This post is not about football

Yesterday, I attended a different church. It was a planned visit, not one I would have ever considered, but it was about football. See, my son plays on a team that is sponsored by a church (it's a religious rec league) in our neighborhood. And this past Sunday, the team was supposed to come to their service, in jerseys, to be recognized. We are not a family that eschews full participation, so the boy and I headed to a different church.

This church has almost nothing in common with our church. It's a non-denominational Christian church, nearly entirely African-American in membership, and, well, warm. I'm not saying we at Neshoba are cold, but we could definitely take a lesson in warmth from this church. No sooner had we entered the front door than we were greeted, and hugged, by three people (all strangers, by the way). We were early (as instructed by the coaches) so we had a few minutes to get our bearings. In those few minutes, we were given stickers (it was breast cancer awareness Sunday) and I was given a bracelet. And an order of service. And a monthly newsletter. And a newcomer's gift bag, including a reusable water bottle, peppermints, and some literature about the church.

The service? Was definitely not anything I'd ever experienced, but I must say, I truly enjoyed every moment. The congregation is small (I'd say maybe 60 people were there), but the energy level was infectious. The first half hour of the service was praise music, and the five singers (with microphones and backing track) were excellent, and their performances were quite emotionally moving. Although we were sitting in the second row, I turned around a few times and noticed more than a few people (not just women) wiping their eyes and sometimes outright sobbing. (My eyes did tear up more than once....but that happens at good Hallmark commercials, too, so I'm not a good barometer of emotion.)

The service moved on to a congregational reading from Psalms (this was projected from a Powerpoint presentation for those who didn't bring Bibles) and announcements. More music, and offering (which was collected differently from what I'm accustomed to...instead of the ushers passing the plate, congregants came forward with their envelopes). The pastor (whom I've known as one of my son's coaches) then delivered his message, which was fantastic. His primary scripture was the parable of the good Samaritan, which our Director of Religious Education covered beautifully in our story for all ages a few weeks ago, and he brought it to life, verse by verse. Another member of the congregation read the story from the Bible, and he interrupted (this must have been planned) to interpret to more current characterizations. The effect was strong, and the congregation definitely got where he was going. And yes, he might have gotten an "Amen" from me. Or two. Or three.

The prayer was quite moving. There was a full-on alter call, in which he invited those not yet devoted to Christ to dedicate their lives on the spot. But again, he surprised me, by going on to offer the opportunity for those who had found themselves fallen away to come back. I saw two of my son's teammates raise their hands at that point. Then he asked if anyone was in need of prayer. More hands came up. And those who had raised their hands at any point were then invited up front for prayer.

It was particularly touching to see my son's teammates standing together, hands clasped, with one of their coaches (in his uniform, too) with a hand on each shoulder, praying for them. But I was equally moved watching the pastor's face as he listened to each congregant's need for prayer. His compassion was obvious. His prayers were sincere. He prayed for healing, for peace, for wisdom. I saw relief on the faces of the people for whom he prayed.

Do I think he healed them? No, not literally. Do I think that HE thinks he healed them? No, not literally. This didn't seem to be that kind of church. His prayer (which I totally loved) for the sick was that their journey of healing begin at that moment. He didn't pray for healing. He prayed for a journey.

I just realized that I got ahead of the story. Before the sermon, we did something that I normally find very uncomfortable in church services. The hugging. The pastor explained that this church was a family, and we were going to have an "explosion of love" (and yes, that's how it was listed in the order of service). I got hugged about 20 times, mostly by women, but also by teenagers and men and kids. My son got a lot of compliments about his hair (he's rocking the mohawk these days) and lots of those hand-clasp/hugs that boys do these days from his teammates. But instead of feeling awkward or uncomfortable, I felt loved. I really did. I experienced genuine affection and caring from complete strangers.

There were other moments in the service that were great - the boys on the team being recognized, applauded (a standing ovation, actually), and prayed for - the first-time visitors being welcomed - more music. In all, the service lasted about two hours, but the time went quickly (and would have gone more quickly if I hadn't had chili on the stove for the annual chili cook-off in our neighborhood). And after the service, during the traditional refreshments and social time, we were welcomed even more, engaged in conversation, and made to feel like the congregation hoped we would return.

