Living in Public

Noah and I are barely ever in our sleeping cube (house). For lots of reasons, some serious and some stupid (like being repulsed by my 8 year-old carpet.)

This means we're almost always somewhere "visible." It's a vulnerable thing to live your private life largely in public. Sometimes it's inconvenient, like when you need to change clothes without looking homeless changing in the restaurant restroom. Sometimes it's hurtful, like when people get annoyed that a child is ordering for himself and "taking too long."

The incalculable benefits, however, of being "around" befriending the most extraordinary cross section of human life, far outweighs the drags. My hope is that through this external experiment in living, our development as social beings is accelerated. The idea is that by being "out and about" there's more good to rub up against and less opportunity to hide your crap:

If Noah disobeys me at our table, grabbing 8 grapes instead of the 4 I said he could have, I send him to the corner to sit in time out. Yes, in public. Yes, I don't care. Why should it be OK to misbehave in public but not be disciplined in the same space and time?

If he fails to answer someone who asks him a question, instead of making excuses for him, I look him straight in the eye and say, "Look at ____ and answer their question. If you don't, we leave." Yes, I "threaten" him with consequences. Rudeness is ugly, and he's better off feeling that soon and very soon.

But sometimes I go too far and my beastly disciplining is what's on display. Noah can't give me a timeout, but I've felt some raised eyebrows from onlookers beholding my harshness and impatience. I inwardly groan. And lay into myself mentally for the next hour.

And yet there are also the times, like yesterday, when even my own self-flagellation is put into check publicly. It is in these times that I am overall grateful to live my life outdoors in the light among all the eyes and ideas. We were on our normal scooter loop but on an unusual mission. It was 7pm, and we were delivering a wedding present to our cafe pals Gen & Clark. Yes, it was a watercolor portrait of a stained-glass pirate cat. Noah and I weren't getting along. I was being a mean Mommy. He was being a little punk. We were both hot and thrown off from a weird long nap. While I puffed smoke out my nostrils, he scooted ahead of me 30 feet rolling his eyes.

And in this gap was standing a UPS delivery man with a waxed handlebar mustache. He stopped me and said, "You know, I have to compliment you. I've seen you and your son around the neighborhood and at Costco, and you are just so great with him." I sighed and said, "Really? Oh man, you have no idea how much I needed to hear that right now. Thank you."

I felt myself soften toward Noah, not to live up to this guy's expectations, but because I was put in touch with our relationship again. And the pettiness faded.

Just a bunch of organic, free-range, funky chickens

When you have this kind of coop...

You lay these kind of eggs ... 

That hatch into these kinds of chicks...

That grow into these kinds of chickens...

Free-range, organic chickens clucking through the unlikeliest coop at the unlikeliest time in American history... becoming and creating the unlikeliest of all things: real community.

Mug Shot: Leon

Who's this? Oh, it's just cafe pal, Leon. He used to breed leopards before inventing the first stand-up paddle boat. But that was all after he got run over by a military tank on the island of Jerba. Don't worry, he willed himself out of paralysis and joined the Israeli circus.

Read the write-up on Our Cafe by the baddest and raddest, Jim Burklo

Thanks, Jim! Come back any time with your lovely wife and friends:)

http://tcpc.blogs.com/musings/2015/05/fresh-brewed-community.html

Bean Scene: Plug In

On my way out to my car, I ran into a regular on his way in from his car.
He looked upset.
"You OK?" I asked.
"Well..." he shrugged.
"I'm just here on my lunch break. I drove from south of down town to come here because I just feel off. I feel disconnected and wanted to be somewhere familiar," he continued.
"Oh man, I'm sorry. Need a hug?" I offered.
"Sure!"
HUUUUGGGGGG
I continued to my car.
He continued from his car.
And everything was OK.

Bean Scene: Mothers Day Community Style

Fact: Two years ago I became a single Mom.
Fact: It has been a wide awake nightmare that would terrify even Vampire Zombies.
Fact: Nonetheless, Noah. I get Noah. I get to be his Mommy. I get to teach him poems, help him problem solve how to build barns out of straws, sing him to sleep, bake cupcakes with him, make up with him when I'm too harsh or he's disobedient, watch him pick his own outfits, let him run under my legs when I'm doing ballet, climb trees with him, build puzzles with him, find out what ideas he has, find out what he's feeling, find out who he is.

This Mothers Day all I wanted to do was hang out with him doing normal stuff. But when I got to the cafe, some dear friends had conspired to teach Noah how to make his Mommy feel extra loved. They had gone shopping for expensive and personalized sweets and a card. They had Noah secretly write on the card and deliver the whole package to me with a huge hug and kiss.

Today I feel not only lucky to be Noah's mom, but lucky to be raising him amongst a community of people who do things like this. My parents are in Western Pennsylvania. My brother is hours away. But here I am, In Los Angeles, a single mom with no nearby family, and yet so rich in relationships. When we stop focusing on what we don't have, on what we've lost or are afraid to lose and stare steadily at the gold in our hands, then truly we can say: "I have nothing to complain about."

Happy Mothers Day to all the Mothers in all the corners of the world. And Happy Mothers Day to all those who are loving mothers day by day.

Bean Scene: The Unseen

We were on a scooter ride in the neighborhood, and Noah saw a man pushing a shopping cart on the road 20 feet away. "Watch out!" he yelled as a car approached. The man thanked him, moving out of the center of the street. Noah hit some uneven pavement and bailed from his scooter. The man with the cart shouted, "Be careful there! Are you alright?"

As we kept walking and scootering along next to the man and his cart, we found some things to talk about. The man asked, "Do you know Easter's coming? That's when Jesus went back up to heaven!"

"Yeah!" Noah said.

"Now you listen to your Mom, and do what's good and right, ok?"

"Mmmm hmmm," said Noah.

"I'm the youngest of 10 boys, and when my brothers went off to war, I watched all the nephews and nieces. My name's Mike. People would say, 'Here comes Mike's Army!' You like to scooter? I have a skateboard here in my cart."

"Really?" Noah asks. "Do you ride it and get hurt?"

"Sometimes," the man said. "But if you practice, you won't fall as much."

"Do you want to come with us the way we're going," Noah asks.

"No, no, you go ahead. You know, your Mom is letting you talk to me because I'm telling you what's right--to be good and listen to your Mom and stick with her cuz she'll always love you. Otherwise she'd shuffle you along to not talk to me. You see, not all homeless people are good. You listen to your Mom, OK?"

"OK." Noah nods. "Have a good day!"

"You too, son. And you too, Lady." [Noah and he shake hands. I have never seen a dirtier hand in my life. But something happened inside of me when I saw my son's little hand shake his. Something unearthly.]

This man was holding a half-full bottle of alcohol. He had a tattered American Flag bandana around his neck. His eyes were the purest blue I've ever seen. I don't know if he was dangerous. I don't know if he was drunk. I don't know if I should have let Noah interact with him. I was there, on high alert, and ready to run and scream or use pepper spray if I had to. My instincts were that he was safe but dirty. And I didn't want Noah to be afraid of this person simply because he was homeless. Noah showed no signs of feeling uncomfortable. So I gave him a little slack on the leash. That few minute interaction will be stored in my heart forever: seeing my son effortlessly relate to this man without registering his appearance, cleanliness, or eccentricity.