Being lost for the fun of it. A blog post as meandering as it sounds.

Posted on 12 February 2015 by eebelz Standard Reply

Streets keep turning up where they shouldn’t—unless my map’s the wrong way ’round. It’s useless anyway: the streets here are unlabled. Daylight’s quickly drifting off in no discernible direction.

My viewfinder has led me here, although I don’t know what I’m looking for, exactly. Traces of something…but how would I recognize it? Here, old and new run together, and, as anywhere new meets old, it tends to gobble it up. Few of these buildings seem to want to share the stories they so clearly have to tell. They collude with unsigned streets to maintain anonymity.

“LITTLE PETER STREET!” one non-compliant edifice shouts, placing me back on the map. Now I must feign being lost. I turn my lens toward the railroad tracks, whose massive Victorian arches I follow. Red bricks, blackened with damp, and green with lichen and moss, recount lifetimes of industry, dereliction, reuse—whatever my eye will read into them. Surely there was a history here. Mundane as a train schedule, unrelenting as rain, ubiquitous as cotton thread, or: unrelenting as trains, ubiquitous as rain, mundane as cotton. No matter. Ponderous and decayed but lasting as the capitalist’s monument to himself.

I’m no archaeologist, nor historian, nor even a photographer. I’m merely recording memories, impressions. Memories may congeal around photographs, but in the end, they are more painterly. My feet ache, my body stiffens, the light is all but gone, and I can’t stop taking pictures.

A month ago, I was in Manchester, UK, where I presented a paper (“A Wounded Presence: The Virgin of Vladimir Icon”) at a conference (“Images, Icons, and Idols”) at the University of Manchester. I had a couple days free to wander around City Centre, which resulted in what you’ve just read above. These are also some of the photos I took. They’re dreadful photos, and heavily reworked in Photoshop. But they’re all I’ve got. I’ve made a promise to myself that I’ll spend some time learning how to use a camera once the weather turns nice again here in Detroit (and the daylight sticks around longer). You know, June. May, if we’re lucky.

Here’s another photo from my Manchester trip, of “the Wheel” in Piccadilly Gardens, which is less of a garden and more of a public square with civic statues, this big Rerris wheel (which is for seeing the vista, like the London Eye), and the convergence of Manchester’s utterly chaotic bus lines. Seriously, the buses will make you want to walk even if you don’t happen to love walking to begin with.

So, this is a blog about “Poetry, God, and Detroit, in no particular order.” The above italicized musings don’t quite amount to a poem, I admit. My trip was God-related, since I was there for a theological conference. But I’ve also always wanted to go to Manchester, in part because some of my favorite music has come out of that city, but even more so because it’s often (been) compared to Detroit. Both cities are northern (in their respective countries), and both have an industrial past, complete with all the building projects wealthy industrialists like to engage in (as they’re a socially acceptable sort of pissing contest), and the ensuing economic depression from their respective industries’ inevitable declines. Both have offered their industrial ruins to photographers’ lenses. Both have working-class populations who take an inordinate pride in their cities—here’s mine; as I always say, I have a “chosen delusion” ( <–right there, I admit it’s a delusion) that when I mention I’m from Detroit, people will be jealous. And, of course, both cities have given the world plenty to dance to.

Poster on the exterior of the former Factory Records headquarters, now a nightclub called Fac51.

The sign pictured above says: “FACT: Statistically there are more rock stars per capita of population from Manchester than any other city in the world. …” Leaving aside the redundant wording, I think the facticity of this claim depends on how you define “rock star,” “city,” and “from.” There’s no need, really, to point out that in Detroit, we invented punk, and techno, which, incidentally, featured on the dance floor even in “Madchester.” Oh, and there was that record label a factory worker started out of his house on Grand Boulevard. But it’s not my intention to start a pond war or anything. There’s been some nice cross-pollination between the two scenes.

Manchester’s seen a revitalization, though, in the past couple of decades. John Gallagher includes it among the cities he compares to the D in his book, Revolution Detroit. I made a point of getting a copy of the book before my trip in order to read the section on Manchester while on the plane over. Beginning in the late ’90s, I remember hearing and reading the opinion that the music scene essentially brought about the city’s transformation, but I never could believe that would be the whole story. In Gallagher’s book, he reports a more sensible assessment: that it was thanks to creative, sustained, hard work on the part of various city leaders. And then there was that other factor…

…which my friend, who picked me up from the airport, also mentioned. “But we’re not supposed to talk about that,” he quickly added. This was something I’d never heard of till I read it in Gallagher’s book, so, well done, Mancunians. But it’s not really quite a secret, just because I was unaware. I was living in Holt, MI and working at a TV station in Lansing in 1996…how could I have possibly heard of something so newsworthy?

Polite circumlocution in the Manchester Cathedral

What that plaque is not quite saying is that the IRA bombed City Centre (very near the cathedral, I’m told) in 1996. Following that attack, naturally, people rallied to rebuild whatever was damaged, and it mobilized a lot of good energy, it seems.

I’m not qualified to really analyze all that after one week in the city all these years later. But I can report on this little bit I’ve seen, heard, and read. In my not-so-qualified opinion, despite all their similarities, Detroit and Manchester have very different stories, especially from their lowest points on up. The cities have, have had, and will have very different paths, and quite possibly the only thing Detroit can learn from Manchester’s success is that such things are possible, and they take a lot of work, and a lot of civic-mindedness.

