Food Not Lawns

I have a new obsession: Goodreads.  It's both a website and and iPhone app, and the bookworm in me simply cannot get enough of it.  While browsing book suggestions based on what I'm currently reading (The Velvet Rage... and Animal, Vegetable Miracle...), I ran across Food Not Lawns: How to Turn Your Yard Into a Garden and Your Neighborhood Into a Community. Which got me to thinking: how on Earth did we ever get to laying down a bunch of potentially-clover-choked sod in our suburban backyards instead of planting gardens?

More than ever, as a New Yorker with very limited personal green space--I have two flower pots, thankyouverymuch--I miss the backyards I had growing up.  

home on the prairie

In my childhood subdivision, we lived on a quarter acre with a massive greenbelt for a backyard.  I'd get lost in the trees and moss and blackberry bushes for hours, making forts with my friends and dreaming of getting that tree house I always wanted Daddy to build. 

When we moved south to the Prairie, we had even more space: five acres of hay and crab grass. I remember our first season on that land very well. Dad rented a "billy goat" and a roto-tiller from the local Hertz, and we spent hours upon hours pounding and chopping and grinding the earth into submission, only to see it reclaim its wild ways a few months later. Eventually, our alpacas made good use of the space, but apart from that, our five-acre expanse--which now seems like an insane luxury--went mostly unused. Granted, Daddy's love of trees ensured we planted our fair share of paper bark maples, weepings spruce, and my personal favorite: a larch.  But save for a few flower beds and a relatively small plot we kept maintained for blueberry bushes and, eventually, some out-of-control raspberry bushes, our yard was just one massive lawn-mowing project.  Even on a gas-guzzling riding mower, it was a four-hour project just to keep the grass in check.

my front yard from 6th to 12th grade

The Northwest certainly lends itself to gardening, or so it seems.  In reality, our yards are more often seeded and mowed and edged, then decorated with beauty bark and lava rock, then sufficiently doused in moss-killing, bug-ridding chemicals.  We wage war against dandelions, clover, and fields full of daisies.  But I wonder how much more we'd gain from our green space if we gardened instead.

I distinctly remember being awestruck by two particular gardens as a child.  My next-door-neighbor, Mrs. Hatfield, was an elementary teacher and an avid gardener.  Some of my fondest memories are of her weeding around her rhubarb plants in her green rubber, leather-trimmed Sperry slip-ons.  I had no idea what rhubarb was at the time--I eventually learned it pairs well with strawberries in a pie--but I knew I loved her garden. And, for that matter, every book she ever gave me for Christmases and birthdays and for looking after her dogs while the family went away on vacation. (Mrs. Hatfield, I still read Holiday Handwriting School every time I go home. :) A perennial favorite.)

The other garden I loved so dearly was at my godfather's house.  Uncle Ron, as I called him, had a massive garden surrounded by a fence taller than me to keep out the deer.  Zucchini, tomatoes, lettuce, carrots, broccoli...his was certainly a garden of plenty, and when we'd visit in the summer, we always drove home with a load of fresh produce--and usually a box of freshly-picked apples from the front yard, for good measure.  

berries from the garden, summer 2012

I realize that gardens, however big or small, require constant upkeep and effort.  But really?  If we took all that time we spent mowing and edging and fertilizing and pesticide-spraying and spent it on a garden instead...WOW. That would really be something.  Or if you really feel like cutting loose, why not pull up some of that grass and throw out a few handfuls of wildflower seeds?  We did that one year on the prairie, and the outcome was glorious.

So if you're one of my lucky friends with a little bit of a yard, think about growing a few things yourself this year.  Strawberries, potatoes, carrots, squash, green beans, corn... just start somewhere.  I, for my part, will try to coerce some basil into finally growing--and staying alive--in one of my little clay pots here in Harlem.  As for the apples and squash this fall, my girlfriends and I will just have to take a Zipcar to an orchard upstate if we want our bushel of seasonal delights.  I'll be sure to document all my (hopefully successful) attempts at apple pie, applesauce, and apple butter.

In the meantime, happy gardening--and say goodbye to that riding lawn mower!  

