Upside My Head (Pay Attention Now)

Wednesday, November 23, 2016

My neighborhood Cub - a safe(er) space?

I shop for groceries at my neighborhood Cub in South Minneapolis, on the corner of Minnehaha and Lake. As grocery stores goes, it is unfancy, even by Cub standards. A hood Cub, as many have called it, but it has the lowest prices and is convenient for us who live around it. I'm not a grocery shopping fan (or any kind of shopping fan), so even though I can currently afford it, I do not make a trip or extra trips to the co-op or Whole Foods a part of my routine in order to acquire fancier, healthier, better sourced foods. I go to Cub, zip up and down the aisles for what I need, pack my bags up and go home. Sunday after Sunday afternoon.

I have lived in near-South Minneapolis for over 40 years, so I've watched our neighborhoods and stores evolve. We've always been a diverse mix along Lake Street, and I honestly don't know when shoppers at "my" Cub or Target became typically more brown than white, but it's been that way for a very long time.

Like everyone else getting their shopping chores done, I don't normally think philosophically about these stores, who is in them, or anything symbolic or political at all. I just get my groceries, or toothpaste and toilet paper, and go to whatever is next on my list of errands.

But the Sunday after the election I went grocery shopping feeling completely raw and started noticing we the shoppers, gliding up and down the aisles in our many languages, our after-church wear, our hijabs, our sweats, our ink and asymmetrical haircuts - our carts spilling with our kids and grandkids along with our foods.

And we appeared unbothered. I imagined us collectively feeling safe(er) - or at least able to focus on just shopping. That may not be true. Folks may have been been feeling all kinds of ways, and "safe(er)" may not have been one of them.

But I'm wanting to believe folks that day were not worrying the way I've heard others worry since the election while shopping in their whiter neighborhoods and communities - fearful of being targeted because of speaking a language other than English, for wearing clothing that identifies them as Muslim, about the possibility or actuality of being hurled hateful words. "Go back where you came from." "Build the wall." Or having to see confederate flags in trucks in the parking lot.

Of course crap goes down at that Cub - people are profiled and insulted - this is the U.S./Minnesota/Minneapolis, and I'm not that naive. I've been insulted and called out many times myself, not so much for being queer, but mostly years back when my children were young for being a white mother of brown kids (everything from being called a n-word lover to having serious shade thrown at me for being us).

Let's not be delusional. We live in the same old days. But it's new day, too, with a sharper, harsher edge and even more terrifying possibilities ahead. Maybe I'm being my sentimental older white woman self looking for hope wherever I can find it - a self who I love. But maybe - just maybe - places like a neighborhood Cub can actually feel like a safe(er) space in a new kind of way.

Maybe.

Friday, November 4, 2016

Lessons from my mother - lead with love and kindness

My mom passed away from pancreatic cancer when she was just 70. Pancreatic cancer is one bad cancer. When you learn you have it, it's too late. It kills you quickly and painfully. My mom fought like the warrior she was and lived for over a year after her diagnosis. As she fought, she taught everyone around her lessons for life; lessons she embodied her entire lifetime made even more powerful as she experienced pain and dying.

To lead with love and kindness.

Even in excruciating pain, my mother embodied love. She was kind to everyone. She led with gracious dignity until her last breath.

This early morning I am swimming in those memories, perhaps a gift from her angel-self, as I battle with a different kind of pain. As we approach election day, my heart hurts and I can barely breathe.

Hate has never left our troubled country, but eight years ago, for a shining moment that manifested itself on that magical night in Grant Park, we led with hope. Since then, since the visible marker of another barrier broken, since the promise that if a Black man could be elected president all things might be possible, another man - a terrible white man - has given voice to the ugly mobs that were lying dormant just under the surface and invited them to rise up once again. The mobs of whiteness that once gathered with their children under the hanging bodies of lynched Black men for entertainment, the ones that bombed churches, the ones that put masks on their heads and terrorized innocent people, have been awakened and feel emboldened.

Sometimes it feels like hate leads now. Not hope, and certainly not love.

