Can I make a phone call?

I grabbed an empty glass bottle to take outside to the recycle bin. Walking toward the front door, I saw a tall, thin, young black girl beelining on a diagonal through our front yard, also headed for the front door. 

Normally, I would be alarmed, but for some reason I remained calm, opened the door, dropped my bottle in the bin and turned around as she approached me, out of breath, frantically asking if she could make a phone call. 

I sensed she wanted to come inside, but politely asked what happened to which she rambled off: I was just involved in a high speed chase. My boyfriend was driving. My purse and phone are in the car on the seat. I jumped out and ran. [heavy breathing] The police are looking for me. It's my car. [eyes darting past me out to the road] I don't want to go to jail. Please, can I make a phone call? [nervously looking down the street in each direction]

Um. Woah. Ok. Deep breath. I nodded my head, put my hand on her shoulder and said, "Ok, hold on one second while I go get my phone and my husband." 

I quickly disappeared inside, filled Justin in, asked him what we should do and we both decided to let her make a phone call. "She has rights," I said. We opened the door again, but couldn't see her. We walked  into the driveway and heard, I'm here. She was sitting on the paint cans in the back of our carport. Hiding. Scared. 

Since I was in the driveway, I could see police had already blocked off all streets near the 4-way stop sign. 

I calmly walked back into the carport and the girl approached me. I saw her fragile arms were heavily tattooed, a light brown watch on her right wrist. Long shorts to her knees. Pale green, leather strap wedge platform shoes. Beautifully kept hair, plaited in tiny columns like waterfalls cascading from the center part atop her head. Manicured, shellack nails. White fitted t-shirt with pink and red swirly art on the front. Serious eyes. Focused. I got the feeling she was a tough girl. Not tough enough to take me out, unless she knew Karate, but tough from a life that has shown no mercy, not much (if any) love and little forgiveness. 

I asked why she was hiding and she rambled off how her boyfriend was in a store and he was stealing some things when a lady caught him and he got in a fight with her. The four friends fled the scene and cops had chased them from the east side of town for the past 30 minutes. Her boyfriend was on probation and she said the car was her's. She didn't want him to go to jail and she knew they would throw her in jail too, but she didn't say why (I'm assuming because the car was her's). And for some strange reason, I expected to see tears. Or maybe just water fill her eyes. But no. Not even a glaze. Still the same serious eyes. It made me uncomfortable.

I patiently explained how if she would explain to the police what she just told me, the situation might not be so awful. I told her she needed to protect herself and realize that her boyfriend would most likely be in trouble but doubted she would be going to jail unless she had also broken the law. However, if she continued to evade the police it would make her appear guilty and she could be charged with an accessory to a crime, obstructing government operations, etc.,. 

She fumbled over some more explanations, never took the phone from me when I offered it and decided that it was best for her to walk home. She pointed off in the distance, saying she lived a couple streets away. Then she took off on foot in the opposite direction. 

At this point, I told Justin to go grab my sandals. He did and together we walked over to the police at the corner. We could see the light blue Ford Taurus, surrounded by police. K-9 units were searching within a block of the car. All our neighbors were outside peering, whispering, walking over to each other's homes.

We asked the cop what was going on and he said exactly what the girl had just told us, revealing they were looking for "three females and one male." So, we relayed all the information we had just learned. We felt like tattle-tales, but at the same time knew it was the right thing to do.

He thanked us and we stopped to talk with a few neighbors.

Not even a minute later, a cop car sped down the street at about 60mph in the direction the girl had gone. Over and hour later I walked back out, found the cop we had talked to and learned they did find the girl and one other. He thanked me again, saying they had no idea who they were looking for and how frustrating it had been. He pulled his head out of the trunk of the blue car and wrote some notes on a clipboard. Then he stopped, looked at me and asked, Why do you live here? You know this isn't the best part of town? I told him about NewCity's church plant initiative, our intentional community and that we really like our neighborhood. Yes, our neighborhood and we're sick of crap like this happening. I explained the robberies that occurred in January and he sympathized, agreeing that the justice system is broken. 

Since that evening, I've gone back to being jumpy in the house like I was after the robbery. Especially at night. I keep thinking the girl is going to tell her friends that we ratted her out. Or that the gang she is running with is the one that robbed our home. Or that they'll throw a brick through our window.

