DPS, MBA, disaster: Sickouts came from somewhere

I attended GMAT training this weekend and last weekend. My employer was looking for a few more instructors, and I had put in interest, since it's similar to one or two other tests that I teach and would allow me more flexibility.

 But the other reason that I am attending GMAT training is that I am trying to figure out next steps. I am planning to go back to school eventually, probably when Rebecca finishes her residency, and I am considering what degrees I could best to leverage to improve Detroit.

There are many options, given that Detroit has many problems. For a while I considered a Masters of Public Health, so that I could address the environmental issues facing the children of the city. For a while I considered a law degree so that I could make sure that students with special needs were receiving the services that the law guaranteed that. There was a time when I thought that an Ed.D. in something related to education was the best choice, or perhaps a PhD in second language acquisition.

I haven't completely ruled out any of those choices. All of them sound interesting, and do much to research and apply new concepts of problem-solving. I know people with each of these degrees, and I deeply admire the work that they are doing.

However, there is a new field of study that I am considering after pondering what degrees I've been seeing used in decision-making lately.

Robert Bobb? MS in Business Studies.  Roy Roberts? Bachelor's in Business Administration. Darnell Earley? Master's in Public Administration (and Ph.D. in poisoning entire cities). None of the emergency financial managers had a background in education (although Robert Bobb did attend a school superintendent training program created by business mogul Eli Broad).

Governor Snyder has a JD and MBA. 

What degree do many of those controlling the vast majority of the wealth in Detroit have? Business degrees. Administration degrees.

My wife pointed out, at one point, that even in Flint, people with PhDs, DOs, and MDs were ignored for months when they insisted that Flint children were being poisoned by the water. They've also been ignored when they've insisted that the children in Wayne County are being poisoned and shortchanged. Given how long med school is, add some residency, add a high level of difficulty for those doing residencies particularly at urban hospitals, and it is very puzzling that the state has ignored those with that kind of degree, but they did.

And so I believe that I may need to get an MBA to get people to listen to me. Given my nontraditional background for business school, I feel that it would be important to my application to have a very, very high GMAT score. So I went to training to learn more about the test, because I doubt my background in education will count in my favor if the state is unwilling to listen to educators about things like school conditions and curriculum.

After all, what could a teacher know about the business of schooling?

We shouldn't have demo'ed #fixerupperdetroit ourselves: Here's why

When we were getting inspections done on #fixerupperdetroit, the inspector was very explicit that no women of childbearing age (which is different from women who are actually pregnant- this group includes women who may ever become pregnant) should help with demolition unless we took a lot of precautions.

Here's why:

Far from being isolated to Flint water pipes, lead was used in paint until the late 1970s. Our home was built in 1928 and has been remodeled multiple times, so it is virtually guaranteed that some of the paint that we'd be smashing through contained lead. That lead becomes airborne and people inhale it. For average adults with a reasonable diet, the amount is typically not overly harmful- it gets bound in the bones and never leaves.

Unless said adult becomes pregnant. Then the lead often escapes and circulates. And an amount of lead that doesn't harm an adult can have drastic effects on an unborn child.

Rebecca and I are of childbearing age and haven't decided how to have our future family yet. 

So I found myself standing in an aisle at Lowe's looking at dust masks and respirators. When I asked for help, the saleswoman told me that we shouldn't do this demolition ourselves. 

I told her I was aware of the risks, couldn't afford to pay someone, and was looking for protection. She unhelpfully started picking up boxes and reading descriptions. (I know how to read.) I ended up ordering a respirator online and buying safety glasses elsewhere.

I also took calcium supplements over the last couple weeks to try to lessen the impact of any residual lead. We haven't had our water tested yet, but it is very possible that, like Flint,  we also have lead water pipes coming into our house from the street. The question is mostly if they're leaching. We can afford to have drinking water delivery in five gallon jugs or get a whole house filter, but not everyone can.

If you're curious, though, about the high cost and slow going to demolish burnt out houses in Detroit, here's the truth:

A lot of these houses are coated in lead paint, or asbestos, or other hazards. Living in them is unsafe, but many do because they have no choice.

Demolishing them without sending up a dust cloud of environmental hazards that spreads to the rest of the neighborhood takes time, money, and training. Drinking water laced with lead and living in homes with lead paint has caused a silent epidemic of learning disabilities and behavior problems for Detroit's children.

Flint is justifiably in the news. They are suffering deeply for the decisions of politicians, and something needs to be done. Their plight made me hyper aware of the hazards in my own house, more than an hour away, though. I'm concerned that in all the media hype of sending bottled water to Flint, the public is forgetting that this isn't an isolated problem. It isn't one that can be solved in a few weeks from a couple truckloads of water. 

It's a problem that spans the entire state, especially the older urban centers, especially the areas of poverty. The danger comes not only from the water, but from paint and soil also. 

To fix it, we don't need more finger pointing or respirators or bottled water. We need an investment in community, in infrastructure, in our children. 

We need a common sense, comprehensive, moderate, sustainable plan to protect our children instead of using them as the canary in the coal mine.

Crowbar, Work Hard: So Far, So Good

Demo is officially over, partly because the dumpster will be picked up tomorrow and partly because

the dumpster is full!

That's right. We have gutted so much of the house and gotten the garage so cleared out that we've filled an entire dumpster.

I am filled today with awe, gratitude, and hope. We have had so much help from so many people. Today, not only did my friend Dawn come help take apart furniture in the garage and heave it into the dumpster, my friend Dante came to clear out and recycle the metal pipes. They are not the only ones who have shown up for us, either.

And now that so much is cleared, we are ready to start restoring our home. 

Confessions: Yelp's Star System is Pointless, But the Reviews Help

I'm Yelp Elite. I attained Elite 15 status last year and this year, I was renewed as Elite 16. It's been a good ride - free tickets to things (the upcoming one is a pair of tickets to Indulgence in Royal Oak), updates in my inbox about different food trends in metro Detroit, a social network that helps me plan my work meetings better. So I like Yelp, and I use it. Often.

