S. Ch. Z. "Gotta Love It..."

"Lovin' It!"
Photo: Angela M. Counts

This week, coming back from Spring Break -- I feel myself as if still in a dream or some would say a nightmare. Somnolent walking. The after effects of the quake continue as we all know, and there are so many problems in all corners of the globe. At the same time, here in Boston, we awake from a long winter to smell the crocuses and to watch the sun set late in the evening in the west. There is a feeling of thawing, if not hope. To describe how I feel, it takes metaphor. And that's what language is... and often that's what the city feels like. We rub up against its realities, but if we take a step we can also appreciate its poetry.

"Boston Red Dogs in the Common"
 Photo: Angela M. Counts

Street. Streets in Boston follow cow paths. At least that's what I was told when I moved here many years ago and found myself lost in a maze of cobblestones. This of course only in the historic parts of the city. But this is too literal perhaps. What about one's state of mind about the streets, whether paths are circular, circuitous, or if one street like Tremont intersects with itself in downtown Boston. What about the person who makes their living on the streets? And I'm not talking about the world's oldest profession, but perhaps the second oldest -- the street vendor. Do maps of the city also map our consciousness, just as much as they point the way to the place where we can grab a salty but delicious meal for cheap, or stop for a moment to delight in musical stylings of the kooky street musician?

"One-Man Band"
Photo: Angela M. Counts

Change my mind. That's what advertisers strive to do. On billboards, in storefront windows; on the side of tractor trailers. As an example, McDonald's has sold (trillions?) of hamburgers around the world. These days, it may be a no-no to openly admit eating there, especially after "Super Size Me" the movie, but nonetheless there are billions of people on the planet who apparently proclaim in English "I'm Lovin' It" according to Mickey D's. That's what the sign on the side of the tractor-trailer next to my car said. Who am I to argue with the colloquialism or the confession?

"Rental"
Photo: Angela M. Counts

Zoo. No not the kind that houses (or some would say imprison) animals. Kids love zoos. I do too, when I shut off the part of my brain that worries about incarcerating wild animals. But no, I'm not talking about that; although there is an incredible zoo right tin the city of Boston called Franklin Park Zoo. But the type of Zoo I'm talking about is the big business of apartment rentals in the city. It's a realtor's market -- what with the students, medical residents, business people, immigrants and more arriving each month in the city of Boston and its outlying areas. Where are they all to live, and which neighborhood will catch their fancy? Well if you're ingenious enough of a realtor you'll put a mannequin in the window of your storefront, with a T-shirt that says "Rental." As an art student I couldn't help but think that the realtor must be an art school dropout or MFA grad who's doing installation art while trying to make a buck. I'm lovin' it! By the way, that's a McDonald's trademark so be careful how you appropriate it.

Q.F.W. -- What the World Holds

W.heatley

The weekend of March 12, I took advantage of the unseasonably warm day and took a walk through downtown Boston where I found many sites and sounds. Three days before, the people of Japan had been hit by an unprecedented earthquake and Tsunami.  This was on my mind as I strolled through historic downtown Boston, on the rare sunny day in March.

My first stop was the Granary Burial Ground, the third-oldest cemetery in Boston and the resting place for many notable Bostonians including Phillis Wheatley and Paul Revere. I'm always surprised, sadly, to find the occasional notable Black Bostonian buried amongst more familiar Boston figures, mostly of European descent. One wonders where all of the Black folks were buried over the last many centuries. I did learn at the Granary that it was common for slaves to be buried in the same grave or tomb with their former masters, even freed slaves. Boston African Americans have a longstanding history, but I must admit that growing up in Detroit and Los Angeles, this history largely went untaught.

Phillis Wheatley was an exception. I read about her in my high school advanced literature class and later in college. I remembered that she was a famous writer of her time, which was unusual because she was a slave who had been taught to read and write by the Wheatley family. She was eventually emancipated after her work was published and she visited London but she died young. It was gratifying and touching to find that she was buried in the Granary along with Paul Revere and others.

Q.uake F.undraiser

The good people of Boston don't forget their fellow travelers, and on our walk we came across a group of musicians raising money for the quake. Their music lifted spirits but also reminded us that we are bound together on this planet, from birth to death and what blooms will decay. But that we are also bound to find joy in the most unlikely of places and circumstances. What the world can hold. It holds us all -- famous, infamous, forgotten, young, old, grieving, laughing, dancing, loving, dying. It's all here.

List of places for donating to the victims of the Tsunami. I found this on Google's Tsunami Relief Page but I'm sure there are more:  http://www.google.com/tsunami_relief.html.