Crap. We don’t really have that in Southeastern Michigan. We have a toxic city-suburb divide, which is largely our own circumlocution to bypass actually talking about race and class. (Except that we’re always talking about race and class, just not productively.)

The Metro Times (Southeast Michigan’s alternative newsweekly) recently published a blog post anyone fascinated with Detroit should read, titled, “Please, please, please: Stop ‘saving’ Detroit.” Just as Manchester wasn’t “saved” by a single factor (or, ahem, Factory), Detroit won’t be either. Detroit’s already a great city, just as it’s been for a long time (by American standards, that is), and it will continue to be. The good news is that the good things happening here are piece-meal, grass-roots, and idiosyncratic, just as you’d want them to be. You might not want to get lost in our streets just yet…but there’s a lot to explore here. And a lot of creative, sustained, hard work to do. Just as you’d want it to be.

You’ve made it to the end of this post. Enjoy a couple more photos from my trip!

My flight, which went through Paris, was the day after the Charlie Hebdo incident. This photo was taken on January 10, 2015.

My flight, which went through Paris, was the day after the Charlie Hebdo incident. This photo of a street artist at work (with chalks) was taken on January 10, 2015 in Manchester City Centre.

I seem to be writing again!

Posted on 12 July 2014 by eebelz Standard Reply

A few days ago, I finally had that feeling other poets surely know, that sense of, I’ve got a poem to write.” It was the first time since my move home to Detroit at the beginning of June—the first time in several months, actually.

Over the past few days, I’ve drafted and revised two poems (which now need time to simmer, perhaps some input from others, and more revision). Both are slice-of-life narratives, both about a single afternoon: the afternoon I learned it takes longer to bus home to the University District from Eastpointe (née East Detroit) than it does to drive home from Flint during rush hour (which my roommate was doing at the time).

Now, since I’ve been home, I’ve enjoyed some of the great activities and places Detroit has to offer. I’ve been back to my church—jumped back into lectoring again already!—and have shopped at Eastern Market several times, including the new Sunday artists’ market; I checked out Log Cabin Day at Palmer Park, and enjoyed the RiverWalk (or River Front; it’s unclear to me), the Detroit Ford Fireworks (formerly known as the Windsor-Detroit International Freedom Festival), and, just today, the Concert of Colors. None of these inspired poetry. A bus ride, however, inspired two.

(I’m not going to post them here. I know, I’m such a tease.)

This has me thinking now about Detroit’s rebirth, which is largely contained in Midtown and Downtown, and the everyday lives those of us in the neighborhoods experience. It has me wondering why all the good things, the things I intend to celebrate, with more than a hyperlink, in this blog, things which are beautiful, which are welcome, which welcome me home—none of these births poetry in me. A bus ride along McNichols (a.k.a. 6 Mile), however, produced twins.

It definitely has me looking more closely at the ordinary things in life.

In my neighborhood, though, in the last couple of weeks, I’ve seen five burned-out houses on my street demolished, the rubble removed, and, finally, today, the holes filled in with dirt. I’m the kind of poet this should inspire, but no. Not that either. I guess the poetic muse isn’t interested in bulldozers.

Why it’s been quiet here for a month…

Posted on 15 May 2014 by eebelz Standard Reply

I just wanted to briefly note here that I’m in the process of moving back to Detroit! Yay!!!

Things have been quiet here as I’ve been wrapping up my life in California, finishing up my comprehensive exams (part of the PhD program I’m in), saying good-byes, sorting through and getting rid of all that stuff that somehow accumulates in closets and drawers (and, let’s be honest, pretty much anywhere it can), moving out of my apartment, house-sitting, planning, and shopping for a cheap car.

Yes, I’m driving back to Detroit, which should be an adventure in an old car with a slightly less old cat. Good people are providing me with places to stay all along the way. Perhaps I’ll be able to post here as I travel, but if not, I’ll see you in Detroit!

(I passed my comps yesterday, though! Woo hoo! On to the dissertation proposal…)

The Spirit of Detroit and Christian Hope

Posted on 8 March 2014 by eebelz Standard 1

Statue informally known as the “Spirit of Detroit,” by Marshall Fredericks. The sculpture sits outside the Coleman A. Young Municipal Center at Woodward and Jefferson Aves. Photo by the author.

The Detroit city motto has become better known in recent years, thanks to the proliferation of books—about the city’s history, and, yes, about the ruins, by authors who live in the Metro Area and love the city—and of merchandise such as bookbags, t-shirts, postcards, and other items you might find at City Bird, the Detroit Merchantile Company, Pure Detroit, various Eastern Market vendors, pop-ups, or other local boutiques. Speramus meliora; resurget cineribus—We hope for better things; it will rise from the ashes. These words were penned by Father Gabriel Richard, a Catholic priest and a major figure in Detroit and Michigan history, after fire destroyed the city in 1805.

What does it mean to “hope for better things”? Is it the same kind of hope as when children hope for a snow day, or when you hope your favorite team will win the game?

I think the fact that it was written by a priest in the context of city-wide disaster suggests that Fr. Richard was thinking more along the lines of Christian hope, which I would define as the confidence we have in virtue of our trust in God, whom we know to be trustworthy. That’s a very different kind of hope.