And there it is. I want to return. But I have my own church, a church I love, a church my kids love. It's the only church home they know.

But I also know that I am frustrated going to a suburban church. I live in the inner city. My concerns are much more in the inner city than in the suburbs. But most of the folks in our church are suburban. They don't face inner city problems or issues. And sometimes I have trouble reconciling these two realities.

My thinking right now is that I'll be an occasional visitor to this other church. Maybe on fifth Sundays. Maybe more often...once a month? Is that too much for an officer of the Board in another church? And I still have this issue of theology. I'm NOT a Christian (at least not with a capital C), and this church is very much Christian (maybe even in all-caps). I'm also not black, but I don't think this posed a problem at the church (and in a follow-up conversation with a neighbor who's been a member there for two years, it's quite the opposite...they would love to be more diverse). But the drive is sure a lot shorter. And I did like all the hugs.

Baby's first rap show

Yesterday was day one of the Memphis Heritage and Music Festival, and we ventured over there twice. Early afternoon, the festival was just getting started, and we watched some Chinese martial artistry, a cooking demonstration, and genuinely enjoyed a DJ mixing some fantastic techno music. But the sun was high, and we were getting warmer than we wanted to be. Since swine flu daughter was still not 100%, we left, but the we planned to return for the headliners playing in the evening.

As the appointed hour approached, the girl was clearly going nowhere. She was tired and not very interested in live music. The boy, however, was still game, so he and I headed out, finding a decent parking space (not as good as our space earlier, but still not bad). We ran into an old friend of mine from college, who also had been one of the boy's preschool teachers, and she was planning to head over to the same stage we were, to see Al Kapone. He and I both like rap music, and the show was fantastic. Great energy, great band.

I will admit, though, that seeing this show with my son was strange. See, when I'm in the audience, I tend to move up to the front of the crowd, and I get a workout, because I like to dance. My boy, however, does not like to get in the front of anything, so we stayed off to the side, still close to the stage, but not as close as I would have liked.

He and I also have different opinions about volume. At a show like this, I am in the "turn it up to eleven" school of thought. But my sweet boy turns the volume down whenever he can.

All this added up to an early departure, before the set was done. The boy claimed tiredness, but I think he was a bit overwhelmed by the noise and the crowd. Turns out he made a very good decision, though, because we saw lightning as we drove home, and a big thunderstorm began a few minutes later. Since we didn't have an umbrella, our parking space would have been horrible if we'd left later.

As it was, we had a great time, and I think Al Kapone has a new lifelong fan. We might have to go back today....


*****I am well aware that I have completely failed at my September NaBloPoMo effort. I'm not being graded, at least not as far as I know, so I'm okay with it. It's hard to blog when swine flu girl totally hogs the computer to play Sims. Just saying.

My Memphis (not my video, but yes, my neighbor)

Memphis, Saturday, August 16

On the thirty-first anniversary of Elvis Presley's death, I took some pictures of the Memphis I love. Please to enjoy!

My plans, let me share them with you

After a few busy weekends, the family calendar has very little ink this weekend. Which is a good thing - I don't strive to fill up every extra moment. The kids started school on Monday, and that's cut into their down time (as well as totally destroying their preferred sleep schedule, which resembles the sleep patterns of teens more and more). Seeing as I'm the self-appointed creator of the pajama day, down time is something I encourage.

But not this weekend. At least not tomorrow.

My feed reader brings me news of local events, and this one I'm not missing. Mainly because it can be done as a family, and it can be done however we choose.

As a lover of Memphis, this is an opportunity to create a visual love letter to my chosen hometown. It's also an opportunity to encourage the kids to look at their city with a different eye. To examine what they see.

I'll share pictures once we've got them. We can't start until 12:01. I'm making a list of what I want to photograph. Keep your fingers crossed that we see a bunch of Elvis impersonators.

