Confessions and an Invitation

When I woke up today, the first thing Rebecca told me was that Trump had won and the Republicans had taken Congress.

And I looked at her, and I said, "Trump has promised to pass FADA [the First Amendment Defense Act - essentially a nationwide RFRA like Indiana's], and he has the Congress to actually do it."

Make no mistake. This isn't an attempt to protect the first amendment. We already have the first amendment. There's no need to pile on or protect. The very language of FADA excludes my family. Mine. Rebecca and me. As in, it does nothing to protect us or our religion or our free speech.

And now I'm sitting in my living room under a blanket writing this. I'm staring at my dining room table where, just a couple days ago, people from multiple religions, races, socioeconomic statuses, and ages sat drinking cider and eating doughnuts. I wish more people had the chance to sit with such diverse groups (and took it).

I am scared. I am grief-stricken.

But I will keep looking at my dining room table that can comfortably seat 12 (and more if they like each other). I will keep my commitment to filling its seats, covering it in homemade dishes, and bringing people together in a safe space. We've dreamed of hosting a Sunday dinner, every week, for anyone who would come and abide in acceptance and love.

I will start this Sunday. I hadn't planned to do it so soon, but we need it now. Please message me if you're interested in participating in a potluck to share the love and share the food.

When I have more than I need, I commit to building a longer table, not a higher fence.

House Update: The Day After

The housewarming was yesterday. I've missed two #NaBloPoMo days already. I'm okay with that. I've gotten so much else done!

Our ground floor is essentially finished, except for the entry (which needs the walls re-textured and the trim repaired before painting) and the stairs (which are, to be honest, a hot mess that will require professional help).

Most of our dishes are unpacked, or at least located, even the fancy serving pieces that we only use at holidays. I also currently know where most of our Christmas decorations are, which is good, because the holidays are sneaking up on me.

And we had great turnout yesterday, between Rebecca's work friends, people from two different churches we've attended, school friends, family, and lots and lots of neighbors (I flyered our entire block). People were so encouraging - especially the neighbors who have undertaken large renovation projects themselves. (They were even understanding of the hot mess staircase. They said inviting them to the housewarming was a very neighborly thing to do.)

We've decided to host Thanksgiving. And the Henry Ford family medicine residency Christmas party. (And buy a six foot bench for our dining room.) And have board game nights and crafting nights and cookie days. We're down to less than a year left of Rebecca's residency and fewer late evenings of work for me.

If you didn't make it out to the housewarming, you'll have plenty of chances to see us (and the house) soon.

If the neighbors are any indication, we'll be in Greenacres for another twenty years.

Housewarming Eve Post: Detroit Sense

It's the eve of the #fixerupperdetroit housewarming, and I'm just sitting down to write my #nablopomo post. I spent the day scrubbing dishes and washing floors, so instead of something lengthy, I'm going to share a brief exchange Rebecca and I had in reference to our Dutch Girl doughnut order:

Me: It was confusing at first, so I asked questions until it made sense.
Rebecca: Did it ever make sense?
Me: It made Detroit sense.
Rebecca: So no.
Me: Well, I mean, Detroit just works differently.

And I love it, readers. I love coming home through a tunnel of vibrant fall color, waving to neighbors, the shops that are their own Institution at this point.

I hope some of you come tomorrow and see what I see. You can have a doughnut either way.

White People: When you say "All Lives Matter"

I should have posted about #blacklivesmatter much sooner.

I've been reading the articles, following the social media threads, trying to understand the movement, and overall attempting, though not as much as I should, to amplify the voices of my African-American friends.

In the process, I have had a few people post on my social media feed that I should be saying "all lives matter," not "Black lives matter."

It was jarring. Especially the day that I posted that Black lives matter because there had been two shootings of black men by police officers it in the 24 hours, and I wanted my Black friends to know that someone cares. Especially because there seems to be a lot of anger and resentment and almost hatred toward the Black community for even saying that there was an injustice.

But here's the really disturbing thing I realized: when White people say "all lives matter" in response to "Black lives matter," they're NOT actually encompassing Black lives in that statement, no matter how much they think they are. If they were including Black lives, they wouldn't really need to say it because no one else said that White lives DON'T matter (there are lots and lots of articles explaining this - I don't need to add to them). What "all lives matter"  really says is, "no, you're wrong. I'm correcting you.

Black lives don't matter. All lives matter. All lives except Black lives matter."

This insistence on correction, on steamrolling, results in an attempt to replace reality. It's as though White people are saying, "black people don't know what they're talking about. They are unqualified to make statements like this. Let me fix this for them and tell them what they really think, what they really feel, what they really know about an issue that primarily affects them."

And the really sad part about all of this is that I am confident that when I post this to social media, the comments thread will continue to do this. It will say things like "no, you really aren't understanding me. Blacks really are wrong, and so are you. Let me just explain 'all lives matter' to you one more time, slowly, and you will see that I am correct and you were wrong." And the implicit result is that it's wrong that Black lives matter.

