A few years ago, I was going through a difficult time.
The details of the difficult time don't matter much. The good thing was that I had people around who loved me and supported me in what I needed to do to get through it.
I didn't know what I needed to do, but I kind of had a sense. I heard about a place where one could have a silent retreat--which was important because an element of what was difficult about that time was that it was noisy. I was taking in a lot of stuff and had no place to put it.
On that retreat, something happened to me. My difficulties didn't all disappear at once or anything like that. But something happened, something that worked a transformation.
The story of that time, the journey I ended up taking, and what that journey held for my life was not something that I could talk about directly. I still can't address it head on, which is why this post is so choppy. The only way to get at it was to tell a story.
So, I wrote a story. The funny thing is that the story I ended up writing was about telling a story. It was about taking something that is inside of you and letting it live in the outside world, where it may have a life you did not plan for it to have. Storytelling is risky that way.
I have no children of my own, but the story also turned out to be about raising a child. It also turned out to be about a lot of other unexpected things. Storytelling is surprising that way.
I recently found out there's a website that lets you publicize a creative work if you want to invite people to help you release it into the wild, as it were. It helps musicians raise the money to release their own CDs, directors to create their own movies, and authors publish their own books. The story I wrote--which is called, of all things, "The Story"--has had much help along the way already from people encouraging it into existence. I would like to take the step of getting it out in the world more, so I am going to make it into a book, and I'm going to ask for help getting it published.
I've recruited a talented young illustrator, so part of the cost of publishing will be her fees--to be put toward her college fund.
Watch this space. I'll be announcing more details soon.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Thursday, August 25, 2011
About where I work: Peaslee Neighborhood Center
I was reminded recently that I have not written an update in a while, particularly about my new job, which is Administrative Assisting at Peaslee Neighborhood Center. Peaslee is a non-profit with a unique history. I love telling the story of Peaslee because it is about seemingly overwhelming odds and the incredible tenacity of those who challenged the odds. I'll quote from the "Peaslee-for-the-People-Project," a well-photocopied paper in the file cabinet here:
"In the summer of 1982 the Cincinnati Board of Education closed the doors of Peaslee School. That corner at 14th and Sycamore in Cincinnati's inner city had served the education of our neighborhood children for over a hundred years. An old school building had been torn down several years before leaving a vacant lot and a small, modernly equipped, newer annex we called Peaslee Primary...
"The school stood vacant for fourteen months...We felt that the loss of the school was connected with the beginnings of loss of the fabric of the neighborhood.
"But our neighborhood, called Over-the-Rhine, had faced losses before and the people who were hit would rebound to fight harder next time. Those fourteen months proved to be such a time...
"Parents who had fought for the school, community supporters, our Over-the-Rhine Community Council, and our neighborhood development corporation pulled together to work out a proposal for usage of the school and an offer for purchase. After negotiating back and forth (over six months) with the School Board we came up with the agreement that the community would put $15,000 cash down and be given one year to raise the remaining purchase price of $225,000 plus that year's maintenance cost. We envisioned a building that would belong to the low-income community and be used as an educational and cultural center for our integrated neighborhood. Community control of this building would also help to stabilize the low-income housing around it. But the $240,000 plus price tag made that look like an impossible dream. We knew our real work had just begun...
"Our community has an average annual income of $6000/year per family. One person in our group sat down and figured out how many people would have to donate $10 to achieve our goal. I think that's when the $225,000 price tag really began to hit home and we began to realize that we'd have to get outside our community for financial support and explain what Peaslee was and could become for us. We'd have to convince 22,500 people!
"One thing that helped was...we drew up a tentative timeline so that we could see how much we would need to have raised by March, then by August, etc. This helped set goals along the way and broke down the enormous sum to smaller attainable amounts...
"The fundraising committee was made up of about six core members. We decided to meet every week for a business meeting then follow with a work session. The business meetings were times to discuss ideas, divide up tasks, and keep in touch. For the work sessions we'd invite more people and do things like fold brochures, prepare bulk mailings, and write thank you notes. We wanted to have a large-group meeting inviting more citywide supporters every six to eight weeks. We were able to do this about three times and it was helpful for us to feel the broader support, as well as to have fresh ideas and new contacts...