Thanks for reading! Love you all. xo

a lesson in shallow thinking

Let's be honest. As much as we like to think of ourselves as uncritical, as much as we hope to be concerned with what's on the inside and not on the outside, we're massive failures. We've been raised in a culture where looks matter, and it's hard to maneuver around that.

I'm riding the train right now with a woman who, ten years ago, would have been the perfect candidate for Extreme Makeover. Her chin is virtually non-existent. I look across the train and imagine what a little nip-tuck work would do, and I want to slap myself. My God, Mollie. Who do you think you are?

And just to compound my feelings of guilt at my shallow judgements against this woman, I catch a glimpse of the book she's reading: Dying Well.

For all I know, the woman sharing her train ride with me could be dying of cancer--or God only knows what. How stupid of me to suggest, even to myself, that she'd benefit from a little cosmetic help.

On days like today, especially, when life seems just a little more precious, just a bit more fleeting, the reality checks seem to hit me at all sides. Shame on me and my simple-minded foolishness.

So for her sake and mine, I hope my neighbor on the train is well and fulfilled and perfectly joyful about the life she's been given. She'll never know it, but she just taught me a very important lesson: live well and love the life you have right now.

Eye on the City, Part II

Finally, here is the long-promised follow-up to "Eye on the City, Part I."  While the majority of my blog posts center on a single topic or theme, some things about life in the City are simply too fleeting, odd, or just plain difficult to categorize to constitute an entire post.  But I hardly think the quirky little fragments deserve to be neglected.  So here they are, in no particular order, for your amusement.  Or so I hope.

1. New Yorkers love their movies.  The bigger the franchise, the better.  Hanne, Britta, and I stood in line down on 34th Street with all the other novel-turned-movie junkies to see The Hunger Games in IMAX.  And this is what the wait looked like.  Mind you, we saw the film well over a week after it had premiered.  I think it's safe to say New York had a hand in setting all those box office records. 

And let's not forget to mention the Bryant Park Summer Film Festival, a New York City institution.  If you don't mind crowds, and have a blanket, snacks, and a few hours to spare, you can see a free screening of a classic film almost every Monday night of the summer.  Emily and I saw the last show of the summer, Raiders of the Lost Ark.  And this is the insane crowd that turned out.  The line to get in literally wrapped halfway around the park.  Look out, folks.  Serious Indy fans here.

 

2. New York sometimes gets a bad rap for being frigid, self-serving, and relentlessly frenetic.  But it's mornings like this one in early April that remind us how New Yorkers also invest significant time, money, and energy on broadcasting the kinder bits of life still happening on a daily basis.  If you missed it the first time around, be sure to see Mom and Chelsea on Good Morning America (their segment starts at the 2:37 marker). Make sure you've got your box of Kleenex.   

And as if being on GMA isn't cool enough, you might get stopped in the middle of the street by a total stranger who recognizes you from the program and wants to tell you how your family's story made her day!  Yes, New Yorkers will do this.  Everyone loves a little humanity. :)

3. New Yorkers are fast food pioneers.  This City gives new meaning to food-on-the-go because nine times out of ten, when the guy behind the bagel counter asks you, "To stay or to go?"--the markedly East Coast departure from the West Coast "For here or to go?"--you're gonna say "to go."  Capitalizing on that tendency are the City's ubiquitous food trucks.  

While in town for Good Morning America, Daddy passes one such truck.  Since he's on his way to meet me and wait in line for tickets to Anything Goes, he passes up the truck, along with his breakfast.  We get our tickets--and our Starbucks, thanks to Mom--and then Daddy goes missing.  Pretty soon he turns up, looking a bit glum. "I tried to find that truck, but I think he rolled away," he tells us dejectedly. Not two minutes later, we turn the corner, and there's the disappearing truck. "Aaagh! It's here!" he shouts.

