I'm chatty. I really enjoy greeting the folks I meet during the day. One major blessing of living in the Midwest is that we actually speak to one another. We ask, "How are you today?" We answer. We say thank you. We wish each other a good day. It's friendly.
Of course, not everyone is friendly all the time. When behind the wheel, Minnesotans can be downright aggressive, rushing around, cutting ahead in traffic, and flipping the bird. We follow people who are leaving the mall, trolling for a place to park. Then, we hover, signal light blinking, for the driver to surrender the parking spot preventing any other drivers from passing.
However, once separated from their vehicles, Minnesotans are downright affable, especially after a month or so of enforced hibernation.
Wednesdays the kiddo and I go to Circus class, Cirque du Soleil-style. The kids do these incredible tricks, and the parents get to sit behind the red rope and watch. I am anxious to do the tricks too, but my core muscles are not ready yet. So, I watch and wait.
Waiting can be a lonely endeavor. I find it even more objectionable when I feel lonely in a crowd. So, I chat. Last fall, I made friends with one of the other circus moms. We talked about mom stuff. I really liked her, and kiddo liked her child too.
Last week, she let me know that they had decided to change their schedule. I was disappointed. I was just sure that I would have to sit and watch my kid in total silence. A whole hour alone in a crowd, isolated yet surrounded.
We show up. I ask one of the parents whether his wife had found a job yet. He said no, but they were thinking of moving to Japan. A woman said, we're moving to Japan in the fall. By the end of the class, there were five of us parents and one nanny, talking about living in Japan, France and Spain. We laughed about not sleeping. We talked about our quirky kids and what they were trying to teach us. I had a blast.
I went to circus today thinking that I was going to be bored and alone. I was sure of it. I would have bet money on it. What a great thing not to be right all the time.
It's super easy to stay home when the temperature is -30 degrees. It's comfortable to associate exclusively with people we already know and like. But when I step out of the house and out of my comfort zone, I get surprised.
String enough of these moments together and you have the makings of a truly good day.
January 28, 2009
January 23, 2009
We Give What We Can
President Obama has called us to help others, so today I decided to donate $142 to the city of Minneapolis. I got the idea from a policeman on 42nd Street. He told me that I could make this one time donation to the city and thus avoid an ongoing monthly donation to State Farm.
I trust that the City of Minneapolis will take my money and use it to do something I could never do alone. Perhaps they could reinstate full-day kindergarten for children of middle class families. Or, they could add it to the fund to provide fresh, clean water that does not smell of fish to it's citizens.
I trust that my elected officials will remember that they are our trusted servants and will respond to my donation by asking themselves, "How could we put this money to good use that would provide the maximum benefit to our neighbors?"
What a privilege to be a contributing member of society.
I trust that the City of Minneapolis will take my money and use it to do something I could never do alone. Perhaps they could reinstate full-day kindergarten for children of middle class families. Or, they could add it to the fund to provide fresh, clean water that does not smell of fish to it's citizens.
I trust that my elected officials will remember that they are our trusted servants and will respond to my donation by asking themselves, "How could we put this money to good use that would provide the maximum benefit to our neighbors?"
What a privilege to be a contributing member of society.
January 19, 2009
Yes, We Can Change
Kiddo and I sat crisscross applesauce today with all of the other less than 10 year olds at the Hennepin County Library. I declined to sit in the last chair because the kid refused to sit in a chair. Evidently, the best seat in the house was my lap.
We were enjoying a terrific one man program by T. Mychael Rambo, a well-known local teacher, actor and singer, commemorating the birth of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. We learned about the work of Dr. King and others who fought for civil rights in our country with excerpts of the "I Have a Dream speech, stories, poems and incredibly soulful singing.
The house was packed when a family of 4 children and their grandmother arrived. I encouraged the kids to fill in around the other children. Unable to sit on the floor, their grandmother had to stand in the back.
The youngest child was a little girl, maybe 2 years old. She was wearing red velour yoga pants with a matching hoodie lined with silver hearts. Her hair was thick, soft and curly. She had stunning hazel eyes, and enviable lips that thousands of dollars of injectibles could never replicate. Her sisters and brothers had moved up to the front of the crowd so she was stuck sitting by herself.
