When Bad Stuff Happens

I’ve lived in the North End, in William Whyte, for nearly seven years now.  The North End has become my community.  I’m proud of my community and want to see it thrive.  I don’t like it when people who don’t live here say bad things about the North End.  So I do my best to find positive news stories to share, drawing attention to the good.  I think it’s important.

However, I can’t deny that bad stuff happens in my community.  The crime statistics are all over the news.  But statistics never tell the whole story.  The bad stuff affects people—real, live people—all different kinds of people.  So, what do people do when bad stuff happens to them?

We just experienced vehicle damage and theft in broad daylight, and not for the first time.  The financial toll is plenty to deal with, but the emotional cost is greater.  It feels like our community is betraying us.  Doubts, fears, anger, and grief tumble around and life feels upside-down for a while.   Eventually, after repairs are made and life settles down, we begin to trust again.  

What do people do with worse injustices—attacks on their home or their person?  I think of my pastor, who, in commemorating the loss of one of his flock, visited the local hotel where she died, and for no apparent reason, was jumped by five guys and lost four teeth.  Beyond the physical pain and loss, what happens to the heart?  How does one proceed?  Keep caring?  Trusting?  Giving?

I believe a couple of things are important.  First, we need to feel the feelings that come up.  For us, there were tears.  And questions.  And anger.  Our family discussed inventing a crazy kind of security system that would essentially punish offenders on the spot.  I’ll admit, we were quite gleeful over the idea.  It returned a sense of power and control after feeling helpless.  It made us laugh.  All part of healing.

Second, we need to have people to share with and support us.  I quickly emailed family and friends and asked for their prayers.  Just having people know and empathize helped. 

Finally, we need to forgive.  Forgiveness was not my first response.  If only we could make them pay!  And then I remembered, “I need to forgive.”  Forgiveness doesn’t mean we pretend something is okay when it’s not.  Forgiveness counts the cost, but chooses to let go of the grudge, knowing it will only continue to bring more damage.  Nelson Mandela is quoted as saying, “Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for it to kill your enemy”.   

Forgiveness sets us free.

Bad stuff happens in the North End.  In the whole world, actually.  What we do with the bad stuff will either bring good or more bad.  It’s up to us.

Good-bye Autobins

The problems are evident

Beloved bin beside the new bins

Adios, Autobin

Beauty and the North End

As I was walking in the community, I was struck with how important beauty is.  This thought came to me as I noted the lack of beauty reflected in the barrenness of a completely paved lot surrounding a residence, the garbage accumulated over winter, the run-down buildings and fences, and the boarded up windows and un-landscaped yards.  As I turned a corner, barred windows came into view, but in the same lot there was a garden and gazebo-like structure.  What a difference that bit of creativity and promise of living things made in how I perceived that home—even with the bars on the windows.  It was a breath of fresh air—a stirring of hope for me and for this community.

I’ve lived in the heart of the North End for nearly six years now.  When we bought our home, the yard was undeveloped—dirt and weeds—with dilapidated fencing on either side.  We’ve had great plans for our yard.  Some have become a reality, some have shifted due to economic constraints, and some just haven’t happened at all.

I have to admit, at times I am just lulled into complacency by the lack of attention that the majority of yards receive in my area.  At other times, I feel pulled in so many directions that my yard is the last thing on my to-do list.  Sometimes, I’ve let fears of looking too rich or becoming a target for vandalism or robbery get in the way of improving my yard.  Most of the time, I’ve experienced what I think many in my neighbourhood experience:  the lack of resources and skill/knowledge to carry out my ideas, and the feeling of helplessness and despair that goes along with that.

Thankfully, we managed to get an exterior fix-up grant our first year and were able to have a solid fence installed.  We’re very proud of what we’ve been able to do on a budget.  It’s amazing what a little planning, planting, and perspiration can do to make a yard feel welcoming and uplifting.