We walk to the Schwarzman Building and sit on the library terrace.  Daddy's breakfast is just what he hoped it would be.  Nothing like a bacon and egg sandwich--and his girl, of course--to make that man's morning. :)

   
Next time Daddy's in town, we'll have to do a food-truck tour of Union Square.  He'd eat himself silly here:

4. Nothing brings out the best of this City like a good cause.  Charity walks and runs are HUGE here, and the AIDS Walk might lead the pack.   

The day of the Walk, the Apple Store opens its doors the help facilitate the smartest, most efficient check-in I've ever seen.  Walk downstairs, plug your info into one of the dozens of iPads being used for check-in, pick up your little bag of goodies (including a beautiful button!), and you're on your way.

After you check in, be sure to get a good view at opening ceremonies.  Because you never know which folks from the casts of Mad Men and Glee might show up.  And Carolee Carmello might sing.  And David Hyde Pierce might be sitting in there in the front row distracting you the entire time from all the other cool people taking turns at the podium.

And then you join this fabulously proud, passionate (albeit slow-moving) mob of hopeful New Yorkers:

And when, halfway through the walk, you come upon a wizard, you won't be surprised.  But you will snap a picture for posterity (and the blog).

5. Further attesting to New York's endearing weirdness are the many "holidays" celebrated here, including International Pillow Fight Day.  Before Chelsea and my parents got to the City, I made a special trip to the Brooklyn IKEA for $1 pillows.  Best investment.  And what a ridiculous way to have some fun on a spring morning in the Village!

That's all for now! Thanks again for reading! Love you all. xo

Me? Write a children's book? Figures.

Okay, this is silly.  But I got a hair-brained idea to start a children's book today.  Who knows if it'll actually turn into something publishable, but I'm having fun in the meantime.  I just spent the evening pounding out part of a first-draft over a spread of Thai delivery: panang curry and sticky rice with mango.  It's the good life, folks. 

Like most children's stories (and all of my writing), this is character-driven, and everyone has their own wacky voice and set of idiosyncrasies.  So far, I have a polar bear protagonist on his first field trip from the Bronx Zoo, an overexcited hot cider-drinking hippo, and a precocious little nose-wrinkling Bronx girl who offers the displaced polar bear some practical advice. 

Sounds ridiculous, I know.  But I'm going to do a little research and reading on how to really write for kids, and we'll see if I can make this thing happen.

[At the wise suggestion of a good friend, I decided to edit out of this post the previously included excerpt.  I guess I should worry about protecting my work; anybody can steal practically anything these days.  So you'll just have to wait until later to read it all in print.]

Keep your eyes peeled for a second installment of "Eye on the City," too, because heaven knows I've got about ten thousand photos--several of them subway candids (creeper!)--and I'm dying to do something with them.

Thanks for reading, and if you consider yourself a writer, I'd love your suggestions and cautions!

Love you all! xo

all these things and more: how I've come to be a Christian gay rights advocate

A very dear friend once described me in rather accurate terms: "Explosive. Reactionary.  Attractively naive.  Emotional.  Loud in voice and personality.  Trusting.  Focused.  Intelligent.  Non-religious.  Jesus first.  Easily offended.  Traditional values.  Wonderfully awkward.  Cosmically compassionate.  Selfless.  A dreamer."  

His was actually a comparison drawn from the character of April Kepner on Grey's Anatomy, but it has been immensely valuable to me nonetheless.  I took his words to heart, and his outside observations have since helped me to clarify my sense of self and slog through more than a few internal struggles.

I am many things: a daughter, a friend, a singer, an actress, a New Yorker, a liberal conservative or conservative liberal (depending on who you ask), a fighter, a champion of underdogs, and a no-holds-barred supporter of equality.  (My dad once called me a "bleeding-heart liberal."  I think he meant for me to take offense; I couldn't have asked for a higher compliment.)

I am all these things and more. But above all, I am a Christian.  

I hesitate to wave that banner too wildly because by and large, society imagines a "Christian" utterly unlike me.  Blame it on the media, politicians, entertainment--the picture is ugly: hypocritical, self-righteous, conditional, homophobic, greedy, heavy-handed, tight-fisted, stubborn, elitist, judgmental, and (sometimes) just downright unintelligent.  

