Really?

It's been fun working on the house with my dad and Ray. Chris has been feeling a little bit better but a lot of his energies have gone toward working on his actually paying job. I've been at the house weekdays from 7:30 am until about 4 pm almost everyday unless I have to work - write a paper or teach yoga or something like that.

Yesterday Chris was to finish his project and come to the house - we finally were going to get to work together. The couple days he's been there to work on the house have been great. In fact, the point of this whole thing was not only to have a home but to build the home together (with the help of my dad of course). It was supposed to temper all the struggling we've done in Toronto - his and my incessant schedule, doing tedious work in the same home - all of the things that makes life a bit tedious. Needless to say, I was really excited for us to work together.

Yet, fate (literally) hit me on the head once again. The kitchen ceiling/office floor had to be torn down and rebuilt. This week, my father and I spend our time measuring and building new joists. While my father was putting the plywood down, I was adamant about tearing up the remaining kitchen floor, eagerly awaiting Chris and looking forward to this week spent working together. I thought, "finally, we get to hang out and do this together as we planned." As I was struggling with the floor, my father asked if I wanted to come up and help him screw in the plywood. I, again, insisted on tearing up the floor so we could get our final dump run in. My father was sawzalling the plywood above me, the plywood got away from him and the sheet came crashing down onto my head.

I knew it was bad when my father, ordinarily NOT an alarmist, came running down the steps in a panic. I realized that my head was bleeding pretty bad. I called Chris who was at the hardware store, and told him to get there. He ran over, and we decided it was best to go to the ER. Between the tetanus shot I had to get last week for stepping on a nail, the ER bill that will surely be a doozy from yesterday, and the massive ER and ambulance bills from Chris's fall, we've racked up a load of medical bills. You'd think we'd learn our lesson and at least wear a fucking hard hat. The moment I saw Chris, I bursted into tears. It's been great but really disappointing.

The cut hurt. The staples they used to suture it is excruciating. The doctor was training a resident and while the doctor had a delicate and decisive click of the staple gun, the resident was much more hesitant and slowly drove the damn things into my head. Patsy told me that new residents start in July so it's best to visit an ER in May or something. I'll keep that in mind.

week of destruction

The demo started this week. Day one started off well enough. We got a bit of a late start because we had to rent a Uhaul van to move our couch into the storage space. When I rented the storage space, there was a dude living next to the my cubby who clearly had diabetes and had swollen, bleeding feet bursting out of his shoes. There was a puddle of blood in front of his space. Did I mention that his space was next to ours? When Chris and I dropped off our bed the next day, he was still there and the blood puddle spread to what I can only assume is the bathroom. Finally, on day one of demo, we went to move the couch into storage and we were almost unable to gain access to the space as the blood was now all over our floor and a hazmat team was called in. Fun.

We demolished the living room and the dining room on the first day. I wasn't very strategic and advised the dumpster driver to put the dumpster in a space where it was almost impossible to open the door. Oopsie number one in what I assume will be a sea of mistakes and mishaps. So loading the dumpster was unnecessarily difficult the first day (Dad saved the day later on and I am now a master dumpster rearranger). The demo transformed our downstairs from this:

To this:

And here are the happy campers at the end of a hard work day.

Day two... well not so great. Chris and I were dogsitting for this gal a block away. I got up a bit early to walk the dog and meet my dad for demo day 2. I let Chris sleep in a bit and figured he'd get some coffee, take the dog for another walk and join us. When he got up, he was taking fan down the step and slipped on the first step and tumbled all the way down. He got up, tried to call me and my phone had no signal. So he walked over to the site after sitting and assessing his goose egg. He came over and lucidly told me that he fell down the stairs and asked me to bandage up his arm. I asked, "do you think you have a concussion?" He wavered, said, "whoa" and passed out in a house full of exposed beams and rusty nails. His head, and eye, scraped all the way down a very scary wall. I tried to catch him and think I might have diverted his eye from getting completely destroyed by the nail. It was very close and he was very lucky. He could have very easily lost his eye.

