Camp Marshfield Spring Session Opens

So it's warm today and all the kids were out. I got home around 5:30 and was talking on the front steps with Dawn when the Bradys brought over their new pet chickens. Wow! They're not baby chicks--they're about two months old now--but they are still small enough to fit in two hands. We think they have two roosters and a hen. They showed me how if you hold them in your hands a few feet above the ground and kinda push them, they'll fly, or at least flap their wings as they fall to the ground. They eat rice and bread and "pretty much anything," Ines told me. One of Ines's cousins ran home to get a piece of chocolate cupcake to show me how they eat. We let them loose in my front yard to see if they could peck up any worms.

Four Bradys and three young chickens in my front yard drew a crowd. First Sarah and her niece, then Junior and his little brother, then the gaggle of girls who are related to Mr. Worrisome and Jay-Z. The gaggle was scared of the chickens at first, but then they got brave and wanted to hold them. One of them pooped on the jacket sleeve of my least favorite girl in the gaggle (she usually acts very bossy and wants to be waited on hand and foot). The other girls laughed at her and she started to cry, so I went in the house to get some wet soapy paper towel to clean off her jacket. They had been asking whether they could color, and I felt sorry enough for Little Missy that once she was clean I went back in the house and brought out some crayons and construction paper for them.

The Brady Girls took their chickens home, but the Brady boys stayed, plus Junior, his brother, Picasso, Joey and a few others. They were playing basketball out back on the parking pad while the girls colored out front. I went out back to watch the basketball.

Junior's brother was just watching, too, so we hung out. When they took a break I asked if they wanted some water, and they said yes. I brought out a pitcher but had to scrounge up plastic glasses because I'm out of disposable cups (even though I try to wash them out and re-use them at least a couple of times).

"I'd rather hang out with you guys that those girls out front," I told them during water break. "They drive me crazy." The guys laughed. They told me Littlest Brady and Joey's little brother (who are both about 3 now, I think) had been holding hands out back. The older boys were making fun of them.

"Oh, come on, give the little guys a break," I said. "When they're three, it's cute--when they're your age, not so much," I teased, punching Picasso in the arm. They were all laughing.

Although I did go check on the girls and their coloring project a few times, I pretty much left them to their own devices. When they were done, they were prepared to leave and leave everything--construction paper, Twix wrappers, crayons, glue sticks--all over my front step. I wasn't so into that. I came out and started picking up, then called over to where they were on the sidewalk and said, "So, who's going to help me clean up?"

The two oldest girls in that group are pretty responsible, so they brought everybody back. I gave them some plastic bags: one for trash and the rest for those who wanted to take their pictures home. I repeated what I told them all along: they could use up all the construction paper and take it home, but I wanted the crayons back so they could draw another day. (I did hold a couple boxes back in the house.) Good thing I kept some back--the next time I came back the steps were bare. There was one white crayon left.

Lesson learned: If I want the crayons back, I'll have to supervise cleanup more closely.

5200 S. Wolcott Report

Today was a nice day--the sign on Park Federal said it was 65 degrees late this afternoon--so I decided it was a good day to take that stroll over to 5200 Wolcott and check out the scene. As our commenter reported, there are quite a few vacant lots over there. It was pretty quiet when I walked the block--there was a hoop on the east side of the street, but no one was playing ball. Over on Honore a bunch of little kids were shooting at a hoop, and older kids were playing in the street south of 51st on Wood.

The most striking feature of the south end of the 5200 block of South Wolcott is the giant vacant lot on the west corner. It's full of trash. There are more vacant lots everywhere south of 51st than north of, but there's a whole new house going up at the south end of 5100 S. Wolcott, so that was nice to see happening.

I saw maybe half a dozen people--three teenage girls and a younger boy--plus some older guys on the east side of the street --but everything was quiet and I felt perfectly safe.

On the way over, the block that really impressed me was the 5200 block of South Honore. They have a block club street sign at the north end of the block, an older Latino guy was picking up trash at the corner, and an African American man and woman (not sure if they were a couple or just neighbors--I kinda thought just neighbors) were chatting on the sidewalk and made the effort to greet me. That's where the little kids were taking turns shooting at a hoop--boys and girls, which doesn't always happen when it's basketball.

I talked with the guy picking up trash for a couple of minutes. "This is a really nice block here," I said.

"We try," he told me. "I've been here 30 years."

I told him I lived over on Marshfield. He asked how long I've been here.

"It'll be five years this summer," I said. I could see he was pleased and surprised.

Anyway, driving through the Wolcott block in broad daylight didn't seem like it would be any problem to me. But if I wanted to talk to people, I'd probably go over to Honore and see if any grownups outside seemed friendly.

Good Cop, Bad Cop

Just as I was walking home from the bus stop this afternoon, I passed Peter Pan's house and Middle Brady Boy was yelling something in a voice I'd never heard from him--loud, authoritative, even menacing.

I slowed down as I got to Peter Pan's front steps, where two other boys were on the ground as Middle Brady looked down at them. "Whoa, (Middle Brady), what's that all about?" I asked, genuinely curious.

He looked up and said eagerly, in his usual boyish tones, "We're playing cops and robbers. I'm the cop."

"And they're the robbers?"

"Yeah."

"Wow. You have a great cop voice. Have fun!"

Then I passed the Brady house, where one of the Brady Girls had given me a big wave when I first turned on the block. She and her dad were with her cousin, Brady Bughunter, who was making them laugh while he tried to open a bottle of Gatorade. His uncle finally got it open for him.

I got to my own front steps just as that friend of Joey's I don't like (the guy who sneaks in and out of windows) came around the corner with a friend. Sneaker was walking, his buddy, with a purple-tinged mohawk, was riding a bicycle. Since they seemed harmless in the moment, I carried on and went to open my front door.

Just as I got the door open, I heard Bob the Builder hollering at Sneaker, "Hey, come here! I'm talking to you, punkhead!" Bob and I have a deal--he's the cop-calling, tough-talking bad cop to my "let me find you a program or something better to do" good cop. He seemed to have it down, so I went on into the house.

Big Picture High School Fundraiser March 27

Big Picture is holding a series of events this spring, with the goal of raising $10,000 in scholarship money for its last graduating class.

The kickoff event will be held March 27, 9 p.m. to midnight, at Soiree, 2438 N. Lincoln. For $35, you get a wristband that entitles you to appetizers and a premium open bar featuring Grey Goose, Ketel One and Bacardi. A portion of the wristband proceeds will go to the Big Picture scholarship fund.

A Taste of Spring in the Hood

It's a bit warmer today, and Picasso, Joey and Oldest Brady Boy are playing basketball out on my parking pad. Joey's hoop is rigged up from his yard next door in such a way that they can shoot at it from the parking pad. I hear the "thump, thump, thump" of the ball and their voices as I'm typing.

Picasso and Joey bumped into me on the street about an hour ago and asked what was going on with the Su Casa mural project. I called over there but we had to leave a message.

Meanwhile, the graffiti wars rage on over by the viaduct at 49th and Marshfield. Some big black tagging happened recently; I could see it from a block away. Frankly I didn't have the energy to call 311, so I turned the corner and walked west on 50th for a while instead. I'll probably call tomorrow. The traffic circle looks terrible, too. There's beer cans and plastic bags all over it, and I didn't have the energy to pick them up.

There's a lot going on right now in my personal life that is taking a great deal of energy, so I don't have a lot left to give to the neighborhood or to this blog right now. In another month or so I may be ready to post more regularly. Thanks for your patience.

Ditching School

Back on Wednesday I was walking north on Ashland Avenue around noontime, if memory serves. As I was passing the laundromat by 48th Joey and a buddy of his came strolling my way from the opposite direction. "They should be in school," was my first thought. The buddy of his, who is already in high school, is someone the neighbors gossip about. They've seen him coming out of the window from the house across the street from his--sneaking out in the early morning before his girlfriend's mom finds out he was sleeping with her. He seems like he has potential but I didn't meet him early enough in my time here to make friends before he got too old to listen to somebody like me. I wish Joey didn't hang out with him, although I'll take him over the creepy way-older teenager up on the next block.

As they got within talking distance, I said, "Hi, you guys." I'm pretty sure I didn't quite keep "you're busted" out of my voice, though I was halfway trying not to do that. Joey's buddy looked sheepish; Joey didn't even seem to register it. That really worried me.

That night when I got home, I was unlocking the front door when Joey called out my name from his porch. He had heard from Picasso about the possible art project at Su Casa and wanted to know more. "Like, what do they want us to draw?"

"I don't know. Something that connects to the neighborhood and is positive. You could do graffiti style or something with cartoon characters, maybe." He nodded.

"Weren't you supposed to be in school today?" I asked.

"Yeah, but my friend was in trouble, so I was helping him."

I wasn't listening enough, so I didn't get more of the story. Honestly, it was cold and I was tired and I just wanted to go inside. "Are you going tomorrow?"

"Yeah," he said with more enthusiasm than I expected. "I have to do a rap on Friday so I have to get ready tomorrow."

"Oh, good," I said, and went in.

Art Project

The folks at Su Casa called me up on Sunday looking for some neighborhood kids to help them design and paint a mural on their soup kitchen wall. I called Picasso to put him and Joey on the project. We'll see if they come through. Hope it works out.

