I've been thinking a lot about my family's 96 gallon recycling totter - in some towns they are affectionately called "Big Blue". Our town, in an effort to cut down on how much trash homes produce, gave each household one large totter and only trash in that totter will be collected. It forces families to do a better job sorting their "true" trash from items that can be recycled.
So we fill up our 96 gallon totter for the biweekly pick up with cans, plastic items and others that can be recycled. And a large collection truck comes by and dumps them all together with other recyclables. And off they go to a plant to be sorted.
But who does the sorting? What is the safety standards of these plants? While we feel good about decreasing our overall trash, who is compromising her or his safety to sort our recyclables?
So on this International Women's Day, I'm inspired by the nameless women (and men) who do the work to make our planet green - sort our recyclables, weatherize our homes, create new items out of "trash" (e.g. a purse from an old rice bag).
Because they are not being thanked for cleaning up, or sorting through, our mess.
Boy: Woof! You sure gotta climb a lot of steps to get to this Capitol Building here in Washington. But I wonder who that sad little scrap of paper is?
As a kid I was a huge fan of Schoolhouse Rock - those ingenious 2 minute cartoons sandwiched between Saturday morning shows that taught math, science, grammar and history.
But my favorite, all-time knock down drag out favorite is "I'm Just a Bill".
Boy: Gee, Bill, you certainly have a lot of patience and courage. Bill: Well I got this far. When I started, I wasn't even a bill, I was just an idea. Some folks back home decided they wanted a law passed, so they called their local Congressman and he said, "You're right, there oughta be a law." Then he sat down and wrote me out and introduced me to Congress. And I became a bill, and I'll remain a bill until they decide to make me a law.
In some ways the love of "I'm Just a Bill" clearly inspired me to go into public policy. It planted the seeds of a belief that government can make a difference. Like making school buses stop at train tracks.
Boy: Listen to those congressmen arguing! Is all that discussion and debate about you? Bill: Yeah, I'm one of the lucky ones. Most bills never even get this far. I hope they decide to report on me favourably, otherwise I may die. Boy: Die? Bill: Yeah, die in committee. Oooh, but it looks like I'm gonna live! Now I go to the House of Representatives, and they vote on me. Boy: If they vote yes, what happens? Bill: Then I go to the Senate and the whole thing starts all over again. Boy: Oh no! Bill: Oh yes!
Since arriving at my current job in 2007, I have been trying to pass a new state law that creates a structure to ensure federally subsidized, yet privately owned, buildings with contracts ending somehow remain affordable. Versions of this bill have existed in some form or another in the State House for over 15 years.
Since getting a panicked phone call in April, 2008 I've been working to reopen a state loan program that helps to remove lead paint from low-income families homes.
Clearly I don't do this work alone. There was a team of folks and I was part of a great team in both cases.
The new almost law is An Act Preserving Publicly Assisted Housing. I write almost because while both branches of the legislature unanimously passed this bill and enacted it last week, we are still awaiting the Governor's signature. My organization worked in coalition with other groups - housing advocates, elder advocates, faith-based groups and others to get this bill passed.
The state government program, Get the Lead Out, reopened on October 28th with money we successfully advocated for during the last state budget process.
So in honor of both those items, and to explain my work, I bring you I'm Just a Bill from Schoolhouse Rock.
Congressman: He signed you, Bill! Now you're a law! Bill: Oh yes!!!
Can you point to a song and say "yup, that made me what I am today". Do you dare admit it?
Please join in Music Monday. Just leave a note if you play, write a post about music and link back to me. Music always makes Monday a bit more fun.
If it was a normal day, one spent at the desk working on my computer next to a phone it would not have been a big deal.
But yesterday was not a normal day. Yesterday I got to watch, after a few years of my work and literally decades of other people's efforts, a bill get to the last stage of becoming a law. And I couldn't instantly tell people outside the State House about the progress.
The funny thing is that my counterpart from a sister organization didn't have his phone either. He forgot to charge it.
So we ran back and forth between the House and the Senate chambers to watch the different proceedings. While waiting to hear about the bill we talked, because we couldn't text or surf the web. It reminded me of how the State House was before the Internet, cell phones and texting.
You sat around with colleagues, watching history be made, and really talked. About people, the weather, upcoming efforts, gossip and jokes.