I had our friend Ray call 911 and wouldn't let him move. We were both very scared. The paramedics arrived and put him in a cervical collar and on a board as a result of his trauma. They had him in the ambulance for a while to work on him. It was an excruciating wait. We got to the ER, they stitched up face and did a cat scan. Luckily, he didn't do any damage to his eye and his cat scan was okay. The end of day two looked like this:

We were so lucky and unlucky at the same time... more later!

Out of the loop and in Baltimore

I don't know if anyone really follows this. But I've been trying to reorient myself to Baltimore, figure out this house thing, and write a paper. It ain't so bad. Writing will always plague me and feel like pulling my fingernails out. I feel like it's just the nature of academic writing and I am not sure if it'll get easier. I really miss (but don't) the formulaic style of journal articles. Lit review, gap in the literature, how I intend to fill that gap, methods, findings, limitations of my particular study, using those limitations to suggest future research and get myself tenure. Ta da!

This post is actually about the house. The ugly, soon not to be as ugly, house and our hopes for it. Actually, the kitchen is the room that's plaguing us the most. Other rooms are easy enough (until I really think about the bathroom). But the kitchen! Planning a kitchen from scratch - well from scratch with the parameters set up by the space - is so hard. First, most kitchen cabinets are u-g-l-y. Really. Chances are, if you are renting or didn't choose your kitchen cabinets, they're probably not the ones you want to look at. Given that ours can easily fall apart at the stroke of a sponge, we are just getting rid of the fuckers.

We've heard from several folks that Ikea has the most affordable, durable, and attractive cabinets around. Frankly, upon visiting, we really weren't that impressed. I had all these dreams for a penny round tile backsplash and wooden countertops and attractive, but sparse, white cabinets. Nope. Cheap and u-g-l-y. Unless one is willing to plunk down a hefty chunk of cash, it's pretty likely the cabinets she buys will be fairly unattractive. So, Chris and I, in a moment of clarity, decided on the module, free-standing Ikea cabinets. could this post get anymore boring, you ask? Sorry. I'm gettin' this down for posterity.

Here's what we're looking at:

From this:

To something like this:

Or some approximation of this kitchen given that we are not morons and know we cannot make this exact replica. But these are the units we're interested in. Now this question is: what color walls?

what a fucking week

I am writing to get down on "paper" what I experienced this weekend before it fades from my mind. Also, I am not entirely sure I can recount the events as I was in crisis mode, I felt, for about 72 hours.

I've been organizing for the G20 protests for a while now. I am by no means a central organizer. But I was involved with planning logistics, feeding protesters, and opening/running the convergence space. This gave me some semblance of institutional memory.

The week started off like a week of protests/actions in which people marched 'non-violently', expressing their discontent with the G20's mandates. I was only able to attend the Indigenous Sovereignty march on Thursday and I have to say, it was lovely. I was otherwise often at the convergence center or dealing with a (maybe) sick cat, knowing that the weekend would demand my full attention.

I was slated to feed breakfast to the tent city in Allen Gardens on Saturday morning. Therefore, Friday I was at the convergence center making hummus and doing general logistics stuff. I was to meet a friend coming up from the US Social Forum ("G") at the tent city on Friday night so just decided to wait, meet another friend to join me at tent city, and head over to Allen Gardens. In the meantime, I hosted the bike squad from Montreal as they prepared for their amazing bike bloc. They arrived earlier in the day on Friday, so my day was full of organizing organizers.

Friday night, after the tent city, G and I headed back to my house where I hung out with my visitors and figured out a way to get everyone access to a comfy place to sleep. They were meeting for a bit at my place so they didn't get to bed until a bit after 1 am, so I was up for a while which was no fun given that I had to wake at 5:30 am to prepare and serve the tent city breakfast. My wonderful friends volunteered to help serve and coordinate. G was amazing with all his support, given we had a coffee debacle and we were driving around the city amidst the first reports of my friends and co-organizers having warrants out for their detention.