Which is well and good and quite encouraging, really, for Christians, and perhaps for other religious theists. But in today’s pluralistic context, even in a predominately Christian city like Detroit, I think it’s important to find where a similar kind of hope is accessible to all.

Confidence from trusting in that which is trustworthy—where can we find that today? Not in City Hall, not in Kevyn Orr or Gov. Rick Snyder, not in Dan Gilbert or the Ilich family; not in the economy, certainly not in the strength of the U.S. Dollar. Not even in the ideal of democracy, which is so clearly broken. I would suggest we find that secular version of confident hope in the people of Detroit: in its people of good will, whose civic identity and spirit, I think, is characterized by strength, loyalty, pride, and resilience. “Detroit hustles harder,” as they say.

The religious meaning of hope is, I think, primary; but it’s important even for those of us who consciously place our trust in God to also discriminate among those objectives vying for our hope in the world around us. We’re fooling ourselves if we think we place our trust in God, and also place it in an earthly savior, such as a corporate benefactor or a politician. We’re fooling ourselves if we think we “seek first the kingdom of God and its righteousness” but also chase after economic security before all else. But for people of faith, hoping in God is always done in community, as community. Jews, Christians, and Muslims are people of covenant. We believe God calls peoples into covenant with Godself, and so we simply cannot fully trust in God without each other. To trust in the human spirit—in this case, the spirit of Detroit—requires civic engagement, concern for one’s neighbor, and holding virtues like charity, commitment, and forgiveness above the shiny distraction of money. It requires creativity, sharing, peacemaking, and hard work—but not just the individualistic hard work of earning one’s own living. It is entirely congruent, I think, with trust in God, because God’s dwelling is among the people. (If you don’t believe me, go read James Cone or Jim Perkinson, or any of the Liberation Theologians.) If we are to trust in one another, though, we must work, as a people, to be trustworthy—to be worthy of this confident hope. Thankfully, we bear this task together.What kind of city do we want to build? What Detroit do we want to be?

Official city seal. Photo by the author.

Official city seal, also at city hall (visible on the upper left in the image above). Photo by the author.

The LORD brings the will of the nations to naught;
he thwarts the designs of the peoples.

But the LORD’S will stands fast for ever,
and the designs of his heart from age to age.

Happy is the nation whose God is the LORD!
happy the people he has chosen to be his own!

The LORD looks down from heaven,
and beholds all the people in the world.

From where he sits enthroned he turns his gaze
on all who dwell on the earth.

He fashions all the hearts of them
and understands all their works.

There is no king that can be saved by a mighty army;
a strong man is not delivered by his great strength.

The horse is a vain hope for deliverance;
for all its strength it cannot save.

Behold, the eye of the LORD is upon those who fear him,
on those who wait upon his love,

To pluck their lives from death,
and to feed them in time of famine.

Our soul waits for the LORD;
he is our help and our shield.

Indeed, our heart rejoices in him,
for in his holy Name we put our trust.

Let your loving-kindness, O LORD, be upon us,
as we have put our trust in you.

(Psalm 33:10-22, BCP)

Tasty treats from Michigan

Posted on 14 February 2014 by eebelz Standard Reply

This blog has been quiet for a while. I’m a bit overwhelmed with a number of things right now—one of which is preparing to move back to Detroit in May!!!

I’m looking forward to being able to show you all more of Detroit—my Detroit, that is; everyone experiences it differently—once I’m living there again. And it will look different to me for having lived in a very different place the last eight years.

It’s an interesting thing, living away from home. You see your home in a new perspective—and often, you see quite sharply some things you had missed. For example, I lived for a year in Virginia Park (a neighborhood in Detroit off Rosa Parks and Virginia Park Street, just north of Grand Boulevard). In all my years in Michigan, in Detroit, and even within walking distance, I never visited the Motown Museum. I always liked the Motown sound enough, but it wasn’t the music of my own subculture. And besides, the museum was always there; I could visit it any time. So I never did…until one year while visiting home from California. Now I want to recommend it to everybody!

The same is true of most of these goodies. In recent years, there has been a resurgence of pride in Detroit and Michigan, and stores catering to Michigan-made items have flourished. In addition, locally based stores like Meijers (headquartered near Grand Rapids) have createdor expanded sections devoted to locally made goods. Eastern Market has long been a great source for food and other items from Michigan (and Ontario, Ohio, and Indiana). Here’s a sampling of the deliciousness I’ve discovered, during my annual trips home:

Berry Wines

Click on the image for a Google search of “Michigan Water Blues.” True to the blues, there are a million different versions. Jelly Roll Morton’s version says that “Mississippi water tastes like turpentine, but Michigan water tastes like cherry wine!” I rather like Jeff Daniels’ version on his album, Keep It Right Here. (He has another version as well.)

While I lived in Michigan, I never tried cherry wine. I’m not much of a wine drinker. But now that I live near Napa Valley, my Michigan pride made me want to find a wine that Northern California does not offer.

Turns out there’s raspberry wine, too!

The wines pictured above—two cherry and one raspberry—still represent the sum total of Michigan wines I’ve tried.