But some parts of it are nearly pointless, including the star rating system (1-5), unless a business has a LOT of reviews. Why? Because people overuse the 1 and 5 star ratings. I can't tell you how many reviews I've read that described a single lackluster or just fine experience that included one negative (and probably fixable) element, and then gave the business one star. The algorithm tries to prioritize reviews that take more into account and show actual reflection, but for new businesses or the types of businesses that aren't typical Yelp fodder, it doesn't always help.

And I've noticed some things from reading so many reviews.

1. People are obsessed with their food coming fast.

Seriously, unless you're at a fast food restaurant, you're going to have to wait. Especially if you didn't make a reservation. Especially if you came at a peak time. That's just how it works.

2. People expect everywhere to operate the way large chains do.

Does it make me sad that Love & Buttercream isn't open on Sundays and Mondays? Yes. Do I wish more libraries were open later on Fridays? Yes. But doing that kind of staffing either costs a lot of money or is cruel to employees, and feeling entitled to everything all the time isn't a reflection of a healthy society.

3. There are so few second chances.

Typically, I try to visit a place at least twice before I write a review. That way, I have a fuller picture of what's going on. Maybe the first menu item I ordered wasn't great - that doesn't mean the whole menu sucks. Or maybe it took them a while to get settled in and the service improved substantially. I edit my reviews with some regularity, and I always try to be fair.

Yelp is one of the only places I don't feel guilty posting pictures of food.

Some parts of Yelp play to the worst in human nature. It feels almost anonymous and allows people to vent their opinions with little oversight. The Elite program was established to lend more credibility through a vetting process, but it's definitely not a panacea.

Still, reading the reviews has helped me make plans, so I'll keep using it for as long as it serves.

Reflections on Landbank Seizure: After a Deep Breath

In the last few days, my Open Letter to the Detroit Land Bank has gotten almost 400 views. That's hardly breaking the internet. On the other hand, it's a lot of attention that the land bank didn't have before, and judging by the diverse nature of my friends, the post has probably reached the eyes of people that had never heard of the Detroit Land Bank Authority.

And here's my concern: my post about the resolution of our situation hasn't been read that many times.

In the midst of the fear and chaos surrounding #fixerupperdetroit and the seizure notice and my justifiable haste to resolve the situation, I didn't provide as much background as I should have. Of course, you can Google the land bank, read their website, like them on facebook, etc. So this isn't intended to be exhaustive. But here are some things I have put together for you to help you understand:

Detroit is roughly 137 square miles. You could fit Manhattan, San Francisco, and Boston within Detroit city limits. It's huge.

The city is designed to be occupied by two million people or thereabouts, primarily in single-family homes, and at its peak probably had about 1.5 million Detroiters.

It's now occupied by about 700,000.

That population drop wasn't caused by a natural disaster or a war or an epidemic, at least not a standard version of any of those things. It was caused by a confluence of factors. I recommend picking up The Origins of the Urban Crisis to learn more, or digging into Detroit's history.

In any case, the city has far more space, far more homes, than it has people to live in it. And in the housing crisis, some awful people bought up a lot of property in a land grab that resulted in gambling on Detroit neighborhoods.

[This is where the notion of urban farming in Detroit comes from - farms could fill in many of the areas that are short on people, short on groceries, and long on available space. In the most simplistic version of this, the city somehow convinces everyone to move out of certain neighborhoods and into others, rezones the empty areas for farms, and makes a bunch of money while watching food deserts disappear.]

Enter the land bank.

With so much vacant housing stock, such low housing prices (though the $500 house is a myth, and here's why we didn't buy one), rampant real estate speculation, and no instruction manual, the city and county started land banks to try to get houses occupied.

The programs have varied. As the economy improves and prices rise, they've been able to flip some homes and sell them as move-in ready, and auction other homes as fixer-uppers (some total gut jobs and others more manageable). Mayor Duggan wanted to make sure President Obama saw the progress. I know a couple people that work there, and they are well-intentioned, hopeful individuals.

Unfortunately, with the mess Detroit's in, the amount of bureaucracy, and the state of democracy (or non-democracy) in the city, the land bank, like much else, doesn't work as well as it could. In the middle of our mess, I heard from friends of friends about their own struggles.

Once our situation worked out, a few of those struggling seemed to hope that there is a secret to negotiating with the land bank, that I know the magical thing to say or do. I wish I did. A little part of me wishes that we'd let them file a lawsuit so that we could have drawn even more attention to the issues.

In our case, it's possible that our home was never supposed to be targeted, and so notifying them of the discrepancy was all that was necessary - I still don't have the straight story on why exactly we received a seizure notice or why the city would have the right to seize our property when we're not behind on taxes or utilities.

It's also possible that the amount of attention from my posts on this blog and social media raised our profile enough that #fixerupperdetroit was removed from the possible seizure list using less than standard procedure.

In either case, there seems to be one key: make the house look as occupied and maintained as possible. Since some of the seizure notices result from neighborhood drive-through monitoring, and others result from complaints from the neighbors, the best bet to avoid or fight a seizure notice seems to be evidence that the home isn't vacant. Given the age of the housing stock, the economic realities of the city, and the arbitrary nature of some of this, that isn't always possible, and a perfectly manicured lawn leading up to a perfect picket fence shouldn't be required for people to keep their homes.

But that seems to be the number one visual distinction between an owner holding a vacant home as a gamble and an actual city resident, or someone truly investing.

In short, the land bank exists for a reason, and like almost everything in life, it isn't perfect. I hope that it will see the reforms it needs very, very soon. I hope that all of the other homeowners who have been unfairly targeted see a resolution soon.

And in the long run, I hope Detroit returns to being a place where many, many people fulfill dreams of homeownership.