Opening Ceremonies, or the moment I know I'm raising my children right

I'm a dork. I admit it. Every four years (well, now every two), I anticipate the opening ceremonies of the Olympics. I watch, I get teary-eyed, it's great.

Nobody in my family shares my enthusiasm (even the dogs look at me crazy), but at least Craig is tolerant (especially because he can watch a DVD on the laptop).

The ceremony last night was conveniently timed to begin right before we had dinner (taco salads, in true international spirit), so I paused the program (thank you, TIVO!) and made the kids watch with me. They were interested, sort of, for the first few minutes. At least anytime there were flashing lights or explosions.

My darling daughter, the model of refinement and elegance, made a cultural observation:

"If Memphis hosted the Olympics, we'd ghetto it up real good!"

And her brother, with impeccable timing and wit, added:

"It would be the Ghett-Olympics!"

The experiment will continue

But not this week.

We've begun our three-week stint of kid-free life. Since Craig is working (indefinitely) at the Corporation, neither of us has a need to drive to work. With two fewer mouths to feed, we have fewer grocery needs.

This week, however, I have a few meetings in the suburbs, both of which entail 40 or so miles of driving, round trip. While I'd like to say we're pledging to limit our driving to under 100 miles this week, I'm not sure we're going to make that commitment this week.

I've discovered, however, that when gas prices have reached the nearly-$4-per-gallon mark, that my mindset about driving changed. Keep in mind, this is coming from a person who lives two blocks from work and generally only drives a couple of times a week. So I'm already far less dependent on gasoline than many, many people. But still, something changed.

See, before, when gas was a mere $2.50, or even $3 per gallon, I still was more than willing to drive across town, then come back home, then go out again, possibly in the same direction of where I had been before. Lately, though, I've put more thought into our car use, trying to consolidate trips so that one trip led to four or five errands being run at the same time.

Even yesterday, on our way back to Memphis from Nashville (where we dropped off the kids with my parents), we stopped at the Costco that is just off the interstate. We needed dog food (well, I guess the dogs needed the dog food, more accurately), and we went ahead and bought some other groceries, hoping to save a trip later in the week. A few months ago, we would've gone ahead home, then headed out to Costco later in the day, or the next day.

So I guess the goal is to see if we can make our current tank of gas (about 3/4 full) last for three weeks. I suppose it doesn't really matter how much we drive in the first week versus the second or third week. We're just going to drive only when we need to drive, and we'll not drive when we don't need to.

Which is why I'm not riding my bicycle to the dentist on Tuesday, and I'm not feeling bad about it.

The Experiment, Day One

The kids are out of town again, for their second week (of six) this summer. They've had an alternating-weeks schedule up to this point: two weeks out of school, one week with my parents, one week home, now one week with Craig's family, to be followed by another week at home, then just about four weeks with my parents.

We've been enjoying this (or a similar) arrangement for the past few summers. Our childless state allows us to do things we don't usually do, like eating dinner at 10 p.m. or playing strip poker.

This year, however, we've decided to try something different. Sure, we could have chosen to get into the new show "Swingtown", but that's not really our style. Instead, we're remaining STD-free and going green! That's right; we're not driving all week. The car will remain in the driveway and we'll explore other forms of transportation to meet our needs this week.

We do have a few advantages. I live two blocks from my job, roughly a seven-minute commute on foot. And Craig is working there (temporarily) these days, too. So there's no driving to work anyway. We also live almost in downtown Memphis, and our gym is an easy bike ride away. Along that bike ride, we pass a small grocery store and a drug store, so we could pick up any necessities there.

Today was day one, and we did use our bikes to run an urgent errand. (There was no wine in the house!) Eight-tenths of a mile each way took no time at all - not even far enough to work up a sweat, even in Memphis's summer heat.

So today, success. Tomorrow? We'll see. There's a plan to visit the gym and then pick up food for dinner. I think we can do it.

Art, I makes it!

My daughter accused me of looking like a tourist when I took these pictures. But I'm not a tourist. Not at all.

Zombies

Pictures replace 1000 words, and I've missed a lot of blogging. Please to enjoy these photos of the Zombie March on Downtown Memphis last month.

