Hidden Life

Although it's been a very busy week, I've been thinking about what is seen and what is unseen in our daily life. It started with finding this guy upon my arrival home from Brooklyn:

 H & 13th NE - May 20, 2014

I almost stepped on him, but luckily I didn't. Although he did make me shudder a little bit, mostly I was just impressed.  I had no idea slugs that large even existed on the East Coast. Where I'm from, we have snails and slugs but they top out at a few centimeters. Here's a metro card for scale. 

H & 13th NE -- May 20, 2014

I was less excited when I found that slugs had been making their way up to my second-floor balcony garden. Maybe this had been going on for a while, and I had never noticed, but knowing that there were slugs around made me look a little harder for evidence of them. The next morning, I found that my Johnny Jump-up seedlings had been slimed. 

Vicar's "Garden" -- May 21, 2014

There are other things that exist at night in the alley that ordinarily go unseen. Husband and I once saw a raccoon, nonchalantly walking the top of the fence, all the way down the alley. I've spotted a possum under a car -- I thought it was a cat at first. Definitely not a cat. There are at least two cats back there, big roaming tom cats, who work at catching the rats that scurry, and now and then people, looking for a late-night place to tryst, to fight, or (sadly) to shoot up. 

What I've seen, I'm sure, is just a sliver of what actually happens around me in my neighborhood. I just found an entire species that I didn't know existed here. How much more is hidden?

On the Page and on the Stage

The Atlas Performing Arts Center - October 2013

I'm very excited to announce something very exciting!

A few weeks ago, I announced an upcoming feature of The Vicar of H Street: a (still) yet-to-be named oral history feature, in the style of Studs Terkel.  As grace would have it, word about this project made its way over to the Atlas Performing Arts Center, where it was brought to the attention of one of the artistic directors there, who contacted me about the project. We had a wonderful and fruitful conversation. If all goes well, the stories collected for the blog will be adapted into a theatrical performance for the Atlas's Intersections Festival in February of 2015! This is a great opportunity to help the stories of the neighborhood be preserved and (re)incorporated into the life of the community, especially as we stand at a juncture in the history of this neighborhood. I'm delighted to be included in their mission to "make the Atlas a center of community conversation."

During the last few weeks, when I haven't been running around with Holy Week or Easter, I've been working on getting the word out, finding participants, and arranging times for interviews. I still need many more people though, from a broader spectrum of the H Street experience. 

If you would like to participate, or have a lead (I would especially like to hear from some of our elderly neighbors -- a personal introduction to them would be irreplaceable) please contact me at vicarofhstreet@gmail.com. I would love to hear from you!

Heal H Street

Last night, I stood around with a gaggle of neighbors, friends, coworkers, and curious strangers on the corner of G&9th to watch the premiere of Heal H Street, a documentary short by H Street local Craig Corl. Because the permits hadn't been worked out with the Sherwood Rec Center, the film ended up being projected onto the side of a neighbor's house, lending a bit of novelty to the atmosphere.

G & 9th NE, April 22, 2014

The film covered the recent history of the neighborhood, beginning shortly before MLK's assassination through the aftermath of the riots and neighborhood neglect, to the start of gentrification and the ensuing cultural shifts.  The film also traces the filmmaker's personal growth as someone who was born a few years before the riots in an entirely different world, and who struggled to come to terms with his existence as a gentrifier on H Street. While perhaps the process of gentrification and H Street investors are portrayed as probably more deliberately hostile than they are, as I'm more inclined to see the small-stepped micro-decisions and individually-made logical decisions that make up a wave of neighborhood change, the documentary rings true about the relationships that need to be forged among new and old residents in whatever H Street is becoming, and the need to remember the past. 

Heal H Street is now available online for anyone who would like to view it -- and I would certainly recommend it. 

Spring!

Spring is finally, finally here, despite the cold weather for the next few days. I'm ridiculously grateful, and spent last weekend sprucing up our very limited outside spaces: our balcony, and the little front lot.

And the front lot was disgusting. I wish I had remembered to take a "before" picture, but imagine a scraggly bunch of mostly dead ivy spilling out a foot onto the sidewalk. When I cut away the ivy, I had to scoop years worth of dead and decaying leaves which had turned into soil, and when I started digging up the dead roots, I found a beer bottle, a crushed aluminum can (for malt liquor), a small collection of plastic number stickers that used to adorn the front of our house, a little girl's hair barrette, some wire, and innumerable shards of window glass. I felt like a very short-term archaeologist, discovering pieces of the recent past.

After the ground was cleared, I mixed in some fertilizer, dug a few holes and put some pansies in, knowing that they're a hardy bunch and could probably handle whatever comes their way this summer, despite the damaged soil. The last step was mulching around them. Mulching is always really satisfying, not only because mulch keeps the moisture in when the weather gets hot, but because it always makes what you do look way more professional than it actually is, as in, look how much better these crappy pansies I bought for four dollars look now. (By the way, the garden center on West Virginia and New York is way cheaper than the Home Depot.)

The Vicar's "front yard" April 12, 2014

The difference between what was once there, a scraggly, smelly mess, and what is now there, something that helps the neighborhood look and be better than what it was, is not in money (it cost less than $15 for the materials) or in time (it really only took two hours) or in talent (clearly, my flower bed design is lacking in genius). The difference is intentionality. Intentionality is greeting your neighbor when you see her in the street -- it doesn't cost money, and it doesn't take that much time. Intentionality is paying attention to how your actions affect those around you. Intentionality is seeing, with new eyes, the potential of what's in a person, not what's presenting on the surface, and interacting with that person based on their potential, not their ugliness. In the end, intentionality is the difference between a group of people who live in the same geographic area, and a community.

