Fruits of Free Time

I recently read the book Push by Sapphire, borrowed from my friend Ellen, and I must say I am quite glad to have read it, but more glad I did not read it a year ago or earlier.

The book itself tells the story of Precious Jones, a fictional young woman growing up in Harlem not too long ago.  Precious is fictional but her story is arguably based on real people.  Her story features themes of abuse and triumph, a drive to overcome the situation she was born into and heavy obstacles to that goal.  All in all, it’s quite sobering for someone born into a life of relatively great privilege such as myself.

Precious is sexually and physically abused by both her father and mother.  She bears two children by her father before we meet her, one born on her kitchen floor.  She can’t read.  She is morbidly obese.   All of this despite that she lives in one of the wealthiest places in the world with theoretically a robust educational and health care system with plenty of nutritional food.  At least, if you have the money to pay for it.  But that’s beside the point.

I won’t give away the end, except that there isn’t really an end.  Because stories in real life don’t have clear beginnings and ends.  The book is more of a window into an important part of Precious’s life than a definitive tale with a clear beginning, middle, and end.

I am glad I didn’t read this story last year because I often imagine the stories of people I pass on the street or with whom I share a moment in time.  Last year I lived quite near where Precious lived, within 20 blocks and a handful of avenues.  I already had trouble not imagining the worst when I encountered strangers in such a notorious neighborhood, so reading such a bold story would probably have just made my heart break every time I passed anyone who I could imagine in a similar situation.

I am glad I did read this story because it definitely reminds me of the importance of reaching out to others.  Growing up in a sheltered world, sometimes one can get caught up in the more familiar stumbling blocks and forget that others often face infinitely higher obstacles.  One of my roommates, despite being a late-twenties perpetual college student whose income comes from various less-than-resume ready sources and whose time mostly goes to ESPN and Call of Duty, subscribes to the standard every man for himself, pull yourself up by your bootstraps philosophy that seems rather self serving.  I usually find myself thinking, after one of his standard rants, of course you feel that way, it justifies the fact that you never do anything for anyone who isn’t already your friend or just like your friends.  Stories like this remind me of the importance of getting outside my own bubble of the world.  Precious faced so many people telling her that her goals to educate herself to get a job that would provide for her children were pointless, but once someone actually helped her do that, she was able to actually make progress towards being self sufficient and self fulfilled instead of a perpetual ward of someone else at risk of serious depression.  Even her own social worker thought that her teacher’s support of her path to a GED and even college were misguided.  If the person who’s supposed to be helping you on your way isn’t in your corner, how are you supposed to overcome all your other demons?!

I hope that the story of Precious is based on real women out there, not because I hope that there are people who have suffered this level of abuse, but because I am inspired that people who have would fight so hard to overcome and strive to help others do the same.

Honey Sweets, So Fall Asleep

The weekend after Allison and Aaron's wedding, their best man, Jordan, got married to the ever lovely Alisha.  We did not take nearly as many photos as a group, but it was still a fun day to catch up with some of the same, some different people.

Pastor Trachte, who was head pastor at Wartburg either all four or the first three years we were there (I can't exactly remember) came out of retirement to officiate, and Tim Maybee, who lived with Jordan senior year, and just completed his second year of seminary, and got married himself last year, helped by giving the message.  It was kind of cool how informal the message was; kind of more in the vein of a dinner toast.  Usually, wedding messages fight dullness pretty poorly (seriously, we are familiar with the concept of marriage.  This seems to be the gist of most wedding messages/homilies, just pondering what marriage/a wedding means.)  Instead, Tim shared a story from the first time Jordan confided in him that he was pretty sure Alisha was different than other girls he had dated.  He had them physically look around the room to look at all the people who had come to celebrate with them.  He shared in a way that actually made sense for this specific couple in this specific moment, as opposed to trying to teach some sort of lesson or offer some insight that no one actually cares about.