I had chosen to sit on the last row of kids so that I wouldn't block a little kid's view. The little girl was sitting right in front of me. She tilted her head to the side, sizing up the performance. She seemed a little lost. It was a lot for a 2 year old.
I tapped her on the shoulder and invited her to share my lap. Kiddo moved over to make room. The little girl slid easily onto my lap. I hugged both of them for the rest of the show, encouraging them to clap and sing. She placed her hand in mine, and we all swayed along with the music.
When Mr. Rambo sang, Sam Cooke's "Change is Gonna Come," I cried. I was holding my child and a beautiful girl who would not have been allowed in the same room with us, let alone in my lap. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and others worked and died so that I could do what was natural: love and care for God's children equally and openly.
Our country has changed.
I looked around. I was surrounded by young, old, black, white, Christian, Muslim and Jewish people.
Minnesota has changed.
Growing up in the land of 10,000 lakes, most everybody looked like me, white, middle class, Christian. I always found this unnerving. We had exactly 4 people of color in our entire high school and 1 Jewish person. It seemed unnatural to me, so I left for college on the east coast to experience the world as it is: diverse. Eventually, I minored in African-American studies.
After the performance, I stood up and put my shoes, careful not to flash any crack. See former post, "Butt Crack is Whack." I turned around and the grandmother said to me, "Thank you for taking care of my babies."
I smiled and said, "She couldn't see."
"Well, thank you."
"Oh, there's always room for one more on this lap," I said, slapping my thighs.
She smiled and said, "I hope you have a blessed day."
Yes, we can.
And yes, we did.
We were enjoying a terrific one man program by T. Mychael Rambo, a well-known local teacher, actor and singer, commemorating the birth of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. We learned about the work of Dr. King and others who fought for civil rights in our country with excerpts of the "I Have a Dream speech, stories, poems and incredibly soulful singing.
The house was packed when a family of 4 children and their grandmother arrived. I encouraged the kids to fill in around the other children. Unable to sit on the floor, their grandmother had to stand in the back.
The youngest child was a little girl, maybe 2 years old. She was wearing red velour yoga pants with a matching hoodie lined with silver hearts. Her hair was thick, soft and curly. She had stunning hazel eyes, and enviable lips that thousands of dollars of injectibles could never replicate. Her sisters and brothers had moved up to the front of the crowd so she was stuck sitting by herself.
I had chosen to sit on the last row of kids so that I wouldn't block a little kid's view. The little girl was sitting right in front of me. She tilted her head to the side, sizing up the performance. She seemed a little lost. It was a lot for a 2 year old.
I tapped her on the shoulder and invited her to share my lap. Kiddo moved over to make room. The little girl slid easily onto my lap. I hugged both of them for the rest of the show, encouraging them to clap and sing. She placed her hand in mine, and we all swayed along with the music.
When Mr. Rambo sang, Sam Cooke's "Change is Gonna Come," I cried. I was holding my child and a beautiful girl who would not have been allowed in the same room with us, let alone in my lap. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and others worked and died so that I could do what was natural: love and care for God's children equally and openly.
Our country has changed.
I looked around. I was surrounded by young, old, black, white, Christian, Muslim and Jewish people.
Minnesota has changed.
Growing up in the land of 10,000 lakes, most everybody looked like me, white, middle class, Christian. I always found this unnerving. We had exactly 4 people of color in our entire high school and 1 Jewish person. It seemed unnatural to me, so I left for college on the east coast to experience the world as it is: diverse. Eventually, I minored in African-American studies.
After the performance, I stood up and put my shoes, careful not to flash any crack. See former post, "Butt Crack is Whack." I turned around and the grandmother said to me, "Thank you for taking care of my babies."
I smiled and said, "She couldn't see."
"Well, thank you."
"Oh, there's always room for one more on this lap," I said, slapping my thighs.
She smiled and said, "I hope you have a blessed day."
Yes, we can.
And yes, we did.
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