We'll see how this little flower bed grows. Maybe the frost, or the heat, or my dog, or something else will kill off the pansies. That would be too bad, but if they don't make it, that's okay. I'll just plant something else.

G Street Bike Lanes

The mini stop signs have been up for months, but now they finally make sense. As of this week, the bike lanes have been painted on G Street.

G&13 St. NE, April 3, 2014

Drivers: Remember to watch out for cyclists.

Cyclists: Remember to watch out for drivers.

Be safe, everyone!

Becoming Invisible in Your Own Neighborhood

Yesterday, Morning Edition put out a story about how the process of gentrification might actually be beneficial to those who have always lived in the neighborhood, and they focused on H Street. This isn't too surprising that NPR chose H Street, given their new headquarters only a few blocks away, but regardless, I was heartened by the news that by moving to H Street I wasn’t kicking somebody’s grandmother out into the cold.

The article explores how the process of gentrification improves parks, schools and other amenities. That isn’t exactly newsworthy, in and of itself. But NPR went on to look at new studies which seems to imply that not only do long-time residents stay in the gentrified neighborhoods, there are many other side benefits, including better credit scores, new jobs, and a safer environment.

If this is true, it’s good news. What’s puzzling to me is why it doesn’t seem to be true. The social scientists were just as surprised as I am. They were gathering data to see how much displacement gentrification caused, but instead they found gentrification increased retention, and they were shocked. They must have been shocked because when gentrification happens, it doesn't seem like the people who lived there before are still there. 

This is what troubles me: If the people who have always lived in the neighborhood are still here and present, why does it seem as though the people who lived here before have been displaced? What has changed so much in newly gentrified community that it seems as though the people who lived there before have suddenly become invisible? Are our social groups so totally closed off, with different hang out spots, different work and life schedules, that they never overlap in meaningful ways? 

And if we are actually so isolated that we never see or interact with each other, what is it that would make our neighborhood a neighborhood, not just a ZIP code?

PS If you have thoughts on this -- why it seems like people aren't there anymore -- please leave them in the comments, I am genuinely curious!

Swampoodle

I've made a huge mistake. I could have been the Vicar of Swampoodle! What a missed opportunity.

Seriously, though, I was looking up a restaurant that I had a Groupon to (which, btw, is now closed, and I have no idea if I can get my money back) when I noticed something peculiar.

Right there, in the middle. Swampoodle. Swampoodle? What the heck is Swampoodle? 

So, I do what any self-respecting person does, and I google it. Turns out that it's a real neighborhood in DC, although it's not at all what it once was. According to Wikipedia, anyway, it was an Irish neighborhood of slums that had Tiber Creek (a whole creek! where did the creek go?) running through it that would overflow and create huge puddles. In case you haven't already, this is the point where you should try to say "puddle" with an Irish accent. Anyway, the neighborhood was rife with crime, but still a busy and vibrant neighborhood (with a baseball stadium that seated 6,000!) until it was cut in two by the construction of Union Station in 1907, after which the residents dispersed into the city. Now nothing is left except a few original houses on the outskirts of the neighborhood and a mostly-forgotten name. It reminds me of how easily distinct and multi-generational communities can fade away, even if it is in the name of "progress."

And so, Swampoodle is now "NoMa." I guess living North of Massachusettes Avenue is better than saying you live in a Swamp Puddle, but NoMa sounds so sterile in comparison.

Krampusnacht 2013

Fröhliche Sankt Nikolaus Tag!

Husband and I just got back from visiting Husband's family in Seattle, but were in time to see the second annual DC Krampusnacht.

First observation about Krampusnacht: If I had been a child, I would have been terrified. I mean, I was afraid of Santa, so if I was afraid of Santa, than this:

Krampusnacht 2013

or this:

Krampusnacht 2013

would have been the end of me.

Second observation about Krampusnacht: I loved the weird amalgamation of people who paraded down the street. People who had no idea this was happening, but joined in, people who had been planning elaborate costumes for months, some RennFaire kids, some Comicon kids, some Goth-looking kids, a drunk sousaphone player blatting Christmas carols, people promoting Santa's Cause DC, others just giving out candy. There was also some kind of dance troupe who were hitting each other with sticks, as well as some actual Germans (or Swiss, or Austrians, I couldn't tell.) Others just stood by and laughed at the crazy fun of it all. But no one in the crowd seemed to mind the differences, and rather, a dare I say festive? mood won the day. Even the cops seemed bemused.

Third (and mildly theological) observation on Krampusnacht: In the places where Krampusnacht is traditionally observed, the Krampus accompanies St. Nicolas on the eve of St. Nicolas's feast day, December 6th. St. Nicolas rewards the good children, while the Krampus gives out sticks or coal, or beats (really, threatens or pretends to beat) the bad children. The Krampus carries chains, noisemakers, and sometimes a basket on his back to cart bad children off to his lair so he can eat them.
        This idea really appeals to me. Not the eating/beating children part, but the part where the entire community recognizes -- literally, re-cognize, re-thinks-- not just the existence of good, but the existence of evil. It's standing right in front of them, albeit in a cartoonish form, but the chains that bind and the teeth that gnash are reminders of the how evil, even at its most banal, is a force that destroys. Evil rarely looks outwardly like a Krampus. Mostly, it looks like violence behind closed doors, grinding systemic oppression, the rippling effects of poverty, or the crippling indifference to those around us. And if that's not scary, I don't know what is.