Ever since the boys were little they have admired construction sites. Big ones with large equipment. Two guys working on fancy brickwork for a sidewalk. Anything with tools and concrete and they stop to stare. More so as preschoolers but even today they will ogle at the men (and aren't they usually men?) in hard hats and work boots.
Back when they were three years old we walked by two men laying brickwork for a sidewalk. I was commending their craftsmanship when one of them held up his hand, pointed at my boys and said sternly to them "stay in school!" while the other gentleman nodded with great seriousness. As if three year olds understood what they were saying.
Fast forward six years later and this fall the boys and I, along with their 5 year old sister, looked up as we saw several men restore a smoke stack at an old brewery. The cherry picker was lifting a man up to on it. We stopped to admire both the work and the thrill of the rising equipment. Once again, the lift rider yelled down to my kids (we were the only people watching) "stay in school!" while several colleagues shouted in agreement.
Is there some pact that all construction workers sign to yell "stay in school!" at young children? Is there something embarrassing about working in construction?
My walk from the office to the train station takes me past a square that is a hangout for homeless adults. In the summer I wear large hats to protect myself from the sun. One man, with his paper cup outstretched, would often comment on my hats.
He hasn't been out on the streets for long. I started seeing him in the spring in a nice sweater and khaki pants. He stood straight with his clean teeth and would hold out his cup. He looked like a nice grandfather with his full head of white hair and sweet smile. But as the months wore on he is now in sweatpants and his hair is a bit more matted. One afternoon earlier this fall he had a black eye. When I asked what happened he told me he had fallen down.
After their day at the back-up child care center my kids and I were walking towards the station. The gentleman who compliments my hats was smoking a cigarette (a new habit I think) and talking in earnest with another man. He noticed me, promptly hid the cigarette and smiled.
"Where is a hat?" he asked.
"Nope. No hat today" I smiled sheepishly. "I have my kids though."
He said hi and asked them how the children were. I introduced them.
"Hi kids. My name is Patrick" he said.
We told him to have a good evening and walked on. One boy grabbed my hand and urgently said "Mommy?!"
"What?"
He pulled me down so he could whisper in my ear. We were at least a city block away from Patrick.
The kids were walking down a busy city street with me on their way to get my latte and their donuts. There was no school (yet another professional development day for the teachers) and I was taking them to my office to have breakfast in the meeting room then over to a back-up child care center for the day.
"I want to be a hobo for Halloween next year," announced one of my 9 year old sons as he held my hand. His brother was a few steps ahead while their younger sister was on my other side.
"No you can't," I told him.
"Why?" he asked. I knew my answer would appear in less than a city block.
The man emerged from one of the many nooks inside the buildings along this street. He wore a torn, dirty coat and his pants were too big. His beard was shaggy and filthy. His two bags bulged with their contents. He struggled to pick them up and moved slowly down the street.
"That's why you can't be a hobo" I told my son. "Hobo is an old-fashioned word for someone who is poor and homeless. Do you really want to poke fun at that man?"
"No" my son said quietly.
Unbeknownst to me his brother was overhearing this conversation. We passed another nook and this son asked "so homeless people try to find spots like this to sleep?"
I continue to be missing in blogging although this time it is for work. Last Wednesday evening found me in the third training in 5 weeks in another small city in my state. A while ago I wrote about a presentation I made about my organization's efforts to strengthen foreclosure prevention law in our state. That bill I was talking about became law in November, 2007.
This current round of presentations are called "Legislative Learning Sessions". A colleague and I are working to get more folks engaged in state policy advocacy - how their tax dollars are spent and what bills become laws. Years ago I learned a wonderful phrase - "A Watched Government Behaves Differently" - and hope that at the end of the session people get that. They get that this is their government and they have a say in it.
Last Wednesday's session was unique because my colleague and I were in the minority - nearly everyone was a Spanish-speaker. We turned the tables and wore the translation headsets and had the translator translate for us.
I kept hearing stories that their local government was not responding to their needs. I challenged them to challenge their government. Watch them. Write letters to the newspaper. Go to hearings.
I saw one of the participants this week and asked her if they had stormed City Hall yet.
She waved her hand, rolled her eyes and assured me as she turned away it was scheduled for tomorrow.