Chapstick & Chapped Lips & Things Like Victory: #fixerupperdetroit land bank update

My coffee table is covered in snacks. I've been biting my lips (even when liberally using good lip balm), binge eating carbs, and rubbing my face. I'm behind on all housework. I feel behind on our demolition. I woke up feeling like I've been hit by a bus.

And I don't have the energy left to do anything about any of those things.

I spent years teaching myself not to engage in the kind of emotional eating I did throughout adolescence and young adulthood. It felt so good to start eating when I was hungry and finding other ways to manage stress. I also trained myself not to rub my face - a nervous habit that I found strangely soothing but is unprofessional and unsanitary (the trick is to wear enough makeup that I'm afraid to smudge it, something that I cut back on once the habit was broken). I stopped biting my lips using much the same technique - a combo of lip balm, lipstick, and lip exfoliation.

But the amount of pressure we've been under lately caused me to take up a bunch of bad habits. Stopping myself took too much energy.

Good news, though: 

In making so much noise about the land bank, contacting people, explaining the situation, and so forth, they have decided to

officially close our case.

No additional paperwork. No awkward timeline. No risk that they will seize the property. No lawsuit. No legal fees.

They're moving on to other homes that actually need help.

My beautiful mess is free and clear for her makeover.

I guess that means I am too.

(As an aside, we still need help with a few demolition projects. If you have time tomorrow, please let me know.)

Open Letter to Detroit Land Bank Authority

Dear Detroit Land Bank Authority,

(Back story for this post can be found here: Land Bank, Red Tape, MI Hate, #Fixerupperdetroit Googles Squatters Rights,   and Why Detroit Can't Have Nice Things.)

I saw my wife for 20 minutes today. I drove home between shifts to see her because I didn't think I could wait to discuss this with her. I woke her from sleep because she is currently working nights as a family med resident saving lives at Henry Ford. She is also helping to organize medical care for homeless people in Royal Oak.

And she is trying to get #fixerupperdetroit ready to live in.

Of the 20 minutes I saw her today, I think we were either yelling or crying for about 17 of them. She is overwhelmed and doesn't know how she is going to keep on for another week and a half of night shifts. This is what your seizure notice has done to my wife, my beloved wife who does everything for everyone else, who persisted in buying a home in desperate need of repair from a seller who couldn't care less about the house or the neighborhood.

We spent 68 days trying to close to get this property away from the seller. Then we spent weeks setting up demolition, hiring someone to do landscaping, meeting the neighbors, and uncovering antiquated sewer lines, electrical dangers, plumbing leaks, and fiberglass insulation.

I'm sorry that the neighbors complained that the house was a nuisance before we bought it, or that your crew driving by noticed it looked vacant, or whatever caused you to post the sign, since you don't seem to have the story straight, but it turns out it takes time to turn around a 1928 home.

We're working at it. We have to - our mortgage requires it. Our current living situation requires it.

There are so many owners who aren't working at it. The person who owned our house before us (and who, rumor has it, owns multiple other properties). The person who still owns the house we spent the summer trying to buy. You'd be better off going after them. You claim, in fact, that you are going after them. In that case, why is a friend still fighting to execute a purchase agreement on a Parkside home, a house that has been vacant without climate control for multiple winters now? In that case, why didn't you seize our Greenacres property when our seller had it? The house was featured on Curbed in October 2014 and had been vacant the whole time. Why not go after the negligent landlords? You've got 99 problems, and we ain't one.

My dear wife cannot bear the thought of signing an agreement that would in any way allow you to take our home. After the fight we've had to buy it, signing any paperwork that would create even the tiniest possibility that we will not keep it is untenable to her. And I don't blame her. We've seen a lot of examples of government and corporate overreach in Michigan lately. We've been the victims of unfair housing laws already. She's not irrational for believing that you really might take our home.

I'm hoping that this is a misunderstanding, and that if I keep explaining to you, you will understand that we are not the enemy, we are not negligent, and we also are camels whose backs can't take another straw.

Every minute we spend fighting with you, every dollar we spend on legal fees is a minute and a dollar that isn't spent actually fixing up the property. Your actions are counterproductive. You are wasting your own resources and my resources, and I will not be silent.

So shame on you. Shame on you for terrifying my gentle wife who is already sleep deprived and overwhelmed. Shame on you for going after easy targets like us, who are law abiding, instead of focusing on the real problem. Shame on you for prioritizing certain neighborhoods over others.

Regards,

Committing in the Mitten

Land Bank, Red Tape, MI Hate: #fixerupperdetroit lawyers up

Today's post was going to a charming tale about how demolition makes a better story in a 30 minute HGTV show, where it's like five minutes and over, and only shows the exciting parts, than it does in real life, especially when the people doing it have other jobs.

Here are the pictures you would have gotten to see:

Panoramic of our fully gutted kitchen.

This window apparently used to be much bigger, or even a door? Not sure.

This is where our ground floor lavatory will go.

The dumpster is starting to fill up!

Panoramic of our street. Isn't it lovely with a light blanket of snow?

Rebecca deserves mad props for having pulled up this much tile, leveling cement, and hardwood. This is down to the subfloor now. What were those holes for? Not exactly sure. Plumbing or heat, maybe.

It's been a lot of work getting everything hauled to this dumpster!

Did I mention I'm proud of myself for hauling out so much rubbish?

Instead, I'm writing an update about the land bank story line. For back story, see: Why Detroit Can't Have Nice Things and #fixerupperdetroit Googles Squatters' Rights.

I heard from the lawyer recently and explained the situation and that we're on a renovation mortgage and would be happy to provide documentation of that so they can close our file.

She wrote back to say that she must follow a specific procedure. The "easiest" option is for us to sign a rehab agreement. That seemed reasonable-ish -

if you ignore the fact that entering into an agreement with an entity that operates very slowly, doesn't correspond with other agencies before acting, uses a lot of vague requirements, doesn't exist in most cities, could take away your house, and doesn't have to notify you of situations before acting is unreasonable -

until I read it.