That’s what beauty does.  It infuses hope into our hearts.  It makes us want to linger in its presence.  It says, “All is well and all shall be well”. (I’m indebted to John and Stasi Eldredge for some of these thoughts).  We feel safer in a place of beauty.  That’s what we need in the North End.  Places of oasis, of life. They don’t need to be flashy or expensive.  Simply picking up the garbage that flies into my yard, planting a few seeds into a pot for my front step, pulling some weeds, or painting my front door can help.  It all makes a difference.  

It does take time.  Sometimes it feels risky.  Sometimes we may want to give up (like I felt when the paint on my door peeled off or when someone stole my Christmas garland), but we must refuse to give up.  Beauty is important.  So let’s work together at making the North End a more beautiful place to live.

Easter, Jesus, and the North End

He was homeless.  Got in trouble with the law-enforcers.  Hung out with the wrong crowd.  Was arrested.  Betrayed and abandoned by his friends.  Mocked, spit on, stripped, and beaten.  He died a criminal’s death.

This was Jesus.  He wasn’t from the North End, but from Nazareth.  Still, I think he could relate to many in this neighbourhood.

He lived a simple life with not too much to call his own.  He learned a common trade in order to get by.  He told great stories, and cared more about people than image.  He got angry with greed and was compassionate with the needy.  He fed the hungry and reached out to the outsiders.

This was Jesus.  He didn’t walk the streets of the North End, but I think he would be welcome here.  He gave and gave and gave, right to the end of his life.

He was misunderstood, lied about, and mistreated; and yet, he didn’t fight back.  He walked a path of peace.

He challenged the leaders of the day, he chastised the self-righteous, and he was a champion of the oppressed.  He walked a path of justice.

He rescued a woman from death, he healed the sick, and he ate with outcasts.  He walked a path of mercy.

When he walked the path of the cross, his mother was there, sobbing for the son she lost.  His friends were devastated and confused over his untimely death.  They couldn’t believe he was gone.

And on the third day, when the women came to the tomb and he was gone—nowhere to be found—they were frantic.  Angels told them it was good news: he had risen just as he said.

He called Mary by name, he beckoned doubting Thomas to touch his hands and side, he walked and talked with two friends who didn’t recognize him until he paused to give thanks for a meal they were about to eat; and when he finally left the earth, he promised a counselor and comforter would come and take his place.

Jesus walked among us as one of us.  He embodied love.  He enacted justice.  His life, death, and return to life continue to give hope to people around the world.  And hope is what we all need, especially here in the North End.

A Fresh New Year

I’m enjoying the mild temperatures, but I long to wake up to a fresh, thick blanket of white snow covering everything (un-raked brown leaves, dirty slush piled on the side of the road, garbage, and every tree branch, fence post, and sidewalk), just like it did at the end of November.  A fresh snow would go well with the fresh start of the New Year.  

We’ve closed the chapter of another year with all of its trials, troubles, mistakes and muddles.  Just as snow covers up all sorts of messes, the New Year causes our difficulties to disappear from sight as our focus shifts to the clean white page in front of us.  We begin to make plans of all we’d like to do, and the possibilities seem endless.

Of course, just as well-wintered Winnipeggers know that the pristine whiteness will not last forever, we all know that the year ahead will not consist only of ideals met.  In fact, as we leave the portal of New Year’s beginning and forge the path to where we want to go, we may suddenly feel bogged down by the reality of all the hard work required to get to our destination.

What we need to do is take in the beauty all around us and enjoy the journey.  See the squirrel scamper across the snow and up the tree.  Share a laugh with travelling companions.  Maybe even make some snowballs and play a little.  Try not to rush toward the end goal, getting frustrated and irritated at the slowness of it all.  Trust that everything will work out in the end.

It’s not always easy to trust though.  The newness of the snow wears off.  Clumps of snow drop from the branches, cars spit up bits of brown, un-shovelled steps grow slippery as the temperature shifts, and the wind can pick up.  There are dangers and pitfalls ahead in the New Year, no doubt.

