Follow-Up...

Yesterday as I headed out the door, I duct taped a note on my door pointing out a couple of issues to my landlord and inspector:
1. According to the Washington State Tenants Union we needed 48 hours notice for an "inspection" .
2. Please don't let the cats out.
3. Since you're here... could you change the battery in my smoke alarm. I don' t have stepping stool to do so - there is a battery on the counter and
4. Could you please find out whose leaving all of the beer bottle and cigarette butts around because that will be the thing that makes me leave that complex...

When I got back from practice last night I was expecting - I don't know, my window to be smashed in? (oh so much drama Michelle) - something - but there was nothing. (You also don't want to necessarily ruffle the feathers of the people where you live...)

I took down the notice.

This morning half way to work I realized that I forgot my cellphone and since I was meeting Pygmy afterwards I turned around to get it. Pulling partly into the parking space, I spotted the woman from upstairs. She said "I read your notice on the door. Thanks for saying something." (about the inspection? beer bottles or cats?) I said she was probably the only person who read it. She said, no, everyone read it. And since the landlord didn't come yesterday I should tape it back to my door.

I pulled it out of the garage, wiped the teabag juice off of it and stuck it back on the door.

Don't mess with a Derby Girl...

I am a bit in disbelief of what I did tonight... I came home from an evening of meeting friends out to plan a baby shower for one of my dearest friends in the world. I was in a fantastic mood when I drove up to my apartment and found dozens and dozens of beer bottles littered before my apartment (obviously not mine) and in shock to see an notice from my landlord that there was an "inspection" taking place tomorrow.

I felt, at first, a complete violation of my rights. Then I was angry about the beer bottles. And in a manner unlike me, I slammed my door, grabbed a garbage bag and in English and Spanish started shouting "Mi Casa! This is MY HOUSE." Grabbing the bottle I threw them in the bag, I threw one by my car, breaking it, just for dramatic flair. People poured out of their apartments and I kept yelling, THIS IS MY HOUSE! MY HOUSE. How dare you do this!

I was surprised. I was surprised at my complete anger. Beer was in my hair, on my shoes, I'm sweeping up broken glass. I'm furious. I'm stressed from work. I'm tired. I feel like my right are being violated . I also had to surpress a laugh ... the little of beer bottles had happened before. But this time it had ruined my perfect mood. I finished cleaning up, yelling and went on a walk, to get some air - to calm down - calling one of my friends to tell her how surprised I was by my actions. She suggested that I walk it off and go to bed.

It was really about respect. Respect for the place I call home from both my neighbors and my landlord.

While walking, I laughed because I'm sure everyone thought this is just some crazy woman yelling, about her house. The place I live.

They should know not to mess with a derby girl.

Believing in The Man and women...

On Primary Election Day Tuesday, I opened the doors at 5:30 a.m. with the knowledge of 10 poll workers and the possibility of a very light day of voting at hand. At the end of the day at 8:00 p.m. nearly 500 people had voted at this little community center in my neighborhood. Me and the Depot Judge (poll worker of the opposite party) who were both Gen Xers equally disillusioned from last elections followed our very specific route to the poll depot. There were tons of police and election workers about. The security was high as the long line of cars indicated that the polls were closed and accounted. We dropped off all of the equipment and both let out a "woot!" because it was awesome! (I had been fantastic to be a part of the process. It had been awesome to watch little kids try and help their parents vote. One little boy ran back and grabbed the piece of paper he had been scribbling on and tried to put it in the machine. Elderly people voted. Young parents did too. There were 5 older poll workers and my site, three high school students and two Gen Xers.) It changed my mind and that of my colleague and maybe, just maybe the system worked. Just maybe voting did change things. Maybe it wasn't all smoke and mirrors after all. And I couldn't wait for the election in November.

I had a friend take me out for drinks afterwards to thank me for my civic duty which was nice but even better was my restored faith in the system. I had wished I could do this in Cleveland, where the disillusionment is even higher as are the risks and the distrust of government. Washington state is moving to an absentee ballot only system - which means higher voter turnout. I'm not sure that would work in Ohio. I think people would be afraid their ballots would disappear or get lost. As they have.