It is the most alienating, least Christlike image I can imagine.  But it is the dominant portrait of the American Christian, like it or not.  I know countless followers of Christ who are just that: people who seek to live like Jesus and impact our culture in a radical, redemptive, arms-wide-open way.  I hope you see me as the latter because I have a confession: I used to be one of those other Christians.  

Make no mistake, I would've never joined the ranks of the Westboro Baptist Church with its "GOD HATES FAGS" signs (to even attempt to align that group with the larger Church is absolutely absurd).  But I spent many of my younger years operating under the well-intentioned belief that President Bush could do (almost) no wrong, gay marriage was practically an abomination, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan were just, and that if I just prayed hard enough, maybe my gay Christian ex-boyfriend would become straight and "come back to Jesus."  I really believed it.

Which brings me to the main point of all this soul-searching: I am a Christian and I support gay rights.   

I am an advocate.  Unequivocally.  Proudly.  Personally.  Because some of my closest friends are gay, and I see their struggle every day.  I see them being treated as second-class citizens in every sphere: social, political, and religious.  But what cuts even deeper is that many Christians are complicit in the injustice, if not directly responsible.  Bearing that in mind, it's safe to say that as a Christian, I tend to overcompensate.  However insignificantly, I do what I can to make amends for the way I once condemned the gay community, even if the Church at large is painfully reluctant to do the same.

My friend who made the April Kepner comparison calls me an "anomaly" in this.  "You're an advocate for gay rights," he says, "But you really are a Christian."  As if the two truths cannot, fundamentally, coexist. 

But I think that's where we've got it all wrong.  For me, it simply would not be possible to have Jesus at the center of my life and simultaneously stand by while my friends are being denied basic human rights.  It would be a betrayal of my faith and a slap in the face to Christ and those he loves.

Several days ago, I discovered Emily Timbol's Huffington Post article: "Why I'm a Straight Christian Fighting for Gay Rights."  For the first time, someone had articulated exactly how I feel about being both a gay rights advocate and a Christian.  I promptly posted the article to Facebook and was happy to see that a few friends gave it a thumbs-up.  

The only comment on that post, to date, was from a former classmate and one I found a bit disappointing, though not entirely surprising:  

"You will note, however, that whenever Jesus encountered someone living a sinful lifestyle, He always told them to turn from their sin and follow Him. He never treated anyone with contempt, not even the ones who set Him on the cross, but He also wasn't silent about how He felt about someone's lifestyle. From the Pharisees to the tax collectors to the prostitutes to the common man, He always tried to bring them to himself, and that means a change in lifestyle. I would normally not say anything about something like this, since the gay/lesbian marriage law seems to be an opinion-based issue, but saying that Christ would have stood for the law is something I can't keep silent about. Yes, Christ would've treated them with respect and dignity, as I always do, but I don't think he would've condoned their lifestyle anymore than he condoned the lifestyles of the aforementioned people living in sin. That's not something the Christ of the Bible would've done. That's my two cents. :\"

The explosive, reactionary April Kepner in me wanted to respond immediately, but I knew my retort would amount to nothing more than a flimsy, half-realized statement of a very deeply held, steadily built conviction.  I told April to take a back seat and allowed myself a few days to process.  I've decided to answer the above comment one or two statements at a time.

First of all, everything hinges on whether you believe that a person is born gay or that homosexuality is a choice.  Some of my friends, gay and straight, will say that sexuality is a spectrum and a number of factors play into sexual orientation and self-identification, with biology playing a critical role.  Nevertheless, when all is said and done, there remain two adequately delineated camps: the folks that say you're born gay and the folks that say you choose to be gay.  I, for one, believe a person is born gay.  That alone is a huge discussion in and of itself, better addressed by scientists, psychologists, and psychotherapists.  To that end, I highly recommend The Velvet Rage: Overcoming the Pain of Growing Up Gay in a Straight Man's World by Alan Downs, PhD. 