My state isn't doing too well with legislators right now. There is a general pall over the General Court (as they are known) thanks to legal action being taken against two state senators (one involving assaulting four women while the other involves taking bribes) and increased scrutiny of the conduct of two representatives. Then there is that lovely fact that my state ranks dead last in contested races - meaning once someone is elected representative or senator they are rarely challenged in future elections. It is as if they are then handed the job on a silver platter.
At Saturday's convention I ran a workshop called Advocacy for Change! (someone else added the exclamation point). Usually at advocacy (aka how a bill becomes a law) workshops you have the range of folks - people who have extensive experience working in politics and people who didn't know they have both a representative and a senator in the State House. I wanted to do something different then the usual PowerPoint explanation of the legislative process ("the governor files the budget in January and then there is a hearing....).
I set up a role play where folks were assigned jobs. I asked a woman with limited English to be the "first" Spanish-speaking Governor of Massachusetts. I "elected" a young woman with a bright red do-rag the Senator who was also Chair of the Committee. People were assigned the role of business owners, residents who opposed and others who supported affordable housing (clearly that last one wasn't a stretch).
We held a mock State House hearing complete with a head table, "Senators" and "Representative" cards, a table to testify from and a clear mandate to give keep the testimony to one minute. I had given those who were testifying a fill-in-the-blank testimony sheet. They just had to come up with 2-3 important points to justify their support or opposition of the issue before the committee. I asked those who were the legislators to pose tough questions and at times seem disengaged (once when I testified before the Senator now facing bribery charges she loudly opened her mail. Although to "my" newly appointed legislators' credits - none of them had the heart to be mean or rude during the 8 minute hearing).
There was a worry that we were putting people on the spot to perform. To do something they wouldn't be comfortable with. I figured I could coach people through the exercise if it got really painful but it was worth the chance.
As always we were running out of time for the session. The "Governor" went first to speak and I was running around trying to line up the subsequent speakers. Suddenly I heard the young woman with her hair covered in a red cloth say very loudly, "Yes Madame Governor but WHY do you SUPPORT this? How will it help our communities?"
I shot up in the back of the large room and then nearly fell over. She and her fellow "co-chair" kept each testimony at one minute (often with a terse "your time is up!"), grilled people about their positions and gave people a real taste of what a hearing is. Neither of them had been to a hearing of any kind.
But who was the "Senator" in the do-rag? She is 18 years old and only recently got her GED. She desperately wants to go to college but because she doesn't have a traditional high school diploma she can't get financial aid for college. I am going to figure out how to get in her college.
Because in 5 years I want to run her campaign. For whatever office she wants to run for.
This past Saturday morning I was up at 4:45 to shower and get ready to pick up a colleague at 6:15. Good thing I was up by then because she was calling me at 5:30 am to make sure I remembered the children's movies.
Saturday was our biannual convention. Two years ago several of the gubernatorial candidates came to speak to our members. They are community organizers, builders of affordable housing, youth leaders, non-profit board members, housing counselors at the forefront of the foreclosure crisis and advisers to small businesses which often provide the only jobs in distressed neighborhoods. Some of them bring their children to spend the day with other youngsters playing games, reading and watching movies. Two years ago we had the largest turnout to one of our conventions - 650 - due in large part to people wanting to see the Democratic Candidate, Deval Patrick.
This year we thought we would be lucky if we broke 500. We weren't sad about that but had planned accordingly. An amazing thing happened - we kept getting more and more registrations even though our big "star" speaker was on of our Representatives in Congress. He is in the thick of the market meltdown. We surpassed 650 and it kept climbing. At one point we had over 40 kids signed up for childcare. Suddenly we were facing a convention with more people than the space could hold. More people than we had bought food for. As staff, we had to promise not to eat or take a seat.
We were packed up against the walls. But the energy stayed positive thanks to two dance performances. There are no videos or songs to post so please use your imagination. A hodge-podge of hip-hop, old school rap and funk played throughout a posh hotel ballroom as teens of different races and ethnicity came up to dance their hearts out. These were kids from two cities hardest hit by foreclosures in our state. They know families thrown out of their homes, walk past boarded up buildings that are being gutted by arson, and watching what were once lively, vibrant neighborhoods disintegrate before their eyes.
And they danced. And several of the girls wore tutu skirts over their leggings or pants. It was a wonderful image. The splash of pink or white tulle as the arms and legs were flying, as the faces hardened then brightened, as they danced.