UIC Basketball

Sorry this post is so late--tech problems last week intervened. Yes, Junior, his brother, Picasso, Joey and I joined Su Casa in a trip to see UIC play Youngstown State at the Pavilion last Saturday.

Bad news: UIC lost. Good news: the guys liked the game, the Jesse White Tumblers at halftime (they were amazing), and the cheerleaders. Yes, they are teenage boys. I laughed.

The really good news came after the game ended. When they dropped us off, Joey's mom wasn't back from work yet, so he came to my house and hung out for a while. He was surfing the Internet when he said, "I'd like to take another art class. Not like the one I did before (at Marwen), but something else."

"There's some in Pilsen you might like," I said. I had the flyer for Pros Arts Studios--they had class registration in January. He looked at the classes and thought he might like them. "I was going to tell Picasso, too. I thought you guys could maybe go together."

"Yeah," he said.

I was just thanking God he's still interested in doing something like that. I've been afraid he was totally lost to the streets. They have something called open studios--I hope that means you don't have to register. I'll try to remember to call them up and see when Joey and Picasso could go.

Romance on the Sidewalk

When I came out the door this afternoon to look for the Brady Girls, the first thing I saw was Joey escorting a young lady down the sidewalk. Back last spring he had a little girlfriend, but he was kind of shy and just walked next to her. He walked her home and then came back to his house.

Now that he's all of 12, he's getting bolder and maybe more jaded. (I'm not sure if this is the same girl or a new one.) They got to his gate and he kissed her. Then they chatted a little longer and she went on down the block by herself. I think he invited her in and she said no.

Job Hunting

This afternoon I took a break around 2, when Chavez dismisses, to respond to a very cute message I got from a couple of the Brady Girls. They are having a Valentine's Day party and want to make cookies again to serve at their soiree. I'm not sure if the timing will work but I hope to talk with them soon about it. I went outside and Ines's mom was watching for her kids, but Ines had gone to the library so I missed her.

Meanwhile, Peter Pan's mom was out watching for her kids to come home, too. About half an hour later she and her husband showed up at my doorstep. He's out of work and was wondering if I had any job-hunting ideas. I asked him what kind of work he does and he said, "Warehouse." That's not the kind of work I know or get job notices for much.

I asked if he had tried Instituto del Progreso Latino at 46th and Wood. He said he'd been there once and they said they would call him but he never heard back. He also said there's a rumor that office may be closing. I know some folks who work at their main branch on Blue Island, so I gave him their names, the address and phone number. I hope it helps. Times are tough and I was very concerned to hear he's been out of work for a couple of months. I think they've owned their house for a long time, like 10 years, so hopefully their mortgage is manageable, at least for a little while longer.

How Oldest Brady Boy Saved Peter Pan

Here's the story, in Peter Pan's own words from his first essay draft [with a little copy-editing by me, but less than the application version got]:


This friend has been real close to me. [Oldest Brady Boy] is his name. He's athletic-focused and makes me laugh. He will do things for friends or will help you or tell you what's right. He gives advice on what to do in that circumstance. One thing he has helped me in is how to do things right, like telling me this is wrong, this is right. [He'll ask:] "What are you going to get involved in if you do these kinds of things? What is this going to lead you to in the end?"

He has made me a good person. He's always together with me. All the time we go places and play soccer, a good athletic sport where we can meet other kids at the park or in our own neighborhood. He helped me stop hanging with some people I don't need to be with, who are falling in a bad step now. [He helps me think about] what kind of friend should I hang with, what step are they on, if they are good. Who is going to give you good footsteps to accomplish what you want to be in life?

This friend has showed me a lot of things and has changed me in many ways. He is almost more than a friend [because of] how we look out for each other and changed one another on what to do right in life.

Perhaps readers remember that years ago I predicted Peter Pan would either be a real force for good on the block or the block's leading gangbanger. I'm pretty sure his friendship with Oldest Brady Boy pulled him away from the circle that Joey is falling into. They used to be pretty tight for a while, and I think that's who he meant by "people I don't need to be with." He's spot on, but it's breaking my heart that Joey's the problem on the block. I feel like he's slipped beyond me now.

Last Minute High School Applications

Well, Peter Pan and his brother showed up this afternoon looking for last-minute help with their Noble Network high school applications. They said they both already applied to Perspective Math & Science Academy, where their sister is going. Three 150-word essays each, and they hadn't started a thing before they got here around 4 this afternoon.

Peter Pan has some potential as a writer--he got one and a half of his first drafts done before I had to throw them out around 4:30 to go to a meeting. His brother has a lot more trouble writing, and his writing is a lot more trouble to understand. He kept using the word "above" when he meant "about," which took me a little while to figure out. He didn't even finish one draft before I had to go. I made them promise to keep working on it while I was gone and then we'd work together when I got back.

I got home about eight and they were here until 10:30. The brother still wasn't finished--he's got to rewrite one of them because he got off topic--but he's pretty close and there are 150 words in his draft (even if they are poorly spelled and incoherent).

The Nobles insist that kids hand-write their essays on the application form, which I suppose is to deter parents or others from writing them for them. It's not too hard to get around that, though, if the kids are willing to copy. I will freely admit I have the kid write a first draft, then if time permits said kid revises it, then I write a nice copy with all the words spelled correctly and correct punctuation, which the kid then copies on to the application. Now usually they make some mistakes copying, so there are still errors in the final product, but it probably isn't a totally representative sample of their work, either.

Tonight I went further down the path of deception, I'm afraid, especially with Peter Pan's brother, who was struggling to come up with 150 words for these essays. He did write two drafts for all his essays, but the second drafts were to get more words and to make them more coherent, not at all for mechanics. I still had to revise his second drafts to make them understandable to someone other than the author. I don't know what the final versions will look like, because he didn't have time to copy the clean versions I put together from his drafts before 10:30. Now he's on his own. Whew. I thank and pity his future English teachers.

In better news, Peter Pan himself wrote pretty good essays that didn't take nearly as much copy editing. I'm going to do another post to give you an excerpt of the rough draft of one of them, which is about how being friends with Oldest Brady Boy has changed his life, maybe even saved it. I knew Oldest Brady was good for him, but now I know he is a real unsung neighborhood hero. Read on above.

Chocolate Chip Cookies

When I was a kid, one of my favorite things to do on a winter Sunday was make chocolate chip cookies in the kitchen with my mom while the Eagles game played on the TV in the den. Probably in honor of that, when I ran into three of the Brady girls coming home from the library on Friday afternoon, I invited them over to make cookies on Sunday. "If it's not too cold," I said.

"What time?" they asked.

"How 'bout around three?" So we agreed.

I guess 14 degrees was warm enough for them, because a little before three I heard a voice calling me from outside. (I never did get my doorbell fixed, and that's fine. It was so loud it would make me jump out of my skin. Now people have to work to get my attention, and I'm not giving myself a giant cortisol hit every time someone comes to visit.)

Three of the Bradys from the all-girl side of the family came. Their cousin Ines wanted to come but her family was going to see her brothers play soccer, so she went, too.

We cleared off the kitchen table and got to work. I softened the butter in the microwave to make it easier to cream with the sugar. That's always the longest part. The girls took turns and I only gave it a few whacks near the end to make sure the butter wasn't streaking and there weren't too many hard specks of brown sugar. The oldest Brady of the bunch was having fun searching them out and pounding them into nothingness with the wooden spoon.

"The last time I made chocolate chip cookies was four years ago," she said. They were at their cousin's house in Michigan. She must have doubled or even tripled the recipe, because they made more than a hundred cookies. "My cousin got mad because everybody was coming and taking them."

They broke the eggs over the bowl and picked out a couple of small shell pieces that fell in. After mixing in the eggs and vanilla, we started adding the flour. They were surprised at how stiff the dough gets, but they got all the flour in.

I think they had the most fun forming the cookies. I made one rounded-teaspoon size cookie as an example for them to match and then went to talk to my roommate the Good Elf while they made more. When the second batch went in the oven, one of them got the bright idea to round the lumps of dough into balls with her hands, then put it back on the cookie sheet. Those cookies came out looking almost store-bought. We all agreed making the dough from scratch was more fun than using the pre-made dough, although one of them thought the chocolate chips melt better that way because you leave the dough in longer. (She had a point.)

My oven's timer counts the seconds for the last minute, so they had fun counting down the last ten seconds of each batch. "Three...two...one! Cookies!" One of them kept saying "Blast off!" instead.

"It's like New Year's," said the youngest.

Between batches we talked about summer and swimming and going to Great America. They thought we should make more cookies and sell them as a fundraiser to buy tickets for a Great America trip next summer. I wasn't sure we'd make enough money selling cookies, but apparently you can get discounted tickets for so many Coke purchases or something like that. I made no promises.

The oldest told me her mom wants to learn how to make cheesecake. I found a recipe on my shelf of cookbooks and wrote it out for her to take home, but I've never actually made it myself. Maybe we'll have to test out the recipe over Presidents' Day weekend.

Sarah's Test Date

I was out of town most of this week, but Thursday morning while waiting for breakfast in an airport restaurant, my cell phone rang. It was Sarah's mom from next door. Sarah's test date for the Orozco bilingual gifted program is in mid-February. She wondered if I had had a chance to talk to the principal about Sarah. Not yet, I told her. It may not matter anyway if they don't have space, but it doesn't hurt to try. We agreed to get together early next week to talk about the test.

