I think about the little 5-year-old walking to the first day of kindergarten at El Verano, hand-in-hand with her mom, new lunchbox, new clothes, all the joys and potential of a world she is about to be exposed to, when they pass by a fence covered in wanna-be-gangster-bullshit graffiti.
“What is an X3 mommy?”
I just covered the fence with a gallon of Plymouth Brown colored paint courtesy of Peter Hassen, who donated two truckloads of art supplies to the Creekside High School Art Department (me). This is how the village works, creativity happens, people move, people see problems and fix them, people see pain and help, and the result is, hopefully, a beautiful village.
It’s my fourth time painting the fence. It’s not my fence, but I pass by it twice a day on my little Schwinn cruiser, to and from work, and there is about a 62.5 percent chance the graffiti is from one of my current or ex-students. So I feel somewhat responsible.
I’m a big fan of self-expression, love Banksy, love Shepard Fairey, teach about the Lascaux caves, and even display my own 10-foot wooden letters around town when I think it’s needed (READ, POOL, EMPATHY, PEACE, CARE, SONOMAWOOD). Plus, in a small town, I am usually able to find out who is putting their tag all over the bike path and intervene accordingly.
“Michael, quit writing Cmen all over town, it’s not cute or funny and there are much better ways to express yourself.”
But we all want to tell our story, to explain ourselves, to influence others (tragically, a real job for certain people, and if you’re one of them, please aim higher; life is so much more than clicks).
And that little girl will grow up to be a state senator or a great mom or a wanna-be gangster, depending on her choices and the influences of the community. Pretty simple really. Leave the mess, things get messier, clean the mess, things improve.
Two hours after finishing the fence I’m nervously walking into BR Cohn for the SVMA gala. I love galas and this one is especially important, as I am hoping to see Kate whose husband Michael passed recently. My ADD makes me a nervous person socially, and these really aren’t my people (different tax bracket), but I love to support all things Art-related and SVMA has done a phenomenal job doing outreach to teachers and the community.
The gala is a hit, the tables pass around bottles of Michael’s “Tesoro” and Linda Keaton and Margie Maynard do a tag team toast to his life. Kate is there and doing as well as can be expected, and I think to myself, this is it, this is what money is for, enriching programs, creating experiences, helping the community heal and improve.
Which brings us to “Good Neighbor Nectarine Compote”
If you live in Boyes Hot Springs, you know there is no noise ordinance and sometimes the parties can get a little raucous. My neighbor likes to set up a band on the side of his house and last summer we came home from the beach to our kitchen windows vibrating. I walked over and noticed that the inhabitants of the party had moved away from the band and were hanging out in front of the house because the music was so loud.
Did I walk over with my boat horn at 6 a.m. and blast a wakeup call in front of his bedroom window? No, I wrote an email to Supervisor Rebecca Hermosillo that we need a noise ordinance and went over and talked with my neighbor. He not only agreed that the band was too loud but said he would talk to them. They threw a graduation party a few months ago and the band was much quieter (and the partygoers were dancing away in front of the band).
Then a week ago, the same neighbor brought over a giant bag of nectarines from his tree which I made into a compote and I labeled, “Good Neighbor Nectarine Compote.” This is how things get better, not by shit posts on Nextdoor but by talking to and connecting with people.
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