Be the Rain

"Be the ocean when it meets the sky
Be the magic in the northern lights
Be the river as it rolls along
Be the rain you remember fallin'
Save the planet for another day
Be the river as it rolls along."

-- Neil Young, "Be the Rain"

Sometimes you need the rain. It can’t always be 76 degrees and sunny out all the time (sorry for the reality check, Southern Californians). Sometimes you need the raw wind to blow the feeling out of your nose, and sometimes you need the freezing rain to soak through your shoes, leaving your toes to do the penguin circle dance as they curl together to stay warm. As the weather unleashed a totally uncalled-for attack of miserableness upon Baltimore this weekend, the housemates and I caught a glimpse of a different side of being a JV in this city. No longer was the bright, sunny weekend that we all look forward to at the end of each work week, one where we can play Frisbee in the park and our two feet can pleasantly take us wherever we want to go.

In an effort to really commit ourselves to the four values of JVC (Pop quiz time! Ok, what are the four values of JVC? Write your answers down, and you'll find out if you are right later on later on…), the housemates and I came up with a number of challenges that we as a community would like to try this year (Answer! Simple living, Community, Spirituality, and Social Justice. If you got more than 3 wrong, go ahead and reread the previous material, and if you still need help, maybe I’ll call your parents). This past week, we decided to focus on the value of simple living, and we all tried to find ways in which we could take ourselves out of our own comfort zones throughout our daily lives. For some, this meant taking a sub-5 minute shower; for others, this meant taking a military shower (a word of caution for aspiring military shower-takers: it will be difficult to grip the knob to turn the water back on after you have lathered your hands with soap. I recommend using only one hand to handle all your soaping activities). We also set goals for limiting TV time, car-driving time, and personal computer time. By attempting to cut back on all these things, we taught ourselves a few lessons. First, we realized that, even by volunteer standards, we are lucky to have so many things at our disposal- i.e. a house with working heat, a hot shower, and food. Second, by removing the distractions that many of these things cause, we were able to focus and apply our selves to the here and now, both at our places of employment, and within our home.

This week we are taking on the challenge of buying only locally-made or sold groceries. This means no shopping at big supermarkets like Giant or Safeway. Therefore, the major source for food will come from a farmer’s market that operates once a week by our house. And on Saturday morning, that is where we were, ponchos and hoods on, perusing the produce, looking for the best price.

We spent a lot of money at the market, more than we usually spend during our trips to the Giant (20 dollars for 2 gallons of milk! But, I must admit, the glass bottles that they come in are really cool). But, as we walked back to our house that morning, we agreed that this is all part of the learning process. Though we spent a lot, we were still under our food budget for the week, and we were able to buy everything we needed from either a local grower or a local store. Though we will not be eating the meals we are accustomed to this week, we will get creative with what we can cook for dinner, bring for lunch, and eat for breakfast (it’s looking like no cereal this week, but on the flip side, we have about a million and a half English muffins). And, though we could not get everything we wanted, we came to decisions on what we did get as a group. And as we got back to the house, I felt good about how we dealt with this challenge, if not just a little cold from the rain.

In the end, this is why we are here. We’re not here to experience sunny weekends all the time; sometimes, it has to rain. For us, the real meaning lies within the rain. What will happen to me as an individual, and to us as a community, if we choose to deal with these restrictions and challenges, if we choose to let it rain on us? In a broader sense, that is what this whole year here is about. We could have all done the 9 to 5 job thing and come home each night to a warm, food-stocked house. But if we wanted that, we wouldn’t have sought out JVC. We make this commitment to live for a year because we want the challenges. We want to see how we will deal with them, and we need to see how they will affect us.

In a sense, we need the rain.

602 Biddle Street

Where did you go?

I remember when we first met. You stood in front of me, gazing up at my face, staring at the front door as if, after all this time, it could possibly not exist. You walked up to it, and it opened. Something about the way you held your head, or the look in your eyes, a glint that seemed to be the result of the marriage between your mother’s hope and your father’s sacrifice, of the souls of the ones who came before you. You stood there, holding the key to each one of your ancestor’s dreams, the key to something they so desired but could never possess, like Icarus and the call of the sun. You held the key to something your own; you held the key to me.