Grace

I like to tell people that I have the best job at the hospital. Where other folks spend their working days placing IVs in children, giving parents bad news, rushing grant applications, spending endless hours in labs doing important research, or making difficult decisions about the future of our institution, I get to hang out in the most fun part of the hospital, making coffee for everyone who needs a cup.

Part of the fun is getting to know a cross-section of our hospital...mostly staff, but also visitors and families. I've gotten to know exactly how seven-year-old "Keith" likes his hot chocolate, how a prominent scientist likes his latte, and which coffee blends are favored by post doc researchers.

And then there are the moments that really knock my socks off. There's a parent who comes by our store nearly every day. "Janey" orders the same coffee every time: four cappuccinos, along with four pastries. (Usually she gives me free reign to select the pastries.) This order costs a bit more than $20. Four or five days a week. Yes, that's about $100 per week. Did I mention who the coffee and snacks are for? No? They're for the nurses who are taking care of her daughter.

This woman, about my age, never shows the strain of being in the hospital with a sick child. She is very, very beautiful and her smile lights up the room. She's cheerful and funny, and obviously generous.

And if she were none of those things, given the difficulty of her current situation....1000 miles away from home, with her husband and other daughter just as far away...I wouldn't blame her a bit. If she were cranky or distracted or tearful, I wouldn't be at all surprised.

But she's meeting this challenge with grace and graciousness and gratitude, and I look forward to her daily visit. That visit reminds me that I work in an amazing place, full of amazing people, and that we have so many opportunties, every day, to do good, to make new friends, to make a difference in someone's life.

I'm trying to rise to the challenge. If Janey can be that great with so many obstacles, I can be that great too. My life is pretty easy: my kids are healthy and smart, my husband is great, I have a good job. My list of complaints and worries is short. But the opportunities I have to do better - to be kinder, more generous, more helpful, more inspiring - are ample.

Amazing what a person can learn while making coffee.

Day off

Since I worked this weekend, I was off today.

My dad left at lunchtime today to return home; he'd been here since Saturday afternoon, having driven here with the kids to return them to us, as well as to assemble the headboard he'd built for us.

After enjoying breakfast and a trip to the river (yes, it's high, but no, I don't think my neighborhood, or any other neighborhood nearby, will be flooded), my dad left in his car.

I spent much of the next few hours cleaning up my bedroom. The new headboard includes bookshelves, so I shelved books (books, I might add, that have been sitting in my room in boxes for many months) and straightened up and changed sheets and dusted and vacuumed. And then, yes, I basked in the cleanness of the room.

This headboard is pretty awesome. I designed it months ago for my dad to build (he's cool like that), and the finished product is actually more impressive than I expected. And the assembly is great in that it easily comes apart into the two bookshelf units (which are a foot deep and a foot wide and six feet tall, quite easily transported via Prius), the fabric-covered board and the top board, which are (obviously) flat. So it can move without being a monster to move.

Oh, and yes, it has built-in lights. Because that's how I roll.

And yes, I know it would be totally mean to tell you how awesome it is and not to post pictures, so here you go. Please to enjoy.

Thank you

I suppose that you already know that my fair city got hit pretty hard by strong storms last night. Warehouses were destroyed, homes were destroyed, even a mall sustained major damage. My family spent hours glued to the radar pictures on the television, seeing ourselves in the direct path of a tornado for a few minutes (fortunately for us, it veered east, and we were out of its path). Friends of mine saw tornadoes. Friends of mine lost neighbors.

In my house, we had a panicking dog and a panicking boy. My sweet son has a rather irrational fear of weather, particularly hurricanes and tornadoes. Fortunately, we've been able to talk him down from his hurricane fear (it helps that we live very, very far from saltwater), but any serious threat of tornadoes is a guarantee that he'll be at best, fearful, at worst, a complete wreck.

