Category / My Community

All about chosen family and blooming where I’m planted (which is currently in the Washington DC area).

by LG

8.31.20

These may not look exciting, but I’m so happy to have them.

The two dishes with wavy edges are The Mashed Potato Dishes. These are the dishes my mom used for mashed potatoes for every big meal (because we had mashed potatoes for every big meal, obviously). They stayed in the hutch with all the other special/seasonal dishes and only came out for those special occasions. My sister found them in a donation pile at my dad’s house even though they had my name taped to them, and promptly rescued them and shipped them to me.

The plate on the bottom broke during shipping, unfortunately. I’m looking into possible repair options because this plate belonged to a set of china owned by my maternal great-grandmother. If I had to guess, my mom hung on to this plate with her other special possessions, because it was ALSO in the donation pile. The break seems simple, so I’m hoping I can get it fixed relatively easily.

It’s interesting to me how many memories I have wrapped up in special meals, recipes, or dishes. That feels like as much of the family history as anything else.

by LG

8.16.20

I got to see G today! She drove from Washington State to Utah across the country to Maine and then down to DC, all with my new little niece, THE PRINCESS! BUTTAHCUP! (the second pic, obvs), who is the cutest and sweetest little pup!

I had a hard afternoon, and when I’m feeling that way my first instinct is to withdraw instead of engage. It’s not like I meet up and act like everything is fine … I’d just as soon not see or talk to anyone at all. I’m not used to telling anyone – even my people – in real-time when I’m struggling, because I just really don’t like to feel that vulnerable. But I’m trying to get better at that so I told her, she listened, and I SURVIVED. We talked, walked Butter along the river, found a snakeskin (EW-ah!), saw a deer, talked some more, walked up on the bridge to get a nice view of Navy Yard and the water, caught up on everything, had wine on the deck in the backyard, talked some MORE, and then we said goodbye so she could hit the road again in the morning.

It feels so strange to see someone you love and wonder when in the world you will see them again with everything that’s going on, and that’s probably a whole different post. But I’m so grateful she made the drive to see us so I could spend time with her and Buttercup, and her road trip also has me jonesing for one of my own now!

by LG

7.26.20

I don’t care to belong to a church or religion anymore, although at times I miss the sense of community associated with it. But seeing the sign at this church close to our home made me realize that churches do good stuff, too. They can act as agents of change or healing. Never in a million years can I imagine the Mormon church praise making good trouble or John Lewis, and that’s such a missed opportunity to cultivate engaged, active congregants and communities who can also act as agents of change or healing.  

by LG

6.19.20 – Juneteenth

Today is Juneteenth. I almost decided to rant about why more people don’t know about this day, but I think I’d rather focus on the incredible experience I had instead.

I’ve mentioned a few times that B and I have really focused our efforts this summer on getting more involved with our local community. We want to find ways to support and get involved with our neighborhood, not just DC in general. Along those lines, we jumped at the chance to try to participate in the Juneteenth/Black Lives Matter march for our community. I didn’t have the day off work but B did, so she went over to the start of the march a few blocks away, and I worked outside from our porch since I knew the march route would go through our park.

The group marched to the Frederick Douglass House (have I mentioned how much I love living a block away from that?) and then came to our park. I thought they would just march through, but they stopped for some reflection, so I ran across the street to join and listen. The gentleman who had the megaphone talked about the incredible leaders and freedom fighters who strolled up and down this lane on their way to and from Frederick Douglass’ house. He talked about the fact that this park – Old Market House Square – was in fact a working market, which means enslaved people were bought and sold here.

He then told us he would say the names of people lost to police brutality and gun violence, asking us to respond “Say their names!” after each one. Eric Garner. George Floyd. Sandra Bland. Tamir Rice. Breonna Taylor. Trayvon Martin. Ahmaud Arbery. Philando Castile. Freddie Gray. He kept reading, and we kept responding. At one point he got so emotional (and he wasn’t the only one … many of us were opening crying) that he had to pause, at which point someone in the crowd yelled a name, and we all responded. People kept shouting names, and we kept responding “Say their names!” Some of the names I knew, some I didn’t and wondered if they were neighbors, family members, friends. So many people gone, taken too soon from this community and others.