Please join in Music Monday. Just remember if you plan to use little Mr. Linky below then write a post about music (you can even just post your current favorite song) and link back to me. Music always makes Monday a little bit easier.
The following was reported on the big city newspaper website the afternoon of July 23rd:
Facing foreclosure, Taunton woman commits suicide
By Michael Levenson, Globe Staff
TAUNTON -- The housing crunch has caused anguish and anxiety for millions of Americans. For Carlene Balderrama, a 53-year-old wife and mother, the pressure was apparently too much to bear.
Police say that Balderrama shot herself Tuesday afternoon 90 minutes before her foreclosed home on Duffy Drive was scheduled to be sold at auction. Chief Raymond O'Berg said that Balderrama faxed a letter to her mortgage company at 2:30 p.m., telling them that "by the time they foreclosed on the house today she'd be dead."
The mortgage company notified police, who found her body at 3:30 p.m. The auction had been scheduled to start at 5 p.m. Balderrama used her husband's high-powered rifle, O'Berg said.
She left a note for her family saying they should "take the [life] insurance money and pay for the house," O'Berg said.
The law my organization helped to pass back in November of last year makes the deceptive marketing of certain mortgage products and lack of clarity regarding terms and conditions illegal in our state. That means going forward all of these subprime mortgages won't be marketed in our state.
This law does nothing for the woman who killed herself with her husband's gun. It does nothing for the thousands of apartment-renters who are being kicked out by mortgage companies or other companies when the buildings are foreclosed - even though they had been paying their rents on time. This law does nothing for the neighborhoods that are struggling with abandoned houses that become hotbeds of crime, tagged with graffiti, stripped of the copper and other valuable items. There are other bills in the works in our state legislature that probably won't pass before the July 31st deadline (that is next Thursday).
Our federal government has bailed out large financial institutions but done nothing for the real victims of a deregulated mortgage market. Just like our president in the 1920's, Herbert Hoover, who didn't respond to the financial crisis. In his honor, shantytowns were called Hoovervilles.
Maybe we should start calling lines of homeless citizens "Bushlines". Perhaps homeless shelters should be renamed "Bushelters". If, heaven forbid, shantytowns start to appear maybe we should call them "Bushvilles".
Too bad they aren't available for Mrs. Carlene Balderrama. She gave up.
My organization is heading into the end of the legislative session and one of our most important bills is in a do-or-die situation. However, we all took a step back to reconnect as a group. There are days when I spend more time with my colleagues then my family. It is a good thing that our boss puts a premium on us having fun together once in a while.
So we closed the office for the day and everyone - including the grad school interns - went to a museum and sculpture park deep in the leafy suburbs. We had a picnic and played lawn games.
Yup, this photo ran in the big city newspaper yesterday under the headline Support shown for state's immigrants.
One of the things I do is attend other groups' events to show support and learn what they are doing. According to reporter Maddie Hanna, "the goal of the 'Welcoming Massachusetts' campaign, which organizers say is backed by more than 60 groups and 40 elected officials, is to promote tolerance and signal that support exists for legislation benefiting immigrants."
"The truth is that the political environment has been completely and totally poisoned by the loud voices of a few," Maria Elena Letona, executive director of the Latin American organization Centro Presente. The question of how the United States should handle illegal immigrants, a debate that has escalated in recent years, has at times provoked anti-immigrant sentiment in cities across the country.
Organizers must first detoxify that environment, Letona said, or efforts to enact legislation will fail. "That's what this campaign is about," she said. "It's about demonstrating that most people in Massachusetts are hospitable, are caring. We're created equal, no exceptions." In between chants of "Yes, we can! Si se puede!" and "Today we can, tomorrow we vote," speakers at yesterday's press conference focused on equality.
I've written in the past of how horribly our nation treats immigrants. I took my children to a rally in support of the over 350 workers who were rounded up last year in a raid of a manufacturing plant making, no joke, backpacks for armed forces in Iraq (just think about that for a minute). This week I was proud to stand as part of a heart on the Grand Staircase of our State House to show support for immigrants.
I'm happily making the switch from cold-weather clothes to those lovely, light, airy summer outfits. Linens, colorful cottons and sandals are coming down from the attic into the closet (or rather the bottom of the attic stairs which doubles as Amazing Guy and my shared closet. THAT is a true test of a marriage).
