Ferguson: Moving Day

Moving day, October 2018. Missouri.

Relocation #5

And so now I know.

There will always be an unpleasant surprise - or two - on moving day.

It´s just the way it is. The natural order of things, thus no reason to blame oneself.

The goal, then, in the future, is to do what one can to prevent the knowable mishaps and to accept there will be the unknowables.

The two mishaps on yesterday´s moving day were stupid but exasperating ones:

1. The gosh-darn cable would not unscrew from the modem! I´d already packed everything in the car, so no tools. After pulling away precious skin from my finger trying to wrench the cable end loose, I called the Spectrum customer service number, and they told me I could just cut the cable from the wall. Arghh! Where was I to find a knife or scisssors, already packed or loaded! I stomped downstairs, swearing in futile, childish rage to the universe, all three flights of stairs down to the garage, into the depths of my car, and back up three flights of stairs with a knife. I sawed at the cable until it halved. Now I was ready to take it to the Spectrum office. 
2. Which brings me to mishap #2. Google maps is great most of the time, but sometimes it is a spectacular fail. This was one of those sometimes. After circling an area like vulture looking for the road that Google insisted was right there, I again called Spectrum´s customer service. After a little more childish behavior on my part, I finallly settled down and the CSR helped get me to my destination. It was not one of my finer moments. 

Sidebar: This is the same company that entered my first name (a common one, with only one spelling, not only in English, but in a multidude of languages) with two letters interposed AND entered my surname with the name of my street! When I contacted the company with the error, the helpful CSR informed me that I would have to go to a Spectrum office with PROOF of my legal name!!!!! 

Sheesh. Instead, I just lived with the wrong name on my account and paid with a credit card with my real name. They didn´t care. 

Anyway, in due time, I was on my way, with the paper receipt that proved a woman with a misspelled first name and her street name as her surname had properly returned the modem.

All was OK.

Ferguson: Winding Down

Stuff of times past, Jefferson City, Missouri. 2009.

It's mid-September and my year in Ferguson will end on October 31. Time to wind down.

In my annual winding-down times, these are my thoughts:

• What have I accomplished? What am I proud of?
• What haven't I accomplished? What do I regret?
• How was the year different from what I thought it would be? In which ways better? In which ways disappointing? In which ways surprising; neither better nor disappointing?
• What do I want to do before I leave? 

I inventory my stuff. Make preliminary decisions about what to with it before I leave:

• Consume?
• Return to the person who lent it to me?
• Give it away?
• Toss?
• Sell?
• Take with me, at least for the next leg of my annual relocation?

In my inventory check thus far, I know that one of my tasks will be to organize my electronics paraphernalia. For example, do I really need all six ethernet cables that skulked into my space like feral cats? Isn't it time to let go of that years-old, European-currency router? And that peaceful, Caribbean Sea-colored, turquoise Otter phone case (that cost me a pretty penny!) that fit my old smart phone, which is of a size no longer being made? Time to just let it go, let it go, right? And, yes, it's time to say good-bye to my geriatric HP laptop that I actually replaced two years ago.

Stuff of times past, Jefferson City, Missouri. 2009.

 

Some past inventory experiences

• On leaving El Paso (2017): Releasing More Stuff
• On leaving Opelousas, Louisiana (2016): Sold My Stuff - Again
• On leaving Alamogordo, New Mexico (2013): Consuming the Remains
• On leaving Alamogordo, New Mexico (2013): The Release Cycle Begins Again
• On leaving my rooted house in Missouri (2010): Progress Report: Stuff Divestment

Ferguson: Movie: BlackkKlansman

OK, no, BlacKkKlansman isn't about Ferguson. But, of course, it is, too. So I'm putting it into my Ferguson group.

Many members of the Ferguson Readings on Race Book Club went to see the movie together or within several days of each other.


The movie trailer below:

As entertainment, the movie is a winner. It kept my attention throughout; the two-plus hours flew by. A mix of humor, action, sadness, romance, fear, anger, injustice, justice - all of the things that make up a life were there.