It was funny when I explained I wasn't in Chicago, I was in Baltimore.

"Is that far?" she asked.

"Yes. I'm flying back to Chicago today," I answered. (Since she wasn't born here, I don't expect her to have a strong grip on US geography. But it still surprises me sometimes when moments like this pop up.)

Right after we hung up, I called a friend of mine who has had two sons go through the gifted testing process. She asked if Sarah would be going to IIT. I didn't know but said I'd find out next week. My friend's kids both took their tests at IIT. With the older son it was a cattle call--every kid had a number, there was a lot of waiting, it felt very impersonal. This year, with her younger son, she said it went much more smoothly. The wait was short and they called the kids by name. Apparently with the four-year-olds they just take them in a room and an IIT psychology grad student asks them questions until the kid can't answer any more. I wonder if it's different with the school-age kids who don't have standardized test scores yet. I guess we'll find out in February.

Junior's Report Card

Well, I went to Golder today with Junior and his dad to get his report card for second quarter. The good news is his math teacher picked him as her student of the quarter for outstanding improvement in math. (This is the basic math backup class, not algebra, but he got a C in algebra, so I'm happy.)

The other good news is he brought his civics grade up from a D to a C-. That may not seem like a lot, but I know he had to work hard to do it because the class isn't easy.

Now for the bad news. His other D last quarter, in physics, sank to an F because he bombed the final. He got less than half the questions right. We talked to his teacher and she said she knows he is trying but he just didn't get it. This quarter Junior will stop in and see her after school on Tuesdays to go over the homework with her and make sure he gets help on the parts he doesn't understand. Wednesday is her office hours, and he may go see her then, too. The thing is, he'll also have to take a make-up class after school to earn the quarter-credit he missed in physics. The class will either be on Mondays or Wednesdays-they don't know yet.

The other bad thing about failing physics is he will have to pay for the makeup class. It costs $140, which is a lot of money for his family. His dad wasn't too happy about that, as he noted in the car on the way home. "Junior plays Nintendo three, four hours a day. Too much," he said. Dad's right.

The last bad thing is that Junior still hasn't gotten paid for the After School Matters program he did back in the fall and early winter. An administrator assured us she has done all she could to get the debit card from ASM to the handful of kids who haven't received theirs yet, including Junior. Maybe if we're lucky he'll get it in time to use some of it to pay for the makeup class.

Whodunnit?

Well, I think I found out who was shoveling my snow yesterday. Around 5 p.m. the guy I refer to as "The Groundskeeper" knocked on my door. He had already shoveled off the front step.

"I'm broke," I told him.

"That's OK," he said, and kept on shoveling anyway.

"Have you got a place to cook?" I asked. When he said yes, I offered him some of my frozen hamburgers left from last August (it's about time they got eaten, yikes!). He took them.

This morning when I got home from church, Yup-yup tried to tell me he was the one who had been shoveling. I think word about the hamburgers must have gotten around.

Lost Dog--Still Searching for Buddy

The search has been on since before Christmas for Buddy, the small white poodle with a purple collar owned by the former principal of Chavez Elementary. Ms. Traback is offering a $500 reward for the return of her dog, no questions asked. There are signs up all over the neighborhood in English and Spanish with the address--5030 S. Marshfield--and the phone number, which I don't remember.

"Buddy was a ball of fire" around the house, Ms. Traback told me right before Christmas. She really misses her dog, and is pretty convinced that someone found him and is taking care of him. He is a friendly little one so I agree it's likely someone took him in. Hope this helps Buddy come home.

Big Snow, More Applications

Well, we're getting the big snow they said would come. Fortunately, this morning somebody shoveled my sidewalk. My front steps probably had six inches on them by around noon (I hadn't shoveled since early yesterday morning), but the sidewalk had an inch or less. Whoever that was, thanks!

Tone-Loc and Alicia stopped by earlier today. I had seen them on the street earlier this week. Their mom wanted to know when we could do their applications to Perspectives Math and Science Academy. I said, "How about on Saturday?" When they came here, I was on my way to the store to get more salt. I let Alicia borrow my shovel and said I would come to her house to get it back latet.

After I got back from the store, I went over to their place. I noticed there was a shovel out front and wondered why Alicia wanted to borrow mine if they already have one. I knocked on the door and on their window. "Who is it?" someone called. I answered with my name and Tone-Loc opened the door. I went in and stood just inside the front doorway where all the boots were, at the edge of the kitchen/dining room--I didn't want to make any more mess, but clearly other people had been tramping around the kitchen in their boots, so I wasn't taking my shoes off.

Tone-Loc's little brother was playing at the card table set up for dining. "I thought you said it was the police," he said to his brother.

"No, honey, it's just me," I told him. He showed me the photo he was looking at--it was the cake from his birthday party. Tone-Loc went to get his mom. The apartment was tropical-warm (to my feeling) and all four burners on the stove were turned up high with no pots on them. I noticed this but didn't say anything to anyone about it.

A little while Tone-Loc came back and started playing his video game in the crorner of the kitchen. He asked if he could shovel my back yard out. "Not now," I said. "Where is Alicia? Is she out making money with my shovel?" He said yes. (Note: I better get my shovel back, or she's going to pay me for it out of her snow-shoveling money. I thought she needed it because they didn't have one.)

Then their mom came out. She looked like she might have been taking a nap. We shook hands and I asked her when would be a good time to work on those applicatons. "Later this afternoon," she said. I told her I would come back around 4.

I sure hope this works. These kids could really use a good school behind them. As I was leaving, some guy stuck his head out the second-floor window and we greeted each other. I didn't recognize him.

Physics Homework Help

Gotta say it's really sad that I'm Junior's lifeline when it comes to getting physics homework done. When I left the gym early this evening, I turned on my phone and there were four messages from Junior and his little brother asking when I was getting home and could I help them with their homework.

"I have physics, and I don't understand it," Junior told me. When I called him back, it was pretty late and I asked if he had gotten any of it done. "Yeah, some," he said. "There's just two parts I don't understand."

One of them was scientific notation and how to convert back and forth between scientific and standard. There were some problems where you had to multiply and divide numbers in scientific notation and I vaguely remembered you could just add and subtract the powers of 10 (the integers), but I wasn't really sure.

"Call Picasso," suggested Junior. "He's smart."

"Yeah, you're right," I said, and we called him. He's done it at Curie, too, and he thought yes, we could do that. So we did. (If we were wrong, you can call us out in the comments.)

Then we went back and checked something he had done earlier. Junior was supposed to explain and make a sample graph of a direct relationship between two things. He explained it in general and made a general graph, but he hadn't given a specific example. When we looked back, he came up with a good one: "The more kids you have, the more you have to do laundry."

"You see that from having your little brother around, right?" I said. They laughed. (There's nothing like a new baby in the house for laundry.) So he put labels on his graph--I think loads of laundry was the x-axis and number of kids was the y-axis.

Today's Dawn Update

Now that we're all back from the holidays, I went over to Big Picture at the end of the school day today. (I was looking to pay a student who has been helping me with transcribing and translating interviews in Spanish.) After finishing my errand, I saw Alfredo's office door was open and walked over. Just then, Dawn's mom walked out, clutching an envelope. We said hi and she went on her way.

I believe the envelope was a letter of support for Julian, who has a court hearing coming up soon. Alfredo and I talked about what had happened with Dawn. "It was really hard to let her go," he said. But she hadn't been coming to school regularly--she had quite a few absences and tardies. She hasn't been staying at home regularly and her mother doesn't know where she is, all the same stuff that has been happening for over a year. "It was putting a damper on the other kids," to have her come to school irregularly like that, Alfredo said.

We agreed that she is bright and has a lot of talent, but her (and her parents') inability to set routines and follow through on plans is holding her back. Her lack of faith in herself is also holding her back, but she's not taking the steps to take care of herself there either, like going to counseling. "We couldn't do it for her," Alfredo said. I understand that completely.

Interestingly, Alfredo's boss checked in with him when she found out one of Big Picture's last students was dropping out. "Are you sure that's the only solution?" he was asked. He explained the long process it had been and all the work he and Dawn's teachers had done to help her. Alfredo told me that Dawn's mom had thanked him today for all Big Picture had done for her children, even though neither of them will be graduating from the school. "She said she knew from the very beginning that we were on her side and she appreciated everything we had done for them," he said.

Of course, when I came back home from the school, I saw Dawn's mom on the sidewalk and Dawn pulling up in front of the house in her Camry. She gave me a big smile and I waved at her very enthusiastically, but I had to get back to work right away so I kept on going.

As far as Alfredo knows, Dawn is neither working nor going to school right now. Last week I stopped by next door and left a Christmas present for her, a small black purse--over the holiday I called one of her friends to get advice on what to get--so perhaps that will be a conversation starter the next time we run into each other.

A Christmas Tale from Back of the Yards

This story is courtesy of the Holy Cross/IHM web site. Fr. Bruce told this story in church on Sunday but my Spanish was not good enough to understand it completely until I read it in English just now. Check this out.