I know the truth is that love and kindness, respect and caring, are everywhere. But how easily their evidence is muted each time we learn of something new - a church burned, a football game where people felt (what did they feel; that it would be fun, funny?) to costume themselves as that terrible white man with nooses around the necks of others costumed as our current lovely president and our - hopefully - next first woman president. A man who hangs "fake" Black bodies from the tree in his front yard, a sign supporting the terrible white man just below them. How far are we from the day we learn of real bodies hanging once again? And on my own college campus, targeted hate at our Muslim students and our immigrant young people - who perhaps come from families who perhaps have fled unspeakable terror and hardship to come to this country with hope for a better life.

I want to scream. Not on my campus. Not in my community. Not in my country.

STOP THE HATE.

LEAD WITH LOVE AND KINDNESS.

BE LOVE.

I will go to polls on Tuesday and vote. Of course. Hopefully enough of us who want to fight this evil unleashed will go vote, too. And we will win. At least we will defeat the white man with the voice of bitter hate.

I just hope it's not too late. With the mobs and their kin no longer dormant, how do we slay the beast? How do we keep moving forward? How do we interrupt this madness, this terrible danger?

I am going to follow those lessons from my mother. I'm going to rise and rise until my last breath, no matter the pain, to fight with love, fiercely.

To protest hate wherever it manifests.
To insist Black Lives Matter. That water is life.
To center other voices.
To love across difference.

To honor my beautiful mother.

My mom with my kids, who are now in their 30s.

Friday, September 2, 2016

Inside the Dark Star - or - US Bank Stadium: A Review

My spouse Susan and I started calling the new Vikings stadium the Dark Star last year once we saw what our view of it would be - the rear view or its ass. We don't get the glimmering front view with its sea of tall glass reflecting our beautiful Minneapolis - we get this:

Since it opened, whizzing by via car or train I've thought that the whole thing is way too big and that the attempt to make it look like a big ship mostly fails and reminds me of the Titanic going down.

But last night we got to see it up close and personal, thanks to friends who had access to cheap (enough) seats, so I'd like to offer up my review. Full disclosure - I am a sports fan, college and pro, women's and men's. I see the value of pro sports in the Twin Cities, even if our teams - with the outstanding exception of the Minnesota Lynx - suck. I don't hate that we got a new stadium.

So first, the game itself. We won, despite the loss of Teddy Bridgewater two days before to his horrible knee injury. I think every fan was surprised - we sure were - and maybe so were the Vikes. I'm hoping it's the beginning of a good thing. It's hard to be a lifelong Vikings fan. You gotta have humility and skills in coping with disappointment.

Now back to the stadium. It is shimmery, shiny and oh so new. The glass reflection thing is magnificent. We were there in time to see the sun slowly making its way down in the western sky, and the resulting reflection of downtown on all that glass was spectacular. And the gigantic doors were open - letting the breezes of the 75 degree day waft in. Oh the amazingness of it all.

We made our way to our seats waaaay up high by taking several escalators and endless stairs. We stopped at what looked like a pub only to be turned away - that was for the special, higher paying fans, and we were in steerage - but at the top of the ship, not the bottom. Our seats were about six rows down from the very top, and it gave a whole new meaning to the nose-bleed section. It felt like the air was thinner, or at least that's my excuse for taking the first quarter to catch my breath after all those stairs. This was our view:

There are no words to adequately describe the vastness of this beast. It is ginormous, a behemoth... We all remarked on how you can't see the other fans at all except those right around you. Everyone else is teeny tiny specks far far far away. And when they asked us to make some noise, the decibels got lost in all that vastness. It seems too big to feel like we are all in it together. Maybe it would be different at a sellout but I'm not sure. I think you might have that feeling no matter where your seats are - it's that big. It reminded me oddly of the Hunger Games.

From our seats, the players were dots. But thanks to the giant HD video screen (8100 sq feet), it didn't matter. We could see everything just as if we were sitting in our living rooms. It was hard to stay focused on the field - the vibrant high-definition color on the big screen and closeup shots were irresistible.

Be forewarned if you are attending future games - they have some work to do on their concession lines and people moving strategies. To get in we had to walk up a bunch of stairs outside, across some kind of giant walkway, back down more stairs and then back around behind the walkway away from the stadium in order to get into long lines to get our bags checked and then go through the ticket line. It was counter-intuitive - we should be able to walk down those stairs and head to the shiny, inviting pearly entrance right in front of us!

