There are other Americas. Existing next to mine. They are there, sometimes blatant, sometimes occult. They weave in and out and touch the edges of my America. But I can't get to them.
Someone told me once that Seattle is a small city. And it is true. I always run into people I know, people who know other people I know. People who went to school with friends I know. We all know the same restaurants and bars, frequent the same neighborhoods. I said as much to a friend of mine and he said it was because all people of a certain age group were interested in the same things, restaurants, bars, sports. I don't think so though. I think there are a thousand Seattle's circling in and out of each other. And I can't reach the other ones anymore than they reach mine.
Even less can I reach the other Americas. The realities wrought by geography, society, money, politics, religion, hobbies. I am trapped in my tea shops and cafes, in safe apartments, in secure jobs and nice upper middle class friends, pseudo-intellectuals, people bound to succeed. And so we can't and we don't reach those other Americas. Even I wanted to, how would I ride the rails, attend the most elite of parties? How would I know how to go to other Americas, who would let me in?
Showing posts with label transients. Show all posts
Showing posts with label transients. Show all posts
05 August 2011
02 May 2011
Green Space: liminal in the city limits
Despite the fact that it is 47 degrees and cloudy today, I started a spring building project. An outdoor spring building project. Some of you may be wrinkling your brows in confusion. Yes, I still do live in the upstairs portion of an apartment complex with no yard or garage. I am also singularly inept when it comes to building and tools in general.
This morning, however, saw me wielding a power drill and hammer that I borrowed from Priscilla. (I also borrowed Priscilla to help me with the building project).If you were not the all omniscient aforementioned morning you might have been hard-pressed to actually SEE me.
Lately I have taken to exploring the green spaces within the city of Seattle and it is in one of these spaces that I have decided to build a tree house. It is (or will be) a fairly low to the ground tree house. It will mainly consist of a low platform and some shelves and it is where we plan to write (me) and paint (Priscilla). (It may also include general loafing around punctuated by drinking and smoking on the part of Priscilla's boyfriend).
We found the prefect spot last Saturday by following the trails worn through the city greenspaces. I think the trails are made by homeless and transient people who sometimes set up tents and blankets in the underbrush.
I really like these spaces and the idea of people living here because despite being in the center of the city these spaces, like freeway underpasses and sides of railway tracks, are somehow liminal to the bulk of city life.
We live so much of our lives next to these spaces. Driving over and by. Houses, playgrounds and shops just a few blocks away. And yet for most of us these spaces don't exist. They are in-between spaces existing within but not as part of the cityscape.
The people who inhabit these spaces are also liminal, living in but not as a part of normal city life.
So, Pricilla and I have decided to base our creative space in the in-between space. Also, I have always wanted a secret tree fort since I was a little girl.
If you had thought I was going to disclose the location of our hideaway you were mistaken. It is somewhere Other and close by. It will suffice to say it is well hidden in the branches and far away from the trail and clandestine tent encampments. After all we are the strangers in this neighborhood.
This morning, however, saw me wielding a power drill and hammer that I borrowed from Priscilla. (I also borrowed Priscilla to help me with the building project).If you were not the all omniscient aforementioned morning you might have been hard-pressed to actually SEE me.
Lately I have taken to exploring the green spaces within the city of Seattle and it is in one of these spaces that I have decided to build a tree house. It is (or will be) a fairly low to the ground tree house. It will mainly consist of a low platform and some shelves and it is where we plan to write (me) and paint (Priscilla). (It may also include general loafing around punctuated by drinking and smoking on the part of Priscilla's boyfriend).
We found the prefect spot last Saturday by following the trails worn through the city greenspaces. I think the trails are made by homeless and transient people who sometimes set up tents and blankets in the underbrush.
I really like these spaces and the idea of people living here because despite being in the center of the city these spaces, like freeway underpasses and sides of railway tracks, are somehow liminal to the bulk of city life.
We live so much of our lives next to these spaces. Driving over and by. Houses, playgrounds and shops just a few blocks away. And yet for most of us these spaces don't exist. They are in-between spaces existing within but not as part of the cityscape.