And then I started thinking about our timeline for renovation for the bank, and the timeline they laid out, and how much paperwork and verification we already have to do to keep our renovation mortgage working, and how much we've already inconvenienced our contractor, and how busy we are with just what we've agreed to now, and how impossible it can be to file paperwork with the city, and how much paperwork this would require.

The nuisance complaint isn't even because of us. The neighbors would retract it in a heartbeat if they could.

So I called a real estate attorney and we will see what he says.

This is why people don't buy homes in the city. It's not that the homes aren't beautiful - many are. It's not that the neighbors aren't great - they are. It's the amount of red tape and the way services are delivered.

Confessions: I Don't* Read Homophobic Commentary Anymore

I've been giving myself permission to do or not do things lately.

I know that sounds weird, but I grew up in a White Baptist church where there were a lot of rules, spoken or unspoken. They would say it's not legalism, but well, okay.

So my brain is conditioned to view everything in terms of respectability. And there have been a lot of choices that I've made for a long time that neither reflect morality nor do they align with my preferences.

One thing I noticed that I have kept doing is reading the arguments against same sex marriage, or against church acceptance of it. I've been hearing about this issue from a church perspective since roundabout 2004 (well, since before that, but that was the first time there was any nuance at all).

Recently, a ministry posted a link to a series of podcasts on Twitter. My first reaction was that I should listen to the whole series, withhold judgment, engage the ideas, etc. So I clicked.

Here is how the podcast was framed:

"In society today, the orthodox Christian belief that the practice of homosexuality(1) is a sin is out of step with the times. This tension(2) is unavoidable. In a moment where the cultural consensus has completely flipped, many who hold to the historic belief avoid the depth of this conversation at all costs. The risk(3) of saying the wrong thing, offending a new friend, being extreme or worse yet—unloving, quiets the dialogue. Yet privately, Christians are desperate to address this important topic with love, clarity and biblical conviction. Is there really a way forward that demonstrates both truth and grace(4)?"

If you really wanted to track through my tweets or do some googling, you can figure out where this comes from, but I'm not linking you because that's not the point.

As a gay person who has been thinking about this for more than a decade, here is what I notice that a lot of Christians who are relatively new to an actual conversation on LGBT rights would miss:

1. It still uses the word homosexuality.

This means it's likely to ignore transgender people altogether or lump them in with gay people, and also that it clings to a general notion that homosexuality is bad. 

Yes, the connotation of homosexuality refers to religious interpretations that skew negatively. Some style guides already recommend using something else. It's a red flag for me to see this word.

2. Tension.

Always so much tension. People don't want to say conflict. They don't want to admit that my marriage is an argument, that they don't like it, that they think I'm a sinner. Often, they like me once they've met me, or they think that Rebecca and I are a lovely couple. If there's tension for you when this topic crosses your mind, what do you think it's like for me in the pew every Sunday I see you? I'm so tired of the tension and of you phrasing it this way.

3. Risk 

Look again. Who is framed as at-risk here? No, seriously, scroll back up and look.

It's not the gay person coming out who may be refused communion, or denied a marriage ceremony, or fired, or refused medical treatment, or evicted. It's the straight person with Christian privilege. And the risk is one of perception - people might not like  this conservative Christian as much.

4. Both truth and grace

You know what this means? They're trying to look fair and balanced by including truth and grace. Let me suggest that the truth here is still going to be that homosexuality is unbiblical and unbecoming to a true Christian. The grace part? They mean trying not to look homophobic when saying the truth part, usually by adding that God will forgive gay people, or that celibacy is an option, or that it's not a worse sin than any other sin, or something that seems loving to someone who has never had someone say something like this to their face.

 I didn't listen to this podcast. I gave myself permission not to.

I'm giving myself permission to extricate myself from these situations. I often do try to engage. Really.

But justifying my marriage, my existence, my identity, my theology at every turn is exhausting. It detracts from actual worship. It brings up a lot of pain from when discrimination against my family was even worse than it still is now.

I can't tell you how often I hear straight, conservative people claim that I should listen to their point of view, because they're not homophobes and their perspective is compassionate and different. And then they tell me something I've already heard, a bunch of times, for the last six years at least.

But they hadn't heard it before. They didn't have to, because as someone with straight privilege and religious privilege, these issues affected them very little, they could ignore them. If they wanted, they could keep asserting simply that the Bible says homosexuality is a sin, without reading the verses, without looking at cultural context, without consideration of whom they hurt. Without considering how the closeted gay kid in youth group or the member of the congregation that never could pray away the gay was reacting (you think we didn't try this? We did. Trust me, that was the first thing we tried.). Because mostly, the issue/tension/truth/grace/risk didn't hurt the straight, conservative Christians. Because for them, mostly, it was a philosophical or rhetorical exercise to even engage with the issue.

And so now, they want my approval that they have considered the issue. In some cases, I am the only gay person they know, or maybe the only gay, out Christian they know. And because they have had the privilege of ignoring the issue and are now finally considering the nuance, they feel that I owe them my attention as a sounding board. For a while, I gave them my attention. I listened and read. I tried to see how this argument was different. I tried to explain things. I blogged. I posted specific blog entries. I re-posted specific blog entries. I wrote new blog entries.

If you've just decided to get up to speed on this, good. Better late than never. But you are late. There are a lot of resources out there. Most of your questions can be answered with a quick Google search. No one owes it to you to explain it, or to use their backstory to convince you. And if you still believe that LGBT people should be disadvantaged at your church, do not ask them to agree with you or to approve. Do not ask them to be kind and nod politely. You're entitled to your ignorance, to your opinion, to your theology.

But I have given myself permission not to engage it when doing so would hurt me.