The Traverse Bay Winery cherry wine is my favorite so far. I’ve brought extra bottles back here to California and shared them with the natives—much to their delight! It’s a little stronger than your average grape wine, apparently (17% alcohol by volume). Not too sweet, but still suitable for a dessert wine. And, much like cherries, it tastes nothing like that fake cherry candy flavor. It has the flavor of Michigan tart cherries, exactly the flavor you want it to have. Plus alcohol.

The Leelanau Cellars raspberry wine, on the other hand, is really sweet. While it’s not cloying, it does taste just like candy, or like perfectly sweet raspberries.

The St. Julian Wine Co. cherry wine is disappointing. It’s OK, but not one to share with wine snobs Northern Californians. I ended up using it in baking (like brownies and homemade apple sauce).

As far as I know, these wines aren’t available outside of Michigan—unless some of them can be ordered online, I don’t know. (I do know that ordering wine online involves some complicated process to prove you’re of legal drinking age and all that.) You can get them, and others I have yet to try, at Meijer, or at Detroit’s new Whole Foods; I was impressed with the Michigan wines selection at both stores.

Preserves

And another way to get your daily servings of fruit, particularly if you don’t drink alcohol, is jam.

Click on the image to visit Slow Jams’ facebook page.

I don’t know whether this brand, Slow Jams, existed when I moved in 2005, but I just discovered it this past summer (2013) at Eastern Market. You can purchase it in the market proper or at Rocky’s. The flavor I tried is rhubarb ginger—OMGOMGOMG it’s so delicious. “Homemade in small batches,” this jam hails from Grosse Pointe. There are plenty of other flavors to try, and if you find the booth on market day, you can sample them!

Their facebook page lists the following flavors: Spiced Apple, Blueberry Lavender, Blueberry Peppercorn Sage, Blueberry Cardamom, Cran-Cherry, Cranberry Red Onion, Tart Cherry, Cherry Thyme, Peach, Peach Rosemary, Peach Cilantro, Peach Basil, Raspberry, Raspberry Jalapeno, Raspberry Lemon Verbena, Raspberry Basil, Strawberry, Strawberry Bomb, Strawberry Balsamic Peppercorn, Strawberry Vanilla, Rhubarb Ginger, Sweet Pepper, Blackberry, Blackberry Ginger, Tomato, Green Tomato.

Peach basil sounds interesting! I’ll try that when I get back home.

Click on the image to link to their website, which includes all their products, recipes, and more.

Here’s another that’s become a staple for me in recent years, a treat to pick up whenever I’m back home: Food for Thought’s Organic Michigan Tart Cherry Preserves.

There are whole and half cherries in there (sans pits, of course), with just enough jelly as well. Spread it on a Belgian waffle, and every nook will have a cherry in it. I find it also makes a nice pairing with Nutella for a new spin on PB&J. (I use whole wheat bread, ‘cause something has to be healthy in there.) Meijer sells this one, as do various stores specializing in Michigan products, such as Heart of Michigan in Howell.

Mustards

Click on the image to go directly to their online store, where you can buy all sorts of blueberry products—stuff you’d never imagined, like this mustard, or the basics, like preserves and syrup.

Here’s a strange taste sensation: blueberry mustard. I still can’t decide whether or not I actually like it. It’s not repulsive, though. More adventurous eaters than myself will probably know what to do with it. I bought it from Heart of Michigan’s website. The Blueberry Store makes all kinds of blueberry products, though. I feel like I’ve had their preserves, but I don’t have any on hand.

This time clicking on the image will take you directly to their online store. They really have an interesting array of products!

Food for Thought’s Organic Cherry Honey Mustard sounds like such a wonderful idea. It’s good, but you can’t really taste the cherry much, so that was disappointing. Maybe I got an off batch. Use it anywhere you’d use honey mustard. When you do taste the cherry, it does harmonize; they use tart cherries.

Click on the image for the website of Sansonetti Sauces, a family-owned business that makes mustards, vinaigrettes, barbeque sauces, and more. I’ve only tried this one, so far.

Sansonetti’s Roasted Red Pepper Mustard is quite good—and not too hot, which I can promise you, because I (a “supertaster” very sensitive to heat) can enjoy it. Also, roasted red peppers are never all that hot. Just delicious! It is indeed a Michigan product, despite the “Napa Valley Gold Medal” on the label (which means it won the Gold Medal at the 2010 Napa Valley World Wide Mustard Festival, their website explains). If you want heat, layer it with other hot ingredients in your sandwich, and spread it on thick. I find it quite delicious on a veggie burger or on a sandwich with crisp veggies (like spinach and onions).

Click on the image for their website, offering “artisanal fruit preserves and condiments.”

Once you get past the strange disconnect of your mustard looking like some kind of berry jam (well, not exactly; it looks like you mixed mustard into your jam), this cranberry mustard will delight you. It’s the perfect blend of tangy and sweet – but not too sweet. Both the mustard and the cranberry flavors come through nicely. I’m a vegetarian, so I would use this on a sandwich with lots of fresh, crisp veggies; but I imagine it would be perfection on a turkey sandwich—especially, next November, on those Thanksgiving leftovers.

Sweets

That’s olive oil in the background on the right. Bad photography. Oh well. Still, you can click on the image to link to the Sanders website, where their famous dessert toppings are just a fraction of what you can break your diet (or Lenten fast in a month or so) with.