If we let the inevitability of problems steal away our joy as we the turn the page of a new year, we rob ourselves of the dual energies of joy and hope to fuel our endeavours.  Joy comes while we’re living in the moment, revelling in all we have and can be thankful for.  Hope looks to the future, trusting that there will continue to be reason for thanks, and therefore, joy.

As I enter this New Year, I am thankful to live in a neighbourhood that allows me affordable housing, a chance to know my neighbours, and the freedom to be myself and follow my dreams without having to conform to an image.  I am hoping to get more involved in making my community a better place to live, and in making my home a safe place for people to gather.

We’ve been given a fresh start called 2012.  Let’s celebrate the New Year and all it will bring.  And let’s ponder how we can participate in our communities to bring goodness, joy, and hope!

Peace for Our Communities

Living and working in the North End, my family and I have the pleasure of hearing church bells now and then—from the Holy Ghost Church on Selkirk and the Holy Trinity Ukrainian Orthodox Metropolitan Cathedral on Main near Redwood.  These bells chime in a predictable and comforting pattern amidst the more chaotic sounds of gunshots (I always hope they’re firecrackers), sirens (which we hear often), honking cars (particularly annoying between 11 and 6), and yelling (which we fortunately don’t hear too often).

With Christmas approaching and snow on the ground, I’ve been drawn to singing Christmas carols—those comforting and predictable songs that return every year as part of the Christmas tradition.  When I first started singing them as a child in church, I didn’t fully grasp their deep and profound messages.  As I grow older and experience more of the pain and tragedy in our world, I am gripped by the poetic expressions of carol writers and wonder about their experience of life.

I think of “Good King Wenceslas” and the story of a king and his page who witnessed a poor man gathering wood in a snowstorm and how they attempted to bring him food, wine, and logs for his fire with this message from the writer in the final verse:

“Therefore, Christian men, be sure, wealth or rank possessing, ye who now will bless the poor, shall yourselves find blessing.”

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote a poem which became a carol when John Marks adapted the following words and added music:

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old familiar carols play
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of Peace On Earth, Good Will To Men

…And in despair, I bowed my head,
“There is no peace on earth”, I said,
“For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of Peace On Earth Good Will To Men.”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep
“God is not dead, nor doth he sleep.
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,
With Peace On Earth Good Will To Men.”

As we face the harsh realities of murder, violence, family brokenness, and addiction in our communities, may the timeless words of Longfellow breathe hope into our hearts.   May we all join him by wishing peace and good will to everyone we meet.  

If you’d like to hear this carol and others, please join me at Sam’s Place just across the river at 159 Henderson for “Christmas in Story and Song” on Wednesday, December 21^st at 7:30.

Sustaining Beauty in our Community

When we moved into the North End five years ago, the community garden on the end of my block helped me feel more comfortable in my neighbourhood.  That splash of colour and beauty did a lot to brighten my street and welcome me.  Actually, there were two gardens: one on either end, but the other one was vandalized a few years ago and has since been dismantled.

It's amazing what a few flowers and a bit of care can do for a neighbourhood.  As my kids have grown, I've enjoyed showing them the different plants and discussing their colours and shapes.  I always wondered who spearheaded the garden project and who maintained it.

I finally learned who is responsible.  First, I'd noticed two composting bins go up.  Seeing signs instructing users on which one to add to, I assumed it was a community compost heap.  I was extremely delighted, as I have wanted to put my fruit and vegetable scraps to better use, but have been too intimidated to start my own compost pile.  Since I go by the garden quite often, I could envision easily carrying my pail there and dumping it.  I just wasn't certain if I was allowed.

 Then, when I saw people working in the garden, I was very excited my questions would finally be answered.  I talked to one of the ladies as she trimmed onion stalks.  She was actually under the weather, but working hard and willing to answer my questions.  I gathered that the compost bins were not intended for community use, but rather for the garden itself--its spent plants and so on.  I was a bit disappointed, but not deterred.  “Could I still contribute?” I asked.  She thought perhaps I could, and gave me the number of the person in charge.