This picture has little to do with anything, but I like it, and I think I haven't posted it before. It's our first bites of cake as a married couple, at our first wedding - the religious one, when we still couldn't have a marriage license.

*Yes, the title is clickbait. I'm sorry. Would you have read it if I said that I often skip reading or listening to homophobic theology but sometimes decide to engage?

Detroit, MLK, & Rosie the Riveter

Continuing #demoday necessitated channeling Rosie.

Demolition is starting to wear on me, though I love visiting our house everyday and feeling that we're making progress. There are a LOT of nails in the kitchen floor that make taking up the original hardwood (which is beneath tile and leveling cement) difficult and also impede shoveling the debris.

I never thought I could hate an inanimate object as much as I hate plaster. Unlike drywall, which mostly comes down in large pieces, plaster comes down in small chunks, or worse, dust, and has to be shoveled up and then swept up. 

So I'm reminding myself that I can do this. Today, that resulted in the above picture - living the Rosie the Riveter narrative that I, as a woman, can complete physical labor that was traditionally men's work. Rosie was actually from metro Detroit - Ypsilanti, I think. 

You know what else happened in Detroit? MLK's first rendition of the "I Have a Dream" speech.

Which is sort of a juxtaposition, particularly now, when DPS school children face such harsh learning conditions, in part because they live in a city where the majority of students have a certain color of their skin. A city where many, many of the people with the same color skin are unemployed, underemployed, or employed in jobs with such low wages and such poor working conditions as to be comparable in many ways to sharecropping. These jobs result in many living in the poverty so rightfully condemned by MLK as a result of discrimination. MLK called the US out for defaulting on its promise that all citizens had the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Detroit is in default. Michigan is in default. 

As I stood today in my kitchen, my second kitchen, because I also have an apartment while I gut the #fixerupperdetroit kitchen, I was, and always am, profoundly aware of the privilege of purchasing a home. I am so deeply grateful, but I wish all Detroiters, all Michiganders, could experience homeownership, could have jobs with enough dignity and wages to afford a home. 

I wish all of my students believed that "we can do it!" I wish they all had hope in MLK's dream. Many do. But some see the default, the discrimination, the poverty, and it feels insurmountable to them, and I don't blame them. 

We have not followed through on MLK's demands (yes, they were demands, and he was a radical). We have not fulfilled the goals of the African American civil rights movement. 

We still can, and we must. We must, for today's children. They deserve so much better than what they're getting.

DPS Sickout, CPS, and "If You See Something, Say Something"

Teachers are mandatory reporters. That means that when they receive their teaching certificate, it mandates that if they see signs of child abuse, they must start the chain to notify child protective services.

Essentially, every day at work, DPS teachers are staring down conditions that are tantamount to child abuse. Unsafe drinking water. Lack of sanitation. Inedible food. Falling ceiling tiles. No heat on cold winter days.

Here's the thing about mandatory reporting. Teachers aren't required to mention something to someone and then go about their business. They're required to make sure the report goes through and an investigation is properly handled. They don't do the investigation - that's the job of the social workers and other staff at child protective services. They don't remove the children from the situation. But they take action.

In this case, the investigation was mishandled, or didn't happen. Previous emergency financial managers knew about these conditions. I know they knew, because Robert Bobb visited the school I worked at while we had no custodial staff and only half the bathrooms worked - in 2009. He knew, and he did nothing to improve conditions. The rest of them must have known too. And they did nothing.

It isn't the job of the teachers to glue ceiling tiles back to the ceiling. It isn't their job to fix the plumbing or the boiler. But it is their job to report until an investigation is taken seriously. It is their job to protect their students.

If the administration didn't act, and it was illegal to strike, what choice did teachers have but to call in sick until something got done? Who was going to speak out for the children? Should teachers have called CPS on behalf of every single child until CPS had to pull every child from school?

CPS doesn't have the resources to do that. Nor should the conditions at schools be tantamount to child abuse or neglect.

More pics: beautiful mess that is #fixerupperdetroit

My game face and awesome outfit before I tackled the fiberglass insulation on the ceiling of my office.

 I know some of you are worried about me doing all of these projects. I can't say that demo is my favorite way to spend the free time of an entire week, which is looking like what might happen, but here is what I keep reminding myself:

This is my beautiful mess.

This is the middle, not the end.

If the house were already perfect, I wouldn't have been able to afford it. 

Therefore, my house's imperfections are the reason I can live in a neighborhood that I absolutely love.



It doesn't make me love demolition, but it reminds me why I do it.

So here are more photos from today, I hope to help you understand the importance of this part of our journey.

This is the insulation that was covering this beautiful bead board. I ended up giving up and asking our contractor to finish taking it down because my skin was reacting so much to the chemicals, even with the getup in the above picture.

Imagine this ceiling without the paper and icky insulation. I think it will be lovely with the sun streaming in all those windows.

Remember the not-awful kitchen from the photo tour video a couple weeks ago? Please remember it. I don't want you to think all Detroit homes start in this state or require this level of rehab because . . . Yeah, now this looks like a scene straight out of Rehab Addict - gutted down to the studs and subfloor (well, almost down to the subfloor - if you want to help finish that off, please please please please let me know.)

Dumpstie (that's a dumpster selfie) - continuing to fill!

Demo Day Discoveries (Photo Notes)

On demo day, we wear plaid. (And a respirator, and safety glasses.)

I was going to write a post about all of our discoveries over the last few days, as we've dug deep into the process of demolition, but really, you have to see it to understand. So all I have for you tonight is a set of annotated photos.

My best attempt at a panoramic of the kitchen in its current state - almost gutted (floor tile, some wall plaster, and possibly a few more pieces need to come off the ceiling)

We were shocked to learn that they insulated the kitchen at some point!

From the bottom up: subfloor, original hardwood floor, plywood, concrete, tile. Yep, all piled onto the kitchen floor. At least we know the basement ceiling is strong.

