Exile

I spent two days and one night in suburban Columbus, Ohio visiting my family last weekend. During a visit to the burbs, I will generally suffer from isolation-induced boredom, lack of exercise compounded by an unwalkable neighborhood and malaise brought on by chain restaurant food and strip mall scenery.

To stave off the onset of acute suburbitis, I packed my knitting, 2 books and my laptop to catch up on work. While having quality time with my family as we gathered together to not speak to each other in front of the TV, I may have offended by reading during Television Time instead of actively participating in the watching.

To hasten my recovery, I sang along to Liz Phair's, Exile in Guyville cassette as I drove back to Cleveland. I started to feel better once I was north of I-480.

Sinking Street; Neighbors Meet

The surface of Chatham and West 30th had been leaking water for a few days before a large sinkhole opened up and swallowed an RV. It was about 15 feet deep and completely hollow minus a couple of bricks and some rushing water. 

I had called the water department a few days before and they had evidently visited because there were spray painted glyphics on the street in red and yellow. I can't imagine they knew the immediacy of the problem from their investigation, but from the photo you can see the red arrows pointing right at the edge of the sinkhole. 

Last night the RV kept falling deeper into the street and it was up to the rear window before bedtime. I am not sure how it was towed it out, but it was gone this morning.  When I got home from work, the hole was filled in somewhat with cement.  

The positive to the bottom dropping out of the street was speaking with a lot of my neighbors as we gawked at the scene and tried to keep the kids from the edge of the crumbling street. 

I Voted Today: No Sticker

The last two presidential elections did not inspire my confidence in Ohio's version of the free and fair franchise. I don't feel this way because my candidates of choice lost; I feel this way because I think they probably won. I am not prone to conspiracy theories, but I can't dismiss a greater plan to disenfranchise: hanging chads in 2000, the touch screen debacles in 2004, long lines both years, etc . . .

In the primary election last spring, a BOE poll worker actually inspected my ballot. She opened it up, read my vote, detached the portion that was supposed to stay attached (I found out later), and then put it who knows where. Believe me, I love going to the polls on election day to commune with my fellow voters -- to get that sticker, but I decided not to risk it this year.

In 2008, I voted as safely, securely and tamper-resistantly as I know how. I requested my ballot by mail and filled it with leisure at my kitchen table with the help of the League of Women Voters. Today I delivered it in person to the Cuyahoga County Board of Elections and dropped it in the locked, blue ballot box myself.

Lessons

I am in the middle of a career transition. I am a "retiring" modern dancer who just can't quit dancing despite her knee problems. I completed my Master's degree in May, left my year-long assistantship in August, and started a new job last week. Sounds pretty great on blog.

This transition, however, is defying my expectations. I had envisioned a swan song of sorts to end my dance career. One last performance. An evening-length work that would have premiered Spring of 2008 just as I was finishing school and before I moved on to the next phase of my life. I had it all worked out perfectly with no messy overlaps. I was to be so distracted by my new job that I wouldn't have time to mourn the end of a too-short 7-year dance career.

The reality has been that my dance company, Antaeus Dance, has had a difficult time securing a presenter and a venue appropriate to the work. We are still creating the piece that I thought would be just a fond memory by now.

Besides the obvious time, energy and scheduling issues, I am having a difficult time observing myself being replaced in the ranks of the company. Next month another dancer will be performing my role in my favorite dance. I know that it is time for this to happen, but I didn't expect to be present to witness my own obsolescence; I was supposed to be retired at this point.

The piece we are creating, Molt, is about transformation. As the piece progresses my colleagues and I shed our layers, as we struggle for growth. How ironic is it that my own growth is being stunted by my dedication to a dance piece about transformation? Every time I go to rehearsal to dance about change, I am confronted by my own commitment that prevents change.

There are lessons here for me: transformation is painful, let go of expectations, do not linger when it is over. I am sure there are more.

A Lady's First Larder

I was first introduced to the concept of local food when I worked at Parker's New American Bistro in Ohio City. I worked there for four years until the restaurant closed in 2006. Parker Bosley, a controversial figure in Cleveland, started the restaurant that first brought consciousness to Cleveland cuisine.

Despite his polarizing political philosophies, Bosley is undeniably lauded for beginning the local food movement in Cleveland and he opened the first restaurant that sourced its meat and produce from local, family farms. Bosley is currently retired from the restaurant business and is working with the North Union Farmer's Markets.

Since my introduction to local foods, buying and eating locally has become increasingly important to me for a variety of reasons: community, carbon footprint, nutrition, social justice, connection, sustainability, etcetera. I am a City Fresh shareholder and a farmer's market (there are so many in Cleveland!) shopper which makes it quite convenient to eat mostly locally from Spring to Autumn.

I find winter to be the most trying time to maintain my locavore priorities. Although there are some cool weather vegetables available, in January I inevitably buy produce grown faraway.