The tent city event was great and No One Is Illegal prepared for a press conference. Given the intimidation that many organizers had faced, the mood was tense and there was visible fear on the faces of those who were eventually rounded up (http://www.mediacoop.ca/story/community-organizers-thrown-unmarked-police-vans-en-route-press-conference-targeted-arrests/38).

Strangely, when I woke up that morning, I said to G that I had a weird feeling about the day. I had no idea how right my gut was. The very nice man who drove us to the tent city was passing a kidney stone and after we fed folks, we rushed him back to the convergence center as he was in unbelievable pain. After that, we had to make our way back to my house in order to meet up with my house guests. One, from Toronto, asked if I was able to take charge of the TCMN van as the transportation person had been arrested in the preemptive raids. I agreed, saw my guests off, and was picked up by one of the other drivers in order to hand out placards to the Saturday march against the G20 entitled 'People First. We Deserve Better!'. I was admittedly disappointed that I could not participate in the march as it was quite large and very joyous.

In possession of the TCMN van, I then headed back to my place, picked up G, and headed over to the convergence space to see how I could be of assistance. Knowing that I had to co-facilitate the information session that evening, I was trying my best to stay abreast of the goings-on on the street. I watched the news and about an hour into the march, that's when things turned 'ugly'. The first thing I saw was someone break a Scotiabank window, then Starbucks, then Nike. I was a bit irritated as I thought this was pure theater and such a cliche. This, of course, will invite criticism by some, but I had no idea what was to come.

Many know what came next - police cars burned, businesses trashed. At the end of it all - by about 9 pm or so - there were 15 arrests (!). People gathered at the convergence center for the information session. We were trying to make sense of what happened. Why were the police so 'tight' during the week but absent during the 'rioting'? Why was the fence virtually unguarded? Why were those police cars just sitting there, empty in the middle of the street? During the whole thing, my friend H, who was a street medic, was reporting what was going on and he continuously remarked that the police were not arresting folks though they had every chance to. What the fuck was going on?

The information session was alright. We were still trying to make sense of what was happening. The reclaim the streets party was cancelled and we were trying to figure out how to act next. H was worried about the next day. Given his experiences in Seattle, he was pretty sure a crackdown was in the works. He was so right.

Saturday night was a bit scary as there were police at my house for a bit (I was not there). I advised the bike squad to clear out not knowing what risks there were. Civil liberties were clearly out the window and any and all repression and detention seemed entirely possible. We had meetings and organized throughout the night. Having had no sleep, I finally arrived back at my place around 1 am, fully prepared to be raided at any time.

I luckily got about 6 hours of sleep and returned to the convergence space early in the morning to prepare for a day of responses. I awoke to the news that the jail solidarity street party had been repressed and 30 were arrested. There was another jail solidarity rally in the works for Sunday and a lot of organizing around getting the accessibility van to its designated space and getting food to the jail solidarity rally.

Again, I was disappointed that I could not participate in any street actions as I was needed logistically. I waited for possible accessibility needs and then headed back to the center where G and helped R (amazing, amazing R) with food. R took her delicious wraps to the jail solidarity when I got word that the rally was met with tear gas and rubber bullets. The food was abandoned and G and I headed to the rally to possibly pick people up who were trying to get out of dodge. We coordinated with some folks and were headed back to the convergence space when we got word that it, along with the media co-op, were being raided. This turned out to be untrue and we got back to the center once again trying to understand what the fuck was going on.

There were reports from the streets that people were randomly searched if they 'fit' the profile of activist, particularly if they were wearing black. There was a press conference nearby the convergence space and when it ended and folks were headed back to the space, there was an increasing police presence and the searches grew more random. A graffiti artist was stopped near the convergence center and was found to have a 'gas mask' in her bag. At that point, the police could fully justify searching everyone around the space. They surrounded it, took everyone's name including several people who just happened to be passing by, had the place on lockdown for a couple of hours (footage available here http://vimeo.com/12928760), and began arresting folks.

