Roses Supposes

I’m feeling a lot more comfortable in this neighborhood now, even as I’ve been leaving it for the movie and merchandizing districts of Chinatown and Georgetown.

Yet, I remained confused about a lot of things. As I just wrote to Pastor Ken, after he gave me advice and asked what I thought about the solicitations: I’m not sure what I think of the situation. Being here has been forcing me to encounter racist and classist attitudes of mine. The church I went to on Sunday was definitely middle class–which was comfortable, despite the differences in worship style. I am more comfortable around individuals who are clean, dressed ok, and speak ok. I’m not sure how to get out of that comfort zone. I also know that fear for one’s safety can often be a prejudiced thing. Yet, I have my mother all worried about the neighborhood I’m in, which can rub off on me. I don’t wander around at night by myself much at all in Ann Arbor, so doing so does make me nervous. All of which comes back to how to treat solicitations. I don’t know. I gave money to a woman fundraising for her church, but haven’t been giving to the “beggars” — I just don’t feel comfortable stopping and chatting with them on the dark street while pulling out my wallet. But I dislike that I’m uncomfortable. What a basket of worms, eh?

At what price comfort? I dislike the commercialization of our souls that seems to happen in the US, yet I love beautiful things (which are often for sale in a shop). I had a wonderful time wandering around Georgetown shops yesterday looking at beautiful shoes, jewelry, clothes, housewares, architecture, and gardens. I try to find beauty in unlikely places–but I find myself succumbing to the ordinary assumptions of beauty in traditional places, surfaces that are devoted to that high god–commerce.

I was listening to a book yesterday by Alexander McCall Smith called The Right Attitude Toward Rain. The main character is the editor of an Applied Ethics journal and spends much of the book musing on the ethical decisions we make in everyday life, including a section on the requirements of “moral proximity”–looking into the eyes of a salesmen creates a human bond that requires something of the person. I feel this burden of moral proximity quite a bit, though I make a different choice than Isabel Dalhousie (the main character) who loves small shops. I dislike small shops because I feel badly for window shopping in them–by connecting with the ever present shop owner, I feel like I owe something to them, should buy something. I avoid trying on shoes when I must ask the attendant to go into the back for my size–such service seems to require that I reciprocate in some way. It takes a lot of energy for me to become “morally proximate,” which I think is why I avoid making eye contact in the streets. I’m getting over this because I love the uniqueness that often comes from small shops. Dalhousie also meditated on the moral proximity of beggars–and while often she comes up with an answer to her moral musings, in this case she didn’t.

Dalhousie is often told by her friends that she “thinks too much.” That her frequent intellectual musings upon action prevent the action itself. A journalist in the New York Times this week wrote that the new French president is making a similar claim; he’s calling the French to stop thinking so much and start acting/working more. There is the assumption among academics that if everyone–voters particularly–thought more and made wiser choices, or else listened to the wise academics, the world would be better. What do you think? Do some people over intellectualize problems? Do others not think enough? I have always had a running internal dialogue going on–I have to turn on stupid TV at times just to get the flow to stop, so I can rest. Yet, it is hard for me to imagine living a life that does not include such constant musings on the world. Yet I know not everyone constantly thinks–or at least doesn’t write it down. That’s why I’m having such trouble with my dissertation. I want to write about thought and about musings and about personal philosophies, but most of the subjects I’ve chosen relate only their actions, if they engage in autobiography at all, not their thoughts about those actions/events.

Enough rambling. Thanks to all who made it this far!

I found a Safeway. Google said there was one about 2 miles away. I headed that way, but had memorized all the directions but the first turn. I headed straight looking for Michigan Ave when I should have turned right at Harvard (on google it looked like the same street). However, about a mile up Georgia Ave I ran into another Safeway. So it was just as well. I passed a store called “Hip Hop in the Hood” or something to that extent. It does feel rather like a “hood.” People, particularly men, lounge all over the sidewalk and stores appear to discourage shopping. However, the Safeway comfortably evoked the ‘burbs, despite the security guy at the entrance. I’ve been thinking a lot about Center and Periphery’s recent post about Christian community and how antithetical such comfort can be to such a society. And yet, I don’t know how to change.