"With the help of the development committee we put together proposals for several foundations. A great breakthrough for us was a grant support of $25,000 from the Greater Cincinnati Foundation. This grant legitimized us with the more conservative Cincinnati Business Community. From there we were able to get a listing from the Chamber of Commerce giving us business addresses and pre-addressed labels. We sent out word about our grant and asked each business to contribute $100. Because we had been able to keep our project in the media, both through newspaper editorials and television coverage of events, the businesses began to adopt us as a 'community working to improve itself' and that increased their monetary support...
"During our fight to keep the school open we had met radio, television, and newspaper reporters. We renewed those contacts with the media during this campaign by inviting them to events and press conferences. For example, on Martin Luther King Day we were able to get into the building and held a 'Clean Up/Fundraising Kick-off,' where we invited neighborhood people to come straighten up and mop down the building and read Martin Luther King's 'I Have A Dream' speech...
"As our last two months closed in we had to meet and assess where we'd come and how far we had to go...At this meeting we decided to approach the School Board, present the details of all we had done toward earning our money, plus all the positive things we had done toward education aside from Peaslee (work in other neighborhood schools, support of the tax levy, development of the Education Task Force at our Community Council). We were able to tell them that we were confident that we would have $200,000 in cash by the deadline...Because of our community's hard work and broader community support we were successful in having the purchase price reduced to $200,000 plus the maintenance costs...
"On December 14, 1984 we were able to turn over $209,239.13 to the Cincinnati School Board and received the keys for Peaslee School."
Dream the impossible dream.
"In the summer of 1982 the Cincinnati Board of Education closed the doors of Peaslee School. That corner at 14th and Sycamore in Cincinnati's inner city had served the education of our neighborhood children for over a hundred years. An old school building had been torn down several years before leaving a vacant lot and a small, modernly equipped, newer annex we called Peaslee Primary...
"The school stood vacant for fourteen months...We felt that the loss of the school was connected with the beginnings of loss of the fabric of the neighborhood.
"But our neighborhood, called Over-the-Rhine, had faced losses before and the people who were hit would rebound to fight harder next time. Those fourteen months proved to be such a time...
"Parents who had fought for the school, community supporters, our Over-the-Rhine Community Council, and our neighborhood development corporation pulled together to work out a proposal for usage of the school and an offer for purchase. After negotiating back and forth (over six months) with the School Board we came up with the agreement that the community would put $15,000 cash down and be given one year to raise the remaining purchase price of $225,000 plus that year's maintenance cost. We envisioned a building that would belong to the low-income community and be used as an educational and cultural center for our integrated neighborhood. Community control of this building would also help to stabilize the low-income housing around it. But the $240,000 plus price tag made that look like an impossible dream. We knew our real work had just begun...
"Our community has an average annual income of $6000/year per family. One person in our group sat down and figured out how many people would have to donate $10 to achieve our goal. I think that's when the $225,000 price tag really began to hit home and we began to realize that we'd have to get outside our community for financial support and explain what Peaslee was and could become for us. We'd have to convince 22,500 people!
"One thing that helped was...we drew up a tentative timeline so that we could see how much we would need to have raised by March, then by August, etc. This helped set goals along the way and broke down the enormous sum to smaller attainable amounts...
"The fundraising committee was made up of about six core members. We decided to meet every week for a business meeting then follow with a work session. The business meetings were times to discuss ideas, divide up tasks, and keep in touch. For the work sessions we'd invite more people and do things like fold brochures, prepare bulk mailings, and write thank you notes. We wanted to have a large-group meeting inviting more citywide supporters every six to eight weeks. We were able to do this about three times and it was helpful for us to feel the broader support, as well as to have fresh ideas and new contacts...
"With the help of the development committee we put together proposals for several foundations. A great breakthrough for us was a grant support of $25,000 from the Greater Cincinnati Foundation. This grant legitimized us with the more conservative Cincinnati Business Community. From there we were able to get a listing from the Chamber of Commerce giving us business addresses and pre-addressed labels. We sent out word about our grant and asked each business to contribute $100. Because we had been able to keep our project in the media, both through newspaper editorials and television coverage of events, the businesses began to adopt us as a 'community working to improve itself' and that increased their monetary support...