Last night he veered closer to the "complete wreck" side of the scale. There were tears. There was a ten-minute-long episode of such fear that I could barely be near him. He planted himself in the laundry room (the safest room in the house for such events) and assumed the "duck and cover" position. Keep in mind that there was no tornado heading even remotely toward our house at that point. I finally convinced him to watch Hannah Montana in my bedroom, demonstrating that the trek from my bed to my closet (the other, more comfortable "safe room" in the house) took only seconds.

Because a second line of storms was forecast to come through the area around 10 p.m., we dragged the futon mattress downstairs so the kids could sleep in our room. I think it gave him peace of mind, and he slept well (except when the second front came through, with astonishing force).

But the title of this post is "Thank you" and there's a reason.

Some people may think I'm a bit odd, in that my usual online routine includes checking weather.com. I almost always know what the day's weather is predicted to be. And this storm system? Was no surprise. As early as Sunday afternoon, I knew that Tuesday was going to be an interesting day. There was a "Special Weather Statement" posted, warning that conditions would be ripe for such storms. By Monday, the forecast had been narrowed down to the point that the predicted storms were projected to arrive between 1 and 9 p.m.

The first raindrop hit my neighborhood at 4 p.m. Just as predicted. The worst was over before 11 p.m.

Even though I whined (and wined) about missing American Idol and House, our local weather forecasters kept us informed, alerting folks when the funnel clouds began forming, figuring out the path these storms would follow, and telling people to take cover.

They were exactly on target. And for that, I'd like to buy all the weather forecasters a Coke. They all deserve a nice day off.

8 Things for 2008

As promised, my eight lofty, yet attainable, goals for the upcoming year.

1. Utilize my gym membership. I had a good streak going for several months, but I got out of the habit after a bout with the flu. This business trip, with the two-week hotel stay, could get me back in a good exercise routine. If I lost a few pounds, I wouldn't be heartbroken.

2. Keep my desk clean. I used to have a really, really messy desk at work. I resolved, about a year ago, to spend a portion of Friday afternoon making sure my desk was clean before I left. I've done well with that and am trying to increase the frequency of the desk purge to daily. Hopefully that will spill over to my purse.

3. Stealing this one from Zoot. I'm going to take the dogs, particularly the big girl, on longer walks. I'm sure she'd be a better dog if she got more exercise. Plus, she's getting a little chubby, which is cute but certainly not healthy.

4. Eat more fruit. If I had my druthers, I'd live on cheez-its, dinner rolls with butter, and country fried steak. With macaroni and cheese on the side. Unfortunately, that's not a sensible diet for anyone. Adding a couple of pieces of fruit might help me break the cheez-it addiction.

5. Ride my bike more. I live downtown. I work downtown. I do a lot of things downtown, and I feel pretty stupid driving around, looking for parking, when I live under a mile away from most of the things I do. Our house isn't in the downtown core, but it's an easy bike ride to get most places we go. If I bothered.

6. Give more of my time to help others. Delivering meals on wheels was so easy and so rewarding that we'd be crazy not to sign up do continue throughout the year. And I'd like to find more things we can do, as a family, to help out. Especially in our own neighborhood.

7. Finish the book. Along with exercising, that's part of my two weeks in a hotel plan.

8. Get more photos printed. Not everyone wants to look at a tiny camera screen. And computers crash. I really love the photo book I made of our wedding pictures. The next step would be to make more, like for vacations, birthdays, holidays, or whatever.

Media Frenzy, Round Two

When we walked into the MIFA headquarters this morning, we were wondering how many meals we would deliver. We were wondering where we'd be going. We were wondering if the kids were going to be okay with delivering meals to homebound seniors. We weren't wondering if the reporter from Channel 5 was going to be our new shadow.

But that's how it played out.

Something about my family screams, "Media, follow us!"

I'm thinking it's the kids.

That or the "Media whore" tattoo on my forehead.

Media frenzy

You'd think we were people who actively sought out the media. But I promise, they came to us.



Here's the cover:

But perhaps even better is the very surprising and delightful article about my son. (Page 25)

He gets his award tonight. Betcha $10 that I cry.

If you're local

Pick up the most recent issue of the Memphis Flyer. There's this awesome family on the cover. I think I recognize the house. (Their website should update Thursday; the last issue is still on the site right now.)