Hearing of the lockdown and possible raid of the convergence center, a group of marchers were headed over to center for solidarity and were surrounded by police, creating yet another 'stand-off' (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Heb9BXjYcII). Tear gas and rubber bullets flew once again and more random arrests were made. After the police left the convergence space and the standoff was still happening in the streets with soaking wet protesters facing off with the police, we scrambled to figure out our response. G had to catch his bus back to Detroit and I eventually made my way down to the detention center where the responses of solidarity were strong and inspiring.

Knowing that I would need some rest, I went home, slept for a few hours, and on Monday morning, made my way down to the detention center where I franticly organized folks as they were getting out who exhausted, hungry, and increasingly traumatized. I was at the center for 13 hours and H and P provided amazing support. I was sad to hear that I missed a 5000 person strong jail solidarity rally with Naomi Klein among them (http://www.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DrkQK9uP8ok0%26feature%3Drelated&h=66b2euXYPY5nOSrerzpuOHP23Uw). I then helped a gal find her friends at the courthouse, drove some food back to the convergence center, and met my friend Reana for a quick meal and home to get some much needed sleep.

Yesterday was a bit more of the same, though without the same complete overriding sense of urgency. The reports of police abuses and lies continue to trickle out and I am now trying make sense of this week. It's too bad I can't be around for the debrief as I believe it's really important.

thinking of sarah for this one

Writing is a job. I will say it again. Writing is a job. It should be treated as such. Because (for many) it does not require actually going into work, sitting in a cubicle, and punching a time clock, it is easily relegated to filling the space between all the other things that need to get done.

It's a strange thing to do and I am still not used to it. Last night, in a conversation with a woman who goes into work at a 9 - 5 job, we got to talking about my commitments. I told her that I was still finishing up my course papers. She said, "Oh, you're unemployed?" No. I am not unemployed. Just as I would not characterize a mother as unemployed, I do not consider myself as such.

As the G20 organizing is getting more and more demanding, and my deadlines are fast approaching (with a 25-30 page paper still unwritten), I am finding it harder and harder to say no to this or that meeting or 'bottom lining' this or that task. And while folks are sympathetic to my demands, in a meeting, when others are literally organizing 60 hours a week, it becomes easy to look at the gal who wasn't at the two or three other meetings that day and ask, "why can't you take this on?" But I have to keep telling myself that my commitments outside this space are important and worth treating as a job.

It will be my mantra. This is a job, this is a job, this is a job....

And here's where the insecurities creep in (c'mon, you knew they had to be in there somewhere). Again, I just don't understand why it takes some folks so little time to write a paper. It seems to take me forever and a day. And I feel like these papers are really really mediocre. Like, if I were to invite those I am working with to read what I've ignore 'the movement' for, they'd be like, "it took you all that time to write this?"

what is liberation *for* - and more importantly, what the hell is it exactly?

"An alleged triumph of corporate capitalism... our desire itself is taken from us, processed and labeled, and sold back to us before we've had a chance to name it for ourselves" ~ Adrienne Rich

In all this reading about love and desire in "development", I can't help but muse about what I am hoping for... what kind of world a "liberated" one would be. What I would be as an inhabitant.

It's funny how rhetoric and slogans swim around and one day, the actual meaning of it grabs you by the throat and holds onto your heart and then won't let you go. Of course many of you have probably heard, "I know what you are against, but what are you for?". One day, I played a little visualization game - who would I be outside of all the things that disgust me. I am not naive enough to think that I will exist in a world that won't make me want to vomit or that I could possibly insulate myself enough to live an existence that even comes close. But I am so jealous of those who are creative enough to live outside it in the moments they can. God, who would I be if I didn't have to fight all the time?

Life is characterized by a good amount of pain. And when I say that the pleasure, the happiness comes in hope, it also comes in the moment of the moment of the moment. Or retrospect. Of love. Love devoid of habit. Love in spite of it.