We heard gun shots Friday night- a stream of *pop *pop *pop [silence] *pop *pop *pop. Closer than usual. It's been about two months since we heard gun shots.

Then I set the alarm off Saturday morning, scaring the crap out of myself, my husband and best friend, Keri who was in town for a short visit. 

I know I have nothing to fear and that God is protecting us, but I'm still human.

We're going shopping for a baseball bat or sword [home protection device] when we return from our spring break trip.

am i lazy?

or just unqualified?

no, seriously. i really think i'm unqualified. because while i can be lazy about some things, i feel basic life-stuff is fairly simple to keep up with.

for example (and the prime motivation for this post): gardening.

because my mother is a master gardener, should i know how to keep a plant alive?

because google tells me how to repot my plumeria or how often to water my tomatoes, should i be able to keep a plant alive?

i've decided the answer is no.

there are too many factors.

here's a great example of my feeble efforts smashed to bits...

i buy tomato plants and a pepper plant. i plant them.

justin and i take turns watering said plants. and our herbs, rosemary and mint. maybe even a few splashes on the plumeria, dying pineapple and hibernating papaya.

a few days pass.

"oooo! ah ha! ha ha ha! look!!" i yell to my husband one morning as i stick my nose to the glass on our back door. "there's red on our tomato plants! i think we have a fruit!" to which we wander out and find a small, sad-looking tomato.

we continue watering, weeding, even fertilizing. and watching. lots of watching.

about a week goes by and behold! there are TWO little red shiny balls hanging from one of the plants. the other plant has a small, rotting, green ball, limply hanging onto a thread of life. i hastily pick it, disappointed, and throw it toward the almost-compost pile.

then we go some days without watering. i go out and notice we have a pepper! yay! i pick it and we eat it in our stir fry. we've basically lost one of the tomato plants by now. it's wilted and down to a thin, brown, cracking stalk. the other plant is still chugging away, promising some more tomatoes.

fast forward two months and six tomatoes or so (from the one, living plant). i'm wedding the garden in my dress after church. it's hot. just as i'm about to step into the garden box, i freeze. there is a rubbery, bright green leafy plant chilling beside my tomato plant. never seen this before. i know it's not a weed. it's clearly lettuce. clearly. everyone knows what lettuce looks like.

so... i'm excited. and notice there are a few other spots growing, in and outside the garden box. we didn't plan them but guess the landlord did -- after all, he was way more dedicated to his garden than we are.

and so, i guess what i'm trying to say is: i don't like gardening but i like the results.

my little tomato, pepper, herb plants have given me inspiration, but the reality is, if i can't make a salad at least three nights a week from my own garden, i don't want a garden. which brings me to my next reality...

i have to keep trying. and it's time to get serious about this gardening thing. more rows, more starter plants, clean compost pile and diligent fertilizing, watering, weeding and watching.

surely this is achievable. even by my brown thumb.

i'll update you in a few months. :P

recycle

I wanted this to be a really creative and fun entry with analogies, good rhythm and beautifully crafted sentences.

Oh’well.

Recycling is one of those words I always add to a list of “interests” or “likes” when I’m setting up a profile like Facebook, Twitter, Google, etc., I always include it. Because it’s true. I love to recycle. I love the idea of it and the action of it.

It also makes me feel good. Like, I’m contributing to the environment, world, mankind, fellow humans, neighbors, pollution control, etc., etc., etc.,

This morning I came home and found the distinct red and green bins of my neighbors turned over. Justin and I are actually the only ones on our street who recycle… so… by neighbors, I mean the people down the other street.

I was bummed because our bins are full but I didn’t have time to put them out before leaving this morning to take Justin to work.

But as I drove by my neighbors empty bins, I was sure I had missed the recycle truck.

After parking my car, I moped to the door. As I stuck the key in the door I heard the familiar engine drone and squeal of big-truck brakes. I ran to the end of my driveway and saw the giant brown, city recycle truck stopped at the corner. I took off running back into the carport and grabbed the green bin. Scurrying back out to the curb, I set it down, stopped, looked right at the truck and then, as if on cue, he turned down my street! I was elated. I ran full-speed back into the carport for the red bin, returning to the curb just as the brakes squealed for a second time and a friendly driver jumped out to take the bins from me. I was stoked.

Thank you, Mr. Recycle man for making my day.