In all seriousness, I'm very, very pleased with the picture and the article. I was in a pretty flippant mood when we were interviewed for the story, so I was a little worried that she didn't have much good material, but I shouldn't have worried.

Plus, it's further evidence that my neighborhood is truly awesome.

But aren't you scared?

I guess NaBloPoMo got me all crazy, what with two posts on the weekend.

Over the past few weeks, I've been putting in more hours than usual at work. We've got a couple of very big projects going on, and that's sometimes meant that I leave work closer to 6 p.m. than my usual pre-5 p.m. departure.

Do you know what the difference between leaving work at 4:45 p.m. and 6:15 p.m.?

It's dark.

As I've mentioned, my commute is atypical for Memphis. I walk to work. Until a few months ago, my walk was one city block, then I entered the safety of the well-guarded campus where I work, then was across a parking lot, across a street, then inside a building that is connected to my department (door to door, about 1500 steps). Road realignment and other construction projects have removed the back entrance from service (temporarily), increasing my commute to about eight blocks outdoors, six of which are not inside the campus. (Which, incidentally, has prompted more than one person to note that I seem to be losing weight. I think they may be correct.)

When I tell people that I walk to work, most people express envy, telling me that it must be nice to save all that money, to get exercise, and so on. But a few people, especially those familiar with my neighborhood, say something else. "But aren't you scared?" they ask.

Let's consider the dangers involved in my commute.

I cross two streets. I don't have a crosswalk or a traffic signal for either crossing, but the traffic patterns make for a safe trip across the street. I suppose there's potential for injury, but it's pretty slim.

I walk in a residential area and then on the sidewalks along busy streets. Streets with plenty of car traffic but little foot traffic.

What should I be afraid of?

I'm not afraid of being hit by a car, or even a bus. I know how to look both ways before crossing, and I give myself plenty of time to wait for a safe opportunity to cross. I suppose there's the outside chance of a driver losing control of a vehicle, but those kinds of freak accidents are freak accidents, and I don't spend time worrying about them. (Plus, I'm just as likely, if not more so, to be injured while driving in a car in such a situation.)

Oh, I know.

I should be afraid of the people who are on foot. The people walking to the bus terminal, to a bus stop, to somewhere, wherever that may be. People who don't, for whatever reason, probably economic, have the use of cars. People who might be pushing shopping carts full of aluminum cans or their personal stuff. People who might ask me for a dollar.

Wait a minute.

I'm one of them, right? Because I'm walking, too.

Almost fifteen years ago, right before we got married, Craig and I bought a house in Cooper-Young. The neighborhood, at the time, was in transition. It had had some bad years, resulting from the growing suburbs beckoning to young families. When the solid middle class abandoned the area, things got dicey, and crime rates soared. The crime was diminishing, businesses were moving in, and Craig and I (wisely, I might add) saw a great opportunity to buy a house that would easily appreciate in value (it did, more than we thought it would have).

At the time, Craig was working at a video store, often working nights, and I was alone in the house a lot. And I was mostly fine with that. I would often walk from our house to the neighborhood coffee shop (we just had one car), and I frequently made that walk alone, in the dark. Maybe that was stupid. Maybe I should have been afraid. But it never occurred to me to feel anything but confidence. I was in my neighborhood, on my street, surrounded by my neighbors.

Maybe I'm still stupid, if that's what I was then. Because I don't feel scared walking in my neighborhood. I don't feel scared walking past the construction parking lot (I've gotten to know the men who work there, and I tend to think they're looking out for me). I don't feel scared walking on the sidewalk on a well-traveled street, especially when I can see homes owned by my hairdresser, by other people I've gotten to know by living here.

I'm walking in my neighborhood. If I'm scared to do that, then why the hell should I live here?

I might just be a little sad when my walk gets short again. Maybe I'll keep taking the long way home.

Still posting

Quick NaNo and NaBlo statistic: The month is 66.66667% complete.

