Beginning Again

Day One. Again. Trying again to give up smoking. Quitting is always exciting -- Can I do it this time?; scary--how much is this going to hurt?

Because it does hurt. The addicts out there know what I'm talking about. Not so much the physical pain but the spiritual/psychological pain of saying goodbye to the truest, most loyal, ever-present, nonjudgmental Friend. With me through thick and thin, every step of the way, never breaking a promise, never too busy to come to my aid.

Who else do I know like that? No one.

But we have a new president coming in. A recently reformed smoker according to reports. That is an inspiration. And not just any new president: the first openly mixed-race president in American history. This is so big it will probably take me another week or two to find the words to blog about it. As the mother of a beautiful, charismatic mixed race man, I've been waiting a long time for a high profile mixed race American to be openly so.

And things are turning up, up, up for me: potential students continue to respond to my Craigslist ad and sprinkling of flyers stapled to utility poles around town and tacked to coffeehouse bulletin boards. I'm averaging a new inquiry every 72 hours and slowly building a studio of committed students.

And yesterday I started a new part-time job in a building they call the Energy Center (whoa! how's that for inspiration!) in the Central Business District (CBD). A high-paying part-time job and you can't find a lot of those in New Orleans these days.

So an impressive number of things are looking up in my life and I'm feeling pretty positive and strong. They say there's never a good time to quit (you can always find an excuse) but maybe I've stumbled into the ever-evasive "good time to quit." I wonder how Obama's doing. I can't imagine quitting on my way to becoming leader of the most powerful nation on earth. Can it be done?

But I've quit before so I know how it goes: all the feelings and fears and regrets that the smoke helped cover will begin to surface by Saturday (Day Three is always the hardest for me). And there's no shortcut or escape through or away from the process. It goes like it goes. The success of my quit rests on my ability to hang on.



So. OK. Here goes...

Classrooms

A few years ago I taught a class entitled "Final Conversations on Race in America." I knew that we (Americans) were, and remain, a long way from our "final" conversation; but the conversations to date had been circular and ineffectual in terms of eradicating racism and bringing sanity, humor and celebration to the relationships of our multicultural village. My aim in the class was to introduce a level of honesty and candor in the conversation in hopes of effecting some real and lasting healthy transformation.

It was an experiment. I hadn't done sufficient research. The discussions in the class were not markedly different from those I'd witnessed and participated in in the decades preceding the class.

I wish I'd known about this book -- White Like Me: Reflections on Race from a Privileged Son -- as I designed the class. Given the students in my class were predominantly "white," Wise's book might have spoken to them in a way I failed to. His personal stories and commentary are shared with uncommon naturalness and humor. And, being a "white guy," he is privvy to what "white" people say to each other when Black people aren't around and can speak to that private field as I could not and cannot.

It's powerful and impressive how much light White Like Me is shedding on my experiences as an African American woman. Through his discussion of "white denial," for example, I am coming to understand why conversations about race with seemingly enlightened "white" people have been unexpectedly difficult. Denial operates at such deep, unconscious levels that it trumps the intelligence and creativity they show in other contexts.

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Something didn't feel right at the job I just left.

Our offices were housed in an elementary school. I didn't work directly with students but the mission of the non-profit I served sought the remaking and rejuvenation of New Orleans schools. There's a huge project underway city-wide to remake and rejuvenate New Orleans schools. On the surface, an admirable mission.

There was something about most of the teachers being "white" and all of the cooks and maintenance crew being black....and 99% of the kids being black...and all the kids being dressed alike...all that lining up and standing quietly in lines...all those dark student faces and white teacher faces...and how, once inside the building, I didn't feel like I was in New Orleans. Admittedly, I have no formal training as an elementary educator. What do I know? I can only report how it felt to me. Like conformity was more valued than originality. Like the power resided in white hands. And for me, that's troubling.

These days I work in a different middle school, this time directly with students as a piano tutor. I love the work. Here, too, the kids are all in uniform and there's a lot of lining up going on. To the positive, most of the faculty and staff appear to be people of color. But, again, the regimentation seems to be killing self-determination and originality. I think sometimes the only outlet available to students for critical thinking or originality or creative self-differentiation is acting out.

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I'm observing. Saving my criticism and questioning for private conversations and around the blogosphere. I have a lot to learn. Best not to rush to judgment. Wise's analysis suggests white people have a lot to learn--or admit--as well. Do they know they have a lot to learn?

Pace

I'm in the middle of making muffins so this will be brief.

I'm listening to WWOZ and Hazel (the Delta Rambler) is dedicating her show today to trees. In between the songs, she and her guest, Monique Pilie (of Hike for Katreena) are talking about the tree situation in New Orleans. Still pretty dire.