OK, I’m bending my own rules a bit. You know this is one I had tried while in Michigan! I grew up with the stuff. I’m just including it here because Sanders.

You can buy this in many places—Meijer, your local grocery store (in Michigan, anyway), and many sweets shops and specialty stores, such as Heart of Michigan, Rocky’s, and RJ Hirt DeVries and Co. You can also order it, and any of their products, from their website.

What I’d never tried before, because it’s so expensive, is Sanders’ candy. A coworker ordered me some for Christmas the year before last, knowing how much I love Sanders. He bought me the peppermint bark, which I can honestly say is the best peppermint bark I’ve ever had, and the salted caramels. The salted caramels were also the best of any I’ve ever tried. They were so good, even this chocolate addict could eat just one piece per day and be satisfied with it. I’d never experienced that in a chocolate before!

Click the image to visit their website!

A friend sent this to me along with other goodies this past Christmas. She probably got it at Rocky’s or somewhere in Eastern Market.

You can’t see the actual honey very well in this photograph, but it’s honey, and you know what that looks like. This honey is a rich amber color. The flavor is bolder than most honey you might buy at the grocery store, so if you prefer mild honey, it might take some getting used to. But it’s perfect for spreading on bread with butter (which is my main use for honey). I’m not a tea drinker, but I imagine it might be better in some teas than in others, given its strong flavor.

The label you see here is the only labeling on the jar. However, their website indicates that their honey is raw. Even cooler: “We take care of 100 beehives in the backyards, schools and community gardens of Detroit and suburbs. We provide you with raw honey and pure beeswax candles.” They also say you can buy their honey at Avalon Bakery, where (if you’re in Detroit) you can pick up some great bread to enjoy with the honey!

Sources, and other stuff I haven’t personally tried:

I didn’t include any products by Cherry Republic above, but as you would expect from the name, they make various cherry products. I’ve tried their cherry salsa, and at first I liked it, but then got sick of it pretty quickly. I think it was too sweet for my taste in salsa.

Traverse Bay Winery‘s home page, should you wish to browse their products. Theirs is the cherry wine I highly recommend, and which met the enthusiastic approval of the NorCal folks who sampled it.

Leelanau Cellars, who make the raspberry wine above, make a wide variety of wines, which you can check out at this link.

And, should you not trust my judgment, you can check out St. Julian’s cherry wine here, or look at their other selections, which might be tasty for all I know. Maybe the label design should’ve been a giveaway.

To purchase these products and more: In addition to all the links from images above, you can visit the following stores in person or online.

Heart of Michigan, located in Howell.

Rocky Peanut Co., located in the Eastern Market Historic District in Detroit.

DeVries and Co., formerly R.J. Hirt (but still in the family), is located at Eastern Market. They don’t appear to have a website/online store, but are on facebook.

Eastern Market, where Detroiters have been getting good local food since 1891.

Meijer, Michigan’s answer to Walmart. Located throughout the state, and a few places in some adjoining states.

Some Michigan/Detroit based foods can also be found at other shops like Pure Detroit (which seems to always have Sanders sauces, and blends from the Detroit Spice Company), even though they’re primarily a clothing/attire brand.

Finally, I’d be remiss not to mention Detroit Bold coffee, although I’m not a coffee drinker (and have never tried Detroit Bold. I don’t like coffee, so the fact that I wouldn’t like it shouldn’t reflect on them.) It’s a great story, though, and founder A.J. O’Neil is a great guy, very supportive of his hometown, Highland Park. Check it out on facebook, too.

A brief Advent reflection

Posted on 3 December 2013 by eebelz Standard Reply

Source: https://twitter.com/OccupyAdvent/status/405414941160509440/photo/1/large

Advent’s just begun.

Ordinary Time closed with a celebration of Christ the King; now we’re waiting for that King to be born…while at the same time, looking for him to “come again in glory.” Even while Christmas preparations must be done, we hold those celebrations at bay during this strange season of remembering the eschaton and anticipating Christ’s birth 2,000-some years ago, all while continuing to meet his Real Presence in the Sacrament at every Mass we attend. Advent is “timey-wimey,” as the Doctor might put it:

Well, in the Church, we usually use the phrase, “already and not yet,” but it’s a similar idea.

The entire Church year, in fact, is like this—not just Advent. When we walk the Way of the Cross with Christ during Holy Week, we’re also busy preparing for Easter celebrations, while celebrating the Eucharist before, on, and after Maundy Thursday. We know that Christ was born, lived, died, rose again, ascended into heaven, and sent the Holy Spirit to his Church, but we mark the days of our year in ways that combine memory, anticipation, presence, longing, and participation in ways that allow us to find, afresh, our own place in the story, year after year. We sound the depths of the traditions, which have accrued and continue to grow through the centuries, and find that they echo back our own longing, fear, joy, pain, faith, doubt—whatever we might be experiencing right now. We have the opportunity to put our lives as they are this year in conversation with that story which is both historic and eternal, the story of the One who was, and is, and will be.

Blessed Advent. May the mysteries we ponder with Mary resonate in our lives throughout the coming year.

Annunciatory Angel, Fra Angelico, c. 1450-1455. Detroit Institute of Arts.