I wandered the aisles thinking about what I could make for myself in my rooms, with a tiny fridge and microwave. A recent doctor’s visit ordered me to avoid processed foods. So–no utensils, no dishes other than some plastic bowls and spoons, and all processed meats outlawed. I did get some easy mac, cheese and milk, but otherwise I am now a raw foodist! After a meal at a Jamacan restaurant for lunch that included something inedible with each mouthful (piece of bone, burned edge of chicken, UO), I think it is a happy conversion.

I took a bus back from the market. I normally avoid buses. As my friend Peggy knows too well, I tend to take them the exact opposite way I should. The bus adamantly declared No-Service, but when I asked the first bus driver if his bus went to Howard, he indicated the one behind him. I climbed on, fumbled through the change exchange, and stood, as no seats could accomodate bags, backpack and hefty lady. At the next stop, two got off, freeing up a bench. But then I sat there, worrying that I was taking up too much space on a full bus. A couple of stops down, an older man got on (with a full head of gray hair, and African Americans tend to gray late in their lives). I jumped up and offered the interior seat. He, despite being a small man, spread his legs wide to take the entire bench. I thought I could stand, but then sat anyway, just as someone across the aisle was about to jump into the seat. A woman who had just got on told her in an angry voice to sit down cause she was waiting for me to sit so she could move back.

My adventure for the day seems so rather tame compared to the stories told on my cousin Rosalie’s blog. She’s in Kosovo for the summer doing a legal internship at the UN.

The first day in the archives was good, although I desperately miss my camera. I was late getting there b/c I exercised too long and didn’t get into the shower till 8:30. Then I tried to find the coffee shop I had remembered, but tried 3 buildings and couldn’t find it. The campus was overrun by the boisterous young. They must be doing some sort of early-college experience program. I had to go down to Starbucks and get breakfast. Another 7 bucks b/c I decided to get fruit and a muffin and a small coffee.

I spent the morning looking at the finding aids that I didn’t already have. I picked up a ridiculously large stack of reader request forms, put 5 boxes on each sheet, and almost used up the whole stack. There’s no snowball way in hell I’m going to get through all these boxes without my camera. Today I got through 2 1/2. Someone on a grad-student blog said her professor told her that copying will always be cheaper than returning. So copying I must do, I guess! Either that or reduce my ambitions.

The area around Howard is quite unique, though there are overtones of Harlem. There are the beautiful buildings of Howard, including an impressive medical center and hospital, juxtaposed with run down buildings and ubiquitous security gates and window bars. There seemed to be very little open on Sundays–indeed it reminded me of wandering around some cities in Europe in the Sunday-hush. I have yet to find a grocery store. I saw a woman coming out of the subway with Subway bags, and thought it odd one would have to take the metro to a grocery store. The map they gave me for local amenities included a CVS, 7-Eleven and Rite-Aid. (I got TP at CVS–never fear). These types of stores only have processed food. There was a “health” store up the street, but it was under the Sunday hush. None of the stores around it were opened, and though the door to it was open, the shelves looked empty and there was no one at the register. I didn’t go in. I’m not sure where I’ll get veggies in the next few weeks. There were only a few restaurants open. Along the main drag, only fast food, national and local, existed. When I was here last fall, the streets were packed. Today, there were few people out. We’ll see what it is like during the week. And I’ll poke around on some other streets to see what I can find. I will also continue to think about the homeless and the poverty-stricken in real-time.

I started this shawl when I got on the plane this morning. You can see how much fun I had practicing zen like tranquility during the travails of airplane travel. I like to call it “Waiting for” “The Earth Moves Under my Feet”

I do praise God I have a room, since I forgot to call and confirm they got my money order I sent. It is a fairly typical dorm room. I may asphyxiate from the new paint, but it has air conditioning and i have my own bathroom! I don’t yet have the fridge I ordered and they “don’t provide toilet paper.” Off to find dinner and some TP.