminism vs. I want to explore gender.

Is it the same thing?

Before I would have emphatically stated yes.

Now, I would emphatically distinguish that mainstream feminism and academic courses absolutely ignore the entirety of gender as an issue. Often times, feminism is conflated with the upward political, class, and elitist advancement of White women. Somehow, in some contorted, quiet way, I’ve often thought that gender has gotten lost in feminism. Sure, it’s pointed out when women, particularly women of privilege are abused, oppressed, or violated, but, for the most part, feminism and gender, ironically, are often not paired together in headliners.

I’m thinking, specifically, of the transgendered lives and experiences that I, admittedly, know very little about.

I am not and do not identify transgender and have often felt like my understanding is extremely limited by my slow understanding and deconstruction of socialization when it comes to gender roles. For as much as I analyze the experience of womyn of color, I often fail at pushing myself to explore the experience of transgendered womyn of color. Semantically, it’s easy to ask, “What about the transgender folks?” But to truly be an individual open to learning the struggles and causes of the transgendered population, the questions must conquer the fear and confusion.

And so, as someone suggested to write about feminism as it relate[s] to transgender, here’s my honest reply:

I don’t know. You tell me.

And I write that with as much respect and honesty as a womyn of color who once asked how feminism relates to US-born Filipinas with immigrant parents. I write that as someone who asks how feminism relates to a late-birthed sexual awakening and an even delayed political consciousness. How does feminism relate to transgender lives?

If I do not live a transgendered life, do not know the full extent of the pain and violence and discrimination suffered by transgendered womyn, I will not know how feminism relates to them, or even IF it relates to them.

Despite what is being written in the history of mainstream feminists in the westernized, classist world of iconic femmies with self-serving agendas, the truth is that feminism has the power to transform consciousness and spirit. It has the ability to challenge our very definitions of humanity and rights. I believe, however, that it must arrive in the grain of relationship and a shitload of humility.

Feminism, the study of women’s lives, excludes no one…in theory. Yet, we don’t live theoretically, do we?

We live individually, often to own detriment. We live so individualistically that we fail to even understand gender within feminsm and we fail ourselves. We fail as writers, activists, listeners…we fail as people, I think, when we forego others. Feminism has long bypassed transgendered womyn. I write that as someone who only sees transgender issues written about when someone has been slain. I write that as someone whose blog only mentions transgender issues a handful of times.

Truthfully, my goal as a writer is to point out the holes. Most people mistake that for seeing the negative, or constantly bitching about what’s wrong. But there are enough fans of mainstream feminism and not enough compassionate critics who long to see it do better than what it is currently doing. And the “doing” isn’t by feminism itself, but by the students and practitioners who claim to be activists within a “Movement.” And if the students and practitioners are happy with feminism, we are in big trouble.

It isn’t just about transgendered folks being ignored or how the issues are only mentioned in the blogosphere by way of violence and brutality, it’s the complete disregard for any gritty issue of gender when it involves unfamiliar territory. This is true for feminism as it relates to the disability movement, transnational or international womyn, immigration, faith, Katrina…the list goes on.

Feminism does not make itself relevant to folks like you and me. We must make it so.

In other words, your voice, my voice is needed to explain why.

Nick is Gone, I am Trying to Busy Myself

Whenever I am gone for long periods of time, I ask Nick how the time was spent. He always rattles off a million things that he did while I was away and how accomplished he made the time.

Nick woke me up at 4am this morning to say good-bye as he departed with 16 other folks from our parish to go on a mission trip to El Salvador.

I told him, “You better come back good as new with no swine flu or anything.”

Translation: Hurry back because I’m pathetico and miss you mucho.

Nick was active up until the day before his trip. His project before he left was to treat our lawn. I have about as much interest in our lawn as I do in car maintenance. (That’s zero, in case you’re wondering…) So yesterday we headed off to local hardware store to buy whatever it is that makes your lawn green, pretty, and bushy.

I always marvel at how honest Nick is with total strangers. The sales associate who helps us is always the same. It’s a nice 50 some year old man with a friendly face and dirty hands…like he was just cleaning the garage or something, and I think he recognizes us as the couple who never know what the hell they’re doing and once he starts explaining the process of how to fix anything in your household, the wife wanders away to look at the deck furniture and BBQ grills.

But, without fail, Nick has no issue with letting the Mr. Hardware know for the umpteenth time that we are clueless, helpless, and young. He begins with the same line, “Well, we just bought our first house and we know NOTHING about it.” He then emphasizes the NOTHING with a horizontal strike in the air with his stretched out hand.

I nod in the background.

Once he begins saying, “Treating your lawn can be compared to how humans eat. We eat three times a day, lawns need to be fed every 5-6 weeks….” I zone out.

And just like that, my thoughts lead me away and I find myself wandering around, sticking my head underneath the new and shiny grill covers, imagining when we will have our first BBQ.