PS: I’d be remiss not to mention that today, Detroit’s application for bankruptcy protection was approved by a judge. I ask for your prayers for the city and its residents, as well as the surrounding region, and for wisdom and a spirit of servanthood in the leaders who will be hashing out a plan going forward. For more information:

USA Today’s report, which gives a general overview of today’s news on the subject.

Huffington Post’s report centering on the fate of the Detroit Institute of Arts’ collections.

The Nation’s report, which considers the really bad precedent(s) that could come out of this.

More about Detroit after this message: “How a Little Strep Couldn’t Ruin My Trip Home”

Posted on 2 September 2013 by eebelz Standard 3

I guess four posts from Detroit in the seven days I was there isn’t bad, but I meant to do more. The second week of my trip, I was outstate (DeWitt and Hamburg), and didn’t have consistent internet access, so there were zero posts. Don’t worry, I’ve still got plenty to share with you! But here’s what happened. While in Detroit, I was not only busy (though, as you’ll see, not as busy as I would’ve liked); I succumbed to that pesky little streptococcus bacteria I’d apparently (based on the incubation period) brought with me from California.

At first, I thought it was an allergy attack: unless strep begins with an itchy face, eyes, and nose, and the opening of a spigot from your sinuses, I really did have an allergic reaction to my former-now-annual roommate’s cats on the Wednesday night of my stay (I flew in overnight on Sunday, arriving Monday).

Carnivorous allergens sharing the bed with me.

Thursday, I woke up with a dry, raw throat, as you do after serious post-nasal drip, so I didn’t think much of it. But it became sorer and sorer as the day progressed. By Thursday night, I couldn’t swallow without flinching (and tearing up a bit), and my tonsils, glands, and neck were quite swollen. (In my defense, my tonsils are always pretty big, and they never developed that distinctive appearance you associate with strep. And because it was August in Michigan, and I’d just come from temperate Northern California, I had no idea I had a fever! I just thought it was hot outside.) I spent Friday mostly in bed, having canceled lunch plans with a dear friend I haven’t seen in years. In the evening, I stayed home from my former choir director’s birthday party in Lafayette Park. My roommate had brought me saline nasal spray and Chloraseptic spray when she came home from work, and I spent the evening flushing my sinuses and trying to get that red liquid to stay where it hurt for at least 15 seconds before spitting it out (per the directions). I also took lots of acetaminophen, as hard as it was to swallow. I might have gone to a doctor, but being in a different state from my HMO complicated matters. I emailed my allergist and described everything (stressing not only the cats, but that I’d been on a plane where it’s easy to pick up nasty stuff), and he also thought it could be allergies. He said if it didn’t improve over the weekend I should go to urgent care. I figured getting out of the house with the cats in it might help sort that out.

So Saturday morning, I felt only marginally better, but would not be deterred from my plans to spend the day at Eastern Market (before heading to Lafayette Park for another party—this one a housewarming. I’m tempted to claim there’s a party of some kind every night of the year over there, but it’s actually a rather quiet neighborhood).

Party Central.

Sunday morning, I felt so lousy I almost wanted to skip church. Seriously, I was contemplating skipping the highlight of my annual trip home, going to Mass at my home church, where I became an Episcopalian—the Cathedral Church of St. Paul. But my sister was coming with her new boyfriend (“I wanted him to meet you in your natural environment,” she’d joked) and we were going to brunch afterward across the street at Maccabees at Midtown (in the Maccabees Building, where you might expect it to be). Needless to say, I was glad that I went to church and brunch (although I could only manage to swallow one of the three pancakes I ordered). I so love the liturgy at St. Paul’s, and it was good to see everybody. There are more people there I don’t know now than that I know, which strikes me as a good thing. It means new people have been coming since I left!

Anyway, after brunch, I decided it was time to go to urgent care. Well, almost. First, while my roommate went to fill her gas tank, I popped into the DIA to exchange a t-shirt I’d bought on Thursday (not noticing the handwritten amendment to the size on the tag). I noticed the Scarab Club was open, so I walked over to take a peek inside to see what was going on (just a gallery show, pretty quiet)…and twisted my ankle a little in a pot-hole on the way back. Pro tip: clogs are great for plantar fasciitis, but not so much for walking outside when you’re prone to tripping anyway.

Where to go for urgent care on a Sunday? Well, the DMC campus was right there, so I wound up in Emergency at Detroit Receiving.

Such a beautiful day to go to the hospital.

I’d never been there before, although a friend of mine works there as an OR nurse. From what I could tell, it’s a pretty large, potentially high-volume facility. It wasn’t terribly busy, or terribly well-staffed in triage (only one nurse), but even though things moved along pretty slowly, the staff were all very professional, friendly, attentive, responsive, and thorough. Once I was getting treatment, I was chatting with another woman, who was there with a foot injury. She’d dropped a glass vase on her foot, and cut it open. After the stitches, they also caught a small fracture in one of her foot bones and sent her out with a splint and crutches. In my personal experience (breaking my elbow last year), that sort of thing can be easily overlooked. There was also another woman there with strep, only she was clearly sicker than I was. Now that I know I probably contracted it in California, what are the odds of that?