I also appreciated how the movie pressed some buttons on how we, as individuals, have so many intersections of being-ness, and how these sections can conflict. Two examples from the movie:

1. Being a cop and a person of color
2. Being a cultural member of a religion often discriminated against versus being a practicing member of that religion 

Two other angles that Mr. Lee finessed well:

• The devaluation of women as co-actors by white supremacist groups; and
• How particularly insidious racism is when the person who carries the disease is "nice," such as the wife of one of the KKK members

There was a big ol' Fuck You out loud to David Duke, arching back to the 1970s and into the present. This felt satisfying.


With all that I liked about the movie, there was a fluffiness to it that didn't set right. For example, the happy outcome regarding the bad cop was Disneyesque in its sugar-coated superficiality.

This doesn't take away from my strong recommendation to watch the movie.

Boots Riley (screenwriter and director of the movie Sorry to Bother You) wrote a critique of BlacKkKlansman via Twitter. Fortunately for our eyes, Monthly Review Online laid out the full text nicely for us here. I encourage you to read it; the essay is an appropriate companion for the movie, either before or after you watch it.

The trailer for Mr. Riley's movie:

Ferguson: "Michael Brown Died Today."

Michael Brown, Ferguson, Missouri. Photo: Found at St. Louis Post Dispatch, attributed to a friend of Michael Brown's.

A few days before August 9, 2018, I created a reminder on my calendar for that date, which synced to my cell phone.

The reminder said: "Michael Brown died today."

On August 9, each time I accessed my phone, there it was:

Michael Brown died today.
Michael Brown died today.
Michael Brown died today.
Michael Brown died today.
Michael Brown died today.
Michael Brown died today.
Michael Brown died today.
Michael Brown died today.
Michael Brown died today.


When I think of Michael Brown, I think of:

.... an image burned into my brain, put there by a racist, hate-mongering individual in South Louisiana who is a minor celebrity. On his social media page, which he proudly affiliates with his employer, was a disgusting image of a "memorial" to Michael Brown, comprised of human excrement.

... the draconian military response to Ferguson protests by then-Governor Jay Nixon.

... people who are dear to me, who must always be ready for that surprise slap in the face, at any given moment, in any given place, by any unexpected person, that reminds them they can't move through their days with the same thoughtless presumption of emotional and physical safety as others can.

Ferguson: Backyard Fox

Fox, Ferguson, Missouri. July 2018.

There was a fox in my backyard early in the morning.

Fox, Ferguson, Missouri. July 2018.

A lanky one.

Fox, Ferguson, Missouri. July 2018.

And entirely unexpected.

Fox, Ferguson, Missouri. July 2018.

I am regularly surprised at the pleasing rural-urban mix that is Ferguson. Having a fox in one's backyard is only one gift of the community.

A shaky video below:

When I think of foxes in a suburban environment, I think of my house in Jefferson City. My immense backyard ended at a creek that you could follow all the way to the Missouri River.

Through the years I lived there, sometimes at night, I would hear an unsettling cry. Like a woman crying out in pain. Or maybe even a child.

Finally I tracked it down to a fox call. A "vixen's scream" to be precise, although it's not only female foxes that make this call.

A sample of this call below, which actually tells an entertaining story:

Ferguson: History I Don't See

History mural, Ferguson, Missouri. June 2018.

On the corner of North Florissant and Airport/Hereford, there is a US Bank. The bank has a mural on its side depicting Ferguson history.

History mural, Ferguson, Missouri. June 2018.

Who's not there?

History mural, Ferguson, Missouri. June 2018.

We've got to stop being so blind.

Ferguson: Northern Lights Christmas

Northern Lights Christmas Market, Ferguson, Missouri. November 2017.

On the Sunday following Thanksgiving, Ferguson holds its Northern Lights Christmas Market and Parade. This is also when one can buy tickets to the Ferguson Christmas Home Tour.

Northern Lights Christmas Parade, Ferguson, Missouri. November 2017.

After a nature-infused weekend with family members in the Ozarks Scenic Riverways here and here, I hied home early Sunday so I could grab tickets for me and my mom for the Christmas Home Tour and also to see the parade that night!

Northern Lights Christmas Parade, Ferguson, Missouri. November 2017.