The rest of the week was equally exhausting ending in setting for the second to the last Rat City Roller Girl bout. I got there after a happy hour drink with friends to assemble bleachers, scrub the "track" (um, not my favorite task), put up signs and turn an empty hangar into a magical space. A bunch of us headed out to a favorite Seattle dive - the Nite Lite - where one of our skating girlfriends worked to have beers and silly conversations. The bout last night was incredible and it has become just so much fun to be a part of this great sisterhood of female athletes who kick each others butt, push each other down and then drink a beer to such an event. I love being a tiny part of this.

Voting...

When I was a kid, I remember my dad use to say something like the priorities in life were to "Give blood, pay your taxes and vote." Those are the things you did and those values became a big part of my life (the giving blood has been complicated by my many travels abroad). I decided to become an election worker after the 2004 election in Ohio which was a disaster on so many levels; voter registrations thrown away; communities with more votes than voters; challengers, etc. I volunteered to be a Democratic Challenger in the last election. When I got to my polling station at the crack of dawn, four elderly women who were the poll workers in this tiny community were baffled by my being there. Was I going to stop people from voting? Didn't I believe in democracy, etc. I assured them I was there to make sure everyone had a fair chance at voting and by the end of the very long day, they invited me to come back in 2006 - they would love to have me.

I replied to a memo in the paper needing "poll workers" for the upcoming primary and election. I thought I had to be a part of this process; it was time for my generation to step up to the plate; I had to assure that everyone could vote fairly. I volunteered (it turns out you get paid); I went thru a 4 hour training and tomorrow I have to act like I know what I'm doing. I skipped speed skating practice to go over my notes, make a schedule, etc. I like the idea of voting. I like the idea that everyone has a voice. Though what an incredible difference there is between Seattle and Cleveland - even in voting.

Though, I am not that naive. I do think that a lot of this is like the "man behind the curtain" in the Wizard of Oz - there is corruption abound - votes disappear - dead people vote - countries get overthrown the the right leader isn't "elected" - ballots aren't read - impediments keep people away from the polls. I saw a bumper sticker that read "If voting really made a difference, it would be illegal." I'm not that bitter. I like to believe the other saying "All politics are local politics". And that's why I'm doing this. Because I'm an idealist. Because I want to believe people do and can make a difference. Because we need to believe we can make a difference and our voices can be heard. Because I really do want to get up at 4 a.m. and work until 10 p.m. so that 25 people in my community can vote in a primary. You better believe it - all of it.

Wish me luck.

Pictures from the AIDS Walk...

Stealing from the library, Paying into the "Favor Bank"

I was sitting outside the close Ballard Public Library last with my $20 Cleveland sweatshirt on typing an long email because I hadn't time at work to check them when I saw a man trying to push his car that clearly wasn't starting. After a few minutes of struggle, I went over to him and asked him if he needed a hand. We decided to push it to try and get it to start. That didn't work. I offered to drop him off somewhere and eventually he asked me if I could take him to The Fred (Fred Meyer) to get jumper cables. While in the store I consulted a girlfriend on using jumper cables (the car expert, my father, was already asleep I knew). We jumped the car. I found out he was an artist fromChicago who had moved out here 10 years ago with his wife. He was amazed at my generousity and said "You didn't have to do this you know." I told him it was no problem - really - I was glad to help. I wanted to tell him that we all need to pay into the Favor Bank so that we can cash out of it every-once-in-a-while.

25 years, unemployment and a poet in the park

Friday I spent the evening helping a friend/colleague get her house ready for the BBQ following the AIDS Walk on Saturday. We drank wine, swept dead leaves away from the back porch, mopped floors, washed dishes and drank more wine. Her home, the house she rents with graduate student, is slated to be demolished in November. It's one of the old houses, so solidly built, meant to last for centuries. I felt a great deal of irony cleaning up a space that is going to be torn down - even in the name of "development".

