Fort Road Federation

The crowd took their seats slowly, grudgingly giving up the moment to catch up with neighbors they hadn’t seen in a while.  The formal program of the Fort Road Federation Annual Meeting started off last night with the same kind of connection, a brief talk by former Mayor George Latimer.  As Mayor 22 years ago he had butted heads with many of the people in the room who had their own ideas about how the community should develop and proceed, different from the city of St Paul’s big plans.  But through a few jokes, salty comments, and heartfelt statements of respect he made it clear – what makes the West Seventh community strong are the neighbors that make it work.

Neighbors, that is, and their connections that become community – something beyond each and every one of us.

Not every city has organizations like the Fort Road Federation to knit together the commitments and connections into one coherent whole that can make a difference. But they should.

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New Season, New Reasons

One deep, soaking overnight rain and in a few days everything is bright and green.  That’s how the Sudden Spring is settling into Minnesota so early in April.  It means a lot to everyone, but here in Barataria it’s nearly time to celebrate five years of perspective, ideas, and discussion.  Time to do something different and fun!

Please forgive this for being a bit self-indulgent.  It is a blog, after all.

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No Way!

The air was heavy with only a slight chill weighing down the slushy footsteps down the sidewalk of Seventh Street.  It wasn’t exactly a crowd that slipped past the Ice Bar at Moe’s along the route of Saturday’s parade but there was a thin inkling of the start of Winter Carnival, about as relaxed as this warm winter itself.  Hands waved as a couple talked through a “What can you expect?” disappointment in the wimpy Winter.

Once inside we all started chatting, the Carnival spirit of a crowd coming more from huddling and the determination to make our own fun than the reality outside.  Slithered from their winter coats this couple was older and somewhat dignified.  He was balding and round-faced in an open smile, she was dark haired, elegant, and the kind of thin that comes naturally and not from a gym.  As is typical in Saint Paul, they slid right into a half-serious bar chatter that was a friendly gauge as to what neighbors across town really think.  “This year, just about anything can happen, I guess,” it started with the weather.  But it quickly ran to politics, at least of a sort.

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The Pills

A small wrinkle in the way he held his head was the only open betrayal of his condition.  The many colored papers he was studying were laid out in piles as he moved from one to the other, scouring each for some kind of clue.  His serious but friendly face, rounded in a kind of smile, rarely looked up.  It wasn’t until we had been at the bar for some time that we started chatting, innocently at first.

He gave his name as John, and slowly started talking about his mission.  He had just been to a pain management clinic at the hospital, and there in front of him were all the secrets that help him shove his life, if not his back, into order once again.  The car accident had done its damage, but pill after pill the magic that was supposed to help him cope had its own price.  Liz and I listened intently because a slipped disk in her back had given her the same bottles that rattled in her purse and through her nerves.

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When it Stops

A quiet grey day in Saint Paul rustles slowly as the kids and animals laze deep into the morning.  There’s no reason to get up early – no obligations, nowhere to be, no sun calling.  The holiday has started on its own time, creeping into our lives without much fuss and fanfare because that’s how it comes.  The holiday starts when everything else stops.

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