A true Back of the Yards neighborhood Christmas story - The grandmother was a little overwhelmed with all the wonder of the Posadas. Her grandson had won two gifts at a raffle during some very special nights of Posadas, celebrated in the neighborhood from December 16th to the 23rd. The community walked all the streets during the evenings accompanying Mary and Joseph who were seeking a place to stay, ...a place where the light of Christ would remain. Each evening was filled with wonder and delight for hundreds of children, thanks to the help of many adults in the neighborhood. Each day was different, but on several nights donated gifts were given to hundreds of children.

The grandmother decided to hide one gift, a big truck, and give it to the four year old child on Christmas day. After all, she figured, the other gift was enough for now. But the clever four year old would have none of it and he asked what happened to the truck he had received as a gift. Staying a step ahead of him she told him that "La Llorona" had taken the gift. (The Spanish legend of La Llorona is famous in our community with several versions of a mother who lost her children in a moment of panic and now wept at night looking for them through the alleys and streets.) The grandmother explained that La Llorona would return the gift to Santa Claus on Christmas Eve "Noche Buena" to return it to him then.

The child asked why La Llorona would not return it herself beforehand. The grandmother explained that La Llorona could not cross the border any longer because she has no documents, no legal papers. So she will give it to Santa to bring because he needs no documents.

Yucky Day and More High School Applications

It's icy sleet/snowing this morning. Oldest Brady Boy stopped by early to shovel my front sidewalk. A little later I went to see his mom to fill out a couple of backup applications to Kennedy and Hancock. I decided they were probably the best of the reasonably close by schools for Alvaro.

His little brothers and sisters are all sick. They were all crashed out together in a heap on top of a long, wide but pretty thin mattress on the living room floor, covered in those big fuzzy dollar-store blankets. Seems like there's a stomach bug in the house. Ines told me she felt like throwing up.

In the corner stood their little fake Christmas tree and some bags full of presents. Brady Bughunter, who seemed less sick than the girls, was already playing with one of his--a giant transformer-style bug that you can guide with a radio control thing and make it change shapes. His baby brother is scared of it, so his mom made him quit driving it around the house.

We got everything on the forms except Oldest Brady's school ID number. He took his report card back to school and forgot to bring it home when their break started at the end of last week.

I was just interrupted by his mom. She stopped by. Her son got home but he didn't have his report card, so we called Chavez and got his ID number. I'll take the applications over to the post office early this afternoon.

Magnet Madness II

Well, we got Sarah's magnet school applications done today. Her mom came over. This time I let her touch the forms herself--with the GEAP ones I was afraid of mistakes so I did it myself.

She made a mistake or two on these, but I have a white-out pen that puts precision tape over the error so it looks fine corrected.

Her mom really wants her to go to Orozco. She wants to be an involved parent, but she doesn't drive. It's a lot easier to get to Orozco from our houses than to any of the other schools on the bus--it's a straight shot up Ashland. I will say here frankly that I intend to bring Sarah to the attention of some people I know over there. It might not make any difference, but it can't hurt.

Last night when all the snow was coming down, Oldest Brady Boy and Tone-Loc were out with shovels doing good business. They asked if they could do my front steps. I said yes, but they took so long to get there I did it myself. And Joey's mom was out shoveling her snow, so we finally had time to call Casa Tepeyac. She was supposed to go over there today--hope it worked out.

Anyway, the boys saw the shoveled sidewalk and steps and kept going, but I came out and called to them as they were crossing to the next block: "Hey, wait! I want you to do my back steps and sidewalk. Plus I have stuff for you guys."

I had homemade chocolate chip cookies left over from Tony's birthday and school applications for both of them. This morning I saw Oldest Brady's mom and said we need to do one application by Friday for him to go to Kennedy, just as a backup plan in case none of the Nobles works out. "I don't want to see him at Richards," I said.

She smiled in recognition. I'm glad I don't have to worry about Peter Pan, although I'll probably go ask if he applied to the Nobles. Even though he has sibling preference (a guaranteed seat) at Perspectives, he was interested in Noble and Oldest Brady Boy is his good buddy. It's stricter, too, which might actually be good for him.

Crossing the Digital Divide

Picasso called me about 1 o'clock this afternoon. I was in the tunnel at the Roosevelt station.

"Are you home?" he asked.

"No, but what's up?" He told me he was in the process of wiring up his new Internet, but it's 50 feet from where the jack is to his room, where he wants his computer to be, and his ethernet cable wouldn't reach that far.

"I'll try to go by Radio Shack after this meeting," I told him. The meeting ran long, but I was taking my computer to the shop--a repair place on the North Side--and they told me they could make a 50-foot ethernet cable for me. So I said yes, do it, and called Picasso back.

"Hey, the repair place can make you a cable," I told him.

"How much does it cost?"

"Hold on and I'll find out. If it's too much for you I'll make it your Christmas present." I asked the guy, who thought it was about $15.

"Oh, I can pay you back," Picasso said.

Then I remembered to ask him what he was doing home at one o'clock in the afternoon on a school day.

"It was a student development day. I went last time and it was really boring. We didn't do nothing," he told me.

"All right, you didn't miss classes, but we're going to talk about this the next time I see you. You're going tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah."

"If I get home in time tonight, I'll call you and bring the cable over. Otherwise I'll get it to you when you get home from school tomorrow."

Picasso goes to Curie. I'll have to check in with some teacher buddies of mine there about what this student development day stuff is and why it's boring.

Dawn Update

Sorry, dear readers--there's Internet trouble at Chez Maritza, which delayed this post. Here goes:

I saw Dawn's mom at the Guadalupe Mass at Holy Cross on Friday night. She came with Angel. Dawn didn't want to come because she didn't take a bath this morning?...something like that, which I didn't catch clearly. I do know she likes a long soak, especially in the winter.

I got to church really late myself, after the fun part--the dancing. Bummer! I didn't see Dawn's mom with Angelito until the sign of peace. After Mass, she asked me if I wanted to go get something to eat downstairs in the hall and I said sure. So we went down and got plates with chicken in mole, rice, a tostada and a tamal. Angel really liked the music--the marimbas were playing, and he was banging along on the table. I played a little table marimba with him, and his mom and I were cracking up watching him.

After we left, she gave me a ride home--she's got a car that works, mas o menos--and she told me a bit more about Joey and Dawn. She's working weekends now at a Food 4 Less (not the one here in our neighborhood), but she's working 11 to 7 and she doesn't like it because that leaves Joey unsupervised all weekend long. She's been trying to get him to stay with his dad but it sounded like that's not working well--I'm not sure if it's because Joey won't go or his dad is busy or some of both.

This is all leading up to the big news about Dawn. It probably won't surprise longtime readers of this blog to hear Dawn will not be staying at Big Picture. Her mom is supposed to come in to school on Monday to sign her out and work out the details of transferring her to another program. Her mom couldn't remember the name of the new school, but supposedly it has early morning and evening hours so students can work during the day. Dawn and her mother agree that she wants to work and should be working to help support the family. It sounds like Alfredo and her teachers support this because she has continued to be iffy about attendance and classwork

Of course I'm really disappointed, but since she and I have hardly been in contact--I think we have spoken less than five times since August--I don't have the right to say a danged thing about it. All I know is that Dawn's chances of ever getting a high school diploma are about to drop substantially.

Will she even show up at the new program? Is it really any good? I don't know, and at this point I also don't know if I have it in me to push much to find out. I hope she pulls a Meg and finds herself happy and working hard in her new school, but I somehow suspect the road for Dawn will take a few more twists and turns--Meg didn't get back in school right away and being out for a while and really understanding what a dead end life is without a diploma made her much more motivated to go back.

When Dawn started at Big Picture, I chose 2009 for a four-digit sequence I use all the time in honor of her graduation year. It was sort of a promise to her, and myself, that I would be there when she crossed that stage. She might cross a stage and get a diploma yet, but it won't be that one. I'll be there at Big Picture in June, crying happy tears for all the graduates, but part of me will be crying other tears for Dawn, too.

News in Brief

A social worker from Dorothy's new home stopped by today to pick up diapers, laundry quarters and her mail, especially her Social Security card (just arrived) and a stack of letters from DHS about benefits. The social worker tells me that Dorothy has to stay for 30 days, but because "she's young" (i.e. in her 50s) they would like to help her find permanent housing elsewhere. They work with Thresholds, among other agencies. I know Thresholds and respect them.

The current residence does have meetings in the building, and Dorothy is now going to work every day. I don't know where or for what, but she's making $2 a day doing something and getting out of there. The social worker gave me her name and said she could help me find whoever ends up officially assigned to Dorothy.

This morning I ran out to the bank and on the way stopped to chat with some neighbors who sent their youngest to Perspectives Math & Science Academy. "She loves it. I love it," said her mom. That's what I like to hear.

Tony from down the street came by last night and again today. His birthday was yesterday. (Lucky fellow, he shares a birthday with Rod Blagojevich. Though I have a lot to say about that guy, I'll refrain here.) I've been working at home and cooking on the side, so he got quite a birthday meal: lentil soup with saltine crackers, baked potato, lemon pie and chocolate chip cookies. The cookies were at his special request--this is becoming an annual event. Yesterday Tony shoveled the snow off my back porch and back sidewalk. "Yup-yup got locked up," he informed me. That's why he hadn't been around to get the job.

We talked about how he spent his birthday. "I got some beer...I ain't even going to lie to you. I got a bag of weed too. As soon as I had the beer and smoked the joint, I went to sleep and didn't wake up til three o'clock today."