A few days later, I received confirmation and a few clarifications.  I found out the garden, as well as a half dozen others, are run by the William Whyte Residents' Assocation (boundaries: the south side of Redwood, north side of Selkirk, west side of Main and east side of Arlington).  Ours is the only perennial garden, while the others are solely vegetable plots.  Those with an interest in gardening, who lack the space, can contact Annette at 582-0988 if they're interested in signing up for next year.  The WWRA meets every month on a Wednesday at Pritchard Park.  They offer a variety of programs to improve life in our neighbourhood, including a Toastmasters Club, snow clearing for seniors, youth drop-ins, and a Citizens on Patrol Program.

I'm now happily collecting my carrot peels, apple cores, and other various organic materials and adding them to the mix.  If you live near Aikins and Redwood and have a basic understanding of composting, you're welcome to contribute as well.  I'm proud that our neighbourhood is participating in sustainable garden practices while adding beauty and hope to the community and its residents!

The Big Race

I met my Conservative candidate the other day—John Vernaus.  It was a new experience to be visited by someone who wasn’t NDP.  In the federal election and by-election, it was always the NDP knocking on doors—although I’ve missed meeting Kevin Chief so far.  I admire those who are willing to walk in our neighbourhood.  It says a lot about their courage and their commitment to know and serve the people they want to represent.  I figure if a candidate knocks on my door, I’ll take the time to listen to them.  If we can have a back-and-forth conversation, it’s even better.

That’s what happened the other night.  Seeing John in our neighbourhood and hearing his plans gives me hope that there are solid options for people to choose from—options that will bring positive change to our community.  On the one hand, we have home-grown businessman and activist John Vernaus.  On the other hand, we have development-minded, visionary Kevin Chief who is raising his family in Point Douglas.  (Sorry, Liberals—I haven’t heard from you).  Both have ideas of how to make our community stronger and safer.  I know Kevin won the hearts of many when he ran for Judy Wasylycia-Leis’ position and lost to Kevin Lamoureux.  He definitely won my respect.  And from the looks of the orange signs everywhere, he’s got quite a few committed votes.  This has been NDP territory for a long time.  But as Jim Galloway across the river learned in the federal election, you can’t count on tradition to get you in the door.  With an excellent campaign and tireless effort, John Vernaus could surprise people as long as he hasn’t started too late.

Regardless of who wins the race in Point Douglas, my hopes are that our MLA will:

1.  Work hard for this area and be visibly involved with events and organizations
2. Make himself available to actively listen to constituents
3. Take a balanced approach to meeting the needs of diverse people in our area: the business owners, the vulnerable, the young and old, the working and welfare
4. Steward resources wisely and have a strong voice for our people in provincial decisions
5.  Be honest, humble, diligent, innovative, and respectful
6. Persevere in working for effective solutions to the complex challenges related to crime and safety, addictions, drug and human trafficking, gang activity, violence, child hunger, education and employment, community development, immigrant integration, and economic development

It’s a big job.  I’m thankful there are two great men stepping up to the plate to do it.

The Season for Wasps

The weather this summer has been fantastic and the mosquito population at a record low.  If you’re like me, you want to eat outside as much as possible while the weather holds.  The problem is, you’ve been shooing away wasps—yellow jackets to be exact—and some of your family is electing to eat inside.  I’m not sure if the problem is worse in the North End with its open dumpsters, but it is definitely wasp season.

So what can be done?  Should anything be done?  After all, wasps feed on insects that may be eating your plants.  Let me tell you, when I made the mistake of going barefoot in the grass during a recent game of catch with my son, I got motivated to reduce the profusion of wasps scavenging for food.  There is nothing like the intensely sharp, throbbing pain of a wasp sting on the ball of the foot to inspire action.

