I’m going to change the subject matter for this blog (don’t get your panties in a twist it’s just for this one post…maybe.)
I recently joined the The Human Rights Campaign Membership Outreach team for Greater NY. By recently, I mean my enthusiastic and clever team invited me to a “fun” weekend in DC, this past Friday, they handed me this and I sat in a lot of workshops. I might have been bamboozled into joining, but I am grateful for it. HRC woke me up from my “we just won a supreme court case, so we’re cool” coma this past weekend.
At one point during the weekend, Chad told us a story of single mother of five being evicted in Alabama. Not because she had wild parties - where she made everyone dress only in their underwear ;) - or because she wasn’t paying her rent, just because she was gay. I swear there were points during this story I thought he was lying to ME, and dude is smart like he went to Georgetown and held a position in the White House Press Office at 19, and also happens to be the president of HRC, y’know the convention I’m at… That’s how much of a NYC bubble I was in - I had no idea how ridiculous the rest of my country could be.
My team members failed to mention that crying into my food would be a part of this convention. There was a special panel on international LGBT equality, featuring Dane Lewis and Caleb Orozco, LGBT activists from Jamaica and Belize. Dane told a story about a young man who was stabbed, shot and run over by car and whose family wouldn’t claim his body, and the only thing that was flashing in my mind was this. At one point the host asked Caleb why he even wasted his time being an activist if he knew the risk he was taking. He said he was “already being insulted, ridiculed and threatened for doing nothing,” so he might as well just do something
I don’t ask you guys for much (not that I have a right to), except maybe helping me choose the color of wall paint. But I will ask you this: please make a donation to HRC, so that maybe someday everyone can live in my bubble. It’s really nice in here
Here is the link again in case you missed it. xxxx
I HATE the location of my circuit breaker box. It’s a nice box and all, all the switches are labeled very clearly and they all work. But in an apartment the size of an upper middle class (not rich) woman’s walk-in closet, why would anyone put it smack dab in the middle of the first wall you see when you walk in? See above.
So what did I do? I spray painted a pumpkin gold! I know, not some crazy cathartic moment. Normally I do a flower center piece, but this year is glam fall chic. Enjoy!
I wish I had some crafty explanation of the process, but I just spray painted a pumpkin and a leaf that I found on the sidewalk in front of my apartment.
I lost one of the most important women in my life a few weeks ago. On the Amtrak back to Massachusetts for the fourth time last month, I sat and, through tears, wrote this for her service:
It’s 5am in the dead of winter. I’m seven years old, in my Gramma’s mini-van arguing about why I can’t just throw the newspapers out the car window onto the lawn like everyone else, like the way they do in the movies. This is an ongoing discussion and I never win. “We don’t do it like that Missy, now go put the paper in the screen door.” This lesson, even though I think it took a good part of a decade for me to truly understand it, guides almost everything I do. And I know without a doubt it guides the rest of my family. She was teaching me to follow through, that if I was going to do something, or put my name on something, I better know that I did my best. This part of my Gram will never leave me,or us … it defines us. This last week has been incredibly difficult but I keep holding hold on to how sweet it must have been in the dead of winter to open your door and have your paper fall right into your hand and how my Gramma gave that to me, to us.
Of course now I can’t stop thinking of all the things I haven’t followed through on or that I haven’t finished in all the way. This blog was on the top of my list. I’m not single anymore and my apartment is looking pretty good. There are a few more updates I’d like to share with you in the next few weeks inspired by my amazing grandmother, but in truth One Square Foot at a Time needs a new path… thoughts?