The doctor gave me some liquid codeine and a prescription for more, which I didn’t fill (it wasn’t miraculous enough to waste money on). The nurse offered me the choice, for penicillin delivery, of a short course of pills or a one-time shot. One-time anything sounded good to me, and I certainly didn’t want to swallow any more than necessary. She said, “Oh, I’d take a hundred pills to avoid a shot.” As I started to point to my tattoo and say, “Ah, I’m not bothered by needles,” she uncapped the thickest hypodermic needle I’ve ever seen, which was also at least an inch and a half long. I actually had to look away for a second. I felt the poke, and then watched her insert the whole length of that needle into my mid-thigh.

(Aren’t you glad there’s no photo?)

I wound up with a humongous bruise, but the sore throat faded within about 24 hours. Ahhh….

I felt bad, though, about all the people I’d unwittingly exposed, even before I’d started to feel sick. Not only had I met with many friends, I’d taken the #16 Dexter bus a few times from my friend’s house to Midtown or Downtown and back, and public transit is a great place to spread germs. I started to imagine myself as a strep version of Typhoid Mary. I’d return to California while public health officials in Detroit continued to try to understand this outbreak:

“We’ve narrowed the origin down to the Dexter bus line, somewhere between U of D and WSU,” they’d announce, and someone—possibly the guy who actually said to me on the bus, “Look at you, lookin‘ all vanilla”—would report, “Well, there was this white lady on the bus we’d never seen before…”

But that’s not at all the way I’d want to become a legend.

Luckily, no one seems to have caught my strep (as far as I know). It made me miserable, but it didn’t ruin my trip home. Nothing has that power. So I’ll continue with the posts I would’ve been making a week or two ago, had I not gotten sick.

Grand Trunk Pub

Posted on 21 August 2013 by eebelz Standard Reply

In the days before rail service was consolidated under Amtrak, different lines were run by different companies, often using different stations. The Grand Trunk Western Railroad line passed through Detroit (not to be confused with Michigan Central), and its station was located on the Detroit River at Brush and Atwater, near where the Ren Cen is now. Railroad lines used to operate a separate ticket office in the business district, and the Grand Trunk operated it rather close to the station—first, at Woodward and Jefferson (where One Woodward Avenue, formerly known as the Michigan Consolidated Gas Company building, a Minoru Yamasaki design, now stands); and then at 612 Woodward Avenue in the Traub Brothers Jewelry building.

Currently, that building, and an adjoining one, houses the Grand Trunk Pub, formerly known as Foran’s Irish Pub.

The pub has plenty of atmosphere. Its owners have done some restoration, with sensitivity to the building’s history and an interest in the railway theme.

The restaurant side is a little hole-in-the wall spot, but the good kind. “Gourmet pub grub” is what the menu says.

Foreground: Veggie burger with grilled onions and a side of Better Made chips (and one fry stolen from the other plate).
Background: A shaved turkey sandwich with a side of fries.

One of my favorite things about their menu is that they source much of the food locally, and include Detroit classics and favorites, such as Better Made potato chips as a side, Faygo to drink, or Sanders Hot Fudge on the “Michigan Mud Pie.” The prices are also quite good.

As a vegetarian, I often don’t have a lot of options in this sort of place, where the fare is primarily sandwiches and burgers. However, the Grand Trunk Pub has a unique approach: you can substitute a veggie burger patty on most of their specialty burgers, or you can have a basic veggie burger with the toppings you prefer.

This is a snapshot from the menu on their site. Click on it to visit their online menu.

For dessert, the bread pudding with whiskey caramel sauce is pretty good (especially for $4.25!), but I prefer the Michigan Mud Pie (just $5). Pro tip: We ate dinner at the Grand Trunk Pub, then went over to the Riverwalk for a while, walked around there (as you do), and returned to the Grand Trunk for dessert!

Michigan Mud Pie, shown here with a scoop each of vanilla and chocolate ice cream. We were given a choice.

Bread pudding with whiskey caramel sauce.

From home to Home

Posted on 19 August 2013 by eebelz Standard 1

I’ve arrived in Detroit. To me, Detroit is home, but not in a sentimental or nostalgic sense. In the past week when I mentioned to anyone that I was headed to Detroit, usually their response was something like, “Oh, are you going to see family?”

Well, sort of. I’ll see family next week, when I head outstate. Right now, I’m visiting Detroit (and also friends in Detroit). Detroit is home in the sense that it is where my mental map is centered, and it has formed my identity. It’s true I was born here, but I didn’t grow up in the city; I chose to live in the city as an adult, and immediately felt a sense of belonging.

It’s hard to explain—but why should I have to explain it? It’s like being in love. If you can explain why you’re in love with someone, then it’s probably not the real thing.

Othering, Eight Mile, and Original Sin

Posted on 3 August 2013 by eebelz Standard 1

Earlier this week, a Detroit pastor was shot dead while asking his partying neighbors to keep the noise level down. I read the online article from WDIV, channel 4.

I know better, but as with any bad habit, I did it anyway: I read the comments. They rivaled the story itself as examples of heartbreaking failures of love. Some commenters brought up the Zimmerman trial, decrying the “liberal” media for playing up white-on-black violence but ignoring black-on-black violence; others called for gun control, implying that the primary issue here was someone’s possession of a gun; still others baldly asserted that this is simply how black people behave; others used the opportunity to badmouth Detroit. The politicization and racism in the comments section is as predictable as inner-city violence itself has sadly come to be. Where is the compassion for a family and a community so senselessly devastated? Where is the respect for the man of God murdered at the young age of 46?

