Weekend Onesie:
The In Between
'Tis the season. I loathe April. I didn't realize how much until this year.
It's the weather. April won't make up it's mind.
We freeze, we thaw, we blaze, we snow, we rain. Grey. Everything grey.
It's in between seasons.
Last year? I didn't notice at all because we were too busy getting used to all the 'new'. Working from home, social distancing, sanitizing everything, limiting contact and listening for word of when we might expect the whole thing to end all proved great distractions.
The George Floyd trial is over. Verdict rendered. I am hopeful. It certainly will influence what kind of summer we are to have, here, in Minneapolis.
But we're not out of the woods yet.
We're also dealing with the situation in Brooklyn Center regarding the senseless death of Daunte Wright. Each night since, my cell phone screams out a terror alarm, informing us that a curfew is in place. I get it twice: once from the city and once courtesy of the company for which I work.
This week, people who have resided in my neighborhood for over 20 years have announced that they have had enough and are putting their houses up for sale.
All of downtown Robbinsdale, a neighboring community, has boarded up their storefronts. There is not a piece of plywood to be found in all of Minneapolis.
We feel under the gun. There's something oppressive overhead. The sky is threatening to fall.
On us.
My mother's terrified. She's having anxiety attacks. Afraid to drive. Afraid to go to church. Afraid of people. Afraid to let her dogs out in the yard.
Jimmy was kind enough to ask if this was having any affect on our lives.
A little.
We host a community trash receptacle (made of gravel and concrete) on the boulevard in front of our house, so people have a place for pet waste and their fast food garbage. It's been there for ten years.
Someone tagged it the night of the first Brooklyn Center riots. Sad. And unsightly.
But the worst? That would be what happened to our beloved North Market.
North Market is a community-owned grocery store. There was an old grocery store site sitting empty. Several large chains had attempted to open in the space, but there was always too much theft and they would close after a year or two. So, the community took ownership and vowed to bring healthy food and fresh produce to the neighborhood - which otherwise relies on those terrible corner markets that stay in business selling cigarettes and bags of chips.
The renovated building also housed a community room for cooking classes and yoga, a medical clinic and a mental health clinic. They've been offering Covid vaccine to anyone in the neighborhood. It's modern and sleek; a real asset to the community.
The place opened with lofty goals and, after nearly going bankrupt, had to retool, rehire (the first crew was awfully rude and unmotivated) and rethink what they could feasibly offer on their shelves. The fresh produce remains. Lots of it, at generally good prices. The shelves are not as full, but they still offer plenty of nutritious alternatives. The Deli also got an overhaul.
The community loved it. Supported it. Took care of it.
The night of the first riot in Brooklyn Center, a group - of course we know not whom - took it upon themselves to trash and loot the place. Why anyone would think doing so was a good idea or that the store was an appropriate target for such rage, I cannot say.
It's a little like shooting yourself in the foot. Or voting against your own self-interests.
The store and its success stood for something; it proved that we, as a community, could enact positive, healthy change.
It's heartbreaking. Disheartening.
So. Given all this...
I've been in a mood.
I can't fix any of this. I can't help. I can't change it.
I'm caught. In between. Personalities. Moods. Thoughts. Opinions.
I feel...
Somewhere in between.
Like April...
And I loathe April.
--- ---
Chins up.
Better days.
Rah-rah. Blah, blah, blah...
-uptonking from Wonderland Burlesque
Between The Lines - Janis Ian