(U) University and (K)-12 Education in Boston

Cutting down Beacon Hill in 1811; a view from the north toward the Massachusetts State House 

(Photo: Flux.books on Wikipedia)

U – When thinking of the letter U, in Boston, universities come to mind. In fact, working at a job for a university is what brought me to Bean Town.  What college or universities brought you to Boston, dear reader? Mine are Suffolk University and Harvard University, for work. And did you come here for school and/or work? Did you follow a spouse, boyfriend or girlfriend, or come alone? Did you leave after your schooling or period of work, or did you stay? I stayed…

10 things I remember about Suffolk/Harvard:

1.     Construction around the State House and the refurbished gold dome.

2.     Coffee in Downtown Crossing…it always made the long winter walks up the hill tolerable.

3.     Downtown Crossing and Filene’s Basement…no longer there.

4.     Cambridge Street with its New England storefronts, high-end restaurants, along with the more local fare, and the side streets of made cobblestone.

"Fair with Lace"
Photo: Angela M. Counts

5.     Boston Common…the walkways that criss cross in and out of the country's oldest public park, of all them leading up the hill. 

6.     Suffolk University housed in a small high-rise on a quaint side street.

7.     The little brick building, where the Diversity and Community Partnership (DCP) program is housed on Harvard’s medical school campus. 

8.     The 39 bus that picked me up in front of my house and dropped me off around the corner from DCP.

9.     Longwood Medical Area – Children’s Hospital, Dana Farber, Beth Israel, Brigham and Women’s Hospital, and more.

10. The Fenway, just less than a mile to the North of Longwood Medical Area, with Fenway Park, the Landmark Center, and the Emerald Necklace.

K – Like many people coming to Boston, those years ago I associated the city with the big universities – B.U., M.I.T., and Harvard. The architecture and myth of those places loomed large, how could you miss the big concrete dome of the M.I.T. building crossing the Mass Avenue Bridge into Cambridge. But tucked between the Ivy, are a myriad of Boston schools and with them associated after-school programs.

K represents elementary education, and specifically biomedical education: K-12 as it’s commonly called. I worked for a department at Harvard called Diversity and Community Partnership, and ran the biomedical research programs for youth, middle school through college. Through this experience, I met the teachers, Boston City school students, Harvard Medical graduate students, HMS scientists and doctors, and non-profit workers who strive for higher education for underrepresented minority youth in the sciences and in healthcare. It is another face of Boston that people rarely see and it is also a racially, culturally and ethnically diverse face of the city. Check out some of the links below, particularly the one on the K-12 program. The photos are copyrighted but K-12 the website is a good place to begin. 

Links:
Landmark Center
History of Filene's Basement
Harvard Medical School
Emerald Necklace
K-12 Programs - Harvard Medical School

Discover… Y, H and Ñ

Photo: Angela M. Counts

Often we encounter a city nostalgically, never really seeing it’s real attributes but looking at it through the lens of old movies, novels, and popular imagination. Think London, Paris, Cairo, Hong Kong, Mexico City, and Chicago, even our dear Boston. “Go Red Sox!”

But what if we slow down and enter the space we’re in? Breathe it in. Look at its contours, like reconsidering an old lover. What do her hands really look like?

"Yield, But Don't Walk"
Photo: Angela M. Counts

Y – Yield. As a constant commuter and not a flaneur sadly, I view the city from its road signs. I must always be ready to yield, to stop, but rarely can I pause or reflect.

H – Honan-Allston Public Library. Upon entering this quiet space of books, I notice the soaring skylights and just below old men perched on cushy leather chairs facing the sun and Harvard Street. Walking further, I find tucked in the back of the library a room where an English language tutorial is taking place. And just outside of the classroom is a hallway dedicated to an art exhibit. 

Ñ – As I walk the labyrinth of the Allston Library, I hear the voices of an ESL teacher and his student.  The teacher: How old are you? The student: My son is five and my daughter is two. The teacher repeats the question twice more, and then the man replies “I am thirty-two.” His voice is much older sounding than his 32 years. But there is determination in it.

"Dirty Money"
Photo: Angela M. Counts

Just past the room with the two men, I encounter a turnstile, like the kind one used to see in five and dime stores, the kind that used to hold paperbacks. In this section of the library are resources for new U.S. immigrants, and on the turnstile is a novel with the title: Dirty Money. While I position my camera to take a picture of the turnstile, a youngish man waits patiently. I peruse the books and English language guides enclosed in plastic, a respectful distance between us. I feel like an immigrant, that there is an unspoken bond between us. A half-hour later, I leave the library with a new card and a new book by Joyce Carol Oates. Up ahead, I see the man walking down the street with one of the books enclosed in a special plastic carrying case.