"During our fight to keep the school open we had met radio, television, and newspaper reporters. We renewed those contacts with the media during this campaign by inviting them to events and press conferences. For example, on Martin Luther King Day we were able to get into the building and held a 'Clean Up/Fundraising Kick-off,' where we invited neighborhood people to come straighten up and mop down the building and read Martin Luther King's 'I Have A Dream' speech...
"As our last two months closed in we had to meet and assess where we'd come and how far we had to go...At this meeting we decided to approach the School Board, present the details of all we had done toward earning our money, plus all the positive things we had done toward education aside from Peaslee (work in other neighborhood schools, support of the tax levy, development of the Education Task Force at our Community Council). We were able to tell them that we were confident that we would have $200,000 in cash by the deadline...Because of our community's hard work and broader community support we were successful in having the purchase price reduced to $200,000 plus the maintenance costs...
"On December 14, 1984 we were able to turn over $209,239.13 to the Cincinnati School Board and received the keys for Peaslee School."
Dream the impossible dream.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Scott Christopher Damien Pircher, August 12, 1975--June 15, 2011
I've been flooded with memories, things I haven't thought about for years.
His kitten Trapper Keeper. He used to tease me with it because the kitten on it was so cute--we'd play a game where he'd hold it up and I'd pretend I'd lose all interest in everything else to coo over the cuteness of the kitten.
My sister had read me The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe while I was in kindergarten. I found out he knew the book then, too.
In first grade we sat next to each other--gosh, I think we sat next to each other in every grade, thinking back. We must have been organized in every room alphabetically, ensuring Pancella and Pircher would have a lot of interaction over the course of nine years. Other things we had in common--walking home for lunch, coming to school early to attend Mass before the start of the school day, even more than was required (the whole school was supposed to go on Mass on Wednesdays). I think he want because he was an altar boy. We were born in the same month. And we were both reading the same sort of books. I know because in second or third grade I wrote a story in which I mentioned the sea god Poseidon, having just read Robert Graves' Greek Gods and Heroes. When Scott read my story, he argued very insistently that I had the sea god's name wrong. He was called Neptune, he said.
The years we were in school together were the dawn of the computer age. In 4th grade or 5th, when we were 9, 10 years old--1984, 1985--we used to draw computer screens and "program" them. The computer screen would show a command prompt. We'd give it to a classmate and ask them to "type" in a command on the drawn keyboard. Depending on what command they'd type, we usually had to draw the next screen--we couldn't predict all possible results in advance--so we had a screen ready that said "PLEASE STAND BY" which we displayed while we got the next bit ready. A precursor of the hourglass cursor!
We also both wrote stories. I wrote a murder mystery once--there was a lot of Agatha Christie in the school library--in which Scott was the killer. For the next half of the school year, it seemed, he retaliated by writing a series of stories in which I was some terrible criminal or kept meeting untimely demises. It was my first hint that it was possible for me to hurt his feelings.
We were the two captains of opposing teams in Girls Chase Boys, which I've written about before. My chief memory of it now--besides how impossible it was to successfully caputre him; he could squirm out of any entrapment or turn double agent when appearing to ally with our side--is of the two of us meeting on the battlefield with the air of mutual respect one only has with a well-matched opponent. No firm boundary line between worst enemy and best friend.
In recent times--most of all this past year--we reconnected online, in touch through the magic of Gmail chat. Knwong someone else out there shared memories of being 5 to 13--not just that the memories were shared, but that we placed equal value on those memories--was a tremendous gift. He had to type but one line about Miss Rita, our first grade teacher, and I knew he remembered her how I did.
One day back in grade school, I was having a really rough time. We were all out in the park, and someone had done or said something that made me feel like dirt. I can't remember what it was now. But I remember that I was near tears when Scott came by, and I broke down crying and confided in him the sadness I felt. He listened and comforted, in an awkward pre-teen boy way. Later on--and I never found out why; maybe, probably, I again did something that hurt his feelings, because I was an awkward preteen girl, and I know now that I could be thoughtless--he mocked me by making fun of what I'd confided in him. Oh, how that hurt.
But, you know, there's grace enough. Recently I was in a spot where I really wanted a male perspective on matters, and I happened to be chatting with Scott. I plucked up the courage to confide in him about something I wasn't telling a lot of people. And he was great about it--asking good questions, giving me plenty of room to talk, ultimately offering wise advice. The risk was worth it. I can hear Scott now--"It's always worth it."