Northern Lights Christmas Parade, Ferguson, Missouri. November 2017.

Northern Lights Christmas Parade, Ferguson, Missouri. November 2017.

One of several videos here, a children's dance troupe:

And, as always, I swoon over drums:

But I was besotted with this crazy-creative moving train table, operated at the Christmas Market by one of Santa's helpers!

Ferguson: First Day of May

First day in May, Ferguson, Missouri. May 2018.

On the first day of May, I took a walk in Ferguson.

First day in May, Ferguson, Missouri. May 2018.

It seems spring has finally arrived.

First day in May, Ferguson, Missouri. May 2018.

First day in May, Ferguson, Missouri. May 2018.

A cumulative slide show of Ferguson below:

First day in May, Ferguson, Missouri. May 2018.

I think I hear angels singing.

Ferguson: My Living Room

Living room. Ferguson, Missouri. April 2018.

It surprises me sometimes the wash of pleasure I feel from color and clean lines.

My living room refreshes my spirit with its vivid simplicity.

Thanks to family members and secondhand stores for this daily gladness.

Some other nomadic living spaces:

Living space, El Paso, Texas.

 

Living space, Opelousas, Louisiana.

Living space, Alamogordo, New Mexico.

Ferguson: Spring Gone Missing

Bringing Spring home. Ferguson, Missouri. April 2018.

Oh, where is Spring?

Bringing Spring home. Ferguson, Missouri. April 2018.

It snowed on Easter.

Bringing Spring home. Ferguson, Missouri. April 2018.

 Unacceptable.

Bringing Spring home. Ferguson, Missouri. April 2018.

I had to take matters into my own hands.

Bringing Spring home. Ferguson, Missouri. April 2018.

On Monday, I picked up a bouquet of Spring from the local grocer. I put it next to the long-ago deflowered paper whites from official winter, which I clip every once in awhile to create the illusion of Spring to come.

Bringing Spring home. Ferguson, Missouri. April 2018.

 No, no, no, no. I am finished with winters in cold lands.

Bringing Spring home. Ferguson, Missouri. April 2018.

I am already planning my next annual home. It will be a warm and sunny place.

In the meantime, these yellow and red-cheeked tulips sustain my spirit.

St. Louis: History Museum: #1 in Civil Rights Exhibit

#1 in Civil Rights Exhibit, Missouri History Museum, St. Louis, Missouri. March 2018.

I learned about the #1 in Civil Rights Exhibit at the Missouri History Museum through the Readings on Race Book Club at the Ferguson Municipal Library.

Although I'm not much of a museum person, the exhibit captured my attention for about an hour.

I plucked the bits that I ingested on the spot or that I will investigate more deeply in the future.

#1 in Civil Rights Exhibit, Missouri History Museum, St. Louis, Missouri. March 2018.

Harriet Scott?! Why had I only heard about Dred Scott all these decades of my life? Here is one story of Harriet Robinson Scott's adult life. In this account, we learn that Harriet Robinson was only 16 when she married Dred Scott. This suggests another story, untold. Further, because the legal status of children of enslaved persons followed the maternal line (i.e. if the mother was enslaved, then her children were also enslaved), one could argue that Harriet Scott's name should have been the more prominent one on the Supreme Court case, as the futures of their two children depended on the outcome of the case.

#1 in Civil Rights Exhibit, Missouri History Museum, St. Louis, Missouri. March 2018.

It was only a few weeks before I visited the History Museum that I learned about the East St. Louis Massacre. The confounding range of estimated killed between 40 and 200 reminds me of the similar obliqueness about the Opelousas Massacre.

#1 in Civil Rights Exhibit, Missouri History Museum, St. Louis, Missouri. March 2018.

 The above quote by William Wells Brown countered the mealymouthed exhibit on slavery in the state capitol's history exhibit.

Ferguson: Our Lady of Guadalupe and One of Her Stolen Sons

Our Lady of Guadalupe Church, Ferguson, Missouri. December 2017.

December 2017

Beauty, sadness, membership, anger, quiet, fear, song, powerlessness, power.

