I realize that it has been a really long time since our last entry. There is a reason for that, however. There has not, until recently, been much to write about. I believe that the month of August was a sort of a holding pattern for us, a time for us to become content with the happenings of the moment and to learn not to obesess over the details of the future. It honestly was a painful process. "The Waiting Place" is not a fun place to be, especially in a world where we are used to having answers to questions instantaneously.
With all that said, the last week or so has been very eventful. Things are coming together for us in amazing ways. I just started my new job at Nyack College. I am now the Learning Assessment Specialist for the New York City area. This means that I will be helping students in the adult degree program to come up with the credits they need to complete their degrees. Also it looks like there will be potential for teaching in the future. All in all it looks like a great opportunity and I am very excited. Kelly's work situation is also doing well, she has a few clients that look like they will be on for the long-term.
We will be moving to Bay Ridge, Brooklyn tomorrow morning. We are staying in the basement apartment of a friend's place until we can find our own apartment in the neighborhood. This wasn't our first choice, but it gives us time to get Luke into school and to get settled in to our routines without having to stress too much. I'm looking forward to living in Brooklyn. It's a very different place than Manhattan, but we will still be very close to the area in Manhattan where we are hoping to focus our ministry.
Things are looking up and I am thankful to say that we can all breathe a sigh of relief for the moment. Hopefully now that some of our more basic "survival" needs have been taken care of, we can start to think more about the direction of 141-NYC. This has been an amazing time of learning, testing and observing. I hope to be able to report more on this in the near future. Thank you everyone for your prayers and support.
-Brian
Friday, August 31, 2007
Monday, August 6, 2007
The Heights
181st Street in Washington Heights ( just 3 subway stops away from our neighborhood) is a flowing sea of humanity on a steamy Saturday afternoon. Kelly, Luke and I have set out in search of bargains and some cheap entertainment. We emerge from the subway station at 181st and Fort Washington into the bright summer sun. Walking east, we pass through the quiet, somewhat genteel section west of Broadway (the “gentrified” side of Washington Heights), past organic fruit stands, upscale clothing shops, and a packed Starbucks. Crossing Broadway, we enter into the true heart of the neighborhood on the east side.
The pulse of life beats loud on the Dominican side of the nabe. Mothers drag children through the crowd as sidewalk salesmen negotiate prices of jewelry and watches in animated Spanish. Groups of young men strut past, chatting on cell phones. Cars zoom past as the air fills with booming merengue and reggaeton blasting from tricked-out SUV’s. The smell of empanadas and roast chicken mingles with exhaust and subway fumes. Hordes of kids surround a coco helado cart, begging Mama for some cold, sugary relief from the midday heat.
We walk past blocks of boutiques and bodegas as passers-by nod hello and smile. One shoe store after another advertises their low prices with blaring banners. Kelly stops to peruse the designer knock-off sunglasses at a small stand. “Check it out, five dollars,” smiles the vendor, his hand motioning across his merchandise. She picks out a pair and hands the man a five, and he carefully cuts the tags off with his pocket knife.
Our destination is the Goodwill Thrift Store on 181st and St. Nick’s. Inside, among the crowds of people and deafening beats of cheery Spanish pop tunes, we search for hidden treasures. On the musty racks hang the cast-offs of New York’s more fortunate, recycled here for the benefit of this vibrant neighborhood. In the basement, while Luke digs through piles of toys, I help an old woman with grandmotherly eyes find the right size shoes for her husband. In the process, I find a brand-new pair of Converse Chuck Taylors in my size for only eight dollars.
We return to the street after making our purchases and start to head back west to the A train. After one block, we arrive at a small crowd outside a liquor store. A clever old hustler has set up a street casino on top of an overturned cardboard box – the classic shell game played with three tiny soda-bottle caps. The hustler entices people walking by to try their luck, clutching a handful of dollars. His hands move like lightning, shuffling the caps around and fooling his marks out of their cash. As more people gather, he lets a few win to entice more of them in. We stop to watch a few rounds, then continue up the block.
Suddenly, two uniformed cops push by us quickly in intercept mode. They approach the makeshift casino with shouts in Spanish, but the hustler has already kicked aside his box and disappeared into the crowd. The cops shout questions at those hanging around, but they merely shrug their shoulders and move on. The gap in the human river that was created by the game has sealed up, and the flow continues on uninterrupted. The cops give up on their lost cause and disappear around the corner. Kelly and I exchange grins, our mission for the day fulfilled as usual on the living streets of Upper Manhattan.
The pulse of life beats loud on the Dominican side of the nabe. Mothers drag children through the crowd as sidewalk salesmen negotiate prices of jewelry and watches in animated Spanish. Groups of young men strut past, chatting on cell phones. Cars zoom past as the air fills with booming merengue and reggaeton blasting from tricked-out SUV’s. The smell of empanadas and roast chicken mingles with exhaust and subway fumes. Hordes of kids surround a coco helado cart, begging Mama for some cold, sugary relief from the midday heat.
We walk past blocks of boutiques and bodegas as passers-by nod hello and smile. One shoe store after another advertises their low prices with blaring banners. Kelly stops to peruse the designer knock-off sunglasses at a small stand. “Check it out, five dollars,” smiles the vendor, his hand motioning across his merchandise. She picks out a pair and hands the man a five, and he carefully cuts the tags off with his pocket knife.
Our destination is the Goodwill Thrift Store on 181st and St. Nick’s. Inside, among the crowds of people and deafening beats of cheery Spanish pop tunes, we search for hidden treasures. On the musty racks hang the cast-offs of New York’s more fortunate, recycled here for the benefit of this vibrant neighborhood. In the basement, while Luke digs through piles of toys, I help an old woman with grandmotherly eyes find the right size shoes for her husband. In the process, I find a brand-new pair of Converse Chuck Taylors in my size for only eight dollars.
We return to the street after making our purchases and start to head back west to the A train. After one block, we arrive at a small crowd outside a liquor store. A clever old hustler has set up a street casino on top of an overturned cardboard box – the classic shell game played with three tiny soda-bottle caps. The hustler entices people walking by to try their luck, clutching a handful of dollars. His hands move like lightning, shuffling the caps around and fooling his marks out of their cash. As more people gather, he lets a few win to entice more of them in. We stop to watch a few rounds, then continue up the block.
Suddenly, two uniformed cops push by us quickly in intercept mode. They approach the makeshift casino with shouts in Spanish, but the hustler has already kicked aside his box and disappeared into the crowd. The cops shout questions at those hanging around, but they merely shrug their shoulders and move on. The gap in the human river that was created by the game has sealed up, and the flow continues on uninterrupted. The cops give up on their lost cause and disappear around the corner. Kelly and I exchange grins, our mission for the day fulfilled as usual on the living streets of Upper Manhattan.
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