His kitten Trapper Keeper. He used to tease me with it because the kitten on it was so cute--we'd play a game where he'd hold it up and I'd pretend I'd lose all interest in everything else to coo over the cuteness of the kitten.
My sister had read me The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe while I was in kindergarten. I found out he knew the book then, too.
In first grade we sat next to each other--gosh, I think we sat next to each other in every grade, thinking back. We must have been organized in every room alphabetically, ensuring Pancella and Pircher would have a lot of interaction over the course of nine years. Other things we had in common--walking home for lunch, coming to school early to attend Mass before the start of the school day, even more than was required (the whole school was supposed to go on Mass on Wednesdays). I think he want because he was an altar boy. We were born in the same month. And we were both reading the same sort of books. I know because in second or third grade I wrote a story in which I mentioned the sea god Poseidon, having just read Robert Graves' Greek Gods and Heroes. When Scott read my story, he argued very insistently that I had the sea god's name wrong. He was called Neptune, he said.
The years we were in school together were the dawn of the computer age. In 4th grade or 5th, when we were 9, 10 years old--1984, 1985--we used to draw computer screens and "program" them. The computer screen would show a command prompt. We'd give it to a classmate and ask them to "type" in a command on the drawn keyboard. Depending on what command they'd type, we usually had to draw the next screen--we couldn't predict all possible results in advance--so we had a screen ready that said "PLEASE STAND BY" which we displayed while we got the next bit ready. A precursor of the hourglass cursor!
We also both wrote stories. I wrote a murder mystery once--there was a lot of Agatha Christie in the school library--in which Scott was the killer. For the next half of the school year, it seemed, he retaliated by writing a series of stories in which I was some terrible criminal or kept meeting untimely demises. It was my first hint that it was possible for me to hurt his feelings.
We were the two captains of opposing teams in Girls Chase Boys, which I've written about before. My chief memory of it now--besides how impossible it was to successfully caputre him; he could squirm out of any entrapment or turn double agent when appearing to ally with our side--is of the two of us meeting on the battlefield with the air of mutual respect one only has with a well-matched opponent. No firm boundary line between worst enemy and best friend.
In recent times--most of all this past year--we reconnected online, in touch through the magic of Gmail chat. Knwong someone else out there shared memories of being 5 to 13--not just that the memories were shared, but that we placed equal value on those memories--was a tremendous gift. He had to type but one line about Miss Rita, our first grade teacher, and I knew he remembered her how I did.
One day back in grade school, I was having a really rough time. We were all out in the park, and someone had done or said something that made me feel like dirt. I can't remember what it was now. But I remember that I was near tears when Scott came by, and I broke down crying and confided in him the sadness I felt. He listened and comforted, in an awkward pre-teen boy way. Later on--and I never found out why; maybe, probably, I again did something that hurt his feelings, because I was an awkward preteen girl, and I know now that I could be thoughtless--he mocked me by making fun of what I'd confided in him. Oh, how that hurt.
But, you know, there's grace enough. Recently I was in a spot where I really wanted a male perspective on matters, and I happened to be chatting with Scott. I plucked up the courage to confide in him about something I wasn't telling a lot of people. And he was great about it--asking good questions, giving me plenty of room to talk, ultimately offering wise advice. The risk was worth it. I can hear Scott now--"It's always worth it."
Friday, May 27, 2011
Monday, April 11, 2011
Haggis!
S. called me up Saturday night; this is the S. of "Free Veggies" fame. "My neighbor is selling haggis," she said.
So yesterday afternoon I wandered down a few blocks, purse in hand, and knocked on her neighbor's door. "Word on the street is that you are selling haggis," I said. No, I didn't. I gave her a bit more context for my actions than that; I told her I knew S.
I bought $5 worth, which means I may have to conduct some haggis-tastings, because $5 buys you an awful lot of haggis. S.'s neighbor told me stories of the Cincinnati Caledonian Pipes and Drums Band and their Tartan Day Ceilidh, which had been the night before. The festivities included a haggis-eating contest. (I had to ask--just how much haggis would one have to eat to win a haggis-eating contest? Answer--one cup haggis, half-cup of neeps, half-cup of tatties. [Neeps and tatties are turnips--or in this case rutabagas--and potatoes.] The premium was speed, not quantity.)