Liberatory potential in pleasure seems frivolous. Yet, it is what we all want in the form that it takes for us, no? The beauty of a wonderful meal, the satisfaction of a heartfelt laugh, the exaltation and release during and after an orgasm, staring into your lover's eyes, pregnant pauses, watching a child experience the world, experiencing the world as if a child... it can all be there. I know it can. Yet, all I see most days are poisoned oceans, dead activists trying to get food to colonized peoples, global financial cutthroat horribleness in which greed is understood as pleasure and encouraged as a means of transgression (and that's just the news today). Beauty seems so besides the point. Yet it is in those moments that we know what life is beyond its "bare" components (maybe I like Agamben more than I'll admit). It's so important to me to see my way beyond all of this and to force myself to be inspired by getting my nose out of the books and off the stupid internet.

my mom is mad at me

I talked to my mom yesterday. She was at home and there was a party for my stepdad's son's kid - her stepgrandchild if you will. I'm not quite sure what happened but I think she feels a bit alienated from his family. She told him she didn't want to participate in the party because his family isn't her family - she'd set it up and clean up - but to her, because this isn't her family, why bother? Of course this hurt her husband quite a bit. He said, "How would you like it if I did this to Heather?" She answered, "Heather isn't having kids."

I told her that wasn't his point.

It was her point, though. She's clearly angry that she'll never prepare for my child's birthday party, christmas, etc. I think she's taking it out on her husband. I know that the dynamic in the house is more complicated than this and I know she feels made-fun-of and outnumbered. I told her, however, that I couldn't take her side on this one. She hung up on me.

This was all, of course, exacerbated by drinking. When I called Chris after the fight, his first question was, "Is she on the sauce?" The sauce causes much bad behavior at the Cadden residence. It has also caused much bad behavior at many Hax functions as well. As a result, I don't find drunken debauchery interesting or fun in the least. In my 20s, the weird shame/guilt thing I felt after a night of drinking was tolerable. In my 30s, not so much. I am also weirdly turned off by drunk people. I know it's a side effect of being surrounded by drunk family members, boyfriends, and friends who aren't accountable for their behavior while wasted. I am "forgiving" but I don't find it quaint.

People read this as such: Heather is a boring, judgmental stick in the mud. She goes to bed at 10 pm and only "has fun" on occasion. But what people find fun, to me, is kind of stupid. This *does* sound so fucking judgmental, I know. Yet, how is it that subtly making fun of me for going to bed early and preferring to do yoga to blow off steam rather than get wasted not a form of judgment? In fact, it really pisses me off. And if you know my family, if you know my friends, if you know my city, you know what booze does. You know what addiction does. You know what it has done.

I can't really discern why it is that I escaped. My sister has been a heroin addict for 15 years. My father is almost certainly drunk - really drunk - by 7 pm. My mother can sometimes turn it off but struggles with consumption-as-escape.

A long time ago, in the "myspace" days of blogging, I wrote something about possibility. I was reading all of these books about beauty and hope and I was feeling so inspired but also feeling a tremendous gap. Where is this life? Where are these people? What is this community I so long for? One of my exes commented, "Stop reading about it and live it!" He was right in noting that I had all but sunk into myself (see earlier blog about anorexia and going batty). At the same time, this was a reaction to the form of liberation available in Baltimore at the time - watching other people create stuff and later watching them get wasted. This isn't true anymore and there are communities of people doing really interesting things that don't involve the drunkenness I am describing. This is why I long to go home so badly.

Nevertheless, for many, drinking still the predominant recipe for blowing off steam. Just like having one's own kids is still the predominant recipe for living a full life. And because I don't fully embrace either as my path, I tend to feel pretty alienated. Less so than before, but it's still there. It bubbles up in the moments of anger from my mother and when I don't go out for beers after a long day. There's a shunning that happens and it's kind of lonely.