So for 25 years "AIDS" has been ravaging the continents - creating an artificial hourglass in some populations leaving grandparents to raise grandchildren; transforming into a chronic illness in others. It had just started to rain as Pygmy, Brandi and I left Ballard for the AIDS Walk in Capitol Hill. We found a parking spot far away and hiked a half dozen block to get to Volunteer Park where it proceeded to pour down rain. I guess it had been like this the year before - though that didn't dampen our spirits as our team met up for a photos and cheers as we reached our $5,000 goal (over by almost $500!) which was simply incredible. It is always a great community - those who walk in AIDS Walks - people who have lost loved ones; civic leaders communities of faith; like-minded organizations; those who simply care.

After the very tasty BBQ and a patio party with failed mint juleps, I headed home to meet a friend out for Live Girls! Theater's cabaret which takes place on the second Saturday of each month - the same time as the Ballard ArtWalk. The theme was "unemployment" - the skits were ok. The music was fun. However, there was a woman who created two songs using the tones, beeps, space-invader sounds of an old Gameboy. It was simply incredible! She covered a Postal Service song and created her own. I was blow away by it - she created these songs at the latest job she had been laid off from - with an old Gameboy - who knew!?

Though employed, was a poet sitting at a table at Greenlake where we take our Sunday morning stoles. At a table with a black umbrella with the words "poet" in shimmery sequins was a young woman (ok, my age). I walked over to her and said, "so what are you doing poet?" She told me that her project was to sit out there at Greenlake to show people that their are poets, living, breathing, existing in our communities. She was also a Peace Corps Volunteer in Poland. She was pleasantly surprised at how many artists there were in Greenlake. Inspired, I told her I would visit her again and maybe I would eventually get my act together enough to sit next to her at a table with the words "writer" in bright red glitter.

Coming Home to the "Poorest City in America - again"

... is what the headlines read when I stepped off the Metro Rapid, taking a break at Tower City to get some coffee, see Shanny for a minute and figure out my next bus/rapid connection. It was, once again, a whirlwind tour of my favorite Midwest city. I picked up the paper and my first thought was "Oh, come on Cleveland, you can do better than this." And it made me sad and yes, the stats don't really take into account the whole picture. But the fact is Cleveland's core is rotting and the poverty is spreading and will, eventually, catch up with the suburbs. The fact is there are so many new ideas and so many people working on these issues. The fact is I didn't leave this city because of all of these issues but that there is an "old boys' club" that still yields a lot of power and control over the city and they need to hurry up and die so that some new energy and new ideas can take over. It made me so sad to read this - again. But I love this city.

Being gone for a little longer this time around, there were many questions. Some of them were just plain odd - what are your 2 to 5 years plans? (um.....) There's a job listing at this Cleveland organization - why don't you apply? (um...because I have a job?) What are you going to be when you grow up? (um... I'm 32 - I think my career as a fundraiser is working out pretty well...) But two questions were the most common and most easily answered:
This question was often asked:

What do you like about Seattle?
Mountain-water-mountain-water; a sense of optimism; a sense of confidence; the "international" feel to everything - as if any foreign country isn't that far off; roller derby; Sunday hikes - anywhere; the public transportation system; caffeine addiction; my new friends; the smell of sea salt that wakes me in the morning; the ocean; Seattle International Film Festival; my old friends; politics; organic and bulk foods.

What do you miss about the Midwest?
I miss the people - their honestly and sincerity; I miss thunderstorms and cicadas; I miss the frogs that chirp in stream I grew up with behind my parents' house; I miss the Peanuts (my twin nieces); I miss my friends, my parents, my brothers; I miss the struggle - sometimes; I miss the heat (when it's actually there); Midwest guys; I miss the SNOW (as a snow princess that I am); I miss all these new babies that are becoming such a huge part of my friend's lives; the tightly knit arts community; the Old Angle; I never wanted to own a house until I couldn't afford one - I could in Cleveland; I miss The Westside Market and Nate's and my colleagues at PPGC.

Cleveland - it's not a bad place to live - even as the poorest city in the country.