I'm planning on letting the boys in the house try the haggis. I'll just tell 'em it's a type of sausage.
So yesterday afternoon I wandered down a few blocks, purse in hand, and knocked on her neighbor's door. "Word on the street is that you are selling haggis," I said. No, I didn't. I gave her a bit more context for my actions than that; I told her I knew S.
I bought $5 worth, which means I may have to conduct some haggis-tastings, because $5 buys you an awful lot of haggis. S.'s neighbor told me stories of the Cincinnati Caledonian Pipes and Drums Band and their Tartan Day Ceilidh, which had been the night before. The festivities included a haggis-eating contest. (I had to ask--just how much haggis would one have to eat to win a haggis-eating contest? Answer--one cup haggis, half-cup of neeps, half-cup of tatties. [Neeps and tatties are turnips--or in this case rutabagas--and potatoes.] The premium was speed, not quantity.)
I'm planning on letting the boys in the house try the haggis. I'll just tell 'em it's a type of sausage.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Work.
Last Saturday the Formed group had its monthly gathering to discuss the month's topic. (Follow this link if you're asking any of these questions at this point: "What is Formed?" Why do they gather monthly? Where can I find out more?") This month's topic was "work." Happily, one of the members of Formed is the man to whom I've referred in this blog as Our Glorious Leader, Kevin Rains, who owns a body shop, Center City Collision. Where better to discuss the concept of "work" than a place set aside for the fixing of cars, yes?
Kevin started us out with a short but meaty reflection on the place of work in Scripture. He pointed out that in the beginning God worked--the first passages of Scripture record God's six days of Creation. Because we believe in three Persons in one God, and that wherever one member of the Trinity is, the others are as well, we know Creation was the work of a community of artists.
Kevin also talked about order and chaos. He mentioned that in the Message, Peterson calls chaos "a soup of nothingness." The Spirit of God broods like a bird over this abyss--note this, Kevin said; God is not mired in the muck. He asked (he meant to ask rhetorically, but most of us raised our hands!), "How many of you sometimes feel mired in chaos when you work?"
The God who spoke light into existence can and will strengthen us if we ask. We should not forget work is hard, though. Our task as creatures made in the image and likeness of God, Kevin said, is to help bring order out of chaos. And good golly there's a lot of chaos out there. But discouragement and despair won't help. Kevin said he tried to frame work in this way, and it sounded to me like a useful prod to keep on keepin' on: "If you didn't do the work you do--if no one did the work you do--what would happen?"
The actual talk on Saturday was a discussion with Chuck Proudfit, Greg York and Robert Lockridge, who each first spoke on their own and then did a roundtable with questions. But if I do all the talking here, I wouldn't be engaged in creative work with a community of artists, so if someone else who was there wants to chime in about the rest of the day, this would be welcomed.
Kevin started us out with a short but meaty reflection on the place of work in Scripture. He pointed out that in the beginning God worked--the first passages of Scripture record God's six days of Creation. Because we believe in three Persons in one God, and that wherever one member of the Trinity is, the others are as well, we know Creation was the work of a community of artists.
Kevin also talked about order and chaos. He mentioned that in the Message, Peterson calls chaos "a soup of nothingness." The Spirit of God broods like a bird over this abyss--note this, Kevin said; God is not mired in the muck. He asked (he meant to ask rhetorically, but most of us raised our hands!), "How many of you sometimes feel mired in chaos when you work?"
The God who spoke light into existence can and will strengthen us if we ask. We should not forget work is hard, though. Our task as creatures made in the image and likeness of God, Kevin said, is to help bring order out of chaos. And good golly there's a lot of chaos out there. But discouragement and despair won't help. Kevin said he tried to frame work in this way, and it sounded to me like a useful prod to keep on keepin' on: "If you didn't do the work you do--if no one did the work you do--what would happen?"
The actual talk on Saturday was a discussion with Chuck Proudfit, Greg York and Robert Lockridge, who each first spoke on their own and then did a roundtable with questions. But if I do all the talking here, I wouldn't be engaged in creative work with a community of artists, so if someone else who was there wants to chime in about the rest of the day, this would be welcomed.
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