Nevertheless, I think the comments, nasty and unhelpful as they are, stem from two very human impulses: our instinctive drive to figure things out, to solve problems by analyzing them; and our equally instinctive need to distance ourselves from tragic situations, to assure ourselves that such things happen to other people. Both these impulses are ambivalent gifts of evolution. They both serve to keep us alive and functioning.

But both impulses also work against us. In particular, the second—the urge to distance ourselves from danger—constantly warps our ability to analyze: if a problem belongs to other people, then surely my safety lies in disconnecting myself from (certain) others…right? (In Detroit, that’s generally symbolized by Eight Mile Road.)

The Christian doctrine of “original sin” serves as a warning against trusting those base instincts unquestioningly. Our instincts were, as far as we can tell, forged on the fly in response to certain conditions our ancestors—human and pre-human—faced. The goal, or more accurately, the mechanism, was survival. One way to think about original sin, then, is to consider that we, as individuals, but also as a species, learned to do wrong before we’d become moral agents. Just as selfishness, generally, considered a vice in most ethical systems, is necessary to a baby’s survival, behaviors we now consider morally reprehensible actually got us here, as a species, in the first place. But now, as spiritual and moral beings who ought to know better (what Bruce Cockburn called the “Angel Beast“), our task is to transcend our animal instincts, testing them and keeping what is good, but learning to control and move beyond those that actually harm us.

Central to any ethical system is the consideration of others. Our instincts will mostly serve us well if our goal is personal safety, the rest of the world be damned. But humans are social animals. As spiritual social animals, our ethical obligation, and also our health, consists in opening ourselves to each other, to the universe, and to God. Our task is to grow into greater interdependence.

Sadly, our culture itself works against that growth. Consumer capitalism, American “rugged individualism”—these forces, or, as the Bible terms them, “principalities and powers,” are bigger than any of us, and perhaps than all of us; they discourage our growth into interdependence. The market needs individual, mobile workers and consumers. Consumer culture has so pervaded our lives that we identify ourselves with our brand loyalties, including political parties and religious affiliations. The more labels we are willing to wear, the more we are drawing lines between ourselves and those like us, and others who are not like us. Even “family values” have been co-opted by this thinking, becoming a means to delineate an “us” vs. “them” and to camouflage self-interest with the patina of religiosity.

Indeed, self-interest is entirely at home in American Christianity, which, historically, has largely been moralistic and private. Our spiritual practices, like our consumer habits, are predominately individualistic. In the religious realm, our animal survival instinct concerns itself with what will get me into heaven, the rest of the world be damned. This is an exaggeration, of course; I hope very few, if any, American Christians consciously adopt that attitude! But that attitude is seen wherever “sin” is only conceived in personal terms—epitomized in our culture at the moment by sexual behavior—while ignoring social sins such as institutional racism and environmental degradation. In America, too many Christians honestly believe all is well with their soul as long as they abstain from certain individual behaviors, believe the right things about God, and ask Jesus to forgive their sins. And this is seen as perfectly compatible with, say, unquestioningly benefitting from race or gender privilege, or buying clothing made using slave labor, or making comments like those attached to the article referenced at the beginning of this post.

A father, a pastor, was murdered for asking his neighbors to keep the noise down. This wasn’t an isolated and bizarre action by a disturbed individual we can easily other. What took him wasn’t just a gun or a person’s anger, but some kind of twisted thinking where one’s own enjoyment is more important than the very life of one’s neighbor. That thinking is endemic in America, from the Koch Brothers who are in the news now for dumping their pollution on Detroit, to the food industry using cheap, unhealthy ingredients, to for-profit prisons, to corrupt politicians stealing from the People, attacking minority religions under the guise of freedom of religion and freedom of speech—why would that kind of thinking not also be at a party next door to a pastor? Until we really start to believe that our neighbor’s well-being is as important as our own, all this sickness and violence (literal and economic) is just going to escalate.

All of us are implicated in this shooter’s belief that his “right” to do what he wanted was of more value than his neighbor’s life. Ours is a culture that idolizes the weasel words “liberty” and “freedom.” And however well-meaning we try to be, our actions as consumers and as citizens of this representative democracy constantly privilege our own comfort, wealth, rights, and freedoms over whatever neighbor needs to be othered in order for our privilege to remain intact. I know this from experience; I try and I fail all the time.

It’s human instinct. It’s original sin. It’s bigger than any of us as individuals and it’s bigger than all of us lumped together, at least in our sub-cultures. And sometimes it’s how we survive. But it’s also what we’re called to struggle against.

But what if Christians really believed that their personal salvation depended upon the well-being of their neighbor? If that seems a scary prospect, don’t go asking Jesus precisely who your neighbor might be.

Chances are, they’re on the other side of Eight Mile.

Here are some questions to consider:

How often do I secure my own interests at the expense of someone else’s life, health, happiness, security?

What might repentance look like? How would it really affect my daily life, including my consumer choices?

How can I use my spheres of influence to encourage growth into interdependence in myself and those around me? How can the wider culture be transformed, and what might be my role in that?

The Sound

A blog about Poetry, God, and Detroit (in no particular order)

Tag Archives: Detroit