Original phone nook? Rosary or crucifix display? Candle nook? We're not sure, but we found this in the kitchen.

That honey gold oak floor? Pretty sure that's original. Since the current budget doesn't allow for redoing floors, we're keeping the laminate you see on the right until the money is available, but this gives us hope.

Pewabic tile? Yes. Most houses built in Detroit in the 1920s feature it somewhere. Ours is in the entry. Welcome home!

The original galvanized iron sewer lines were still running from the second floor through the kitchen to the basement. My father-in-law deemed that unacceptable and removed them. A friend with a recycling business is going to take care of them so we don't have to landfill them.

A new lavatory is going in this location, since there currently isn't an entry-level bathroom.

Yep, that's shiplap! Joanna Gaines would be so excited.

Pretty sure the original hardwood is still on these stairs, but it's in rough shape, especially given the number of staples previous owners have put in to hold two different sets of carpet.

This is the awesome ceiling we uncovered above a popcorned ceiling and a bunch of insulation.

This is the same ceiling, but water-damaged. So we're into a salvage job that will involve patching.

Our dumpster is approaching 2/3 full. Most of my job on this demo has been to move pieces into it.

ed

Rich Privilege: Difference Between Couldn't Afford and Didn't Afford

I've been noticing something lately. It's one of those things I didn't used to notice, but once I started noticing, I can't stop.

It's the use of the phrase "I can't afford X."

As in, "I just can't afford another tutoring session." Or "we really can't afford to travel right now."

It's not so much that I notice that people don't have enough resources to do stuff. That happens a lot. What I've been noticing is that people don't always understand what "can't afford" means.

"Can't afford" means that you do not actually possess, and cannot acquire, the resources to do something, or alternatively, that allocating the resources for this particular thing would be skipping a necessity such as food, shelter, water, heat, etc.

There are many things I can't afford. A private plane. A home in Indian Village. A really nice car (I know I should name a specific ones, but I'm not into cars enough to know which ones are too expensive).

On the other hand, there are things that I don't afford, but could. I don't afford a European vacation, but at this point in my life, I could make choices to have one. I don't afford designer handbags, or manicures, or fine jewelry. I am privileged enough that my necessities are met, and I have enough income to make choices between luxuries.

The temptation of the privileged, though, is often to pretend not to be privileged. And so  it's easier to say "I can't afford" than to admit that this particular thing isn't a priority (particularly when it's something that perhaps should seem like a priority if one could, in fact, come up with the resources).

That seems to lead to another phenomenon, which is the belief that the only people who are truly rich in the US are those who not only can, but do, afford everything. As in, they don't have to prioritize. They don't have to choose. There are people currently alive that can buy everything they would ever want without having to sacrifice other things.

But having to choose between a beautiful home in a wonderful neighborhood and a vacation to a faraway land is its own kind of wealth. Of course, both would be amazing. Of course part of me wishes I didn't have to choose.

On the other hand, I know this house is right for us because I was willing to choose it over so many alternatives. And if I hadn't chosen the house, it's not like I would be staying someplace unsafe or particularly inconvenient. Thinking this way helps me keep it in perspective when I see families choose to pay for travel sports teams instead of academic tutors, or when I see politicians choose to pay for war instead of infrastructure, or when corporations hire another executive at six figures instead of giving raises to rank and file employees, or when a state gives tax cuts to large businesses while its public school system literally rots.

It's easier to claim that one can't afford something than to admit that the resources were available but went elsewhere. 

The next time you think that you can't afford something, ask yourself if it in fact just isn't a priority right now. It's eye-opening what I've noticed I prioritize.

Dr. Rebecca's Coat: Blood, Sweat, & Ink

A handful of cotton swabs. Two different detergents. An enzyme cleaner. A bucket.

Two wash cycles.

One white coat.

Dr. Rebecca's white coat, to be specific.

This is from when Dr. Rebecca's coat was new. Sarah, our niece, has a white coat too, so that she can play doctor, nurse, veterinarian, chemist, or whatever else goes with white lab coats!

While I will never stop believing that the color choice for a doctor's coat is ridiculous, let me tell you how I spent my morning and why I did it.

My helpmate's white coat is in rough shape. She's working with an ear/nose/throat clinic right now, and a patient with a severe nose bleed sneezed on her. I'll spare you details beyond that, but a white coat suffered the consequences.

When I started spot treating that (a service I don't normally provide since I'm a terrible med wife, but I had time today and Rebecca doesn't), I noticed other stains. And I started reflecting on what all the stains mean. Here's the story:

Blood stains and other bodily fluids are obviously part of a doctor's work day. They spend their time saving lives. That's messy. They're there for the most vulnerable health moments, asking incredibly personal questions, palpating, listening, sometimes having their clothes marked, and more often, carrying marks on their hearts from the stories they've heard. Rebecca once listened to the story of an elderly WWII veteran as he explained his experience in the war. By the time she finished summarizing it for me (minus identifying details), she was in tears. I was in tears. She had offered him options, but he was actually there for something else and told her that he had learned to live with the trauma and nightmares that had never gone away.

The blood washes out. The story stays.

What other stains did I find?

Sweat stains, around the collar and underarms. Rebecca is required to wear a white coat over her other clothes on some shifts, regardless of the temperature and regardless of how fast she has to move. So she sweats from running codes, standing under surgical lights, and making difficult decisions. She's worked shifts as long as 30 hours without sleep or shower and comes home exhausted. The sweat stains are harder to get out than the blood stains, and I can never make up for her stress and exhaustion. It's the price of US residency.

The hardest to get out, though, are the ink stains. I may not manage it. A huge portion of Dr. Rebecca's job is paperwork, so she keeps pens in her pockets, along with little notebooks or scratch paper. Though she does slightly less paperwork now that she has proceeded partway through residency, a large percentage of her day is still spent taking notes, filling out forms, and fighting EMR and insurance companies.