We then knelt or sat in silence for 8 minutes and 46 seconds to honor George Floyd. That was the longest almost 9 minutes of my life. It was the same as the march, thinking about the discomfort and the time passing. But as I got close to the 8-minute mark, I thought about how he had less than one minute to live at that point, and it just crushed me. I wept and wept, for George but for everyone in the Black community who has been touched by countless injustices throughout their lives. It was heavy, and rightfully so. It was celebratory, and also rightfully so.

The moment passed, and the crowd moved on, marching another block to one of the busiest streets in the area. I know that because I could hear all the honks of approval and solidarity from my house for the group as they marched down the street. This Juneteenth affected me so profoundly, and I feel immeasurably blessed to live and grow in this community.

by LG

6.13.20

Sometimes activism means marching and making signs, and sometimes it means bagging up a bunch of trash. Someone posted a message on our neighborhood listserv a few days ago, asking for volunteers to help with a neighborhood clean-up day. We jumped at the chance to do it because we’ve really wanted to get more involved in our local community and meet more of our neighbors. It’s been a challenging summer so far for a lot of reasons, and similar to the march – we felt like it would be good to just get out and do something to try to make a difference.

So of course I didn’t take any pictures while picking up trash – I was very focused on distancing and keeping my mask on – but the picture above is the glorious bounty we harvested from our streets and sidewalks. We used some of those trash grabber things (the official name, obviously) to pick up ALL MANNER of items from the few blocks we got assigned to clean. We met people, enjoyed the perfect weather, and got more familiar with a few streets in our community that we don’t spend as much time on because, to be honest, there is a lot of “entrepreneurial” activity.

It felt so satisfying to add to the pile of garbage that got picked up from the streets, and one of the women we met – who is running for the Board of Education – invited us to her birthday party tomorrow so we can have cake together/far apart from each other on the sidewalk in front of her house. I know my neighborhood faces a lot of challenges, but this is why I love living here more than anywhere else I’ve ever lived.

by LG

6.6.20

Marching down Constitution Avenue
Black Lives Matter Plaza

We marched through DC today as part of a Black Lives Matter protest. We haven’t been anywhere and haven’t seen anyone in order to be as careful and safe as possible during COVID, but this felt too important to miss. It also felt so necessary to move and shout and feel the physical solidarity with our community. Online donations are so important but so is showing up, and I’m trying to do a better job of that as a white person.

We reached Constitution Avenue in front of the Museum of American History, and suddenly the crowd grew quiet as people began to kneel in silence. We saw the waves of people kneel in front of us, and I could hear the hush behind us as the kneeling rippled through the crowd. I absolutely took note of how painful it was to kneel on the pavement for a few moments of silence and how terrifying and painful it must have felt for George Floyd to be pinned to the ground with someone else’s weight on him. When we stood, a few blessed raindrops fell, and a weary cheer lifted up from the group around us (it was humid out there).

We wore our masks, took plenty of water and hand sanitizer, and from the looks of it, everyone else did, too. I didn’t see anyone without a mask as we walked nearly shoulder to shoulder for blocks on end. I saw so many people moving through the crowd with signs for free water and snacks that they shared with the marchers. I saw a woman carrying a sign expressing solidarity from Mormons, the first time I’ve ever seen one from my former religion (I usually see plenty from other religious and spiritual groups at the various protests and marches I’ve attended).

And when we reached Black Lives Matter Plaza, there was music. There were food trucks from Chef José Andrés, handing out free food to everyone. We found a shady spot on the curb (people were just sitting anywhere they could find space) to eat and rest for a few minutes and listened to people in the park across the street shout over and over that they had posters and markers for anyone who wanted to make a sign. I don’t think it’s any coincidence these moments of showing up with other people who want change are the times when I feel most hopeful for the future, so I want to make sure I keep doing it.