And then when we left, to get to the train we had to go the opposite way from the train entrance and down and around another long line before we could get in the very long line for the train. Again, counter-intuitive and frustrating!

I had a blast, but I'm not sure I'll have the desire to go back anytime soon. It was dizzying and overwhelming. I was actually a little nervous being up so high - when we looked out the windows we could see something like the 20th floor of the buildings around us. I like stadiums where you can look across and see the other people, feel as one, and maybe even pick out a friend or two. Maybe that makes me more of a college sports fan after all.

But last night was a great adventure - checking out this amazing piece of something with dear friends, drinking a beer or two, and watching my team win again the odds! Skol!

Thursday, May 19, 2016

Formation and #BlackGirlMagic: Conversations with my granddaughter

I have tickets to see Beyoncé in concert on Monday, so in high-squeeeee anticipation, Lemonade has been on constant rotation in my life, especially in my car. Last night as my 11-year-old granddaughter and I were driving to her track practice Formation rotated on and she started singing along, passionately. She clearly knew all the words.

I'm okay with this. It's #BlackGirlMagic and she was feeling it.

But I wanted to make sure she knew why she was feeling it, so on the way home I asked her if she knew what the song meant. She said, "Kind of. Not really."

Next came the deconstruction message, kid style.

I said, "It's a song that's for Black women and girls everywhere that celebrates being who you are and where you are from. It's about being independent and in charge of your life. That you don't have to take crap from anyone or let anything take you down. And most important, be you."

Then we listened again and as we car-danced and sang along, there was no doubt she was listening especially hard to the words, so with a little help from me, we got all extra loud on some key lines:

...I see it, I want it
I dream it, I work hard, I grind hard 'til I own it
Cause I slay, I slay, I slay
Okay ladies now let's get in Formation cause I slay
I just might be a Black Bill Gates in the making
I slay, okay, I slay...

Of course there are words and themes in this song that are not for a child's ears, but she already knew all those words anyway, so why not emphasize the ones that create the important message - isn't that what good deconstruction and education (and grandparenting) is all about? (Oh, and yes, I had to explain who Bill Gates is.)

Besides, what could be cooler than an 11-year-old Black girl and her 60-year-old white grandma bumping and singing Formation on their way down Lake Street, through the heart of South Minneapolis? I mean, seriously.

All kidding aside, Beyoncé's work these days is no joke. Have you read the Lemonade Syllabus or paid attention on Black Twitter? Queen Bey is causing a ruckus in all the right ways. She takes her pop-culture, superstar status and slays with messages of Black female empowerment, feminism, overcoming anything, being your authentic self, and getting free. #BlackGirlMagic indeed.

She is someone who is accessible to my grandchild and offers up fierce and powerful messages to her - and to Black girls and women everywhere. And all of the rest of us along for the ride, too.

This morning, I watched my grandchild as she expertly got her hair into shape with a flat iron, repairing the damage from a post-track practice water fight. (Yes you read that right - she does her own hair. Her mother is not about raising an entitled child and expects her to take care of her own business and to do her share at home). As she walked out of the house and to the car there was a little extra sass in her walk. She was confident and slaying, 11-year-old style.

#BlackGirlMagic

Monday, April 25, 2016

Our beloved Prince - select music videos and stories

I've watched so many amazing video clips and read so many tributes to Prince since his passing on April 21, that I thought I would start archiving them here. These links are focused on the less heard, less known music and thoughts. I invite anyone to add to this mini-archive. And to enjoy. More to come!

April 29 update: Prince has been gone for a week and a day. And we fans and mourners have been treated to a flood of never before seen videos of live performances over the years. Prince never allowed these on the Internet, and my guess is they will slowly be removed from the Internet (I think the process has already begun). But I'd like to believe that allowing them to stay up for this last week is a gift from him, to us. Today I added my last link to this tribute post - thanks to all who contributed to this collection. Though our collective sadness will linger for a long time to come, there was so much joy in watching these - for me, and I'm sure for you, too. Rest in peace and power, Purple One.