"I bet you're hungry now, aren't you?" I asked. (I was about to go pack him dinner to go.

"Mmmm-hmmm." We both chuckled a bit.

The best news is my new roommate, known here as the Good Elf. She hung out with me this afternoon and organized my utility closet while I made cookie dough, then scooped cookies on the baking sheets and put them in the oven while I got some work done. She already reorganized the front hall closet, washed the kitchen floor, and unclogged the first floor sink and bathtub drains. She's staying here while she looks for work and volunteers some time at Su Casa--for once, they have so many workers they don't need another one right now. But I need a housekeeper/secretary, and so far she's doing a great job.

"It looks nicer in here," Shutterbug observed to me on his way out the door this morning. I just smiled. Yeah, Good Elf!

Helping Troubled Teens (and maybe preteens, too)

Today's New York Times features a story about Florida's efforts to intervene early with families where youth and teens are acting out, but before there's a need to bring in child welfare or the criminal system.

Teens can stay in structured, temporary shelter for up to two weeks, while receiving counseling and learning about anger management and social skills. Families who call the system can also receive free or low-cost counseling and referrals even without having a child stay.

This is a bit like Casa Tepeyac/Boys and Girls Town of Chicago here in the neighborhood, but different in some important ways. The explicit goal of Florida's program is to reunite the child with his/her family and stay in the community. Casa Tepeyac is beginning to do some outreach to families here but it is in the early stages.

Which reminds me that they told me to have Joey's mom call and they would try to help her, and then I went out of town and she and I haven't said boo to each other since I got back. Hopefully I will catch her by Sunday and we can call them.

Magnet Madness

Sarah's mom just stopped by. I did some research on potential magnet schools for Sarah--ones with decent-to-excellent test scores within the six-mile limit for transportation. The four I found were, in order of reputation/test scores: Murray, Sheridan, Saucedo and Gunsaulus. Sarah's mom is most interested in Sheridan because it's the second closest, she knows about where it is off the top of her head, and it has good test scores. I managed to tell her it would be good to apply to all four of them at this point because she can always say no later if she gets it. She's getting the point that Sarah may not get into Orozco.

She is really worried about high school for Sarah. "This neighborhood isn't the greatest, and neither are the high schools," she said. "Richards isn't very good, is it?" [all quotations are very loosely translated from Spanish]

"No, it's not."

"I need to know more about high schools."

"Jones College Prep is very good. It's downtown, so it's not hard to get to. Whitney Young is another good one."

"Better than Juarez?" [Juarez is where her older kids went. At least one of them was in the top 10 percent there.]

"Yes," I told her. "All the students in these schools have to take an exam to get in, so they are all very intelligent."

"Oh."

"I think Sarah has the mind to go to a school like that, but I'm afraid if she stays where she is they won't prepare her well enough to go there."

"Yes! I want her to be well prepared, and I don't think they are giving her enough homework." [She used a word I didn't recognize here--often people say tarea/chores for homework, but homework or assignments or challenging stuff do seemed to be the point from the context].

So I only have two Options applications in the house and no printer. I'm going downtown tomorrow and will run off some more copies of the form. We'll fill them out over the weekend and get them in the mail Monday. Applications must be postmarked by Friday December 19.

Dorothy in the Witch's Castle

I went to see Dorothy at the nursing home today. It's the Witch's Castle all right--she's not even allowed to go outside for the first ten days. Today was day 3. And it's not a place you want to spend much time inside. The first floor lobby is full of dirty, smelly, mostly men sitting around arguing and watching TV. Not many of these people are old--just worn down by life, on SSI, with no other place to go.

Dorothy pointed out a few people in the throng she's made friends with already--to her credit, they generally seemed to be among the saner and more solid citizens in the joint. She also pointed out a security guard--a tall, thin man in a uniform joking around with a couple of residents--saying, "That's security," with more than a hint of disgust in her voice.

"People are getting high in here," Dorothy told me while we waited for the elevator. A seriously crazy guy came up to her and whispered something in her ear. She turned him down forcefully; it was a request for either money or sexual favors, I'm not sure which.

There are two elevators. One of them is broken. Fourteen of us piled in the one that works when it eventually made its appearance. The crowd got ugly when the fifteenth guy tried to get in, blocked the door, but wouldn't get out. He finally left. I got a spot against the back wall and kept my hands in my coat to deter pickpockets. It smelled. I was glad I had a very big coat on because I was more worried somebody would try to cop a feel in the elevator than I was about getting something stolen.

Dorothy is on the fifth floor. It doesn't look so bad up there--pretty traditional nursing home, usually two to a room. (She told me some are three.) The floor was shiny and there was an attendant at the station by the day room where people can watch TV. Dorothy's roommate seemed pretty well-put-together; she was neatly groomed, had clearly showered that day and was reading the Bible when we got there. The room was clean, orderly and nicely decorated with plastic flowers and such. Dorothy introduced me as her sister-in-law and her roommate said, "If I'd known she was having family come I would have made the bed." I told her next time we'd give her advance notice.

Dorothy had many complaints. First off, nobody told her where she was being taken when she left the treatment center. Supposedly this is a temporary placement while they try to find her a spot in a long-term recovery home, but who knows how long that will take. One of the aides who gives her her meds follows her medication schedule; the other one doesn't. They are supposed to be keeping her meds in strict confidence since some of them are for HIV, but they aren't doing that. They have them out in public and they talk to her in public about them. She says she saw a woman argue with staff and the staff gave her tranquilizers against her will just to shut her up. That seemed pretty plausible just from spending half an hour in there.

The attendant at the front desk on Dorothy's floor did a double-take when she saw me and heard Dorothy explaining to me how the women's shower doesn't work, so both the men and the women use the same tub and shower station on her floor, which means the guys are walking in while the women are taking showers. I walked us away discreetly before she had time to really freak out about me being there.

We stood in the back stairwell so I could ask her how she likes her roommate. Dorothy does like her. Then the same crazy guy from down on the first floor came down the stairs and started bugging Dorothy for 75 cents. "You don't know me! How come you asking for money?" she said to him. This started an argument that I was afraid might turn physical, until Dorothy said, "Besides, I don't have any!"

"Oh, OK," said the guy. He turned away and walked downstairs. A woman had joined us in the stairwell; she and Dorothy marveled over the looney tunes they were having to deal with in this joint. Clearly the other woman was pretty new, too. "I can't wait until my daughter gets me out of here," she said.

I got the numbers for her probation officer and her counselor back at drug treatment and promised her I would call them Monday to find out what is going on. I'll probably call the social worker in the building there, too, just to let someone on staff know someone is looking out for Dorothy. I also promised I would call her every day until the 10 days are up and she can get the heck out of there during the day. They don't have meetings in the building either, so she can't even go to a meeting for 10 days. That's crazy!!

Dorothy insisted on walking me down the stairs when it was time for me to go. "No way am I letting you walk down these stairs by yourself," she said.

She had just told me she doesn't walk up the stairs; I didn't want her waiting for the elevator again. "Girl, don't you know I used to do karate?" I told her. We both started laughing.

"Karate, judo, I don't care, I'm walking you down these stairs," she said. When we got back to the front desk, we said good-bye and she nagged me. "Put on your hat-it's cold outside."

"Yes ma'am," I said. When she gets out of there, I'm going to name the place, but not before. I looked it up on line before I went and it seemed like it wouldn't be too bad. Guess I was wrong.

P.S. On the bus after I left, I was trying to think of the reading from The Velveteen Rabbit my sister had me read at her wedding. It seemed rather appropriate to the circumstances. You can see it here.

Dorothy's Trapped!

Far from being in A Safe Haven on the far North Side, Dorothy is stuck in a nursing home "right here!" Well, not right here--it's south of here--but it's not far enough away to be a real change of life for her. And it's a nursing home, which she made clear she does not want, and apparently they took all her money for expenses and left her with $30. And they don't give her adult diapers.

I will be going down to where she is tomorrow to give her some of her diaper stash. I know she doesn't want to be there, but we'll have to see what else is possible. I'm afraid she'd rather go back on the streets than live the way she is now. It could very well come to the point where she breaks the rules just to get herself thrown out, but then ends up using again.

Personally, I'd be delighted if she stayed locked up in the nursing home and quit trying to call me collect. I had a bunch of collect call messages on my voice mail and couldn't figure out why until one call came in when I had the phone on. The guy on the line assured me it would be about six bucks for six minutes (one of the automated ones said $14! No way!!), so I took it to get her number and address. I told her not to call me again because I won't pay for it. I'll call her before I go out there tomorrow.

Oy veh. Somebody remind me why I let myself get mixed up in this stuff? Oh, yeah, as the real Dorothy said, there's no distinction between the deserving and the undeserving poor. Sometimes that is seriously hard to remember.

Orozco or Bust

Well, its Orozco or bust for Sarah next door. If you click on the link, you'll see why--parents like it and they have good test scores. As they should, since they are a bilingual gifted center as well as a neighborhood school.

Her mother came over earlier this week to get help filling out the GEAP application. I was trying to persuade her to look at some schools besides Orozco, but the other bilingual gifted centers are on the North Side and beyond the six-mile zone in which CPS will provide bus service.