Our Lady of Guadalupe Church, Ferguson, Missouri. December 2017.

All of these wavelets lapped around me at the Spanish Mass I attended at Ferguson's Our Lady of Guadalupe Church.

Our Lady of Guadalupe Church, Ferguson, Missouri. December 2017.

Forefront in my mind was the St. Louis Public Radio story I'd read the day before about a parishioner, Jose Garcia. In November, the United States of America deported him to Mexico, yanking him from the arms of his wife, Ana, and his three little girls - Amanda, Julissa, and Dana.

Our Lady of Guadalupe Church, Ferguson, Missouri. December 2017.

Who benefited from this action?

Our Lady of Guadalupe Church, Ferguson, Missouri. December 2017.

No one, other than a pyramid scheme of ICE operatives to whom a man is a commodity for meeting quotas and adding ticks to a quarterly report.

Our Lady of Guadalupe Church, Ferguson, Missouri. December 2017.

A tiny little stat thrown into a virtual mass grave of thousands of other data blips, all denuded of their names, ties to families and communities - their very humanity.

Our Lady of Guadalupe Church, Ferguson, Missouri. December 2017.

Marks on a report that will be covered by a fresh sediment layer when government operatives dump new nameless, faceless expendables into the ditch.


'tis the season.

Ferguson: The Christmas Home Tour

A house on Ferguson's Christmas Home Tour, Ferguson, Missouri. December 2017.

December 2017

Ferguson's annual Christmas Home Tour is a fundraiser for the Caring League.

I've never been much excited about home tours.

"Home tour" at Topkapi Palace, Istanbul, Turkey. June 2012.

But my mother likes them, and I martyred myself for her by buying tickets to the Ferguson event.

But what was this?! At the very first house, I saw what I may have been missing all of my adult years: Vodka, wine, schnapps, and many sweets. And a repeat at the second house.

If this is the norm, no wonder such tours are so popular!

Disclosure: My mom is 88 years old, and schlepping into two houses maxed her limit, so we spent the next hour just driving around Ferguson neighborhoods and admiring the town's charming architecture and the yellow, green, and gold beauty of its mature trees.

In one of the neighborhoods, we stopped the car to watch a dancing blanket of sparrows swirling up and over and around a house and tree.

Ferguson: My Shower

Oh, my shower.

The water pressure.
The space.
The light of the sun that cascades through the window.
The window.
The Greek-Isle tile, the white walls.

The hot of the hot water, its arrival so prompt.

I am in the Mediterranean.

Shower, Ferguson, Missouri. November 2017.

After a year in the tiny capsule shower of El Paso, I am in luxury here.

Others may see just a typical bathtub and shower with a 1970s kinda vinyl liner surround.

Nay, 'tis a spa.

Shower, Ferguson, Missouri. November 2017.

My shower in Opelousas, not bad. But no window; dark. Scars and stains of many years in the tub.

My shower in Lafayette, also not bad. But also dark, dreary.

My shower in Alamogordo - no window, but fresh off of my time in Caucasus Georgia, it, too, filled me with grateful awe at its expanse.

My Ferguson shower.

It makes me sigh.

My Next Home for a Year: Ferguson, Missouri

Welcome to Missouri. November 2014.

Yes, I'm going to break my own rule and move to a place that gets cold - and gray and drizzly and shivvery - in the winter. What in hell would possess me to do such a crazy-ass thing?

The one-word answer: History.

We are in the midst of a new wave of civil rights history, and right now, the heart of this unfolding history beats in Ferguson, Missouri, a tiny, scenic municipality of 21,000 people.

Not far away is Columbia, Missouri, home of the University of Missouri-Columbia, aka Mizzou - my alma mater - and where someone popped an engorged pimple of racism, and its ugly pus splashed into the eyes of Missourians, Americans, and the world.

Being a Missourian, I looked at what happened from distant Louisiana and Texas, aghast, at the militaristic assault by then Governor Jay Nixon.


....... But before I land in Missouri, I'm stopping at Big Bend National Park for a retreat into nature, then in South Louisiana for a retreat into dance, music, and that lil' spark that snaps in the air there.