Short and Sweet

On Friday night, Nick and I went out with our buds, Christina and Brian Emerson to a lovely outdoor bar to watch the Cavs.

On Saturday, we attended Zoey’s first birthday. Zoey is the youngest daughter of our friends’ Terry and Stephanie Mcafferty.

Sunday was hectic and busy with work.

Monday Nick began prepping for his trip to El Salvador (leaving tomorrow morning at 4am).

This is short because I am sad Nick is leaving for a five days.

Some days I am a strong as a rock, but other days I’m as weepy as the spring rain.

Today is the latter.

Letter #9

Dear Veronica,

Bloated, gassy, indigestion, and interrupted sleep. Is that you in there?

I’ll have a better idea tomorrow.

It’s almost two weeks since my little happy dance that I ovulated and your father and I are trying to keep our hopes reasonably low while I get up in the middle of the night because of gas pains and cramps.

“It could be my period, that’s all. But I really hope not.”

The wondering is torturous.

I remember in 1997, I went to one of those ridiculous fortune tellers who read my palm and told me two things. First, she said that my professional career would be diverse, that I would try many, many things before I made up my mind. She said I’d work with children, adults, in different disciplines and settings before I settled. Well she was certainly correct about that.

The other was that I would only have one child and that child would be a son.

I don’t know what these letters will look like if you turn out to be a boy, but it doesn’t really matter to me. I’ve fantasized about you, Veronica, a small piece of existence coming into the world through my body and should you turn out to be Isaiah, well, I’ll love you just as much.

It’s hard for me to focus on anything but my body right now and it’s glorious possibilities and horrendous limitations, but I keep my eyes forward. Not up, not down, just forward. I am setting my heart on hope, with a lot of strength.

Should you continue to exist only in my heart, I will continue to move forward in dreaming of what might be and being the kind of person I would have lived out as a mother – kind, stern, loving, challenging, understanding, and faithful.

Come to us. We’re waiting.

Love,
Mom

Bike Shop Talk

I had a free and open day. Nick was off in the afternoon.

You have two lovebirds, free as real birds, and a 70 some degree day in April? That’s good stuff right there.

We returned to our tennis practices. Or, shall I say, Nick lightly hitting the ball to me and I return it with full force while he watches it wail over the fence behind him. he’s such a good sport.

Then we went bike shopping.

Often when we shop together, it turns into a conversation about things other than what we’re shopping for. For instance, after we walked into the bike shop and learned about the different styles and amenities that come with the bikes, we thanked the sales associates and walked out into the bright sunshine.

When we were about 10 steps from the door, our conversation goes something like this:

Me: Sometimes I think it would be funny if there could be a big blimp above our heads that shows our real thoughts and what we’re thinking when someone is talking to us?

Nick: Like ‘Pop-Up Video?’
He makes the funny pop up noises to illustrate.

Me: (laughing) Yeah, exactly!

Nick: So, it’d be like –

Me: (laughing harder and interrupting him) It’d be like when he showed us that first bike that was $400, my blimp would pop up and read, “Mhm, that’s about $350 too expensive.”

Nick: I think it’d be hilarious if you could see two pop-ups at the same time. Yours would read, ‘Mhm, that’s $350 too much,’ and mine would read, ‘Mhm, looks like we’re not buying anything today.’

**If you’d like to see a fine example of the entertainment that comes with pop-up video, click here to watch a tune with Rick Astley. Doesn’t come with the fun pop up noise though… **

Never Admit You Saw Something When You Didn’t

Nick: Do you need the computer anymore?

Me: No, I’m done. You can shut it down.

Nick: I’m checking the weather, it looks like rain all week.

Me: That is awesome.

— wander over and point to the screen, specifically, I point to a design ad I made for the magazine I edit for which focuses on civic and political action —

Me: (excited) Hey! Did you see my design? I worked on it for several hours today. I think it turned out well. What’d you think?

Nick: (nervous because she just closed the window of my design) Sure, babe! It looked great.

I am suspicious because he looks nervous.

Me: You didn’t see it. It’s fine.

Nick: No, I did see it…it looked good.

Me: What was it about?

Nick: Uh…
looks at the screen regretfully at the blank screen

Nick: It was about potlucks.

Me: WHAT?

Nick: Potlucks.

Me: It had the word “potluck” but it’s not about potlucks. NICK!

Nick laughs hysterically at his failing efforts.

Me: What did YOU see in the design?

pause

Nick: (turns to put his arms around me and draw me into a hug that means he’s trying to change the subject) I see ‘feminism in motion.’

[‘Feminism in Motion’ is the tagline for the magazine and strewn all over the ad.]

Me: (shake my head) You are ridiculous.

Nick: I saw it! I swear, I really liked it. I just had no idea what it was about.