Elementary school applications are a whole new world for me. I've always been more on top of high schools: which ones are good, how you apply, these days who I know that I can talk to about particular kids, etc. To help Sarah's mom, I called a friend of mine in Chicago Lawn who has been through the drill a couple of times. The first gifted program she had her son in was fine in the early grades, but she heard they hadn't worked out the upper elementary part so well, so she applied to Lenart and moved her child between kindergarten and first grade a while back. It's a long drive for them but they do it.

Sarah's mom was not interested in a long drive. Between the work schedules of everyone in the house, driving Sarah back and forth to school does not seem to be a very realistic option, though they do have a functioning car. Her approach is to just be determined and apply every year from now through 7th grade. She is open to some magnet school options in Pilsen and Little Village, so I hope to persuade her to send in a few more applications between now and the December 19 deadline.

In a way, I'm kind of glad her mother doesn't read English. She was spared the sight of these contradictory and somewhat confusing "Tips for Applying to Options for Knowledge Schools."

Tip #1: Do not apply to just one or two schools! Apply to as many schools as you would be happy to have your child attend.

Tip #2: Don not submit applications to schools that you would not want to have your child attend. If a school is too far from your home...then do not apply to that school.

Since we're not especially close to anything but Orozco, it would seem Tip 2 outweighs Tip 1.

A few years ago, IFF put out a report on the areas of the city with the greatest need for better-performing elmentary schools. New City (which includes Back of the Yards) ranked 23 of the top 25 neediest areas. South Shore ranked number 1. If we're only 23rd highest in need, I really feel for those South Shore people.

A few years ago

Dorothy's Night Plan

Well, after chilling with Dorothy for a while, she came up with a plan for how to get off the street tonight without staying at my house. We went to Mrs. Ribs' house and they loaned me $10, which I'll pay back tomorrow. Dorothy knows somebody on Hermitage who rents space for a night for $10, so she's going over there.

There was just one minor hitch. Cops. When we went out to cross the street and talk to Mrs. Ribs, there was a police car at the end of the block, in front of the house where she had left her stuff (where all the drama had been going on earlier). But after a bit of watching, both of us concluded they were probably after some young kids (hope not any I know--I couldn't see well and didn't want to stare) and not searching the house where her stuff was.

We went back in the house and waited a little while, then I went out and looked down the street. The coast was clear. I wished her luck, walked her out and locked the gate behind her.

Oldest Brady Boy's High School Applications

Here are some excerpts from Oldest Brady Boy's drafts of his applications for the Noble Network schools.

For the teacher who helped him, he wrote about his social studies teacher, who had him stay after school when he failed the Constitution test on the first try. She worked with him after school to make sure he knew what he needed to know, and on the second try, he passed. "Today I feel confident because I have a good teacher I can trust. She helps me on things that I don't know."

His best one was about how Peter Pan helped him learn how to be a goalie on their soccer team at Davis Square Park. I can't quote from his draft because it was so good he didn't have to rewrite it much, so I don't have the copy any more.

At first, Oldest Brady hated playing goalie because he didn't know how to do it. He would cry when the other team scored on him. Peter Pan showed him how to block, how to throw the ball back out to get it away from the goal after an attempt, and told him that the goalie is the most important person on the team, so he should be proud to play the position. They won their division last year and made it to the finals this year.

And my fans from the Museum of Science and Industry would probably like to know that he wrote about our trip to the museum in his third essay, which was about somebody in the community who has helped him out. It's a little weird proofreading an essay about yourself, but whatever it takes to get this kid into high school, right? My favorite part of this essay was his honest confession, "When I needed help filling out my applications for high schools, she was the one who helped me. I'm really happy because I got that over with."

Chilling with Dorothy

Dorothy is stuck for a place to stay this weekend. She's shifting from the place where she did her 28-day program to a longer-term facility, but somehow there's no place for her to stay this weekend. She explained this to me in a big rush and I'm not sure I understood it really well. She called me yesterday when I was on the Red Line at 47th to say she needed someone to vouch for her that she could pay some guy $10 to stay in his shop for the night. I got on the phone and told him I was good for it.

She came by this afternoon. It's on the line between rain and snow today, really ugly weather. I gave her a cup of tea and the ten bucks to pay back the guy who gave her a place to stay last night. She just came back now because she thought she had worked something out with a widowed neighbor, but his daughter showed up and she's having a freakage, so Dorothy just got the heck out of there.

She washed up and helped me fold up some laundry that was sitting in the soon-to-be-no-longer spare room. Now we're just chilling until she decides to bust a move or I decide I'm going to bed. It's cold and nasty and there's no point being outside any longer than absolutely necessary. Some friends of mine who are Tattler fans may enjoy knowing I showed her the cleverly designed program from the wedding I attended yesterday. Dorothy spent a while looking at it. "That's real pretty," she said.

Dorothy is telling me about her life. She grew up around 53rd and Bishop, next to oldest of her father's six kids, oldest of her mother's. (Her father had at least one before he met her mother, she says. Sometimes it's hard to understand her, so I hope I got that right.) She went to Libby Elementary. Her dad wanted her and her siblings to learn to play instruments--she started to learn flute, her little brother played drums. But then her dad couldn't stand listening to them practice in the house, so that was the end of that. Dorothy says her uncle played guitar. We're listening to some Paraguayan guitar music now. Of her siblings, it sounds like two sisters made out all right--"they act like white girls now, spending money," she said. One brother was overseas (I don't know if that meant military service or something else)--she doesn't know if he's back or not. Another brother is locked up for 66 years, I don't know for what. I think the third brother may be around and working, I'm not sure. She has a half sister but doesn't know what's up with her.

Earlier today she told me she's known Yup-yup for 24 years. "When I met him, he wasn't like he is now," she said. I guess not.

She's worried about what she'll look like in the morning. She doesn't want to get put back into detox. "I'm trying not to look like I've been running the streets, because they'll think I've been getting high," she said. Them streets stress you out. Your eyes get red because you ain't had no sleep." She was outside all day today, walking around with no place to go. Even with a crash pad, she says she only got about four hours of sleep last night. I think she did get a nap before things got crazy wherever she thought she was staying.

I actually broke down and asked if she wanted to spend the night, but she turned me down. "Honestly, I don't feel comfortable sleeping here, because if I did people would talk about you," she said.

I swore I would never make that offer. Honestly, I know of someone who got killed offering homeless women a place to stay at night, so I don't want to go there. But I know she's going to have a place to stay as of tomorrow morning, and if she spends all night on the street that's a big temptation to use. I'm really glad she turned down my offer herself. I guess chilling with Dorothy for a while this evening is the best compromise we could come up with. She's putting her hat on. Maybe it's time to get going.

The Zen of Trash Pickup

This morning I got up early and looked outside. There was a large shattered bottle of Olde English 800 all over the curb at the edge of my house, plus an unbroken beer bottle lying a few feet away. It seemed like it was time to pick up trash. I grabbed a bag, put on a jacket and went out.

Since it got cold there's a lot less trash on the street. In some ways, that makes it more enticing to pick up, because it seems less fruitless a task. Still, the only way to approach picking up trash around here is with the same mentality of a Zen monk making a sand mandala--you have to remember it's about impermanence. The result just won't last very long.

The process of picking up trash is exactly the opposite process of making a sand mandala--instead of putting together something elaborate, you're taking away as much as you can to reveal what's underneath. It's shocking how calming it is to see a few dozen yards of bare ground after picking up chip bags, broken glass, sticks, plastic cups, trial size Scope bottles (somebody was hurting for a high), flyers and circulars, old McDonald's coffee cups, and even what appeared to be a frozen pork chop. OK, I didn't actually pick that up--I kicked it like a hockey puck into the alley next to a dumpster and called it good enough.

And of course, once I was done picking up trash along the block, I went back in the house for a bit, came back out and found a gum wrapper had already blown into the patch I cleared between my house and the corner. I picked it up and headed for the dumpster, decided I wanted things to stay pristine just a few minutes longer.

And Now for Something Completely Different

This has almost nothing to do with the neighborhood, but I liked this blog meme I found courtesy of Harriet M. Welch over at spynotes, so I'm doing it. Things I have done are in bold type; stretching it a little is in italics:

1. Started your own blog
2. Slept under the stars
3. Played in a band
4. Visited Hawaii
5. Watched a meteor shower
6. Given more than you can afford to charity
7. Been to Disneyland
8. Climbed a mountain
9. Held a praying mantis
10. Sang a solo
11. Bungee jumped
12. Visited Paris
13. Watched a lightning storm at sea
14. Taught yourself an art from scratch (I draw now, not that it's good, but it seems fair to say it's self-taught.)
15. Adopted a child
16. Had food poisoning
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty
18. Grown your own vegetables
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France
20. Slept on an overnight train
21. Had a pillow fight
22. Hitch hiked (have been with people who picked up hitchers)
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill
24. Built a snow fort
25. Held a lamb
26. Gone skinny dipping
27. Run a Marathon
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice
29. Seen a total eclipse
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset
31. Hit a home run (in softball)
32. Been on a cruise
33. Seen Niagara Falls in person
34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors
35. Seen an Amish community
36. Taught yourself a new language
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
39. Gone rock climbing (indoors only)
40. Seen Michelangelo's David
41. Sung karaoke
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant
44. Visited Africa
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight
46. Been transported in an ambulance
47. Had your portrait painted (sketched)
48. Gone deep sea fishing
49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling
52. Kissed in the rain
53. Played in the mud
54. Gone to a drive-in theater
55. Been in a movie (do student films count?)
56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business (does self-employed count?)
58. Taken a martial arts class
59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies
62. Gone whale watching
63. Got flowers for no reason
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma
65. Gone sky diving
66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp
67. Bounced a check
68. Flown in a helicopter
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial
71. Eaten Caviar
72. Pieced a quilt
73. Stood in Times Square
74. Toured the Everglades
75. Been fired from a job
76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London
77. Broken a bone
78. Been on a speeding motorcycle
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person
80. Published a book
81. Visited the Vatican
82. Bought a brand new car
83. Walked in Jerusalem
84. Had your picture in the newspaper
85. Read the entire Bible
86. Visited the White House
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
88. Had chickenpox
89. Saved someone’s life
90. Sat on a jury
91. Met someone famous
92. Joined a book club
93. Lost a loved one
94. Had a baby
95. Seen the Alamo in person
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake
97. Been involved in a law suit
98. Owned a cell phone
99. Been stung by a bee
100. Read an entire book in one day.