In an effort to eat fewer imports during Cleveland's winter I made a decision to learn to preserve food this summer. I began with the fruit that grows in the backyard of my century-old, Ohio City rental. First, I tackled the annoying mulberry tree by my driveway. Giving myself an attitude adjustment about the mushy, stinky, fly-attracting mush, I decided to pick the ripened fruit before it hit the ground. I got some recipes online, some mason jars, and some pectin and made my first ever batch of jam. It was fun, edible, empowering, useful and gift-worthy.

I repeated the process with the backyard strawberry patch. I ate many fresh strawberries, but could not consume enough of them in peak season.

Last week, the Concord grape vines produced such a bounty that it would be impossible for my friends and I to eat them all while fresh. I gave about 10 pounds to Lucky's Cafe, ate a ton and then made grape jam. Maybe next year I'll learn to make wine.

Feeling inspired by my blossoming pantry, I decided to preserve some staples. Last weekend I bought almost 20 pounds of tomatoes from the North Union Farmer's Market at Shaker Square. I borrowed a pressure cooker, boiled mason jars and taught myself how to can tomatoes. I hope to can corn next.

I know that my small stash of preserved items is merely a small gesture toward eating locally during the winter, but I hope that I am developing a mindset that allows for thoughtful planning and consistent actions that support my priorities.

Keep your eye out for my February Lasagna Party featuring Mogadore-grown tomatoes and Ohio City Pasta! Also, check out the Local Food Cleveland site.

Mall B

My morning commute typically involves a Rapid ride to Tower City and a walk to Lakeside Avenue. In between those points is one of my favorite downtown places: Mall B.

Right now the Verdant Walk is there--a Cleveland Public Art project with green, round, solar paneled night lights interspersed between native grasses. The grasses are going to seed and little brown birds (finches?) frequent the area to feast on summer's bounty.

Mall B has always been a park and was part of the Cleveland's original City Plan. Someone told me that about ten years ago Mall B was a parking lot. However, Mall C was used as parking until just a few years ago. Below is a picture from the Cleveland Memory Project of a Victory Garden at Mall B in 1945.

I hope the Verdant Walk is followed by other installations and creative uses for this space. I thought maybe free lunchtime Croquet games would be nice. Any ideas for use of this public space?

Ready, (mind)Set, (let) Go!

A group of friends/acquaintances have been having a series of consciousness discussions at Visible Voice Books in Tremont. I am planning to attend on August 6th at 7:30pm. Before each discussion, participants are encouraged to read a set of articles on a chosen topic. Next week's focus is evolution beyond the conflict of Darwinism vs. Creationism.

I was alternately annoyed and intrigued to read views on evolution that I don't ascribe to and so typically ignore. I found most interesting the nuggets about evolution as it relates to social consciousness and the causes of sweeping changes in global mindset.

An excerpt from Daniel Pinchbeck's book, 2012: The Return Of Quetzalcoatl is included.

The Stone Age lasted many thousands of years, the Bronze Age lasted a few thousand years, the Industrial Age took three hundred years, the Chemical Age or Plastic Age began a little more than a century ago, the Information Age began thirty years ago, the Biotechnology Age geared up in the last decade. By this calculus, it is conceivable that the Nanotechnology Age could last all of eight minutes. At that point, human intelligence might have complete control of the planetary environment, on a cellular and molecular level. This could lead to utopian creativity or dystopian insanity--perhaps both would arrive at the same moment.

I also learned a new word: Metanoia. The word has a few meanings: a spiritual conversion or awakening, a fundamental change of character or an attempt of a conflicted psyche to heal itself through breakdown and change.

I have come across a similarly clinical way to think about changing one's mindset in How everyday products make people sick : toxins at home and in the workplace. Author Paul D.Blanc compares the grudgingly slow change of industry and individual mindset about global warming to the stages of grief. He believes that as our fossil fueled convictions begin to grieve their own demise we can expect to experience:

1. Denial
2. Anger
3. Bargaining
4. Depression
5. Acceptance.

Looks as if the United States is currently hovering between Bargaining (carbon trading) and (economic) Depression. It seems we grieve the death of attitudes and ideas, perhaps more than the death of people. Maybe this is because we expect to lose people, but not our convictions. Looking forward to finding out which of my core beliefs will be challenged on Wednesday.

On July 10th, The Plain Dealer reported "More people left Cleveland last year than any other major city in America". There are 438,000 people living in a city that was once home to 914,000. Cleveland has lost half its body weight and we are looking rather lean these days. What are we going to do with this skeleton?

In Iyengar yoga, teachers often emphasize "squeezing the muscles towards the bone". This drawing in supports the body when it is in challenging positions. The yogi/ni contracts inward to provide a lithe stability instead of building showy, useless bulk by pooching the muscles out thoughtlessly.

I am concerned about the Greater Cleveland Regional Transit Authority's announcement today of rate increases and route cuts. Mass transit is the connective tissue of our community. I will be writing my representatives and encouraging them on a state and federal level to increase funding for public transportation. Cutting RTA isn't trimming the fat; it's removing the heart.