Once you've decided which camp you're in, it's time to struggle with the sin part.  It is important to consider that while you may be a Christian, likely very few of the gay people you meet are.  Some of them grew up in the Church, but to one degree or another, almost all of them have been alienated by Christians, many of them their own parents and childhood friends.  So arguing the point of sin with them, directly, is a waste of time and further reason for them to resent the Church and the shame it has so deeply rooted in their lives.  You are just another "clanging cymbal" (1 Corinthians 13:1) in the greater Christian soundscape.  

Now, some Christians believe that it is not homosexual orientation that is the sin, but the homosexual act that is the sin.  In other words: it's okay if you're born gay, just don't act gay or live a gay "lifestyle" or (God forbid!) enter into a monogamous, committed, lifelong relationship--never mind marriage--with the love of your life.  This position, while more progressive than some, still reeks of the "Love the sinner, hate the sin" jargon, a cheap cop-out that, more than ever, makes me want to rip the plaster off the walls. 

Then there are a few Christians who believe that being born gay is not an accident and being true to your sexuality is not a sin.  I'm one of those Christians.  I believe that my gay friends have just as much right to happy, fulfilled, purposeful lives as I do.  I hope every one of them loves their job.  I hope they each find a lifelong partner and gets married.  I'd even love to see them start families.  But the heartbreaking thing for me is that no matter how much I hope these things for my friends, their basic freedoms hang in the balance.  I have no greater claim to basic human rights as a straight woman.  But somehow, for them, something as simple as being hired at a job--and keeping that job--is up for debate, at least in cities like Jacksonville, Florida.  Which brings me back to that Facebook comment I quoted earlier. 

To be clear, Emily Timbol's article has nothing to do with gay marriage and everything to do with, as she says, "blatant discrimination and legal prejudice."  In fact, the article makes absolutely no direct mention of gay marriage whatsoever.  Given that, I wonder what prompted my classmate to include in his Facebook comment a statement entirely unrelated to Ms. Timbol's article: "the gay/lesbian marriage law seems to be an opinion-based issue, but saying that Christ would have stood for the law is something I can't keep silent about." 

The article is actually about advocating in favor of a Jacksonville, Florida bill that would ban discrimination based on sexual orientation.  According to the Florida Times-Union, the bill would "protect people from discrimination in situations involving employment, housing and service at public accommodations, places like restaurants and hotels."  In short, gay people in Jacksonville will be allowed to eat in any restaurant they like, rent whichever hotel room strikes their fancy, and work at any job for which they are qualified without fear of being discriminated against simply because they are gay.  I can say without reservation that as a straight couple, my parents have never been denied access to a hotel, restaurant, or job opportunity simply because they are straight.  Why should it be any different for my gay friends?

A few final thoughts on that Facebook comment.  My classmate said that "Christ would've treated them with respect and dignity, as I always do, but I don't think he would've condoned their lifestyle anymore than he condoned the lifestyles of the aforementioned people living in sin."  Well, we've already seen that the positions on the gay "lifestyle" are varied and complex, among Christians and non-Christians.  Nobody can agree whether or not homosexual orientation and expression is inherently sinful, so I think making claims about Jesus's thoughts on the matter is a pretty risky move.  

And perhaps most importantly, I'd like to inquire about my classmate's claim that he always treats the gay community with "respect and dignity," as Christ would have.  Is there not respect and dignity in granting the gay community their basic human rights, such as are at stake in Jacksonville?  Is there not respect and dignity in, perhaps, affording them the basic privacy to live their lives however they like behind closed doors?  And is there not respect and dignity in maybe, just maybe, allowing our gay friends to share their side of the story?  Because truth be told, I see little respect or dignity in my classmate's words.  If he would like to argue me on that point, I'd invite him to ask his gay friends, if any, exactly what they have to say on the matter.

So there you have it.  The April Kepner in me has kept her cool, for the most part.  I don't expect everyone who reads this to agree with me on every point.  I can only hope that what I have to say will be an impetus for some soul-searching.  

If you are genuine, humble, and earnest in your desire to better understand any of these issues, please listen to your gay friends.  I say listen to, not talk to, because years of experience have taught me that I have far more to learn from them than they could ever learn from me.

Before: a group of Christians at Chicago Pride

After: this is what I want my life to speak