Martial Arts at St. Joseph's

Well, after talking about doing this for months, Junior's little brother and I went over to St. Joe's to check out the martial arts class offered there by the U.N.I.O.N. Impact Center. Junior's bro was among the oldest in the class, and he's about nine years old. There were some teeny-weenies there, maybe three or four year olds. They had a hard time sitting still for meditation.

JB (I'm going to call him that from now on--I've had trouble coming up with a psuedonym for him, so that will do) paid attention, sat still during opening prayer and meditation, and tried hard to keep up with the roundhouse kicks, jabs and crosses. He even struggled his way through a set of pushups. JB is a little on the heavy side and I don't think he gets too much opportunity for exercise, but you could see he really wants to do this.

We showed up in the middle of a six-week cycle, so he was at a disadvantage trying to learn everything at once. Next week the instructor says they will practice striking into pads (so far they're just throwing into imaginary targets).

I used to study karate, so watching the class got me fired up to practice a little with JB between classes. He's going to need to do it more than once a week to get anywhere. I just made a resolve to fight the battle of the bulge this winter, mostly through my downtown yuppie gym where I can swim, but maybe a little with JB, too. We'll see where this goes.

A Visit to Rehab

Last week the one thing I was able to do was visit Dorothy at her rehab program. The program she was in has visiting hours every other Thursday. I arrived to find nearly a couple hundred people sitting on folding chairs with some old white guy up front yammering on about interventions and how they often don't work. I did listen, and some of it was interesting, but I couldn't figure out why they would have someone try to give a lecture when friends and family are seeing someone they're not allowed to see very often.

When that was over, Dorothy and I talked for a while. She told me she's tried to quit "about 15 times" and she never made it past detox before. She introduced me to some of her buddies from rehab and we watched one of them with her family, including a little toddler nephew who was making us all laugh and flashing his big smile. The dad of one of them brought candy for the whole floor at Halloween, making himself very popular.

She will be changing residence soon-she may have done it already--she's moving from one program to another. Last week she told me she has eight hours off tomorrow. She's planning to visit Ms. Ribs, who promised her a plate of turkey, etc. I'm not supposed to be anywhere until later in the afternoon, so I told her to knock on my door, too. I have leftover Halloween candy I'd be happy to send back with her. It beats buying cigarettes.

Pre-Thanksgiving Update

Well, Marshfield Avenue had to get along without me for a week while I was out of town on business. Since I got back I've been scrambling to keep up on the work and home fronts (meaning housecleaning, and failing miserably), so community relations haven't been the highest priority.

But of course, when you make friends, they show up whether you wanted them to or not. So last night Junior and his little brother, plus Oldest Brady Boy, two of his sisters and his mom, all arrived on the doorstep within 15 minutes of each other. Junior needed help understanding the difference between to/two/too, your/you're and their/they're/there, which is something I have spent more than my share of time teaching people, so I couldn't say no when he asked for help. Even though the Bradys had already come by earlier asking me to help them with high school applications for Oldest Brady Boy. He's interested in the Noble Network schools, especially Rauner, since his cousins go there. I hear the Nobles will be opening three new schools next year, which will be the easiest to get into since there won't be siblings getting preference, but I don't know how to get those applications. Yet.

Oldest Brady Boy has his hands full this Thanksgiving--he has to write three 150-word essays, one for each of the Nobles for which he does have applications. Rauner asks him to talk about a teacher who has helped him succeed. The others ask about a friend (peer) or someone in the community who has helped you succeed.

Brady Mom is the first mom I've talked with who was really open about being uncomfortable writing much. She said she read the parent handbook in Spanish, but while filling out the application she was talking about how she doesn't write much and how happy she is her son can write more than she can. She did fine, though. The application was in English only, so I didn't expect she would be able to figure out how to fill it out without some explanation.

Meanwhile, Junior got his latest progress report yesterday from Golder. He has As and Bs in everything but--you guessed it--civics and physics, where he has Ds. I think he needs more help in both those subjects than he is getting. I need to email his civics teacher now to see if she has any ideas.

Supposedly Picasso, Junior and his brother are coming over tonight to make chocolate chip cookies with me. For the occasion, I just washed the kitchen floor for the first time in over a month. Let's just say I was a little embarrassed to have Brady Mom in here yesterday, but it was all fine in the end.

Dorothy Called

...from Stroger Hospital. She was taken in Sunday. She had been off her medications and when she went back on them she had a strong reaction, including severe diarrhea. They are working to adjust her medicine so it helps without hurting her. She hopes to be back in drug treatment by Wednesday.

She got the things I dropped off last week. I didn't have the heart to get on her case for hanging out with Yup-yup over the phone, but I did write about it in the letter I sent her this afternoon. At least I think I did. If not I'll have to get on her about it when I go visit in a couple of weeks.

Also tonight, Picasso and Junior came over. Junior had an essay for civics. He had to take a position on the question of whether 16-year-olds should be allowed to have an "early voting permit" if they can pass a civics test. His opinion was yes, they should. Picasso paid attention even though it wasn't his homework assignment. I was glad. He read my Newsweek, too, and was cracking up at the scale they have of egregious things famous people do, which ranges from "mildly tacky" to "utterly shameless."

"So there's no good ones, right?" he said.

"That's right. They all suck," I said, drawing a laugh for my moderately bad language.

Picasso helped Junior come up with some opposing arguments to his position and we talked about how to refute them. Picasso turned in his personal narrative today, so he doesn't know yet how he did on it. I hope it comes out well. It drove me nuts when I saw his English class (Multicultural Lit or whatever they call it) was his worst grade at progress reports. He's way too smart to be getting anything below a B in an English class.

I got in touch with his teacher by email, who wondered how well he understands things, because he is very quiet in class. (He told me he doesn't like her because she has no sense of humor.) I told her that I've been working with Picasso for four years, that he is more than capable of the work, but that his life outside the classroom might be interfering with his performance. (I restrained myself from saying anything about his impression of her, since that's not going to get us anywhere.) Picasso wants to pull up his grade, so we'll see if he does what he needs to do. I intend to stay on him about it. Hopefully he'll keep hanging out with Junior, which will get him over here somewhat regularly. I was really pleased to see he paid attention even though it wasn't his homework assignment. Hopefully he learned something.

Heard on the Curb

Just a quick anecdote from yesterday--I was downtown, walking eastbound on Jackson just past the river, when one of those earnest young people soliciting for a cause tried to get my attention.

She was very well-trained: looked me in the eye, put her body right in my path, and said, "May I tell you how you can be a hero to a child today?"

I looked right back at her and said, "I'm sorry, today I have to be a hero to a crack-addicted prostitute, and that's all I have time for."

Her eyes widened. "What do you for a living?" I heard her ask over my shoulder as I kept on walking.

The extra-special irony is I wasn't kidding. I was on my way to the grocery store to get diapers for Dorothy. With luck I'll be able to drop them off later today.

I also want to get in touch with her social worker. The other day I ran into Yup-yup, who asked if she had found me. "I just put her on the bus," he said. She will never get clean if she keeps hanging out with him.

From Grant Park to Marshfield Avenue

So I have to take a minute to report on the doings in Grant Park tonight. I saw the tall gangly speck of Barack Obama and the shorter, eager speck of Joe Biden waving to the crowd with their wives after the acceptance speech was over. They had the giant TVs, which is how I saw the speech.

CNN got shots of some local Chicago heroes, like Oprah and Jesse Jackson. I'm sure there will be pictures of Jesse with tears on his cheeks all over the place tomorrow. I saw some people I knew as they panned the crowd: Ald. Rick Munoz (22nd Ward), Marilyn Stewart, president of the Chicago Teachers Union, Jack Wuest, director of the Alternative Schools Network and his wife, Maria Whalen, from Voices for Illinois Children.

Connie's Pizza had the concession. They must have made a mint. South Side in da house!

After it was all over I ran into a friend I haven't seen for a long while. She's an African-American lesbian who works for a major news outlet. She put down her notepad long enough to share a big victory hug with me. "If you'd asked me five years ago, even two years ago, I would have said no way," she reflected. It made my night to run into her.