She could do less of this, perhaps, but she knows that her patients benefit from properly completed paperwork, and often, there isn't anyone else to do it. People don't realize how much bureaucracy and administration is involved in a doctor's work - the stock photos show them interacting with patients, performing surgery, or in the lab - but we've created a medical system in which documentation and paperwork often determine the quality of subsequent patient care. And residents bear the brunt of that, especially primary care residents, especially family med residents. Rebecca got her start in medicine filling out patient assistance forms to get uninsured, rural, low income patients prescriptions from pharmaceutical companies, not standing in ORs observing. So while she has no love for paperwork and would rather be providing direct patient care, she is good at paperwork and takes pride in completing it well, even if it means bringing some home after a full day of work (or even over-full day).

When we're dreaming of our lives later, moving to Canada comes up often. We loved Montreal when we were there a few summers ago. And she knows that she would do less paperwork as a doctor there, without losing income. Why? Because a huge percentage of US health paperwork is related to insurance or lack thereof, and particularly the proliferation of different private insurance providers and plans.

The ink is the most soul-sucking of the stains. She chose medicine to heal people and knew she would work hard doing it. She always accepted that there would be blood and sweat stains on her white coat. I don't think she realized how much time and energy paperwork would take.

And so, I've come to realize that ink is not only a stain on her coat, but a blot on our nation's ability to care for the vulnerable among us.

I need more than cotton swabs and enzyme cleaner to fix that.

#fixerupperdetroit Invitation: Come Smash with Us!

We're going with no news=good news on the land bank front.

We were told to keep working on the house as planned, so we're going to. That means that this Saturday, January 16th, we're going to gut the kitchen and pull out ceilings, walls, and floors in a few other strategic locations to set up our contractor for the renovation.

I hate smashing stuff. I'm not into destruction, demolition, chaos, or violence. I'd rather be creating or upcycling. But some things really have to go. So I have promised myself that I will help - by bagging refuse and taking it to the dumpster that will be sitting in our driveway.

If you would like to help, either by smashing stuff or carrying stuff (or even better, both), you can e-mail me at suttone2@gmail.com for more info. We have a few people coming to help already, but definitely the more, the merrier.

We don't know what we're going to find behind some of the pieces slated to be destroyed. There is at least one patch of Pewabic tile hidden under another floor. Intrigued?

Me too.

Update: #fixerupperdetroit Googles Squatter's Rights

Today, I googled. I googled the phrase "squatter's rights Detroit," in fact.

Yesterday, I told you that we received a sign on our door from the Detroit Land Bank Authority that we had three days to call their number or we risked our home being seized.

We called twice. No one answered.

So I sent over some documents, Rebecca took this afternoon off, we gathered up some paperwork, contacted a bunch of people, and tried not to collapse under the weight of another straw on the camel's back.

I called the land bank today and sat on the phone answering and asking questions. The woman told me their attorney would call in 5-10 business days with instructions. I asked if I needed to fill out forms, if I needed to get money together, what I had done wrong, if I could see my file, if they're going to try to take my house. She repeated that the lawyer would call in 5-10 business days.  I told her that my demolition day is scheduled for fewer than 5 business days from now. She said I could keep working on the house. I tried to explain to her that I don't want to work on a house if they're going to take it away. She told me that she can't give me any information, nor is there a website or other set of documentation that explains protocol.

At this point, this process is starting to seem pretty undemocratic.

I've been suspicious of the land bank for a while now, but that's another post.

So I started googling. I was trying to figure out how to establish occupancy, because I've read that an eviction is harder than a seizure. We wouldn't really be squatters, since we have the deed and have paid for the property and so forth, but I thought it might help. (It didn't really.)

Then Rebecca filed our property transfer affidavit and principal residence exemption and changed her Secretary of State address to our house.

I called two different lawyers to see what I should do. I can meet with one of them on Friday, and I think he can help if it comes down to it, though that's another set of fees that can't go toward actually REPAIRING this house and then occupying it, which I'm pretty sure is supposed to be the land bank's goal.

And then, I contacted a friend who works for the land bank, and she was able to pull our records. She confirmed my suspicion: the neighbors had filed a nuisance complaint against the previous owner for neglecting the property. That's fair. They had been mowing the lawn and pruning the trees for him. He hadn't done any repairs in a long time. The garage is falling down, and there was a pile of trash in the backyard.

My friend is pretty sure the complaint will either be dismissed or that we'll have to agree to rehab the property (which is what we did when we took out a renovation mortgage, so I guess that's fine). I wish the land bank would have actually looked at the property, though. It no longer looks like a nuisance.

It looks like it's in process.

Just like most of us.

Bureaucracy: Why Detroit Can't Have Nice Things

Rebecca found this on our door today. 

Instead of "welcome to the neighborhood, could you use any help?" the land bank is threatening to seize our house because it looks vacant/unkempt.

It looks less unkempt than it did. Whoever posted this sign didn't see that all of the invasive trees have been removed from the backyard, along with a pile of refuse the previous owner had left piled up. 

Nor did they look inside to see that we have pulled up the carpeting, opened some of the walls, and disconnected the outdated/unsafe plumbing from the kitchen and upstairs bathroom.  

Never mind that our house just sold a month ago, or that we took out a mortgage with renovation funds, or that they received all back taxes on the house within the last month, or that we had a water meter installed so that we can pay our fair share, unlike the previous owner. Checking any one of those records would show that we aren't derelict owners.

I was just starting to feel better about this process, to think that many we're set up to get through this without more drama caused by the seller's ineptitude and moral bankruptcy. We attempted to call the number on this poster - twice - with no success.

I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried. This is the level of failed bureaucracy Detroit is working with. This is the real reason people are afraid to move to the city, or that people move out if they can - it's not that all of the housing stock is in terrible shape. Some of it is great. It's not that the neighbors aren't nice - they are. 