So I came downstairs ready for work in tan linen pants and a boxy linen black short sleeve shirt. I particularly like this shirt because the round buttons are huge. Little lady was laying on the couch after agonizing that the "perfect" dress which makes her look like a princess was in the dirty clothes. The "perfect" dress she tries to wear every single day.
"Pbbthb [an approximation of the noise that came out of her mouth]. You are wearing THAT?" she asked incredulously with a look of sheer horror on her face.
I would like to point out, again, that my daughter is 4 years old.
Not 14.
"What?" I defensively reply. "You don't like this shirt? You think it is too square?"
Wait a minute, I think. I'm defending my clothes to a 4 year old.
My 4-year-old daughter nearly falls over in glee if my work outfit for the day involves "tip toe shoes" (what she calls heels) and a skirt (she's given up on me putting on the green sequin dress I wear for super formal weddings).
Last week, after leaving her in her bed for a few more minutes of warmth under the covers, I hear hollered from her room:
"Mama! I see a squirrel in the bedroom!"
Huh? I think while putting on a straight pencil skirt with my black tip toe shoes.
Keep in mind we hear squirrels scampering on our roof. We hear them in the attic although let's pretend that isn't happening. But - oh no - there is a squirrel in my baby's bedroom.
"WHAT?!" I yell as I try to keep my skirt on as I rush down the hall, tripping over those tip toe shoes.
The blond curls pop out from under the covers.
"Mama, I want to see you twirl!"
Oh. Of course. I pull my outfit together and spin around. But the pencil skirt doesn't flair out.
Little lady looks very disappointed. The look says "what is the point of wearing a skirt if it doesn't twirl?"
But at least there wasn't a squirrel watching me twirl.
I miss reading your blogs. I literally have 3-4 posts of my own per day brewing in my head. But the days, and now evenings, are getting fuller and fuller and I don't have the energy or time to put it all down. Or read your wonderful writing. Or admire your photography.
What in the world am I doing?
I'm getting to do some terrific things at work right now. In about a week I can tell you all about it.
Did you know that manatees are the most endangered marine mammal in the United States? {His hand is blocking the boat that sits at the top of the diorama with the bottom jutting out to show how manatees are struck by boats.}
Or that some bats can eat half their body weight in bugs in one night?
Did you know I help make awesome dioramas?
And my little men are playing baseball.
Lots of baseball.
Tons of baseball. [Team photo by Jenn in Holland. Of course.]
And little lady is making friends with the other sisters in the playground next to the baseball field.
But we get home at 7:50 pm, not having eaten dinner, finished homework, bathed, or talked about the day. By 9:30 pm they have crashed and I want to follow suit.
I have a friend who only sleeps four hours a day. She has four to five hours additional hours - after work, chores, everything - to do so many things.
Maybe I can train my body to go on four hours of sleep.
My organization held its annual Lobby Day at the State House yesterday. Over 220 people came to the capital to talk with their legislators about the importance of funding affordable housing production and preservation and small business support. Our folks work in the heart of neighborhoods and communities that struggle with violence, poverty and the foreclosure crisis. They work with residents to make their neighborhoods better places to live and work.
The Governor spoke at our event. It is always thrilling to have the head of our Commonwealth present. He spoke of how we are all addressing the foreclosure crisis in our communities but we all - government, financial institutions and community groups - still can do more.
Some of the folks who came to the State House had never been there before. I attended one meeting with a Senator's aide and nearly 10 people who work in community economic development. A group member, a community organizer, stood along the wall when there were plenty of chairs in the room. I had to keep encouraging him to join us at the table. He finally sat down with us.
I needed to leave the meeting early and as I stood, I leaned over and whispered to him "Always sit at the table. You belong."
I work in a building full of non-profit organizations, or non-governmental organizations (NGOs). Folks work on a range of issues, including helping the food service industry be more green, saving animals around the world, working to make the US health care system more accountable to patients, and other issues to make our world more fair, equitable and just.
One group is South Africa Partners. They work to develop partnerships between US and South African institutions around education, health and economic development. They also sponsor the booksale I've been spearheading the last week. I'm pretty proud of the fact that between our church and an independent book store, we've together raised over $350 for underresourced school libraries.