If you look on the internet, you’ll find many commercial and home-made trap ideas.  Being a true North-Ender, I gravitate toward cheap solutions that utilize what I already have.  I modified an idea I found several years ago and have used it with great success.  The idea is to suspend meat an inch or two above soapy water.  Wasps at this time of year are attracted to protein sources as their colony expands.  As they crawl beneath the meat or dart around it, they dip down into the soapy water and die shortly after.  My solution was to take a cooling rack for cookies, set a rectangular storage container underneath (filled with water and a drop of dish soap), and bait it with a piece of meat on top of the rack (great use for leftover burgers).  My version has a drawback in that local cats like to sneak in at night and steal the bait.  One could likely remove the meat in the evening once the wasps are less active or use a really big piece like the freezer-burned ribs I tried recently.  

I do have mixed feelings as I observe the swarming wasps attacking the meat.  Am I luring all the wasps on the block and making my problem worse?  After all, info sources say they travel up to 300 metres to find food.  Am I actually killing enough to make attracting them worth it?  I’ve noticed less wasps flying low over my lawn and I’ve dumped out hundreds of dead wasps, so I feel it’s working.  Apparently, the sooner you start trapping the better, so that the numbers of wasps don’t get so high in the first place.

By the way, if you get stung by a wasp, soak the area as needed in something acidic like lemon juice or vinegar (more things you have around the house).  It should help neutralize the venom.  (Bee stings are the opposite—use baking soda paste or toothpaste after removing the stinger).  Good luck with the wasps and enjoy your BBQ’s while you can!

Crash in the Community

This week, someone was flying up the street near where we live and work at highway speeds. I am so glad none of us were driving or walking or biking at the accident scene—and that someone’s vehicle ended up nicking the back of this speeding truck and putting him out of commission instead of being T-boned himself. Other high-speed chases ending in our neighbourhood have not had such a positive outcome. I feel angry that the actions of people trying to evade police put innocent people at risk—people in my community.

My husband was so close to the accident on Monday night that he heard the boom and crunch and ran out from the basement of our photography studio, wondering if his building had been hit. He saw the wreckage and the bloody driver lying on the street. He saw the police on scene immediately—gang unit and all manner of squad cars. He grabbed his camera and some shots and called to let me know he wouldn’t be home for supper as he was blocked in, and that he had some photos he needed to send in to some news desks. He heard the story of the couple who might’ve been hit if they hadn’t heard the sirens and gotten off the street.

I’ve been reading and watching some of the coverage of the incident. So far, it seems the focus has been on gathering the details of what happened and alluding to the gang angle. And of course, speaking of how fortunate the mother and kids were not to be in the living room at the time of the shooting that preceded the chase. If more commentary is added, I hope it will include the human element without sensationalizing it. People were going about their ordinary lives when someone trying to escape the law sped through a stop sign at 100 km/h or more, but mercifully ended up only seriously hurting himself and the stolen truck he was driving. I wonder how the man responsible for putting an end to the chase feels about his brush with almost-certain death and the one who nearly caused it. My kids wonder why the guy wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. Maybe he will next time—although I hope there is no next time of this nature. Maybe this nineteen-year-old will realize he’s not invincible. Maybe he'll realize this isn't the movies and real lives are at stake, including his own.

Today, I’m thankful my husband was inside and not backing out of the driveway to come home for a late supper. I’m thankful he was able to use his expertise to help bring the story to Winnipeg. I just hope the focus of the ongoing story will include the everyday lives of people in our community who work hard and live simply. People with children. People with skills. I hope it’s not a one-dimensional story that makes the North End look like one big problem. I guess we’ll watch and find out.

Down in the Dumps

Ever since we bought our first house in West Kildonan, we’ve had a dumpster in the back alley.  We’ve felt very fortunate to take our garbage out whenever we need and not worry about missing garbage day.  These bins are so efficient and convenient.  Unfortunately, they are too convenient.  Pick-up trucks drive by and conveniently dump construction waste, yard waste, and household furniture and belongings into the bins.  

This morning, the bin was piled high as usual, with all manner of things, as if the contents of an unsuccessful garage sale had been transferred there.  It was smelly and full of flies (none of our dumpsters have lids as they were melted in dumpster fires).  I looked over to a neighbouring bin and it was piled even higher and overflowing. 