It's that people are concerned, rightfully so, about city services. They're concerned that different agencies within the city don't coordinate with each other. They're concerned that the city doesn't have its priorities straight. 

I hope they get this sorted soon, because there are so many wonderful things about the city. I don't want to miss them because my house was seized.

(Side note: we're going to file a bunch of paperwork with the city and call an attorney tomorrow, and we will call the land bank repeatedly until someone picks up. I also faxed them a copy of our deed and renovation plan. None of that tedium makes for a good blog post, though.)

Visionquest: #fixerupperdetroit

We've owned #fixerupperdetroit for more than a month now. I attended the first Greenacres neighborhood radio patrol party as a guest of our anext door neighbor last night, and I'm still in awe that anyone is letting us join a neighborhood like this, let alone that they're so happy to see us move in.

Because I spent a lot of life feeling that I didn't really belong.

I think it's the human condition, perhaps, to feel that we don't quite fit, but regular readers know the exceptional struggle Rebecca and I have faced to find a place that our marriage makes sense. Somehow, in making this decision that doesn't make financial sense, or time management sense, or a lot of the other kinds of sense American culture promotes, we are finding that we fit. Pinch me, because I think I might be dreaming, in that semi-lucid state where I can control some of the outcomes, and I can fly.

And while the work involved in restoring our home to its previous splendor is considerable, and sometimes I'm overwhelmed, it's allowed us the privilege to shape its use much more than a move-in ready home would. And that's a blessing - I'm so grateful.

Here you see a peek into our dining room on the left, what will become my prep space in the middle, and the kitchen on the right. That pass-through window was a big selling point for us.

So what is planned for this home? I won't show you our architect's drawings, because I want there to be drama left for the big reveal, but here are some of the things we'll be able to do in the house when it's done (and by done, I mean about three stages of renovation and a decade from now):

1. Look out the window into the yard while washing dishes.

I don't like washing dishes. It's sticky and gross and sometimes smells weird and just doesn't feel that satisfying. But one of the reasons I've never liked it is having to stand under a fluorescent light and stare at a wall. In this house, our sink will be moved in front of a window.

2. Look out the window onto bird feeders while doing food prep.

I'll have a suction-cup bird feeder (maybe a finch feeder? will those come to Detroit? or a hummingbird feeder?) and maybe some colored glass and I hope some flowering trees in the yard. As I prep to feed people, I'll be able to have sunshine on my face, and when it's warm enough, a breeze across my skin. This activity will be made possible by LabraDesign+Build's willingness to alter their original plans, restore a window to its original size, and maximize food prep surfaces.

3. Comfortably seat/feed a dozen people for dinner.

Those of you who know us are aware that we're capable of fitting 20 people into a one-bedroom apartment with a den and making sure everyone leaves full, even using a small galley-style kitchen (yes, this happened our senior year of college, before we were a couple - the fact that we didn't kill each other was probably a sign our relationship will last forever). Having an actual dining room means being able to feed lots of people without so many acrobatics. I can't promise you a three-course meal, but if you're good with soup, or casserole, or dinner-sized salads, or something off the grill, we'll have room for you. One of our issues in most of our apartments has been having a place to put serving dishes during the meal with the size of our current table and shortage of other space. We'll have room for a buffet-type piece of furniture, or a space in the kitchen to stage things while people fill their plates. That leaves room on a (much bigger) dining room table for things like . . . dishes. Water glasses. You know, stuff people need to eat. And having room for a china cabinet means more efficient use of my kitchen for things like cutting boards and prep bowls, instead of the precarious stacks of dishes I currently live with. (This will also probably prompt a serving piece inventory in which we decide what we actually use, what is decorative enough to stay anyway, and what needs a new home, if you are in the market for some awesome vintage/antique pieces.)

4. Write with fewer distractions.

We'll be spoiled enough in this house to each have an office and still have space for not one, but two, guest rooms (for now, anyway). My will serve mostly as a writing studio. I'm planning - yes, women plan, God laughs - to be vigilant about banning distractions like housework from my office so that when I'm there, I can focus on getting my thoughts out. One of my long term goals has become to write a book or two, and it's pretty hard to write memoirs while adjacent to a stack of dirty dishes or the books I'm supposed to be prepping for work. I recognize what an incredible luxury it will be to create a calm, reflective space to get my writing done. I'm looking forward to it, though I will have a lot fewer excuses not to write once it's ready.

5. Grow stuff. A lot of stuff.

Our yard isn't sizable, but it's bigger than a windowsill or tiny patio, which is all we've had up until now. We'll probably wait through a year to see what comes up on its own before we undertake major landscaping projects (other than removal of some very invasive mulberry trees that were obviously a problem). I have a feeling that my potted herbs I'm (so far) successfully overwintering will be excited to have space, and I'm excited to stop buying my basil and arugula at the grocery store. We are signed up for a community-supported agriculture share with Faith Farm, so I'll try to balance our veggies and herbs with what we get from them. (Are you seeing a theme yet about how much I like to feed people?)  

An aside: our neighborhood isn't in one of Detroit's infamous food deserts. We have accessible grocery stores - a selection of them in fact. But if you're concerned about those living in food deserts, donating a share to a family in need via Faith Farm's program is a great way to make sure senior citizens or families with children have healthy food.

I dream of forsythia bushes, lilacs, a flowering tree (maybe a decorative cherry? or plum? I'd say a crabapple, but I'd basically end up with the mulberry issue all over again), too. And a rain garden to manage roof runoff so that our basement floors aren't so damp (there's been no flooding, thank goodness, but moisture control is still a concern). And seating areas for reading or drawing or thinking. If we optimize our yard, it will feel bigger, more useful, and more manageable than its actual size.

In Conclusion

Thinking of what the house will be puts an involuntary soft smile on my face. I know, from living life, that bad things will happen. Our house makes me hopeful, though, that our best days are ahead.

And I think that's true for Detroit as a whole, too.