Once a week in a conference room, a South Africa Partners staff member teaches a class in gumshoe dancing. After months of conflicts, being out with sick kids or travel, I finally got to put on rainboots at lunch time and head to the second floor. She explained to us the mine workers suffered from all sorts of foot ailments due to the water in the mines. Rather than create better drainage systems, the mine owners gave the workers gumboots, or wellies, to wear.
All of the men were unable to bring their families and therefore lived in large dormatories with other laborers from the same regions (in part to ensure that language barriers remained unbroken). To socialize with each other, they created this intense dance that doesn't involve musical instruments and would compete in weekly competitions.
Let's just say that less than half an hour of this and I was whiped.
Got a tune that exhuasts you? Do tell. And when you write about it, do link back. It is only fair...
Well, I'm actually going to Washington, DC on March 31st. But I just want to give everyone in the Metro DC area fair warning.
And let you all know that I am making Tuesday evening, April 1st, my night on the town.
So come join me, even if you have never, ever commented on my blog before. The evening is being organized by the talented, compassionate and very funny Flower Child. Go to her site and leave a message (you should probably include your email address so she can reach you).
A pretty standard part of large conferences are smaller panel discussions. The conference I intended had sessions about the foreclosure crisis, how to better use data to make the case for more thoughtful regional planning (don't yawn - it is interesting stuff) and how to better support boys and young men of color.
One session I was particularly excited to attend was the one about blogging. The description implied the topic was more Blogging 101 but one of the panelists was Liza Sabater, the creator of both Culture Kitchen and The Daily Gotham. The other panelists were talking about blogging within the context of larger organizations or campaigns.
I really wanted to learn how do these larger groups use blogs for their advocacy work. I find organizational blogs painfully dull. And while very nice people, the other panelists were talking about blogs that just don't excite me.
However, Liza did not disappoint.
The moderator was a university professor who was also hawking a book at a later session. At the start of the panel he said one of those "I'll do introductions then get out of the way" type of lines. After the initial panelists' comments the moderator started talking about how traditional print media is dying, stocks are falling for their parent companies and they are cutting writing staff. He was taking the discussion off the topic of how to use blogs and into how blogs are hurting newspapers. While certainly a worthwhile discussion (and it isn't just blogs that are changing the nature of news), it wasn't the point of this session.
Liza got up from her chair, seized a microphone, interrupted the moderator, walked off the raised platform and took control of the session. She was funny, engaging and flexible. She tried to bring in the other panelists but they stayed at the table.
At one point the moderator left the room. He eventually returned but when the session time ended all he did was say a curt "Thank you" with no acknowledgement of the panelists, a thought about what was said, or encouraging us as community activists and policy advocates to expand the tools we use.
His book seemed interesting to me. But after he was such a big baby of a moderator I found another session to attend.
I walked out of The Ambassador's apartment yesterday and was instantly hit with it. The smell of New Orleans. That smell of damp air, lush plants and, and... something else. And no smart alecks, not the bad things you all are thinking about.
New Orleans is a beautiful city in a beautiful region. It is full of smart, talented and caring people. The sun shines bright here. The trees, bushes and flowers just burst here (so do mold and cockroaches but let's ignore them for now).
After a breakfast of cafe au lait and beignets (pronounced ben-yays) in the French Quarter I boarded a city bus with a couple of my colleagues and brought them to my old neighborhood. During the early 1990's I lived on Magazine Street in the Uptown section of town.
Guy's Po-Boys is across the street from the house I lived in. Yesterday I got a small shrimp po-boy, dressed, and one bite brought me back to my early 20's. An amazing time in my life. In part because I met Amazing Guy while living in that house and eating Guy's po-boys.
After giving some colleagues my personal New Orleans tour, I boarded a big bus with other convention folks to visit the Freret Street neighborhood. We spent the afternoon with the staff of a neighborhood non-profit that is working to rebuild this wonderful section of an important city. They are doing it by restoring homes, helping folks buy homes, supporting local business and creating safe spaces for residents to congregate. They have helped bring a monthly farmer's market to the neighborhood, something the residents identified as a significant need.
A glorious first day. Today I will be in a hotel all day, learning about issues and meeting new folks. I'm so glad I get to walk out of Ambassador's door and take a deep breath.