I know that short-notice evictions happen.  Occasionally, someone on my block might buy a new couch or mattress.  But the amount of furniture, clothing and household items that end up in every dumpster down our alley would dictate that we all get rich or evicted every week.  And that just isn’t the case.

What is the solution?  For awhile, I was a vigilante who chased away trucks that looked unfamiliar or tried to take down license numbers and report them. At best, it moved the problem down the lane (and I have better things to do).  When the city didn’t seem to take action, the idea of direct retaliation became tempting (slashing tires, spray-painting truck boxes, and dumping rotting material into the cab all come to mind when the frustration mounts).  But those types of reaction are not going to promote personal safety or be viewed favourably by the justice system.

So what do we do?  Continue to watch helplessly as our bins invite flies and budding arsonists, and our back alley is taken over by ugliness?  It is depressing to walk down our alley and see the garbage overflowing.  I didn’t fully realize how others view our community until talking with a near-retired neighbour just today.  He recounted how he spotted three young people (with jobs, they pointed out) unloading their truck into our dumpster and confronted them.  The conversation went like this: “You can’t throw your garbage in there—you need to take it to the dump”.  To which came the reply, “What do you mean?  This is the dump.”

If that is the attitude we are fighting, perhaps a media campaign would help.  If enforcement is the problem, is video surveillance the answer?  Something like mobile photo radar?  With a ticket worth $5000, the city should jump at the chance to bring in revenue.  Maybe the only answer is to get rid of the dumpsters altogether.  I’ve heard that’s in the works anyway.  Which is sad.  It’s a shame that such an efficient garbage removal system be trashed.

Meantime, maybe I’ll get creative.  Plant some flowers.  Use some humour.  Maybe paint a sign on my already-pink dumpster that says, “Don’t throw your junk in my backyard—my backyard’s full”.

Police Presence a Gift

On the week-end, our family was at Birds Hill, enjoying the outdoors and the companionship of friends--even got to sing around the campfire.  We returned to Winnipeg just as it was getting dark, all tired and happy.  As we approached our street, a police cruiser, which had been blocking entrance moved, so we were relieved to be able to turn in.  What we saw after was unlike anything we’d ever seen.  For blocks around, cars with flashing lights blocked off every street and back alley, and an officer, hand on holster, stood at every corner.  We were unable to go home, as a police dog was still tracking in our back alley.  A manhunt like no other was underway.

At first we thought we’d just wait around until we got the signal, but it was too disconcerting to be parked in the middle of whirling lights and police at-the-ready.  So we drove north past at least eight cars.  It was incredible.  Finally, we drove far enough out of the action and ended up buying frozen treats for the kids at Safeway to lift their spirits and distract them a little.

What do you say to your kids when their home seems to be in the middle of a danger zone and the police have come out in full force to catch a “bad guy” who’s somewhere in your neighbourhood?  We tried to focus on the positive:  how thankful we are that so many police officers came to help, and how wonderful that all those officers want to protect us and our community.  It worked—somewhat.

Our alley was still blocked off when we returned.  We decided to park out front and asked if we could use our front door.  After an officer shone his flashlight in our yard and the neighbour’s, he motioned for us to enter.  I accompanied the kids upstairs to get their pajamas on and my husband stayed to talk to the officer.  After learning more, he encouraged us to have our ice cream treats upstairs.  The kids watched as two officers and the police dog searched our yard and the neighbours’.  A ghost car was still out front when we went to bed.

In the morning, everything was bright and sunny, and we hurried off to Birds Hill for a church service at the beach.  We stayed there until afternoon and got sunburns.  I still haven’t heard if the police “got their man”, who apparently was involved in a car theft with another person who was arrested earlier that night.  Other than a conversation with a neighbour to hear her experience that night, life is back to normal and until writing this, I’ve hardly even thought about it.

It was quite a sight to see those red-and-blue lights blanketing our community block after block.  Even though the need for such a police presence was anxiety-producing, I was proud of our city’s police force and comforted by the effort they made to keep our neighbourhood safe.