I will give Da Mare props for the speed and efficiency of getting the crowd out of there and for running plenty of trains and buses. At the Ashland Orange Line I lucked out and caught the southbound bus as it was waiting for the light to change. I talked with my seatmate, a nice younger woman who had a ticket to Grant Park but gave it up because she had to work.

When I got off the bus and walked to the corner, Yup-yup was standing around. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," I said back. "O-ba-ma!"

"O-ba-ma," he said back. We met up at the traffic circle. He gave me the fist bump and said, "Tonight, we made history." I hugged him. With Obama in office, just about anything is possible.

"That's all it takes to stay clean"

Another letter from Dorothy arrived today; hand-delivered this time and bearing excellent news. Here it is. This time I've trimmed and cleaned it up a little to keep it on point:

Dear Maritza,

Hi. I been locked up since August 15, my probation judge release me to [large well-known local drug treatment program] for 120 days, I got 28 more days but I like it and I am going to stay here and do 90 more day for recovery. I will be finished February 15. They told me that when I get out I will be on S.S.I. and have my own apartment. So any way how have you been? I miss you so much. Now I got a doctor's appointment today, so I got permission to drop this letter off to you just in case I don't see you. I am doing real good, Maritza. You will be so proud of me. I am. And my probation officer said he is, too.

They are giving me four hours to get back. That's why I decided to write this, in case you were not at home. I can't stick around to see you, hope you understand. I need this treatment. And I need you to support me, please. I can't do it without you. This is the last time I am going to try. So if you're not there to support me I give up. Anyway, here's how to write me. [gives address and phone numbers of case managers] Please write.

[She has a list of things she needs while in treatment: personal items like shampoo and deodorant, clothes, diapers, quarters for laundry. ] Ask Ms. Ribs if she could help. Now is the time. This is what you been trying to do for me all this time. Now I am doing it, please don't leave me hanging. I told them you will not let me down. If I got any mail, please mail it. Thank you so much Maritza. You be surprised how all this girls got so much help from home and support. That's all it takes to stay clean.

I love you and miss you. Keep this paper that is signed by my counselor. She wants to meet you. [She explains what to do if I come to visit.] If not, still write to me. Keep me in your prayers. When you write I will write back and tell you all about this place and my treatment and the social worker. I told everybody that you were my best friend and my only. So they said you need to know everything I am doing and what's going on with my program and health. Anyway, I know you got me. Take care.

The list of items is OKd by her counselor's signature and there were a batch of phone numbers for her and for Dorothy's case manager. I left messages. Will let you know when I know more. Wow.

A Safe Halloween for Back of the Yards

These are some photos from St. Joseph's Halloween event, co-sponsored by the church youth group and U.N.I.O.N. Impact Center. I'm happy to report that Halloween in the neighborhood this year was a safe and fun experience for the kids of Marshfield Avenue and beyond. We didn't make headlines this year. There were lots of police out. People still trick-or-treated.

Here on Marshfield, I rode my bike past Chavez Elementary as school was being dismissed, just in time to see hundreds of little kids (up to 4th grade) coming out in all their costumes. About an hour later, I came out of my house with my candy to find about ten neighbor kids waiting outside my front gate. After they got treats from me they went up to 47th Street, where the businesses were giving out candy and other treats. The famous one is the peanuts from El Guero supermarket.

Around 4:30, Junior and his brother and Picasso came by. They helped me unpack my fog machine and went to figure out how it worked. Picasso's mom was going to Cicero to spend time with her grandkids, and Picasso didn't want to go. I promised her he could stay with me and we would go over to St. Joe's and then back to my house for pizza.

The boys and I were hanging around when some of the girls from down the block came out in a big gaggle. They were going to the movie at Holy Cross. We agreed we would all go over together and stop in at St. Joe's on the way to see how the haunted house was coming along. (I had some candy to donate, too.) We ate pizza in the Holy Cross basement. Only two of us watched the movie--the rest of us were just talking and making jokes.

Afterwards we went back to St. Joe's since the haunted house was now running. Picasso told me his mom had called him to say she was home and he wanted to go home. I smelled a rat but didn't want to say so. "OK," I said. "I'll walk you home." I figured I could trust Junior and his little brother to stay put with the girls at the party.

So Picasso and I walked back together, and he told me he had forgotten to take his essay draft to school on Friday. "When we get back for the party, give it to me and I'll type it up and email it to your teacher," I said. He agreed. I was hoping this would keep him in the house for a few more minutes anyway. He does seem to want to improve his grade in English.

We got to his house and the lights were out. "Are you sure your mom is home?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said.

"OK...Well, I'll call you later when we order the pizza."

I watched him go in the house, saw some lights turn on upstairs, then called Junior's mom (they live in the same building) and told her that Picasso was home and I was going back to church to get Junior and his brother.

Turns out I was right about the rat. When we were walking back, Junior told me, "Don't trick [tell on me for saying this] but Picasso left early because he wanted to throw eggs. I was going to go too, but then I couldn't find him."

"That's because I walked him home," I said. "He said he was going to come to the party." I took out my phone. "I'll call him now and tell him we're coming. Let's see if he answers."

Junior's little brother disagreed. "No, don't do that! Then he has time to come home before we get there. You won't catch him that way."

I explained that I didn't really care about "catching him," I just wanted him to be safe and that if he had gone out and this would convince him to come back, that was fine with me. Picasso did answer the phone right away and seemed fine with the news we were on our way back.

When we arrived, I sent Junior and his brother home for a few minutes so I could straighten up. The girls from down the block were coming, too. Before I went in the house, I saw Joey and his dad talking next door. His dad was dressed up to go out: black cowboy hat, black cowboy suit, boots. He was going to Cicero for a party and was trying to persuade his son to join him. Joey wanted to go out with another boy on the block here. I don't know that kid as well but I hear he's trouble. It looked like Joey's dad was going to weasel out with some "be careful, son" comment but not do anything to prevent him taking off.

So I stuck my nosy neighbor nose smack in the middle of their chat. I took Dad aside and said, "Look, Halloween is a very dangerous night. Kids think they're going to out to throw eggs and they get shot by gangbangers. When I was teaching I had a student land in the hospital on Halloween with a gunshot wound. I'm going to have a party right here at the house. Tell Joey he has go with you or stay here with me. He's not listening to his mother but he still has some respect for you."

"There are a lot of police out," he said uncertainly. I didn't say what I was thinking--that makes it all the more likely your son will get picked up off the street and you'll be spending the night getting him out of jail.

Eventually Dad got the point and was a little more insistent with Joey. "You don't want to end up like your brother," I could hear him say in Spanish. Fortunately, I had the five plywood boards down in the basement, ready for tagging. That got Joey's attention. He and I went down to the basement and put two of them in the back yard, one for him and one for Picasso. We called Picasso and told him to come over with his spray cans. I ordered pizza. The rest of the kids showed up.

The girls ate pizza and chatted. We talked about how great it would have been if Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama had run as president and vice-president. (A couple of the girls were really into that idea.) Junior and his brother tried to work the used laptop their dad just got from somebody. Alas, they didn't succeed. The laptop was password protected and somehow they didn't get the right username and password written down. Joey and Picasso sprayed away on the boards out back. Some of the little kids who came with their big sisters went out to watch. When the pizza came, everyone ate. Then the older kids squished themselves together on my couch to watch YouTube videos while the younger kids drew pictures and played with my yoga ball.

At one point, Joey's dad called my cell phone to check on him. Yay!

Near the end of the night, some of the tweens wanted to figure out how the fog machine worked. Earlier Junior and Picasso briefly got it close, but they put in too much water. This time I was paying very close attention and put in the water myself, and the fog started coming out. It looked great, especially with the lights off. We called everybody down to see it. Then it was time to call it a night, about 11 p.m.

The best part was seeing Picasso and Joey go home afterwards. No eggs on the street. Nobody in jail. At least for one night. It's especially good when that one night is Halloween.

Cooper's Hawk on Marshfield Avenue

This photo was taken on the 4900 block of South Marshfield less than an hour ago.

I was walking home from church and checking my phone for some reason when I heard the thump of something hitting the ground. I put away the phone and looked up to see a dead pigeon on the sidewalk under a tree. Seconds later, the bird of prey you see above swooped down and stood on it possessively. While watching, I had no idea what kind of bird it was. I just started looking around on line and now think this bird is a Cooper's hawk.

Whoda thunk Wild Kingdom would make it to Marshfield Avenue? A van pulled up and double-parked. I walked around the van and when I looked back, the birds weren't on the sidewalk anymore. The hawk had taken the pigeon over into a neighbor's yard. It started pecking at the pigeon, sending feathers flying every which way. I went home to see if I could find any young friends with whom to share the sight.

Just as I was getting home I saw Oldest Brady Boy and Brady Bughunter coming out of their house. I called to them to come see the birds and we ran up the street. They were pretty impressed. Oldest Brady had the finals of his indoor soccer season at Davis Square Park this afternoon, so he was in uniform. His mom and other brother caught up to us and we all watched the bird eat.

"Aguilar?" Mom Brady asked. "Eagle?"

Neither Oldest Brady nor I knew the word for hawk in Spanish. If any of you recognize the bird in this photo, let me know. I'd like to know what it is.