I gave you four walls and a roof, and you gave me a purpose, a reason to stand tall and strong. You lit up the windows so my eyes could shine upon the street at night. You opened the door so I could always have the chance to speak, even if silence suited me. You painted my face, a bright red, so I could feel beautiful. You gave me a soul.

Where did you go?
I remember the day you left. Your head was held differently, your eyes did not shine like they did before. I wanted to follow you as you walked away that day, and I surely would have had I not been bound to this earth. Unlike you, this street is where I was born, and it is where I will eventually die.

Since you left, no one cares. The paint has worn thin by weather and apathy; my face is old, tired, and gray. The windows are broken from bricks and Molotov cocktails; my eyes shine no longer. The door was boarded up by a man who lives out in the suburbs; my mouth has been rendered mute. My soul, which once soared with the hopes and dreams of your family, now plunges to the bottom with the despair of the squatter and the insanity of the binger.

Where did you go?
I do not know. Maybe you departed for a better neighborhood, maybe you found a street worthy of your feet. I hope you have. But you should know that I miss you, that I need you. I can do better for you, we all can.

Where did you go?
I hope you’ll come back.

Backsweat & Baseball

I can tell that the seasons are changing by looking at the amount of backsweat on my shirt when I get home from work. August and September brought the heat, and my dress shirts and polos held the sweat-soaked outline of my backpack as I pedaled uphill to my house. Now that October has arrived on the scene, the cool fall breeze has deftly disguised my physical exertion as I tool around the streets of Baltimore on my red Giant (brand name, not description of size…because if I really wanted a “giant” bike, I would get one of those early 1900’s types with the huge front wheel and tiny back wheel. Ahh, if only…). While I appreciate the job the breeze has done to mask my sweaty backside, I know it is only a matter of time until the breeze becomes the wind; strong, relentless gusts that attack bikers from every angle except from behind (because that would be appreciated, to be pushed uphill by the wind. Ahh, if only…). Wind is the biker’s worst enemy.

As I approach the two-month mark of being in JVC, I am feeling more at home in Baltimore. The Community Center has offered its share of joys and challenges. Last week Mr. Moore and I conducted a school and community-wide food drive to commemorate Bea Gaddy, who is known as the “St. Theresa of Baltimore.” Ms. Gaddy rose from a life of poverty to become a leading advocate for the poor and homeless of Charm City (that's Baltimore, in case you were unaware). In 1981, she prepared Thanksgiving dinner for 39 people from her own kitchen, and this event grew each year to eventually reach over 25,000 of Baltimore’s neediest citizens. Though Ms. Gaddy died in 2001, the Community Center has continued with the drive, even when other neighborhoods (and even the mayor’s office) have dropped it, so that her spirit may live on. This year’s drive produced over 650 canned goods, and over $300, and increased awareness about the life and work of Bea Gaddy.

My fellow roommates and I enjoyed a nice long weekend when we traveled to our October retreat, which was about an hour south of Baltimore and occurred, oddly enough, at the beginning of October! There we met up with the southern half of JVC East (the Raleigh, DC, Philadelphia, Camden, and Newark houses), and got to hear their tales of glory and splendor since we had last seen them at orientation (we also swapped some of our own stories, like that time we defended the Harbor against an armada of bloodthirsty pirates!) The theme of this retreat was “Community,” and I was surprised at how fruitful the discussions my roommates and I had were. We left the retreat with a renewed sense of purpose and direction, for both our places of employment as well as the goals we hope to accomplish within our house this year.

Overall, life is good. My only real complaint is that, because of this real-life, full-time job, I am forced to watch my Phillies make their playoff run on GameTracker instead of on actual television. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to have an update of the score, but the ambience of playoff baseball is lost somewhere between the batter dressed totally in white and the pitches that have different colored tails following them. It also doesn’t help that Mr. Moore purposely tells me the wrong score every time he sees me. Hey, Mr. Moore! Just because the Orioles are perpetually futile doesn’t mean you have to rain on my parade! Which perhaps will be making its way down Broad St. this time next month?

An official decree to the citizens of Baltimore: Yes, I have been wearing a denim jacket, with sometimes matching denim jeans, whilest riding a bike on your streets. It’s called a Canadien Tuxedo. Deal with it.