We're going to have a nice Thanksgiving this year. We have a few friends who are "orphans" this year. One set is a father and eight-year-old son from church; the mom/wife just took a new job in a different state and moved last week. She was planning to return for Thanksgiving but it's not cost-effective. The father is a former chef, so that works out well for a potluck. Since they're packing to move in December, we decided it was easier to host at our house.

And then I saw an email from other friends from church who decided to stay nearby for the holiday because her grandmother's health is failing, so they anticipate needing to travel at a moment's notice. Since we all like each other, and since really, Thanksgiving is so much more fun with a crowd, I emailed them and invited them over.

Years ago, when Craig and I were still newlyweds and he managed a video store, we had lots of single friends who didn't have family in Memphis. And there was a really great Thanksgiving dinner we hosted of all our "orphan" friends. We were both vegetarian back then, so there was no turkey; instead, I made something out of "it's not turkey" (not its real name, but close enough), dressing, and puff pastry. (It was okay...looked good...and was an amazing array of carbs.) And much, much, much wine was consumed. The photos I took of the evening are a little cringe-worthy. It was the early 1990's. Our outfits and glasses were, well, a little larger-than-life, I suppose. And Craig was in his long hair and goatee phase, which wasn't his greatest look. (He's definitely aged gracefully. Gets cuter by the minute, if you ask me.)

Bad hair and big glasses notwithstanding, it was a great night. Our friends enjoyed the food, we all enjoyed the company, and the photos remind me sufficiently of the happy memories that I forget to cringe at the gigantic Cosby sweater my husband was wearing.

And this Thanksgiving is another opportunity to make memories. Memories with a family who will be leaving the fold soon, but also with one who has no plans to leave (or at least none that they've shared with us). And one day, years from now, we'll cringe at our hair and clothes, but we'll smile when we remember the jokes and stories. At least that's how I'm writing it.

Hard to write

I'm not looking forward to writing this post.

Not because I'm burned out on writing, NaNoWriMo and NaBloPoMo notwithstanding. I really enjoy the writing. And writing everyday is fine, although sometimes I'm a little stumped as to exactly what to write.

But today I have something to write about, but it's not funny or snarky or witty or heartwarming. Just a little upsetting. By the time I get it all out, it might be more than a little upsetting.

And I feel the need to put a lot of preface here. Preface about how I love my city and I know damn well that we have crime problems and I am committed to being a part of the solution. That's why I moved to one of the poorest census tracts in the city when it was redeveloped. That's why I send my children to public schools. That's why I walk to work.

But yesterday I doubted my choices.

Because yesterday, my son told me what happened on the playground. (This is all hearsay; he did not witness the event, but he was there when it allegedly happened. So believe what you want to believe.)

A few children were playing (throwing rocks, actually, is what he told me) near the fence that borders the playground. A man was on the other side of the fence. (Maybe across the street. Details, again, are fuzzy.) He spoke to the kids. They spoke to him. He pulled a gun and showed it to them, or maybe pointed it at them.

This happened at the beginning of recess. The kids didn't tell anyone until they went back inside. (And yes, the kids got in trouble for not telling.)

My son is a sensitive, sensible kid. He was pretty damn scared afterward. Not so scared that he wanted to stay home today or that he had nightmares or anything like that, but scared enough that it showed on his face when he told me about it.

And no, the school, the teacher, no. They didn't send a note home about it.

So if you'll pardon me, I need to call the office. This is a problem. And if it's not addressed to my satisfaction, you can bet your last dime that some grumpy redheaded blogger is going to wind up on the news.


edited to add:
The principal was aware of the situation yesterday and questioned the children involved. Each child's story was different from the others; she thinks the whole thing is a tall tale. As soon as it was reported, a teacher went back out to the playground to check out the situation and nobody was nearby at all. Even though she doesn't think there's a problem or that anything happened, the principal did contact the district's security office and reported the incident, also requested patrols. I still think a note should have come home, but at least she did what was necessary. The schoolyard is bounded by a fence, and the kids reported that this man was on the other side of the fence. I was impressed that my kids knew that it was a felony to be within 500 yards of a school with a gun (unless you're the police). So I'm okay. For now.