I also really like that the first thing after the exchange of vows, after Jordan and Alisha officially became a married couple, they served us all communion, so their first act together was to serve the people they love the most.  Pastor Trachte made an effort in advance to make sure that no one who doesn't actively practice Christianity felt as included as possible in this part of the ceremony, including making the same joke he makes literally every time he gives communion (if you forget and eat the wafer before dipping it, you can always get another one!  don't worry if it doesn't sound funny, it takes a few dozen times hearing it).  I feel like communion can be a tricky thing to include in a wedding unless literally everyone you've ever met is not only actively Christian but also believes all the same things, so I thought the now-Wildermuths handled it in a way that respected their guests, demonstrated the importance of their faith on the most important day of their lives, and paid tribute to their dedication to serving others (he's a social worker, she's a teacher).

After the ceremony, they ran through a line up of us with a paper sign reading "Just Married" at the end.The wedding and reception were both at a winery on the Mississippi River in Dubuque, but they still managed to find a way to ride off into the sunset (or, rainy evening) together between ceremony and reception.  Alisha was quite a sport in that dress, which apparently had an especially uncomfortable corset and collected a lot of (heavy!) rainwater at the bottom.  As the evening progressed, the grey line at the bottom creeped pretty far up, but she still walked with us all after the reception ended to celebrate downtown.

I stayed with my cousin, Abby, who went to school in Dubuque and has lived there since graduation.  I never got a chance to visit her, so it was nice to make it before she starts her new, post-grad school job (today, actually).  I got to eat at L. May, the restaurant she's worked at for years and hang out with her boyfriend Corey who I had just met once. (that's not them, I just don't have any pictures of hanging around in Abby's apartment.)

I actually missed this part, but I love how Laura looks like she's levitating in this picture.

Another lovely weekend celebrating the new life of a great couple with the coolest kids ever.

title from  Backdrifts. (Honeymoon is over) by Radiohead 

Just a Little Bird Floating on a Hurricane

This is a little strange, but lately I've been slightly jealous of my foremothers' lifetime of homemaking training.  Not that I think it's healthy that for many generations, society pushed a whole category of people out of the workforce and into the kitchen just because of their chromosomal make up, but sometimes when I look at a stain or mess I wish I instantly knew the most effective way to remedy it with some sort of Maguiver-like use of vinegar or club soda or lemon juice or whatever.  Last year was my first time ever not living in campus housing or my parents' house, but Sr Susanne had a maid come every other Friday so we just had to keep things pretty tidy.  She taught us a trick with vinegar and baking soda to keep drains clean, and I sometimes wonder how many tricks like that June Cleaver had up her sleeve.  Every time I fight a seemingly hopeless battle to clean the stove top (so many grooves!  The dirty water just pools in the corners of the burners) or the kitchen floor (it seriously was many shades darker from all the dirt when we first moved in but I don't think I'll ever get it totally dirt-free) or the white walls (I don't understand why the landlord insists that all the walls have to be perfectly white, as if all the grease spots from the people's fingers on the walls needed highlighting), I wonder what trick Sr Susanne would have to really get that stuff clean without the sticky residue or counterproductive puddles of dirty water my efforts always seem to leave.  I'm surely romanticizing the old tradition of raising little girls to take their mothers' place and little boys to do the work of their fathers, and I'm very grateful for the opportunities I've had to explore all my opportunities for myself, to decide what path I want to take and what skills I want to learn instead of having it decided for my, but sometimes I think I might trade in having taken lyrical dance or advanced math to have developed an instinct of what to do with a particular kind of stain or mess I face.  Google is helpful (one time I overcooked something in the microwave and found out I could get rid of the burnt smell in the microwave's fans by putting cut lemons in a bowl of water with some cinnamon and vanilla and microwaving for 5-10 minutes.  Very effective.)   Calling home works pretty well, too, depending on the day/time.  But sometimes when I'm trying to get the kitchen floor clean, I can't help but wonder what June Cleaver or Ma Ingalls would do to get my house looking a bit less grimy and student apartment-like.  Not something I would trade general society's progress toward gender equality for, however.

listening to To the Dogs or Whoever by Josh Ritter