I haven't posted because I had the luxury not to debate this, just as straight people have the privilege of not justifying their marriages over and over. But White people, we need to do better. We need to think harder. We need to acknowledge that we don't know everything, and especially on this, we don't know more than the Black community.

Black lives matter.

My Paperwork Cat in Training

About this time in 2010, Rebecca and I brought Dorian home. While he was timid at first, he became incredibly loyal. I didn't know that cats would wait for their humans at the door after a long day, or hold hands, or head-nudge to request petting. His 15 pound body filled up our apartment so that I wasn't lonely when Rebecca spent long days in class or at the hospital.

He crossed the Rainbow Bridge this summer (read more here). Cesar brings us so much joy, but there are a few things he has never learned to help with, including my paperwork and writing.

Being a paperwork cat is a special calling.

It requires just the right amount of presence. Not so much that my attention is required. A paperwork cat can't actually sit on my lap because my laptop needs to be there.

But full-on napping or too much distance isn't enough.

Dorian had it down. He would snuggle in, purr, and leave me to it. Cesar always wants to be on my lap. He never manages to balance his presence to comfort and focus me without distracting me.

Harrison is cuddled up next to me as I write this. He periodically looks up at me or puts his paw on my leg, as though he's reassuring me. He's still a kitten, so he's a little bit more active than Dorian, but he shows great promise. I hope that by the time I'm ready to write my memoirs, he'll be a fully-trained, trustworthy paperwork cat.

Announcement: Commit in the Mitt and #fixerupperdetroit are participating in NaBloPoMo!

It's National Blog Post Month, and I'm having another go!

Last year, I committed to do it and then we ended up in the midst of a mold infestation, moving on short notice, while trying to get closed on #fixerupperdetroit with a very difficult seller. I'd like to think I did pretty well under the circumstances, but I missed a lot of days.

Over the last few months, I've been inconsistent about posting. Rehabbing and getting situated in a historic home has taken most of my free time, and I've told myself that I'm too tired to write.

My takeaway from NaBloPoMo last year, though, was that I'm not a writer if I don't write.

So I'm trying again.

I'm writing while sitting in a fully furnished, painted living room. Harrison and Cesar are playing on the rug. I have a dining room table that could comfortably seat at least ten people. Our housewarming is scheduled. By the end of the month, my sunroom office might be done.

I'm not sure I'll ever believe that I own #fixerupperdetroit or that we get to stay here forever if we want to. We've been so nomadic up to this point. Many days, I feel like I don't deserve a house this beautiful.

And then I see the "Notice to Owner" sign from the Detroit Land Bank Authority that I framed and put above the fireplace and remember the struggles that we fought through to be here (find that back story here if you've joined us more recently). I watch the video of what our house looked like when we closed. She was always beautiful to me, but I'm astounded to see the transformation. I am blessed and privileged beyond compare, but I have also worked incredibly hard to be where I am.

I will end with a quote that I can't find an attribution for (if you know who said it, please let me know and I'll update):

When you have more than you need, build a longer table, not a higher fence.

House Update: Nearing the Finish Line

I've been quiet lately, and this will be a quick post. I just want my readers to know that we are, in fact, making progress on #fixerupperdetroit - you can see photos on Instagram (@fixerupperdetroit).

1. Brand new tiny bathroom lavatory on the ground floor is DONE!

(Well, except for painting the secondhand pocket door, which I'm telling myself is really part of the hallway so I can say the bathroom is done.)

2. Kitchen WOULD be 95% done if Olympic hadn't sold us a bad batch of paint.

I have a color-matched paint from Sherwin Williams, but I haven't applied it. I unpacked most of the kitchen boxes today and have set dishes out, but some dishes are missing and I'm sure we'll re-arrange things at some point.

3. We still haven't gotten our water tested.

It didn't seem hard, but then it turned out to be harder than we thought, and we just haven't gotten to it. We're still buying gallon jugs of distilled water from the grocery store.

4. Basement mold is DEAD.

Between replacing the packed earth (yes, dirt) floor in the basement with concrete and running a good dehumidifier, the mold in the basement died!

5. Dining room is 90% done.

Still need something done with the light fixture, and we haven't gotten the final furniture in there. Soon, I hope.

6. Master bedroom is 90% done.

We're waiting for some hardware to fix the light fixture, and then we have to redistribute furniture and get pictures on the walls.

7. Someone is sanding down/prepping the living room for painting as we speak!

I hope it will be done and beautiful soon, as that will allow us to redistribute furniture from a few different places and live a normal life.

8. Entry hallway, attic, sunroom office, full bathroom, and guest bedroom have made little to no progress in weeks.

But hey, baby steps, right?