Since returning in March, I've been traveling on foot or bicycle a lot, which definitely puts me in closer proximity to trees. During the summer, when the Louisiana heat was making me humble, the shade of a few particular trees on the route between my work and my home saved my life. Besides my landlord's triflin' nature and not having a porch on my little house, I guess the absence of trees on our street is my biggest disappointment. Monique's nonprofit, born a few months after Katrina and the levee break, helps neighborhoods organize to (re)place trees. I called and left her a message inviting her down to my neck of the Irish Channel. Maybe we can get some trees going on.

Even the fastest growing tree probably won't benefit me much in the six months I have left in this place. I won't see the fruit of our labors. But down the road somebody's gonna think a thankful thought.

Oooooh. I miss my motor scooter. Bicycle travel is fine most of the time but the scooter allowed speed and ease of toting cargo that my bicycle can't match. Both modes are still slower than auto travel, though. Since coming to the South I had a car all of 12 months. My life pace quickened for those few months. Now I'm back to the other clock---the one in closer sync with "the long now" and the 10,000 year clock.

And it's mostly okay. Maybe this is what happens to everybody--you get older and you slow down. And slow is good. Elegant. Spacious. How can you "savor" anything quickly? How to even compare the pleasure of slow sex with a "quickie"? Drive-through with marinating? A glance with full eye contact?

And "slow" is a relative term. Bicycling down St. Charles at 5 in the evening--feels like I'm moving at snail's pace. But a three-hour picnic dinner on the flood wall along the Mississippi, watching the light fade and the boats go by feels like perfection. Like everything is finally moving at the right speed after too many awkward years looking for a pace that fit.

Oh....my muffins.

Ten Minutes Til

I am reading the latest issue of The Oxford American

and you should be reading it to0 (follow the link to an order blank; what a steal!). This issue is devoted to New Orleans, 3 years after "the storm" and it's some of the best writing I've ever read. Plus it feels so good to be familiar with the names and places and images I find. I live here now.

My job, the "wonderful" opportunity that seemed too good to be true and enabled me to move back to New Orleans, is ending. It was too good to be true and and it enabled me to move back to New Orleans.

Starting last week (or earlier) I am orchestrating a transition from office worker to... I have a piano student and a performance gig in October and contact info for a cellist I want to work with. I'm joining Toastmasters and trying to get a workshop facilitation gig set up for Bay St. Louis. I'm working on a grant proposal.

It's time, again, to live a patchwork lifestyle. Most everyone says New Orleans lends itself to living in patchwork. I've sorta taken that impression myself from the lives of my little circle of friends here. Every other week is another economic crisis in the world outside Big Easy but beyond giving Fear more room at the Table, I don't know what I could/would do differently. If there's a way to be financially stable without trading in heart and mind, please count me in or show me how. In the meantime, I'm reverting to form, returning to the rhythm that sometimes robs me of sleep but still leaves me free in the ways I apparently need to be free.

"a boyfriend pillow"------>

I am in love. Find the Jazz Vipers online and give them a listen. Then come on down here and we'll go see them live at the Spotted Cat.

My First Evac

I'm back in Gulfport. How strange....

Safe and sound. Ready to go home to New Orleans. More when I can.

Be the Change

or the Question
or the Discourse.

OK. I'll start here. If one parent is "white" and the other parent is "black", what is the rule or convention that labels her/him African American? Why is the "black" part stickier than the "white"?

I'm looking for thorough response here, i.e., give me the history.

*Image borrowed from this web page

There's No Time

...to talk about everything that deserves talking about in my life these days. Best I can do at this point is a bullet-list of points of interest. I'm still looking for an away-from-the-office setup so I can return to SITC. Soon...I'm sure.

• A holiday on St. George Island with my sisters. What a beautiful weekend. I wasn't expecting it and it feels really important...
• It's already time to leave my new job. The mission is spot-on: the setting is a bad fit. I'm reading "The Four Hour Work Week" and networking with people working non-traditional jobs. I'm done with working in offices for other people. And I mean it this time.
• I have osteopenia. I am following the Rx--15 minutes daily of direct sunlight, CitriCal Plus tablets three times a day, 3-5 servings of dairy--except for the "quit smoking" part.
• I've had a couple of "dates". If I don't have some fun on one pretty soon, I'm swearing off "dating."
• Just when I got my bike completely outfitted, summer hit New Orleans full blast. I lasted about two weeks pedaling around in 95 degree heat. I'm back on the bus for now until either the heat/humidity ease up or I get a scooter.
• Couch Surfers!!!! Yay! Meeting folks from around the globe as they spend a few days in my house. What a sensible, humane, progressive project. If you haven't heard about it, check it out here

OK. Gotta go. This is a friend's computer and we're on our way to Whole Foods.