The people who inhabit these spaces are also liminal, living in but not as a part of normal city life.
So, Pricilla and I have decided to base our creative space in the in-between space. Also, I have always wanted a secret tree fort since I was a little girl.
If you had thought I was going to disclose the location of our hideaway you were mistaken. It is somewhere Other and close by. It will suffice to say it is well hidden in the branches and far away from the trail and clandestine tent encampments. After all we are the strangers in this neighborhood.
09 April 2011
Airport
This is me at a cafe in the Frankfurt airport drinking a cappuccino and eating a sandwich.
What? You ask, am I not supposed to be in Italy, perhaps already arrived in my Roman hotel? Well, yes, but somehow the flight was overbooked and I decided 400 Euro was worth a day of napping and drinking coffee in the airport.
Germany is grey and flat today. I watch the jets lift and land as rain comes in over the low trees. For a moment a rainbow touches the runway and then the rain is here, splattering on window and drumming on roof.
I am writing to you the old fashioned way- on cocktail napkins. My computer has died and the converter inadvertently checked. Perhaps it is in Rome by now without me.
The rain is done now leaving behind high fanciful clouds and the palest of bluish-white sky. My coffee is gone but for a trace of foam and busy travelers rush to gates and awaiting planes. I wait.
What? You ask, am I not supposed to be in Italy, perhaps already arrived in my Roman hotel? Well, yes, but somehow the flight was overbooked and I decided 400 Euro was worth a day of napping and drinking coffee in the airport.
Germany is grey and flat today. I watch the jets lift and land as rain comes in over the low trees. For a moment a rainbow touches the runway and then the rain is here, splattering on window and drumming on roof.
I am writing to you the old fashioned way- on cocktail napkins. My computer has died and the converter inadvertently checked. Perhaps it is in Rome by now without me.
The rain is done now leaving behind high fanciful clouds and the palest of bluish-white sky. My coffee is gone but for a trace of foam and busy travelers rush to gates and awaiting planes. I wait.
22 April 2010
Discovery
I was walking in the park on the wooded paths on one of those very blue days last week. Way out past the abandoned restrooms, locked and overgrown. On to one of the lesser used trails not teeming with runners and dog walkers, quiet, just trees, birds, and an occasional unseen rustling in the undergrowth.
At first I thought it was a statue, obscured by branches in a small ravine. Large and craggy in the form a rhinoceros. Then a gust of wind rippled the leaves and one of of the eyes blinked, slowly turned to look at me and, unimpressed, back to the foliage at hand.
Rhinoceros!
I had thought I was alone on the trail but as I looked around in shock I saw a blue tarp and an old man just a few feet away off of the trail. He was sitting on a log and almost blended in to the woods in his tattered brown jacket and greenish-gray trousers. He was what one might classify as a "bum". Two brown beady eyes looked at me from under a squishy battered hat. He winked, almost imperceptibly and then turned and disappeared behind the tarp, somewhere into the woods.
The rhinoceros paid me no more heed and I skittered back into the sunlit clearing and back to the populated trails, to the happy dogs, the joggers intent on their cardiovascular rhythms, measured pace.
At first I thought it was a statue, obscured by branches in a small ravine. Large and craggy in the form a rhinoceros. Then a gust of wind rippled the leaves and one of of the eyes blinked, slowly turned to look at me and, unimpressed, back to the foliage at hand.
Rhinoceros!
I had thought I was alone on the trail but as I looked around in shock I saw a blue tarp and an old man just a few feet away off of the trail. He was sitting on a log and almost blended in to the woods in his tattered brown jacket and greenish-gray trousers. He was what one might classify as a "bum". Two brown beady eyes looked at me from under a squishy battered hat. He winked, almost imperceptibly and then turned and disappeared behind the tarp, somewhere into the woods.
The rhinoceros paid me no more heed and I skittered back into the sunlit clearing and back to the populated trails, to the happy dogs, the joggers intent on their cardiovascular rhythms, measured pace.
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